“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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