Warlord(128)
Before we left, Robin had taken me aside: ‘John and I are staying here,’ he said, ‘we must hold Château-Gaillard in case it all goes wrong and Richard has to retreat; but in truth we could do with the rest. I’m giving you a company of men, who are a little more rested than the others. And I want you to know that I have full confidence in you. Don’t feel you have anything to prove to anyone. Don’t throw the lives of any of my men away – particularly not this one.’ And he clapped me hard on the shoulder.
Mercadier, I was glad to see, was not to accompany the King; the mercenary captain had been dispatched with his own force of paid men before dawn on a mission of some kind in the direction of Beauvais, deep into enemy territory, while we followed in his tracks making north-east for the border castle of Gournay.
The countryside we rode through had been much ravaged by three years of war – by our men and Philip’s – and there was barely a farm beast alive or a cottage unburnt that we passed on our march that day. We travelled light and fast – all the men well mounted and the column unslowed by baggage or a siege train. By early evening we had travelled the twenty-five miles to Gournay and were greeted at the gate by none other than Richard’s brother Prince John, Count of Mortain and Earl of Gloucester.
My old enemy was a humbled man these days; he saluted his royal brother respectfully, without a trace of his former haughtiness, and bore him away, with William the Marshal, to his private chamber to discuss a plan he had concocted for the imminent assault on Philip’s domains. Prince John did not acknowledge me in any way, although I caught him staring at me when he thought I was not looking, and I was content to busy myself with finding adequate quarters in that crowded castle for the men and our horses. Thomas and I dined poorly on a thin cabbage soup from the castle kitchens, which we supplemented with bread, a soft Norman cheese, and a brisk red wine, from our rations.
The next morning word reached us that we were to saddle up and prepare to advance into enemy territory. As Thomas and I were chivvying the sleepy men from their warm bed-rolls, William the Marshal came striding across the courtyard to speak to me.
‘It’s Milly,’ the Earl of Striguil said. ‘We’re going to take Millysur-Thérain. Do you know it?’
I shook my head.
‘It’s a small castle a dozen miles east of here – John has had intelligence that it’s not well defended and he has asked that he be allowed to lead the expedition to capture it. It was his idea, and Richard has agreed.’
‘The King isn’t coming with us?’ I asked, astonished.
‘He’s got other fish to fry,’ said the Marshal. ‘Mercadier is a few miles south of here threatening the stronghold of Beauvais, and Richard wants to remain here so that he can co-ordinate both operations.
‘So Prince John is to be in command?’ My face must have been a picture, for the Marshal laughed out loud.
‘Don’t worry, young Alan, I’m coming along too. I’ll see to it that he doesn’t a make a total hash of it.’
‘Still …’ I said doubtfully.
‘All will be well, Alan, trust me,’ said William. ‘It’s an insignificant castle, poorly defended, and we will snap it up like a trout rising to a mayfly.’
Insignificant Milly may have been, but poorly defended it was not. We had the walls surrounded by noon, with Prince John’s tent pitched to the north of the castle, and I took a bite of bread and ham with Thomas while we looked at the fortress from a copse a hundred or so paces from the western side. Thick walls, fifteen foot tall, a deep earth ditch before them, and scores of defenders, far from intimidated – indeed defiant – massed on the battlements. We had no siege engines, alas, for Richard’s ‘castle-breakers’ would have made short work of these walls – but to bring them up would have meant a delay of several days, and might have brought Philip’s main field army down on our heads in overwhelming force. Besides, Richard wanted a quick victory here, the castle captured, its constable made prisoner – and his brother John had promised it to him.
‘Locksley’s men will undertake the first assault,’ Prince John had croaked a half-hour earlier when the captains had met for a brief conference in his tent. He had barely looked at me while issuing these orders, but I could see a gleam of something unpleasant in his eyes as he spoke the words: was it a spark of revenge? I knew that he had not forgotten my supposed perfidy while Richard was imprisoned. The company that made the initial attack would face the heaviest casualties. It was a great honour to be the first men into the breach, but it was also the most dangerous task of the operation.