Chapter 1 (Edit) The Contract 1/2/55

1 February 1355

Jacques de Bourbon, Constable of the Western Franks twisted and turned in his saddle.

‘I am a bloody idiot’ he muttered under his breath.’ What on earth am doing here, unescorted, ripe for the picking.’

He rose in his stirrups and gazed out across green meadowland, bordered on all sides by verdant woods. A brook tinkled its way down a gentle slope and widened out in front of him into a substantial stream edged by reeds.

Beyond the stream, emerging in silhouette from behind the trees, was the castellated fortifications of the Château de Montmuran, terminated at both ends by slim defensive towers, topped by steep conical roofs of grey slate.

He moved to the edge of the meadow and lead his horse into the nearest woodland. Now he could see but not be seen.

Jaques’ attention was attracted by a thunder of hooves. He turned nervously, ready to run, but then recognised the leader of a troop of knights riding towards him as his immediate subordinate, Robert de Chantilly, the Marechal.

He rode to meet Robert smiling broadly he nodded towards the meadow. ‘There is no doubt that on a day like today, even in winter, Brittany can be very beautiful.’

Robert returned the smile. ‘But you have not asked me here to admire the scenery. Indeed, I wonder what has attracted your attention. why you left St Malo without waiting for us. Have you heard the roumor that Salisbury has left for England? Do you want to check that out for yourself? Or have you taken the trouble to come here to watch a minor engagement, which will have little long-term significance?’ He sighed. ‘That much I doubt.’

Jacques pulled his face into a grin but a grin without any sign of humour. ‘Salisbury? Who knows? He is a master of deception. He could have spread the roomer himself as the prelude to another all out attack. However as it happens I do have an interest in what is happening here, or rather who is involved in what is happening here.’

Robert waved his hand as if drawing a line across the horizon. ‘ What do you tell the king? that despite their recent success,the English control the south and west and we control the north and east and everything in the hinterland is contested?

Jaques thought for a moment. ‘Hmm, something like that,whereas  the truth is that we only retain a finger hold on the very edge of Brittany. Minor offensives into what is now English territory do nothing to change that. They are about capturing someone important and getting a ransom for their return rather than the gain of territory; but you know that…’ He cocked his head to one side and delivered a lopsided smile.

‘So why are we here?’

Jacques flinched as, without warning, a ball of flame ascended from behind the trees. He turned to watch its progress.

The accompanying roar, as the flames were fanned by its passage through the air, could be clearly heard, but the lazy trail of smoke it left behind, drifting in the slightest of breezes, created the illusion that it was travelling much slower than it actually was. It burst against the roof of one of the towers, throwing blazing fragments in every direction.

Jacques stiffened in the saddle as he imagined himself at the receiving end, desperately trying to extinguish the spot fires and hoping fervently that the next incendiary missile would not be a direct hit.

Robert frowned, pursed his lips, and nodded. ‘And so it is today,  The English pay us back in kind.  Arnoul d’Audrehem, my predecessor, is over there in the Château. Hugh de Calverly, the English champion, has led this attack with no other intention than to capture him and claim a ransom, and we have supposedly called a truce.

Another ball rose on a slightly different trajectory, then another and another. Dark trails of smoke now defiled the previously pristine scene and a different pattern of smoke arising from the Château proved that at least one of the projectiles had penetrated the defensive walls.

Jacques nodded. ‘Go on don’t stop, how much else do you know?”

Robert continued. ‘Our forces now have Calverly surrounded, but their objectives are no better than those of the English. They are here to take prisoners and then sell them back for a ransom. They have no interest in any longer-term strategic motives, for they know, as do we both, that there are none.’

Another projectile soared through the air, emitting a much deeper roar. They watched the smoke trail scar the sky and Robert winced as again it scored a direct hit.

Robert reined in his horse, which pranced on the spot in objection to the deeper sound.

‘Oh! Is that what interests you.Tthe English are treating this attack very seriously. They built that trebuchet in two days and, right now, its rate of fire and accuracy is much better than anything we could achieve.?’ He paused, and moved his horse forward so that he could look Jacques directly in the eye. ‘I am here because you commanded me to be so, but again I ask: why exactly are you here, is it the trebuchet?’

Jacques grimaced. ‘Very well. I want to meet Bertrand du Guesclin. I want to invite him to Paris.’

‘You want what? The man is an animal.’ Robert breathed deeply. ‘He is a native of these parts, but a despicable animal, who has made an art form of intimidation, mutilation and destruction.’

‘Then why use him?’

‘Because I must; he is a native of Brittany and a supporter of our King, but I continually expose him to danger in the hope he might succumb. If you wish to engage him, good luck to you. But never tell me I did not warn you.’

Jacques watched as yet another fireball was launched towards the Château. He urged his horse forward. ‘If he is here, I want to meet him. I promise I will not hold you accountable for what might eventuate.’

They approached the Château cautiously. Robert broke out his personal standard so that they could be identified. The English army attacking the Château de Montmuran were, as far as Jacques could see, a conventional army of knights, infantry and engineers.

Now they were surrounded by army of mercenaries, supplemented by hundreds of ill-equipped peasant farmers. Jacques winced when he saw their leader, noting a misplaced nostril and bulges of hard fat hanging down from his cheeks to below his jawline.  There were  lines of grime on his unwashed face.


Du Guesclin seemed to be proud of his Rag-Tag. ‘They stay here because we have promised them a share of the ransom for every Englishman we capture. We raid their lines every night and most nights we manage to capture at least one of them.’ Du Guesclin pointed. ‘See in the compound over there, guarded by the rabble; we have ten of them, each worth perhaps twenty-thousand sous. In a week, if we capture another five, the English army will fight their way out rather than suffer continuing losses.’

Jacques swallowed deeply and dismounted. ‘You haven’t got a week. I must be back in Paris the day after tomorrow and you must come with me.’

‘But what about the ransom? Negotiating that will take closer to a month, and my share is twenty per cent.’

‘How much are the hostages worth?’

‘Thirty-thousand francs.’

‘That is not what you just said.’

‘That was before you asked the question.’

‘Very well. Thirty-thousand francs.’ Jacques walked over to his horse and from a saddle bag produced two smaller bags.
Du Guesclin sniffed the bags, weighed them in his hands, and opened the heavier one. It contained five hundred francs.

‘Very good, but not enough for me to abandon my interest.’

‘Open the other bag.’

Du Guesclin extracted several large, colourful pieces of paper. ‘What’s this?’

‘Promissory notes signed by the Dauphin and the president of the treasury. It is as good as money.’ Jacques looked at Du Guesclin querulously. ‘Can’t you read?’

‘Never saw the need.’ He looked down at the notes. ‘These are as good as money, you say?’

Jacques nodded. ‘Promissory notes for twenty-five thousand franks. You are suddenly a rich man.’

Du Guesclin shrugged his shoulders and then his eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you giving me this?’

‘There is different task we have for you, Bertrand. There is a young girl, who is causing us much concern.’

‘A young girl? Concerning you?’ Du Guesclin laughed evilly. ‘Did you get her pregnant?’

Jacques’ throat constricted, but he kept control. ‘No, Bertrand, this young girl causes concern to the state. Apparently, she is about to make a contract with the English to steal nearly a third of our realm.’

Bertrand eyed Jacques carefully. ‘How?’

‘She is, we are told, a distant descendant of the Comte de Carcassonne, the heretic dispossessed by the heroic members of the Albigensian Crusade one hundred years ago. There are those among dispossessed families of the southern lords who believe that if she were reinstated to her ancestors’ lands, they could improve their own situation.’

‘But you could crush them.’ Du Guesclin protested.

‘Yes, we could, unless there was the involvement of a power with an army we would find difficult to resist.’

‘The English?’

‘Precisely. The girl we are talking about, Ximene Trencavel, may well marry Edward of Woodstock, the Black Prince, Duke of Aquitaine and heir to the English throne. They have an army that could cause us some trouble!’

Du Guesclin looked expectant.

‘And you want me to …’ One of his eyes narrowed.

Jacques swallowed again.

‘We want you to dispose of her. And we will reward you handsomely for doing so.’

Du Guesclin thought for a moment. ‘Handsomely? This is just an advance? Oh, well, that changes everything. I will be ready to leave in fifteen minutes.’

Du Guesclin handed over the five hundred franks to the captain of his mercenaries and shouted orders accompanied by much waving of his hands.

Ten stakes were hurriedly erected  as close to the English lines as it was safe to go. They bound the English prisoners, dragged them to the posts and firmly secured them with strong ties.

Du Guesclin raised a flag on each post and commanded for the trumpets to sound. When he was sure the English watched, he walked calmly along the line of posts, slitting the throat of every prisoner as he went. The screams of the prisoners intensified as it became apparent what he intended to do.

At the end of the line he hesitated, to allow his last victim to scream even louder before silencing him forever. He carefully wiped his knife clean, smiled and walked back towards Jaques.

He casually polished his knife, spending more time over the task than was necessary.

‘We can go. They will leave before tomorrow. I just did something that they never thought a human being would do. They find that terrifying, and terror is the most powerful weapon of all.’

3 thoughts on “Chapter 1 (Edit) The Contract 1/2/55”

  1. Thank you Claire.

    You have removed 76 words from this chapter and unless I check with the original, I am not aware of where the changes have been made.

    I particularly liked the extra line linking Jaques’ visit to the performance of the Trebuchet

  2. What did you think of the use of gratuitous violence in the first chapter? Although the events are totally different I copied this way of grabbing attention from “Wolf Hall”.

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The most dangerous woman in the world

The Treasure of Trencavel

List of Characters

Table Of Contents



List of Places

Table of Contents

Pseudo History


Extract from The Prisoner of Foix--Chapter 43 -The EntranceNo need to buy a Kindle. Read it on your computer or tablet

John Stanley-26th April 1355


'Looks like we are going to see a bit of excitement, John. The Captain tried to get an agreement from the Prince that if there is surf running across the channel to Arcachon we will turn back to Bordeaux, but the Prince would hear none of it. Instead, he has offered to provide insurance for all three ships. If they are damaged or sunk, the owners will be compensated and every sailor who makes the passage will be given a bounty payment. What none of this seems to take into account is that if we sink in rough, fast-flowing waters we might all drown.'

John raised his eyebrows. 'But that is what we are going to do?'

'Yes, despite the fact that surf running accross the entrance is not uncommon and the deep water channel moves continually. In the end, the Prince attacked their captains on their weakest point, their professional pride! He threw down the gauntlet. He offered to take the Sally first through the channel, and to take control during the passage.' He raised his brow. 'We are going into the Bay of Arcachon, come what may! '

Extract from The Eagle of Carcassone -- Chapter 24-- A Real GoddessNo need to buy a Kindle. Read it on your computer or tablet

John Stanley - 22 July 1355

An hour later John walked with Ximene close to the river along the valley below St Feriole. It was the very essence of a summer’s day. The sun was fierce but in the shadow of the trees, it was cool and fragrant. The trees and shrubs along the riverbank hid their progress, from the Château, from St Feriole.

Eventually they reached a point where John thought it was safe to emerge from cover. To his satisfaction the stream extended into a pool with a sandy beach, shaded by trees. Where the stream entered the pool there was a flat grassy area, almost circular. Behind this, the bulk of two mountain ridges provided a splendid backdrop. He looked around once more ‘Not just a good training ground but a great training ground. If the Greek heroes knew about this they might be tempted to join me, to train with me’

Ximene laughed out loud. He turned to look at her. She had removed her outer clothes and was wearing a white chemise, cut short so that it barely reached her knees. Around her waist, she wore a plaited leather belt, obviously fashioned from the multitude of leather straps to be found in the tackle room.

She ran her hands down over her breasts. ‘When you were unconscious I heard you muttering about gods and goddesses, so  I have decided that from now on, for you, I will be the goddess.’

The Prisoner of FoixVol 1 of the series—The Treasure of Trencavel

Aquitaine, an English possession, is in crisis. It is under threat from neighbouring nations and internal dissension.

The Black Prince, King Edward III’s eldest son has been given the task of taking command in Aquitaine.

Suddenly there is an opportunity. Ximene Trencavel is the heiress to the lands of Occitan, to the east of Aquitaine: lands controlled by the Franks. Ximene wants independence, both for herself and for Occitan.

A union between Aquitaine and Occitan would be mutually beneficial. The Black Prince undertakes a secret journey to meet Ximene to negotiate a marriage contract. It is, however, a marriage neither of them really wants.

Meanwhile, the  Franks plot to murder Ximene to prevent ,not just the marriage, but any kind of union between England and Occitan.

The Eagle Of CarcassonneVol II of the series—The Treasure of Trencavel

The loose alliance between Ximene Trencavel and the Black Prince is under threat.

The Prince invades Occitan, to show his support for Ximene but it becomes an invasion which creates more problems than it solves.

The Prince has fallen hopelessly in love with Joan of Kent and Joan is now determined to marry him and become the next Queen of England.

Joan is therefore  determined to convince Ximene that she should not marry the Prince.

Part of her strategy is to encourage Ximene’s relationship with John Stanley—one of the Princes bodyguards—not an easy task as both John and Ximene have doubts about their compatibility.

However, John is grievously injured in a battle and Ximene commits herself to nurse him back to health.