WAR CRY by Ian Ross

Author:Ian Ross [Ross, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781399708883
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton
Published: 2023-12-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Worcester surrendered to Lord Edward on the Morrow of St Boniface. The following day was a Sunday, the Translation of St Wulfstan, patron saint of the city, and the bells rang out from every church as Edward crossed the bridge on horseback and rode in through the river gate and along the main street. Only ten days had passed since his escape from Hereford, and now he would hear mass as a free man, a triumphant leader, in the great cathedral.

He had promised the city burgesses that there would be no sack. His troops would not rampage through the streets, ravaging and despoiling. Instead, the army of Edward and his allies remained in camp on the other side of the bridge. They would only cross the Severn, the commanders decreed, when they were ready to commence their southward march once more, towards Tewkesbury and Gloucester. Then they would destroy the bridge behind them, to deny the crossing to de Montfort.

Adam remained in the camp all through that day, staring over the river at Worcester. He had seen nothing more of Matthew, and had almost come to believe that he had imagined the boy’s appearance that night at Holt, or dreamed it. His request to enter the city was refused – he had wondered whether, once in the narrow streets, he might be able to evade his guardians somehow. Instead, he was confined to the familiar circuit of wagon camp, tent groups and cooking fires, with the constant prowling attentions of Le Brock and the Ticeburns. It had been more than ten days since he had changed his clothes, or bathed, and he felt filthy and ragged, unshaven and unkempt as the lowest beggar. Only the finely mounted sword at his side and the spurs at his ankles marked him as anything more than a common churl.

After evensong, once the liturgical day was considered over, the knights and younger barons laid out a course on a meadow near the river and rode practice jousts and mock fights. They tied a figure of straw to a stake and dressed it in a linen surcoat daubed with Simon de Montfort’s red and white arms, then took turns riding at it with lance, sword and axe until it was slashed and battered out of human shape. Adam watched them, envying them their freedom and the exercise it allowed them. Richard de Malmaines, of course, had sneeringly suggested that Adam ride a joust against him, knowing full well that Adam had no lance, shield or armour, and had been given only a sway-backed old cob to ride.

‘Those who come last to the table must be last to taste the meat,’ de Malmaines said, sitting in the high war saddle of his glossy chestnut stallion. ‘But if you pay attention, you may at least learn something of valour and skill at arms.’

Then he pulled on his helmet and rode out onto the course, where he broke three lances against his first opponent, and then drove another knight from the saddle on his second pass.

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