Thomas slapped Noir’s sweating neck. His sword arm was on fire, but he was unharmed. He looked across at Otto who had removed his helm and was breathing hard, teeth bared.
‘I am going to be bruised to hell and back but I will live,’ Otto panted in reassurance. ‘My own fault, I shouldn’t have let the bastard under my guard, but he didn’t cut through.’
Thomas gestured in acknowledgement, checked on Henry and the others, and waved a salute to his archers.
Thomas and his household moved to a new lodging in the citadel with stabling for their horses and tents for the archers. A barrel bath tub was found and hot water for washing. Otto had a spectacular red bruise down one side of his torso, and a dint in his breast plate, but had been lucky. The wound could have been fatal and the moment of battle might have turned on the instant. Their victory had been hard fought. They had many injured of their own, even if the French had suffered far worse.
De Charny had a deep cut to the scalp that had bled profusely and required stitching. The King was treating him as a guest, ifnot entirely an honoured one, and had welcomed him to a feast held that evening in the citadel for his senior men. It was an opportunity to parade with chivalry the hostages they had taken between them.
Edward addressed de Charny with the air of a cat patting a juicy mouse between its paws. ‘Well, my lord,’ he said, ‘you must relish our company, for you have set yourself up to enjoy yet another protracted bout of English hospitality.’
De Charny bowed in submission, but the glitter in his eyes revealed that he was not cowed, despite his defeat. He sent a dagger glance towards Amerigo di Pavia. ‘Sire, I find myself at your mercy once more, and I am glad for it but sorry too, and I hope you will grant me the same mercy and courtesy that I would show to you if our situations were reversed.’
King Edward eyed him narrowly. ‘Christmas is always a time for play acting, my lord, and this has been a charade from start to finish. Did you truly think you could bribe one of my most experienced soldiers to yield to you when we have all fought so hard and so long for this town? And did you think I would turn my back because it was Christmas?’ He shook his head. ‘My back is never turned.’
‘But it might have been, sire,’ de Charny said.
‘Which shows how much you and your countrymen underestimate me. You have smirched your honour by offering bribes to my men. What does this say about a knight who prides himself on his personal chivalry, when a man who fights under contract for pay has more moral fibre? You tried to buy your way into Calais, and you certainly paid the price.’
De Charny gave no answer beyond another dip of his head. He was whey-faced and clearly suffering from his injury.
‘Was it not a fine jest, my lord, to discover that the common hedge knight in his besmirched armour was in fact the Kingof England and well ahead of you in every way that mattered?’ Edward continued, smiling.
‘Indeed, my lord, it was a great surprise,’ de Charny answered stiffly.
‘Hah!’ The King clapped his shoulder and then took pity on him. ‘Come, eat and drink at what is still my table and fear no treachery. You are my guest, and we shall say no more this night.’
De Charny had no choice but to agree. The feast was also attended by all the burghers and worthies of Calais and their wives. Any who had considered rebelling would now realise it might not be such a good idea after all.
Thomas settled down to enjoy the feast. At some point Otto and Henry disappeared and he knew women and drink would be involved, but he remained at the table and eventually took himself off to bed, detouring first to talk to his archers, who were full of themselves after the day’s battle. None of them had been in any danger, but in the plundering afterwards they had acquired a stocky little sumpter horse laden with sacks of flour and beans, and two good iron cooking pots, which had pleased them greatly. Thomas brought them a cloth filled with slices of roast beef from the King’s table that he had carved himself, and gave this to them to share, together with three loaves of bread, an extra shilling each, and a gold noble for Joss’s baby son.
‘God save you, my lord!’ Samson said.
Thomas smiled at the men. ‘I hope he does,’ he replied, ‘for I have a wife waiting at home for me, as you have yours.’
37
Royal Palace of Havering, Essex, January 1350
Jeanette was eating in the Queen’s chamber with the other ladies. The men had been gone over a week and there had been no word from across the sea since their arrival in Calais. Two days ago, the Queen had told a select few of her ladies what was happening, including Jeanette, but they had been sworn to a secrecy as tight as the men’s. Jeanette had rolled her eyes in exasperation. So much for Thomas’s reassurances that he would be perfectly safe.
The Queen had received messages from Calais informing her that the troops had arrived safely and were waiting for de Charny to make his move, but nothing since then, and although those who knew maintained a cheerful attitude in the public domain, behind curtains and closed doors and within chapels there were doubts and prayers, and deep anxiety. Jeanette could not help feeling that the King and his knights thought of their clandestine visit to Calais as a fine extension of the Christmas mumming but with swords involved – like squires enjoying a lark, although it was a deadly serious situation. What if the French prevailed?
A strong breeze was blowing outside, banging the shutters and guttering any candles that stood near a draught, andJeanette was glad of the hot pottage the kitchens had provided rather than the usual evening bread and cheese. Thus far she was still well, but perhaps it was too soon to be queasy.
Eating another spoonful of pottage, she thought she heard a sound outside. The Queen raised her head too, eyes alert. Nosewyse and Snowflake emerged from their place under the trestle at Jeanette’s feet and started to growl.
Suddenly the doors flung open and a crowd of yelling men charged into the room, clad in dark clothes, hoods pulled up around their heads and faces, swords brandished.
The women screamed and the squires and household knights grabbed for their swords, but then one of the figures leaped on to the nearest table, tore off his hood and cloak and stood before them – the King, in splendour, his smile as bright as the sun. He gestured, and Prince Edward leaped up beside him. His companions threw off their outer garments too and set their weapons aside, revealing the host of household knights, all wearing the drab, plain garments in which they had originally set out.
The screams turned to laughter and applause, and questions. The King raised and lowered his arms, gesturing for silence.
‘Good folk, do not worry at our jest. You are not under attack; indeed, we have saved you! We have secured a great victory, even dressed as we are. Calais was under attack from within and without, and we had need to go there and rescue the town – which we did to great lustre. We have taken much booty and many French prisoners whose ransoms will fatten our coffers this winter. We said nothing, for we didn’t want to alarm you or spread panic when we received the news of the treachery. The Queen might have been able to tell you, but she is good at keeping secrets!’ He opened his hand towards Philippa and swept her a deep bow, thereby including her in the subterfuge.‘Now, pray continue with your feast and we shall join you, fresh from the fray!’
To further cheers and claps, the King leaped down from the table and took his seat beside the Queen, and a brimming goblet was swiftly put in his hand.
Thomas squeezed in beside Jeanette, the greasy leather shoulder of Duncalfe’s second best jerkin rubbing against her gown. She wrinkled her nose as she passed him her cup and he smiled at her while trying to push away Nosewyse, who was more enamoured than she was by the scents adhering to his garments.
