John had alleged was running rampant through Brittany and Normandy.
There was no sign of FitzRandwulf or Sparrow either. Henry and Sedrick held a huddled discussion when they broke for the noon meal, including the Welshman out of respect for his princely state, no doubt, but leaving Ariel and Robin to pack away the remains of their food and utensils. She at least knew where FitzRandwulf was, having been privy to their strategies last night. But Robin, his face mostly concealed beneath the hood he had taken to wearing against the cold, was not so much concerned over his brother’s absence as he was hurt over being left behind. He was, after all, Eduard’s squire. He, not Sparrow, should have accompanied his lord into Rennes, regardless of any threat of peril.
All told, it was not a happy group of three knights and two squires who approached the gates of Rennes. The city itself was indistinguishable from most others that had grown up around a Norman stronghold. The first sighting was of towers and needle-thin spires rising above the crest of a hill. Boundary stones placed beside the highroad marked the beginnings of the town’s land and divided the arable strips of meadow where the residents grew their crops and grazed sheep. Running alongside the city were the brawling, turbulent waters of the river Vilaine, a tumbling rush of wicked currents into which a man crossing the draw could fall and be swept a dozen leagues downstream before popping up to catch a breath. Entry into the walled city was through a stone archway and vast wooden gates that were kept closed and guarded from sundown to sunrise. A fat wart of a porter with a bulbous red nose and runny eyes collected a toll from the five travellers, allowing them to pass only after they and their packhorses had been thoroughly inspected.
Here too were the first signs of open defiance against the English king. The pennons of Brittany and France flew prominently over the main gate; the leopards of England were conspicuously absent.
Glancing past the shadowy arch of the tollgate, the new arrivals had no difficulty envisioning a bullhide-clad sentry lowering his crossbow upon the gatekeeper’s signal. There were more sentries boldly placed on top of the walls and in the watchtowers, all of them wearing the blazons of Hugh of Luisgnan.
Inside the walls, the narrow, winding streets that formed a labyrinth of districts and guilds around the heart of the inner city were crowded, bustling with vendors and peddlers hawking their wares. Ariel strove to keep her head down and her face shielded under the brim of her hat, but there was too much to look at, too many sights that offered a change from the damp isolation of the past few days. Shop windows were open and goods displayed on hooks and tall, heaped shelves. Wooden booths were crammed into every nook and corner, selling everything from soap, garlic, and coal, to grindstones, shovels, and honey. The din was fierce and only grew in measure as they rode deeper into the city. Everyone shouted to be heard over their neighbour; church bells tolled unceasingly, babes screamed and dogs yapped. There were people and horses everywhere, knights with glinting bits of armour pushing through slower-moving groups of churchmen or ruffians. Once, Henry had to signal the others to move aside for a pair of hand-carried litters bearing two noble young ladies in a laughing, pointing hurry to spend their rich husbands’ money.
Most of the buildings were built from timber, three and four storeys high, with a tendency to sag with age. With streets rarely more than seven or eight feet wide, the upper levels of the buildings hung over the alleyways, creating a tunnel-like effect with scant space between for daylight to shine through. Painted signs swung and creaked over doorways, some low enough to whack an indolent horseman to attention. With three and four families living over each shop, the stench of so many closely packed bodies was nearly as overwhelming as the din. Household refuse and ordure were heaved out of the windows with little warning, scavenged by pigs and kites that contributed their own slimy offerings to the general ambience.
For convenience and protection, most bakers and cook shops were located in one warren, goldsmiths in another, linen makers, tanners, fish merchants all in their own. A blind man could find most by smell alone, following the sweet and heady scents of the bakers to the acrid mix