They were on their way as soon as Baldwin had finished and Thomas’s body had been set slumped over his own horse. Thomas and Pagan would be given a Christian burial when it was safe so to do. It was the least Baldwin thought they could do for the two men.
Riding to the ferry, they were pleased to see that the boat was clearly visible, and bellowing and waving, they succeeded in gaining the ferryman’s attention. It felt like an age, but at last the vessel landed on the shore and the men could begin to board her. Sir Ralph insisted that the friars and Roisea should take the first sailing, and Baldwin was equally insistent that Jack should be safe.
Jack kept looking at Baldwin with a strangely earnest expression, rather like a lady’s lapdog begging for a treat or to be allowed outside. He was obviously shocked by the suddenness of the fight, the swift deaths of so many men. But Baldwin had no time for the lad’s fears, especially since he was nervous that the party’s disappearance must surely lead to an investigation before too long. He did not want to be caught between the River Severn and the whole of Queen Isabella’s host.
It was a glorious relief to see the boat sail away, and then a blessed age before it completed its cruise to the opposite bank. Baldwin paced fretfully up and down the shoreline all the while, chewing at his inner lip, casting an equal number of glances towards the ship and back towards the woods where the men lay dead.
‘The boat is coming back,’ Bernard stated laconically. Alexander was whittling at a stick with his short dagger, while Sir Ralph sat on his horse saying nothing. The three appeared perfectly easy in their minds, even with their friend and companion tied on the horse a short distance away.
The ship made its slow progress over the water towards them, and after what felt like half a day, ground its way up the shore. Sir Ralph and his men were first aboard, while Baldwin waited, and then he took the reins of the horses with the dead men on their back. As he did so, there was a cry from the ship.
‘Get on board quickly! They’re coming!’
Baldwin snapped his head around and saw a small contingent of horse, perhaps a vingtaine, milling about at their camp. Then the enemy saw the ship’s sails, and there was a flurry of orders and activity as they remounted, ready to pursue Sir Baldwin’s group.
There was little time. Baldwin took his own horse on first, and waited until the beast was aboard and held firmly before returning to the horses carrying the dead men. He had the reins in his hand, but some of his anxiety must have been communicated to Wolf, as the brute gave a bark, and set up such a row, that the two horses became nervous, and one began plunging wildly. There was a crack, and the lines holding Thomas snapped, the body tumbling to the ground, and then the horse was off, leaving Baldwin with a rope burn on the palm of his hand. Alarmed by the plunging of the other, Pagan’s horse too began to rear. There was no time to calm it. Cursing, Baldwin released the beast, and it galloped off after the first.
He was about to run to the ship, when he remembered Redcliffe’s purse. The man had been so proud of it and in any case, it was possible that there was money in it which his widow could use. Whipping out his dagger, he sliced through the laces holding the man’s purse to his belt, and then ran for the ship. It had already pushed away a little from the shore, and Baldwin tumbled into the freezing water, holding the purse aloft, but then he almost fell under from the weight of his mail on his back. He recovered, and Wolf was at his side. On a whim, he thrust the purse into Wolf’s mouth, and the solemn-faced dog took it gently, continuing paddling through the water to the ship.
Baldwin floundered on, and would have failed, had not Sir Ralph thrown him a coil of rope. Clutching it, Baldwin pulled himself up aboard, falling on his back to gasp for breath.
It was Alexander who reached down, grabbed Wolf by the scruff of the neck and tail, and hauled him bodily from the water.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Bristol Castle
Simon had never seen the host gathered before. He had heard of the massive forces which King Edward II and his father had gathered for their wars in Wales and Scotland, but had never thought he would see such huge numbers of men arrayed outside an English city. It was terrifying – and humbling.
From the battlements he could see north over a broad swathe of land, and everywhere there were men. Tents and canvas shelters covered the farther flat lands, and all about there rose smoke from a hundred fires. No, more than a hundred, he guessed. The sheer scale of it all was incomprehensible. It was like looking at a reflection in a pair of mirrors and seeing the images reflected on and on into infinity. Simon had never been particularly concerned about heights, but today, looking out at all those men, he was suddenly assailed by dizziness, as though he could topple from the walls.
‘They’re serious about taking the castle,’ Sir Charles remarked.
Simon was grateful for his relaxed attitude. When Simon looked at him, Sir Charles was peering at the men scurrying about below them with an air of calm amusement. This was what the knight had been bred and trained for. Not so Simon. As he watched the great siege machines being prepared, their arms being slowly winched down, their cradles loaded with massive rocks, he felt a sinking in his belly. Those rocks would slam into the side of the walls here with devastating effect. Surely nothing could withstand them.
A few minutes later, Sir Stephen and Earl Hugh arrived on the walkways, and the Earl stared out with as much shock as Simon himself had felt. ‘So many! So many!’ he said. ‘What have we done to deserve all this?’
Simon had not been so close to the Earl before. He had grown to detest the man’s son, Sir Hugh le Despenser, because the knight had selected Simon as an enemy, and Simon had been badly tested, but seeing Earl Hugh’s horror, he felt sympathy for him. The scene was enough to rock any man to the core of his soul.
He gazed around at the other side of the river to the south. There too, large numbers of men scurried about, building wooden shields to protect fixed positions. Trees were being felled from a little wood, and hauled to the city by oxen, then cut up and attached to frames to protect archers and artillery from the arrows of the castle and the city.
But when he glanced east over the city itself, he was struck by the lack of preparation. True, there were some barricades in the streets which would serve to slow men attacking along them, but surely they would not stop a force like this, were they to gain entry.
Sir Charles saw the direction of his gaze, and commented, ‘I do not think we can count on the city to halt their attack.’
‘I can see no one trying to save it,’ Simon said.
‘These fellows are merchants and peasants, not warriors,’ Sir Charles said with a chuckle. ‘They saw their city captured only ten years ago, and they felt the indignity of failure, as well as seeing the result of their disobedience. Exile to many, the loss of property to more. It was a disaster. And their city was sorely hurt by the King’s siege train. Why should they wish to see the same happen again?’
His attention was already moving on. Now he eyed the streets below, and Simon followed the direction of his gaze. There was a group of men walking from a large building, and all standing before it, involved in animated conversation.
‘Sir Charles, what are they doing?’ Simon asked, pointing.
The knight shook his head. ‘I wonder.’
While they stood, Sir Laurence had arrived and stood grimly surveying the people down in the street. ‘This is not good.’
Simon looked at him from the corner of his eye, wondering how to broach the subject of Cecily’s murder. But it did not seem the moment, somehow. Not while the city was at risk of being overrun. Instead, he glanced down into the streets again.