Folly at Cravant Part 7

Here is the final part and conclusion of the short story Folly at Cravant. Remember, book 2, The Tower of England, releases on Monday the 27th! Keep an eye out for it on Amazon!

“I escaped within an inch of my life,” whispered Benedict. “Glad I am that the river was shallow, for I had plunged into it to avoid death or capture. I could not swim with this armour.”

Benedict began removing his armour as soon as he had said this. Walter did the same.

“Metal protection will do us no good while attempting to flee,” said Walter. “I daresay; this is a first for you! Retreating from battle!”

“Under any other circumstance methinks that would be funny,” replied Benedict. “But I will have you know that before retreating I inflicted an injury so abhorrent upon John Stewart of Darnley it will cause his mother to cringe!”

“What have you done to him?” asked Walter.

“I removed his eye,” replied Benedict. “He is now a cyclops!”

They laughed together but attempted to be as inaudible as possible. The countryside began to grow silent, and the knights thought it might be safe to move again.

“Where do we go?” asked Benedict.

“Fècamp, perhaps?” suggested Walter.

“No, the French will be expecting any surviving Englishmen to return to the fleet there,” said Benedict. “The city of Caen is yet friendly to England; let us go there! Though I wish more could be done to aid our men, or discover what has happened to Montacute, Fastolf, and that new squire of his.”

“William of Colchester?”

“Yes, Sir James Bennett’s lad!” Benedict said with hope. “I pray they are safe.”

They moved as silent and quick as possible, heading northwest away from Paris, but still going towards Normandy.

“Being so close to the French capital makes me queasy,” said Benedict.

“And we cannot rush through,” said Walter. “I presume there are scouts everywhere now after the battle.”

“There is not much cover or protection ahead,” remarked Benedict. “We must hasten our pace!”

“So much for caution!” complained Walter.

As they continued the distant voices of the French behind them grew. This caused the knights to pause and observe the trail behind them.

“An army cannot move as fast as we,” said Walter.

“No, but horsemen can!” answered Benedict. “Hurry! Up ahead I see a patch of trees!”

They ran, but as their distance to the trees closed, the quick sound of horse hooves became louder behind them. Now they could hear voices yelling out at them; French scouts had found their trail and now sought to capture or kill the English. However, Benedict and Walter found shelter in the trees, and so the horses were unable to continue their pursuit. Their pursuers were not daunted by this, and they left the animals behind to continue on foot. Now the knights had the advantage as they hid behind the trees and shrubbery.

When the Frenchmen were close, the knights jumped out and dispatched them with ease. Benedict and Walter were merciless and left none standing.

“We should take their horses!” Benedict suggested with excitement. “It will be simpler to travel and escape from further patrols, should the need arise.”

Walter nodded in agreement, then they were quickly riding through the French countryside. They came closer to Caen with each passing hour. However, it was not until the next day that they would arrive at the port city, and that night provided challenges. The knights were not able to find a safe enough or hidden place to rest, and so they were cursed to constantly move around the countryside all night. French scouting parties continued to roam, and once or twice, Benedict and Walter had thought they heard distant cries of battle.

“Perhaps small remnants of our army escaped, only to be hunted down and slaughtered,” said Walter.

“We will not come to that fate!” said Benedict with confidence. “I plan on seeing England again!”

Late into the next morning, the exhausted knights came to Caen. However, things were not as they had expected. French soldiers patrolled all around and heaps of bodies were being burnt. English flags were among the rubble and the dead. Benedict attempted to leap forward, urged on by anger for his fallen countrymen, but Walter grabbed hold of his arm and brought him back to the place where they hid.

“After just expressing to me your plan to return to England you wish to charge into a fight that cannot be won?” asked Walter. “Aptitude and perseverance will see us safely home.”

“There may not be much to return to!” said Benedict. “The French may be plotting to retaliate! And look! Many dead bodies lay in the field before us. It would not come as a surprise if Fastolf or Montacute are among the ashes!”

“Silence!” Walter quieted his friend and listened. “Do you hear that? Voices coming behind us.”

They started trekking back to the horses and found several French soldiers there investigated the area.

“What do they say?” asked Benedict. “My ears have not been trained for their tongue.”

“They are curious why French horses are here unguarded,” said Walter. “No scout was sent this way, so why would the horses be here?”

The French began peering into where the knights hid, though their vision was obscured by the young morning’s lack of light. As they came closer to Benedict and Walter, both parties drew their weapons. Benedict was the first to draw blood, as he ambushed one of the soldiers from behind a tree. Walter followed his friend and took down a second. There was little resistance from the French, mostly because they had been surprised.

Now there was only one remaining, and he stumbled back, attempting to retreat. But Benedict halted his progress by stepping on the Frenchman’s leg. The prisoner began praying in his native tongue as Benedict hoisted him off the ground.

“Do you speak the king’s English?” asked Benedict sharply, to which the Frenchman answered with a frightened stare.

Walter spoke to him in French, and they conversed for several minutes. When hearing his language, the prisoner began to relax, as Sir Walter was more patient and soft-spoken.

“What does he say?” asked Benedict.

“He says his company has been patrolling Normandy for several days now,” began Walter. “They came to Fécamp just after our army departed for Cravant. Then they destroyed the ships and killed any Englishmen there before coming here to find more enemies.”

“Does he know anything of a Sir Fastolf or Montacute?” asked Benedict urgently.

Walter interrogated the Frenchmen further.

His scouting party did ambush a group further south of here,” said Walter. “They killed a few, but most were taken as prisoners and hauled away to Paris. There was a knight, maybe two, he says, and a squire.”

“Fastolf and Montacute!” exclaimed Benedict. “And the squire is William, no doubt! We must go to Paris and rescue them!”

“If they yet live!” the Frenchman spoke up in English, mocking the knight’s hopeful tone. “Your friends are prisoners of Lord Julien, the sheriff of Paris! They will be tortured and killed.”

“Shut it!” Benedict came down on the prisoner and smashed his head with his axe. “We received all we need from him. Letting him go would only bring trouble further down the road.”

“I agree,” said Walter. “That is why I did not protest.”

“We cannot leave our friends to rot in a French jail!” said Benedict, cleaning off his axe. “But it seems the horses were spooked during our scuffle just now; we will have to go on foot now.”

“Tis better that way,” replied Walter. “We can sneak around with ease on foot! Come now, we must find a way to Paris!”

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Folly at Cravant Part 6

“We cannot be forced back into the water or to the bridge!” Walter yelled out.

“Not yet all of us have crossed the river!” Benedict said with frustration. “And too many have fallen into the waters before reaching land.”

Amidst the chaos Sir John Stewart of Darnley, came to meet Benedict. It was perhaps a surprise to the Scottish commander, for he did not expect to find the two renowned knights standing against him. But Stewart was not alone, for Louis, Count of Vendôme had come also. They clashed swords with the English knights as the battle for the bridge continued around them.

Royal Arms of England. Artwork by Sodacan

“We will beat you out of sheer numbers!” taunted Stewart. “Why have you led your army across the Channel ill-prepared to fight a war that is not yours anymore?”

“I could ask the same of you!” answered Benedict as he lunged towards the Scotsman and threw his axe down to meet Stewart’s metal shield.

Sparks flew between the combatants, and as the battle went on, Benedict proved to be the stronger of the two. The sturdy knight threw Stewart into a group of soldiers and disrupted their actions. However, Stewart did not return to combat against Benedict right away; he ordered the men nearby to attack his English advisory and was even willing to shove one of his men between him and the knight.

Benedict dealt with these men easily; five fell to his axe and sword quickly. After this, he pursued Stewart through the crowds of combatants.

“Benedict! No!” Walter called out even as he still confronted the Count of Vendôme. “Remain with the men!”

But it was too late; Benedict was set in his goal of running down Stewart. He crashed through French and English alike and finally caught the fleeing Scotsman on the banks of the Yonne. However, Benedict did not find a cowering man begging for his life. The Scotsman turned to face his pursuer after realizing running would prove fruitless after a time. But passed Stewart on the other side of the river, Benedict saw French horsemen coming behind the English archers.

The longbowmen ran, but many of them were run down and killed in the retreat. However, Benedict was not yet defeated or deterred by this; he reached out with his sword and struck Stewart’s face, removing his left eye. Before the English knight could deliver a death blow, the French horses charged him. He was forced to leap into the river to escape.

Benedict ran away from the battle, alone and isolated from any ally. His retreat was covered by the failing light, and also because most of the enemy was occupied with slaughtering the remaining Englishmen as the river or taking prisoners. He did not stop until the cries of battle waned in his ears and were distant obscure sounds. He ran for several hundred yards north, as far from the river as possible. But when he turned to look back there was a shape coming towards him. He readied himself to fight. However, when Benedict could see this person more clearly, he saw his friend, Sir Walter.

“Benedict, is that you?” asked Walter. “You escaped!”

“Aye, my life was moments from being ended,” replied Benedict as he motioned for his friend to join him underneath a concealing patch of trees. Shouts and cries were all around them, and it seemed the French still hunted for any Englishmen who managed to escape. Patrols marched through the countryside searching for stragglers. But the knights watched in silence.

To be continued...

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Folly at Cravant Part 5

Another post and another day closer to the release of Lancastrian: The Tower of England! Here's the fifth part of the backstory behind a section of the prequel. Don't forget to check out The Knight of Colchester before the sequel is available next week!

Benedict and Walter turned from their ally and looked across the Yonne; the Burgundian messenger was correct; for now, Charles’ army now moved towards them even as the siege went on.

With the combined forces of Charles VII and his Scottish allies, they were numerous enough to encompass the whole city and still shelter the flank at the river. Now the English forces rallied at the other side and the opposing armies insulted each other for hours. The French dared their enemies to cross, knowing their numbers were superior and that the water would slow this progress. As this happened, Walter and Benedict noticed their friends had not come.

“No sign of Sir Fastolf or Montacute?” asked Walter with concern. “Their plan was to arrive before the battle? I pray nothing ill has happened to them.”

“Perhaps they still travel?” said Benedict with hope as he scanned the horizon to the northwest where he excepted Fastolf to come from. “But it is too late now to delay the battle any longer. We must relieve the Burgundian Duchy in Cravant! Archers!”

But before the English could act, the French shot a flurry of crossbow bolts across the river. Now, the English longbowmen returned fire and spread chaos among the French archers.

“Continue the barrage!” Benedict ordered his captain. “I will lead the army across the river! Keep the enemy’s heads down; we must not let them trap us in the river’s water!”

“How do we cross without becoming entrapped on the narrow bridge?” a nearby soldier asked.

“This river is not deep,” replied Philip’s rider. “And neither does it possess a strong current. You will have to wade through the waters on both sides of the bridge! But for now, I must leave and return to my Lord Philip.”

“Inform Philip to come here if he can!” said Walter.

“Then let us go!” Benedict yelled and thrust his sword forward as he charged across the bridge.

His knights and Walter followed after him. Seeing Benedict’s urgency, the soldiers were quick to stampede across the bridge and slosh through the waters. They held aloft shields for protection from the ongoing French arrows. It was fifty meters from one end to the other, and many lost their lives attempting to cross the river. But constant cover from the longbows lessened the English casualties from what they could have been.

Battle of Cravant by Martial d'Auvergne

Both armies met on the city’s side of the bridge, as the French attempted to keep most of the English in the water. But Benedict’s knights caused the Franks and Scots much distress when coming down on them. The fight was bloody and cruel; many men were broken physically and left to their anguish on the field even as others around them fought on. For a while, the tide of battle favoured the English as their longbows shot beyond the front lines and thinned the ranks of the enemy’s reinforcements. And the English knights brought death to many men loyal to King Charles VII.

Now Benedict unhorsed and fought with his men in the mud and bloodied ground, wielding both sword and axe. Those around him were either encouraged or fearful, and these feelings were dictated on whether they were friends or foes with the knight. But for every enemy Benedict felled, two or three more took his place. The French outnumbered their advisories on their own, but they were also joined by the Scots and Aragonese and Lombard mercenaries.

When these additional men came to the fray, the English were pushed back to the river. Still, Benedict and Walter urged their men forward, even as they grew increasingly out-manned.

To be continued...

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Folly at Cravant Part 4

“Philip the Good will come if he truly is loyal to Henry VI,” replied Walter. “Or if he cares about this city.”

“It would be better if John Lancaster were here,” said Benedict.

“Why is that?” asked Walter with a puzzled expression.

“He is the brother of England’s great king, Henry V!” exclaimed Benedict. “No stronger message could be sent than if the regent of England and caretaker of the throne came to plead our case!”

“We both know our Regent will not come,” Walter said as he still examined the field ahead and the river banks. “The Duke of Bedford will be occupied with far too many things now, being newly appointed. Instead, we will have Sir Fastolf and Sir Montacute here to lead us into battle.”

“I pray they arrive tomorrow!” said Benedict. “We cannot beat the enemy with piercing eye gazes from across a river! We will have to engage soon if we are to save Cravant! Look how they bombard the city and set it ablaze!”

It was a grim sight to see Cravant nearly surrounded by the enemy. They could hear distant cries of battle and anguish as fires climbed into the night sky above the city.

“This will not do!” said Benedict. “The river is too wide for a crossing, the enemy’s position on the other side is protected by dense forest and impassable ground. We must look for another way across!”

“We should march back down the river,” suggested Walter. “There must be a more unassuming way to cross.”

“We will do this upon the next day,” said Benedict. “But for now, it would be wise to slumber before then.”

The Earl of Salisbury leads the charge in a 19th-century depiction of the Battle of Cravant's climax. 

Benedict was quick to fall asleep; he was not one to allow weighty circumstances to prevent him from catching rest. When the next day came, the English army marched further south and found a bridge gapping the river. Here, they assembled just as the sun had begun rising. As the lines were formed, with nearly fifteen hundred men-at-arms at the front and two thousand archers at their flank, a lookout shouted

“Look there, sir!” he said.

There, a purple flag of Burgundy came, led by a rider; the English knights went out to meet this man. But as they came closer, they could see the distress on his face.

“Why the long face, man?” asked Benedict. “Methinks you should be grateful to see allies here today.”

“It would be preferred for my cause if you English were not needed,” replied the rider. “But we have more urgent matters before us: Philip’s army was waylaid while marching for this place.”

There was a long and dreadful pause among the English.

“My lord will not be joining you here today,” the Burgundian rider continued.

“We cannot turn back now, Benedict,” said Walter. “But we will be hard pressed for victory without reinforcements.”

“You are right,” answered Benedict quietly. “Outnumbered as we are, I say we have history on our side! Do you know the story of the Battle of Crécy? An English army close in number as we have here, fought an enemy of seventy thousand Frenchmen. And we won!”

“Some say the French numbered one hundred thousand,” replied Walter.

“My point remains!” answered Benedict. “We can win this battle if Edward III was victorious at Crécy!”

“It will be more difficult now,” said the rider looking beyond Benedict’s large frame. “The enemy has begun to reposition south of Cravant to meet you!”

To be continued...

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Folly at Cravant Part 3

“And we will do well to stay near forested areas,” said Walter. “Not just for concealment, but also to receive protection from this blasted heat!”

“There are few forests northwest of Paris,” said Benedict climbing atop his maple-colored horse. “But, July is intended to be hot, my friend. Were it not, I would think God was playing a joke!”

“We should be thankful God controls the weather,” Walter said as he too mounted a horse. “But I still detest this heat, especially when wearing armour! Let us hurry now to Cravant!”

As Sir Walter had said, the army began their journey traveling southeast. Grassy plains were abundant, and here, the heat from the summer sun was difficult to avoid. There were moments of respite for the hot and sweaty soldiers among the sparse forests. It had been an uneventful day, but this was preferred. All the men were happy to stop that night and remove their armour, even those who had the luxury of riding on horseback had grown tired.

“Forty miles in that direction lies Paris,” said Benedict pointing northeast.

“What are you getting at?” Walter asked as he joined his friend on the hill near the quiet camp. “You suggest we march there instead and retake the French capital?”

“Reclaiming the city in Henry VI’s name would cow our French enemies,” remarked Benedict. “Would this be such a bad thing?”

“If it were possible, taking Paris might only stir the French more,” said Walter attempting to put reason into his friend’s mind. “But the nobles have given us the task of freeing the Cravant Duchy and thus aiding our Burgundian friends. To deviate from this task would be treason. You should sleep, friend. For tomorrow and the next days may not allow much rest.”

“Aye, tomorrow we march all day!” Benedict remarked as he returned to the camp.

Benedict was right indeed, for the next day they marched continually with very little relaxation. As the day dragged on the men’s only motivation was seeing that Sir Benedict’s colours had not wavered; the knight’s checkered red and yellow flag bearing a gryphon flown proudly at the army’s head. No trouble came to them on the road; not even the sound of hooves from the menacing French knights was heard.

“I wish our time here in France would always be this peaceful and undisturbed,” said Benedict. “But, alas, it will not be so these next days.”

Artwork by Sebacalka

“Look lively, men!” Walter shouted back at the tired soldiers behind him. “We are very near to our destination!”

Ahead, they could see the darkened sky had turned colour with a red hue; the siege waged on as the French brought fire down on Cravant. The English army turned north and marched parallel with the Yonne River, which lay between them and the field where the Frankish army, joined by Scottish allies, attacked the Burgundian Duchy.

“Let us make camp!” ordered Benedict. “It will be no good to attack now; we are all tired from the heat and travels.”

The men who heard this were greatly relieved and wasted no time in pitching their tents. Meanwhile, Benedict and Walter gazed across the river towards the larger French army.

“They are strong here,” said Walter turning his head left then right as he saw how many opponents they faced. “They more than double our force, even if we were strengthened by Philip of Burgundy. But no word has yet come from our ally.”

“I have no faith in Frenchmen,” said Benedict. “Even if the Burgundians claim loyalty to the English crown it is hard to trust them.”

To be continued...

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Folly at Cravant Part 2

Here follows the direct continuation of the Folly at Cravant

“I had hoped things would be different,” said the captain. Benedict looked strangely at him. “No disrespect to our great King Henry V, God rest his soul, but with his absence, I, and many others wished for a time of peace. Should we not leave France and govern England and Ireland; keeping to ourselves?”

“Our Burgundian allies would surely find defeat without our aid,” replied Benedict firmly. “And we do still control territories in Gascony and Calais. If we abandon these places would not King Charles see this as weakness? He is a young monarch and he thirsts for power.”

“Is a thirst for power not what began this war with France?” the captain asked rhetorically.

“Some may say so,” answered Benedict. “But I would not. For do you not know that Henry V’s heritage gave him a rightful claim to the Frankish throne? And so, his son Henry VI also has this right. But now I see our grip on France weaken as a result of Henry V’s death. I do not know if we will reclaim what we once had.”

“Would that outcome be so terrible?” asked the captain. “We should mind our own business and see to England’s needs first.”

 “I would mostly agree,” said Benedict. “But our enemies will not care if we remain home. War will always be present, so long as sinful men are around to carry it out. And so, lawful men as us must answer their desire for violence before it is brought to our homes.”

Now Fècamp was not far away and the knights’ ship was the first to lay anchor at the docks. Horses, weapons, and armour were unloaded by the squires as the army slowly assembled on the road. Before the English army began marching south, a rider came to them. He wore the purple colors of the House of Burgundy.

“My lord Fastolf!” he called out. “Where is the lord Fastolf?”

“He is yet in England,” answered Sir Benedict. “There were important matters in court which needed his attention. But he will come before the battle.”

“Then what of Sir Thomas Montacute?” asked the rider. “And who are you, sir?”

“Our friends will join us, as I have said,” answered Benedict. “Do not fret over this.
For look; the army is here and I, Sir Benedict lead them in my master’s stead.”

“Your master?” asked the rider. “You have no king in England. Who is this master you speak of?”

“Nay, my master is Fastolf,” replied the proud knight, who was becoming agitated over this delay. “We are Knights of the Garter and Fastolf commands us. He has commanded Sir Walter and me to lead the army until his arrival. But what purpose do you have here?”

“I intended to relay a message from Philip of Burgundy to Sir Fastolf,” the rider said. “But your ears will suffice instead. My lord, Philip the Good, wishes to meet in Auxerre before we make for Cravant. Do not delay; for we know that King Charles’ army has already begun its siege of Cravant!”

“Tell Philip to meet us at the Yonne River instead of Auxerre,” commanded Benedict.

“Our road will take us dangerously close to Paris,” said Walter as the rider galloped away. “We will need to be cautious the further southeast we go.”

“We will give the French capital a wide birth,” said Benedict as the army still assembled. “Best we do not give our presence away until Cravant is near. As far as we know, the French do not suspect we have come.”

To be continued...

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Folly at Cravant Part 1

For those who have read Lancastrian: The Knight of Colchester you will recall the instance which took the protagonist to France. Although his intent was to join his allies at Cravant, he and those traveling with him were captured and imprisoned in Paris. For the reader, this meant not knowing what happened at the battle near Cravant or how events relevant to William's escape came to be. With this short story, you now get the chance to see what took place away from the book's narrative during Chapter 3.

Because it is a lengthy story, several posts of this tale will precede the release of the sequel, The Tower of England, on November 27th! 

Now after Sir Benedict and Walter departed Fastolf’s estate the two knights set out immediately to gather their men. On order of the nobles, the army had already begun gathering in the fields south of London. There was a great encampment there in Southwark; fifteen hundred men-at-arms and two thousand archers waited for their commanders. Benedict and Walter brought with the one hundred knights.

“It does my heart good to see so many strong Englishmen assembled here!” Benedict exclaimed as he surveyed the army while they formed orderly lines and began embarking the ships gathered in the Thames.

“And it is good that we do not have to expend our energy marching south before coming to the transports,” said Walter.

“But Fastolf and William will go south and meet with Sir Montacute,” remarked Benedict. “Shame they cannot leave with us!”

“Being an influential Knight of the Garter will see our commander away on businesses of state often,” said Walter. “I do not envy Fastolf of these duties, but it is good that an honourable soul is involved with the nobles while we are yet kingless.”

“Indeed, for I would rather depart and take action through adventures and battles!” said Benedict.

By this time, most of the army had boarded and now the knights took to their ships. The horses, food, armour, and weapons were all safely secure. Then, the fleet began sailing upstream on the Thames out to the estuary and cruised further east beyond the lands of Kent and finally down through the Strait of Dover.

“The White Cliffs of Dover are such a wonderful sight!” exclaimed Walter. “And the prominent Dover Castle protects this place as it stands tall and strong!”

“Dover Castle has deterred many invasions of our soil!” said Benedict. “No French king has ever set foot yet in England for many reasons, and Dover’s strong defenses are among them!”

The English fleet remained close to friendly coasts for as long as possible, until coming away from the Strait and changing course to head more towards France.

“Sir Benedict!” the ship captain called out to the knights. “Where do ye attend to land?”

“Our destination is Fècamp,” replied the night. Then he turned to Walter and the other commanders. “From there the march south to Cravant will take the majority of the day. Pray we will have ample time to rest ere the battle.”

“I will rest now before we come to the docks in Normandy,” said Walter as he began going below deck.

“I envy you, sir,” said a nearby man-at-arms. “For if rest were simple on a tossing ship then there would be no need to hope for recuperation before we meet our enemies.”

Walter laughed, and then retired below decks. Meanwhile, Benedict remained topside, being ever closer to the vessel’s captain as his ship led the fleet south and across the channel.

“Tis not a fleet as impressive as the great armada assembled by King Henry V!” said the captain.

“Nay, but it will have to do!” replied Benedict. “But remember, many fighting men remained home to protect Henry VI and his uncle. I pray the Duke of Bedford safeguards the throne with just intent until the prince is ready to rule.”

“I believe all of England shares your wish,” answered the captain. “But look! Did you not see the shores of dimly through the Channel’s mist? We are close!”

“Yes, but it will be some time yet before we come to Fècamp further down the coast,” said Benedict. “This fog may bring a difficulty to the voyage, but it will cover our arrival. It will be better if the army is able to disembark ere the enemy is upon us.”

“But Charles’ army will not be near Normandy,” said the captain. “Or am I wrong? For I had thought the Franks engaged Cravant by now.”

“You are correct,” Benedict said slowly as he looked on towards the coastline as if attempting to catch glimpses of anyone watching them. “But as a knight, I suspect danger around any corner during a war.”

To be continued...

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