But though I succeeded in ridding myself of many sinful passions, there was one passion too fiery to be quenched. Try as I might to be at peace with all men, I could not eradicate my rancor toward Sir Thomas Holland, the Earl of Kent. In earlier days, the sting of his scorn had often lashed me into a fury of indignation. Now, the indifference with which he treated me cooled my anger not one whit. When in confession, I prayed fervently that this malice might pass from me. When out of confession, I hoped just as fervently to see Holland meet his demise in this campaign.
The prince himself took meticulous charge of the camp. Each morning he supervised the camp’s dismantling and ordered a forward march once the road had been deemed safe; each evening he oversaw the camp’s placement and erected measures for defense. During the nights, the prince saw that the watch was kept. Frequently, he went around from station to station, ensuring the vigilance of the sentries, and assuring his own mind that there were no gaps in the defense.
The prince appointed Sir John Chandos and Sir James Audley as scouts for the army. With their companies of trained knights, they rode ahead of us each day, scouring the woods for ambushes or signs of the enemy. It would be ill fortune to meet with the French army before joining our forces with Lancaster.
Under the prince’s strict shepherding, our army of nearly seven thousand men, passed quickly northward through the counties of Berry and Poitou; for nearly four weeks we marched. We took what supplies we needed from the countryside, burning as we went, but deviated little from our set path in search of plunder. It was near the end of August, when we halted alongside the noble city of Bourges to take stock of our position.
The prince had called a council of war in his pavilion. Brocas was there, Salisbury, Holland, and me. Others continued to trickle in after they had seen to the defenses in their sector of the camp. We sat on makeshift chairs around a large unrolled map. The faded vellum showed the soft outline of France. The rivers and their crossings, the cities and larger towns were labeled with the blue and gold lettering of Gothic script. A tall chess piece—the queen from the prince’s ivory chess set—stood regally in the middle of the map. It marked our position in the land of France.
The tent flap opened to admit one more. “No word from Lancaster,” said the Earl of Warwick glumly. He threw himself wearily into a chair within the inner circle. His words unfolded slowly like the petals of a flower. I could not tell if his hesitation came from doubt or exhaustion. “Will your highness continue north?”
The prince was silent.
“
We must continue north!” said Holland vociferously. The rigors of the campaign had redeemed some of his flaccidity, and he spoke with his former forcefulness. “Lancaster is waiting for us, and we must not disappoint him. United, we can advance on Paris. Without him, we can do nothing.”
“
But we have gone nearly two-thirds of the distance between Bordeaux and Normandy,” argued Warwick. “Surely, Lancaster, if he were able, would have met us before now. There is no doubt in my mind—he is beset, perhaps even destroyed.”
“
Even so,” contended Sir Holland, “there is still the king!” For Edward continued to dangle possibilities of landing a third army on the northern coast.
“
Well, highness?” said the earl of Salisbury preemptively, before Holland and Warwick’s discussion could gain more momentum. “These two say no more than what we all already know. It is for you to decide what must be done.”
“
I am loath to cross the Loire without news of Lancaster,” said the prince slowly. “If we continue north, then cross it we must. Lancaster may not be there to meet us, but I daresay the French will be; then we shall be trapped between the river and their swords.”
“
Well said!” commended Warwick, and Holland grunted in acknowledgment of this concern.
“
But I will make no decision without the advice of my scouts,” continued the prince. “Potenhale, did you not summon Chandos and Audley to my tents?”
“
Aye, highness,” I replied. “But they are not yet returned from their foray. You must remember that you gave them orders to range afield as far as the town of Aubigny today.”
“
That is not so far from here,” said the prince. “They should have returned before now.”
His words acted like a conjurer, for he had no sooner spoken than the tent flap parted to admit the two grizzled scouts. In their company was a third man, bigger than both. Like the scouts, he wore full armor, but his surcoat was bespattered with mud as if he had fallen from his horse. His gray hair curled voluminously like the coat of a ewe, and I learned later that this had earned him the sobriquet
Grismouton
. I saw at once that he was a Frenchman and surmised that he must be their prisoner.
“
Your highness,” said Chandos formally, “allow me to make known to you Sir Philip Chambly.”
Sir Chambly bowed in a courtly fashion.
“
Welcome, Sir Chambly,” said the prince courteously, and he gave him his hand to kiss. “How come you to be in the company of these gentlemen?”
“
Through the mischances of war,” he said, shaking his woolly head ruefully. “My company was deployed to Aubigny and your captains surprised us there.
Mais par le sang Dieu,
it was a hard battle! There are eighteen of my company brought into your hand, as many more dead on the field—and Christ knows whither the rest have flown!”
The prince turned to his scouts. “So you have taken Aubigny?” he asked with a gleam in eye.
“
Aye, highness,” said Audley in a tone of satisfaction. “We’ve taken her, torched her, and left only blackened rubble in the place.”
Chandos, his black hair lined with streaks of gray, nodded in concurrence with Audley’s words. There was a slight stoop in his shoulders that I did not remember—but then it was nearly ten years since I had served him as a squire.
The prince resumed his questioning of Sir Chambly. “You say you were deployed at Aubigny—who sent you there, and from what place?”
Sir Chambly hesitated. He dropped his eyes before the prince like a sheep who has stumbled into a clearing and found himself face to face with a wolf.
“
There is no harm in telling his highness what he asks,” said Audley roughly. His stocky arms gestured contemptuously. “I have already questioned your men and they say that you come from Orleans. King John is there in arms, with a grand company of pennants
en route
from Chartres.”
“
Sweet Mary!” said Brocas with a sharp intake of breath. “He’s at the Loire waiting for us.” And indeed, it was so. Your French king had chased Lancaster to and fro across the southern border of Normandy till the harassed commander had retreated to the coast of the Contenin. Now, having peremptorily prevented our army from converging with our comrades, he straddled the river like a mighty colossus waiting for us to swim between his legs.
“
It’s just as I said,” said Warwick triumphantly, although it was an unhappy happenstance to triumph in. “Lancaster’s overturned. There’s only disaster if we continue north.”
“
It’s not confirmed!” objected Holland sulkily, unwilling to give up his position in the argument. “If we can get across the Loire we can still get to Lancaster—or to His Majesty’s landing party.”
“
And how might we do that?” demanded Warwick, “with the entire garden of French chivalry planted in Orleans at the crossing?”
“
Well, what do you propose?” Holland blustered loudly. “You would have us turn tail and run back to Gascony like a frightened child who’s shitted his breeches!”
Warwick turned an inarticulate shade of red.
“
Come now, milord,” Salisbury remonstrated with the Earl of Kent. “That is something too round of a description.”
The prince held up his hand before the wrangling could begin afresh. “Gentlemen,” said the prince calmly. “I have made my decision. It was in my mind to do this ere now, and this new intelligence only confirms me in my resolution.”
All eyes turned to the prince.
“
We go west,” said the prince. His long fingers closed around the ivory queen upon the map. He picked her up and moved her three inches to the left. “
Tours
,” said the blue lettering with leaf of gold. A serpentine line sliced through the city name like a scimitar. The map marked rivers as well as cities, and Tours lay just south of the Loire.
The prince calmly surveyed the council of captains and nobles, his subordinates in rank and blood but superiors in the matter of military experience. He did not need them to approve his decision. He would not change it if they frowned upon it. “We move on the morrow, milords,” said he. And rising from his chair he exited the tent with strong, purposeful steps.
The others lingered a little longer in the tent to discuss his highness’s decision. “So we are abandoning Lancaster then!” said Holland. “We are circling round to return to Bordeaux.”
“
Perhaps,” said Brocas archly. “Or perhaps we are merely sidestepping the French army to continue north. I believe that one can cross the Loire at Tours as well as at Orleans, can one not, Sir Chambly?”
“
You English are well informed,” said our French prisoner wryly.
“
Nay, we’ll not be traveling north again,” said Audley. “That’s not the prince’s intent. Tours itself is a rich enough reason to turn to the west. If we can sack that city before returning to Gascony, our summer’s foray will not have been in vain.”
“
She’s as rich in fortifications as she is in funds,” remarked Chandos. “We’ll not see the inside of that castle easily.”
The talk rambled on to the battlements and breastworks of Tours. Our guest, having ridden all day on horse, yawned, shook himself, and showed other signs of fatigue. “Come, Sir Chambly,” said I. “I will show you to your quarters.”
“
Gramercy, young sir,” said the great ram inclining his wooly head toward me. “I think these gentlemen would retire to their beds as well if they knew how hot my king is to catch them and do battle.
Sacre dieu
, they will have need of their strength when next they see our Oriflamme.”
SEPTEMBER, 1356
14
Our English army cut a wide westward swathe of destruction as we left Bourges and made for Tours. We paused for five days at Romorantin to besiege the castle there. Warwick gritted his teeth at this, for Romorantin sat closer to Orleans—and to King John’s army—than was to his liking. Holland, also, chafed at the delay. He still hoped that the prince intended to continue north from Tours. He knew we must arrive there before the French anticipated our plan.
Romorantin surrendered, but only after we used siege engines to set fire to her keep. In the meanwhile, our scouts brought word that the Comte de Poitiers was fortifying Tours against our imminent arrival. “We must hurry!” said Holland brusquely, “before he destroys the bridges across the Loire.” The prince agreed to increase the army’s speed, but by the time our seven thousand men reached the outskirts of Tours, three more days had passed. The Comte de Poitiers, just as Holland had feared, had acted both expediently and expeditiously. He dismantled the bridges across the river like a boy tearing the wings off a fly. Then he retreated behind the walls of the city to gloat proudly over our advancing army.
Holland cursed loudly. His chagrin was compacted by the news that the evening watch brought in. “Campfires,” said Brocas loudly. “My men saw lights across the Loire last night. It looked like the campfires of a small host.”
“
Sweet Jesus!” said Holland blasphemously. “It’s Lancaster at last, and we’ve no way of getting to him.”
“
Or mayhap it’s King John,” said Audley gruffly, determined to be contrary to the Earl of Kent. “We’ve no way of knowing whether the fires are French or English.”
“
Nay,” said Chandos more coolly. “It could not be King John’s army. They were at Chartres when we encountered Chambly—a week behind us or more.”
“
We must begin rebuilding the bridges at once,” said Holland. He slapped his thick thigh with an open palm.
“
And how shall we do that?” demanded Warwick. His clear eyes encountered the prince as he voiced his objection. “We cannot put a bridge across the narrows without coming within bowshot’s length of Tours. It is not safe to build!”
“
It is not safe to dither here!” replied Holland.
“
You are right,” said the prince simply, “Both of you. And that is why we must take Tours immediately.”
The prince sent Audley and Chandos to fire the town. I went out with the latter’s company, eager for some activity after the oppressive atmosphere within the camp. The wrangling of the commanders had disseminated to the men-at-arms. The nearer that the French army came, the more fractious grew the ranks.
“
We should have turned south at Bourges,” I heard one squire say to his friend. They were polishing their master’s cuirasses, a chore I had frequently performed for my master Chandos—I had my own man to do such a task for me now. The squire coughed unhealthily; he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued his strictures. “To come west all this way only puts us farther into the hands of the French.”
“
Aye,” replied his fellow. “But the prince is too green to know when to cry halt. If it were only his father who had us in hand, we would be safe in Gascony again.”