then.’
‘Not on my part, Sir John, no. But he may have taken it into his head to cause friction whenever he sees me and my men, no matter what we do or say.’
Sir John considered. ‘Avoid him, and all will be well.’
‘Yes, sir. And do you have any idea when we are likely to find the French?’
Sir John smiled. ‘They will try to stop us very soon – before we can turn towards Paris.’
‘Paris?’ Berenger repeated, shocked. That was a vast city, from all he had heard. It would take more than a few score knights and ten thousand archers to breach her great
defences.
‘We aren’t here on a reconnaissance, Fripper. We’re here to establish the King’s rights. For that, we need Paris. Or at least, to make a demonstration of our power that
will so shock the French and Parisians, that they surrender to us.’
‘Yes, Sir John,’ Berenger said, but his mind was reeling.
Paris
! He had faith in his men, his army and his King, but to take Paris would be like trying to seize Jerusalem
again! It was an appalling idea!
Sir John watched him go, grinning at Berenger’s reaction. They could not take Paris, of course. That would need many more men – he knew that perfectly well. But the French
didn’t, and if the English made a strong enough demonstration in the direction of the capital, they might so raise the fever of terror in Paris that the citizenry would hand over the keys
without a fight. If all went well.
Aye. If all went well.
17 July
They were marching at last.
‘Christ Jesus, it’s a relief to be moving,’ Geoff declared.
Wisp just grunted.
They had made their way down to the south of St Vaast-la-Hogue, and now the vintaine was descending a hill on a road that had been built for a peasant’s donkeys, rather than wagons.
‘You’re quiet,’ Jack said to Wisp.
Wisp peered up at the sky. How could he explain his despair? The sight of the hanged cat was an evil omen, no matter how a man looked at it. He was sure his premonition of doom was correct.
‘I am well enough,’ he said.
‘Glad I am to hear it,’ Jack said. ‘These French will mass enough men to trample us into the mire if they can. We need all the fellows we have. Even you.’
‘Him?’ Clip called from behind them. ‘Wisp’d blow away in a breeze, he would. Look at him: hardly enough muscle on him to hold a knife, let alone a bleeding
sword.’
‘He has fist enough to give you a thump,’ Geoff grunted. He was scouting ahead to their left, searching every tree, every bush, for ambush.
‘Him? His fists wouldn’t pass through a fog on the Avon!’
‘Perhaps we’ll put wagers on you two, then, eh?’ Jack chuckled. ‘You can fight when we camp this evening.’
‘I’d not want to hurt him,’ Clip said righteously. ‘’Sides, the King wants all of us fit and hearty for the real fight to come.’
‘When we find the French at last, you mean,’ Jack called.
‘When we find the French, aye,’ Geoff said.
Clip shook his head, hawked and spat. ‘It doesn’t matter. We’ll all soon be dead. They’ll murder us, the French.’
‘Yes,’ Wisp said quietly. Jack heard, and shot him a look, but made no comment. Instead he allowed his pace to slow a little, so that he dropped back behind Wisp.
‘Still bad, is he?’ Berenger asked, seeing his face.
‘As bad as a man can be. By God’s blood, I don’t want him near me in a battle. He’s already convinced himself he’ll die, damn his soul!’
‘He’ll snap out of it.’
‘If he doesn’t, I’ll snap his neck for him,’ Jack said bluntly.
Berenger nodded. A comrade who was convinced that failure lurked around every corner was a dangerous companion. If a man could not trust his neighbour in a shield wall or assault, confidence in
the whole army was lost. It took only a brief loss of trust during a battle, a momentary loss of commitment, for an army to fail. Just now, Wisp was the worst threat to their vintaine.
Ach, there was little he could do
‘Not on my part, Sir John, no. But he may have taken it into his head to cause friction whenever he sees me and my men, no matter what we do or say.’
Sir John considered. ‘Avoid him, and all will be well.’
‘Yes, sir. And do you have any idea when we are likely to find the French?’
Sir John smiled. ‘They will try to stop us very soon – before we can turn towards Paris.’
‘Paris?’ Berenger repeated, shocked. That was a vast city, from all he had heard. It would take more than a few score knights and ten thousand archers to breach her great
defences.
‘We aren’t here on a reconnaissance, Fripper. We’re here to establish the King’s rights. For that, we need Paris. Or at least, to make a demonstration of our power that
will so shock the French and Parisians, that they surrender to us.’
‘Yes, Sir John,’ Berenger said, but his mind was reeling.
Paris
! He had faith in his men, his army and his King, but to take Paris would be like trying to seize Jerusalem
again! It was an appalling idea!
Sir John watched him go, grinning at Berenger’s reaction. They could not take Paris, of course. That would need many more men – he knew that perfectly well. But the French
didn’t, and if the English made a strong enough demonstration in the direction of the capital, they might so raise the fever of terror in Paris that the citizenry would hand over the keys
without a fight. If all went well.
Aye. If all went well.
17 July
They were marching at last.
‘Christ Jesus, it’s a relief to be moving,’ Geoff declared.
Wisp just grunted.
They had made their way down to the south of St Vaast-la-Hogue, and now the vintaine was descending a hill on a road that had been built for a peasant’s donkeys, rather than wagons.
‘You’re quiet,’ Jack said to Wisp.
Wisp peered up at the sky. How could he explain his despair? The sight of the hanged cat was an evil omen, no matter how a man looked at it. He was sure his premonition of doom was correct.
‘I am well enough,’ he said.
‘Glad I am to hear it,’ Jack said. ‘These French will mass enough men to trample us into the mire if they can. We need all the fellows we have. Even you.’
‘Him?’ Clip called from behind them. ‘Wisp’d blow away in a breeze, he would. Look at him: hardly enough muscle on him to hold a knife, let alone a bleeding
sword.’
‘He has fist enough to give you a thump,’ Geoff grunted. He was scouting ahead to their left, searching every tree, every bush, for ambush.
‘Him? His fists wouldn’t pass through a fog on the Avon!’
‘Perhaps we’ll put wagers on you two, then, eh?’ Jack chuckled. ‘You can fight when we camp this evening.’
‘I’d not want to hurt him,’ Clip said righteously. ‘’Sides, the King wants all of us fit and hearty for the real fight to come.’
‘When we find the French at last, you mean,’ Jack called.
‘When we find the French, aye,’ Geoff said.
Clip shook his head, hawked and spat. ‘It doesn’t matter. We’ll all soon be dead. They’ll murder us, the French.’
‘Yes,’ Wisp said quietly. Jack heard, and shot him a look, but made no comment. Instead he allowed his pace to slow a little, so that he dropped back behind Wisp.
‘Still bad, is he?’ Berenger asked, seeing his face.
‘As bad as a man can be. By God’s blood, I don’t want him near me in a battle. He’s already convinced himself he’ll die, damn his soul!’
‘He’ll snap out of it.’
‘If he doesn’t, I’ll snap his neck for him,’ Jack said bluntly.
Berenger nodded. A comrade who was convinced that failure lurked around every corner was a dangerous companion. If a man could not trust his neighbour in a shield wall or assault, confidence in
the whole army was lost. It took only a brief loss of trust during a battle, a momentary loss of commitment, for an army to fail. Just now, Wisp was the worst threat to their vintaine.
Ach, there was little he could do
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