CHAPTER
14: BACK TO ROUEN
Copyright: Thomas Hoskyns Leonard, Edinburgh, October 2017
After
entering the French-occupied region of Normandy, the intrepid Count
René crossed the westerly flowing Seine at Criquebeuf with his
knights and men, and his handsome son of Lorraine. After a short
ride, they again traversed the Seine ( which had turned to the north
of east) near the village of Tourville-la-Rivière. They were now
just nine miles south of the great city of Rouen which lay, in large
part, on the northern banks of the mighty river, as it twisted one
more time.
When
they reached the tiny village of Le-Petit-Quevilly, opposite the
naval dockyard in Rouen, Le Chevalier Duncan Le Cottier
saw a flock of noisy sheep in a field. This was where Richard, Duke
of York had brought him some seven years previously during a mock
sortie out of the infamous Château Bouvreil in
central Rouen. Duncan still felt sad about the fate of those sheep.
The
two hundred and more warriors dismounted in the forecourt of the
Chapel of St. Julien, whilst the French artillery blasted the walls
and the dockyard of Rouen. Thereupon, Duncan issued orders to
the
Provençan forces amidst the flashes of thunderous light to the
effect that they should retrace the steps of his sortie with the Duke
of York's soldiers in 1442.
Lieutenant
Bagoas de Frêne used a double-headed axe to break his way through
the wall behind the Holy altar of the chapel, whereupon he descended
a marble staircase with his infantry, some carrying lanterns and
others candles, and marched down the old, sloping mineshaft into the
depths of the Earth, They were followed by Duncan Le Cottier and the
flamboyant Count René at the head of the knights from Provence.
When
they reached the Romanesque Hall of Hyperion, the statues of ancient
gods and goddesses peered disdainfully upon them as if they were
living dead.
“Prepare
for action!” demanded brave Duncan, after a short breather, and
Lieutenant de Frêne led the way up the steep narrow staircase, which
dated from the time of Vercingetorix.
Duncan
peered through a grating at three grisly skeletons.
Nothing's
changed since the last time, he concluded, in distaste.
After
that, the stairs became even steeper, and Duncan felt qualms in his
stomach.
At
the top of the staircase, Lieutenant de Frêne bumped slap bang into
a stout wooden door. He smashed through it with his axe, and he and
his troopers rushed out onto the ramparts on the curtain wall below
Le Grosse Tour. They put the guards to the sword before
entering the mighty keep and gingerly climbing the stairs, killing
the English as they went from floor to floor.
Meanwhile,
a twerp from Portsmouth was stirring a cauldron of red-hot
pitchblende in the turret.
“Gimme
some!” yelped a swarthy, one-eyed youth from Southampton, dipping
in a jug.
The
portly Count René and his noble son of Lorraine bravely led the
Provençan knights onto the rampart, followed by Duncan Le Cottier
eagerly brandishing his sword.
Just
then, the one-eyed youth poured his jugful of pitchblende through an
arrow-slit high in the keep. Count René pushed his son out of the
way, but Duncan fell to the ground shrieking in agony as the
pitchblende tore into his face and chest.
Time
stood still for the wretched knight, as Asherah and Yahweh wrung
their hands in horror in the Heavens.
“His
handsome face has vanished,” howled Asherah, as Duncan gnashed his
teeth in utter anguish.
“But
his soul lives on,” boomed Yahweh, when the horrifically injured
knight lapsed into unconsciousness. “He will rise above his scars,”
“People
like him will take mankind to the stars,” declared Asherah, wiping
her all-seeing eyes.
Lieutenant
Bagoas de Frêne succeeded in breaking his way into the chamber in
the turret. Thereupon, the twerp and the swarthy youth fell to their
knees abjectly begging for mercy. Bagoas paused for reflection,
whereupon two of his troopers slit the murderous Englishmen's
throats, down through their oesophaguses, and then they stuck in
their spiked boots.
Count
René and his knights descended to the castle quadrangle, slew the
soldiers defending the drawbridge tower, and raised the portcullis.
Meanwhile the main French forces entered the beleaguered city, in
triumph, from several directions at once.
When
Duncan recovered a semblance of sentience, he was lying on a couch in
the derelict Coq et Dauphin Tavern on Rouen's Rue Beauvoisine.
The French cannon had blasted two gaping holes in the tavern's walls,
and good Mistress Audrey Hobson lay over a shattered beer barrel, her
skull sheered clean off her head. She'd ne'er see the sleet hurtling
horizontally across the tor tops on the bleak Moors of the Dart e'er
again.
Through
the misty blur in his eyes, Duncan saw the dark-haired barmaid Meg
Tuppen rubbing a balm into the remains of his face. Bagoas de Frêne
had cleaned the tar off Duncan's injured chest.
“Can
your hear me, dearest Duncan?” whispered Bagoas, in fright.
“Ya!”
burbled Duncan, stirring himself. “And Hellfire to the English,”
He'll
ne'er look the same, agonized Bagaos, in despair, but I'll
love him like the Persian boy loved King
Alexander till the day I die.
Duncan
learnt later that, following their success in bombarding Rouen, the
Bureau brothers moved on down the Seine to Harfleur and Honfleur,
which were battered and captured, followed by Fresnoy in the
Pas-de-Calais, in late 1449 and early 1450. Thereupon the triumphant
brothers ruthlessly attacked Caen.
No comments:
Post a Comment