Shield of Honor

By L. J. Bonham

The only thing standing between you and home are 30,000 angry French knights.

Young Edward De Clopton is the sole surviving heir to his family's wealth and position in England, but he doesn't want the job. His father thinks he's a bumbling idiot. His enemies think he's the last obstacle to power and wealth. His mentor, one of the most renowned warriors in England, thinks he's an annoying burden. His girlfriend thinks he's a plaything.

After the murder of his eldest brother, Edward is thrown into a world of scheming lords, traitorous knights, powerful seductive women, and paranoid kings. Unwillingly caught in the struggle between two mighty empires Edward must follow his father and uncle to France to fight at the king's side while being stalked by an assassin. Can he survive long enough to earn his father's respect and save a kingdom from destruction?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sky Warrior Book Publishing/ Sky Warrior Books
• Release date: May 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301802128

Book preview

Shield of Honor

L.J. Bonham

Sky Warrior Book Publishing, LLC

Smashwords Edition

© 2013 by L. J. Bonham.

Published by Sky Warrior Book Publishing, LLC

PO Box 99

Clinton, MT 59825

www.skywarriorbooks.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

Editor: Phyllis Irene Radford.

Cover art by Mitchell Davidson Bentley.

Publisher: M. H. Bonham.

Printed in the United States of America

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Dedication

To my ever watchful lioness, Maggie. To Loretta. To Jim, Paul, Steve, and Jeff; my band of brothers.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank the following people. John Keegan for his book The Face of Battle, Christopher Rothero for his book The Armies of Agincourt, Christopher Gravett for his book Knight; Noble Warrior of England, 1200—1600, Donald Featherstone for his book The Bowmen of England, and Christian Henry Tobler for his book Fighting with the German Longsword. Also, Sensei Steve Zandi for his tireless patience in teaching me the real meaning of martial arts and the reality of hand to hand combat. Richard Nick Townsend, Capt. US Army (ret) for teaching me long ago that poet warriors do still exist. B. Albert Holowinski, Capt. USAF (ret) for his friendship and insight. And I offer my deepest thanks (and apologies) to Mr. William Shakespeare.

No athlete can fight tenaciously who has never received any blows; he must see his blood flow and hear his teeth crack under the fist of his adversary, and when he is thrown to the ground he must fight on with all his might and not lose courage…

Roger of Hoveden, d.1201 Anno Domini

Chapter I

June, 1415

The second year in the reign of his Highness, Henry V,

King of England and France

Edward’s head snapped back and the lance’s blow reverberated inside his helm. Blue sky flashed in front of his eye slit and he felt himself floating in space. The ringing of steel faded and he heard a gasp from the crowd. Then he hit the ground. The air shot from his lungs and they burned as he gasped trying desperately to refill them. As he struggled to breathe his head felt like it was spinning and a loud, ringing hiss filled his ears. The last thing he heard as the world went black was his father’s voice, Damn you Edward!

The buzzing in Edward's ears slowly gave way to people laughing and jeering. He hurt so many places that he just felt numb. Finally he opened his eyes and the sun slammed into them like a dagger . Several faces loomed over him and mercifully cut the glare. Aldwyn Bonhomme, his father’s squire, shook him gently. Master Edward, Master Edward, are you with us? Please speak. The world began to come back into focus and Edward realized he was lying on the ground looking up at his father and several of his family’s servants and retainers. His helm had been removed and he could hear his horse nearby nickering and shaking its bridle. Cat calls and insults came from the crowd of onlookers. He tried to roll his head to the right to see where he was and a stabbing pain shot up his neck. He winced and slowly raised his right hand, cupping the back of his neck.

Aldwyn continued to shake him gently. Edward put his gauntleted left hand against Aldwyn’s arms. Aldwyn, I live and breathe. Please stop. The squire let go and sat back on his heels allowing the sun to drill into Edward’s eyes again. He moved his left hand to block the light. His father stepped next to him and looked down with his hands on his hips, a frown drew the scars on his face tight.

Edward de Clopton, in the name of all that is holy how many times have I admonished you to keep your lance leveled at your opponent and your head well back? Sheriff of Suffolk Sir William de Clopton shook his head in disgust and stomped off shouting over his shoulder, You fellows take my incompetent third son back to our pavilion.

Aldwyn and two pages slid their hands under Edward’s armpits and head and gently raised him so he was sitting with his legs spread out in front of him. They carefully poured water over his sweating face and helped him rub some of the dust out of his eyes and nose. The heat from the sand that had been spread in the lists soaked into his butt and was changing from comfortably warm to quite hot. He glanced around at the colorful pennons and banners that snapped in the breeze above the spectators gallery. The sponsor of this tourney, the Duke of Exeter, sat in his booth situated in the gallery's center drinking and chatting with several beautiful women.

Edward's protective maille skirt had bunched around his waist leaving his hose and cod piece exposed. A peasant woman standing in the crowd behind one of the barriers shouted, Leave his legs askew I am enjoying the show! A roar of laughter went up from the commoners. Edward closed his legs and gave the woman a glare which only incited the crowd further.

Master Edward can you stand? Aldwyn tugged at Edward’s arm pits.

Yes, I think I can get up. Edward pulled his feet to his rump and the three other youths rocked him forward and then gently lifted him and the fifty pounds of steel plate armor strapped to his body. Once on his feet Edward shook his head and the servants slowly released him but stood with their hands at the ready in case he collapsed. When it became obvious that he was sound they relaxed.

Edward looked around and saw his opponent, Squire John Tourmente, sitting on his destrier at the far end of the lists; another squire held the reins as the warm blood stallion stomped and pranced eager for another charge. John held an unbroken lance in his right hand with the butt supported on the instep of his foot. The fifteen-year-old apprentice warrior’s expression was hidden by the helm that completely covered his head and face. The bright red plume of feathers on the helm’s crest leaned in the light breeze.

Edward’s helm lay in the dirt at his feet. His groom, Timothy, bent and picked it up for him. The garishly painted leather crest was flattened and hung by a rivet off to one side of its crown. Edward felt about as lifeless as the crest looked. A large dent left by Tourmente’s lance sat on the left side just under the eye slit. His teeth ached like they bore a corresponding imprint. Edward regained his senses and realized he had a mouthful of dirt; he spent several minutes spitting to get most of it out. Sweat ran down his back under his arming jacket as the hot sun beat down on him. Flies buzzed all around him and his nose told him he had a large glob of horse manure smeared into the small steel plates of the spaulder covering his right shoulder. He reached up and casually brushed the familiar goo off.

Aldwyn retrieved Edward’s destrier and led it over to him. He managed a weak smile and motioned toward the near end of the lists. Shall we retire, Master Edward?

Edward took one more glance at John Tourmente and nodded his head causing the world to spin. He took a moment to hold is breakfast in his stomach and then gave a disgusted sigh. Very well Aldwyn. I suppose I did not add to the glory that is the house of de Clopton today. He hung his head and wandered off toward the pavilions with his helpers in tow.

Why did I accept Tourmente's challenge? Edward thought. He is only fifteen, two full years younger than me, but the fiercest squire in South East England. My father is right, I am an idiot.

Master Edward? Timothy broke Edward’s self flagellation. Squire John’s lance did not shatter. I saw it as we retired.

So? Edward did not even look over at the wiry twelve-year-old.

If you please, Master Edward, his lance did not shatter, thus perhaps his lance was not weakened as per the rules for the tilt? Certes, he hit your helm unfairly as well.

Edward slowly brought his head up and stopped walking. Aldwyn, did you see this as well?

Aldwyn turned round to glance at Tourmente and thought for a moment. Aye, Master Edward, the lance was as Timothy says. I would humbly suggest that you lodge a protest with the Marshall of the Tourney.

Edward mulled his options then resumed walking. If it was indeed an illegitimate lance then certes he would have disposed of it by now to avoid inspection. Nay, I shall not seek to impeach him on such a count.

As you wish, Master Edward. Timothy shot Edward a frustrated look.

<<>>

Sir William de Clopton stormed through his pavilion’s entryway and into the vaulted main enclosure, the veins in his neck throbbing and his gloved fists clenched like hammers. He stomped around the thick pole supporting the linen canvas roof and kicked a stool as he passed sending it clattering across the richly woven rugs covering the dirt floor. That damnable boy! He launched another chair toward the entrance.

The servants all held their breath, hoping that none of them had caused their master’s rage. Irwyn Upton stepped gingerly forward and offered Sir William a goblet of wine bowing his balding head.

The glowering knight grabbed the cup and flung it at Maccus Kegan who ducked just as the missile tore past his ear and slapped against the wall dowsing him with its contents. Sir William spun around and savagely back-handed Irwyn across the face sending him stumbling onto his butt.

On your feet, churl and fetch me that over paid Welshman, Gamme!

Irwyn scrambled away on all fours. Y-Y-Yes, Sir William.

Sir William made one more circuit of the area and threw himself into the only chair left standing. He held out a hand and Maccus quickly filled it with a new wine cup. After pouring the wine down his throat, Sir William sat and glared at the entry. He waved his hand absently. Leave.

The Irish servant bowed and hurried away.

The wine softened Sir William’s mood slightly as he waited. A few minutes later a compact, powerfully built man with dark hair and intense dark eyes walked in.

The man bowed. Sir William, you sent for me.

William regarded him coldly and let the man stand at attention for a long moment. Squire Gamme, I trust you saw what just transpired in the lists?

The Welshman nodded. Aye, Sir William.

The knight’s eyes narrowed. Squire, how much do I pay you in yearly board and upkeep?

You are very generous, Sir William.

Generous to the point of foolishness, and foolishness is just what you repaid me with today.

Gamme looked at his feet. It was unfortunate that your son, Edward, did not heed all I have taught him these years.

A red wave rose in Sir William’s face again. I pay you, Squire, to ensure he does indeed heed your lessons. This public spectacle is as much your fault as my dozy son’s. The table cracked under his fist. I look a fool because of you! He jumped to his feet knocking the chair backward with his legs and stabbed his finger into Gamme’s barrel chest. Reynaud, de Kalb, Exeter, all of the nobles, are at this very moment making sport of me because Tourmente’s whelp unhorsed my boy.

The two warriors stood toe to toe, Gamme’s dark eyes locked with Sir William’s smoldering blue. Gamme slowly nodded. I shall redouble my efforts and work Edward all the harder.

Sir William withdrew his finger shaking his head. He punched Gamme lightly on the shoulder. Davy, you Welsh are a thick necked lot. I suppose that is why I sought you out long ago. He chuckled. He looked around at the destruction he had wrought and called toward the entrance. Irwyn, you dolt, come hither.

Irwyn Upton dashed in and bowed, sweating. Sir William waved his hand around the pavilion and Irwyn immediately set about righting the furniture and pouring wine for his master and Gamme.

English knight and Welsh squire sat across from each other at the heavy oak table. They had accounted for several cups of wine when Sir William leaned back in his chair and belched. Davy, speak to me truly. Does Edward have the mettle of a knight or should I finally yield to his mother and send him to the Church as I have with his younger brother, Clarence?

Davy paused and stared past Sir William at the wall. He looked back into his master's eyes and drew in a deep breath. Certes, Sir William, he is your son and as such I have seen your martial inclination in him from time to time.

Sir William leaned forward and propped himself up on his elbows. However?

Gamme shook his head. There is no however, sir, he has the makings of a fine noble but it is up to him to find it within himself. In all truth, I have taught him all he need know. He is like a pile of tinder; he needs but one fair spark and he will burst into an inferno. Gamme dropped his head and looked from under his jutting brow. It remains with God as to when, or if, he will be set alight. Sir William, in all the years past I have yet to understand why you did not simply send him into Holy Orders, you could have easily afforded a Bishop’s mitre for him.

Sir William held up his finger. I could get these inquiries from my wife; I do not need them from you, Davy. Yet, I will tell you. He looked into his empty cup and then back at Gamme. When God took my infant second son, William, from me, I came to know just how unpredictable this world is. I knew in my heart that if my line were to continue, I could not rely upon our Lord to ensure my first son, Ewert, would succeed me so I swore that I would raise my next son, God willing, to be a warrior and not a Prince of the Church. My dear wife was distraught at this decision and claimed that I was derelict in my duty to the Church. I assured her that any other sons would be sent into Orders. He smiled. She still thinks I made a mistake. As it is she may prove right, for now the boy’s only prospect upon my death will be to go forth and seek employment with another noble. I have already entreated the Duke of Florence to make him the Captain of a company as there is always need for such men in Italy.

Perhaps he could find his place serving God among the Knights Hospitaller? Gamme suggested.

Sir William nodded. Yes, and there is much of God’s work to be done in Iberia and I have received letters from several nobles in Castile offering him a place in their Holy efforts to rid Christendom of the Moors. He locked his eyes on Gamme again. All these things do nothing though to keep him at the ready to carry on my line.

Gamme leaned back and chuckled. I should be glad then, if it were not for your sons I would be a poor vagabond with no gainful employment.

William shared the laugh. Certes, I could not send my boys into the house of another noble to be squired. Whom could I possibly trust? Half of them seek my overthrow for my support of King Henry’s father at Shrewsbury and the other half chafe under their perceived wrongs at my hands as Sheriff. He gave Gamme a sardonic smile. Those of long established houses whose names and titles run back for centuries look with suspicion on men such as myself who have risen quickly by our own hands and cunning. Such is our world, Davy. But I tell you this, if they will not respect me then I shall be content for them to fear me.

<<>>

Edward woke the next morning in his pavilion. The base of his skull throbbed. His neck was so sore and stiff that he could barely move his head up or down. He called for one of the servants who spent half an hour massaging his neck until he regained enough flexibility. Then he washed his face and called for his clothes. When he was dressed he set out for his father’s pavilion.

Hundreds of brightly colored pavilions covered the tourney grounds on the outskirts of London. Every one of them had a pennant flying with the owner’s arms embroidered upon it. The de Clopton’s had a half acre compound roped off from the rest of the contestants and in the center stood his father's pavilion. The other members of his family and their servants, squires and pages converged in the center of the area. The cooks had been up since before dawn boiling meats in huge caldrons while other servants set up trestle tables and rolled out barrels of ale preparing for breakfast.

Edward stood glumly at the periphery of the bustling crowd hoping no one would take an interest in him. The warm, humid air soothed his stiff muscles as singing birds flitted from branch to branch among the scattering of large oak trees. Edward’s nose filled with the sweet smells of spiced meats and spring flowers until the breeze shifted and he got a solid whiff of the horse coral.

Edward! Edward! His father’s voice boomed above the bustle. He looked over at the tables and saw him standing on one and looking around. Edward slipped though the small crowd and stood before the man.

Ah there you are, you lazy boy. Sir William hopped to the ground. We are about to hear mass and you shirk your duties to your family and the Holy Church. Now get to your place and be quick. He smacked Edward on the head with his open palm. Edward bowed as his ear turned red and fresh pains shot up his neck. Yes, my good father.

After mass and breakfast Edward returned to his pavilion and had two pages help him into his upper body armor. He did not think he would need any leg defenses since he was not a contestant in today’s up coming meleé. He expected only to help his father and older brother, Ewert, and was only concerned about receiving an errant blow if he had to pull one of them from the swirling mass of fighting men; he had to weigh protection against comfort in the summer heat. After yesterday, though he doubted they would welcome his assistance. He was almost certain that his father would tell him to watch from the gallery. Despite his misgivings he resolved to go to the contest field as though he fully expected to participate. He gripped the pommel of his sheathed arming sword and ducked out the pavilion’s entrance. He made his way through the gathering throng of contestants and spectators toward the meleé field.

As he jostled his way through the sweaty bodies, he looked up and spotted his family’s pennant fluttering overhead about a hundred yards to his left. Eventually he broke free of the people and found his father, Aldwyn and several servants standing near the edge of the contest field along with their horses. Aldwyn and the servants bowed to him.

His father spun around and scowled. Where have you been?

Edward bowed. My good father, I have been searching for you and Ewert.

Sir William looked away and tugged his gauntlets onto his hands. Then you have finally succeeded at something, for you have found me. Although I do not know where Ewert is.

A murmur arose from the crowd behind them. The group of men turned to look. Parting the crowd as he rode, twenty year old Sir Ewert de Clopton approached mounted on a tall blue roan stallion. The intense summer sun glinted off his armor. The quilted black velvet jupon that covered the armor on his torso held the de Clopton's arms; the gold embroidery glowed in the light. The breeze teased at his red hair. As he rode, he called to men he knew by name and nodded at several women who seemed to melt under his attention. The commoners cheered him and chanted his name. The crowd favored him, urging him to win this tourney for the third year in a row.

When he finally made his way to his kinsmen he bowed low in the saddle to his father. My most redoubtable father, it is good that we gather here to contest this meleé.

Sir William patted him affectionately on the foot. Yes my son, most excellent.

Edward looked up at Ewert in adoration and smiled. My brother, I see that your reputation precedes you; especially with the ladies.

Ewert swung out of the saddle and gave his horse to a groomsman. He flashed a disarming grin and slapped Edward on the shoulder. Yes, little brother, I think several of them are no longer as virtuous as their fathers would like. He tilted his head back laughing heartily. His booming baritone carried over the enthusiastic throng. Edward blushed slightly and chuckled.

The de Clopton party walked the few yards to the twenty acre meleé field’s rope boundary and assessed the other competitors. hundreds of knights gathered around the edge of the field.

Sir William leaned against a stake holding up the rope and narrowed his eyes. He turned his head to Ewert. Look at all nobles that seek fame and ransom on the field today.

Ewert nodded. Certes, there many powerful knights here. I have heard that a few have come from as far off as Iberia and Sicily. We shall have a full day’s work. Each knight is allowed two squires to assist him upon the field, who among our retinue shall we select, father?

Sir William turned and looked at their party rubbing his chin between his right index finger and thumb. We shall have but one apiece today, Ewert; only the weak and afraid need more. He chuckled.

As you see fit, father. Ewert bowed his head slightly. If that is the case then I shall choose Edward to accompany me. He motioned to his brother.

Sir William’s smile drained away and his jaw tightened slightly. I shall take Aldwyn for myself but I would prefer that you select another, Ewert.

Ewert cleared his throat and hesitated a moment. Father, Edward is likely adubbed within the next year and he is quite a capable squire. I should feel in no better company this fine day. He looked straight into his father’s eyes and did not smile.

Sir William looked back and forth at his two sons for several minutes. No one in the party dared say a word. He jammed his steel clad fists onto his hips and nodded slowly. Very well then Ewert, but do not complain to me if you are captured for ransom and Edward is the cause of your undoing. He turned slightly and placed his right index finger firmly in the middle of Edward’s breast plate. And you are to see to Ewert’s safety; do not lag behind him or allow him to be compromised in any way.

Edward swallowed hard. Yes father. His voice cracked slightly and small beads of sweat broke out on his upper lip.

Sir William held his finger on Edward for a moment longer and then turned back to Ewert. Let us mount then and join our fellow knights as they beg us to relieve them of their harnesses and reputations. He smiled again and slapped Ewert on the back.

Pages helped them secure their helmets. The grooms brought four horses up immediately and helped William, Ewert, Edward and Aldwyn mount. They handed the two knights blunted swords and wooden maces. The four reined their coursers and trotted along the perimeter rope. When they came to the gap that served as the gate onto the field they reported their names and titles to the herald. He checked them against the list of invited knights and let them pass.

The Marshal of the Tourney rode into the middle of the field and a trumpet sounded. All of the knights and squires gathered in a wide circle around him. Edward and Ewert ended up packed stirrup to stirrup in the ring of men and horses, separate from their father.

Well cousins, how are you this fine day? Edward looked to his right and was met by the narrow, hawkish face of his second cousin on his father’s side, Sir Henry Reynaud, the first son of Sir Hugh Reynaud. Henry sat on a bay stallion that was draped in a bright red and yellow checkered trapper. His horse tried to bite the neck of Edward’s horse and Edward had to turn his animal’s head away to avoid a horse fight.

Ewert forced his horse forward between Henry and Edward’s animals. Dear cousin, I am glad you are here with us today, may God bless your house. Ewert’s tense expression belied his cordial comments.

Henry pretended to shift his foot in his stirrup and kicked Ewert’s horse in the ribs. The animal started slightly and Ewert had to rein him back. He shot Henry a glare which was returned in kind. The two twenty year old knights sat and glowered at each other while the tourney marshal recited the rules for the meleé; neither of them heard a word of it.

Edward was watching the exchange between his brother and cousin when he noticed the teenager on the other side of Henry Reynaud. John Tourmente. John looked back at him and smirked, his eyes seemed to look right through Edward. He nodded. Squire Edward, I see that the sting of my lance did not scar your tender face.

Edward fumed. Nay, was all he could think to say that would not start a brawl.

The Marshal ended his speech and the knights spread back out along the perimeter. Edward and his brother rejoined Sir William and Aldwyn. William looked at his two sons. Mark my words, you two young bulls. You shall stay with me and my squire and we shall fight as a unit, do not sally out alone. He shot Edward a hard look. Edward, do not leave your brother alone for a moment, stay with him and keep him well supplied with fresh weapons and take his mount under your control quickly if he is incapacitated.

Edward patted the two extra swords and clubs hanging from his saddle and stood up in his stirrups. Yes, father, I shall serve Ewert well.

Good. Sir William walked his horse around to stand next to Ewert. The four faced the center of the field. When the Marshall drops his baton make for the side of the field to our right and wait for the more impetuous knights to fill in the center, then we shall press them and hopefully one or two will be trapped and we shall have them for harness and horse. William smiled mischievously at his sons.

The tension grew as the warriors on the field awaited the signal to charge. Horses reared and neighed. Some of the knights shouted challenges and insults at each other. The brightly colored knights’ jupons and the horses’ trappers were a swirling sea of colors and patterns