Raoul rubbed his beard and said nothing. He returned to his pallet and sat down, his expression sombre. Thomas gave him more wine.
‘One city does not a victory make,’ Raoul said after a moment, but his tone was dull and heavy.
‘No, but how do you think the rest of the campaign is going to go?’
Raoul swallowed and shook his head.
Thomas gripped his shoulder. ‘We both know what can be won and lost. For now, be my valued and valuable guest.’ Indeed, more valuable than Raoul de Brienne could imagine.
The English army rested for a few days, recuperating from wounds, amassing supplies and plunder, burying the few dead from their own ranks, mainly foot soldiers, and allowing the survivors of Caen to bury theirs.
On the other side of the city stood the great Abbey of St Stephen that housed the tomb of the King’s ancestor, William, Duke of Normandy, called the Bastard and the Conqueror.Thomas took a moment to visit the tomb. As a child he had been told the grisly but fascinating tale of how King William’s corpulent, decomposing corpse had burst as the mourners tried to place it in a stone coffin too small for the body, and how the overwhelming stench had almost felled the congregation.
Today, the unfortunate drama and indignity of that long ago interment lay beneath an engraved slab lacking an effigy, or any of the embellishments required of tombs these days. Austere, hard, like the reputation of the man whom Thomas’s ancestors had followed across the Narrow Sea in search of fortune.
‘Eight generations,’ Prince Edward said, sauntering over to stand beside him. ‘I wonder what he would have thought of me.’
‘That you were a worthy scion, sire,’ Thomas said diplomatically, but meant it too.
Edward gave a lop-sided smile. ‘I hope so. My father has one of his rings, but he has to wind thread around it. Our ancestor had big hands – and now he is dust, but he lives on in me.’ He looked at Thomas. ‘That was well done yesterday to contain the soldiers and take Raoul de Brienne for ransom.’
‘Yes, sire,’ Thomas said. ‘And that is a matter that needs to be arranged. I hear that Thomas Daniel took Robert de Tancarville, and that you have agreed to go surety for the ransom.’
‘Indeed he did.’ Edward studied his ancestor’s tomb. ‘I will speak to my father concerning de Brienne’s ransom. I think he may decide to take it on for himself.’
Thomas had been considering asking the Prince to go surety, but he had already pledged for the seneschal, and his being a close friend of William Montagu added an extra layer of delicacy since Thomas would be using the ransom money to fund his petition in Avignon.
‘Sire,’ he said neutrally.
‘It will be dealt with in due course.’ The finality in the Prince’s tone made it plain that he was not going to pursue the subject here and now.
Thomas was thoughtful after Edward had gone. Leaving the church, he returned to the camp. The English troops were besieging the castle, where the defenders were still holding out. Realistically he did not think their troops would take it, and they could not afford to be bogged down in a siege. The booty from the sacking of the town itself was being transferred to English ships and most of the hostages were being taken to England, but Thomas was keeping Raoul with him for the time being until he had secured the ransom deal.
Four days later the English army left Caen. The castle remained untaken, but the city had been stripped to the bone. Raoul rode under guard among Thomas’s men on a plodding bay gelding.
As Thomas walked through the camp to his horse, he noticed a group of youths lounging together and laughing as if they were at a court picnic rather than preparing to ride out in the train of the English army. He tightened his lips as he noticed William Montagu among them. He had done his utmost to be professional and pragmatic around these friends and companions of the Prince, and to treat them as he would any other young knights in an entourage, but sometimes he was hard-pressed to be civil.
On first landing, the King had knighted the youths before all the company, girding on their swords and giving them the blow of knighthood with his clenched fist. Most of them were incapable of growing beards, but deemed ready for their first taste of battle. In truth they had been nowhere near the fighting and always well protected, but nevertheless their banners had shimmied there, proclaiming their rank to all. He had been little different himself at their age – perhaps a little more driven –but their presence was a constant thorn in his side, especially Montagu. When he imagined him with Jeanette, his stomach curdled.
The youths were sniggering as he walked past, swapping ribald tales about women. One boy had just ended his story, and rocked back with folded arms, laughing. ‘I swear her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when she saw the size of it!’
‘Women,’ William Montagu boasted, not to be outdone. ‘You have to show them who is master and bring them to heel. It’s exactly like owning a dog. Jeanette might snarl at me but she soon answers to the leash when I’m on top of her.’
The words were like the sting of a lash to Thomas, and whipping round, he strode over to them. ‘As I recall, you took your oath of knighthood when you landed on these shores,’ he snapped. ‘You will not disrespect women – indeed women of your own family. You should be about your duties, not gossiping as though you’re in a drinking house. Go, all of you! Mount up and make ready.’
As they moved off, red-faced and resentful, he stepped in front of William and faced him eye to eye. ‘If you ever speak that way again within my hearing, you will be cleaning armour for a week. Understood?’
The young Earl of Salisbury jutted his chin, resentment in his eyes.
‘I said, is that understood?’ Thomas clenched his fists, pushing down to restrain himself from striking the youth.
‘Yes, sire,’ William said stiffly. His gaze flicked to his friends.
‘Get out of my sight,’ Thomas said, his voice curdling with disgust. ‘Do not think that privilege will protect you, for even if your father was the Earl of Salisbury, I think you will find that in matters of military discipline, the King will heed me, not you.’
William stalked off, and Thomas tried to choke down his antipathy. Young Montagu was a typical privileged youth onthe cusp of manhood, bragging in front of his friends on his first battle campaign where bravado and bawdy talk were ways of dealing with the experience. He had tried not to single him out because of his tie with Jeanette, but some things were intolerable. It made him even more determined to establish Raoul’s ransom, begin court proceedings and detach Jeanette from her travesty of a marriage to this callow boy.
Jeanette crouched inside the gardener’s shed with five-year-old Prince Edmund. She inhaled the earthen smell of well-used tools and netting in the semi-darkness. Outside they could hear the shouts of the other children and nurses engaged in a game of hide and seek in the sultry August afternoon.
