Excerpts: Volume II
<excerpts from Volume Two>
“My good Bishop,” Simon said icily, “if I understand you right, this council would be sovereign, not the king!”
Grosseteste’s lips tightened in a thin, straight smile. “Nothing less will curb the growing tyranny.”
“I see it not so!” Simon was appalled. Grosseteste’s words alone were enough to have him hanged, drawn and quartered as a traitor.
The morning became bright and beating-hot. Locusts sang a steady droning as heat rippled in the breezeless air. The lookout sat staring at the far hill where it curved over the crest of yellow grass. The valley where Barres waited in ambush was out of site beyond the next hill after that.
There was a flap and jingle now and then as a horse shook it mantling. As time passed, the riders held their reins loose so that their mounts could graze. The heat was stifling. The sun, blazing upon the steel, made ovens of the knights’ helmets. One after another, the men untied their laces and took their helmets off, wiping their red, sweat-soaked faces with their surcoats. They did not put their helms back on. Now and then a knight dismounted to piss, or talk in low tones with his foot soldiers.
Hours passed. The heat, the stillness, the steady hum of insects dimmed the senses. As they waited, and waited, battle tension sank. The sun dragged past noon.
“My lord, it’s possible they’ll camp for some time on the beach, “Arnaud Otton suggested.
“If they’ve not come by nightfall, we’ll send forward another scout. But I would rather meet them here where the land gives us advantage.”
Then suddenly the lookout shouted, “Lord earl, a knight is coming on at speed!”
“Probably come to tell us they’ve made camp,” the knight John Harcourt sighed to Simon.
“Perhaps…” But Simon was perplexed. His mind dazed by the heat.
In the time it took to cross the valley at full gallop, the rider appeared, dashing over the hill’s ridge. His horse was swift and soon he cut across the field directly toward the viceroy. “My lord,” he gasped, reining his mount and turning it so hard its rump collided with the viceroy’s horse, “My lord, the Gascons have captured us! Someone betrayed our ambush! The lord of Bearne is coming on to give you battle!”
At that moment the lookout in the tree began waving and shouting, “They are come! They come on quickly!”
Simon was jolted from the heat’s lethargy. “We’re waiting here too long!” he cried to his trumpeter. “Sound the advance!” He laced on his helmet and put spurs to his horse.
At the trumpet call, the archers and the mounted infantry and knights fumbled with their gear and helms and hurried to remount.
Simon galloped to the top of the hill. The wind blew from the south, carrying sounds away toward the sea, but Simon’s horse was tense, alert to the shaking of the earth from the hoof beats of the army coming on. In the valley below, the army of the enemy was moving at a swift trot down the farther slope, the vanguard was already crossing the valley’s floor. Knights from Barres’ company were dotted among the forward riders, hunched figures disarmed and tied to their horses, their slumping posture apparent even at a distance.
Squinting hard through the eye slit of his helmet, Simon could make out among those in the fore a rider with the barred blue and white surcoat of Barres. Squeezing vision from his nearsighted eyes, he saw the riders flanking Barres broadly gesturing. They seemed in high spirits. Barres cringed away as one struck him in the head.
The earth trembled and a din like thunder came up with the breeze as the viceroy’s army on the far side of the hill began moving forward at speed.
For the Gascons, the sound was lost amid the rumble and jingle of their own advance. But Barres looked up, and his glance caught d’Albret’s attention. What they saw upon the slope was a single knight in black chain mail and helm, with the red lion mantel of Montfort. D’Albret and Bearne stopped their talk and stared, dumbfounded, as the rider came at them alone at full volant.
“My spy must have gotten the viceroy’s horse,” Gaston de Bearne remarked at the amazing sight.
“He rides as though the hounds of Hell were after him,” d’Albret observed.
“Or with him,” said Malemorte. The archbishop, his rotund body in chain mail although his horse wore the caparison of a holy day parade, drew up beside d’Albret.
Bearne motioned for the march to halt.
The knight neared without reining in his horse. He drew his sword. Gaston quickly turned from his way. The blow fell on d’Albret’s shield with all the force of the oncoming gallop, carrying the Gascon and his mount back. Simon was beside Barres.
“My lord?” Barres gasped in disbelief as Simon’ sword slashed through the cords that bound his hands and neck. Gaston de Bearne was closing. Simon stopped the blow with his shield. But now d’Albret was moving in again. And the Archbishop Malemorte, unhooking a studded morningstar from his saddlebow, was swinging it for aim. Barres kicked d’Albret’s horse, spoiling his aim at Simon as the viceroy met Gaston’s next stoke with his sword. The Archbishop’s morningstar came down on Simon’s horse’s flank. The animal reared, stopping d’Albret’s second blow with its neck. The white mantel spurted red. D’Albret and Bearne closed over Simon as his mount staggered and sank under him.
Barres tackled the morningstar out of Malemorte’s grip. Mightily swinging the chained ball right and left at d’Albret and Bearne, he shouted, “It is only right I rescue my rescuer!” He battered the horses and swung at the riders’ backs, and caught Gaston de Bearne a blow between the shoulder blades. Gaston fell forward, coughing blood, and his horse pushed from the fight.
As Gaston moved out, Barres could see Simon kneeling, crouching against the body of his dying horse. His shield was hacked and broken but still covering him. “My stirrup’s free! Climb up! Barres shouted, catching d’Albret’s blade with a swing of the morningstar and wrestling the chain-wound sword as the studded ball swung wildly. Simon climbed up behind Barres’ saddle.
Now the viceroy’s army was pouring over the hill. Bearne’s army charged to meet them. Barres let go the handle of the morningstar and dug his spurs into his mount. The heavy-laden horse reached out its legs and galloped for the slope, passing between the on-coming riders.
