involved. Thank God Almighty that Johnny could be reasoned with, unlike Richard. “Very sure, lad. It makes the most sense to have you in Normandy to take charge of the army and lead them back to lift the siege.”
“I’d rather not leave you,” John said slowly, “but if that is your wish, I will obey.”
Henry pretended to reel back in shock. “That is a word I never thought to hear from the lips of a son of mine,” he joked. “Bless you, lad, for not arguing with me.” Keeping his arm around John’s shoulders, he steered the young man toward the door. “Take your household knights, Johnny, and go at once.”
The sooner his son was on the road to safety, the sooner he could draw an easy breath. He was not about to admit that, though, knowing that too much fatherly concern would sting John’s pride, make him more likely to insist upon staying. So he continued to banter with John, bidding him farewell as nonchalantly as if this were a routine separation, and only once did they acknowledge more was at stake. John had turned to go, then came back and gave Henry a quick hug.
Henry’s eyes misted, but he then gave his son a playful push. “Be off with you, Johnny. And try not to get lost!”
The next morning Henry decided to venture out to reconnoiter the French camp. Confident that there’d be no immediate assault since he’d had the bridge destroyed, neither he nor any of the men with him wore their hauberks. Only Will Marshal was insistent upon fully arming himself, and Henry was both amused and irked by the knight’s stubbornness. Exiting the city through a postern gate between the palace and the church of St Pierre de la Coeur, they rode through the suburb known as Bourg Dom Guy. The streets were eerily empty now as the residents had taken refuge within the city walls. Even the Maison Dieu de Coeffort, the hospital Henry had founded nine years ago, had been evacuated, a sight so mournful that he had to avert his eyes as they passed.
They had agreed that if the French did attack, the suburb would have to be set on fire, and the knowledge that these poor people might lose all they had only dragged Henry’s spirits down further. When he’d first learned that Richard and Philippe meant to attack the city of his birth, Henry had been sustained by the intensity of his rage. But it had not continued to burn at white heat, and this morning he felt numb and exhausted after another sleepless night and uncomfortably aware of his body’s aches and pains with every step his stallion took.
“My lords!” One of the scouts they’d sent ahead was racing toward them, spurring his mount without mercy. “They have found a ford, are making ready to cross!”
When Henry galloped past him, several of his companions cried out in protest. But he had to see for himself. French knights had ridden out into the River Huisne, using their lances to test its depth, and discovered a ford by the remains of Pontlieu Bridge. They were already lining up to cross, and Henry thought he caught a glimpse of Richard, mounted on a favorite roan stallion, not yet armed, but shouting commands, making order of chaos.
“Papa!” Geoff had reined in beside him, swinging his mount around as if to block Henry from view. “We have to get back into the city! None of us are armed, so we cannot engage them, and if they see you, they’ll be on us like a hawk on a thrush!”
Indeed, no sooner were the words out of his mouth than they heard shouts and men were pointing in their direction. As the first French knights splashed into the river, Henry and his men wheeled their horses about and raced for safety.
Will Marshal had been left behind to guard the postern gate, and as it opened to admit the king and his knights, Will charged toward the pursuing riders, for he knew that Taillebourg had fallen when Richard had gotten into the city with the fleeing garrison. At first he was alone, but men on the parapet began shouting, “Over here, for God and the Marshal!” and some of Will’s knights came galloping through the gate to fight at his side. Soon a number of Henry’s men, now armed, joined the fray and before long a sharp battle was taking place in the streets under the city walls.
One of Will’s knights, Hugh de Malanny, was struck with such force that his horse lost its footing and rider and animal both toppled into the marshy moat. Will promptly shattered his own lance on the French knight’s shield and the man also splashed into the moat. Casting aside his lance, Will soon spotted another worthy foe and spurred his stallion toward Andre de Chauvigny.
Will was famed in tournaments for his ability to capture knights by seizing their bridles, using his own considerable strength and his horse’s momentum to drag his helpless opponents off the field. The maneuver worked perfectly now with Richard’s knight. To his horror, Andre suddenly found himself being towed toward the gate, faced with several choices, all of them unpalatable. He could try to cut his mount’s bridle, which would give him no way to control the animal. He could fling himself from a galloping horse. Or he could become the Marshal’s prisoner.
Drawing his dagger, Andre leaned forward in an attempt to slash the reins before they reached the gate. Men up on the parapet were heaving large rocks down upon the French, and one of them hit Andre’s arm while another stone struck his mount in the head. The horse reared, screaming, and suddenly Will found himself holding the bridle, while Andre found himself clinging desperately to his saddle as his stallion bolted back toward the river. By now he was in such pain that he knew his arm was broken and he felt a surge of fear, for he’d not be able to halt the panicked animal. But hoof-beats were thudding behind him and from the corner of his eye, he saw Rico ranging up alongside.
Andre took no time to consider, kicked his feet free of his stirrups, and leaped. This was a maneuver he’d often practiced in the tiltyard, but he’d never tried it with an injured arm, and sprawled awkwardly across the destrier’s rump. For several terrifying seconds, he hung there, holding on for dear life until Rico, displaying fine horsemanship, managed to halt his stallion. Andre slid to the ground and sank down in the grass. He was chalk- white, in such agony that he was on the verge of blacking out. But he was alive, and so had no complaints.
At the gate, Will looked for new quarry and, in quick succession, he used his bridle trick upon two other knights, but both men preferred runaway horses to captivity and cut themselves free. Will’s third foe was not so lucky and was hauled through the city gate where he was quickly disarmed and turned over to Will’s excited squire. Will then switched horses with his prisoner, for his own stallion had been lamed after stepping on a broken lance. Returning to the combat, he led a charge that soon had the French in flight toward the river.
By now Will was drenched in sweat and finding it hard to catch his breath, for the Seneschal of Anjou had set fire to the suburbs and smoke and flames were adding to the dangers of the battlefield. “I think we’ve beaten them back for now,” Will panted, looking at his comrades with pride, for Baldwin de Bethune and Renaud de Dammartin and Morgan Fitz Ranulf and Peter Fitz Guy were men he was honored to fight with, even to die with if need be.
The French had retreated across the river, but Henry’s knights knew they’d soon be trying again, and they turned their mounts back toward the city. It was an exceedingly hot and humid day, and they were all exhausted, winded, and badly bruised from deflected blows. But they were triumphant, too, for the first onslaught had been a victory for the English. They’d almost reached the gate when Morgan gave a sudden shout of alarm.
“Jesu, look! The wind is shifting!” And as they watched, appalled, sparks and cinders and burning embers were caught by the wind, sent spiraling up into the sky. Many of them came down within the city, and screams warned the men of Le Mans’s peril even before they saw the smoke.
Not finding Henry at the palace, Will was heading for the castle when he heard a woman crying for help. One of the flying embers had set her roof afire, and she was frantically trying to drag her belongings from the house before it went up in flames. Will at once dismounted, and he and his squires came to her aid. She wept with gratitude as they were able to recover a table and bed-frame and a coffer chest of her family’s clothing. Carrying out a smoldering feather quilt, Will found himself choking on the acrid fumes coming from the bedding and after dropping it into a horse trough, he knelt, pulled off his helmet, and splashed water on his face. He could tell from the noise that the citizens were doing their best to put out the fires, but he could see smoke staining the sky in several quarters of the city and he feared that Le Mans was doomed.
Riders were coming up the street, and he recognized the Earl of Essex in the lead. When Willem reined in his horse, Will felt as if he were looking at a stranger, for the normally imperturbable earl was as alarmed as Will had ever seen him. “The French crossed the Sarthe downstream and circled around to the west. They have taken the Perrin bridge and will soon be in the city. We must get the king away whilst we still can!”
“ N O!” Henry looked defiantly from Willem to Geoff, but there was more despair in his voice than anger. “I have never run from a fight in my life, am not about to start now.”
Geoff grasped Henry’s arm, desperate enough to try to take his father from the city by force if need be.
