As dawn broke, Berenger was already leading the men to the eastern shores, where Sir John had told him to meet the vessel that was to take them over the Channel. ‘Sir John,’ Berenger greeted him as they walked into the little harbour. ‘Fripper, I hope I see you well. Godspeed with this mission.’ Sir John was not happy to be leaving Berenger like this. It felt too much like throwing a good man to the wolves, but the knight knew that he had little choice in the matter: Fripper had been selected. However, Sir John noticed that Sir Peter had taken a strong dislike to the vintener, and Sir John had no idea why. ‘You will take every precaution, Fripper. Look after this messenger as though he possesses your own life.’ ‘I don’t understand . . .’ Berenger began, but then there came the sound of marching feet and the men all stood up straight in respect. The King, Edward III, was no youngster. He had been born in November 1312, but for a man in his middle thirties, he showed little of the paunch most would own by then.
