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

from the north frowned. ‘As always, you exaggerate the danger. First, Edward is not marching anywhere, not yet. It will be some time before that bridge is fully repaired. Second, Philip’s army is still at Saint-Denis, north of the river. If Edward does cross, the French can easily cut him off.’

‘Will Philip remain at Saint-Denis?’

‘No, and there I concede you have a point. There is some risk.’ The man from the north pointed towards the columns of smoke rising in the east and spreading out on the soft wind. ‘Warwick and Harcourt are burning the suburbs of Paris now, trying to tempt Philip to cross the river and fight. This time, I think they will succeed; Philip has to protect Paris.’

‘The Parisians won’t forgive him if he doesn’t.’

‘Indeed. They are already accusing him and his councillors of betrayal. They have managed to get hold of a letter with the king’s seal insisting that the army does not have enough men to defend Paris and that the city should be abandoned. They are threatening revolt, and Philip will have to placate them.’

‘Where did this letter come from?’

‘I wrote it, of course. I have a copy of the seal, remember? The point is that once Philip is over the river, he can move west and trap the English here. We can trust Alençon and Hainault to remind him of this, even if he does not think of it for himself.’

‘But this is exactly what I mean. Once Philip is south of the river, that leaves the way open for Edward. All he needs to do is repair the bridge and he can cross and march away.’

The man from the north shook his head. ‘By the time the bridge is repaired, it will be too late. All the French will need to do is mop up. We will have already administered the coup de grâce, remember? Time to put our plan into effect.’

‘Is everything ready?’

‘It will happen exactly as we planned it.’ The man from the north smiled. ‘Just remember not to touch the eggs.’

Poissy, 14th of August, 1346

Late afternoon

‘We’ve done everything we could,’ Warwick said. ‘We burned every village and manor house and monastery to the ground, Saint-Germain-en-Laye, Montjoie, Nanterre, Saint-Cloud, the lot. Some of our hobelars were within shouting distance of the southern gates.’

‘We destroyed three more of the adversary’s palaces,’ said the Prince of Wales. ‘If that doesn’t make him come out and fight, nothing will.’

‘We don’t want him to fight, your Highness,’ said Northampton. ‘We only want to draw him south of the river and leave us with a free run to the north.’

The prince looked disappointed. ‘When shall we fight?’

‘When we are strong enough, Highness,’ said Lord Rowton. He had come up from the king’s headquarters to view the work on the bridge, meeting Warwick and the prince just as they returned from their raid towards Paris. His broken arm was strapped into a sling, and he seemed still to be in considerable pain. ‘When we reach Flanders and join forces with the rebels, then we shall be strong enough. Not before then.’

‘I think you underestimate the fighting spirit of our army, Lord Rowton,’ the prince snapped. ‘You should have more faith in our men.’

Rowton turned to him. ‘I bow to your superior experience, Highness. But the troops are tired from marching, food is running low, the captains are bickering amongst themselves, and the enemy have four times our numbers. Given all of this, do you think the army is ready to fight a battle, here and now?’

The prince stared at him. ‘I would not presume to make such a decision,’ he said. ‘I would defer to my father, the king. You see, Lord Rowton, I know my place. I am not sure you do.’

Rowton’s face went red. Merrivale looked up to see Warwick raise a hand to his face, hiding a smile. Northampton turned to the master carpenter. ‘How much longer, Hurley? And tell me in real time, not rosaries or Aves or chanting psalms.’

‘The bridge won’t be ready today, my lord. I can tell you that much for a fact.’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow evening, perhaps. No sooner.’

‘For God’s sake, Hurley!’ Northampton said. ‘The king wants this bridge repaired now. Work through the night if you have to.’

‘Now see here, Lord Constable!’ The master carpenter glared at him. ‘We bloody well did work through last night, and we’ll be working through the night to come. But this isn’t the Carentan causeway or Pont-Hébert. That gap is sixty feet long, and we’ll need two more support beams at least. Which means we have to find an oak tree that’s tall enough, fell it, cut two beams and size them, drag them up here and fix them to the supports, and then we still have to cut and plane down the planks to build the roadway and fix them in place. We’ve run out of nails too, and the blacksmith is sweating his guts out to forge some more, but it all takes time. So you tell the king, if he wants the bridge repaired any faster, he can come down here and pick up a fucking hammer!’

Northampton held up a hand. ‘Just do your best.’

‘I am certain you are working as hard as you can, Master Hurley,’ the prince said. Northampton and Warwick looked at each other, eyebrows raised. ‘And we are all grateful for your efforts. I shall tell my father as much when I see him.’

He turned and walked away. Merrivale prepared to follow, but Northampton raised his hand again. ‘Stay a moment, herald. We need a word.’

Merrivale inclined his head. ‘I am at your service, my lord.’

‘I am pleased to see that you survived your escapade at La Roche-Guyon unharmed,’ the constable said. ‘I assume your purpose was to rescue the Demoiselle de Tesson. Was she spying for you?’

‘I did not request her to do so,’ said Merrivale. ‘But yes, in effect that is what she was doing. I should add that I take full responsibility