The Archer's Marines: The First Marines - Medieval fiction action story about Marines, naval warfare, and knights after King Richard's crusade in Syria, ... times (The Company of Archers Book 5) (3 page)

        “Robert Leslie and his heirs agree to continue and respect the rights and offices of all churls, franklins, merchants, and gentry on the lands they hold for the Earl of Cornwall, to free all villeins, slaves, and other serfs to be churls or better, and to exact no retribution or loss of office or home on any person for their losses suffered in the taking of Hathersage and its lands.” 
…
“Aye.” 
More great cheers.

       “
Robert Leslie and his heirs agree that the widows and children of Lord Cornell’s dead and injured knights and other retainers are to be provided with customary dower housing and food if they pledge their liege to Leslie.” … “Aye.”  More great cheers.

       “Robert Leslie and his heirs agree that all orders, requests, appointments, and suggestions of the church and its priests shall be received through the Earl of Cornwall to insure they conform to the wishes of the Pope.” … “Aye.”  More great cheers. 
Good.  I’m glad William thought of it.  There will be no burnings and tortures for the church except as William requires.

      
And, of course, there are various additional conditions to which Leslie and his son have also agreed but I do not announce.  Chief among them: If Lord Baldwin’s widow Isabel is discovered she is to be immediately executed as a murderess most foul; if Cornell leaves a wife or children they are to be free and given the honour of one of Hathersage’s manors if they will pledge their liege to the Leslies.  Another is that the Leslies will immediately start their people building permanent new hovels and return the existing hovels to their owners in good condition with all their personal goods intact. 

      
Actually, there is not enough housing in the village and some of Leslie’s people have already started building hovels for themselves; this morning I saw some of the women weaving the wattle that will be daubed with mud and sheep shite to form the walls of their new hovels.

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       After the feoffment ceremony there is as great a feast as the Leslies can organize with the roasting of sheep and much drinking and merriment and games of dice and dancing. 
I’m sure the watchers in the castle are perplexed and worried when they see it from the ramparts.  Well of course they are; wouldn’t you be concerned if your enemies begin rejoicing?

      
The next morning Leslie’s men pull back from their positions around the castle - and I put on my bishop’s robes and miter and walk towards the castle drawbridge with a cross in one hand and my crosier in the other.  One of Leslie’s men walks ahead of me making loud noises from some sort of horn and another man walks next to him waving a strip of dirty linen tied to a stick. 

       Leslie’s men pull up and stop just out of crossbow range; I keep walking with my cross held high until I reach the raised drawbridge.  The men on the battlements of the castle and its gate house obviously see me; they are pointing and more and more faces are appearing at the archer slits to see what the commotion is all about.

      
I’m wearing chain mail under my robes but I have no illusions about it stopping an iron crossbow quarrel; all I can do if they launch is hope they miss and run like the devil is on my heels.

       After some minutes of standing at the edge of the moat the small side door in the great castle gate opens and a very elderly knight clanks out in full armor.  The battlements are absolutely full of people.

       “Who are you priest and what do you want?”

       “I am Thomas, Bishop of the diocese of Cornwall, and I bring news of Lord Cornell and the Will of God and King Richard.”

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       I’m leaving Derbyshire with Roger and most of my men.  Hathersage’s drawbridges are still up and its battlements manned but a truce is in effect; food is being allowed into the castle, the castle has been informed of the terms under which Robert Leslie will replace Lord Cornell, and three horsemen have been allowed to leave the castle unmolested to ascertain Cornell’s fate. It is understood that there will be no more fighting if they return and report that he is indeed dead.

        Most of my men and I leave for London in horse drawn wagons with two of the men on horses as outriders.  Only Joseph and four of our men stay behind.  They’ll carry the word to Cornwall when Leslie takes possession of the castle in William’s name.

       There is no sense of anxious hurry as we move down the road and we meet very few travelers coming towards us.  Word has obviously spread about the siege and travelers are going out of their way to avoid traveling on the cart path running past Hathersage.  They don’t want to become involved and rightly so. The result is convenient - we pretty much have the road to ourselves.       

       At night the men cook around the camp fires and sleep in the wagons or under them.  Roger and I share a sheepskin tent.  Having our own tent is nicer and safer because the sleeping rooms at the village inns and taverns that we reach every six or seven miles are inevitably dirty and dangerous.  You never know who you’ll end up in bed with. 

       On the other hand, the local ale is uncommonly good and traveling is thirsty work and there is always sheep shite in the water to make it taste poorly - so we inevitably stop at each inn we reach and everyone crowds in to sample its ale. 
At each village we reach I give Roger a few small coins so our men can sample the local ale; they did well and they deserve it.

        We have a rather uneventful trip for the first few days even though the spring weather is foul.  It rains periodically and it seems as if one or another of our wagons and horses is continually breaking down or getting stuck in the mud.  On the other hand, we don’t meet many travelers coming the other way to block our progress. 

       Word is out about the siege and possibility of fighting at Hathersage Castle – that’s for certain because it’s always the first thing we’re asked about by the people we meet in the taverns and on the road.  And, as you might imagine, we sleep safely and soundly; fifty or so heavily armed men are not about to be troubled by the outlaw bands, minor barons, and toll collectors who infest the roads – and are often one and the same. 

       We don’t meet many travelers until we reach the old Roman road that is still the main road between Chester and London.  It’s a much more improved track to travel on but we don’t make better time because traffic picks up in both directions. What particularly slows us down frequently getting stuck behind slow moving travelers or having to pull over to let fast movers get past us. 

       The heavy traffic on the narrow old road slows us down so much that once the sun comes out the next morning I take to riding on the first wagon wearing my miter and waving my crosier at people to move them aside.   Mostly they do.

        It takes us almost a week to reach London.

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       London is its usual wet and foul self and the sky is growing dark by the time our wagons reach the stable near the dock.  Freddy the stable master is not in the stable but his ostlers inform me that one of our galleys is anchored a ways off the dock with a couple of our recruiting sergeants and the archers and apprentice archers they’ve brought in. 

       It doesn’t take long for me to offer one of the ostlers a copper if he’ll send a boatman to row out to the galley and inform its sergeant captain that we’ve returned to London and to please come meet us in the White Horse tavern at the north end of the dock.  That’s where I’m planning to go to take everyone for a drink to help us recover from our long but not all that uncomfortable trip from Hathersage.

       We’re in the White Horse about an hour later when the door opens and in comes one of our galley captains.  He spots us through the smoke and walks over with a smile on his face.  It’s Henry, the forester churl from Norwich and one of our very strongest archers. 

       Henry Forrester came back to shore with the boatman.  His galley, he reports, is just now being rowed up to the dock and will be there within the hour.  We can board whenever we want. 

      “But no need to hurry.  We can’t leave until it gets light tomorrow and the morning fog lifts.” 

       Henry is more than a little pleased to pull up a stool and join us for a mug of the new juniper-flavored drink we’re enjoying and hear the latest news. 

       This is Henry’s first time in London and his first visit to the White Bull.  He only arrived a few days ago with our messenger and has been doing his drinking with his pilot at the ale house at the other end of the dock. 

      
Henry Forester may not be as smart as Henry from Colchester who is in charge of all of our Marines but he’s a damn fine archer and galley captain.

        Henry roars with laughter at my tale of the Belgian mercenaries and laments not being with us when he hears about them. This is the second time he’s missed out on all the fun – not having been there to participate in gulling the mercenaries at Sarum and not being at the mouth of the Tamar during William’s skirmish at the river ford when Cornell was killed.

…  “And yes, thank you,” Henry tells the tavern keeper who comes over with an expectant look on his face when he sees Henry down his mug with a great sigh of pleasure. 

       “I wouldn’t mind having another mug of your fine brew.  How do you brew it, pray tell?  I can’t say that I’ve ever smelled or tasted anything like it before.”

       Our host smiles and says something about his wife’s secret recipe for juniper berries as he picks up Henry’s mug and a couple of others and takes them off to refill.  Then we settle down in the fireplace smoke to tell more stories. 

       Before the interruption I’d just started telling everyone about the first time Peter and I brought some of our archer sergeants and men here so they could get horses and ride out to the shires and recruit more archers. 
According to Peter, more of them get on backwards or fall off every time I tell it.

       “Henry, did you ever hear about what happened when some of our archers got on horses for the first time?  Right around the corner it was.”

                                           Chapter Two

       It’s late when we finally stagger out of the White Horse and climb aboard Henry’s galley to sleep.  Many of my men from Hathersage are already on board. Men are sleeping everywhere in between the stacks of supplies and provisions.  Roger and I piss against the wall of one of the buildings next to the dock before we climb over the galley railing and crowd into the little captain’s castle to sleep with Henry Forester. 

      
It’s been a fine day and I’m just like the rest of my men - seriously drunk and ready for a good night’s sleep.

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       I wake up the next morning with a splitting headache from too much drink.   It’s time to send my parchment to Windsor for the king.  So I shake Roger awake and off we go to the livery stable in the lane of blacksmiths behind the dock.  That’s where we returned our horses yesterday.  I need to settle my account with the stable master before we leave – Freddy’s important to us because his stable is where our recruiting sergeants tell our new recruits and apprentice archers to come to be gathered up and taken to Cornwall. 
Oh my poor head; I’ve got to find out what is in that drink to make it so powerful?

      
It’s early but the stable is full of ostlers preparing the horses for another day of pulling carts and wagons on the docks and through the city.  From dealing with the stable master in the past I know this is the time we’re most likely to find him here without having to search the local taverns and ale houses – and we do. 

       “Hey Freddy.  It’s good to see you again.  I’m sorry I missed you yesterday when we brought the horses and wagons back.  How much do I owe you for the two horses we dropped off along the way and the broken wagon wheels?” 

       “Oh eminence.  I sees the horsez and knows you izz back, don’t Izz?  Izz six silvers each same as last time, izzn’t it?” 

       “All right, Freddy.  Six it is that I’ll pay - but only if you’ll have two of your most dependable ostlers ride out to Windsor this morning with a parchment for the King.  They’re to hand this message pouch to the guard at the castle gate if the King is in his castle and then return here immediately without stopping along the way; they’re to bring the pouch straight back to me if the King is not at Windsor
.”

      
“No Freddy, one man won’t do; I want two to carry it in case one of the horses breaks down.”

       I don’t want to go in person.  Delivering my message this way will, I hope, make it harder for the King to change his mind or make changes in our arrangements with Leslie.

       “Oh, and Freddy, if the King is not at Windsor your men are to ask where the king is – but they are to immediately bring the pouch straight back here to me rather than go anywhere else to deliver it or do another task.”

      
It’s an important parchment and I need to know it has been delivered before we sail.  That’s why I’m going to wait on Henry’s galley until the ostler returns.  I’ll have to make other arrangements if Freddy’s ostler can’t make the delivery.

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       Freddy’s ostlers leave immediately and return that evening.  Roger and Henry and I are just starting to tuck into some chops and cheese in the White Horse when in comes Freddy with a big smile.