Chapter 10: Falaise Without Fail

It is Lady Elinor who marshals our thoughts before we leave Chateau le Caen.

“On a gentle gait of that of a military horse, we would expect to do the 30 English miles to Falaise in about eight or ten hours, with a couple of short rests for the horses. All our horses are used to riding long distances and carrying much heavier armed Knights or packaged loads than us, so I would expect us to reach Falaise in less time, six to seven hours. They will not be expecting us, as they believe we are still locked in the dungeon, but if we delay, we may be overtaken if any messengers are sent after Hugh’s handiwork here is discovered. It is a well kept and straight road, and we should hasten and keep a sharp eye out on the road for what is behind us, because carriers may rehorse messengers with fresher mounts at inns along the way. In six hours it will be starting to get dark and we will be tired. An hour’s rest within easy reach of Falaise may mean we arrive fresh enough to fight, leaving Alwen to look after the mounts in case we need to retreat, otherwise we rest up awhile and sneak in before dawn. I do have a key to the main gate if we need it.”

“I think we should go in just before dawn,” spake Will Archer, “Get as far as we can today before camping without a fire, and rise well before dawn.”

There are general nods of agreement.

“Check what food is here, bread, meat, fruit,” Sir William continues, “so we can find what we can eat cold this evening. As for Hugh, he has done us proud, getting us safely out of the dungeon. It means that being free we can still save the day. William Clito was this Chevalier’s choice of Duke or King, but that cowardly youth will not venture into Normandy until his ducal ring is secure. If that happens and he wins the crown of England, he will be the vassal of the Kings of France. The Normans are few in number, and barely more than three thousand live in England and Ireland, so two million Saxon and Celtic influence in our island is still strong and we will win back control of our own destiny in the long run. But France has the biggest population in Europe, five of six times’ England’s and they are eager to expand. They will swamp England like the Saxons did the Bretons, and drive out our individual nations, as the Franks already have with the Aquitaines, the Liguria, Gallia and Burgundians.”

“So you’re saying the French will bury us?” Hugh asked.

“Aye, more so than the Normans, where even among Knights and Earls, some Saxon and Welch nobles maintain a presence. We hope that we can be back in control of our own lands in time and the Normans be absorbed.”

We start to ride as hard as I have experienced the Black Knights ride on the few occasions I was asked to ride with them in the six months since I was knighted. After we rode out of the town, keeping an eye out for any response from the locals, but even as well armed as we were, and accompanied by two ladies, one clearly more militarily dressed than the other, we were barely given a second glance. I ponder whether to announce my elevation to the ranks of chivalry. I decide to speak to my father, so I ride up next to him.

“Father, may I speak quietly with thee?” I ask.

“Aye, son, do you want to use a little of the Welch tongue I taught you?” He smiled, knowing how I struggled with the native tongue of my forefathers, coming so late to it, already 17 when my father came back into my life.

He and Father Andrew, during my childhood, tried to enlarge my knowledge of the tongues we use or encounter every day even in local towns like Barton. Latin is a universal language that Christians share, English is the common tongue around where I live, although there are different variations and a range of accents all over. There is French or Norman French but there are few native speakers of those tongues in my area. Welch is quite common in the West Midlands, the tongue of my father and my natural mother. I have learned but a smattering of them all.

“I will try Welch, father,” I say and he nods although he smiles at my Welch in my Midlands accent and substituting words I didn’t know in English. “In February last summoned I was to the court of King [Henry] when I was in [Cambridgeshire]. There I escorted was by two [Black Knights] and a [Herald]—”

“Eich bod yn farchog?” He asks with a smile. I didn’t know what “farchog” was but I whispered, “[knighted] as a Black [Knight], Sir. I did the [vigil] and have served two short [missions] with the [Black Knights]. I kept it secret but the Lady has ... darganfod.”

He laughs and in English says, “Ladies always find out, son! It’s time you found that out, I should say, Sir!” And he slaps me on the back. “I will quietly tell your mother tonight of your elevation, she will be as pleased as I be.”

We keep up a steady pace throughout the afternoon, with a short stop on a river bank for watering the horses and stretching our legs and backs. The horses seem to love it, so we pick up the pace for the second leg. It is a bright afternoon and we feel we have made good time, when Lady Elinor announces that the palace of Falaise could be seen in the distance. It was still light. Ahead of us we could see the twenty-odd riders who had left the Chateau du Caen an hour or more afore us. We all agree that we feel fresh and should follow them straight into the chateau and surprise them.

“They are travelling into the village of Falaise first. If we ford la rivière l’Ante here,” Lady Elinor says, “we can get to the south east side on la rue de chateau where there is no wall and climb up the broken rocks to the palace before the Chevalier’s men even go through the main entrance.”

“Really?” I ask.

“It is a family house, not a fortified castle. At this time of the evening my father will be riding around the forest rides to the south, probably alone as is his habit here.”

“Let’s do this,” my father says, “opportunities like this, arriving before our enemies settle is too good a chance to waste. We can already see that the chateau has the advantage of overseeing the surroundings, sitting on a rock as it does.”

“Aye,” Father Andrew was emphatic, “take it, hold it, and we’ll see the buggers off with just the handful of us. How many family guards are there, you believe, my Lady?”

“Usually about twenty servants who double up as guards and up to four Black Knights as extra muscle. All would be loyal to the King, this village has been home to Norman Dukes for five or six generations,” Elinor replies, “but the Chevalier implied that my father was already overthrown. It seems Rebecca no longer controls her messages and the rebels may hold the chateau. But la rue de chateau undercuts all the windows and on the south east we will be in the dark shadows and unseen.”

“We’ll wrap our swords in horse blankets to prevent them clanking,” Father Andrew advises, “move stealthily and take the chateau by hand over mouth and blade in back or a sandbag slug on the back of the head. I made some sandbags from the gravelly sand on the shore of the river when we stopped and watered the horses. I thought they might come in handy if we were unsure if we were incapacitating a friend or foe. A sandbag goes hand in hand with stealth and I hate to waste time and sorrow uttering an unnecessary funeral prayer.” He adds a grin and a twinkle in his eye at the last comment.

I look around, we are all as fully armed as we could be, even Hugh had taken the Chevalier’s sword, so he wouldn’t have to rely on the luck of the horseshoes in open combat. We splash across the shallow ford, which enlivens mount and rider in turn, and we are guided by the Lady along under La Roche du Falaise in deep shadow, our night eyes and our mounts’ night eyes able to see well enough to tread carefully, silently and safely into position. Lady Elinor is like a mountain goat climbing up the loose screen of limestone and we emerge on the edge of the green sward of the old training and tournament ground.

We leave Alwen with the horses. “I’m a mother not a warrior,” she grins, “I am ready with a crepe bandage and a tender kiss if any of you are clumsy enough in your invasion to skin a knee or elbow.”

We make our way up to a heavy and locked door, but Hugh moves quickly and beat us to the door and has it open silently before we need to even break stride. All is silent within.

“The household will be preparing supper, and any rebels here in charge may be distracted by the new arrivals,” Elinor offers, we had all heard their boastful arrival at the front gates. “The main hall, used for receptions and feasting, is this way.” She leads us into the building.

“Andrew, Hugh, the squires and I will go around to the entrance hall, and chase out any rebels. Then I’ll send a squire to fetch Alwen to join us inside. We’ll hold and defend the chateau, while you find your father and Rebecca.”

“This way, Robin.” The Lady instructs me and I follow like a faithful dog.

Through a door and a short corridor and we burst into the main hall, our bows charged and ready, Elinor standing to my left. There are two guards carrying spears at the inside of the door, one on either side, but they only nod at the Lady and take a step back towards the wall.

“Tomas, Charles,” the Lady acknowledges them and they bow in response. Loyal guards for the King, I judge.

We are at the start of the hall, lined with two rows of columns holding up a gallery, above them a wooden vaulted roof, lit up by the reddened sunset through windows along the gallery. At the far end of the hall is an ornately carved wooden chair, like a throne, but instead of the King sitting in his throne, I recognise Gervaise De La Warre the Count of Picardy sitting there, his sword already drawn against whoever has come to disturb his peaceful occupation of the King’s main hall. He is older, greyer than I remember from the last time I saw him, but the sneer on his face looks the very same.

“Ah, Elinor, you got here faster than I thought,” Gervaise spits in his native French, in a distinctive North French accent, but he speaks plainly enough, so I am able to follow the gist of his rhetoric. “I had heard that a band of armed men had arrived at the main gate, but without their Chevalier Raoul the Fair, so we are holding them back while we confirm their fealty to our cause. I was half expecting trouble, but not quite in the shape of my lovely wife.”

“Your ‘lovely’ former wife—” Elinor’s French is much clearer, although her anger clouds her words.

“—Not so hasty, my dear. The bishop charged with drawing up the annulment be here,” he waves his drawn sword to his right, to indicate an upright cleric and a crouching clerk, both sitting at a desk to the side lit by a single candle. The bishop nods to us grimly while the clerk ignores any interruption as he scribbles quickly in the fading light. No-one has yet lit the candles in the rest of the room.

“It is dark in here, but I see them clear enough. What are they doing? And what are you doing sitting in my father’s own chair where he holds court?”

“I’m so pleased you mention your father in connection with this chair, El, because by the morning you will be sitting by my side and hailed as the new Duchess of Normandy.”

“What?!”

“And I will be the new Duke. Our bishop and scribe here are copying our marriage contract, and your mother’s copy of her marriage contract with your father—”

“My mother’s contract?”

“From your sick mother, I missed you by only a day in Pitstone. She didn’t want to come with me but you know how persuasive I can be, especially with a sharp bodkin held at her throat and a promise that if she didn’t you would follow her to the grave.”

“Vous scélérat!” I shout in my poor French, “What have you done with [Lady Pitstone]?”

“Ah, the boy speaks, and he has brought petite toy bows for you both to play hit-targets with, how sweet.” Gervaise turns to Elinor, hissing, “you can keep your little boy toy, El, just be discrete in court and you can keep him forever, we do after all need a few heirs to pass on our titles to in time.”

“You are an animal. Where is my mother?”

“She’s abed, still sick from the journey. She be a poor traveller, but she will find her eternal rest here once her marriage contract with King Henry has been seen and accepted by the court. We only arrived today. The King is out there in the wilderness somewhere. Been gone all day, we’re told, lost in his mind, just like his stupid older brother,” Gervaise sneers. “The Queen is with your mother, El, such a sweet and gracious lady, but I prefer my queen to have balls, El, one who will rule England for me with an iron fist and watch my back while I invade Louis le Gros from the north and west in his homeland in the Ile de France.”

“I thought you were allied with William Clito and King Louis?” Elinor asks.

“Clito is weak and arrogant, wants everyone else to do his bidding for him while he hides behind Fat Louis’ skirts and bathes in rose water. And Louis is too fat to fight any more, he was soundly beaten last time he fought Normandy five or six years ago. I decided that I don’t need them all the while I have you as my gateway to the Crown, even more so now I know that you are a Princess of Scotland and a direct link through St Margaret to the Saxon Kings of England. Yes, one bodkin pinprick and your Mother tells all. I was disappointed that you let your father try to write me out of the way with an annulment, so I was forced to show my hand early. Now between us we will lead the Normans and take the Bretons with us, once Rebecca hands over the Cornflower Jewel.”