Lord Geoffrey's Fancy Read online

  That had been in my mind also, though I tried not to think of it lest it tempt me to dishonour. A man without land is only half a man.

  There were no defections from the mesnie of Escorta; though Sir John de Catabas asked to be left behind in Carytena, where he might suppress the Esclavons without drawing his sword on fellow-Christians. Sir John was a stickler, who took seriously the Crusading vow that had brought his father to Romanie. Even he did not think Sir Geoffrey did wrong, it was just that he was vowed to fight only schismatics and infidels.

  We made no secret of our intentions, though Sir Geoffrey forgot to send the Prince a formal message of defiance. In that he may have been at fault; though the fault was caused by carelessness, not by double-dealing. It happened that news of our change of sides did not reach Prince William, who was busy organising the great muster at Nicies. When we set out from Carytena he thought we were riding to join him, and made no effort to stop us. Thus we passed the isthmus without trouble, though it could have been barred against us.

  The lady Isabel rode with her lord, since she was the true leader of this expedition. Melisande attended her, leaving our children in Carytena with their Grifon nurse. But I made her promise not to ride with the mesnie to battle. Women can be a nuisance on campaign, though of course it is hard on them to make them miss the excitement of the main business of life.

  After a peaceful journey we reached the army which was being mustered at Estives, and a very fine army it was. The knights of that more level country are better mounted than the knights of Lamorie, and with the silk of Estives at their disposal they dress very splendidly. No one at that time wore a silken surcoat over his mail, though sometimes you see fops with them nowadays; but some of the gay young men had ordered their arms to be embroidered in silk thread on the linen. The azure chequers of la Roche stood out on a banner woven of gold thread, which was heraldically correct since the other chequers of the coat are or; but it was an extravagant thing to carry into battle. The banner streamed from a pole covered with blue and yellow silk, topped with a silver image of Our Lady of Satines.

  That was our main banner, but the army contained other mesnies besides the vassals of Satines. Some dalle Carceri came from Negripont, leaderless because their leaders had been treacherously imprisoned; which made them the more eager for revenge. There was the mesnie of Veligoute, who fought as flagrantly against the lord who held their homage as did the mesnie of Escorta. From the northern march came two great lords, peers of the vanished kingdom of Salonique: Sir Hubert Pallavicini of La Bondonice, and Sir Thomas de Stromoncourt of La Sole, whose castles restrain the Grifons of Wallachia. There was a company of Italian crossbowmen, lent by the commander of the Venetian galleys; though we left them behind to garrison Estives, because they had come ashore without horses and could not ride with us. There were of course a great number of Grifons and Gasmules, who rode ponies or mules on the march but fought on foot if they were called upon to fight; though they were rather the grooms and servants of their Frankish lords than a serious military reinforcement.

  This was to be a short campaign, fought in summer barely two or three marches from our comfortable base at Estives. So every knight wore his best surcoat and mail. I have never seen a more glorious army. My own white surcoat had been freshly painted with the arms of Briwerr under the correct label of cadency. My shield also gleamed fresh and unscarred, for the armourer at Carytena had covered it with new leather. On my head I wore a plain steel cap, for in that climate fresh air is more valuable than protection for nose and cheeks; but the great lords carried at their saddle-bows closed helms, the barrel-shaped affairs that nowadays you see only at tournaments. Such helms are very heavy, and you get very hot inside them. But their tall crests of stamped and painted leather, lions, eagles, bears, in battle served as rallying points for the steel-capped household knights and sergeants who rode behind them.

  A few ladies came with us: Isabel de Bruyere of course, since her persuasion had brought Escorta to the army; and the ladies of Satines and La Sole. These last were nieces of Prince William; it was said that they came with us to make sure that their uncle's life would be spared after their husbands had overthrown him. Every great lady must be used to watching battles in which her kinsmen are engaged on both sides.

  Before we started the Archbishop of Satines gave us his solemn blessings as warriors fighting righteously in defence of their fatherland (though this could not apply to the mesnie of Escorta). Nothing like that ever happened in Lamorie, where the Prince was on bad terms with the church because of his support of King Manfred and the Ghibellines. The blessing gave me a comforting sense that I was back again in civilisation. On the March English and Welsh clerks always bless their own side before an important fight. A good blessing, with plenty of holy water and if possible a first-class relic, adds to the dignity of any battle.

  Hitherto I have said nothing about my horses, because in the mountains I usually rode a hackney from the Carytena stables. It would be rash to risk the legs of a good war-horse on those rocky paths. But for the coming battle, in which I would joust against real Frankish knights, I rode a proper western war-horse. He was a light, showy chestnut, with good shoulders and good quarters but a middle like a greyhound; in fact the two ends of a good horse poorly joined together. I had him off a Sienese as the result of a complicated exchange. This Sienese, though he passed as a baptised Christian, charged me interest on the unpaid balance of the purchase price; so I called the horse Banker, in memory of the disgraceful transaction.

  In fine spring weather we set forth from Estives to meet the invader. From a blue sky the sun shone on the flat clear colours of heraldry, on enamelled horse-trappings, broadswords of Spanish steel and chased daggers from Damascus. On white mules the ladies sat enthroned on velvet saddles, their long skirts flaunting the bright silks of Estives, Every knight displayed his arms thrice repeated, on the back and front of his surcoat and on his shield. In addition the horses of great lords were covered by emblazoned housings. I have never seen a more beautiful army; though any well-fed army marching to battle is a beautiful sight.

  We must have been about five hundred knights; a great array to be led by barons only, without a king. Of these, thirty followed the wolf's-head banner of Escorta; and as soon as the march had begun Sir Geoffrey came back from his place beside his father-in-law to lead us. It was that kind of thing that made him so beloved by his followers. Most barons would have continued to ride beside the commander, where they could hear the latest news and perhaps wheedle some private advantage. Sir Geoffrey knew that his knights wanted and deserved his company.

  We were arguing among ourselves about the banner of Escorta. On the march it is carried by a sergeant, for it is a cumbersome thing to have in the hand all day. In the charge it should be borne by the constable; but the scruples of Sir John de Catabas had kept him at home. Most of the household knights were newcomers from the west; we told some pretty tall stories about the nobility of our birth and the grandeur of our kin, each trying to prove himself worthy to carry the banner. Sir Geoffrey deftly silenced a boasting-match which might have ended in a quarrel.

  "You are all very fine fellows, I'm sure," he said, "but you are foreigners, if you don't mind my saying so. The banner of Escorta must be carried by one born under it. Sir Stephen Sophianos, would you like to take it ? Your house has lived in Escorta a great deal longer than mine. Remember, you ride behind me, let there be no mistake about that. You mustn't get in front to shame me in the eyes of the ladies."

  Sir Stephen was a Grifon, a cadet of a family which used to rule in Malvoisie in the old days. The small fee he held in Escorta had been held by his ancestors for centuries. The honour paid to a Grifon pleased his fellow-countrymen and roused no jealousy among the Franks; for no Frank supposes that a Grifon can really surpass him in anything.

  Although I was now twenty-five years of age and had been on various campaigns since I was seventeen, this would be my first great battle. They
are rare in modern warfare, where everyone concentrates on the capture or defence of important castles. So next day I was understandably nervous when we came over a shoulder of Mount Caride and saw waiting for us a great host, marshalled under the anchored cross of Villehardouin.

  We had eaten a good campaigning breakfast, salt pork and biscuit and plenty of wine; the sun shone, the turf underfoot was firm and level, my horse was fit. But as I gave a last tug at the girths before slipping my arm through the shield-strap I felt my stomach fill with wind and my mouth with evil-tasting saliva. I was not especially afraid of death, no more afraid of it than when I had ridden in the little bickering skirmishes of Italy or clattered about the precipices of Escorta; but I was terribly afraid of disgracing myself before the eyes of nearly fifteen hundred veterans. For the army of Lamorie, as we could see from the banners and pennons waving above it, outnumbered us by nearly two to one.

  Sir Geoffrey had been riding with his father-in-law among a little cluster of great lords. Now he cantered up to give final instructions to his mesnie before he put on his great helm.

  "The plan is quite easy and straightforward," he said with a reassuring grin, "the routine counter when you bump into an army bigger than yours. We charge the centre and forget about the wings. If we break their line and overthrow the Prince the men on the flanks will run away. So it's just a matter of one good charge. Now remember, this is a friendly fight. No bad blood in it, nothing but a dispute about homage and lordship. Knock these people off their horses, and get rich on their ransoms. Don't kill anyone if you can avoid it, and especially don't do any serious damage to my uncle. There's nothing wrong with him except greed, and he wouldn't be a Villehardouin if he wasn't grasping and covetous."

  His head disappeared within the barrel of his helm. His voice boomed strangely from below the tall wolf's-head crest.

  "Everybody ready? Girths tight? Stirrups level? Helms straight? Then get into line, as close as you can. When the chequers of la Roche move forward my banner also will advance, and we race the others to reach the Villehardouin banner before them. Oh, and by the way, our cry today is 'Satines, Our Lady of Satines'. Don't get confused and cry Tassavant, Get Forra'd'. That's last season's war-cry, quite out of fashion. If you shout it today you may find both sides fighting you."

  Of course I was in the front rank, in virtue of my knighthood. There were good men on either side of me, and a second rank of sergeants and Grifons. My position was as safe as any place can be in battle. The only bother was that everyone was trying to get immediately behind the banner of Escorta, and in the jostling there was a danger of being kicked by a bad-tempered stallion. My Banker played up, trying to bite other horses. So I got off to rather a bad start.

  Once we were on the move my nervousness left me. The trampling, the war-cries, the rush of air against my face, even the bumps I got from my neighbours before Banker settled down, all combined to make me feel godlike and invincible. There is nothing like a fast gallop to instil courage. But the Prince's men also galloped to meet us, which of course made them feel as brave as we did.

  We had set out with more than two hundred men in the front line, but each little mesnie was racing for the Villehardouin banner. Sir Geoffrey gained the lead, with his household close behind him; we were going so fast that I must squeeze Banker to keep up. Behind us the line shortened to a wedge, with the chequered banner of la Roche on the heels of the sergeants of Escorta. The enemy kept their formation. Their thin array stretched far on either flank, and I could hear the familiar war-cry of Passavant rolling for hundreds of yards to right and left. Then we met, with a staggering shock.

  No one jousted against me personally. At the last moment the enemy on our front bunched together, as knights recognised the crest of Bruyere and turned aside for the honour of encountering Sir Geoffrey. The knight before me swerved until he presented to me his right, unshielded side. He was a decent man whom I had met once or twice, and I did not wish to kill him; I raised my lance which otherwise would have struck Him in the neck, and held Banker straight so that we crashed head-on into his right leg. Horse and man went down together, as though they were made of paper. Jumping over them, Banker slid with all four feet together into a sergeant of the Prince's second rank.

  I dropped my useless lance to draw my sword. That is one reason why I dislike set battles; whether you win or get beaten you are sure to lose an expensive lance. The sergeant swung his sword at my head, but I ducked under my shield and took no harm. Then I swung at him and he parried, and the swirl of horses swept us apart.

  I had time for a quick look round. We had very nearly pierced the Villehardouin line; but not quite, and a miss was as good as a mile. I waited in apprehension for the counter-stroke that must be coming.

  If we had broken the hostile line there was a good chance that the two separated wings would have ridden in dismay from the field. That had been our plan, the best plan for an outnumbered army; and it had very nearly succeeded. Now the knights on the wings were free to attack us as soon as they got their horses under control. Luckily the attack would probably come in on my shielded left side.

  It didn't. Or rather, it came from all directions at once. Some of the Prince's men, who must have been well in hand, rode over to reinforce the few champions who had stopped us; others charged in from the flanks, as I had expected. But a squadron galloped right round us and came in from the rear. Their attack caught us off balance, and our enemies also; in a few minutes the whole mellay was moving fast in the direction of the isthmus, with the army of Satines completely surrounded.

  One of our sergeants pushed up beside me, shouting: "Let's get to Hell out of here!" When I heard that cry I knew all was lost. Warriors will shout it in a tight place, I suppose because they think it sounds manly and defiant. You can be certain that the man who does so will be running like a hare in a minute.

  Then the knight on my left pushed into me, until I had to lean on him with my shield to avoid being knocked over. Beyond him I could see the crest of an enemy baron.

  Sir Geoffrey's voice reached us. "Come on, gentlemen. One more push and we are through. In the open we can re-form and come back to the charge." It was nearly the same as the sergeant's cry which had disheartened me; but the tone was very different. I took a fresh grip of my sword and touched Banker with my spurs.

  I had to kill a good war-horse, though I hate doing it. He reared over me to box with his forefeet, and he would have had me down if I had not run my sword deep into his throat. Banker lurched over the struggling carcass, and for a second there was no enemy on my front. Then "Satines" rang in my ears, and Sir Geoffrey shot past. Throughout the mellay he had kept his lance; now I saw it shiver on an enemy shield. The stricken knight hurtled from his saddle, leaving his horse standing. In such a narrow space it was an amazing joust. A gap appeared in the hostile line. It widened, and the mesnie of Escorta galloped out behind Sir Geoffrey.

  We were the first to win clear of the trap; but all the army of Satines struggled to follow us, their war-horses stampeding like cattle.

  Sir Geoffrey swung right, over a gentle ridge with a sharp drop on the far side. Sophianos with the wolf s-head banner was still half a length behind him, doing his duty better than I had expected of a Grifon. A ledge of jagged granite barred our way, but Sir Geoffrey spotted a gap and twisted through it at full gallop. The tall banner was a beacon to us; we shook out and galloped two abreast through the gap.

  Behind us galloped the remainder of the army of Satines, with behind them and on both sides the army of Lamorie. Every horseman on the field pounded after the banner of Bruyere. The ledge of rock stopped those who could still control their horses, and some good knights of the Megaskyr's own mesnie faced about to hold the narrow passage against our pursuers. Our men filtered through, like wine poured from a narrow-necked jar. The enemy were slow to find another gap, so that more than half our army got clear from that doleful field of Mount Caride.

  Now we were headed for the saf
ety of Estives. All over the plain before us I could see scattered puffs of dust, as ladies and clerks who had ridden out to see the battle sought refuge before the enemy could catch them. I wondered which dust-cloud was the lady Isabel Thank God she was not with child that summer, as far as I knew; she could ride as well as most men, and with any luck she would reach the castle before her lord. But still we must hurry. The enemy pressed us close.

  Sir Geoffrey's eye for country took us swiftly over this unknown plain, as new to him as to me. I wondered whether presently we would turn and make a stand; until as we checked to ford a little stream Sir Geoffrey unlaced his helm and hung it from his saddle. His face streamed with sweat, for those close helms are ghastly things to wear for any length of time; but it was also calm and composed, almost cheerful, as though the thrill of crushing defeat was the next best thing to the exhilaration of victory.

  The afternoon sun was very hot. The trampling of our horses filled the air with the fine marble-dust of those parts. But as a horse-master Sir Geoffrey was beyond compare, and he kept us moving at just the right pace. My narrow-gutted Banker was very distressed, but his good shoulders kept him on his feet. Few horses foundered completely, though for the rest of their days most of them showed the effect of that hurried flight. Every man who lagged behind the column, or dismounted from a beaten horse, must fall into the hands of our pursuers.

  Presently the chequers of la Roche showed up on our right rear; Pallavicini and Stromoncourt, who had charged at the rear of our wedge, joined us before evening, having fought their way free of encirclement by another gap. As the sun was setting the first of our knights clattered under the gateway of the castle of Estives; looking back as I climbed the rock I saw the anchored cross of Villehardouin less than half a mile away. It had been a very near thing, but we were safe.