Sir Thomas of Stockton has lost his son. Taking a handful of chosen men, he crosses the seas to travel through France seeking his enemy. Fate throws him in with a French lord and he meets the French King Louis. After exacting revenge, he returns to England where he helps King Henry plan and execute his campaign Poitou. The King comes of age when he and Sir Thomas lead their men against French and Poitevin rebels.
Sir Thomas has more adventures to come. This one takes him from London to Gascony and Scotland to Wales. It is based on actual events. All I did was add the fictitious character that is Thomas of Stockton.
Excerpt
I had barely pulled my shield up when crossbows thudded into it. One almost hit Blaze. From ahead I heard the cries of men struck by arrows. My archers would be afoot and stalking the ambushers through the forest. We had set off the ambush and now horsemen rode towards us. The dense undergrowth made it hard to estimate numbers. The men wore conical helmets and had shields with red and blue diagonal bands on them. The Count had told me that was the livery of Burgundy.
The ambush sprung, they charged at us from cover. It was thickly wooded and I had no idea of numbers. I saw a crossbow aimed at me. I held my shield tightly peering over the top. Suddenly an arrow head sprouted from the crossbowman’s chest as one of my archers hit him in the back. Two men at arms rode at me. William was, I hoped, behind me. He had improved his skills but killers such as these were too much for him to handle alone. At best he might distract them. The two of us, until my men at arms joined us, were alone. The two men at arms who charged me had different weapons. One had a sword and the other a spear. The spear would hit me first and that rider was to my left. The two men were both experienced and they came at me together. My eyes could only watch one of them. I braced myself for the spear as I prepared to swash my sword blindly at the swordsman. The spear hit me and he punched hard. My shield was driven into my shoulder. My sword failed to block his for he had not swung it but lunged. It tore into my cheek below the right eye. I was lucky that the tip caught on my coif or I would have been dead. As it was, I knew that I had a serious wound for I felt the blood pouring down my face.
The swordsman gave an elated roar. I swung my sword and hacked across his back as he passed me. I risked watching him for the spearman would have to turn his horse. William had taken advantage of the swordsman’s movement and his sword had hacked across his chest. Wounded, he wheeled his horse away and I turned Blaze to face the spearman. He had already turned but I now had just one opponent. I saw the Count bringing the rest of his men to my aid. They were not galloping. He had paid me to defend him and he would have his money’s worth.
This time when the spearman thrust I used my shield offensively and hit the spear head with my shield. At the same time I hacked across his left arm above his shield. The blood and the wound told me that he was incapacitated. He wheeled his horse away and galloped after the other failed ambushers. As my men at arms and the Count’s men attacked the enemy I heard a horn and the ambushers fled. I heard cries in the woods as the last of the crossbowmen fell. William rode up to me. “Father, your cheek!”
I looked around for enemies and there were none. I took off the helmet and slipped the coif from my head. If I had worn my own helmet and mail, I would not have been harmed. My helmet had a mask and it had a ventail. Sheathing his sword, William reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a cloth. He handed it to me and I pressed it to the wound. The Count rode up. He nodded, “You did well and you and your men have courage. It is a pity you did not take one of the shields.” He turned to one of his men, Stephen, “Go and see if any of the crossbowmen have livery. We need proof for the King. This attack will be the undoing of the Burgundians!”
I saw the look of disgust on William’s face. The Count was unconcerned about my wound. Padraig galloped up. He threw himself from his horse, “My lord, dismount! That is a bad wound.”
