Ardennia: The Unlikely Story of Cinderella's Prince

The Battle of Paris

After the third volley had been released by the archers King Charles signaled the cavalry charge. Leading the way he leveled his lance, as did Henry and the other knights as they spurred their warhorses on toward the Burgundian lines. Those lines opened up and let the Duke of Burgundy and his knights through. They charged too, and for Henry the scene unfolded in slow motion. With their pennants flying and their mass of lances pointed at the Ardennian host, the Burgundians looked irresistible to Henry; and he thought if a brave man tastes of death but once, this was his day to taste of it. Perspiration ran down his face, the sound of hooves thundered in his ears, his thumping heart beat against his breast plate and his mouth went dry. He glanced to his left and saw his father outdistancing him. He glanced to his right and saw Adrian of Bray catching up with him. Instinctively he spurred his warhorse again and felt a surge of energy course through his mount. Then he gripped his lance as tight as he could and braced for impact with a Burgundian knight who had singled him out. All of a sudden time resumed to normalcy and in a split second he clashed with the knight. The knight’s lance glanced off his shield but his lance found its mark in the upper leg of his foe and broke off at the tip. Not stopping to watch the knight crumple to the ground in agony, he discarded his lance and drew his sword; just in time to parry a blow from another Burgundian knight. Countering, he struck his opponent on his shoulder, cleaving it down to the clavicle. He twisted his horse around, now in a melee of incredible violence. Knights engaged in brutal duels that hurt one or the other grievously. Some of the knights unfortunate enough to be unseated were trampled underneath hooves. Others were caught between the kinks of their armor by the arrows that both sides continued to unloose. Others had their helmets smashed in by maces or their limbs severed with swords. There was no quarter in the fighting, no mercy. Each man fought for his life, and some for glory, with an intensity that only the heat of battle can inspire. Henry felt it. He felt his blood boiling; his fear and rage merging to make him an incarnation of fury. He cut down a third knight who had been reduced to fighting on foot. A fourth he attempted to run over with his horse. Then he saw his father beset by two knights and rushed to his aid. Chivalry be damned, he clove the head of one knight from behind, allowing his father to concentrate on the other and dispatch him with relative ease. Together, and soon joined by Adrian of Bray, they hacked their way toward the Duke of Burgundy’s pennant, killing or incapacitating many a stout combatant.

“Take that pennant and the battle is ours!” roared his father.

Immediately after that Henry was stunned by a blow to his helmet from a sword of one of the Duke’s bodyguards. He stayed in his saddle with the help of Adrian, but the momentum of the King, Henry and Adrian had been stemmed and the battle turned into a gristmill where neither side could assert supremacy – even with the assistance of their infantry which now had joined the fray.

“Are you alright?” asked the King of Henry when his bodyguards had caught up and surrounded them.

“Yes, thanks to Sir Adrian,” answered Henry groggily.

“We owe you a debt,” said the King to Adrian.

“Just earning my pay,” said the androgynous knight gallantly.

“You have done that and more. There shall be a bonus in it for you if I live out the day,” said the King.

“You shall or I am not the knight I think I am,” Adrian said.

Geoffrey of Ghent came up to them at that point.

“That was a brave charge. You nearly took the Duke,” said Geoffrey.

“Nearly doesn’t count,” said the King.

“Brave nonetheless,” Geoffrey insisted.

“And how goes it with the free knights?” asked the King.

“Our ranks have been thinned. We lost Orla of Orleans at the outset and Basel was outdueled in a sword fight of epic proportions. Otherwise we are still in fighting trim.”

“Good, we will need every knight and man of arms to fight with their last ounce of courage if we are to prevail here today,” said the King.

“And you shall have it from us,” Geoffrey promised.

“Enough talk, let us get back to work,” said Adrian.

Adrian and Geoffrey sought out their comrades to raise havoc among the Burgundians, and King Charles took his bodyguard for another try at the Duke. Henry, still in a daze, followed behind his father, unable to think straight and with his adrenaline subsiding. Everything was confused now, a muddled blur. He was adrift in a maelstrom, battered on all sides by conflict. But for the knights of the bodyguard he would have been slain several times over, and he did not notice his father being wounded and the tide turning against the Ardennians. Neither did he notice the role Sir Adrian played in rallying the demoralized Ardennian host. That heroic figure admonished knights and men of arms alike, asking them if they wanted to live forever or win undying fame on this glorious field of honor. She backed up her words with a suicidal attack on the pursuing Burgundians – one of whom managed to unhorse her with a halberd. For a moment she disappeared in a sea of antagonists. But then she emerged, swinging her sword this way and that, keeping her tormentors at bay. This was too much for the Ardennians to ignore. They took heart and made a counterattack that put the Burgundians to rout – which Henry did register.

“Thank God. We have won the day,” he murmured to himself as he dropped out of his saddle.

A few hours later he was by his father’s side in the King’s tent, wondering if the wounds his father had sustained would be fatal and hoping his own head would clear. He was, in fact, still suffering the effects of what was probably a concussion; he could not focus very well nor could he recall much of what had happened during the battle. Guy was there next him with a worried look on his face, and the Count was outside talking to the French King.

“You may be wearing a crown upon your head sooner than you thought,” said Guy.

“Don’t even think it,” said Henry.

“One must, distressing as it is to do so. It happened the same way with your grandfather and it would not be an anomaly if your father ended just as his father ended.”

“I don’t even remember when we got separated or seeing it happen. My mind seems to be blank,” Henry said.

“Not uncommon for a knight who has had a knock on the head. You should see the dent in your helmet,” said Guy.

“My helmet?”

“In the keeping of your squire along with your sword, which is pretty nicked up; I’m proud of you.”

“What about the free knights? How did they fare?” asked Henry.

“Three were lost and five were wounded to varying degrees – one of whom gained eternal fame.”

“That means none of them came out unscathed.”

“True, but none of them are complaining, and Adrian has won the fame of which she was so desirous .”

“What did she do?”

“She rushed a cadre of Burgundian knights and foot soldiers who were leading the pursuit of our fleeing army and by her words and example turned the tables on them. I’ve never seen such a display of valor and I’ve seen a lot.”

“I wish I could have seen that,” Henry expressed.

“It would have thrilled you to the core; it did me.”

“Hey ho, where am I?” interrupted the King in a very weak voice.

“Father, you’re awake,” said Henry, stating the obvious.

“Awake where?” asked the King.

“Awake in your tent, Sire,” said Guy.

“And the battle?” further asked the King.

“Won through your leadership and the heroism of Adrian of Bray,” said Henry.

“Good, now I can die in peace.”

“You’re not going to die my King. You’ve just lost a little more blood than is sensible,” said Guy.

“Yes, Father; in a couple of days you’ll be up and about.”

“Maybe, maybe not, for now you will have to take charge. The first thing you must do is send a message to the Queen saying we have defeated the Burgundians, but leaving out the state I am in.”

“Already done, your son was out of commission so I took the liberty,” said Guy.

“Very well; have you seen to our wounded?”

“Not personally, but those that could be saved have been saved,” assured Guy.

“And King Louis, have you made contact with him?”

“He is outside the tent at this very moment,” said Guy.

“That is well. You may show him in anon. First I want to talk to my son in private,” said the King.

“As you command, your Majesty,” said Guy, and he exited the tent.

“Henry. This may be premature but we must have a talk.”

“About what Father?”

“How you must conduct yourself if I do not recover.”

“But – ”

“No buts. Just listen. First and foremost you must always listen to the advice of your mother. She is invariably right about things, she knows the ropes and she only wants what is good for you and our subjects.”

“I understand,” said Henry.

“Second you must always want what is good for our subjects. Third, you should do your utmost to love, respect and cherish Lenore. I’m not blind to the fact that she is not to your liking. But you must put aside your distaste and be a husband to her just as you must be a king to your people.”

“I will try my best, Father.”

“Don’t just try, do it. Fourth, when war comes your way – and it will – conduct yourself with the bravery you did today. Leave nothing out on the battlefield that you will regret later. Finally, be a good Christian. Mark the Sabbath, observe Lent and be charitable to the poor.”

“I will.”

“Good, now call in the French King.”

Henry went to the flap of the tent, opened it and motioned for the King to enter. King Louis obliged him.

“Cousin,” said King Louis to King Charles.

“Cousin,” said King Charles.

“We were very concerned about you and are delighted to see you have regained consciousness,” said King Louis.

“I am delighted to be conscious,” King Charles said.

“We are more than grateful that you came to our rescue in our hour of need. You have saved us from almost certain doom.”

“It was my pleasure,” said King Charles.

“We hardly think that. From our battlements we saw that the contest was quite desperate and the issue in doubt to the very end. We are deeply in your debt.”

“I am sure you would do the same for Ardennia,” said King Charles.

“Of course, should the occasion ever arrive where you are in dire straits you must let us know; not like the last time when you dispersed your besiegers on your own.”

“Actually, I did send a messenger asking for help but he didn’t get through and I never heard from him again,” King Charles said.

“Well it is fortunate our herald did get through for we have been hard pressed,” King Louis stated.

“Forsooth it is. Now if you don’t mind I am feeling faint and would take some rest,” said King Charles.

“But of course cousin. We shall see you on the morrow,” King Louis said, giving a bow and exiting the tent.

Henry resumed his seat next to the King.

“What are you doing?” asked the King.

“Keeping you company.”

“A sleeping man needs no company. Besides, I have an errand for you. In my chest over there are eight pouches of coins that the free knights have so dearly earned. Give each surviving knight but Adrian of Bray a pouch. Give Sir Adrian two and tell them all they can divide the contents of the remaining two pouches, which is the custom. And don’t mention this to King Louis for he would insist on paying the bounty and that I do not want. . . Well, don’t just sit there.”

Henry rose and walked over to the great oaken chest. He raised the lid, extracted the eight pouches and let the lid back down.

“I have them,” said Henry.

“Good. Give them their pay without delay, along with our most sincere thanks.”

“I will, Father. Rest and worry for nothing.”

“I intend to, now skedaddle.”

Henry skedaddled all the way to the free knights’ bivouac, where he found all the surviving knights but Francis. They were inspecting each other’s wounds and arguing about who had taken the most punishment.

“I have nine cuts in total. . . Oh, hello Henry,” said Geoffrey.

“I have five gashes and two punctures,” said Montrol of Troyes.

“That’s nothing. I lost half a thumb and a couple of teeth,” boasted Chaumont of Avalon.

“I have you all beat. I am bruised head to toe and have three broken ribs,” Adrian of Bray bragged.

“Henry, you be the judge; whom of us is most grievously wounded?” asked Geoffrey.

“That would be hard to say – you all have something going for you,” said Henry.

“Oh come now, you can settle this,” said Chaumont.

“Yes, you are the only one who can be objective,” added Adrian.

“Okay. If I have to choose, I pick Sir Chaumont. I would rather be bruised or cut or gashed or punctured than lose a thumb and some of my teeth,” said Henry.

“Ha, you see,” crowed Chaumont.

“We all owe Chaumont a denier,” said Geoffrey.

“Speaking of deniers, here is your pay,” said Henry, tossing out the pouches to the free knights.

“A bonus for Sir Adrian, one you can give to Sir Francis and two extra pouches to split between you as is the custom for dispersing the coin due to those who have fallen.”

“They were boon companions,” said Adrian.

“And died with their sabatons on as they would have wanted,” added Montrol.

“Who now lay in their graves on that hilltop,” Geoffrey said, pointing to a nearby rise.

“So you were able to find them,” said Henry.

“Yes, and they were not a pretty sight” said Chaumont of Avalon.

“How so?” asked Henry.

“Some rascals stripped them of their armor,” answered Geoffrey.

“And Sir Beau was trampled into a pancake,” added Adrian.

“And Orla’s head was hanging by the skin,” Chaumont contributed.

“And Basel’s tongue was cut out, probably for some curse he uttered with his last breath,” said Geoffrey.

“But that’s the way it goes in this world,” philosophized Montrol.

“Yes, one day you are riding high and the next you are food for the worms,” observed Chaumont, feeling for tip of his thumb that wasn’t there anymore.

“Enough said; shall we do them honor and divvy up their coin?” Geoffrey asked.

“Yes,” said Adrian, Montrol and Chaumont.

As they were divvying up the coin Francis of Sens rode into the bivouac with a prisoner in tow.

“What have we here?” asked Adrian.

“We have a nephew of the Duke of Burgundy,” answered Francis.

“How do you know that?” asked Geoffrey?

“Because I sneaked up on him as he was hiding in the bushes and heard him speaking with his squire.”

“Where is the squire?” asked Chaumont.

“Dead with a throwing dagger sticking out of his left eye,” Francis answered.

“Congratulations; not just on your aim with the dagger but with your prize,” said Geoffrey.

“Yes. His ransom will make you a rich man,” Montrol added.

“That’s what I’m counting on. I just have to keep this hare alive and arrange for the exchange.”

“I am not a hare,” protested the prisoner.

“You run like one. If I hadn’t had my horse nearby you would have gotten away.”

“Still, I am not a hare; I am the son of the Duke’s brother and of a great house.”

“Music to my ears,” said Francis.

“Taunt me not sir and undo my bonds. They are most uncomfortable and you have me in your camp.”

“Do you give me your solemn word you will not try to run off?”

“I do.”

“Well that’s not good enough. You are of too much value to me.”

“Don’t be so discourteous. Loosen his bonds, at least for the time being,” Geoffrey said.

“Yes, if he tries to scamper off we will help you retrieve him and I will demonstrate how to hogtie a man to within an inch of his life,” said Adrian.

“Alright,” Francis said, untying his prisoner.

The prisoner rubbed his wrists, thanked his captor and sat down.

“What is your name?” asked Geoffrey.

“Dupont le Claire, next in line for the peerage that my father holds and a dubbed knight.”

“Well Dupont le Claire, your people fought well today. So well it cost the lives of three of our friends,” said Geoffrey.

“I am sorry for that, but war is war,” replied Dupont.

“I meant it as a compliment; such men as Orla of Orleans are not easily killed.”

“Orla of Orleans; I knew him,” said Dupont.

“How so?” asked Francis.

“I jousted with him in a tournament last year and drank with him at the banquet afterwards. He was a fine fellow. I am sorry to hear of his demise.”

“Not as sorry as us. But do give us an account of today’s battle from your point of view,” said Geoffrey.

“It was horrific. First we were showered with arrows which found their mark all too often. Then there was the tremendous collision of mounted knight against mounted knight and the subsequent chaos that followed. My youngest brother was cut down almost immediately and I saw him look my way as he fell off his horse – a most haunting memory. Then your King and two of his knights made a fearsome rush upon the Duke.”

“That sounds familiar. I might have been one of those knights,” said Henry.

“You were and so was I,” said Adrian.

“And which one of you did I clunk upon the head?” asked Dupont.

“Prince Henry of Ardennia,” answered Adrian.

“Prince, I am pleased to meet you under friendlier circumstances,” said Dupont, nodding his head.

“And I, you,” said Henry.

“Go on with your version of the battle,” said Geoffrey of Ghent.

“Not long after blunting the charge on the Duke I saw your King wounded in another attempt upon us. That was when the battle turned in our favor. Exultant, we gave chase to your army only to be thwarted by a modern day Achilles who stopped us cold in our tracks.”

“That was Adrian of Bray,” said Henry, gesturing his hand toward the knight of indeterminate gender.

“You!” exclaimed Dupont in wonder.

“Yes, me,” confirmed Adrian.

“What an extraordinary feat of arms you displayed today. I am humbled to meet you,” said Dupont.

“Don’t be humbled, just record my deeds in your annals so I will not be forgotten when I turn to dust,” Adrian said.

“I will see to it if my ransom is paid.”

“Continue with your account,” urged Geoffrey.

“There is not much more to say; we were routed by your rejuvenated forces, my horse gave out due to a spear that had penetrated its lungs and my squire and I were hunted down by your comrade.”

“There you have it. Now is there anyone here who can write a ransom note?” asked Francis.

“I can do you that service,” said Henry.

“As well as I,” Geoffrey said.

“Then I will leave you to it for I should be getting back to my father,” said Henry.

“And how goes it with him?” asked Adrian.

“He is weak from loss of blood and still in the woods,” answered Henry.

“Our prayers are with him,” said Montrol.

“Thank you,” said Henry as he departed for the King’s tent.

He arrived there to find Guy sitting up against a tree snoring, the Count sitting pensively on a stump and two guards posted at the entrance of the tent.

“Henry, may I have a word with you?” asked the Count.

“Of course,” said Henry.

“First I must tell you I witnessed your exploits today and was pleasantly surprised; it appears that you will not make such a mediocre son-in-law after all.”

“And second?” asked Henry.

“If your father succumbs to his wounds you can count on me to fill his shoes and act as your mentor.”

“So I can count on the Count,” punned Henry.

“If you want to phrase it that way; yes.”

“That is very generous of you.”

“Don’t mention it. Third, I feel it incumbent upon me to tell you a few intimate details about Lenore that will give you a heads-up, as it were – just to smooth your path to wedded bliss.”

“You have my attention.”

“To begin with she adored her mother, who unfortunately died giving birth to a stillborn child when Lenore was only seven. This, I believe, led her to compensate for her loss by overeating and eventually developing an immoderate fondness for beer – you may have noticed.”

“I have.”

“She is also unduly attached to her cat, for the same reason I would guess.”

“I’ve heard her make mention of her cat in very affectionate terms; more than once.”

“Then you are getting my drift?”

“Yes, Lenore will need to be handled with tenderness and indulged as far as possible.”

“More than that; she must be flattered for her croquet skills, tolerated for her short temper, bestowed with gifts as often as possible, praised for her appearance – which even I must admit is not that praiseworthy, forgiven for a degree of slovenliness and her perpetual bad breath, uncritical of her laziness and supportive of her many whims.”

“Got it,” said Henry, now beginning to regret that Dupont had not bashed his brains out.

“In addition – ”

“There’s more?”

“Yes. In addition you must never, never threaten to take away her buffoon. She cherishes his buffoonery beyond all else. It’s always the buffoon did this or the buffoon said that or how would I ever exist without my buffoon. He’s quite a crutch for her, and I shudder to think how she would get along without him, though I find him not at all to my liking.”

“So is that all?”

“Yes, except the one time I said I was going to get rid of the buffoon she assured me she would jump off the highest battlement of my castle if I did – and I believed her.”

“Good to know,” said Henry.

“Well, I’m glad we had this little talk. It puts my mind at ease.”

“Mine as well, there’s nothing like getting the scoop on your betrothed from her father. Now, if you will excuse me I’d like to go to my father and stand vigil.”

“Of course,” said the Count of Lorraine and the doting father of Henry’s soon-to-be wife.

Henry passed into the tent that was now illuminated by a few candles and silent except for the labored breathing of his father who was struggling for his life. He sat down on the chair next to the bed and drudged up the memories he had of his father; the earliest ones where his father would toss him up in the air like a pillow, right down to the latest one where his father told him to ‘stay close’ just before signaling the charge against the Burgundians. It would be a dreadful loss if his father died. He got down on his knees and he prayed.