A Flight of Arrows A.J. MacKenzie (black authors fiction TXT) 📖

his head without speaking, the pain of disappointment plain in his face. The king turned to the others. ‘Well, gentlemen? What about the rest of you? I gather there was some wholesale butchery at Oisemont this morning. I don’t suppose any of you managed to take any prisoners?’

The captains looked at each other. ‘I did, sire,’ said Edward de Tracey. ‘We caught a party outside the west gate trying to escape towards Saint-Valery. We have them under guard now.’

‘Who are they? Anyone of quality?’

‘No, sire. Peasants mostly, called up under the arrière-ban.’ Tracey hesitated. ‘I was thinking of sending them home. They’re worthless in terms of ransoms, and we can’t afford to feed them.’

‘Bring them here,’ the king commanded.

The prisoners were paraded a few minutes later. There were about twenty of them, guarded by a quartet of Tracey’s archers, and they knelt in a row with their hands resting on the ground. Some of them were shaking with fear.

‘You know who I am,’ the king said.

The man at the end of the row looked up. ‘Yes, sire,’ he said.

‘Do any of you know about the ford over the Somme? The one called the Blanchetaque?’

The same man looked at his comrades, who continued to stare at the ground. Finally he nodded. ‘Yes, sire, I do.’

‘Where is it?’ the king demanded. ‘Where is the ford?’

The man said nothing. ‘Give him some money, Northburgh,’ said the king.

Northburgh tossed a leather pouch onto the ground in front of the man. It landed with a heavy metallic clunk. ‘Tell me where the Blanchetaque is,’ the king said.

The man made no move. The king motioned with his hand. ‘Very well. Take them away and hang them.’

The man sat upright. ‘Spare our lives, sire, all of us, and I will tell you,’ he said.

Silence fell. ‘I am waiting,’ the king said, his voice growling in the back of his throat.

‘The southern end of the ford is at the village of Saigneville, six miles from Abbeville. At low tide you will see it clearly, a road of white stones beneath the water. Then you can cross.’

‘When is low tide?’ the king demanded.

‘About now, sire.’

Rowton shook his head. ‘We will never get there in time. By the time we reach the river the tide will becoming in.’

‘No, but it will be low tide again at terce,’ Northampton said. ‘If we march at first light, sire, we can reach the ford by then.’ He looked at the prisoner. ‘I assume the French also know about the Blanchetaque. Is the ford guarded?’

‘Yes, my lord. I saw men-at-arms riding down the north bank yesterday.’

‘How many?’

The prisoner shrugged. ‘A few hundred, perhaps.’

A sigh of relief went up from the circle of men. The Prince of Wales clapped his hands. ‘They might have received reinforcements,’ Warwick warned.

‘They might,’ said the king, ‘but we’ll have to take the chance. Well done in securing these men, Sir Edward. You have given a very great service to your crown and country today. It will not be forgotten.’

Tracey bowed. ‘I am honoured to be of service, sire.’

The king turned to the prisoners. ‘You asked for your lives to be spared, and they will be. Go now, and return to your homes. And remember my generosity,’ he added, pointing to the pouch on the ground.

The prisoner who had given the information tucked the pouch into his tunic and bowed. ‘Thank you, sire,’ he said. ‘Your liberality does you great honour. Hopefully one day France can repay the debt it owes you.’

‘Speak with respect to the king who showed you mercy,’ Tracey said sharply, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. The prisoners bolted into the darkness.

John Sully looked at Merrivale. ‘What do you suppose he meant by that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Merrivale said. ‘But I rather fear I can guess.’

The other captains dispersed. The herald and Sully walked down the slope towards the little stream at the bottom of the hill, Matt and Pip following them discreetly as ever. ‘The conspirators have made me an offer,’ Merrivale said.

‘I see.’ Sully considered this for a moment. ‘A good one?’

‘Terms are still to be negotiated, but I have no doubt they will be favourable. They are arranging for me to meet some of the conspirators. Louis of Vaud is one of them.’

‘The Regent of Savoy? I recall I met him some years ago, back when Aymon the Peaceful was still on the throne.’

‘So did I. Even though we were on opposite sides, I trusted him. More than I trusted some of our friends, come to that.’

‘Will you meet them?’

Merrivale shrugged. ‘You see the situation we are in. What do I have to lose?’

‘Your head,’ Sully pointed out. ‘If things go wrong.’

‘Things have already gone wrong,’ Merrivale said. ‘This is the last chance to put them right.’

Saigneville, south bank of the Somme, 24th of August, 1346

Morning

The sun rose in colours of carnelian and gold, flaming off the green fields and the rippling waters of the river. The towers and spires of Abbeville were silhouettes against the light. Looking west, Merrivale saw a dark fog bank hovering above the sea five miles away.

The ford was clearly visible, a pale ribbon beneath the water: the Blanchetaque, the White Road, just where the Frenchman had promised it would be. Grey and Percy and their men were already down at the river’s edge, testing the depth of the water. Everyone else was gazing at the north bank a mile and a half away, where a solid mass of men stood on the slope above the estuary. Some were mounted and some were on foot, lances and spears tipped with the bright flecks of coloured pennons. Armour flashed like sparks in the sunlight, and they saw the unmistakable white coats of crossbowmen.

‘Holy Mary, Mother of God,’ said Nicholas Courcy quietly. ‘That fellow told us there were only a few hundred of them. By Christ, there’s four thousand if there’s one.’

‘At least five hundred men-at-arms,’ said Thomas Holland, shading his good eye with his