The Centurion's Empire (20 page)

"Strange, they're preparing for a fair," said Walt.

"The Jacques are to be let in to drink, feast, and do as they will, it's happened in many other towns," said Anne.

"We must get into the Market right away," panted Vitellan urgently. "The Jacques will have all the food and shelter
they need for a long siege."

Several streets along they met with Guy, who had managed to stop the horses after smashing into several of the heavily
laden tables. Angry townsfolk were gathered around him, but they dispersed as the others arrived. The Market of Meaux
was connected to the town by a bridge, being built on land between the river and a canal. The walls were high enough to
keep out a mob, even an army, if properly defended. They crossed the bridge to the Market, and the guards beneath the
portcullis let them pass as soon as they realized who the women were.

Vitellan passed out, and only woke when the sky was brightening with the dawn of the next day. He was lying on a pallet,
covered by a blanket. The Countess of Hussontal was sitting with him, still wearing the magistrate's black cloak.

"I am told that you speak Latin," she said as she gently raised his head and offered him a drink from a battered tin bowl.

"You ... the woman at the gates," he said, confused, his eyes unfocused.

"Myself. I owe you my life, you charged the Jacques to rescue me."

Her lips began to tremble, but she neither wept nor flung herself upon her rescuer. Vitellan glanced about, and noted
that he was lying under the awning of what had probably been a vegetable stall. Lady Anne's daughters Louise and Marie
were keeping a crowd of onlookers from pressing too close, yet there was no unseemly pushing and gawking. They were
all nobles, and were well mannered—in a way their manners were all that they had left to cling to. Some of them were
in disguise, others had fled in whatever finery they had been wearing when the Jacques had advanced.

"I must apologize for calling for you to be stripped, my lady," said Vitellan diplomatically, although he was not in the
mood for genteel banter.

"Oh, Sir Vitellan, you may do that whenever you would," she whispered in reply, now beginning to drip tears on his
blanket. "I thought my next meeting would be with God, but it was with you instead."
She was a tangle of gratitude, restraint, emotion, and manners, all underlaid by her rank among the French nobility. A
code of seemly behavior to observe, Vitellan reminded himself. In the distance, beyond the walls of Meaux, he could hear
the shouting of the Jacques.

"I must get up, see to the defenses," he began, wearily pushing the blanket back. The countess took the blanket from his
fingers and covered him again, gazing adoringly down at his face.

"Last night, when I was flung down naked in the dust before the eyes of those vile swine ... I went a little mad, I think.
Me, a countess, at the mercy of such men, yet God in His mercy sent you to protect me." Her face was pale and scratched,
yet was exquisitely fine-boned and framed by twin cascades of black hair that hung down to brush his hands.

"There is fatigue in your eyes, my lady, you should rest."

"And in
your
eyes there is strangeness beyond words. Your manners, your walk, your very speech, all are stranger than
those of the most exotic Moor." She lowered her face close to his. "Lady Anne says that you are older than the Royal
House of France, that you met with Christ Himself."

Vitellan shook his head slowly on the cushion and said "No."

This seemed to disappoint her a trifle. She sat up straight, assuming her public posture again. The hour of glorious
dreams was past, he was just a brave but mortal man again. Soon they would die, and it would be hideous, obscene—

"It was my father who met Him. Christ died twenty years before I was born."

The countess's composure shattered. She swayed as if about to fall from the pallet, with her mouth hanging open and her
eyes protruding like a scribe's caricature of a jongleur. Vitellan took her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Do not be in fear of the Jacques, good lady. I shall defend you with my life, and I have lived a very long time. Now, if you
wish to please me you must try to rest." He called to one of Lady Anne's daughters. "Marie, take the countess to some
place where she may rest quietly, if you please."

With the countess gone Vitellan sat up and began to buckle on his light armor. Louise brought him a bowl of stew, and as
usual he scooped out the solid pieces before drinking any. The longing for solid food tormented him, but his stomach
continued to twinge its warnings to be careful. The Duchess of Normandy and the Duchess of Orleans called by to ask
after his health, to be followed by a score more noblewomen and their families. It was as if he were a foreign king
visiting the French royal court. Many girls, and several of their mothers, left their favors with him, scraps of ribbon and
lace to wear into battle.

Guy arrived with the three surviving archers, and they reported on their hasty survey of the Market. There were very few
commoners in the Market, only the three hundred noblewomen and their children defended by a handful of knights and
trusted men-at-arms. Everyone in the Market was desperate with fear. They knew that the Meaux mayor and magistrates
were preparing to open the town gates to the Jacques.

"Had I known how few fighting men were in the Market I would never have led us here," Vitellan said wearily. "Three
archers, you, me, Walt, and a few knights and squires ... but perhaps I would have anyway. Why cling to life for centuries
if only to live without honor?"

Later that morning the town's gates were opened and the Jacques poured into Meaux. The sounds of rowdy feasting soon
echoed over the walls of the Market, filling those inside with dread. Vitellan was introduced to the Duke of Orleans, who
welcomed him and gave him a tour of the defenses. The duke thought that there might be many loyal men-at-arms out in
the town, but unless they could be rallied they would be of no help. There was a good supply of arrows for Vitellan's
archers, and although they were shorter than the English type and balanced differently, they were quite adequate at
close quarters. Guy set about training some of the women to push siege ladders away from the walls with poles.
The sun had been up for about three hours when there was a rumble of hoofs on the bridge and the rattle of chains
raising the portcullis. Vitellan joined the duke in time to greet the Captal de Buch and the Count de Foix as they
entered with twelve dozen men. The Jacques had apparently been too intent on their feast to try to stop them entering
the town.

The story of Vitellan's three battles with the Jacques were of great interest to the Count de Foix and his cousin. They
had been returning from Prussia when they heard of the danger at Meaux, but they had not yet fought against Jacques.

"So you razed a hamlet of a hundred souls with only nine men?" asked the count in Latin as they hastily conferred.

'That was because of complete surprise, and good planning," Vitellan explained. "The village where we rescued Anne de
Boucien was harder, but we distracted them by setting the houses afire firsf. The Jacques are not well led, they break
and run when attacked convincingly. The danger comes from such a situation as we had at the gates of Meaux last night,
when the press of numbers from behind forces those in front upon you. I lost one man that way, and I was nearly brought
down myself."

"My men estimate nine or ten thousand Jacques in the town," said the count.

"Cowardly rabble," muttered the Captal de Buch.

"Yes, a rabble," agreed Vitellan. "And a rabble is not an effective fighting force."

"That means we
can
withstand a siege," declared the

Duke of Orleans, slapping his knee and smiling for the first time since Vitellan had met him.

"Not a siege, attack!" said Vitellan with infectious urgency. The duke's smile vanished.

"But Sir, Vitellan de, ah—"

"Durvas."

"Vitellan de Durvas, forgive me, good sir, but ten thousand is a very big rabble. Each of us would have to kill a hundred
to clear them away."

"If each of us kills even ten the rest would flee," snorted the Captal de Buch. "Do you have any more of those black
powder jars, Sir Vitellan?"

Vitellan blinked in surprise at his new title, but his expression did not change. "I had only the one I used last night, but
consider this," he replied, gesturing to the bridge beyond the portcullis where the Jacques were already gathering. "The
bridge is narrow and those Jacques out there now are the leaders. Look at them, calling for more to come forward. They
want a fight. We now have twenty-five fully equipped knights on horseback and more than a hundred men-at-arms to
follow on. The push of Jacques from behind will not allow their leaders to escape if we charge out across the bridge."

"In the first charge we shall cut off the head of the Jacquerie's body!" exclaimed the Count de Foix, and the others
cheered with approval.

They began to prepare their horses and armor at once, and soon the Count de Foix and the Captal de Buch sat preening
themselves before the desperate yet admiring gaze of the three hundred besieged noblewomen and their children.

"Look at them, the flower of chivalry preparing to defend their ladies' lives and honor," Vitellan said to Guy. "Immortal
legends will probably grow out of this day."

"Not as immortal as yourself, Master."

"Shining armor, banners, stern faces, and not one of them is wearing the favors of less than a dozen ladies. It's all I can
do not to laugh, but that would spoil the effect."

"You wear at least as many," replied Guy earnestly, not really appreciating the joke.
Vitellan gazed at the onlookers, noticing that many of them

looked shabby and bedraggled. They were used to being looked after by servants, and in most cases they would have been
fending for themselves for the first time in their lives. So many imploring, adoring faces, he thought, so much trust in so
few men. If they should fail, then what? Anne de Boucien already had a dozen girls and women standing with her
holding pikes, and Guy would remain behind with the archers and a few other men. Perhaps they could hold out until... a
miracle. He picked out the Countess de Hussontal, who was now wearing the magistrate's cloak over borrowed clothes.
She was looking directly at him, and did not look at all frightened. He bowed a fraction, and several other women and
girls waved back. Just then Louise dashed out among the horses and made straight for them. She stopped before Guy.

"Will you wear these?" the girl asked shyly, holding out three ribbons. Guy hesitated.

"Wear them, Guy, or find another master," said Vitellan sternly. He stood watching with his arms folded until the favors
of Anne de Boucien and her daughters were tied to Guy's belt.

Louise turned to Vitellan. "This is for you, Sir Vitellan, and the lady begs most ardently that you accept it." It was a
strip of red cloth from the lining of the magistrate's cloak, wound about with a braid of black hair. He twined it around
his fingers,, then lifted it to his lips. The countess cast her eyes down, but did not move otherwise.

"Guy, go now, up to that tower," he ordered. "Signal when a heavy crush of Jacques has built up."

"Aye, Master. Is that a special favor?" he asked suspiciously.

"It was all that a certain lady had to cover her nakedness. William of Ockham would have called it symbolic allegory."

"Hah! I calls it an unseemly suggestion."

"Why Guy, you dirty old man. What would Mai have said?"

"T'bugger would be too busy laughin'. I'd best be climbin' the tower, Master. Good fortune to ye, and try to stay alive. I'd
hate to be the Icekeeper as let you die."

"I'll return, Guy, and help you to burn this despicable town."

The Count de Foix rode over to Vitellan as he made ready to mount a packhorse in his butt-leather armor.

"Friend, the ladies are full of concern, they say that you are too ill to fight," he said apologetically. "Please, stay here
with the bowmen and a few men-at-arms. The ladies will need a leader as fine as yourself to defend the Market if the
worst happens to us."

"Guy can do that," replied Vitellan. "I have to be seen to ride out with you, even if my fate be that of the blind king of
Bavaria at the Battle of Crecy. You must understand."

The count reached over and seized his arm, full of admiration. "I do understand, and you are welcome. May God protect
you, and all of us."

"When ye will, Master!" Guy called from the tower, then he came down the stone stairs at a run.
Guy, Giles, and the two other bowmen began firing through the portcullis to drive the Jacques back as it was being
raised, then the horsemen rode out onto the bridge behind the Count de Foix and the Captal de Buch.
Then these two knights and their company came out to the gate of the market place and issued out under the banners of
the Count of Foix and the Duke of Orleans, and the Captal's penon. They set upon those villeins, who were but poorly
armed. When the villeins saw these men of war well appareled and issuing out to defend the place, the foremost of them
began to recoil back, and the gentlemen pursued them with their spears and swords. When they felt the great strokes
they recoiled all at once and fell for haste each on the other. Then all the noble men issued out of the barriers and soon
won the place, and entered in among their enemies and beat them down by heaps and slew them like beasts, and chased
them all out of the town. They slew so many that they were weary, and drove many others into the river. That day they
slew of them more than seven thousand, and none would have escaped if they had followed the chase any further. When
these men of arms returned again to the town, they set it afire and burned it clean, with all the villeins of the town that
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