“Off!” they roared in unison. “Out!” and then subsided into laughter.
“Are you hurt, Geoffrey?” Joanna asked, not knowing whether she wished for it or feared it. Her husband had made no motion to rise, and she could not move without jostling him, being pinned half under his body.
“Only in my heart,” he replied, and nibbled at her chin. “You are so beautiful, Joanna,” he murmured, continuing to nibble down her throat between the words.
Joanna had been made so furious by the eagerness with which Geoffrey welcomed his father’s suggestion that he return to action, that she had intended to give him a cold farewell. He might love her better than other women, but it was sure he did not love her better than killing other men. Nonetheless, it was impossible after their mutual laughter to draw on a cloak of wounded pride. Besides, she was by no means immune to her husband’s flattery or to what he was doing, and the idea of coupling on the carpet before the fire lent an odd spice also.
“Geoffrey,” she sighed, her hands wandering down his body, “do you
wish
to leave me?”
“Are you mad?” he sighed, but he had better uses for his mouth than answering silly questions, and soon Joanna was too far gone to ask any others.
By hooking the toes of his free leg into them, Geoffrey had rid himself of the remaining leg of his chausses and shoe without breaking Joanna’s concentration. It was easier to untie her belt and open her robe, but when he turned her on her back he could feel her shiver. The floor struck cold even through the carpet. Geoffrey pulled Joanna back against his naked warmth and lay flat himself, lifting her atop him so that her open robe flowed over both like a coverlet.
“Come,” he whispered, “mount astride me as you did when I was still too sore to play the man. Pleasure me thus.”
Had Joanna been able to think, the reminder of the danger Geoffrey so eagerly sought might have turned her to ice. It did not work that way. Pain wrung her but the pang seemed to intensify the pleasure in her’ loins as when Geoffrey sucked her breasts hard enough to bruise them the pain heightened her passion. Tears came to her eyes, and the feeling of them running down her face also added a weird excitement to the love play.
For Geoffrey too there was a stimulating oddity in this mating. The notion that his wife wept while her body moved sinuously upon his, the chill of the floor at his back and the warmth of Joanna’s breasts against his chest, even the knowledge that he dare not cry out or groan with pleasure for fear of bringing Brian upon them again made the waves of sensation radiating from his shaft more piercing. Twice he needed to seize Joanna’s hips and hold her still lest he come to a premature climax. The third time he tried to quiet her she struggled against him, too near her own orgasm to care or understand, and that set them both off.
Later, when Geoffrey regained enough strength, he carried Joanna to bed. “You need not fear for me this time,” he comforted, drawing her to lie against him. “My father is more tender of me than you wish to believe.” Joanna stiffened and began to pull away, but Geoffrey laughed and held her tight. “I tell you, he desires me as a scribe and to do the accounts and suchlike. He has battle leaders enough. Dammartin and the count of Holland are with him.”
Joanna sighed and relaxed. She really knew that Salisbury would not endanger Geoffrey needlessly, and it was useless to be angry and weep because men were men. “Will you truly have a care for yourself? Truly?”
“Am I of such great value to you then?” Geoffrey asked lightly, warm with pleasure, sure this time she would say outright that she loved him.
“Better the devil I know than one unknown, who might be worse,” Joanna replied matching his tone.
Shock kept him still. Nothing seemed able to wring an avowal of love from Joanna. In the past when he sighed that he loved her, Geoffrey thought bitterly, she replied with kisses. Now that he asked openly for an answer, she jestedor did she? Had she spoken the truth? Was he only the “devil” she knew, dear because he was safe and familiar? If he had not won her to love in near half a year of marriage, could he hope he ever would win her? Geoffrey’s lips parted to ask plainly, to demand an answer, but Joanna had slipped into sleep.
Grateful for the reprieve, he murmured softly, “I am a fool. I know she loves me. I know it.” But there was no assurance in his voice and, if he hoped to win a half-conscious response from Joanna, he failed in that too.
p.
Geoffrey and Salisbury left before the first light the next morning. Geoffrey was still somewhat stiff of movement, favoring his right side where a sword stroke under his guard had sliced him open from breastbone to waist. Seeing this, Salisbury spoke privately to Tostig and to his own senior squire, who was near ripe for knighting. Even if they had to knock him down and sit on him, Salisbury instructed, Geoffrey was not to become involved in any heavy fighting.
Tostig shook his head. “If there is fighting, my lord,” he growled, “I will need to catch him before I can knock him down. How do you think he was so hurt? It was because he had run ahead of us all and was surrounded.”
Salisbury laughed, not displeased. “Well, guard him close as you can. I will speak to him myself.”
He found Geoffrey out on one of the docks, shouting directions about warping in a boat. When the nervous, blindfolded horses were starting over the gangplank, Salisbury drew his son aside and told him plainly that he was not satisfied with the completeness of his recovery and if Geoffrey would not pass his word to do no more than defend himself when necessary, he would leave him behind. Geoffrey opened his mouth indignantly but then shut it.
“Very well,” he said, “for one week from this day, I will abide by your condition, but then we must come to new terms.” Then he busied himself with loading and organizing the five hundred ships, seven hundred knights, and thousands of foot soldiers and archers that made up their force. When he fell onto his pallet in the bow of his father’s ship that night, he slept far more soundly than he had for some time past in his own soft bed. They sailed with the morning tide, beating east and then a little north through the strait of Dover. There, a small boat came out with the news that many ships had passed through two days ago. Such a large fleet could only be Philip’s navy. A discussion ensued as to whether they should try to engage at sea or hold to their original plan of joining forces with Ferrand. On Dammartin’s advice, they pursued their course toward the mouth of the Zwyn in spite of awkward offshore winds. It would be unwise, Dammartin suggested significantly, to raise any doubts in Ferrand’s mind, even briefly. The count’s own men were not too firm in their loyalty, and if John seemed slow to send the aid upon which they counted, they might panic and yield.
The decision proved fortunate in an unexpected way. Upon turning into the estuary, lookouts were sent up to report on the condition of the port. Suddenly, as the port of Damme came into view, all voices sang out. with astonishment. The port was one solid mass of ships. Salisbury’s force had accomplished both purposes at once. Stealthily, the ships in the lead backed water, signaling warnings to those that followed. Three small boats manned by Flemish sailors were sent out to scout the defenses.
Before Salisbury’s armada had even completed their preparations for fighting, the scouts were back, almost overwhelmed with the good news they carried. The fleet was naked to their will, being guarded by no more than a few sword-armed sailors. Evidently, Philip had believed that John was shivering with fear of his invasion and would not spare a man or a ship to fulfill his promise to Ferrand. The French knights were either at the siege of Ghent or were scattered far and wide over the countryside plundering the rich Flemish towns.
Every man for whom there was place leapt eagerly to the oars. Salisbury’s ships poured into the harbor as fast as they could. Brass-lunged heralds called for immediate surrender. By and large the order received quick compliance since it was clear that the French position was indefensible. Twice a better manned ship approached by Salisbury’s vessel showed signs of fight, hoping to escape with the help of the offshore wind. In these cases, Geoffrey joyfully unlimbered the great Welsh longbow he carried and picked off any exposed member of the crew while small boats ran up alongside and sent English knights and men-at-arms aboard.
The second ship put up a fierce resistance. The surprise caused by this fiery defense nearly accomplished its purpose. The ship had been cut free from its anchor line and turned to catch the wind by the sailors while the men-at-arms fought off those attempting to board before Geoffrey at last spotted the guiding spirita man in the mail of a belted knightand pinned him to the deck with a we’ll-placed arrow. Even wounded, the knight called on his men to keep fighting, but a rain of crossbow bolts drove the sailors from their tasks and the havoc wrought by the superior accuracy of the unfamiliar weapon Geoffrey wielded soon doused the remaining flickers of resistance. Geoffrey called out to spare the life of the ardent fighter and see to his hurts and then turned his attention to more important matters.
Having slaughtered and thrown into the sea the crews of the ships that were afloat, the English sent strong landing parties to take the ships that had been beached. The ferocity with which the mariners had been treated had its effect. Those set to guard the beached ships and supplies fled in haste, as did most of the residents of the town, leaving the conquerors a clear field. The remainder of the men-at-arms and the horses were taken ashore to be organized into guard parties. Some would be sent out to be sure the French did not return and attack them by surprise; the others were set to stripping the beached ships of everything of value they had carried.
By virtue of the agreement he had made with his father, Geoffrey was condemned to be in charge of collecting and transporting the booty. To his utter delight, it soon became apparent that most of Philip’s upper nobility had come with the fleet, carrying the elegant clothing and jewels that were necessary to a King’s entourage even when on active service. There would be many a new ring and necklet to bedeck his beautiful Joanna. In fact, every man who had taken part in this expedition would be a great deal richer when he returned home than he had been when it started.
More important in the long run was the enormous tonnage of supplies, the meat, corn, wine, flour, and arms that were still in the bellies of the ships. It was incredible, but nonetheless true, that Philip had not waited to unload the supplies for his campaign before he sent his army out to plunder the land. He had been too sure of his supremacy, too contemptuous of his enemies. Doubtless, he would not make that mistake again, but the lesson would come too late for the Flemish campaign. Without food for his army, the siege of Ghent could not be prosecuted. Without ships, the army would have to retreat overland. Without the extra arms and armor, the French would take heavy losses as they fought their way back through a hostile countryside.
When it grew too dark to continue loading, the parties ranging out from the town were thinned into a line of guards. More guards were set on the beached ships, and the captured vessels that were already fully laden were dispatched back to England with prize crews aboard. With the return of Salisbury and his party, Geoffrey found that he had been the only really hard pressed member of the army. The others had a calm, pleasant ride through the countryside, although they were loud in complaint over the damage the French had done. By the time they got onto that subject, Geoffrey had imbibed rather freely of the excellent wine the French had brought along for their own pleasure. It struck him very funny that his father and such other notable war lords as Dammartin and William of Holland should deplore in Flanders what they themselves would do in France if they had half a chance.
This line of thought led to a slightly maudlin decision that he was no better than they. Had he not bid the men spare the life of that knight and not even remembered to ask his name or whether he had survived? Thought and action being one when the passage between them was lubricated with wine, Geoffrey lunged to his feet and began to stagger out to make inquiries. ‘‘Where do you go?” Salisbury called as his eye was caught by his son’s unsteady gait. They were too near the docks to make drunken wandering safe.
Geoffrey explained, and his father snorted derisively. “You are full as an untapped wineskin. Where will you look in the dark? Like enough, if he is alive, he is on his way to England. Tomorrow, if you still want to know, I will inquire.”
It was highly unlikely that either would have remembered in the morning, but a middle-aged knight further down the room called out to say that if Lord Geoffrey meant the man wounded by the longbow arrow, he had taken him prisoner. The man’s name was Léon de Baisieux and he was not like to die unless the stiffening sickness took him. For some reason, more associated with a newly filled goblet than anything else, Geoffrey now felt he had vindicated himself and settled back to enjoy the party.
Later he was called upon to sing. A handsome lute, also part of the plunder, was thrust into his hands. By then most of the rowdier drunks were either under the tables or had left the hall to settle elsewhere the quarrels they had started. A gentle melancholy pervaded the remaining celebrants. It seemed appropriate to sing laments, and the only one Geoffrey could call to mind at the moment was King Richard’s song, written when he was a prisoner in Germany. The fine logic of drunkenness immediately connected Coeur de Lion, who had been a prisoner, with Léon de Baisieux, who was now a prisoner, and fixed the name in Geoffrey’s memory.
Perhaps Geoffrey would have done something about the man once his interest and sense of responsibility had been awakened, but the next day was even busier than the one before. Count Ferrand arrived to ratify the alliance with King Johnand to receive his share of the booty. Salisbury, Dammartin, and Holland were fully occupied with their noble guest. Geoffrey was completely immersed in his duty as temporary quartermaster. Meanwhile, most of the knights, afflicted with high spirits or bad tempers owing to overindulgence, decided to work off their energies. They ranged further afield than they should have and ran directly into the main body of Philip’s forces. For their carelessness, they were punished by being badly beaten and taking heavy losses. Finally, those remaining disengaged and retreated in decent order. The news carried by the bloody survivors stimulated even more frantic activity. Ferrand said hasty goodbyes and rode off to rejoin his own army, taking with him Dammartin, William of Holland and those knights who had come to join his service, and most of the mercenary troops. Geoffrey completed the loading of the English ships and captured French vessels with all haste and then ordered that the beached vessels be set afire; there was no longer time to refloat them. Even when they were back in England, Geoffrey had his hands full. Salisbury rode at once to bring his brother the good news. Unloading, storage, division of the spoils, and discharge of some of the ships pressed into service, which would be replaced by the captured French vessels, were left in Geoffrey’s hands. Then Geoffrey was summoned to court to give an accounting of what he had done.