The perfect knight, p.1
The Perfect Knight, page 1
The Perfect Knight
The Perfect Knight
Book 20 in the Anarchy Series
By
Griff Hosker
‘Samuel, it seems does not make mistakes. He is the perfect knight’
The Warlord- Earl Marshal
Published by Sword Books Ltd 2021
Copyright ©Griff Hosker First Edition
The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
Thanks to Design for Writers for the cover and logo.
Dedicated to Teresa, my mother in law who died the day after her 100th birthday. She was a strong lady who lived life on her terms, dying in her own bed and her own home. There were five generations alive when she died and that is a testament to a great lady She would have given Matilda and Eleanor a run for their money. Sleep well, Teresa.
The Anarchy Series
England 1120-1180
English Knight
Knight of the Empress
Northern Knight
Baron of the North
Earl
King Henry’s Champion
The King is Dead
Warlord of the North
Enemy at the Gate
Fallen Crown
Warlord's War
Kingmaker
Henry II
Crusader
The Welsh Marches
Irish War
Poisonous Plots
The Princes’ Revolt
Earl Marshal
The Perfect Knight
Historical characters
King Henry II-King of England
Henry the Younger- heir to the throne of England and eldest son of King Henry
Richard, Duke of Aquitaine, son of King Henry
Geoffrey, Duke of Brittany, son of King Henry
John Lackland, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland and the youngest son of King Henry
King Philip Augustus- King of France
Alys of Vexin- the half-sister of King Philip of France
Frederick Barbarossa- Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire
Guy de Lusignan- King of Jerusalem
King Tancred of Sicily
Duke Leopold of Austria
Conrad of Montferrat- Claimant to the crown of Jerusalem
Isaac Dukas Comnenus- Ruler of Cyprus
Prologue
When my father, the Earl of Cleveland, and I travelled back to Stockton to bury grandfather, my father enjoyed something which had always been denied his father, the Warlord, Earl Marshal of England, peace. The Scots, thanks to my grandfather, had been cowed and William the Lion now paid homage to King Henry of England. That is not to say that there were no disputes and conflict, there were. Henry the Younger and his brother Richard Duke of Aquitaine fought each other with both words and, at times, the swords of their oathsworn. There was little brotherly love between the sons of King Henry. Queen Eleanor and her daughter Joan were now held at her husband’s pleasure in England and could no longer side with her sons. With Prince Geoffrey now Duke of Normandy all the conflict which took place was across the Mare Anglicum. We were not called upon. That does not mean we had an easy life, but it was relatively peaceful along the border. There were still occasional raids, not from Scottish lords or their armies, but men who wished to take our cattle and sheep. Sometimes they also took our women and so we were vigilant.
Many of the men we had formerly led to battle now gave up the sword. Most had fought for as long as they did out of loyalty to my grandfather. Others seemed just to fade away. Masood, my father’s scout whom he had brought from the Holy Land was one who did not seem to enjoy peace, or perhaps our cold climate finally took him. I know not the reason, but he died a bare two years after we buried the Warlord. It was a peaceful death in his sleep, but my father and I mourned him for he had been as faithful a warrior as any. When Aelric and Roger of Bath gave up their bow and swords my father chose not to go to war any longer. He would still ride to deal with incursions, but he would not travel to serve the king any longer. That would now be my inherited responsibility. I did not mind for it was my duty and my father had done enough for England and the Plantagenets.
William was still my squire but soon he would have his spurs. My father had decided that when he hung up his own sword. He knew that the strength of the valley lay in its knights and the men they led and he wished us to have a good number of knights. I had already picked out my next one, Jack, son of John of Oxbridge was just twelve, but he had shown an interest in all things martial. He was my page and helped William. It was in the nature of things that nothing stayed the same for long. Thomas, my son, was desperate to be my squire and when William was knighted then I would take him on and he could serve as a page. My wife and I had tried for another child, but we had as yet failed. It was the only blight on an otherwise perfect world. We lived, happily, in our valley and were immune from the plotting and deceit in the rest of the kingdom.
Chapter 1
Stockton 1180
I am Sir Samuel of Stockton, the grandson of the Earl Marshal who saved England and the son of Sir William of Stockton, the Earl of Cleveland. My father did not outlive my mother for long. He was not yet sixty, but I think that war had taken its toll on him and when mother died of the wasting disease the heart seemed to go from him and he wasted away before my eyes. My father’s old housekeeper, Alice, blamed the Scots for his death. I suppose, in a way she was right. Two years earlier we had chased cattle thieves north and my father had fallen from his horse. He had broken ribs and had been unconscious for two days. It may have been the cause although the doctors pronounced him well. Had I been in Stockton then it would have been my eyes that saw the deterioration, but I only learned of the rapid decline when I returned from the tournament I had attended in York. I only went because the other knights of the valley were taking part and my father insisted. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, and it was only when he began to become ill that I really regretted my decision. He was still alive when the raiders next came but, as fate would have it, the knights from my valley were at another tournament in York.
The messenger had come from Fissebourne not long after dawn to tell us of Scottish raiders who had attacked some farms close to the small manor. John of Fissebourne had been the lord of the manor but he had taken the cross and gone to Jerusalem. There was a reeve and but a handful of men to protect the farmers. They had been slain. Of course, my father, despite my mother’s worsening condition, was ready to ride after the raiders. I dissuaded him and as we had recently knighted William, my former squire, I said that I would lead the men of the valley. So it was that I did not see him shrink from within. I told him what I intended and he nodded, dully. The life was oozing from him, not as on a battlefield, but drop by drop and day by day. It was a sight I did not enjoy. My mother was already at death’s door and I was willing God to take her for the pain she endured each day as whatever worm it was, ate at her had taken the life from her already. My father sat by her bed and held her hand. It was a sad sight to see. I could do nothing. The doctor had given up on my mother and almost given up hope for my father. He merely nodded when I told him what I was about.
Richard of Hartburn, Roger of Norton, and Ralph of Thornaby would have come, of course, but they were in York. I felt that this was something I needed to lead and sending to fetch them would have taken time and time was something we did not have. A few raiders would not need a large force of men to teach them a lesson. The raiders who headed south were, in the main, men taking a chance. Most were little better than brigands and bandits. Perhaps they had known that the knights of the valley were away and took a chance. They would be taught that even one knight, so long as he had the Warlord’s blood in his veins was someone to be feared. I had learned much when I had been forced to command at the Tower of London. My grandfather had been laid low and I had to lead the men to defend the king’s home, but this was different. Hitherto, when we had chased raiders and robbers, I had followed my father. The other knights would have offered me advice, kindly meant, but I needed to be my own man. My grandfather had thought well of me and told me that one day I would be Earl of Cleveland. He had even told me I was a perfect knight. I was not but the accolade from the Warlord meant more than any approbation from the king!
I acted instantly and that was mainly because I had to. With only the now knighted Sir William in the castle and not wishing to denude the castle of every defender I took those who were already mounted and ready for the morning patrols. I would leave quickly without gathering supplies. Speed was of the essence. I acceded to Thomas’ request to accompany us and Jack son of John, my squire, was also keen to go. I told Thomas that he would have to earn his place. He was a big boy for his age and could ride a full-sized horse. He would act as my horse holder. That relieved Jack of a major duty. I had ten men at arms and ten mounted archers who had been designated as the daily patrol. There were more archers, but they were afoot, and speed was what we needed. William and his squire, Geoffrey, son of Roger of Bath, had yet to gather retainers and so it was a small band we led north and west as we sought the trail of the Scottish raiders. My two captains were Aelric’s son, Richard and Gerard of Chester who had come to us from the Countess of Chester, Maud. She had been a good friend of the Warlord and my father had accepted the man at arms immediately. That there was both a story and a secret behind Gerard’s move was clear, why else would he leave the service of such a great lady, but the close-mouthed Gerard did not say what it was, and I never discovered it. We trusted the Countess and Gerard had proved such an asset that we had promoted him within a month of his arrival.
Only we two knights were mailed. Our men at arms wore padded gambesons and carried the shorter kite shield which had replaced the long one used by the Warlord when he had returned from the east. We had long spears which were almost as long as a lance while our helmets were the ones with a nasal but we each had a good metal coif which protected our jaws and cheeks. More often than not we rode with just an arming cap covered by our coif. The archers wore a leather brigandine, but it was covered in a short surcoat with the same livery as the shields and surcoats of my men at arms. Their hose was a contrasting colour. It was my sister, Ruth, who had suggested the design. The gryphon upon shield, surcoat and banner was a weapon that inspired fear in our enemies. The sight of it often turned defeat into victory, or that had been the case when the Warlord led us. Their strength lay in their war bows and sheaths of arrows. Each archer carried two on his horse. One held the bodkins which were used against armour but on this expedition, they would use their war arrows. The Scots would not be wearing mail. Each archer had a short sword as well as an axe for when we camped, they would make a palisade to keep us safe. I doubted we would need such a camp. We would be riding in our land and farmers offered us rooms if they had them or barns if they did not. I was not a precious knight who needed cosseting. Only Sir William and I rode coursers, the warhorses especially bred to fight. The men we led rode hackneys or palfreys. They were serviceable animals and would be more than adequate against the Scots.
Eleanor fussed and fretted as she prepared Thomas for his first taste of war. It would not be a real war but each time a man drew a weapon he risked death. We had still to have another child and that made the parting worse. Thomas was our only one and she knew, better than any, how dangerous was such a ride into the unknown.
“I will bring him back. You take care of yourself. We shall not be long.”
She nodded, “And I have your father to watch. His spirits are low. Your sister and I will try to make up for your absence.”
“The returned animals and the defeated bandits will make him more cheerful.”
The rider who had brought the news, Peter, was refreshed enough to lead us back straightaway. It had taken him less than an hour and a half to bring the news. A speedy ride might catch the Scots close to home. It was a short eleven-mile ride to Fissebourne, and we rode hard, reaching it in under two hours. It was not long after noon when we reached the tiny manor.
Edward of Fissebourne was the reeve and when we arrived, he was supervising the repair to the damage done by the raiders. They had fired buildings and while the fires had been doused work had to start sooner rather than later to keep out the worst of the northern weather. I turned to Richard, “Have the scouts find which way they went. The rest, water your mounts.” My men obeyed.
Edward had his head bound as well as his hand. He bowed, “My lord, they struck before dawn when we were all abed. Had they arrived during the day they would not have found it so easy.” He took a cloth and dabbed away some blood that trickled from his head wound. “It was a large warband and they attacked all the farms in the manor at the same time.” He pointed to the barn, “We were held there while they gathered the animals. By the time dawn came all the warband was gathered with their captured animals. It was only when they left that I was able to send Peter to you.”
I had dismounted and Thomas was holding the reins of my horse, Storm Bringer. “They left one horse?”
He stopped dabbing the blood and said, “Aye, now how did they miss that?” It made no sense to either of us. A horse was valuable, especially to bandits and leaving one made both of us suspicious.
I had already worked out that if they left one horse then it was deliberate, and we were intended to follow. I put my arm around the reeve, “Were any men lost?”
He shook his head, “We had wounds, of course, for we resisted but we had no time to organise a defence.”
“Then all is well for we can recover animals. Dead men are harder to replace, especially good men like you.”
“There is neither lord nor garrison and we do our best but.…”
“I will speak to my father and we will send men to man the tower.” The defence for the manor was not a castle, King Henry had been reluctant to allow a new castle to be built. During the civil war between his mother and Stephen many lords had thrown up castles and they had proved to be a thorn in the side of the Warlord and the King. The tower was there as a simple refuge in times of invasion. Raids could only be prevented by vigilance. That vigilance should have come from the Palatinate of Durham through which land the Scots had to have come. Was there collusion?
Richard son of Aelric, my captain of archers, rode in, “My lord, they have headed east by north towards Crook.”
As I mounted, I nodded for it made sense. The land north of the Wear was farmed but there were no castles. Durham lay to the east and it was the Bishop who should have ensured that no raiders came. As we followed Richard I wondered if we would catch them. They had more than a four hour lead, but they were driving cattle and sheep. They would have known there might be pursuit, the Valley of the Tees had been a graveyard for many a Scot since the time of the Warlord. I had to assume that they had planned for that. To the south of us lay the castle of the Bishop of Durham at Auckland and to the north lay his fortress of Durham. They had used the narrow corridor between the two.
As I rode, I spoke my thoughts to William knowing that our squires and my page were listening. It was how I had learned. “Wolsingham is too large a place for them to use as is Stanhope to the west. They will head further north.”
William nodded, “It is wild and empty, wooded land there.”
My former squire was right, “And by the time we reach it then it could well be night.”
Thomas was every inquisitive and still asked the constant questions he had when he had been but five, “Then we will have lost them?”
I laughed, “They might think so, but night gives us a chance to end this quickly. They will light fires and we have noses. The smell will reach us even if they mask the light. We have ears. Cows low and cannot be silenced. Our horses also have a keen sense of smell and if they detect cows then they will let us know. No, Thomas, we have a better chance of finding them, but we will have ridden a hard thirty or more miles. When we near the high ground, if we are still on their trail, we shall walk our mounts.”
There was silence for a while, and I looked sideways at Sir William who grinned back at me. He knew Thomas well and there would be another question. “But how do we know that they have taken this road? They could be anywhere.”
Jack son of John was a bright youth and had inherited many of his father’s traits, “Look at the ground, Tom. What do you see?”
“Why the road of course!”
“And upon it?”
Realisation dawned when he saw the pellets left by the sheep and the larger patches of cow dung. “Their spoor!”
I patted Thomas on the shoulder, “This is not the first time we have done this. Had the Scots used the fields then we would have followed the trail they left there but it is a slower way for them to travel. This way they drive the livestock up the road and the walls and hedges keep the animals penned as they walk. That is why we need to be wary for they will expect pursuit and unless they are complete fools then they will plan for it. We can expect an ambush.”
