This is the seventh and final 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.
St Denis, in northern Paris, has most recently become famous as a good place to get tear-gassed at a football match. But for much of its history it was a good place for a French monarch to be buried - in the glorious Gothic basilica whose present form is a testament to the vision of the twelfth-century French politician Abbot Suger.
The Merovingian king Clovis (r. 481-511) was the earliest ruler to be entombed there, and Louis XVI (r. 1774-1793) and Marie Antoinette the latest. That’s more than twelve centuries of tradition. According to the official literature, St Denis was the resting place for ‘about forty two kings, thirty two queens, sixty three princes and princesses and ten loyal servants of the kingdom.’
Westminster Abbey, eat your heart out.
We came to St Denis this afternoon for our last filming location of this shoot, which has been tracing the real history behind the Crécy campaign, fictionalised in my new book, Essex Dogs.
At first I felt there was something odd about coming to the mausoleum for French monarchy from inception to abolition in order to finish a project inspired by the experiences of ordinary men in a medieval army.
Yet by the time we left it felt somehow perfect. The characters I’ve created in the book are struggling against the fact that their fates are shaped by the whims - often the completely idle whims - of powerful men. Their lives are not fully their own. Like it or not, they are in service to people who will be immortalised in marble once they are dead. Whereas our heroes will be forgotten - not even their names recorded.
St Denis was a reminder of that.
But that’s not a very cheery thought on which to leave you. As I’ve done throughout this series of diary posts, I’ll share a little snippet of Essex Dogs with you below. It’s set in Poissy, as the English army is trying to force a crossing of the river Seine, over which all the bridges are broken. We filmed by a broken bridge in Poissy this morning, explaining what really happened there in 1346, so it’s fitting.
But I also want to leave you with an image of the people who’ve been my Dogs all week, Mark and Laura - two brilliant and talented comrades who’ve done all the hard work so I can flounce about like a medieval count, taking all the glory. They’re the best. So this one’s for them.
When the French company finally came into view, there were fifty or so of them. They emerged slowly out of the haze – just shapes at first, but as they came down from the woodline towards the far riverside, the shapes became distinct figures. Perhaps twelve knights and men-at-arms, the same number of crossbowmen, and the rest ordinary footsoldiers. They brought carts. They flew familiar flags: Philippe’s blue-and-gold fleurs-de-lis, and the red-and-gold stripes of the traitor’s brother.
They stopped around one hundred yards from their side of the bridge. They came no nearer. For a few moments they just stood there. At first Loveday could not think why.
Then he understood. They were standing out of range.
And they were going to build something.
The knights dismounted, and seemed to be gesturing to a group of the ordinary men. Shortly afterwards the men ran to the carts and started dragging timbers and ropes from them. Soon it was clear what they were doing.
They were assembling two wooden frames, each with a long arm, which bore a heavy weight at one end. They were the same contraptions the Dogs had seen the day they landed on the beach.
Catapults.
Loveday looked at Scotsman, Tebbe and Thorp. They all knew what it meant.
It was a race between the English engineers and the French. Scotsman said what they were all thinking. ‘They get that fucking thing set up, they’ll destroy the bridge for good. Then we’re dead.’
They looked helplessly at one another. Around the English company, most of the men were doing the same thing.
The earls, the traitor and Sir Thomas were huddled in urgent conversation.
As they spoke, the English engineers finally heaved the first beam into place. They let it down on to the arches with a creak and a groan. But then, instead of continuing their work, they detached their hooks and ropes, ran back and took cover in the town.
They knew what was coming.
As they left, Northampton broke away from the huddle with the lords. He did not bother to berate the engineers. He just yelled to the whole company to gather round. The Dogs fell in with the rest of them. All the men stood in silence, facing the river. Northampton stood in front of the toll house, his back to the bridge. Warwick moved to stand beside him, staring over the heads of the company, a hard expression on his face.
Northampton cleared his throat. There was another moment of silence. Then he spoke. ‘I don’t need to tell you what’s happening over there. And I don’t need to tell you what will happen if they get those fucking things working.’
He was quiet for what felt like an age. The whole group was silent.
‘We need to get across that river. And we need to use that beam.’
They all looked at it. The beam was no more than two handspans wide and at least fifty paces long.
Completely untested.
And balanced across the fast-flowing waters of the Seine.
Northampton took another look around the group. ‘I don’t like the look of it either, boys,’ he said. ‘But someone needs to go first.’ He looked at Sir Thomas. At Sir Denis. At Sir Godefroi.
At Warwick.
None of them stepped forward. Northampton puffed out his cheeks and ran his hand through his grey hair, stiff with sweat and dust.
On the other side of the river, the French catapults were almost complete.
The earl took a deep breath. ‘God’s fangs,’ he said. He looked back at the beam. ‘I suppose it’s better than a fucking tree trunk.’
St Denis is on my bucket list
I look forward to watching the film and am itching to get my hands on the book.