Another bolt struck the top of my left shoulder and it felt as if a giant had punched me. But if you must be hit by a heavy missile, the top of the shoulder is the place — overlapping metal plates lie over chain, and under the base of the helmet’s aventail, there are three or more layers of steel. It’s the very best armoured part of the body.
I had a bruise for two weeks, and I still almost lost my seat. I rocked back and forth, trying to find an opponent, every sway in the saddle forcing me to grip with my knees.
Behind me, there was a roar, a panicked shriek, and suddenly the whole mob of Jacques was in flight.
I attribute it to divine intervention. I didn’t break them, and neither did the Captal, or Tom, who, it proved, was close behind me. We shattered their ranks, but they were ten to one against us, and they had crossbowmen on the roofs. Sooner or later, they could have killed every one of us, but they didn’t. Instead, they succumbed to fear and broke.
And the dashing French knights hunted them through the streets.
I took my time gaining control of Goldie, who was mad with battle-rage. I had one rein, and that was not enough, so we rode deeper and deeper into the town, and eventually, without intending to, I emerged at the land gate on the south side, with Tom at my shoulder. There was no guard at the gate.
‘If we hold the gate,’ I called. I remember how tired I was. ‘If we hold the gate, they can’t escape.’
He dismounted, caught Goldie’s bridle, and I got off — and fell to the ground. My right knee didn’t want to take my weight.
Tom dragged me clear of the gate and some fugitives ran past us.
‘Tom, run for it,’ I said. It was clear I couldn’t fight, and he wasn’t going to live long, trying to hold two horses and cover me, too.
He shook his head. ‘If I repair your bridle, can you fight?’ he asked.
‘Just prop me up and go,’ I said.
So I spent the rest of the fight leaning on a water barrel in the gateway, with Goldie’s bridle in my hand, helping to hold me up. Tom rode for the Captal, who came soon enough. I don’t remember much after that, except that I watched the French knights hunt the Jacques through the town and through the countryside. I didn’t see anything like it again until Cremona — that’s another story — but I knelt there on one knee and wondered how men who called themselves knights could hate their own peasants with such ferocity.
I wanted to be a knight, but I was beginning to think that in the process, I might have to change what knighthood was.
I was in the castle of Meaux for five days. I had six wounds — Jean de Viladi swears to them, and who am I to complain? I was much doted on by the ladies, and one lady in particular. I worried I’d be poisoned, but the Captal assured me that this was not the French way.
As far as the ladies were concerned, I’d ridden into the Jacques, first of all the knights, and cut my way through. I hope the irony of this wasn’t lost on the man who cut my reins. The bastard.
For two nights — two beautiful, sin-filled nights — Emile came to my room, but on the third night, she came with another woman, who would not leave, and on the fourth night, she didn’t come at all. Instead, the Princess came.
I tried to bow, and she came to my bedside and smiled somewhat hesitantly. She put a hand on my hand. ‘Monsieur,’ she said. ‘My husband will return tomorrow from Burgundy, and with him comes a great army to smash this rebellion — and take Paris, too.’ She smiled bravely. ‘I will leave it to him to reward you as you deserve for coming to our defence,’ she said. She smiled, then frowned and looked around the room, as if for support.
I knew some of the language of chivalry. ‘I need no reward but your thanks, my lady,’ I said. ‘I hope that you feel I did justice to your favour?’
She flushed. ‘Monsieur, I was very foolish to give you such a thing, and I must ask for its return.’ She had the good grace to look ashamed.
Well, to have a favour revoked is. . not a good thing.
‘Send Perkin for it. It is attached to my helmet,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry if I. . disappointed you.’ Really, what could I say? English squires don’t chat with Princesses, much less task them.
She looked at me under her lashes — not flirtatiously, but more questioningly. ‘Ah, Monsieur, you were never disappointing. But this has become a matter too elevated for me. Or you.’ She leaned forward slightly. ‘A certain person is leaving — with her husband. She wishes to send her. . farewell. Yes? And I cannot be seen to favour you. I’m sorry. My honour is engaged.’ She leaned back.
‘Please tell the certain person. .’ I said.
She turned her head away. ‘Monsieur, you cannot imagine I would carry messages between you.’
By the head of St John! I had imagined that very thing. She inclined her head graciously, and as I couldn’t bow, I took her hand.
She allowed it, and I felt something hard in my hand. She nodded and left the room.
I had a ring — a very beautiful ring in gold and enamel.
I was still shaking my head when the Captal entered with Perkin. ‘Can you ride?’ he asked.
I nodded.
He pursed his lips. ‘I’m on my way to the King of Navarre. I think I’d best take you with me. There’s a nasty little rumour making the rounds in this castle. It might cost you your neck.’
I looked away. ‘I’d be honoured to travel with you, my lord,’ I said. ‘But I was sent by the Lieutenant of Gascony to get a safe conduct signed by the Dauphin, and I fear it is my duty to wait on him.’
The Captal nodded. ‘Let me have it,’ he said. ‘I’ll see that it is signed today — they owe you that — but I promise you, my young faux Gascon, that if you sleep alone here, you won’t wake up.’
I must have flushed. I know I straightened up in bed and said, ‘But she’s gone, and her stinking husband with her!’
The Captal shook his head. ‘My young scapegrace, no one cares about the state of your amours with the lady in question. The Dauphin has been told that you, ahem, slept with his wife.’ He shrugged. ‘These things happen. It will all blow over in a few years.’
We travelled south to Paris across a landscape dotted with peasants and Parisians swinging from trees. In some places, we passed manor houses burned to the ground — at one road junction, I saw two Parisian ‘hoods’ swinging in the wind, rotting away, and just a few yards further down the road, a young nobleman’s corpse was being pecked by ravens — the corpse, you understand, was a few days older, and had yet to be cut down.
The roads of the Beauvais were packed with refugees, and the refugees were themselves from different sides. There were noble refugees, clinging to their few remained valuables or hollow-eyed with torment — some noble women with their children, looking as if they had endured more than they could bear. And peasant women, in much the same state, but with fewer possessions. And then peasants with their men folk — these the victims of the English and Navarrese — the more routine depredations of our professional looters.
But the French nobles — the remnants of Charles of Navarre’s army, and the great army the Dauphin was bringing from Burgundy — saw all concentrations of refugees as potential gatherings of Jacques and tended to attack them without too much investigation.
Perhaps it was the fever of my wounds — the ongoing pain in my knee scared me — or the weight of my sins.
Perhaps it was the children. There were dead children everywhere.
Christ, even now. .
We rode, tight lipped and silent. I wanted to be done with the whole thing, and for the first time in three years, I considered going back to smithing. Knighthood didn’t look very noble in the June of 1358. Can deeds of arms be measured against raped women? Can bravery in battle and loyalty to your lord be weighed against murdered children? Were we supposed to protect these people or not?