FILMING DIARY DAY #3
God damn, it’s hot. Also featuring cathedrals and horse rustling
This is the third instalment of my letters from France, where I’m spending a week and a bit filming a documentary about the real history behind my novel Essex Dogs. The film will be released next month. Please consider pre-ordering a signed copy of the book! Pre-orders really help authors.
International delivery here. UK delivery with a 50% discount on rrp here.
If we’re listing the real victims of this summer’s indecently high temperatures, the list goes something like:
1. Polar bears
2. The ginger
3. TV presenters filming on location in Normandy
I spent ~15 hours outside today, which is more or less every bit of daylight. I was in the streets of Caen before breakfast, the air fragrant with the deathly sweet stench of last night’s warm garbage being bundled into the trucks.
This afternoon we broiled in sunbeams reflected from the gothic facade of Lisieux cathedral.
And now, as the sun finally drifts off to torment the other side of the Earth, I’m sitting on the right bank of the Seine, my shirt slightly stiff with sweat salt and the skin on my face hot and tight.
Not that I’m complaining. Well, not out loud. This is the best job in the world and I’m outrageously lucky to have been doing it for the last ten years. One day my number will be up, and then I’ll be sad I don’t get to roast in foreign cities and talk shit for a living.
Anyway. To be honest with you, I’m out on my feet, so I just want to share a little flavour of Essex Dogs with you, which relates to Lisieux.
In 1346, a pair of cardinals came to meet Edward III in the hope that they could broker peace between him and Philippe VI of France. It all went pretty pear-shaped. Not only did they fail; they also had their horses stolen by a gang of Welshmen.
Here one of the noblemen gives the Essex Dogs’ leader, ‘Loveday’ FitzTalbot, an account of what has happened. And a bit of a grilling about how the situation might be resolved.
‘Have you ever been to Wales, FitzTalbot?’ Warwick asked.
Loveday shook his head slowly. ‘No, sir. I’ve been to Scotland and—’
Warwick interrupted. ‘Well, I shall tell you about the place another time. For now, let us speak of the Welsh. Look ahead. What do you see?’
Loveday looked. The horses and the men behind them were tracking steadily away across the rolling plain outside Lisieux.
‘I see men… driving horses,’ said Loveday, knowing he sounded a fool.
‘Yes,’ said Warwick. ‘Stolen horses. And your men, I think. Not for the first time, your fellows have disrupted the smooth progress of our campaign.’
‘My lord,’ began Loveday, ‘these Welshmen—’
Warwick spoke over him once more. ‘Let me come to the point. The town below is known here as Lisieux. We will occupy it shortly, and the usual entertainments will be indulged. Arson, robbery and mayhem allowed. Rape and murder officially prohibited – I need not rehearse this further, need I, FitzTalbot?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Good. Now, what is to make the torment of Lisieux different is the fact that our merciful King Edward is to receive a peace delegation in the form of two cardinals of the Church.’
Loveday said nothing.
‘The good tidings, FitzTalbot, are that the cardinals have arrived promptly, and are currently ensconced inside Lisieux, with their various attendants, awaiting King Edward’s arrival.’ Warwick paused. ‘The bad news is that on their way in they were set upon by a gang of Welshmen. Seven or eight in all, led –rather ably – by a pair of brigands whom I have been told are companions of yours.
‘The cardinals are unharmed. But they have been relieved of all their horses. And as you have observed, the horses are being driven off.’
Loveday squinted. The horses were now far away. He tried one more time.
‘Sir,’ he said. ‘It’s possible these were men attached to our company. We had two Welsh join us on the cog… But if I may, my lord…’
Warwick raised an eyebrow.
‘They do not speak our language or obey commands. And lately they have been missing from our company altogether. I am not sure I could bring them back if I wanted to.’
‘And do you want to?’
‘Sir?’
Northampton, who had been pacing as Warwick spoke, puffed, exasperated. ‘My lord, don’t trouble this man with riddles. FitzTalbot, can you get those fucking horses back or not?’
Loveday thought for a moment. He decided to speak truly. ‘No.’
Apologies for the language, there. But I’m sure you’ve heard it all before. See you tomorrow. Sleep well. I know I will.
Pretty pumped for this book to arrive. The teasing is a bit painful, but worth it in the end. As I can feel Autumn in the air, reading Overstory, a novel by Richard Powers, to tide me over until. If you want some quiet time, I recommend it. His backstory is interestig, as well.
Great update. I too cannot stand this heat. Give me cooler climes anytime.