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Authors: Roberto Calas
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workman’s apron approaches the hedges to release some of the plundered Lighe ale. He is five paces from where we are, on the opposite side of the hedge. He unties his breeches and I hear the sound of ale spouting from his tap.
Sir Gerald stands up. I give him my best scowl but he ignores me. He takes two sidesteps so he is even with the worker. Tristan looks at him, then at me. I scowl harder at Sir Gerald, but the knight is not looking. He reaches through the hedges and grabs the man by his apron. The workman has time for one strangled cry before Sir Gerald rips him through the wall of hedges and covers his mouth. The man’s eyes are wide and darting, and his face bleeds from his journey through the hedges. Sir Gerald shushes him with finger to lips and draws a dagger. The man nods as if he understands. Gerald nods back, then smiles as he stabs the man in the chest with the dagger. The man thrashes, but Gerald stabs again and again and again, smiling through it all. Blood spatters everything. Sir Morgan and Sir Tristan wrench Sir Gerald away from the dead man.
“What is wrong with you?” Tristan’s whisper is dangerously loud.
Sir Gerald smiles at Tristan. “Nine hundred and ninety-nine to go.”
Sir John shakes his head at Sir Gerald but says nothing. I pull them all down low and we watch through the hedges to see if anyone heard the workman.
We wait, expecting the cry to go up at any moment. I realize I am holding my breath and let it out slowly. There is blood on the tiny leaves of the hedge. The blood looks black in the dim light. Two men in padded gambesons walk past the hedge wall speaking in French. Sir Gerald raises his dagger. I clamp my hand on his mailed arm and shake my head. One of the Frenchmen laughs and dumps his mug out. Then they are past.
No cry goes out. No one seems to have noticed. But we must go all the same. Someone will miss the workman. We leave the village, dragging the man’s body with us and dumping it into the Thames.
“There is no way to defeat them, then?” Sir John asks.
I take a deep breath. “I might know a way.”
“How?”
“I have friends in the area.”
“Friends?” he asks.
“Acquaintances.” I rub at my eyes as we walk. I will have to help this young knight defeat the French. I will have to spend a day here in Essex while my wife waits in East Anglia. But Elizabeth deserves to live under English rule. “Tristan, Morgan, we’re going to assist Sir John.”
Tristan gives me one of his smug grins. “Just advice, no?”
Sir John looks uneasy with his part of the plan. He stares at the table in front of him. I have drawna crude map of the area on the tabletop using charcoal. The Thames estuary runs along the south. The village of Lighe is just above it, and Hadleigh Castle is to the west of the village. I use a grape to represent the French forces at Lighe, and a large mug to represent John’s two hundred and fifty men at the castle. The embellishment doesn’t seem to help his confidence.
“I am to approach Lighe from the north,” he says, “then at dawn I — ”
“Precisely at dawn,” I say, and I move the mug northeast of Hadleigh Castle, so that it is directly north of Lighe on the map.
Sir John nods impatiently. “Precisely at dawn I attack the French camp with crossbows and longbows.”
“Yes. Make sure he sees all of your forces. Let him know that he outnumbers you nearly five to one.”
“And when the French attack us, we are to withdraw.”
“Yes. Withdraw for a few hundred yards.” I slide the mug backward and place the grape to the north of Lighe, on the spot where the mug had been. “If the French don’t follow you at first, come back and pepper them again with your bows. Make sure they chase you.”
“And you will come up behind them with your forces?”
I drag another mug to the castle, then move that mug into the circle of Lighe so that it is south of the grape. “While you attack the French front, I will come up
Sir Gerald stands up. I give him my best scowl but he ignores me. He takes two sidesteps so he is even with the worker. Tristan looks at him, then at me. I scowl harder at Sir Gerald, but the knight is not looking. He reaches through the hedges and grabs the man by his apron. The workman has time for one strangled cry before Sir Gerald rips him through the wall of hedges and covers his mouth. The man’s eyes are wide and darting, and his face bleeds from his journey through the hedges. Sir Gerald shushes him with finger to lips and draws a dagger. The man nods as if he understands. Gerald nods back, then smiles as he stabs the man in the chest with the dagger. The man thrashes, but Gerald stabs again and again and again, smiling through it all. Blood spatters everything. Sir Morgan and Sir Tristan wrench Sir Gerald away from the dead man.
“What is wrong with you?” Tristan’s whisper is dangerously loud.
Sir Gerald smiles at Tristan. “Nine hundred and ninety-nine to go.”
Sir John shakes his head at Sir Gerald but says nothing. I pull them all down low and we watch through the hedges to see if anyone heard the workman.
We wait, expecting the cry to go up at any moment. I realize I am holding my breath and let it out slowly. There is blood on the tiny leaves of the hedge. The blood looks black in the dim light. Two men in padded gambesons walk past the hedge wall speaking in French. Sir Gerald raises his dagger. I clamp my hand on his mailed arm and shake my head. One of the Frenchmen laughs and dumps his mug out. Then they are past.
No cry goes out. No one seems to have noticed. But we must go all the same. Someone will miss the workman. We leave the village, dragging the man’s body with us and dumping it into the Thames.
“There is no way to defeat them, then?” Sir John asks.
I take a deep breath. “I might know a way.”
“How?”
“I have friends in the area.”
“Friends?” he asks.
“Acquaintances.” I rub at my eyes as we walk. I will have to help this young knight defeat the French. I will have to spend a day here in Essex while my wife waits in East Anglia. But Elizabeth deserves to live under English rule. “Tristan, Morgan, we’re going to assist Sir John.”
Tristan gives me one of his smug grins. “Just advice, no?”
Sir John looks uneasy with his part of the plan. He stares at the table in front of him. I have drawna crude map of the area on the tabletop using charcoal. The Thames estuary runs along the south. The village of Lighe is just above it, and Hadleigh Castle is to the west of the village. I use a grape to represent the French forces at Lighe, and a large mug to represent John’s two hundred and fifty men at the castle. The embellishment doesn’t seem to help his confidence.
“I am to approach Lighe from the north,” he says, “then at dawn I — ”
“Precisely at dawn,” I say, and I move the mug northeast of Hadleigh Castle, so that it is directly north of Lighe on the map.
Sir John nods impatiently. “Precisely at dawn I attack the French camp with crossbows and longbows.”
“Yes. Make sure he sees all of your forces. Let him know that he outnumbers you nearly five to one.”
“And when the French attack us, we are to withdraw.”
“Yes. Withdraw for a few hundred yards.” I slide the mug backward and place the grape to the north of Lighe, on the spot where the mug had been. “If the French don’t follow you at first, come back and pepper them again with your bows. Make sure they chase you.”
“And you will come up behind them with your forces?”
I drag another mug to the castle, then move that mug into the circle of Lighe so that it is south of the grape. “While you attack the French front, I will come up
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