After what seemed an eternity to the waiting men, they saw the postern gate crack open, the agreed-upon signal. Richard glanced around at the others and grinned. “Those French whoresons are snug in their beds. Let’s wake them up.” And with that, they spurred their horses toward the postern gate as it was flung open wide.
As they plunged through the gate, Guillain ran toward Morgan, who was leading his stallion, and hastily swung up into the saddle. Richard and André knew their way through the maze of narrow, twisting streets, so their men let them lead the way as they galloped by the H?tel-Dieu, using the spire of St Cyr’s church as a landmark. By now sleepy guards were appearing on the wall battlements, drawn by the clamor. The door of a nearby house opened and a man stumbled out, holding a lantern aloft. André reached down and snatched the lantern, flinging it onto a roof and setting the thatch alight. As Richard urged his stallion past St Cyr’s, a man came at him from his left and he wielded his shield like a weapon, knocking the soldier off his feet. Another man bravely but rashly tried to grab Fauvel’s reins, screaming and falling back when the destrier savaged him. Dogs had begun to bark and shutters were being thrown open. There were cries of “Fire,” one of the great dangers of town life, and they could hear muffled shouts from the siege camp as the French army was awakened by the commotion. Soldiers rudely torn from sleep were bolting from houses, half armed and confused, not sure what was happening. But most of them hastily retreated, for they were at a distinct disadvantage against men on horseback. Some of the guards on the walls had begun to fire crossbows, but it was still too dark to aim properly and a moving target was hard to hit. All around them was chaos, and Richard and his men gloried in it.
Shouting the battle cry of the English Royal House, they raced through the small cemetery. Not much blood had been spilled so far and none of Richard’s men had been hurt, but that could change in a hurry if the castle garrison did not admit them. They could see sudden activity on the castle battlements, and from the cheering, it was clear that the garrison realized these new arrivals were on their side. Ahead lay the gatehouse that connected the castle to the town, and to their relief, they saw the gates were already open, the portcullis being winched up. Richard had scored his first great military triumph at twenty-one by forcing his way into Taillebourg with the retreating castle garrison, but now there were no French close enough to try the same trick, and as soon as they were safely inside, the gates were slammed shut and barred again.
The street was thronged with soldiers, monks from the abbey, and townspeople who’d taken refuge in the castle precincts. A priest from St étienne’s ran alongside them, offering breathless blessings as they rode into the castle’s outer bailey. Once they dismounted, they were engulfed by laughing men. Guilhem and Jean de Préaux were pushing their way toward them. “I was in the neighborhood,” Richard said, “so we thought we’d stop by to see how you were doing.” That evoked more laughter, and for a time, the scene in the castle bailey was as chaotic as it had been in the streets of the town—except that this was an uproarious celebration of deliverance, so sure were the garrison that they’d been saved by the king’s arrival.
The jubilation was not universal, though. Jean de Préaux’s squire was watching the excitement with a frown, for Alard did not understand why they were rejoicing. All the English king had done was to put himself at peril, too, and he did not see how that benefited the garrison. Most likely they were in even greater danger. He could not see Richard surrendering and if the castle was taken by storm, Philippe would have the right to hang them all. Vexed and baffled that the king was being acclaimed for joining them in the trap, he finally said querulously, “But will our king’s presence not encourage the French king to even greater efforts now?”
“Alard!” Jean said sharply, not liking the youth’s tone in the least. “Mind your mouth!”
Richard was untroubled by the question. Smiling at the discomfited youngster, he said, “That is exactly what I am counting upon, lad.”