Read Chapter 11: English Silver, French Blood

Summer brought armies north.

With them came money.

The Free Hounds received offers from both sides within three days.

An English commander wanted two hundred mercenaries to raid French forage routes. A French marshal's agent wanted the same company to defend those routes.

Martin now commanded only seventy-three men.

“Accept both,” Will Hobb suggested.

“Then fight ourselves?”

“We might finally be evenly matched.”

Martin chose the French contract because it included authority to inspect grain stores along the road to Amiens.

Ysabeau understood at once.

“We are being paid to investigate.”

“Try not to sound pleased.”

The French quartermaster was less pleased when Martin began asking for inventories.

“You are hired to fight.”

“Hungry men fight badly.”

“The stores are not your concern.”

“Then find another company.”

The quartermaster relented.

The inventories showed shortages everywhere.

Yet at one monastery, Martin discovered records proving that three hundred sacks had been delivered the previous week. Only one hundred remained. The cellar walls showed no signs of theft.

The prior confessed after Ysabeau threatened to report him for selling Church grain.

He had been ordered to transfer two hundred sacks to a private warehouse owned by a Concord member.

“By whom?” Martin asked.

“A royal clerk.”

“For what reason?”

The prior looked miserable. “Administrative necessity.”

Matthieu laughed bitterly. “That phrase has killed more men than swords.”

Martin sent copies of the records to the marshal.

No reply came.

Two days later, English raiders struck the road.

The Free Hounds fought a running battle through wheat fields and hedgerows. Martin split his crossbowmen into small groups, firing from cover while spearmen protected withdrawals. The English expected mercenaries to break when pressed. Instead, Martin yielded ground deliberately, drawing them toward a narrow lane where Jehan waited with pikes.

The ambush worked.

Twenty Englishmen surrendered, including a knight.

Martin recognised him.

Sir Thomas Greybourne removed his helmet and wiped blood from his eyebrow.

“This is becoming embarrassing.”

“You chose the wrong road.”

“I chose the road I was ordered to choose.”

They sat beneath a hedge while surgeons treated the wounded.

Greybourne offered ransom.

Martin refused coin and asked for information instead.

The Englishman frowned. “That is more expensive.”

“Who supplies your army?”

“Many people.”

“Who controls the contracts?”

Greybourne understood.

He told Martin that Calais officials had recently been ordered to favour certain merchants “for strategic reliability.” Several were connected to the Concord.

“And the officer from your ledger?” Martin asked.

“Promoted.”

Martin stared.

Greybourne gave a humourless smile. “I told you the records might disappear.”

Martin released him the next morning for a formal promise not to fight the Free Hounds for thirty days.

The French quartermaster was furious.

“That prisoner was worth two hundred crowns!”

“Then perhaps you should have captured him.”

The quartermaster threatened to cancel their pay.

Martin gathered the company and left French service that afternoon.

They had served eleven days.

The contract promised thirty.

By sunset, a French warrant accused them of aiding the enemy.

By midnight, Greybourne sent a message warning that an English warrant was also being prepared.

For the first time, Martin had achieved perfect neutrality.

Both kingdoms wanted him arrested.

The captured Greybourne spent one night under Free Hound guard before Martin released him. During that night, French and English soldiers shared the same barn, separated by a line of empty feed troughs and mutual suspicion.

Will Hobb crossed the line to play dice with three English prisoners.

Jehan threatened to break the dice.

“They are enemies.”

“Tomorrow,” Will said. “Tonight they owe me four deniers.”

Martin let the game continue.

Greybourne, sitting nearby, said, “Your sergeant dislikes us.”

“His brother died at Poitiers.”

“And you?”

“My lord died fighting Englishmen.”

“So why release me?”

“Because what you know is worth more than your ransom.”

Greybourne studied him. “That is either very wise or very expensive.”

“Usually both.”

Before dawn, the English knight told Martin something not in any ledger. Officers increasingly planned campaigns around guaranteed deliveries from large suppliers rather than local requisition. That made armies more mobile—but also dependent on fewer contractors.

“If those suppliers coordinate,” Martin said, “they can influence where armies go.”

“Yes.”

“Do commanders understand that?”

“Commanders understand what fails loudly. Supply fails quietly until suddenly everyone is shouting.”

The thought stayed with Martin. The Concord was no longer merely stealing from war. By controlling food, it could shape the war itself: which garrison held, which road remained open, which siege ended early.

That raised the stakes beyond village hunger, though village hunger remained the part Martin understood most clearly.