refuge in Taillebourg fled in panic; the slow and the old and the ill were cut down like sheaves of wheat. The sky was soon smudged with dense black clouds as villages, barns, and manors were put to the torch. Cattle were butchered for Richard’s men, and those not needed were still slaughtered to deny them to his enemies. Oxen were slain and ploughs broken. Fruit trees were uprooted and crops were burned in the field. Vineyards were trampled. Wells were salted. Horses were taken, sheep gutted, chickens either eaten or killed. The horrified townsmen and villagers watched helplessly as their world went up in flames.
The fires were still burning when Richard brought up his siege engines and began to bombard the town. Mangonels launched heavy rocks and stones and even the carcasses of dead animals, the men working in eight-hour shifts so that the assault continued both day and night. From the castle battlements, Geoffrey de Rancon and his men seethed with rage, vowing vengeance, but panic was spreading in the town as people realized that withstanding the siege would not bring victory. When Richard gave up and retreated, nothing would be left to them but scorched fields, the bloated bodies of their slain livestock, and the fearful specter of famine.
Richard had set up their camp so close to the town that dust from the battered walls was soon coating their tents, and when his knights grumbled that the nonstop bombardment was robbing them of sleep, he smiled grimly. “It will not be long,” he assured them, “until they take the bait.”
On May 8, the castle garrison sallied forth in a dawn attack. Such surprise assaults were often successful, but Richard had been expecting this one, sure that de Rancon would not be able to resist their tempting proximity. The fighting that followed was brutal, with Richard in the very thick of it, and his men were so inspired and emboldened by his utter fearlessness that they soon had the garrison retreating back toward the town.
This was the moment Richard had been waiting for. “Now!” he shouted. “After them!” And as de Rancon’s knights plunged through the town gates, Richard and his men fought their way in, too. A wild melee broke out as the garrison fled for the safety of the castle. Geoffrey de Rancon and many of his knights were able to reach it, but Richard and his men were hot on their heels, and they saw at once that they’d never be able to hold the bailey. They raced for their last refuge, the stone keep, flinging a torch onto the wooden stairs just as their pursuers got there, and tumbled, bruised and bleeding, into the hall. All of the windows were tightly shuttered, so they were half blinded as they escaped from sunlight into shadows. Blinking owlishly in the semi-gloom of the hall, they slumped against the walls, collapsed in the floor rushes, and for a time the only sound was the harsh gasping of men fighting to get enough air into their laboring lungs. Stunned by how swiftly the tide had turned against them, de Rancon buried his head in his hands and wept.
The soldiers who had not made it into the keep were quickly struck down, and Richard dispatched men to patrol the castle ramparts and the town walls. Leaning against the inner bailey well to catch his breath, he gratefully accepted a bucket from a grinning routier, yanked off his helmet, and poured it over his head. The water quickly turned pink as it splattered onto the ground, but none of the blood was his. It was here that Theobald Chabot found him.
“Can my lads have their sport now?” he asked, and when Richard nodded, he raised his arm high, signaling to one of his sergeants that the town was theirs for the taking. His men jubilantly claimed their reward; plunder was mother’s milk to the battle-seasoned routiers who lived and died by the sword. Smoke was soon spiraling up from the narrow, unpaved streets, and the sounds of their city’s suffering were not long in reaching the miserable men trapped within the dark, sweltering keep, reminding them what their fate would be if they tried to hold out. A town or castle taken by storm was fair game, for by their stubborn resistance, the besieged forfeited the right to be treated with leniency and could be slain without violating chivalric codes of honor.
Squires were not supposed to take part in actual fighting, and it took Rico a while to make his way into the town. He found he had to step over bodies in the street, had to keep jumping aside to avoid being trampled by celebrating bands of routiers as they surged from looted taverns in search of more wine. Men bumped into him as they emerged from ransacked shops and houses, their arms filled with booty, while others were on the prowl for bedmates, willing or otherwise. Again and again he heard a dog’s barking become shrill yipping and then, silence. Goods were raining down from open windows, caught by laughing passersby. Whores, painted and powdered, had emerged from their bolt holes to mingle with the soldiers in the streets. Rico saw sights that shocked him to the marrow of his bones, had to watch his footing lest he step into puddles of congealing blood. But by the time he reached the castle, he was no longer flinching every time he heard a screaming woman or a wailing child.
Richard was conferring with several of his knights as they appraised the keep defenses. Rico waited patiently till his lord had time for him, noting that his sword needed a good cleaning and so did the tunic he’d worn over his hauberk, for it was soiled and torn; even his lord’s boots had bloodstains on them. He’d have much to do.
Noticing the boy at last, Richard beckoned him over. “You are looking a little greensick, Cousin,” he joked. “If you are going to spew, try not to aim in my direction.”
He was surprised when Rico did not laugh or at least acknowledge the jest. Rico had proven to be an excellent squire, in great part because he was so eager to please, but also because he was so invariably cheerful. But now Rico was looking at him very somberly, like a sinner about to confess to his priest.
“I have never seen a captured town before,” he confided hesitantly. “I guess…guess I did not know how bloody war can be, my lord.”
Richard considered what the boy had said, and then nodded in agreement. “Yes, war can be bloody and brutal and disquieting, Rico. But there is also a…a kind of glory in it.”
Rico did not understand, but he nodded, too, for if Richard said it, it must be so.
Henry had sent Willem to the Flemish court for negotiations with the Count of Flanders, and he was unable to return until June. Taking ship at Wissant, he landed at Dover, and then began the tedious task of chasing down the king. He finally found Henry at his Woodstock manor.
As he entered the great hall, Willem saw that most of the men and some of the women were clustered at one end. He knew Hal was spending some time at his father’s court, and he assumed that the young king was the attraction. He was surprised, therefore, to notice Hal standing on the dais, his arms folded across his chest. Wondering who was stealing Hal’s thunder, Willem took a closer look and when he caught a glimpse of a reddish- gold head, he understood, both the commotion and Hal’s obvious discontent. The hero of Taillebourg was here, and Hal’s tournament victories had been put in the shade by Richard’s dramatic capture of a castle said to be impregnable.
Joining Henry upon the dais, he was warmly welcomed by the king and courteously by Hal. Henry was beaming every time he looked over at Richard, and wasted no time in bragging of his exploits, telling Willem that Geoffrey de Rancon had surrendered two days after Richard took the town. “He also yielded Pons, and ten days later, Count Vulgrin ended his rebellion and surrendered his castles at Angouleme and Montignac. A number of our highborn rebels were so shaken by Richard’s conquests that they have taken the cross, and are making plans to leave for the Holy Land as soon as they can get away.” Henry grinned. “Aquitaine has not been so peaceful in years!”
Seeing how much pleasure Richard’s triumph was giving his father, Willem was happy to indulge his paternal pride, and began to ask questions, thus giving Henry the opportunity to discuss the fall of Taillebourg at length. He was still in mid-cry when Hal quietly withdrew, first from the dais and then from the hall, but few noticed.
“It was an amazing feat, Willem,” Henry concluded enthusiastically. “I do not know anyone who could have done better, even me! And the lad is only twenty-one; think what a commander he’ll make once he gains more experience.” Willem agreed, finding it easy to echo Henry’s praise, for no soldier could fail to be impressed by Richard’s triumph. Henry added that Geoffrey had been successful in Brittany, too, if not quite on such a spectacular scale, forcing that habitual rebel, Guihomar de Leon, to surrender all his strongholds. But he soon returned to praising Richard, and when Willem asked how he planned to reward the young man, he laughed.
“I am giving him Aquitaine. God knows he earned it.”
Willem was impressed, knowing how reluctant Henry was to relinquish authority. “He must have been overwhelmed,” he said, and Henry’s pleasure lost some of its luster.
“He was not as joyful as I would have expected,” he admitted. “When I told him that from now on, he could govern the duchy as he chose, he thanked me as calmly as if I’d just offered him a new saddle.” His eyes rested for a mystified moment upon the tall figure of his second son. “I confess, Willem,” he said quietly, “that I do not understand the lad, never have if truth be told. He keeps his own counsel, has learned to guard his thoughts. As his king, I find that commendable, for no ruler should be as easily read as…well, as Hal is. But as his father, I do wish
