‘Lyons,’ Sir John said. ‘If we take Lyons, they’ll have to pay us to leave. We’ll be rich. Best of all, we’ll be safe.’
Peter of Savoy shook his head. We’ll never get into Lyons,’ he said. ‘Last spring they raised the wall. It has a bailli, two thousand men and two out-castles.’ Even as he spoke, he was drawing — in beer, of course — the course of the river. He put filberts down. ‘Rive-de-Gier and Brignais. And here’s Le Puy.’ He sighed. ‘I can’t see taking Lyons by escalade.’
Sir John thought.
Peter of Savoy grunted. ‘We have no choice. Needs must when the devil drives.’
Camus sat slumped.
‘William Gold and I will take Brignais and Rive-de-Gier,’ Sir John Hawkwood said. ‘By escalade. You two wait six hours and try Lyon. If the garrison is alert, light the suburbs afire and retreat on us.’
None of us disagreed. We had the more difficult task, and yet I was well satisfied. I finished my small beer and rode away into the watery sunshine.
I was filled with confidence as we rode cross-country, and then, as I came down on my own convoy, I watched the line of carts and wondered why they were tailing along behind instead of protected in the middle of the column.
I got my horse to a heavy trot, and rolled down the hill, headed for the front of the column, the priest’s excellent war horse labouring in the heavy mud of the unploughed fields.
At the front, there were half a dozen horsemen, arguing. There was Sir Hugh and Richard Cressy, two other corporals and John Hughes. Hughes was as red as a beet. There was a dead man lying under the horse’s hooves.
I knew immediately that Sir Hugh had usurped command in my half-day absence, and that he’d made some error that caused the others to come after him. I could see it all in their postures and those of their horses. I put my gauntlets on and made sure my sword was loose in my scabbard.
They roared at each other like stallions fighting over a mare, and I rode up behind Sir Hugh without being noticed.
‘Gentlemen?’ I said, as I pushed my horse in behind his. I wasn’t too gentle.
Cressy didn’t really know me. He was a good man-at-arms, as big as a small house and cautious. He was barely capable of being a corporal and lacked even the most rudimentary organizational skills.
He also lacked both courtesy and self-control. Although even at twenty-two, I was learning that courtesy — the very foundation of knighthood — was all about self-control.
I mention this because, alone among the corporals, he’d never suggested, by word or deed, that he thought he’d be a better acting captain that I was. His eyes met mine. ‘This idiot,’ he said, pointing at Sir Hugh.
Sir Hugh tried to wheel his horse. He didn’t like having me behind him, and he was afraid of what I might do.
‘He took the wrong fucking turn and killed our guide!’ Cressy said.
‘He betrayed us!’ Sir Hugh said. ‘I made no error!’
He had his horse around, now, and he was glaring at me with a hand on his sword.
John Hughes, who was the informal captain of the archers, just shook his head. ‘He grabbed command from Cressy and fucked it away,’ he said. ‘Order of march changed, down the wrong road, all so he can grab some market town that isn’t where he thought it was.’
I looked at him. I didn’t think anyone would back him — if he’d had skills like that, he’d have been a corporal. ‘I’m surprised any of you obeyed him,’ I said.
Hughes spat. ‘He said he had orders from Sir John Creswell,’ he said.
‘Well, Sir Hugh? I asked. An hour with Sir John Hawkwood and I was emulating his careful, clipped speech and mannerisms.
Sir Hugh glared at me. ‘I, sir, am a belted knight, a landed man, a servant of the King. I should be in command here. These men obey me as their natural superior.’
I nodded. ‘Prepare yourself,’ I said. ‘We’re going to fight right here. If you unhorse me, you can try and command the company, but in truth, Sir Hugh, you couldn’t command a sack of meal in a mill. If I unhorse you, I expect nothing but silent obedience from you. We have an adventure ahead of us, and I, for one, don’t have any more time to waste on you.’
‘With pleasure, boy, he said. He gathered his reins and drew his sword. ‘Butt Boy!’
I put that away for later. The Bourc’s insult in Sir Hugh’s mouth?
He came for me without the formality of choosing ground or seizing a lance. He held up his sword, high above his head, and cut at me — one, two, three times. He wanted to close and grapple, and he pushed in as close as his horse could manage.
My horse — the horse I’d stolen from a priest — proved to have more fight than I’d imagined. He side-stepped and bit Sir Hugh’s mount savagely, ripping off a piece of the other horse’s nose and scattering blood.
Sir Hugh’s horse stumbled and half-reared, and I got my sword in both hands and thrust Sir Hugh cleanly through the aventail. My sword went in just where the collarbone met the breastbone. I’ll be honest, I didn’t care if I killed him, because he was large and dangerous and I needed to get on with my part in Sir John’s plan.
My two-handed thrust penetrated his chain aventail and stuck in bone, but the whole force went into his breastbone, and he lost his seat and fell to the ground. The fight was over.
To add insult to injury, my horse kicked him when he tried to rise. Compared to the kick of a stallion, my little poke was a pinprick.
I ignored the man under the hooves of my horse. ‘Gentlemen,’ I said. ‘We are going to try a bold adventure — to seize the walls of Brignais this very night.’
Ah. Preux. yes, I had preux. Courtesy, loyalty, largesse, courage and preux.
Four hours later, we left our warm fires of the previous light and mounted our horses. Our pages carried our ladders. We rode along the web of roads, following John Hughes and Ned, who had scouted the route, and we assembled our ladders in the ditch without being challenged.
I had about ninety men. I’d left the rest in camp, under Cressy.
‘Fast as you can, mes amis!’ That was my first battlefield speech.
We went up the ladders, and instead of being first, I waited with Courtney and Grice and six other men-at-arms with good harness and good fighting reputations. We were the reserve.
We didn’t even have to fight. We utterly surprised the garrison, and took the place while most of them were locked into their guard rooms from the outside. As soon as we had the gate tower in our hands, I sent Courtney for the rest of the company.
We stripped the garrison to their braes, and threw them out into the night, then built up the fires and gorged on their stores. We moved into their guardrooms and barracks and stables.
A day later, Sir John Creswell came and took the reins away from me. His news was grim — Sir John had taken Rive-de-Gire, but the Bourc and Savoy had failed with Lyon and failed even to fire the suburbs. The main French army, with the archpriest and the Lord of Tancraville, was closing in on us from the north.
He was coldly polite to me, and the only thing he said was, ‘Hawkwood says you’ve run the company better than I do myself.’
Well, messieurs. I’m sure Sir John meant it as praise, although it is possible he meant it to sting Creswell. Hawkwood wasn’t called ‘The Fox’ for nothing.
The second day after we stormed the place, Creswell sent me to find Petit Mechin with six lances. Every man he sent with me was one of my friends — men, squires and archers. With the countryside crawling with French troops, it was an insane risk to take. In fact, like David with Bathsheba’s husband Uriah, he was sending me out to die. He knew it, and I knew it, and worst of all, when he ordered me out, Sir Hugh stood at his shoulder, his right shoulder a mass of linen bandages, and smiled at me. He had what he wanted.
We left before dawn, and I led my band away from Brignais and headed directly north; they didn’t question me. I’d had time to think, by then, and what I decided was that Camus was in league with Sir Hugh. I know that sounds insane, but command in an army of criminals and mercenaries isn’t about chivalry. Or gentility.