9. Triumph at Taillebourg
The journey back to Poitiers was uneventful, as were the next two years. The King did not honour his side of the bargain by letting Duke Richard resume his lordship of Aquitaine, but insisted that he stay in Poitiers to build a professional army and forestall the need to rely on thugs and mercenaries. I was delighted; it meant that I had the time and resources to train a body of men who could fight in any situation, and fight effectively – whether in a small-scale skirmish or siege, or in a full-scale pitched battle.
Before Rupertsberg, King Henry’s broken promise would have sent the Lionheart into an apoplectic rage, but he had become much more sanguine and now devoted himself to long hours of military training and manoeuvres.
Building a new army from nothing was a daunting but exciting challenge, especially as there would be two stern judges of our work: the Duke’s five lieutenants, who had promised to review the army when we had finished its training; and the stubborn and fierce Gascons who, once again, had been troubling the King.
We sought young men who were ambitious and hungry: Normans for our cavalry squadrons, English archers and some infantrymen – with a sprinkling of tough Celts in the infantry – and sappers and siege engineers from Iberia and Italy. They made a good blend, welded together by rigid discipline, clear limits to indiscretions, good food and generous pay.
Hildegard of Rupertsberg died in September 1179. By then, the King had relented and sent the Duke with his new army back to Aquitaine. We were camped near a Gascon village called Nogaro, not far from Negu’s village of Riscle. Our men had passed the harshest of scrutiny by the Duke’s loyal friends – especially William Marshal – and had performed well in the various small encounters of that year.
Word of Hildegard’s demise spread through the ecclesiastical cloisters of Europe like wildfire and prayers were said in every church, large and small. Priests prayed, bishops wrote eulogies and the Pope began the process of her beatification. In truth, they were glad to be rid of her and her radical thinking.
Richard sent a generous donation of silver to her monastery so that a large cross could be made in her honour and ordered that the army be stood down for a week so that he could go into mourning. Typically, on the last night he organized a feast which, as closely as could be arranged, was a replica of the frugal meal we had eaten on our first night at Rupertsberg. His cooks were amazed when he ordered the thinnest stew that could be made, then sent his stewards in search of a fruit beer to match the lambic of the Rhine and to find a drink similar to kirsch. The nearest match that could be found to kirsch was the local Gascon speciality, Teneraze, a much more palatable offering.
During his absence from the area, old enmities had surfaced in Gascony, as had the desire of its local lords to extricate themselves from Henry Plantagenet’s sovereignty. Even more significantly, Duke Richard’s old ally, Alfonso II, King of Aragon, had widened his influence to include the whole of the Iberian side of the Pyrenees and into Roussillon and Provence. Here was another king with imperial ambitions, as ‘Emperor of the Pyrenees’. It was fortunate that we had spent the previous year and a half recruiting and training a new army in Poitiers; it, and the Duke, were about to be tested to the full.
The summer of 1179 had brought success upon success for the Duke. Pons, Richemont, Genzac, Marcville, Grouville and Anville all capitulated, some with token resistance and some with a fight. But our next challenge, a mighty fortress looming over the Charente, was an entirely different proposition. Taillebourg Castle stood on a high rocky outcrop on the Charente, five miles downstream from Saintes. Defended on three sides by a sheer rock face with a massively fortified fourth side, many said it was impregnable. It was just the kind of challenge the Lionheart relished – especially as it was defended by a man for whom he had a particular dislike.
Geoffrey de Rancon was a minor Gascon lord, well known for his thuggery and for being the custodian of a big belly and a small intellect. Rancon had discredited himself during the Second Great Crusade, where he had made a foolish decision while leading the army of Eleanor, Duke Richard’s mother – a mistake which nearly cost the French King, Louis VII, his life. He had brought shame on the Plantagenets and was sent home in disgrace.
Although he lacked brains, he was cunning and had managed to keep some of his lands in the south-west. He now skulked behind Taillebourg’s colossal walls.
The Emperor Charlemagne had held the Muslim army back at Taillebourg, almost 400 years earlier – a fact that inspired the Duke even more. Richard deployed his entire range of ballista and catapults, which he used, together with his archers, to launch a relentless bombardment of incendiaries against the walls and into the castle’s interior. He also began to lay waste to the countryside for miles around, denying the defenders any prospect of further supplies.
Then he made a move that would seal his reputation as a general of great cunning and great bravery. He called his Grand Quintet together, asked Father Alun to join us, and we sat down in his tent and dismissed his stewards. We only knew something was afoot when he began to pour the wine himself. It was a very good wine; clearly something important was about to be said.
‘Gentlemen, I have looked at Taillebourg long and hard and from every angle. It is a beast – more formidable than anything we’ve tackled before. It will fall, but it could take weeks. And I, for one, have got better things to do with my time than wait for that fat Gascon in there to starve.’
William Marshal knew something audacious was brewing and tried to advise caution.
‘Richard, you have built a fine army and your siege weapons are as good as any in the world. Don’t jeopardize everything by being rash. As you said, if we wait, it will fall.’
‘William, your advice is well put and well meant, but I have a plan. It is daring, but it will bring us a victory that will make everyone in Europe sit up. Not even the great Umayyad warlord, Abd-ar-Rahman I, Emir of Cordoba, could bring Taillebourg to its knees with an army of forty thousand men. But we will.’
The Duke had hooked us; we all sat expectantly, waiting for his heroic military coup.
‘I need beer brewed, butts of that local spirit bought. And bring in some girls; we’re going to have a feast, right under the walls of Taillebourg.’
Mercadier, not averse to speaking his mind bluntly, was the first to ridicule what seemed a farcical idea.
‘Wonderful, Richard, an idea on a par with anything Alexander or Caesar could have devised.’
‘Wait, listen closely.’
The Duke leaned forward and took a deep gulp of his wine; he was warming to his task.
‘First, we will move up the army and camp as close to the walls as possible. They won’t bombard us immediately until they work out what we’re doing. That evening we will have a huge feast in the open. But the beer will be low in strength and we’ll dilute the Teneraze. The girls will only be for show; there will be no fornicating. The men will be informed of the plan and be told to hide their weapons and armour. Crucially, they must be ready to fight within minutes of my signal.’
The Lionheart then turned to me directly.
‘De Rancon does not know you. So you will keep two conrois of men hidden in tents close to Taillebourg’s gates. They must be fully armed and ready to fight at a moment’s notice.’
Robert Thornham realized what the Duke’s strategy was.
‘You think they’ll come out and fight; they’ll assume that we’ve been overconfident and left ourselves exposed.’
‘Yes, de Rancon is not the most astute of men. But more importantly, he would love to redeem himself and restore his reputation after his catastrophe in the Holy Land. He would see this opportunity as divine intervention, given that it was my mother he disgraced in Palestine.’
Blondel asked what his mistake had involved.
‘He chose exposed ground against advice, isolated the Queen’s force from the rest of the Christian army and ignored repeated requests to change his mind. The Muslims attacked and his men were cut to pieces. Like a coward, he escaped, but he was stripped of his titles and sent home to Europe. The only reason he is here is because Alfonso of Aragon has given him the silver to buy estates in Aquitaine.’
It was a devious plan. For Eleanor’s son to be seen to make the same mistake that de Rancon had made – and the prospect of getting the credit for humbling the Lionheart – was irresistible bait. Everyone nodded their
