with one of the Devil’s Brood!’
The final part of the response was particularly pointed and intended to infuriate the Duke. The term ‘Devil’s Brood’ had become widely used by the enemies of King Henry to describe his offspring. It was based on an old prophecy about a devil’s curse on the lineage of Henry’s father, Geoffrey, the Count of Anjou. It was an insult that had been oft repeated during King Henry’s many recent disputes with his sons and with his wife, Eleanor.
The Duke was languishing in the thermal springs with a young Gascon wench when the tenacious and offensive reply was repeated to him. He flew into a rage. Damning the local girl with guilt by association, he pulled her from the water and, despite her utter embarrassment at being naked, kicked her up the arse and ordered that she be left beneath the walls of Dax. He then bellowed at the messenger.
‘Tell those inconsequential Gascon lords that when I have them in my grasp I’m going to flog them in front of the gates of their city with every man, woman and child in their domain looking on!’
Not in the least perturbed by his own nakedness, with long, purposeful strides he then strode out of the pool and walked the hundred yards to his tent. The girl he had dismissed so cruelly was standing barely five yards away, pulling on her clothes and sobbing profusely. Behind her, with admonishing glowers on their faces, were William Marshal and Blondel.
They said nothing; they did not need to. Richard stopped, looked at the two men somewhat sheepishly and then turned to his steward. He reached into a pouch on the man’s belt and gave the girl a piece of silver.
Then he patted her on her backside in a conciliatory gesture.
‘My steward will feed you. Make sure you’re ready for me when I get back.’
Richard’s enforced contrition of sorts had brought the incident to a close, while the silver shilling held tightly in the girl’s grasp had transformed her demeanour from tears to smiles. The Duke disappeared into his tent, hurriedly followed by his steward.
When Richard re-emerged fully dressed, wearing his gleaming armour and carrying his glistening weapons, he cut an impressive figure. His lithe athletic frame, now enhanced by his ducal finery and the regalia of battle, conjured an image of a god of war from ancient mythology.
Like Ares or Mars, he seemed all-powerful and indestructible.
6. Destruction of Dax
To see the Duke’s army prepare for a siege was awe-inspiring. His woodsmen had been felling trees since dawn and his sappers and siege engineers began to assemble their devices, ready to roll them into position. Carts of stones, pots of oil and bundles of fuel for fires were made ready. The archers and bowmen chose their ground and set themselves to ensure that should any opponents on the walls of Dax have the audacity to raise their heads above the parapet, a hail of arrows would encourage them to lower them without delay.
When all the paraphernalia was ready, and the ballista and catapults had been assembled from their sets of parts, everything was rolled towards the west bank of the Adour, from where the city was well within range. Some of the trebuchets were the size of oak trees, and the scaling towers were just as tall. They moved slowly but inexorably on huge wooden wheels, making the ground tremble as they passed. It was like watching a race of giants trundle forward. Beneath them, in their shadows, were our archers and infantry, the size of mice.
All was set just before dusk, when most commanders would retire for the night. Not Duke Richard; he thought the fading light of evening was the ideal moment to launch a fusillade of fire on to the defenders of Dax.
By the time the fires were blazing and the arrows and the various catapults had been loaded, it was fully dark. Then the Duke issued the order to launch the missiles. It suddenly became as bright as day, but with a golden glow, as the entire scene was washed with the tint of fire. Much as it looked captivating to those of us outside the walls of the city, to those inside it was the beginning of a nightmare reminiscent of the infernos of Hell.
Fire arrows embedded themselves in the timbers and thatch of the more humble of Dax’s buildings. Where human flesh was the landing ground for the arrows, they did even more dreadful damage. The wounds were made much worse by the searing heat of scorching pitch.
The contents of the catapults did similar damage, but on a massive scale. Clay pots of pitch exploded on impact, spewing their flaming contents in every direction. Buildings started to burn ferociously and people ran for their lives. Many were unable to run, already consumed by the fires as buildings received direct hits, roasting everyone inside like carcasses on a spit. Some inhabitants, their clothes and hair alight, managed to escape from doors and windows, but they were only able to stagger a few feet before falling to the ground in balls of flame.
Despite the horror of the first salvo, and the screams of anguish it produced, after thirty minutes or so all became calmer within the city. Fires still raged, and we could hear frantic attempts to douse the flames, but the sounds of panic and chaos subsided; the city was well organized and its inhabitants resolute.
But the Duke was not finished.
He rode up and down the lines of siege engines and archers, shouting, ‘One more tonight, lads, then early to bed, early to rise… Oh, and there’s a piece of silver in it for all of you!’
Huge cheers greeted the pecuniary inducement and the men set about loading another volley of incendiaries. As they did so, and our fires illuminated our positions, the defenders of the city seized the opportunity to loose hails of arrows at us. Few hit anything meaningful, but they were a nuisance and Mercadier and Robert Thornham supervised the response of our men. Our volume of arrows far outweighed the defenders’ volley, and soon their archers ducked down beneath the parapets.
Dax possessed a few ballista of its own, and stones and pots of boiling oil soon began to fall on us – but not with any intensity, nor with much danger to life and limb. Our sappers and siege specialists were able to launch a second volley of fire almost unhindered. We suffered a few casualties, but the Duke had a corps of well-trained physicians skilled in the techniques of mending stricken bodies. Few armies had had such men in the past, but Christian armies had seen their value and acquired the techniques during the crusades in the Holy Land, and they had become commonplace in Europe.
The second wave of incendiaries to hit the beleaguered inhabitants of Dax had the same appalling consequences as the first, and screams and cries rang out from behind the walls the moment they hit their targets. There was very little sympathy from our side. The Duke’s army was ruthless; its men had done this many times before, and there was no room in their hearts for compassion.
The Duke, now satisfied with his night’s work, called a halt to the attacks, thanked his men and rode off to eat dinner in his tent.
As I made to leave, William Marshal stopped me. He had a mischievous look on his face.
‘Ranulf, how good are you and your men with a grappling iron?’
I realized immediately what was afoot. I swallowed hard; I was about to be given a dangerous mission – one it would be impossible to refuse, if I was to continue in the service of the Duke.
‘As good as anyone, and better than most.’ It was the only answer I could give.
‘Excellent. Get a grapple from the sappers. The walls of the city are very long, the garrison is thin; their eyes won’t be everywhere, and it is a dark night. Take your men with you to cover your back. I’d like a report on the situation inside the city by first light in the morning.’
I knew it was a test of my resolve and my ability, but otherwise of little value. I put myself in William Marshal and the Duke’s position. They had been asked to accept me as an equal; this was one way in which I could prove myself.
I collected an iron grapple from the sappers and gathered together Godric and my men. As Modig wrapped blackened linen around the grapple to deaden its sound, Godric and I daubed our faces in mud. He then tied back his blond locks and covered them with a dark cloth.
We waited until the dead of night and crossed the Adour in a small boat, leaving Penda, Modig and Rodor on the bank to guard the boat. The city walls were only a few yards away. While Leax waited for us at the bottom, Godric picked a spot by guessing where the sentries might stand and then hurled the grapple over the wall. It found a secure position and we sat and waited for a few minutes to be sure that no one had seen or heard it land.
