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Also by this author: 'The Clouds of Destiny', 'Storms at Sunset' & 'The Poitivan Adventures'
PREFACE
The 13th Century was an age of considerable
achievement. Our modern Parliament evolved through the singular efforts of
Simon De Montefort, a man many years ahead of his time. Scholarship and debate
were well advanced with Thomas Acquinas, Duns Scotus, Adam Marsh, Robert
Grosseteste, and the unforgettable Roger Bacon very much to the fore. Larger
than life personalities strode the stage of history not just in our own
This is a novel which drinks in all these shapes and types of people, for good or ill, for this is what humanity is all about. But it is also about some other human beings, the form and substance of which we know tantalisingly little. Those pieces of information, scattered frugally and the subject of theories and analyses by academically-inclined pundits tempt us to fill in those gaps. Such a person was that romantic figure the Pearl of Brittany - once seen, forever smitten. The sad but lovely Princess glides through these pages together with the proud and haughty and the kind and gentle. Read to your fill, dear reader and share the lives and loves of these flesh and blood people - in many ways very much like ourselves.
CHAPTER ONE
“Read it to me again Guy, but remember that I can check every word you say. My scholastic achievements are quite advanced for a gentlewoman, I have attainments in languages and about everything else you may note. When you are a prisoner time hangs heavily on your hands, if truth were known my life has benefited in some respects from my incarceration.”
“Scarcely imprisonment my lady.”
“Tush, tush man, don’t go off the subject, read the instructions that my Uncle the King sent you.”
The young woman who had made this statement looked sternly at the squire who stood obediently before her. He knew that he could not deceive this amazing lady even if such a disreputable idea had been floating through his mind.
“You are given, my lady an allowance from the Exchequer covering gifts of clothes, fur-lined capes, shoes, and fine linen from which to make chemises and sheets. Not however of the King’s finest cloth but if they have none suited for this except the King’s very finest then so be it.”
“That is what I thought” replied the elegant young woman “and for our purposes only the best cloth is really suited. Do you acquiesce then, Guy, you must be aware of our clothing needs by now?”
“Quite so, quite so, Lady Eleanor. I am sure that the King would have no objections. As you know he is a most generous sovereign.”
The
lady Eleanor smiled somewhat sarcastically at this surprising statement. In
truth the young lady was correctly titled the Princess Eleanor of
Guy
could not help continuing to stare towards the Princess. He could fully
appreciate how she had come by the evocative nomenclature of the Pearl of
Brittany. The youthful squire was confident that he had never in his life come
across anyone so striking. Eleanor had the darkest hair and the most piercing
brown eyes. Most eyes of that particular hue had tended to produce almost a
doe-like expression among the women he had met. Not so with the
“What do you know of Uncle John, sirrah?” glowered the Princess shaking Guy at least temporarily out of his reverie.
“A very capable Lord and Master of us all” voiced the squire.
“Yes
Guy. I feel that you are mouthing the words that you would wish others to hear.
Nonetheless in spite of what the Church and scribes write about him the King is
very efficient. I have never understood why my other uncle Richard the
Lion-Heart received so much applause. He was a brave man and good military
commander but so is John. At least the latter has spent more of his time in
“You don’t begrudge him your position my lady?” enquired Guy “ I know that you have been in his care for some 13 years now.”
“Yes indeed” mused Eleanor “is it that long? I remember it as if it was yesterday. My brother Arthur acting on behalf of King Philip of France was chasing after my grand-mother Eleanor of Aquitaine on her way to Poitiers”.
“Then you admit my lady that your brother had rebelled against his liege-lord King John and was giving more than aid and comfort to Philip of France in an attempt to snap up Normandy?” queried the young squire, growing somewhat in self-confidence.
“Remember varlet that my brother Arthur should have been King of England.” snapped the Pearl of Brittany drawing herself up in haughty grandeur. “Indeed he was the son of John’s elder brother, as I am the daughter of the same.”
“Yes my lady but King John is the brother of the last monarch Richard the Lion-Heart whilst your brother was only the nephew of the previous incumbent of the throne. Also, I add with respect, John was considered more acceptable because of his experience whilst your brother was very young when Richard died.”
“Nevertheless he was a Prince. If he was renounced by the English barons surely he had the right to choose his new friends especially if Philip was more kind to him.....”
“Philip?” almost exploded Guy “when did that crafty, dishevelled Frenchman ever think of anyone but himself or at most of French interests. He should have been avoided like the plague, what a callous, sinister man is that?”
“We are getting someway off the subject, Guy” glowered Eleanor “we were discussing how I came to be under the close constriction of my uncle’s comforting care.”
“Of course, of course” blushed the squire “please go on Lady Eleanor.”
“I remember the date it was 31 July in the year 1202” continued the Princess “Arthur had caught up with grand-mother and her party of retainers and had them trapped in the Castle keep at Mirebeau. Anyway he had not accounted for the devil-inspired spirit of the Angevin blood - he should have, he came from the same brood. John had led a forced march of over 80 miles and liaised with William des Roches, the Seneschal of Anjou. William knew the area inside out and when Arthur and the besiegers were still eating voraciously of a dish of pigeons the avenging army came storming through. The besiegers had become the besieged.”
“I know, and the Prince Arthur was contained in Falaise with his associate Geoffrey de Lusignan. The King deemed it the correct course of action to follow.”
“Indeed
he did” muttered the
out for yourself in this world then no-one else will. Still, never mind all
this moaning on my part, worse was to follow. There were twenty-five of my
fellow prisoners, all determined fighters who planned to escape from Corfe.
They gained possession of the keep but were completely out-numbered with their
food supplies totally cut off. Hell, it makes you sick just to think of it but
twenty-two of them starved to death rather than surrender.”
“You don’t have to go all over this again your Highness” sympathised a subdued Guy.
“Well
that’s life. It’s ironic that
“Yes your Highness.”
“No
need to go soft on me, sirrah” snapped the Pearl of Brittany strengthening her
resolve “they suggest, some stories do anyway, that Uncle John slew Arthur with
his own hand in April 1203. He had drunk too much, not unusually and then had
my brother’s body thrown into the River Seine. One of the most dastardly acts
committed in
“And yet your Uncle John sends you some lovely gifts, ornamented saddles and reins, and other things as well, not exactly like the acts of a monster.”
“A complex character is my Uncle” puzzled Eleanor grimacing to herself.
“Only
last year you accompanied the King to
“Yes
indeed I did, with a number of other relatives like my little cousin Richard,
Uncle John’s second son. Men, they are forever fighting and squabbling, it
would do
“I doubt that a woman would receive much support” suggested Guy “look at the time about eighty years ago when the barons refused to accept the Empress Maud and her cousin King Stephen managed to keep the throne for close on twenty years.”
“Yes
but if there was a woman of quality available, and there is you know.
After all I am Jeffrey’s closest blood relative. He would have succeeded the
Lion-Heart if he had lived, I know he would.”
Guy was on the point of suggesting to the proud Princess that it was pointless engaging in such a fruitless debate but she had quickly turned on her heel and was moving back towards her quarters. He could not help admiring this determined young woman, slightly older than himself but still alluringly young. The thoughtful squire could not help thinking that this fiercely intense niece of his liege-lord hinted at another side of her character. He was sure she could be as warm and as sympathetic as she was straight-backed and haughty. That raised eye-brow and supercilious look seemed capable of becoming smouldering passion if only he knew which impulse to touch. Already he was feeling his chest tingling with a not unpleasant sensation.
CHAPTER TWO
The dark-bearded individual smiled contentedly to himself. There was some grey beginning to fleck both his beard and his shoulder-length hair. Unlike the Norman appearance of about twenty years ago and before he did not favour the cropped, round-head version but preferred a more elegant flowing style. The man was clearly of middle-years and had grown slightly portly but this did not detract from an obvious muscular strength. There was something of a gaudy dignity about him, almost a self-deprecating wry humour seemed to pervade his not unhandsome features. Slowly, ever so slowly he stretched himself but not in a lazy manner rather like a cat measuring his potential, ready for action. A shrewd, self-possessed personage was this aware of the ways of the World and one who had lived life fully in all its different aspects.
“Sire, the young lady is here for you.”
The
Gentleman of aristocratic appearance turned his head slightly when he heard
this simple announcement. The surroundings of the room in which he was closeted
within the castle could have been palatial but tidiness and general neatness
seemed to be not the most important considerations in this lord’s order of
preferences. This scene was taking place some miles away from where the Pearl
of Brittany and the squire Guy had been in earnest conversation. A closer look
at the nobleman, however, would have discerned some family resemblance to the
beautiful young princess because this man of shabby-genteel appearance was none
other than King John of
The attendant had meanwhile bowed himself out leaving the King with the young personage that he had ushered in. John cast a discerning look on the girl noting her long dark tresses and interestingly a pair of deep intelligent green eyes. He was about medium height, not of the same physical presence as his late brother the Lion-Heart but he noted that this young woman was a head taller than himself.
“Come girl tell me your name” barked John in semi-fierce fashion.
The
woman maintained a fixed, almost, John felt, an imperious stare and not
over-awed by the situation responded calmly “Brythech, my liege and here to
serve
your most direct pleasures and needs”.
“Brythech
what kind of name is that? God, I’m King of a real muddle of races
“I am Celtic, my royal master, hence my dark hair and with my Celtic blood all the fire and passion that that genus of people inspire.”
“Let me subsequently be the judge of that, you saucy wench” half-smiled John “you seem well-educated, where did we pluck you from?”
“I have travelled around in my time Lord King.” responded Brythech “and have come into contact with monks and clerical people who have taught me much.”
“Monks, eh so you know all the religious dirges and Psalters? You must be good company” sneered the King.
“My liege” interposed Brythech “monks are men with all the strengths and weaknesses of their sex, a notable supply of failings too. I’ve had a fair tumble in the hay with at least a couple that’s taught me a lot about life.”
“I’m sure you have my girl” grinned Lackland” you certainly dress attractively.”
Brythech smiled slowly, looking at the King directly and with a careful very deliberate movement began to slip the long full gown she was wearing off her shoulders. It was noticeable that the girl had eschewed the current fashions by not adopting the new closer-fitting sleeves. Instead she favoured the exaggerated, voluminous alternative style giving more room for manoeuvre. John felt that this vividly intelligent, beautiful young woman knew exactly what she was doing. In fact whatever she had worn would have seemed right. Working quickly Brythech had undressed to total nudity but had undertaken this with such style and aplomb that it would have been difficult for even a prissy archbishop like Stephen Langton to have been offended. Laughing joyously the King almost negligently started to remove his loose-fitting tunic, kicking his pointed shoes to the far end of the room before appearing as natural and unadorned as his new-found friend.
“Is there a bed available, your grace?” queried Brythech.
“You
have been influenced by the Church” grinned John “all form and ceremony. I may
be King but I don’t always go through the
proper procedures, come
and lie down on the floor it’s nice and comfortable here.”
The dark Celt shrugged her shoulders in semi-resignation but entering into the spirit of the event she flung herself to the ground and winking mischievously grasped the King by the shoulders. John placed his arms round her slender waist and felt a sudden thrill as the young woman moved exotically allowing a slowly burning smile to crease her lips.
“God, you are tall” commented John.
Brythech laughed at this observation and flung her head back shaking her long finely stranded locks. As she lowered her face to come into contact with the English monarch John was subjected to a cascade of dark ever so dark, ever so fine, hair. He flicked his tongue at his teeth as the Celtic strands seemed to subsume his mouth. The woman’s body was so supple, yet so finely-tuned, hinting at gentleness and strength. Almost without realising it the King felt his legs winding round Brythech’s. Hell, she certainly had the ability to relax you. With dramatic suddenness they became united, the monarch and the Celt. The room started to spin as John lost control of what he was supposed to be doing, the sweat gathered on his forehead glistening evenly.
“No matter whether you are noble or peasant Norman, Saxon, or Celt, everything falls into place when.....”
“All right Brythech I take your point” gasped John turning his mind back to the main point of issue “let battle recommence.”
Lion-Heart’s brother may not have had the same reputation as his predecessor as a military strategist but he was better in one respect. Sadly Coeur de Lion had been more attentive to the wiles of young men causing censorious comments from the Church. King John felt predisposed to prove that he really was regal in this activity and Brythech began to moan with some pleasure as he drew her closer and closer to him. There was almost hysterical, near maniac laughter as the two became as one and then felt a floating shimmering sensation as if moving on a sea of tranquillity.
“That was nice, my lord” smiled Brythech dressing ever so quickly “will you require me again?”
“Of
course, of course” responded John “ask my attendant to give you a gold coin.
No, better still, I have some money here, you fully deserve paying for a most
entertaining episode in my life.”
“Thank-you your grace” replied the Celt “I must confess that you are the first King, certainly King of England, that it has been my pleasure.....”
“Quite so, my girl” muttered John “ I hope that you are not disappointed by royalty.”
“As I said earlier men are men regardless of their status, or occupation”.
“My, my, wench” exploded John in mock, semi-amused horror “those beliefs would destroy society as we know it. If we don’t acknowledge people as being different, yes indeed with some born to rule, others to obey where are we? Indeed where would we be?”
“That’s for you to decide, sire after all you are our Liege-Lord, born to govern us with your sublime grace and understanding.”
“I only wish that such a gracious statement on your part was reflected in the views of my barons and alleged supporters. Too many of those damned churchmen and scribes spend at least half their time interfering and moaning about every issue that I get involved with. Am I the King, or am I not? Is it my will that people should obey or is it just a matter of opinion? After all I’ve spent most of my life learning about administration, how to govern, how to lead armies. I’ve done as well - a damn sight better in some respects - than my well publicised brother Dick the Lion-Heart.”
“I am sure you are the King we all need” smiled Brythech “after all you certainly satisfy me, your grace. I will take this memory of your kindness and affection onward throughout my young life and beyond, God bless you my liege, I am available if ever you need my services again.”
CHAPTER THREE
It was a refreshing early Spring day as the flame-haired Reasea skipped merrily down the much-used path formed through continuous use by travellers rather than by any official method of construction. The young woman felt glad to be alive as she could sense the blood coursing through her veins. No longer was there any need to worry over the cold winds and chills of deep winter which made even her robust spirit less than ebullient. Now soon the flowers would be ripening into colour and the whole countryside would be a majestic pageantry making obeisance to the lords of nature. Reasea shivered slightly, but not in any negative fashion rather as if in anticipation of joyous days ahead.
“Peace be unto you, my daughter.”
Reasea smiled brightly as she cast
her eyes upon Abbot Roger in his black Benedictine robes. Not far away was
located the local Abbey where the Rule of Saint Benedict was followed although
interpreted somewhat liberally by the incumbents. Abbot Roger was, in Reasea’s
opinion, a very good man, kind and sympathetic and had been a great help to
her. Whether or not he would have found favour with the Holy Father in
“Peace be unto you too, Father Abbot” intoned Reasea in kindly if mock-serious response to the cheerful greeting.
“My dear child what are you doing with yourself these days I had marked you out to be one of the successes of this locality and here you are skipping about like some itinerant peddler of wares.”
“Oh but Father Roger I have benefited greatly from the education that you gave me. I still read my Latin and I can, through your teaching on herbs and potions, effect many a cure where simple-minded physicians fail.”
“Yes tis true, I’ve heard of your good work” nodded the Abbot “and I know also that you have brought the colour back to many a young man’s cheeks - and some not so young I warrant - with your full and open generosity of spirit.”
Reasea blushed not with coyness but
more with amusement and vivacity as
she thanked God that He should have put on earth such an understanding
churchman. If only others were as caring as he and not filled with so much
hypocritical spite and venom. Roger’s Abbey was a place of relaxation and
homeliness not a cold forbidding shell of a building locking out both God and
man. She knew that it was no fault of the Abbot’s if any of his monks were
unhappy or repressed. There was more jollity and laughter there than in some
courts of European kings.
“Where are you going, my Father in God?” remarked Reasea seeking to change the direction of the conversation.
“Why to visit an ageing widow woman who is in need of succour at this time” responded Roger.
“In that case I had better not stop you carrying-out your good works. Peace be with you Father.”
“And you too my Daughter, and might I add” continued the Abbot “as well as being a blessing to all you meet with your deep spiritual sense of well-being and your great learning and wisdom.... “
“Come on, Roger, get to the point!” interrupted Reasea feeling in a mischievous mood.
“As I was saying” continued the Abbot now looking a trifle sternly “I cannot help commenting that you still have the loveliest and longest legs that I have ever seen!”
Reasea and Roger burst-out laughing almost simultaneously, the former remembering how the Abbot could suddenly appear almost over-tedious and then deliberately switch to ribald hilarity. The two friends clutched each other in unaffected familiarity and stood shaking with the exertions of laughter for some moments afterwards. With a boisterous slap across the shoulder Reasea still grinning hugely bid the Abbot farewell and commenced on her journey into the village.
It was one of those days when even if no-one appeared, nature was so full of itself, so prolific in its abundant spirit, that one could be satisfied with just being alive in common with the trees and wood-sprites and delicious scented leaves and shrubs.
“I’m quite a poetess” Reasea thought to herself “what could possibly go wrong today? God really is alive and well and moving serenely about His World.”
As the good young lady continued on her journey whistling gaily and swirling her skirts about to show off her sound limbs to advantage she became aware of raised voices in the forest area. Being of an inquiring if not inquisitive nature Reasea decided to listen-in and moving with some alacrity she hid herself behind an oak tree with its weighty boughs almost limp with venerable age.
“My lady is not in a position to make demands of me, or even give orders.” a fierce grating rasp of a voice seared through the newly burgeoning forest.
“I have noble blood, how dare you presume to talk to me as an equal.” an authoritative voice responded.
“Yes, Godric, you should not chide my mistress so.” A second female voice now responded.
“I will say and do what I like. My lord has benefitted from my service in the past, and even if I am but a Saxon as some would presume to note, it is no matter I am a good and useful servant.”
“You are an arrogant rogue,” the voice of the first lady took up the argument with considerable force. “You have always been on the look-out for the main chance. Why, you have always hated me because I was capable of seeing through you right from the very beginning of our acquaintance.”
“You cannot control me now, lady” snarled the Saxon “give me your jewellery and whatever precious stones you have. I have need of such assistance.... “
Reasea had moved closer to the scene of dissension and beheld a thick-set fair-haired individual with the flimsiest of beards, barely out of his mid-twenties, simply but well-dressed with a short dagger at his belt. He was confronting a tall stately lady also of a fair complexion who in spite of the fierce unyielding statements of the adversary was holding her ground. A smaller darker lady was standing close to her mistress offering considerable moral support. The horses belonging to this little group were tethered close by in comparative tranquillity seemingly unmoved by the disruptions amongst their human companions.
“Do you often threaten people in such a boorish manner, varlet?”
The imprudent man-servant Godric and
the two women turned with a start to notice Reasea, who amazed even at her own
actions, had moved boldly forward to
issue this challenge.
“Who the hell are you?” snarled the fair-haired Saxon retainer “some wood sprite peddling your wares in the forest? Although by my honour you are a pretty wench.”
“Are you insulting me, or is that some back-handed form of compliment?” enquired Reasea smiling grimly.
“Well, well, what a sharp tongue you have!” snapped the Saxon.
“And what a thief you are to seek to relieve the young lady of her possessions!”
Godric stared hard at Reasea uncertain of his next move. The uncertainty lasted barely a few seconds, however, before he whipped out his knife and lurching wildly at the intruder sought to inflict some injury upon her. How serious this injury was to be Reasea did not wish to find-out. Side-stepping adroitly, the astute young woman reached down to her right thigh and to the surprise of the Saxon stood with a dagger gleaming in her hand.
“I keep this for protection” snapped Reasea.
In the next instant the long-legged beauty had driven the shaft of the weapon deep into her antagonist’s hand. He yelped agonisingly dropping his own knife but quickly recovering to grasp Reasea by the throat. The latter responded equally dramatically and with a sudden movement brought her elegant right foot crashing straight into her opponent’s solar plexus.
“Godric, you have certainly got your true desserts.” Reasea had almost forgotten that there was anyone but her and the Saxon. The young lady of noble bearing had intervened with this comment. She now did rather more and with one movement grabbed Godric by his long hair as he sought to relieve the intense pain in his lower regions emanating from Reasea’s recent ministrations.
“Thank-you, my new found friend my name is Athelfreda” announced the noble woman to the brave young lady who had intervened so superbly on her behalf.
“Oh yes” continued Athelfreda “pardon my manners but my companion here is Elle” with a pleasant move of her hand she pointed towards the maid-servant.
“My name is Reasea, unusual I know but true nonetheless. Would it be imprudent of me to enquire what all the trouble was about?” asked Reasea.
. “Not in the least” responded Athelfreda “Godric here was getting too big for his boots. I have been a good friend of William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury for a few years now and this varlet has been trying to muddy the waters between us. He fears that his own influence might be lost.”
“The Earl would abandon you if he had any sense” snarled Godric, his eyes blazing fiercely. His contribution to the conversation was smartly curtailed, however, as Athelfreda pulled savagely at his long effete hair and then brought her elbow crashing into his face. The evil servant fell back holding on to his bleeding nose snorting fiercely.
“Well done madam!” commented Elle “can I be of any service?”
“Yes girl find something to bind Godric’s arms with, the sooner he is under control and out of our hair the better.”
“Excuse me Athelfreda” resumed Reasea “but your good friend William Longsword is he not the half-brother of our King John, albeit he was born on the wrong side of the blanket. The King’s late father Henry II was active in more fields than high administration. William Long Espée to use the French was one of Hal’s numerous love-children - a bit of a lad himself I’ve been led to believe.”
“Why my dear Reasea” smiled Athelfreda “William is a man of parts, in fact I probably know all his parts. We have, shall we say, an understanding and his countess is tolerant. Throughout all the troubles of the last few years I have kept him sweet, helped to relieve the stress factor, and in more ways than one made him a more rounded individual.”
“Yes I can see that” grinned Reasea “but what of your own background? If I am not mistaken you have that indefinable quality, that unmistakable class that few possess. Do you have some noble blood in your veins?”
“I am a younger daughter of quite a noble house” responded Athelfreda. “My father was a Saxon, hence my fair appearance and blue eyes. He married a Norman heiress and they were really happy together. Sadly they are both dead now but I still honour them in my heart and hopefully in my life.”
“Do you have any brothers Athelfreda?” pursued the flame-haired Reasea.
“Yes, a younger sibling. However,
because he was a male he inherited the
estate. Humbert is his name and a canny lad for all that, in fact kindness
itself, no-one could want a better brother, a bit soft-hearted but what’s wrong
with that? I would always be welcome at his manor house but I don’t like to be
a bind on anyone. The way I see it make your own way in life and don’t be
dependent on others.”
“And William Longsword is he a kind..... how would you call him ‘a friend’ ?
Athelfreda laughed loudly “He is riotous fun and on top of which he is one of King John’s closest associates as well as being related.”
“Coming back to practicalities” interposed Reasea “would you require some help with Godric here? What are your plans for him?”
“Good thinking, or rather good question” mused Athelfreda.
“I know from past experience that Godric has a silver-tongue in his head. He can talk his way out of most situations. Let’s face it there are no independent witnesses to what has happened and Godric will end-up back in favour again.”
“I know a kindly Abbot from these parts, can I suggest that we take Godric to him and seek his advice. This is no crinkly-faced pompous contemplative that I am talking about but a real genuine helpful individual. He knows the way of the World and he has never ever given me anything but sound advice.”
Athelfreda seemed content with this line of reasoning and so with the three women on horse-back and Godric being led by Reasea, firmly bound, the party made for the Abbey. After the detailed discussions earlier the little group now lapsed into relative silence doubtless absorbing and cogitating upon all the events of the day so far. The forest was soon left behind and the women passed the occasional traveller on their way to their destination. Needless to say there were some odd looks bestowed upon them, it being a trifle unusual to see a young man being led bound by three members of the fair sex. After a bumpy journey over a bridge crossing a lazily-flowing stream the party eventually reached the monastery. The monk on duty recognised Reasea after close scrutiny and bade everyone enter. As indicated earlier walking through this Benedictine House was like no other, there was no cold air of austerity, or grim feeling of disapproval. There was indeed a feeling of joyous intent.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Scutage
to be paid at the rate of three marks per knight’s fee. That had been my demand
ever since my war with Philip of France. It is plain for anyone to see and
which is more the Holy Father in
The King fell silent at the end of this little speech glaring sulkily in front of him. The only other person in his company was an impressive-looking individual of military bearing but one who obviously knew of the fine things of life also. A crusty warrior perhaps but one who knew how to laugh and enjoy himself.
“Why William” recommenced John Plantagenet “I can always trust you. Why cannot everyone else have your diligence and sense of fair play? Don’t blush either but I am still more than appreciative of the great naval victory you achieved for me off Damme about a couple of years ago.”
“Tush good brother, my King” responded William Longsword, for this is who it was “I was but doing my duty. Once the rebellious members of your baronage have a second thought they will realise that you are a much better proposition as ruler than ever Dick was.”
“Yes
but at least Lion-Heart was lucky in his military adventures - or rather the
publicity was good, a great public relations exercise. I was on a hiding to
nothing in
“You mentioned Stephen Langton” commented Longsword “why not send him together with good old William Marshal to find out from the disaffected nobility exactly what they want.”
“That’s a good idea. From what our intelligence sources tell us they are some 30 odd miles away at one of the Earl of Winchester’s manors. Yes, let’s see if Langton can mediate as the Holy Father would wish him to.”
“Sire,
a visitor wishes to see you. Can you see him, he claims that it is of vital
importance the matter that he wishes to broach with you.”
The King and his half-brother
glared with some irritation at the clerk who had interrupted their animated
discussions.
“Sirrah what nonsense is this?” growled Longsword “we are on important business, cannot you see that the King does not wish to be disturbed?”
“Can you make a judgement once you have actually seen me and heard my suggestions, your excellence?”
The youthful figure of Guy, the squire the reader met earlier in our story appeared in front of this small but eminent audience.
“Impudent pup!” snorted John “I’ll give you your due you’ve got guts. State your case youngster and I’ll judge whether your journey here was worth a commendation or else a kick up the backside.”
Guy advanced fairly confidently into the royal presence. Almost anonymously a monastic figure heavily cowled and walking with an almost apologetic gait sidled alongside the squire.
“My
name is Guy de Buissant” announced the young man “and I come from
“Oh yes” mused John “my niece Eleanor of Brittany is lodged there.”
“I suppose my half-niece” muttered Longsword.
“You always were good at working-out relationships” laughed John “I suppose you got that from your mother the fair Rosamund.”
“Maybe” grimaced the royal relative.
Guy de Buissant coughed slightly to bring the conversation back to his proposal.
“Why yes, young man” noted John Lackland “you were going to put a proposition to us.”
“Sire” began Guy “I hope that you will not consider me too forward.”
“A bit late for that” snapped the King “get on with what you were going to say.”
“I
am painfully aware of the existence of a number of your subjects who have
become somewhat rebellious in recent months. You will, I trust, your grace, be
sending emissaries out to gauge the strength of feeling amongst the
dissidents.”
“Of course, the Archbishop of
“With respect, your grace, not immediately. Both gentlemen are excellent in their different ways, but I would humbly suggest that ‘an advance guard’ of sorts appeared before your barons to prepare the way, put the royal case so to speak, in effect soften their attitudes.”
“Oh yes and who do you suggest for this highly sensitive, and somewhat difficult task? Possibly yourself, you are barely a lad and not, I would surmise fully au fait with all the ways of the World.”
“No sire I have another person in mind.”
“Well go on tell me who!” snorted the King.
“Your loving and well-disposed niece your grace.”
The King and Longsword looked in startled fashion at the monastic figure stood next to the squire. Until now they had barely acknowledged that person’s existence. Strangely the voice that emanated from the cowled and robed visitor was high and feminine.
“I know that......” began John.
“Yes sire” responded the ‘monk’ throwing back the cowl “I am your late brother’s daughter, Eleanor of Brittany.”
“God in Heaven!” stormed the King blanching visibly.
“How the hell did you get loose? De Buissant I’ll have you without any of your accoutrements by the time I am finished with you.”
“Wait, my royal uncle!” Eleanor stated with considerable authority. “Guy has done what I have told him to do. I have a plan to weaken the resistance of your enemies. My silver tongue can be put to persuading the barons to reduce their demands. Why if I, the sister of Arthur of Brittany, appear supportive of King John then surely - after all my family have been through - that must make your dissident nobility think again.”
“Possibly” mused John Lackland “what think you William, is this a plausible idea?”
“I
am intrigued” grinned Longsword “but what guarantee have we that you do
not rail against the King and support the barons in their demands when you get
there?”
“Well, dear half-Uncle” laughed the Pearl of Brittany “why did I not go straight to the barons? Why did I come here first? Surely that indicates some fidelity on my part to your cause. Guy here has also shown his loyalty to you - he is very much a King’s man.”
“You certainly seem to be in the young lady’s good books, de Buissant” smirked the King “have you given her a tumble?”
“Royal uncle!” snorted Eleanor “would I....”
“Don’t be so prudish -- or give that impression anyway” interrupted John “that’s irrelevant, go on with your defence. your own position is far from certain. What is in it for me if I let you act as my envoy with the barons?”
“If I prove disloyal then I deserve everything I get. Even my life can be made forfeit and you can cut-back the cost from the Exchequer - I may even be something of an expense to you. However” quickly continued Eleanor “if I prove a help then can I be received at Court instead of being kept in the background as some royal nonentity.”
“It may work” muttered Longsword to the King “Give the girl a chance, at least she is showing some initiative.”
“Yes, in any case Eleanor is less of a focal point than Arthur would have been. What have I to lose? Alright girl” continued John “make your preparation. I cannot give you long. At least prepare the way for the Marshal and the Archbishop, give it your undivided attention. By the way do you need an escort? I think that I should provide you with one including some of my own hand picked retainers.”
“Of course, uncle I did not expect anything less. I would also like to continue to have Guy here as my escort, he is a young man of parts....”
“I’m sure he is” roared the King “the less said about that the better, get yourself ready and be prepared to leave.”
The
Princess bowed herself out with Guy de Buissant hastily following her. When they
had left, John looked inquiringly at his half-brother for some form of
encouragement. A great bulwark to fall back upon was Longsword, reliable in a
crisis,
a confidant par excellence, a good dicing and gambling companion to boot.
“There’s everything to be gained there” reassured Longsword “I think that we should be pleased that our extended family has so much enterprise and get-up-and-go about it. All is not yet lost, the barons are largely motivated by self-interest and greed and that can be successfully countered anytime. Know a person’s weakness and you have your adversary over a barrel everytime. Everyone has their price. Let’s see if young Eleanor can find out what the barons’ is.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“Give
us leave to approach you. We come from
“What have you to say that has not already been said?” barked-out a snarling dark-visaged personage in response.
“Allow us entrance and you will find-out. Surely the news that a relative of the King is here to see you must at least excite your interest.”
“In that case enter into our dwelling but your arguments must be sound, we have had enough of talking with no action. Time is decidedly running-out for all of us.”
Eleanor, Guy, and their appointed retainers walked firm of purpose, behind the scowling individual who had so discourteously addressed them. He seemed to almost lurch forward giving little indication of any gentility or nobility of life.
“Is this the Earl of Winchester?” enquired Eleanor whispering quietly to Guy.
“No, I know that this fellow gives the impression of being someone of importance but he is a roughneck of the worst order. His name is Eustace de Vesci and but for his important position in the North as Lord of Alnwick would have been hanged as a common rogue years ago.”
“Oh yes” smirked Eleanor “Uncle John rather fancied his wife didn’t he? No wonder there’s bad blood between them.”
De
Vesci flashed a fierce but uncomprehending glance towards the couple, obviously
unaware of what had been said but nonetheless suspicious of their every move.
The dark-visaged baron spat vehemently to his side and with an urchin-like
motion of the thumb ushered the
“Who
have we here de Vesci?” snapped the most savage-looking of this sinister group.
“The King’s bloody niece and
an escort of sorts, the one by her side is of some degree of gentle birth....”
a snigger arose from the largely uncouth gathering...”a band of jackanape men at arms are also in the
hall. There’s not many of them so there’s no danger on that score, they have
come to talk terms with us.”
“Terms, eh” snarled de Vesci’s interrogator “what authority have they to carry terms?”
“We have the very highest authority Robert FitzWalter” responded Guy. “Our support is from his Grace the King.”
“Indeed. Well you know who I am. I take it that my fame has travelled before me. What do you know of my strength in arms, sirrah?”
Guy gritted his teeth and almost closed his eyes. Just to think about Robert FitzWalter was enough to turn his stomach. If anything FitzWalter was more disreputable than Eustace de Vesci. It had been said that only for his possession of territory he would be little regarded. His temper was high and his hand seemed seldom far from his sword. The savage baron had even challenged the King when the latter threatened to hang FitzWalter’s son-in-law Geoffrey de Manderville for killing a servant in a somewhat sordid squabble.
“It is said my Lord of Dunmow, that you are not a man to cross - that is if one has any sense. You are fierce and most forward in an argument.”
“Aye” laughed FitzWalter “you have said it right, and some would say the biggest scoundrel on earth. What do you say to that young sir, how do you find me?”
“I do not listen to tittle-tattle, sir. I am a Royal servant who is bounden to his Sovereign Lord.”
“But I am not so constrained or circumscribed, Lord Dunmow!” snapped Eleanor.
“Oh no my tiger cub!” grimaced FitzWalter.
“I
wish I still were a young cub. Thanks for the compliment, my Lord” responded
the Princess. “But it does not prevent me from saying that you have not served
your King with all the loyalty expected for a baron, with feudal
responsibilities.”
“By my Faith” snarled
FitzWalter “what does John deserve? He could not even keep his possessions in
“On
the contrary” replied Eleanor with some dignity “John has never lost a battle where he himself led. In the
campaigns of last year, he achieved much
in
“What’s all this got to do with me girl” bellowed FitzWalter. “I don’t need a damned history lesson.”
“Merely to remind you that King John is an effective military leader while you my lord....”
“Yes!” glowered FitzWalter “what about me?”
“Also know the value of strategy and planning” interposed Guy de Buissant.
Eleanor
of Brittany glowered deeply at Guy. “Varlet” she hissed under her breath “I
meant to say that FitzWalter and Saer de Quenci, another of the confederate
barons, had cowardly opened the gates of Vaudrevil, a vital stronghold in
“Stop holding private conversations” barked Eustace de Vesci “but did I also hear the name of Saer de Quenci, another of our brave company being mentioned here? What, of him, the gentleman is here in our midst.”
Ignoring this question the Pearl of Brittany rounded on Guy. “I will have my say, sirrah!” she almost roared.
The steadfast squire pulled her a trifle unceremoniously by the arm much to her obvious chagrin.
“My lady” began Guy “my apologies but discretion is the better part of valour here. We have come to quieten and still the waters, get a feel for the situation and hopefully act as peacemakers. We will not achieve that by openly insulting the
leading protagonists here.”
“Huh!” snorted the
Guy ignored this barbed insult and merely bowed his head.
“I’m sure, my lady, you will find it the best course to follow. It would be a shame if all your focused intelligence and wit were to be wasted because of some meaningless difference of opinion.”
“You have made your point, squire.” snapped Eleanor in high dudgeon “let us resume our conversation with these gentlemen who obviously do not like to be kept waiting.”
“Is your pre-meeting meeting completed madam?” a jeering de Vesci sneered “we have other matters to attend to. Now, come tell us what you have to say.”
“We
would urge you and your gathering to consider your oath and obligations to King
John” retorted Eleanor “He has ruled this Kingdom well and has undertaken a
number of significant administrative reforms. In spite of the fancy tales and
troubadour’s yarns about good King Richard, the latter was a dead loss to
“The point at issue is whether or not John is willing to allow us our rights and is he willing to allow us to exercise those rights fully” snapped de Vesci.
“How usefully have you used your powers for the good of England my Lord?” demanded Eleanor “why if your demands are just is there so much support for the King from high-ranking individuals, great in esteem amongst all right-minded people.”
“Such as, wench?” interrupted FitzWalter with considerable venom .
“William
the Marshal, Earl of Pembroke” responded Eleanor “if there was no-one else, his
grey hairs and heroic mien and distinction would counter-balance you all. But
you will doubtless ask for others. Ranulph de Blundeville, Earl of Chester a
most pragmatic balanced individual if one ever existed. William Ferrers, Earl
of Derby supports Ranulph without any dissension whatsoever.
King John. Are you barons here
willing to turn
“Who cares about monarchies?” snarled FitzWalter.
There was a sharp intake of breath amongst the assembled throng. Even Eustace de Vesci coughed nervously at this gaffe by his associate. They were allegedly trying to save the King from himself, not disregard the seat of royal power altogether.
“Yes,
my Lord” continued Eleanor seeing her chance to press home her point “there are
many here who would wish no ill to the monarch, even amongst your adherents.
The King, as I have outlined, has the support of well-respected men, men of
your own class and up-bringing. I ask you again would you rip the Kingdom
asunder. Think of all there is to lose, you are all men of property and wealth.
Why, your great grand-sires if they were alive now would tell you all of the
horror and devastation in
“A word with you my Lords”.
Almost for the first time the Earl of Winchester had involved himself in the discussion “I feel we should analyse our position in more detail. Whilst we cannot give a straight yea or nay to the good lady here, we can at least pass the message on to her royal uncle that we are considering all angles, and will provide a more fulsome case when Langton and the Marshal come to see us.”
“Then at least, my lords I can relay to the King that you are prepared to hold fire for the moment and consider what could be lost to us all, our peace of mind and prosperity.”
The
curt nod from FitzWalter was as much assent as Eleanor could hope for. The
meeting had probably gone as well as she could have expected. She was warming
to her role as emissary for her uncle. Yes indeed there could be a position for
her in the scheme of things, perhaps even her late brother Arthur might have
been proud of her. She would ensure that everyone remembered the Pearl of
Brittany. Guy de
Buissant tapped her lightly on the arm indicating their departure. Eleanor
smiled to herself, she had momentarily forgotten the good-looking young squire.
Yes he had served more than a useful purpose, here was a young man with
considerable drive and efficiency. She felt herself, almost against her own
wishes warming towards him. A personable youth without doubt.
CHAPTER SIX
Reasea stretched herself, yawning ever so slowly. The sun was beginning to filter through the small opening in her cell, filling up the space with radiant light. She felt as if she was in a palace rather than in a guest-room in the Abbey, so luxurious were the surroundings. There was an air of comfort and homeliness that made any visitor feel part of the family. It was not through the existence of any expensive tapestries or magnificant draperies but more through a feeling of well-being that pervaded the whole establishment. In fact, it was more than that, it was as if the spirit of the very much alive Abbot Roger pervaded the whole building. Incredibly Roger communicated his zest for living to virtually all his fellow-monks from the master of novices to the cook, from the herbalist to the gardener, all shared in this joy of life. Reasea smiled to herself as she remembered someone saying to her that of all the people they had met Roger was the closest to being a genius. He seemed to have an amazing capacity for selecting his co-workers in God, knowing when to advise a potential incumbent that they had chosen the wrong vocation, and yet recognising in others a deep religious leaning and sincerity when he saw it. Reasea started to giggle ever so slightly as she thought that just prior to going-off to sleep the Abbot had crept silently into her cell and ever so gently had lightly brushed his lips against her forehead. In a trice he had seemingly vanished - she was sure it had been Roger, he was like no other abbot she had known or even heard about.
The young woman was shaken-out of her day-dreaming when she heard a sharp knock on her door. Rising quickly she opened-up and saw before her the cheerful figure of her new friend Athelfreda. The latter bowed her head in leisurely obessience flashing a winning smile at Reasea. Athelfreda was elegantly but simply dressed but as Reasea had noted previously the half-Saxon lady would have looked wonderful and indeed regal in whatever she had worn. A rare human being indeed.
“Well Athelfreda have you conferred with the good abbot yet to enquire how he proposes to deal with that varlet, Godric?”
“No, Reasea, I enquired of one of the monks and apparently Roger is carrying out an in-depth interview with a likely noviciate. It may be some time before he is free, because he always insists in taking his work seriously and doing a thorough job.”
“Typical of Roger” smiled Reasea “but he is worth waiting for.”
“Ladies, our Father Abbot is now free to see you.” The two women glanced round to see a fresh-faced youthful-looking monk standing before them.
“My name is Brother Endfeld” explained the cowled figure “and I undertake various duties for the Abbot. I am skilled as a copyist but also various administrative tasks fall to me from time to time. I trust that both of you ladies had a pleasant rest and that everything was to your satisfaction. We pride ourselves on taking the utmost care of our guests.”
“No problem there Endfeld” responded Reasea.
“I would second that” commented Athelfreda “it is a wonderful atmosphere here, really how one would hope Heaven to be.”
“Good, good” beamed Endfeld “we always aim to please.”
Athelfreda nudged Reasea ever so slightly “Bit chatty for a contemplative brother of the Church don’t you think? Only for the robes and the tonsure I could quite fancy him, I bet he could be a real fun character if he had been allowed to remain in the World as they say.”
“The Benedictines are not as austere as some of the other orders” smiled Reasea “but these lads are even more free and easy then the general rule. It has never affected overall discipline, however, and certainly a more caring bunch of people you could not wish to meet.”
“The Father awaits your pleasure, please enter his domain” announced Brother Endfeld.
The two ladies were ushered into the Abbot’s quarters and were greeted with a warm beaming smile and a twinkle in the eye. The head of the monastery grasped Reasea by the hand and planted a fulsome kiss on that elegant part of her anatomy.
“Welcome, dear friend and you too Athelfreda” he announced “you both passed a peaceful night I trust, no distractions, a time for serious contemplation and prayer no doubt.”
Roger
ignored the quizzical expression of his two guests and continued his speech.
“Of course, now we need to consider the future of Godric, sadly although like
us all a Child of God, a man full of severe imperfections, harsh and
unrelenting in his
moods.”
“Is he imprisoned here, Father Abbot?” enquired Athelfreda.
“We would not want anyone to stay here in the house of God that did not really want to, my child” responded Roger “so in order to prevent any problem of that nature we gave him a herbal draught last night strong enough to render a troop of broad-shouldered men-at-arms unconscious for the duration. The young fellow is sleeping like a log, best thing for him really.”
“Where is his next destination?” enquired Reasea, ever the practical one.
“I have good relations with the local sheriff and on the grounds of aggressive behaviour to a gentle-lady the fellow Godric should remain in his legal custody for some-time. The case should not take long to decide.”
“That is good news” retorted Athelfreda “it will also give me an opportunity to touch base with my Lord William Longsword before Godric’s evil, silver tongue starts to wag.”
“Precisely what I was thinking” responded Roger “if you wish to set-off straight away I can arrange horses and reliable servants from this locality. However, if you wished to stay and rest for a few days our Monastery here is available to you. Just say the word.”
“I can recommend Roger’s hospitality” chipped in Reasea “he is very much a man of his word.” The communal laughter following this statement was interrupted by the sound of running feet, and concerned voices being raised.
“Mea Culpa, Father Abbot” almost screeched a young burly-looking monk who came rushing into Roger’s presence.
“Pray do not distress yourself, my son” intoned the leader of the monastics “nothing can be that serious.”
“Oh but Father I have betrayed a trust”
“Brother Robert, you are a good lad who I have every confidence in. Tell me what has happened and let me be the judge of your alleged indiscretion.”
The young Robert put his hands to his head and began to groan audibly. This distressful behaviour and depression of the spirit appeared likely to continue for some time. Still, however, without any known explanation.
“We must find-out what’s wrong” snapped Reasea. With little warning, certainly to Brother Robert, Reasea flung her arms round the distressed monk and pulled him to the ground. Pinning him to the floor she superimposed her body against his and gave him a gentle nip on the neck with her teeth.
“Lady, lady by my honour what is this?” blurted out Robert.
“Short shrift, me lad” grinned Reasea “if you want to keep your monastic vows tell us what has happened.”
“Of course, of course” gulped Robert “it’s the prisoner Godric he has absconded - and its all my fault - he was under my care - Oh my God, what shall I do?”
“Holy Mother of God!” gasped Abbot Roger “I am not given to oaths and expletives but this beats all. Nonetheless Robert I put no blame on you, Godric to all accounts is a clever rogue. Out with it, boy, how did he get away?”
“The potion that was administered to him he barely swallowed. Unbeknown to us he spit it out. We heard soft moaning sounds later in his cell, and being unprepared for danger I went in to attend to his needs. He was at me like a fiend and thrust me to the other side of the room. I am quite strong but that one he is maniacal in his strength...”
“I didn’t find him so” grimaced Reasea to Athelfreda “what sort of men are they turning out these days?”
Brother Robert was not too disturbed by the interruption and continued with his narrative “... he charged-off and bumping into old Brother Anselm dragged him along as a hostage demanding I open the gate to him.”
“How is our elderly brother?” demanded the Abbot “that old man has been through many privations in his life I would not wish him any further hurt.”
“After Godric had made his get-a-way he deposited the old man in a sack in a hay-loft nearby. He is more or less alright now, poor Anselm, his dignity more affected than anything else.”
“Good, but how long ago did this happen? Why was I not told sooner?” demanded Roger.
“Godric
swore the few of us involved not to speak or else Anselm would be
the worse for it.”
“The swine!” thundered Athelfreda.
“It was only about a couple of hours ago, Father Abbot. We, that is a couple of the other brothers and myself made certain we found Anselm before telling you.”
“Boy” roared Roger in his most serious mood “I try and run a happy and relaxed regime here but we are all bound by the order of Saint Benedict for all that. My writ here is absolute, you owe obedience to God but also to me your monastic superior. This behaviour is intolerable, I could have contacted the sheriff and we may well have found the rogue by now. You young fool! Still it’s over with, I expect you to do penance for this nonetheless. Report to me before Compline later in the day and I will devise a suitable punishment for you.”
Brother Robert bowed in submissive guilt “and also” added the Abbot “tell your two colleagues in the misdemeanor to report to me also.”
“Yes, Father” responded Robert moving quickly from the magisterial presence as possible.
“Father Abbot” this was Athelfreda speaking “I suggest you utilise your contacts right away or else the ground will really have gone cold. Godric is a cunning devil and nothing is beyond him when he is set in his devilish ways.”
“Yes, Athelfreda, all very well” suggested Reasea “but would it not be better trying to contact Longsword, your friend. After all it is your concern that Godric will try and muddy the waters in that relationship. If you get your contact in first then there is less to fear.”
“We can operate on both fronts” responded Roger “the sheriff and his men should help us here to find Godric and I will ensure that Athelfreda reaches her friend as quickly as possible by providing fresh mounts and provisions.”
“You are too good, Father Abbot” replied a slightly more relieved Athelfreda “I will always remember you as a true and honourable friend in my greatest need.”
“My
child this is what we are all here for. God bless you, and take care, but
remember in your darkest hours this monastery is always here for you. Reasea
will tell you also that we have been a stay and prop to her when she needed
help the most.” Reasea smiled a
mischievous smile at the Abbot. “I would certainly
reciprocate that sentiment Father, dear Father Roger and, of course, a thousand
thanks then now and always.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Eleanor
of Brittany stood alongside Guy de Buissant as they listened to the comments of
King John Lackland. The English monarch, on balance, was pleased with their
efforts at building bridges between his position and that of the baronial rebels.
With Stephen Langton, Archbishop of Canterbury and the heroic William the
Marshal, grey with honour and great with achievement to follow-up the situation
must obviously be that much the better. John wondered to himself why he had not
recognised the potential of his niece before, she was wasted really at
“Well my girl” mused the King “you have performed passably well in our service, we will see what else we can give you to our weal and advancement. In the meantime take some sustenance here and indeed stay the night, the day is drawing in and I would not wish to see my favourite niece the victim of some clod-hopping vagabond. Inspite of my firm government a number still patrol the land on the lookout for a wealthy purse or other rich pickings. The invitation to stay also extends to the brave squire here de Buissant.”
“Sire I am indebted to you for your concern.”
“I’m sure you are” grinned the King “I will think of some suitable reward for you, you could after all advance further in my service.”
The
two adventurers bowed themselves out of the King’s presence and each went their
separate ways, the Pearl of Brittany to rather more luxurious quarters than the
brave squire. Eleanor had in her company
the dark-haired, green-eyed Brythech a favourite of the King. There had been so
many, thought Eleanor, Sussanah seemed to burn brightly and was pretty central
to John’s life. But the King was quite liberal in his preferances, he seemed
capable of maintaining a number of attractive women at the same time. She heard
that the King’s first wife was a sensible, intelligent woman, this second one
Isabella of Angeloume was younger than John and dazzlingly beautiful, an astute
cerebral individual, alive to the ways of the World. She
undoubtedly knew the score but was not too concerned - John never seemed to
tire of her. Well Eleanor’s uncle certainly had stamina and was obviously
capable of being loyal to a great number of women. There had been some direct
results of these dalliances, two of them, Jeffrey and Richard, had been very
useful to their natural father in this time of troubles both having sensible
heads on their shoulders. Eleanor was sure that John would have preferred
either one to succeed him rather than the young wey-faced little brat, Henry,
his legitimate heir. The boy seemed very devout even at such an early age and
had little drive and passion in him which did not augur well if he were to
become King.
“If my lady requires anything please let me know, I will not be too far away” announced Brythech as she pointed Eleanor to her room.
“Do
you not also have other duties?” enquired the
“My lady has but to give the word and I will attend to her every need. Some exquisite jewellery that you wish placed upon you, assistance in dressing perhaps....”
“No my girl I am a very independent spirit living the life that I have been forced to lead has given me no other option.” With a dramatic but not unkindly move of the hand Eleanor dismissed Brythech and seating herself down on the most appropriate piece of furniture began to think deeply about the last few days.
Guy
was at this time in rather more modest quarters but he had no reason to
complain. He had played his part in some very interesting events, the full
consequences of which would take time to analyse in depth. The
was developing his argument about the ills of the World, or at least the world
that he knew, he heard a small hesitant knock at the door.
“Come in, don’t stand on ceremony whoever you are” responded de Buissant. At this clear invitation a relatively tall but slim, heavily robed, figure walked into the room. Although inside the newcomer appeared uncertain as to the next move and stood before Guy virtually motionless.
“Well, sirrah what have you to say for yourself? Who sent you and what is your message?” demanded the squire.
The stranger flung the cloak back and to Guy’s amazement the Pearl of Brittany stood before him. De Buissant’s eyes opened to their fullest extent to see the regal presence of the King’s niece in his room. Was this a dream, was it a total illusion, was it a product of his fevered brain? God only knew.
“My lady!” gasped Guy “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I
am glad that you think of me with pleasure in your mind” laughed the
“I am sorry if my lady finds me a dullard I but try to serve....”
“Oh don’t get all serious again I said that initially I thought of you as serious but over time I’ve begun to see your virtues, you’ve qualities that are all too rare in dangerous times, steadfastness, a nimble mind, kindness, and in your quiet but determined way, a nice sense of humour. You will do for me Guy de Buissant.”
“My lady what can I say?”
“The
time for saying and talking can be suspended for the moment Guy, think of me
not as an Angevin princess but as a red-blooded woman of some spirit.” Guy de
Buissant could never imagine this happening even a few minutes ago, let alone a
few hours back. The
moved as quickly as his shocked mind would allow to face the highly mobile
princess. Where had she gone?
“Come over here and join me in the festivities, young man!” a voice of command rang out.
Lying
on Guy’s bed supported on her elbows was the
“Lie down beside me, squire!” commanded Eleanor “but you must not have an advantage over me your superior in rank - remove all your accoutrements, every stitch and piece of cloth, leave nothing to my imagination.”
With
his hands shaking and amidst considerable fumbling Guy managed eventually to
follow the princess’ instructions to the letter. He hesitated before joining
the
“Don’t look so tense, my would-be lover” laughed Eleanor “I have taken all the protective precautions. Being allowed more latitude in my way of life than the average princess I have learnt more of life than might otherwise be the case.”
Guy felt his temples burning, throbbing, his head was hammering as if there was no to-morrow. He must act now or regret his very inaction, or indeed if he acted too precipitately would he actually regret that. He looked straight at Eleanor with those big challenging brown eyes boring into him. In one bound he was at the princess’ side determined to do or die for Country.
Guy
was not inexperienced but he sensed that Eleanor was superior in matters of
sensual expertise. The
upon it. Advancing like some sinuous cat he moved his mouth upwards to caress
Eleanor’s ankle then her beautiful, ever so long legs. God, he had not realised
how long those legs were when she was clothed in all her finery. He was sure
they were longer than his. His lips brushed the top of her thighs then with
increasing and indeed increased urgency he flung his arms round her shoulders
then twisting onto his back pulled the princess on top of him.
“Now Guy, now is the chance to possess your princess!”
Eleanor,
in fact, took the lead as de Buissant would have anticipated. With obvious
class and great expertise she lowered herself onto the excited squire. The
waves and tides of passion flooded through his very being. This was the moment
of truth, it had happened so no matter what transpired further the union of
body and spirit had been indissolubly sealed. Guy reached up to grasp Eleanor’s
beautiful shoulders, feeling the silky sheen of her immaculate skin, it was as
if their bodies had joined together never to be separated. Amazingly inspite of
the status of the
“Let’s try something different now my brave young squire.” voiced a smiling Eleanor as she leapt off Guy and moving to his side indicated him to come on top of her.
“At your service my lovely princess” grinned de Buissant.
The
squire was intrigued with everything that Eleanor was doing. She was certainly
like no other woman he had known. As he fused with her she closed her eyes and
stretched-out her left arm. Even with her eyes covered her face was a picture
of animation an impish, indeed very mischievous smile was slowly creeping round
her delicious mouth and full ripe lips. Guy stared appreciatively at Eleanor’s
delicately shaped small ears, an obvious sign of breeding he had heard. Then
all of a sudden those big brown eyes opened again and looked him straight in
the face. He felt her pull him deeper and deeper into a swirling void of
magical mysticism, a voyage through the shimmering skies of spiritual
sensation. Physical and spiritual became as one as dream, fantasy and the
reality of
The wonderful curved and shapely body of the
Guy
felt himself moving back, ever so faintly, into the physical surroundings that
he vaguely remembered was it a bare few minute before, an hour, heaven only
knew. The soft, sweet moanings of the
It
seemed an eternity that he laid there with his princess, at last he felt that
he should make some move so kissing Eleanor’s forehead gently he got up from
the bed and putting a robe round his shoulders made tracks for the door. The
Evidently
Guy had lost his orientation because he was walking quite contentedly into the
corridor looking for a non-existent room presumably. As he wandered as in a dream his mind went back
to his first great experience. The moment of grand passion with the
Saint was uncanny nonetheless.
The young woman who now had his full attention put a finger to her lips and leading him by the hand escorted him from the Church into the bright sunlight. Guy was totally inexperienced then, more so than he had been with Eleanor. Mary of Magdala- he never knew her by any other name - looked him steadfastly in the face and with a chuckle in her voice enquired if he had seen her like before. Guy’s stammered “no” was followed by the vision pulling him cheerfully along a dusty lane into a freshly, newly cut field. Magdala seized Guy’s cloak and flinging it on the grass beckoned him to lie down. The young de Buissant was over-awed by his new companion who towered over him, being tall of stature but with the shapeliest figure imaginable and the darkest black hair. He felt compelled to obey. In a trice Magdala had stripped and somehow he was in a similar natural state. The adventurous young woman then gave him a lesson in life that he could never have learnt in a thousand clerical manuscripts. Before that time he had in the recesses of his mind harboured an interest in becoming a monk. His session with Magdala changed all that as he smilingly wiped the sweat from his brow. Almost instantly she had dressed blew him an affectionate kiss and tripping merrily along the rough - hewn path disappeared out of his life. He would, however, never forget her because she has left a lasting impression on him, this had been an event in his life that would stay carved deep in his mind, to be brought forth and glowingly examined and rejoiced in forever.
“Guy de Buissant, am I right in assuming that you have had difficulty in sleeping?”
The squire blinked, stung back into the present. Before him was the King’s recent mistress Brythech obviously having just left the arms of her royal master. Already with the effects of heightened passion still upon him, he could appreciate the tall girl’s dark, green eyed beauty. De Buissant continued to stare at the Celtic lady noting the light perspiration on her face and that overall sense of fulfilment that seemed to pervade her being. In Guy’s view this was a good tell-tale sign of recent love-making.
“Young gentleman, are you speechless through lack of voice?”
Guy shook his head apologetically “Sorry I was day-dreaming”.
“A bit late to be day-dreaming with everyone abed.” smiled Brythech. “You are some way from your room. Had you come for a little consolation and contentment elsewhere?” The elegant brunette, with some dash and feel for drama, opened her robe to show herself naked to the squire. The latter grasped Brythech towards him allowing his cloak to slip revealing his firm hard body. Scarce had he begun to nuzzle his tongue in his new found friend’s ear when a slight cough brought him up short.
“Why my dear de Buissant art thou being familiar with as many young wenches as thou canst ere the morning light breaks upon us all?”
The squire turned to see the Pearl of Brittany glowering with impressive dignity. He had barely begun to frame a defence for his actions when the princess burst into gleeful laughter.
“Don’t
worry my bonny adventurer” commenced the
“A brief caress, my lady” confided Guy.
“Oh, such ungallantry, Guy, the delightful Brythech deserves rather more. I think my uncle would say so - don’t scorn a friend of the King.”
“Never mind” laughed Brythech “we were just embracing briefly to keep out the cold night air. I must be on my way back to my quarters. I’ll see you both in the morning, peace be unto you my lady - and, of course you as well Guy,”
“Well Guy” grinned Eleanor “quite an evening and early morning to boot for you. I think that you have been quite overwhelmed by it all. In fact, you left me in your room. I suggest you get back and allow me to return to my own chaste couch. We must cross lances again at some other opportunity. I enjoyed our spiritual mingling you have advanced even further in my estimation, my own true warrior and defender.” Planting a kiss on de Buissant’s cheek and waving a cheery “Bye, bye, bye” which threatened to wake the entire castle Eleanor skipped away giving the squire the brightest of her smiles. He felt ten feet tall, what a night to remember, what a princess to remember, life was very, very good.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“You are sure that you will be all right Athelfreda?” enquired Reasea somewhat concernedly.
“Yes, of course. your friend the Abbot has arranged for these five stout men at arms to accompany Elle and myself, so that no further harm may befall us. On our earlier journey Osric, our baggage-man and guide was mysteriously taken ill and we had to leave him recovering in an hostelry on the way. Now I wonder how much Godric, supposedly our other stay and help in trouble was responsible for that mishap. It gave him his opportunity for mischief and Longsword trusted him so.”
“Good, nevertheless watch-out for trouble, and you know you have new friends now if any problem ever arises again.” smiled Reasea.
“For which I’m grateful. You take care as well dear Reasea I hope that our paths will cross again in the not too distant future.”
Athelfreda waved Reasea farewell and the little troupe quickly rode away into the distance. What fortunes or otherewise attended their steps, had destiny something interesting in store for them? Only time with its infinite variety of possibilities would answer that question.
The
half-Saxon, half-Norman lady felt much more secure now. She thought to herself
why did she think of Saxon/Norman blood. Why even the monarch and his family
was something of a mixture. King John’s great-grandfather Henry 1, the old Lion
of Justice had married a Saxon, or rather a half-Saxon/half-Scot. Henry’s queen
was the daughter of the saintly Queen Margaret of
Time
did begin to weigh heavily on Athelfreda although the slightly milder than
usual Spring weather made the noble lady seem more relaxed. At the same time
she was keen to get back and forewarn William Longsword about the machinations
of the devious Godric. Where would the rogue be now? God, he was a man to be
cautious about, capable of anything. No crime would be out of limits for him,
she thought. He had an obsequious manner overlaid with willingness and
implied
efficiency that could persuade some people that he was a useful instrument.
Behind this was a cold-blooded determination to exploit a position to his own
purposes. If crossed he was a vengeful enemy, with no milk of human kindness
evident even in the smallest degree. Athelfreda shivered, inspite of the
improving Spring climate, just to think about him. To the wary and observant he
produced that response. Stay away from him if you were sensible, get to know
him closely at your ultimate peril.
“What was that?” enquired Athelfreda as she sensed some slight movement almost a sound in the distance.
“Some small wild animal stepping on twigs or branches I shouldn’t doubt, milady” responded one of the men-at-arms.
“Sorry” apologised Athelfreda “my nerves are rather taut at the moment. I’ll be glad when the journey is over, although, of course, I should not fear having such brave fellows as yourselves to guard over me.”
“That’s our privilege my lady” enthused the crusty but kindly disposed soldier who had first answered her “rough hewn in appearance we may be but reliable to the last man. Why if you cannot trust us, damned if I know who you can rely on.”
Athelfreda smiled kindly on the doughty warrior but this changed quickly to a look of puzzlement. The man suddenly stumbled forward his eyes staring ahead of him. The noble lady put her arms out to steady the guard uncertain as to what had caused his maladjustment. The weight of his body was almost unbearable but as she sought to straighten him up to almost an upright position her right hand moved to his back. The hard metal shaft that she felt protruding from him told her all she needed to know, he had been hit by a carefully aimed arrow. He truly was indeed a body as all life had sadly flowed from him.
“To me, men” screamed Athelfreda “your leader is dead, we are under attack.”
To
her utter astonishment no-one moved. As the brave woman looked round she saw
all but one of her guards lying on the ground with tell-tale arrow-shafts deep
within each one. What a clinically precise attack! Who had planned this? The
sole remaining soldier had drawn his sword but as he advanced towards the
bracken Athelfreda now heard for the first time a whirring sound, the temporary
stillness and
quiet attuning her ears better to her surroundings. She gasped incredulously as
she saw her last hope of defence go down clutching an arrow firmly embedded in
his throat. With a snarling death-rattle of a groan he rolled-over, the last
ember of life leaving him - where a few seconds ago he had been all watchful
vitality, now he was in another world.
“My lady what shall we do?” This was Elle, Athelfreda’s woman-servant clinging desperately to her mistress. ‘Indeed’ thought the noblewoman ‘what was the best move in these horrendous circumstances?’
“My game I think” sneered a too familiar voice as Athelfreda gazed woefully at the savage figure of Godric. Stepping from the forested area he appeared more of a swaggering varlet than ever. However, as comfort and support he had at his back a dozen vicious looking armed men. They looked too hungrily, to Athelfreda’s mind, at the two defenceless women. Elle almost swooned to the ground and it took all her mistress’s self-control to maintain her own equilibrium.
“I wish that I had killed you both” snapped Godric “you’ve forever been a trouble and pestilence to me. You’re no good to me, more likely to foil me in all my potential adventures. What a pair of trussed-up pheasants you would make - just right for the plucking eh?”
“Well then what’s stopping you?” retorted Athelfreda “two helpless women, what’s preventing you and your cut-throats from finishing off the job?”
“I believe that I am the person responsible for that decision.”
Athelfreda
turned to see another figure approach from the bracken. This time, however, the
newcomer was not a bit like the savage warriors from hell that already
confronted her and Elle. He was of a quite prepossessing appearance, handsome
in a strangely quizzical and almost noble manner. A deeply etched scar down his
left cheek, ending under his chin. spoilt the overall impression. The most
mesmeric of his features were his fine clear hazel eyes which spoke of an
integrity which did not exactly tie-in with his association with Godric. The
stranger was semi-cropped almost in the old Norman fashion and he stood before
the assembly sword in hand like a warrior who knew exactly how to handle
himself. The man’s garb was, however, little different from that of his fellows. a mail-shirt being the only
distinguishing feature. If
he had been of noble birth he had certainly fallen upon hard times.
“Who sir are you?” responded Athelfreda now at least slightly more reassured at the appearance of someone, if not kindly disposed nonetheless of a civilised disposition.
“A man like any other man, on the look-out for the main chance.” This was enunciated in almost courtly tones inspite of the sardonic message conveyed.
“Do you command here, sirrah?” almost demanded Athelfreda drawing herself up to her full height.
“I lead these men” spat-out Godric swaggering almost up to within a couple of inches of the noble woman.
“You have become rather presumptuous for a country bumpkin, fellow!” snarled the mail-shirted stranger.
Godric reddening deeply put his hand on his sword, and with barely concealed hate glowered at the man who had belittled him. For a moment Athelfreda thought that a fight would start but the vengeful Godric was if anything prudent especially in respect of his own welfare. Smarting deeply within he bit his lip and muttering sourly turned on his heel.
“In response to your question, madam I command here. I must apologise for these ill-looking fellows, although by my faith I am scarcely much better disposed these days. Once I bore knightly arms but because of some slight indiscretion I was struck-off. No longer Sir Rolf de Claimont but now plain Rolf the outlaw, Rolf the pirate call me what you may, the title probably fits.”
“Pirate? Are you a sea-farer also?”
Rolf laughed almost a boyish laugh evocative of happier-days doubtless. “Madam you will find that I have several talents. At least I can keep this band of ragamuffins together. Godric here and a few, a very few I might add, of his recruited cut-throats told us that there might be some advantages to waylaying you. Where he was going to get the money from to pay us, and whether you had sufficient possessions on you to justify such an attack was debatable.”
“Why
then did you bother to interfere in my life? What have you got from killing-off
my escort and rendering Elle and myself at your mercy? Do we have
anything to offer you in terms of property, possessions, wealth? What exactly
is there of benefit to you - you were once a knight with some honour Rolf de
Claimont?”
“Your good self lady will fetch a fair price. You will see that we run a number of different ventures here, but enough of this discussion we must proceed to our destination. There are horses here and therefore no problem of transport and I know that you will not be so foolish to attempt an escape. Why any one of my ruffians here can aim an arrow straight to its mark. You have already seen the results of their handiwork..”
“So, so” whistled Athelfreda “it’s a ransom you want?”
“Not from Longsword” snarled Godric “I don’t want the women giving all my actions away....”
“Of course not Godric” snapped Rolf “we have already had our discussion on that little matter. I know a source that will pay a pretty price. You know that you stand to gain as part of our expedition, you are still agreeable to our bargain though? It’s all in your own interests, remember!”
“Yes I suppose so” grated Godric “but when exactly do I get paid? After all I needs must make contact again with William Longsword, doubtless he will be wondering about my movements.”
“It would be helpful if you and your ill-begotten associates separated yourselves from myself and my comrades.
“What for? What is this all about” croaked Godric,paling considerably
“Well, my friend I must at last be honest with you. There is no place for you in our operation. I suggest you run as fast as you can before our arrows reach you. A servant is always worthy of his hire, payment should be made for service delivered.”
Godric looked round incredulously as he noticed Rolf’s men begin to place their sharp edged flighted missiles between their fingers. and pull back their bow-strings to their fullest taut extent. The vicious Saxon saw his villainous associates start to sprint-off already minded as to the danger from their short-time comrades. Their agility was not sufficient for the purpose because soon all three were lying dead, victims to astute and very accurate marksmanship.
“Well
Godric see if you can survive where your fellow rogues failed” Rolf smiled as
the Saxon blanched deeply but nothing if not determined to live, self
survival being basic to his every instinct the varlet sped like a stag into the
recesses of the forest.
“Ah good, something of a challenge” grinned the foremost of the archers. Godric seemed to have dived and dodged and weaved to great effect and the bowmen were showing some signs of agitation. Had the prey evaded them to scurry out of their range of fire and live to fight another day?
“I see him, over there” shouted one of their members. “Quickly before he has gone, strike home my comrades.”
Godric’s cold cowardly eyes stared at his would be killers but again he was on the move darting with amazing alacrity through the grass. He was almost through the next obstacle, he had almost moved behind a stout oak-tree, safety not quite at last, but at least something, another yard or so then.... “Oh God!” gasped Godric as he felt an arrow strike him in the back just wide of his left shoulder. The pain, the sheer agony, the arrow had gone in deep, he fell crashing crazily forward, falling his full length and hearing ringing bells as the consciousness left him.
“ Shall I follow-up with the final death blow, Captain?” snarled the successful archer “or should I use the knife on him?”
“No man!” snapped Rolf “let’s have at least some kind of honour here. I was a knight in my better days. He’s half-dead already. Leave him to the wild animals, or even the cold night air, he will not survive for long, he’s seen his last days, blast him.”
“Athelfreda came running-up to Rolf with some urgency. It was at first not too apparent what her emotions were. She shuddered as she looked around the scene of devastation. What was this man Rolf, what motivated him, what exactly had he next up his sleeve, what sort of impression was he making on her, did she really know herself? Athelfreda was wound-up, how could she take in all that had happened to her, and in such a short time.
“Are you alright?” enquired Rolf looking quizzically at the noble lady. He pulled back stung more by surprise than annoyance when the subject of his enquiries brought her right hand crashing against his cheek.
“Hell what was that for?” he gasped.
“For being a swine.”
“But I rid you of a great
irritant in your life. Surely you are grateful for that.”
“God have you got any sensitivity at all, Rolf?”
“Well I suppose I never really did understand women. Let’s leave it at that.”
Rolf smiled ruefully as Athelfreda turned on her heels as if in total control of the situation. “Well” he thought “she will have to learn some manners, after all her future is entirely in my hands.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Langton you are full of meaningless words. A real bag of wind if ever there was one. Hell man I want you to follow up discussions undertaken by my niece and all you can do is inflame the situation further. Why, thank God William Marshal went along with you otherwise what sort of mess would we be in? In any case for all my Lord Pembroke’s efforts we are no further forward.”
Archbishop Stephen Langton shuffled uneasily from one foot to the other. He was well aware of King John’s hostility towards him but felt that he had been given a well nigh impossible task.
“But my liege” countered the Archbishop “the barons were determined to be awkward from the beginning of our discussions. They have at least put forward their case to you.”
“What?” screamed John “you call this drivel here their case, it solely consists of demands, demands which they know I could never agree to accept.”
“It has some basis on an earlier charter that King Henry I your great grand-father agreed, your grace.”
“You believe that myth, Archbishop?” exploded the King.
“I take it that you will not accept these proposals, at least in the form so far presented, sire?”
“Never, never, never! This is a deliberate attempt to provoke me into extreme action. I am too shrewd for that, but I will not be taken advantage of. Don’t the barons realise that I have the support of Pope Innocent?”
“Of course but....”
“Stop prevaricating Archbishop!” stormed John “send someone to Brackeley where my rebellious subjects are gathered and tell them that in no way, under no circumstances whatever will I accept their insulting demand. Would they take the crown off me and use it themselves? God Almighty”
“Sire be more temperate with your language”.
“Oh
take a running jump Langton! I’m fed up with your pious pontificating. Full of
bloody words and damn all else you are. You’re no good to me I can tell you.
Just do what I tell you, get a messenger over to the barons and tell them that
I refuse
their stupid requests.”
“If you want someone with a little dignity, someone who will add strength to your refusal send young de Buissant.”
John nodded affirmatively at William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke. “Trust the Marshal to know what to say” he smiled to himself.
“Good, good William. Thank God I’ve got a man of sense who is always full of the best advice. I’ll do that, I’ll send the gutsy young squire to deliver my message.”
It was a short while afterwards that Guy de Buissant set-off, this time not to embark on a long detailed discussion but to make known to the revolting barons what his liege-lord’s views were. He thought of his princess, the Lady Eleanor, how magnificent she had been when they had first confronted the rebels. God how magnificent she had been later, he shivered with excitement just to think about that momentous event in his life. The contacts he had made recently would be all to his advantage in his career as well. What a good all-round session it had all been. Life was certainly worth living. He thought for a moment about his chance meeting with William Longsword, the King’s half-brother. The latter had seemed slightly distracted and had grasped Guy by the arm as if he had been a long-lost friend. “Godric, Godric I would never have believed it. I relied on him you know and he has misled me and tried to turn me against a dear friend. I still have not seen Athelfreda yet - my God where will it all end?”
Guy had looked apologetically at Longsword wondering if he had been mistaken for someone else. The Earl of Salisbury drew himself up to his full height, shook his head and sensing that de Buissant was obviously very puzzled nodded patronisingly at the young man.
“Sorry my boy I have been rather distraught recently. Some local domestic trouble but one which has weighed heavily on me. Hopefully matters will be settled very soon. Still when you put your trust in someone it hurts to see it misplaced. Godric was an able man - of course, of course, I’m droning on, and you’ve never met the swine. I must call him that now but, by God, he was reliable at all times I thought - oh hell!”
In fact when Longsword had gone in to see his half brother the King his inattention was apparent. His mind just could not focus. “I hope Athelfreda is alright” he kept on thinking.
“William?” almost queried the King “you are not quite yourself. That messenger who arrived earlier had he some disturbing portents to impart?”
“A trusted servant had proved false” confided the Earl “and sought to muddy the waters between myself and a gallant and noble lady.”
“But probably not your wife, eh Longsword?” grinned the King “we Plantaganets are all alike. They call us the Devil’s brood but we certainly know how to live life to the full. Still enough of this philosophy, otherwise you are alright and in good shape for the battles ahead, eh man?”
I am always at your liege’s right hand whenever you want me. Never fear I am not wayward when it comes to staunchness and fealty to my good brother the King.”
John smiled to himself “Yes Salisbury should prove loyal” he thought. In so far as anyone could be trusted in these difficult times the son of the fair Rosamund was about as trustworthy as anyone. He had the boisterous strength of the Lionheart without the latter’s prediliction towards bright young men - in fact, the reverse, he was a red-blooded Angevin, a true son of raunchy old Henry II.
Meanwhile Guy had ridden from the castle and after a fairly uneventful journey had reached Brackeley. The barons were in a vicious mood, not even any smirking, or sarcastic comments for that matter, they seemed intent on action, they had had their fill of John Lackland.
“So!” snarled Robert Fitzwalter when the King’s total rejection of the demands was communicated to him. Guy had expected rather more but Fitzwalter was busy whispering to Eustace de Vesci his co-author of dissension. It was as if Guy did not exist. “I’ll beat a hasty retreat I think” confided the squire to himself. “no point in becoming part of this mass of rebellion. I cannot be certain that they will respect my office of messenger. Let’s face it I’m not an archbishop or an Earl. Better be off.”
“Squire before you go I have a message for your master.” The voice of Fitzwalter came booming towards him. So he had not been totally ignored after all.
“My Lord of Dunmow?” enquired de Buissant with some dignity. His association with the Pearl of Brittany had added to his confidence. Didn’t someone once say that if you
had a close physical contact with a person some of the glitter rubbed off onto you. Who knows, the determination and the fierce courageous pride of that young woman may have taken over his own personality.
“Squire
you are to tell your master that all of us here renounce our homage and fealty
to him. We defy him for the unjust Lord that he is. I am the Commander-in-chief
of this assembly here, you may think of me as the leader of the Army of God and
the
De Buissant could scare conceal a smile. Fitzwalter a leader of an Army of God. Holy Moses, they must be desperate. What a man to have as chief of such a host, and with such a high sounding title.
“And de Buissant - I believe that is your name unless you are out of here within the next half hour I’ll see you hanging from the rafters.”
“Good my Lord” responded de Buissant with deep sarcasm in his voice “I fail to see how on earth I will be able to deliver your message if I am in such a position. Nonetheless I would not want to be in the company of such dastardly rebels as yourself. In fact half an hour is too long by far to be with such scoundrels ....”
“You insolent young pup” stormed Eustace de Vesci “how dare you so address one who is your superior in rank.”
“The King is your superior and yet you denounce him, and raise your standard against him, my gracious Lord” sneered the squire “your comments are somewhat illogical therefore on that score.”
“By my troth I’ll kill you for that. I’ll impale you on the nearest pike.”
“Let me see you try, old man!” snapped Guy “you are full of words but your flabby jowls will not serve as weapons against me.”
“Enough, enough!” stormed Fitzwalter “de Vesci I’m surprised to see you becoming so intemperate towards a skulking squire. He is not worth soiling your sword upon. He’s fit only for a common soldier’s dagger. He will serve a better purpose just for now, however, by conveying our noble intentions to John Lackland.”
“Well,
my Lord, am I to go?” enquired Guy raising an eyebrow ever so
superciliously “time is of the essence, unless de Vesci here wishes for a
lesson in swordsmanship.”
Eustace raced almost maniacally past Lord Dunmow and drawing his sword faced de Buissant with murder in his soul.
“Away old man!” sneered the young squire.
De Vesci could scare believe his ears, did this insolent young pup dare insult him so? What was the world coming to? This was equality gone too far. He stopped for a moment, breathing hard but in the next instance he saw de Buissant facing him sword in hand. De Vesci brought his own weapon slashing down hard towards Guy. The young man, barely perturbed side-stepped and almost casually nicked the baron’s right cheek with his sword. The rebellious noble felt the blood start to spurt but it was his pride that was hurt much more than his face. To add insult to injury the youngster executed a few nimble almost dance-steps with his feet and then with a wristy slash nicked de Vesci just below the hair-line. The blood now started to trickle from his fore-head down his face. Angrily he thrust forward at his antagonist. Quick to the danger de Buissant ducked and slashed hard at de Vesci’s knees. The baron flung his sword away and grasping his leg fell snarling to the ground.
“Now let me access to the draw-bridge and a friendly departure or else you will have a very ill de Vesci on your hands” snapped the squire. Saying this Guy yanked up the fallen baron and leading him roughly by the arm sought to make his exit.
“Let the man go. As I said before” continued Fitzwalter “we want him to tell the King of our serious intent. But remember, de Buissant, none of us here will ever forget this outrageous behaviour. From now on you are marked to die, kingly protection or not.”
“We
will see about that my Lord of Dunmow. You yourself will do well to escape the
executioner’s axe. Farewell and think of
number of them had proved untrue, uncertainty was the only certain thing and
yet it seemed to give the young squire a certain thrill. The adrenalin was
certainly starting to flow. The Pearl of Brittany obviously had had a part in
his buoyancy of spirit, she would certainly have his undying thanks.
CHAPTER TEN
The Pearl of Brittany stretched herself to her full luxurious length. She shivered slightly but smiled one of her more mischievous smiles as she flexed her quite divine toes. Eleanor truly looked a princess, regal in every detail, every inch sheer feminine perfection. The expensive clothing that she may or may not persuade her royal uncle to provide might enhance her charms. On the other hand she seemed angelic already without those human accoutrements. For now she laid totally uninhibited and au natural without any adornments hiding her bodily beauty.
“Your
Uncle the King has much going for him, Lady Eleanor but in you he truly
possesses a
“Mind. I trust you will say that my Lord de Mauléon, and not ‘my perfectly formed body’. On the other hand my mind is not soft and neither is my body. I feel, for a woman, that I have developed my body to be strong yet essentially female.”
“I will support that, dear Lady. You do me great honour by calling me Lord. Many regard me as a shameless routier, a land pirate by all accounts, a ruthless mercenary. Aye, for sure that’s what they call Savary de Mauléon.”
“You do yourself down by even countenancing such thoughts, Savary, you are a prop and support of our King. In these difficult times hardened warriors such as yourself are as precious as gold.
De
Mauléon
laughed broadly. He wondered what John Lackland would say if he could see him
now as naked as Eleanor having enjoyed the latter’s favours to the full. He
moved closer to the Princess and tilting her head back he gently kissed her
lovely nose. What a mischievous face she had, that curl of the lips, or was it
the stylish cheekbones, such a distinctive appearance. The eyes brown and
piercing but, oh God, the body so athletic so mobile and the long silky legs,
the beautifully sculptured toes and elegantly cuticulled toe-nails. Well it was
certainly worth the diversion. It was all due to the King as well! He had given
instructions to Savary to stop off at
enemies and therefore had kept the
routiers away from the English mainland
initially. Now was the time for action, however, de Mauléon
had been instructed to move to
De
Mauléon
moved alongside Eleanor and quickly grasped her closely to him, the sheer
pulsating warmth of her body set him on fire, took control of his soul and
spirit, made him seem unreal but gloriously so. He felt his legs wrap round
those of the Princess as if they had a life of their own. The strength and
power of his body grew and grew, it seemed barely minutes ago that he had
mingled his whole being with that of the
“My Lady”, a voice from outside Eleanor’s room called firmly but politely.
“Do you want me to go, your highness?” enquired de Mauléon “I infer that there is someone to see you and I would not wish to be an embarrassment.”
“No, no, don’t let’s be over-formal and full of prissy behaviour. Just put a robe on and I will do the same. We enjoyed our sojourn together, no need to be ashamed of it, or regret it for that matter.”
“My Lady” resumed the voice outside “our young squire Guy de Buissant has returned with news for you”.
“Ah!” smiled Eleanor “our trusted friend. Send him in immediately.” Eleanor made no attempt to pull her garment round her any further. After all the squire had seen all her attributes and had gloried in them. He was no prude.
“My
dear Guy” beamed the
negligently on the arm of a chair.
“Oh yes, of course” she added “this is Savary de Mauléon a great support to our realm and estate - or rather Uncle John’s realm and estate!”
“Sir, I know you by reputation” responded Guy “a fierce and indeed mighty warrior. We all appreciate the swords you bring with your poitevan soldiers. The King is beholden to brave men such as yourself!”
“And I, de Buissant, have recently heard of your exploits. You have somewhat tamed Eustace de Vesci - indeed brought him down very much to size.”
“Thank-you for that, my Lord. I am touched that an eminent commander such as yourself has heard of my small achievements.”
“Good, good” rejoiced Eleanor “I like nothing better than my men agreeing with each other and getting on so well. I hope that you will become firm friends - after all you have at least one thing in common.”
The
two paladins looked at each other smiling wryly, it was difficult not to fall
in with the wishes of the beautiful
“My hand on it, certainly” voiced de Mauléon “to eternal comradeship come what may” and with that he grasped de Buissant’s already extended arm.
“I feel privileged to be enjoined in such a noble enterprise” responded Guy “victory to King John, and above all life, health, and prosperity to our lovely princess here.”
“I’ll say amen to that” smiled Savary “my lady is worth a thousand well trained soldiers any day. To her eternal glory.”
“Could
I take this opportunity to offer my services whenever you may find them
helpful” promised de Buissant “provided that they do not clash with royal
demands. I will certainly help to hold
“I
know that we can all rely on that, my dear Guy. However, I am now to
“As
you probably know, my Lord, Longsword is making for
“Yes I am aware of that part of the strategy.”
“I have some concerns there because the good Earl was somewhat dilatory in organising his forces.”
“He
has a strong band of Flemings under him nonetheless sirrah. Mayhap not as good
as your average Poitevan but reliable enough under most circumstances. Still,
you talk of delays let me not be similarly condemned. I must bid you good
people farewell and make speed for
“Do not forget to arm yourself for the days ahead” interrupted the Princess Eleanor “you needed relatively little protection against me I am a gentle person - and do not smile so my Lord - but these rebel barons....”
“Have no fear, my lady I will bring you back a specimen or two, nay I will have them brought to you in a cage to eat out of your hand. Better still when you grow waspish you can beat them with light feathers.”
“Enough of this jocularity Savary” admonished the Princess with mock seriousness “we would see your sword in action against the King’s enemies. I have been impressed with what I have seen so far!”
The
two soldiers left the regal presence laughing and blushing simultaneously. This
was a princess the like they had never encountered before, nor would again, a
lady totally unique, of a determined mind but of a free-living, friendly
disposition. With her on their side where indeed was there need for any other
support? Truly a
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“This is a great honour you bestow upon us by visiting our humble abbey.”
Archbishop Stephen Langton stared somewhat unconvincingly at the person who had made this statement - in fact none other than Abbot Roger. He had had a long journey but it was essential that he sought the advice of this highly intelligent yet pragmatic cleric.
“Humble
indeed?” commented Langton “If I were not in
“Is a wearing away of the flesh, total abstinence and self denial good for any human being, your Grace?”
“Well, well let us not dwell on theological matters, I have come to see you on a more direct political issue. Inspite of your less than orthodox approach to religion I do value your clear mind.”
“Thank-you your Grace. In that case I suggest that you join me in my quarters.”
“By the way Roger who is that young lady who welcomed us - hardly a nun I would think.”
“You mean Reasea. A good point, it would be useful if she joined us in our discussions. Whenever I have had problems, felt unable to decide on some major concern Reasea has always provided me with inspiration. She is a very bright individual.”
“Do you mean for a woman, master Abbott?”
“No, your grace, she is as shrewd, intelligent and determined as any human being - mentally more astute and effective than most men I have met.”
“And you know her well?”
“She is a friend your Grace.”
“Ah,
I see a friend. I value your advice Roger so I will not inquire any further but
I hope that you have kept strictly to your monastic vows. I hold you to that
you know, I am regarded as a reforming Archbishop. The
rather more credence since my incumbency and I would wish that situation to
remain.”
“ I behave towards my fellow man as I hope he would behave towards me, your Grace.”
“And your fellow woman?”
“We are all God’s children. Our Lord’s message was to us all.”
“Of course, of course, Roger” snapped Langton “I don’t require a lecture, I hope that I am familiar with the Gospel teachings and as your superior allow me to make my own theological observations.”
“Anyway your Grace you have need of a clear mind or rather minds at the moment, I trust?”
“Eh, yes, it is important. If you think that the young person can be of help in our deliberations, Rea....”
“Reasea, your Grace. Yes I suggest that we ask her in, she is discretion personified.”
“Then bring her in, we have very little time and what we do now will have significant repercussion on this Kingdom, indeed this land of ours.”
A few moments later the Archbishop, the Abbott and the beautiful Reasea were all seated together in Roger’s apartments. They were all deep in thought staring fixedly at the pieces of parchment that Stephen Langton had placed on the table.
“You
see” confided Langton “unless this
“Might not the King defeat his enemies in the field?” inquired Reasea brightly “I hear that a number of very effective mercenaries have been brought up by the Lord John. In addition he appears to have very useful support from the more moderate and well respected members of the nobility. Why the Earl of Pembroke William the Marshal is so full of years and distinction that his merits surely outweigh most of the opposition.”
“Yes
my good young woman” acknowledged Langton “I understand, indeed hear what you
say. However, there is much seething discontent among the rebels that
even victory in battle could not entirely quell. We need to have some sort of a
compromise situation if not sooner than no more slightly later. The power of
the King is quite excessive and even that fierce unyielding ruler Henry I
agreed a Charter when he came to the throne over a hundred years ago.”
“Yes
except your Grace” responded Reasea “Henry purposely agreed that Charter to
draw up support for his own claim to the throne. It is still a puzzle to many
as to how his brother William Rufus came to die in the
“Point taken!” snapped Langton “God” he thought “how is this woman so damned knowledgeable? She knows more than most of the King’s counsellors and advisors.” “Ah, indeed” continued the Archbishop out loud “but I think that both yourself and the Abbott would agree the old Charter provides a good basis on which to produce a new compromise one for our King John. For instance old King Henry’s document has quite a bit to say about reliefs and wardship and marriage and debts to the crown and the restoration of the ‘Law of King Edward’.”
“Well,
well” interjected Roger “going back to the saintly Edward, the Confessor. He
died in 1066, that’s close on 150 years and in any case he was a Saxon King
albeit he was of mixed blood brought up abroad and friendly with the
“Indeed they would. therefore, I suggest without further ado we seek to produce an acceptable document that will satisfy both the King and his opponents.”
“In
that case let us seek to bind strategic parts of the Country to the King.”
suggested Roger “
“I’m
in total agreement there Roger. How about something like this ‘The City of
London shall have all its ancient liberties and free customs as well by land as
by
water. Furthermore, we will grant that all other cities, boroughs, towns, and
ports shall have all their liberties and free customs’.”
“Good, good” murmured Stephen Langton “I can see that this was a wise decision in bringing you into our discussions, my girl.”
“Thank you, your Grace” smiled Reasea “ I think that we can gain baronial support if we include the following clause ‘No shield money or money payment in general shall be imposed in the Kingdom unless by approved common counsel, except for ransoming the King, making the King’s eldest son a knight and for once marrying the King’s eldest daughter. Even for these only a reasonable amount shall be levied’.”
“Ye---s” mouthed Langton “I see the point - yes the King might just about acquiesce to that.”
The three determined scholars commenced working away at the draft Charter. What had appeared a very difficult task in the early stages gradually became more feasible. There was a general feel that now something was being hammered-out, something which may well prove more or less acceptable to both parties. Still, as Reasea had surmised earlier the King could well be victorious in the field, his enemies could be bowing low before the monarch’s ferocious routiers - not much need for a Great Charter then. However, even if the noble John won through he may want a fall-back position to placate any potential further rebellions. The latter was uppermost in the minds of the Archbishop, the Abbott, and the young woman as they exercised their intelligence to the full. The previous century had contained a number of incredible personalities and life had seldom been dull whether at Home or Abroad where Richard the Lionheart had made won in the Crusades. Now, however, England was in a state of turmoil, changes could well be taking place that might have far reaching repercussions if not for the common tiller of the land then certainly for the way the country was governed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Athelfreda shivered quite violently, it was all she could do to keep out the cold night air. Her situation had little improved, and she was fearful that forthcoming events were not going to be to her advantage. One of Rolf’s men began to usher her into the sinister-looking craft which was swaying slowly and almost menacingly tethered in the quay side. It was difficult in the dark to guess the size of the vessel, indeed Athelfreda wondered how Rolf had laid his hands on it, doubtless it had been gained by evil methods, certainly not in the course of honest bargaining. The young woman stumbled slightly on the small gang way but quickly she was aboard and her faithful maid-servant Elle was also now beside her. It required great insight and some experience of shipping to know exactly where she was to go next. This decision was put beyond her when one of her captives pushed her not too roughly down some narrow stairs.
“Ouch! Who are you? How many more people are being forced down here?”
Athelfreda felt an arm grab her. It was quite obvious that Elle and herself were not alone. The flickering light from a taper above, held by one of Rolf’s men momentarily provided some indication of the other inhabitants. In fact there appeared to be four other young women, all attractive and like Athelfreda and Elle having been brought there against their will. The light had dimmed and faded quickly and the rogue who had taken them here was gone with a sharply intoned curse and a cruel half-laugh.
“My name is Athelfreda and this is my maid Elle, do any of you want to tell me your names, after all we could be together for some time.”
“Why yes my name is Flavia and the other ladies are Rosa and Reebald, and there is also Jacquetta my maid. We were brought here under close guard, having been captured by Rolf and his band of ruffians.”
“Same story as ourselves” muttered Athelfreda “but what does Rolf have in mind for us? This is hardly a pleasure trip!”
“Too
true” responded Flavia “he is a clever rogue is that one. He aims to sell us
into slavery, or rather slavery of a sort. Some form of concubinage no doubt.
He has contracts throughout
no one’s business.”
“Surely ransoming us would be a less costly proposition?” inquired Athelfreda.
“Rolf would expose himself too much by that approach. In any case would he be able to obtain all that much? I cannot speak for you, but although we are well bred it would be somewhat arrogant to suggest that we could command huge sums. It is much simpler to dispose of us elsewhere.”
Athelfreda
sighed deeply to herself. It did not seem all that long ago that she was the
prized semi-consort of William Longsword, the King’s half-brother and now - and now - this Living Hell! A ransom could
or should have been obtained. Obviously she could not evaluate these other
women, but her class was undeniable. Why had Rolf not, at least, given her the
opportunity. Freedom was so wonderful, why was she to be denied the sweet smell
of
There is nothing more soul-destroying than wandering in a daze, in a situation where you are oblivious to external stimuli, where day and night are interchangeable, where there are no bench-marks or perameters on which to base progress. This is what Athelfreda went through for seemingly an Eternity. She surmised that her comrades in distress also experienced a similar non-sensation. This was at least Purgatory or more-like a continuing Hell, one that sapped the mind and body of all its exuberance and energy reducing one to a state of almost total apathy.
“You have permission to come aloft and stretch your legs.” A voice sounded from somewhere up above. Hardly the intervention of the Deity probably some unwashed sailor acting on Rolf’s instructions. Anyway better than being incarcerated in the hold with five other women was probably the thought going through Athelfreda’s mind. Her back and legs ached in particular. It was unwise to move about too much in the darkness in case you tripped over someone and an injury was the last thing wanted in already depressing circumstances.
Once
on deck Athelfreda quickly glanced round to check on as many details as
possible. What sort of ship was this, was it well maintained and equipped, what
was their likely destination?
The sea was not exactly calm
but not tempestuous
either rather capriciously choppy but with a dull leaden sky above the weather
conditions were not going to improve.
“Well, well, the Lady herself” a mocking voice grated close to Athelfreda “come for some sport on deck eh”
“Who do you think you are, sirrah?” responded the noble woman eyeing an especially vicious looking individual who was bearded more from want of shaving rather than because he favoured a particular type of appearance. Whatever his culinary fancies the brigand/pirate call him what you wish, had lost most of his front teeth adding to his alarming image.
“A master-mariner of sorts also your jailer or one of them and you are a defenceless woman” sneered the evil sailor.
“In that case I am sure you will be aware of your advantages and being a gentleman will leave me to my own devices.”
“A little cuddle on the deck will do you the world of good, my lass” grinned the adversary “I would not want you to think that I am less than friendly to such a beautiful guest.”
“For God’s sake leave me alone!” snapped Athelfreda “I don’t want anything to do with you.”
The dark-haired pirate seized her roughly by the arm and forcing her against the deck-rail attempted to force his lips against hers. The sweaty stench of his body made Athelfreda cringe with revulsion but try as she might she could not break free from his fierce unwanted embrace.
“Hagon, leave go of the lady. I never told you to behave thus.”
Both Athelfreda and the sailor - obviously called Hagon - looked up to behold Rolf glaring fiercely at them.
“Oh no, your excellency snarled Hagon “you may be our leader but you rely on us to set this ship on its course.”
“No one is irreplaceable and you have irritated me beyond measure.”
The
vicious mariner thrust Athelfreda to one side and drawing an evil looking blade
from his shirt flashed it angrily in Rolf’s direction. Before he could advance
any further the former knight had leapt at him and twisting his arm behind his
back seized
the knife and flung it into the sea. With one blow he sent Hagon reeling
drunkenly against the deck, one of the sailor’s few remaining teeth bounding
out of his mouth and landing near Athelfreda’s feet.
“Good riddance to the rogue” hissed Rolf “have two of your men pitch him overboard. The man is totally unreliable, we will not miss him a jot.”
Two of Rolf’s so-called followers eyed each other with suspicion. There was a tension very evident in the air as neither of them sought to follow their instructions.
“Oh well, we are thinking for ourselves are we now? No matter come with me Athelfreda, you will be more comfortable in my cabin. We are not all mindless cut-throats. I’ll see that no-one interferes with you again on the duration of the trip.”
Athelfreda followed Rolf along the deck until he descended down some rickety steps. Moving carefully she also started to climb down and acknowledging his beckoning hand she entered the cabin opened up for her. Once inside Athelfreda was intrigued by the relative luxury of the surroundings. A faint perfume pervaded the air and in a comparatively small area many requirements of a civilised person seemed available. Already the young woman felt that much better.
“You never cease to amaze me Rolf” commented Athelfreda “what kind of man are you? - I know I’ve probably asked you that question before. One moment you seem almost as bad as your scurvy followers, the next you are indeed the perfect Gentle Knight, the epitome of courtly manners.”
“If fate had been kinder I could still be a knight. Look at some of the barons De Vesci, Fitzwalter are they any better than me. God, if they had been born lesser men....”
“I know, I know, you are far from the first to say that. Surely there is some hope for you, need you lead this sort of life? Just return me to William Longsword my lover”
“Your lover, mistress?” inquired Rolf raising an eye ever so slightly “you are very close I know.”
Enough
of that, my dear de Claimont” responded Athelfreda “William is Earl of
protector.”
“You are a persistent lady, Athelfreda, but I have embarked on a course which I cannot alter, not only from a geographical point of view but from a moral and practical point of view as well.”
“Men are so stubborn” snapped the noble woman “it is never too late to change. The King could well make use of a determined adventurer such as you, think of the routiers he employs. He would not look too closely to examine any stains on your escutcheon.”
“Let us cease these rambling discussions, my lady. Provided that you relax and do not become so fierce and indignant there is no reason why the sea voyage cannot be pleasant. I will willingly act the gentleman and enable your journey to be as free from tension as possible.”
“I will observe your conditions, Rolf, not because I support the present situation but because I have no alternative.”
“Oh , Athelfreda cannot you at least show some affection towards me. At least we have more in common here than most of our fellow voyagers.”
“Yes you have breeding and charm Rolf de Claimont, that I’ll admit. In one sense it gives you less of an excuse than your so-called followers. They have probably lived a disreputable life from their early manhood, were born without privilege or opportunity. You could say they were at a disadvantage for most of their lives - you could have been so much better, Rolf.”
“God, Athelfreda I saved you from being ravished. If you are so sympathetic to that bunch then be my guest go out there and confront them.”
“Alright Rolf, I take your point but don’t get so worked-up no wonder you clashed with authority you should learn to control that temper of yours.”
“Apologies, my Lady, I think that it would be best if I left you here to your own devices for a while, you deserve some privacy. I’ll send your maid Elle to you shortly but treat the cabin as your own. Put the lock firmly on and only let me in - I’ll speak and knock four times as well so you will recognise it definitely is me.”
Athelfreda
smiled at the former knight. She had misjudged him yet again. What a mysterious
person he was, a deep one for sure. How had he received that
terrible scar on his face? Otherwise he would be quite handsome in a rugged
sort of way. Still there was a toughness and a vigour about him that was very
stimulating especially here at sea.
“Rolf!”
The adventurer turned to look at Athelfreda. He smiled slightly and shrugged his shoulders. What was it with this beautiful woman, what did she want now?
“Rolf, I do after all probably owe you my life. We may have met in better conditions but here we are in each other’s company. These are strange circumstances and I am not a blushing maid.”
“Nay my Lady you are young and exceedingly beautiful.”
“I thank-you for that but what I really meant was that the World’s pleasures are not exactly unknown to me. After all, my dear de Claimont we have quite a bit of time on our hands.”
“Of course, my Lady”
“Oh come on Rolf don’t be so coy this is a lovely little cabin. By the way I see that you have brought my trunk on board ship. That is particularly valuable because I always carry with me certain protective measures - if you will close your eyes for a minute....”
Rolf was quite dumb-struck but did as he was told. When he opened his eyes Athelfreda was standing before him semi-clad, a picture of supreme loveliness and total divinity. Moving with elegance she began to pull his shirt off him and then leading him gently by the hand she approached the bed with its fleecy coverings. Athelfreda began swaying her body almost in unison with the movement of the ship so that she was virtually level with the pirate leader.
“I
carry expensive oils with me, my captain” purred Athelfreda “lie down and I
will caress your body with such tenderness that you will dream of
Rolf
did as he was instructed closing his eyes and being aware of nothing but the
lapping of the sea against the side of the boat. For the first time he could
remember in many years he felt completely relaxed, no anxieties, no
irritations, his temples ceased to throb. He felt his whole body shiver as
Athelfreda’s soothing yet sensuous hands sought out every muscle in his body,
her soft but exciting touch upon
his shoulders sent him dizzy with ecstasy.
“Now my dear Rolf turn-over and let me see the glory of your whole body.”
The knightly brigand no longer had a mind of his own as he submitted to his guest’s tender ministrations. Who now was the captive? Who now was the master or rather mistress? He felt the oil being poured out of the small metallic conical horn that Athelfreda was holding. The noble lady let it slip through her fingers splashing downwards on to his chest. With kindly but vigorous movements she rubbed it deeply into him, the cloying essence attaching itself to the thick hair on his torso. Rolf’s expression of pleasure turned to slightly quizzical inquiry as Athelfreda moved slowly away from him. With sudden frenetic energy the lady removed what remained of her clothing and began twisting her body into rhythmic patterns reminiscent of Salome’s ‘Dance of the Seven Veils.’ She next threw herself onto the bed beside him and motioning with her right index finger sought to draw him closer to her. Rolf was open-mouthed with amazement, he had never witnessed such exotic and tantalising agility before. This woman was unsurpassed if indeed she was a human being and not a heavenly goddess sent to him in a moment of sheer kindness and beneficence bestowed by the inhabitants of Mount Olympus.
“Here Rolf now it is your turn, rub the oil into my body. Let us see how tender and gentle you can be.”
The brigand again did as he was instructed, displaying in Athelfreda’s opinion considerable sensitivity. She looked intently at him noting his muscular strength highlighted by the liberal administration of the oily substance on his body. The young woman shivered luxuriously as she also felt the essence permeating her whole being. Surely there was nothing more wonderful in Heaven and Earth than two naked bodies in close caress, sparkling with unalloyed joy. Possibly Pope Innocent might demur from that view but churchmen did not know everything and were not always right.
“Rolf” said Athelfreda showing her perfectly formed teeth to advantage “take me as a man would want to take a woman.”
The
former knight never ceased to amaze. With great consideration and almost holy
reverence he placed his arms round Athelfreda’s soft and nubile body. This
merging together of two spirits seemed as if it had been planned by the gods.
For, to be honest, Rolf and Athelfreda’s bodies had now entered on an ethereal
plain and seemed to transcend fleshy desires. Their minds and thoughts subsumed
each other and had moved out of time and space. And yet in a trice Rolf was
very much aware of the perfectly formed figure of his collaborator in this
journey of desire. His body became hard but at the same time considerate and
responsive to his lover’s demands. They swept together on a mountain of
attainment, riding the rapids of physical joy and happiness almost beyond human
belief.
“Oh god! Rolf, take me to the skies!” almost shouted Athelfreda.
Rolf moved with deft control, intensifying in strength and vigour his legs and arms driving with a rhythm almost like poetry from a revered bard. Closer and closer they seemed to become if indeed that situation had not already been achieved. The whole World cascaded before them, shattering and shimmering into a million pieces. There was no pain in this consummation as they both thrilled with pure physical happiness and total satisfaction of the mind and soul.
“Rolf!”
gasped Athelfreda “don’t you dare move we must enjoy this experience to the
full. The sheer sensation is still pulsating through my body. Hold me for a
while so that we may feel what
“My queen!” responded de Claimont “I cannot deny you anything. If you give me such a command how can I as a mere mortal respond other than as a willing slave?”
The two lovers remained motionless for a while, it seemed that time had stood still and all the World’s problems had been pushed into oblivion. They could have been anywhere, where they were going to did not really matter all that much, this truly was a moment to savour, they intended to drink their cup of happiness to the full.
“Captain are you there? Answer me! This is urgent.”
Both Rolf and Athelfreda started suddenly as they heard this sharply spoken statement emanating from outside the cabin door.
“I’m here Hugh. What is it?” responded Rolf, then in whispered tones to Athelfreda “there’s a man I can rely on - the Salt of the Earth.”
“Captain
can you let me in? Please don’t think me presumptuous. Alfred and
William are here with me, and the ladies from the hold if you know what I
mean.... “
“God!” exclaimed Athelfreda “I’d forgotten about Elle and the other women - left to the mercy of your crew.”
“Quite madam!” snapped Rolf stiffening slightly “I know only too well the short-comings of my retainers. Enough of that I suggest we get dressed and let in our friends.”
“Thank God we are in a place of safety at last”. This was the intense voice of Flavia “this ship is going to be a Hell on Earth soon, I can feel, indeed sense, the evil here.”
“Yes skipper” intervened Hugh “the men are more than rebellious, and they have been drinking to excess to make matters worse. They are threatening all sorts of things and have appointed Hagon as their spokesman.”
“Damn and blast him!” snorted Rolf “I should have cast him into the sea. He’s an evil rogue, worse than any of us here.”
“Captain, I have managed to move many of the weapons to our hold but we are considerably outnumbered have you any suggestions as to our plan of campaign?”
“It would only be an arrogant fool who believed that he could hold out against even this disorganised rabble. I’ll tell you what, let me try and treat with them. I don’t believe that this motley band of ours is over-burdened with brains. Here William come with me we’ll approach the scurvy knaves, you good, stalwart Hugh stay inside the cabin with Alfred and the ladies.”
Rolf and Hugh armed to the teeth advanced carefully and with cat-like intensity along the awkward footing of the deck. Watchful for even the slightest movement they continually glanced from side to side. Suddenly a dagger flashed in the air but Hugh moving swiftly flung himself and his captain to the ground narrowly avoiding a painful injury or at worst seemingly excruciating death.
“He’s ours lads, my dagger must have struck its mark.” The swaggering vile tones of Hagon were all too apparent.
“Don’t move, Hugh” whispered Rolf “let them get closer to us.”
Hagon
anxious to be the first one to show his contempt for his, as he thought, dead
skipper leapt forward and aimed a vicious kick at the fallen Paladin. Much to
his
surprise the Corpse swivelled away and then reaching out grabbed the
ring-leader’s leg holding it in a vice-like grip. In one savage movement Hagon
was down with Rolf’s own dagger firmly across his throat.
“Call your dogs off!” snarled de Claimont “I mean it, or else your own life is in jeopardy.”
“Alright, alright” responded Hagon “back-off men, we’ll get him sooner or later but don’t be too hasty just yet.....”
“You gutless coward” almost spat Hugh who was now also up on his feet alongside his captain.
“You must realise” commented Rolf “that we are all dependent on the wiles of the Ocean as to whether or not we make it to dry land. It is essential that we all stick together. I am quite willing to forget what has happened here if there is no further trouble on the rest of the voyage.”
There was only sullen unspoken hostility from the small band of men which did not auger well for any new-found spirit of co-operation. Hugh moved swiftly as he saw one of their numbers draw a rusty-looking sword and lunge straight at Rolf and himself. Extricating his own blade from its scabbard he side-stepped adroitly and with a fierce slashing action brought the weapon scything across the villain’s wrist. The adversary reared in pain at the realisation of not only intense pain but the fact that part of his hand was cut-off. Rolf was not idle at this moment and with amazing dexterity had run another of the rogues straight through. Lacking stomach for further conflict the rest of the pirates retreated hastily leaving Rolf and Hugh with a subdued Hagon.
“Well so much for debate and compromise, captain” smiled Hugh, somewhat sardonically “where exactly do we go from here?”
“Back to the cabin for the moment. At least we have their leader captured, I doubt if there is sufficient wisdom amongst the rest of them to develop a strategy that would quickly outwit us. We will go back to our circle of new-found friends and plan our own campaign - God help us all for I foresee some difficult times ahead.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Your half-brother was not as
astute as you gave him credit for, my husband”. Isabella of
“William,
by my troth yes. The Longsword was not so swift at getting to
“True,
my husband” interposed Isabella “but now that
“Don’t
be so sure, Isabella” grinned the King “Fitz-Walter has not had much joy in
building up support throughout the Country. Most people know what is best for
them, or at least they have sought to cover their backs. The old-established
lords have voiced support for me whilst their heirs have ridden to
“Why
don’t you urge de Mauléon
to ride against the rebels. He could do
untold damage.....”
“Precisely, my Queen. I’m not quite so pig-headed as people believe me to be. I might cause ill-feeling for years after if Savary and his routiers laid waste the countryside. I want to appear a temperate monarch, one who balances his own needs with that of his people.”
“Well in that case how long is this whole episode going to last? Exactly what is the solution?”
“Stephen Langton has been thrashing-out terms in the form of Charter of Liberties agreeable to both parties. I know that he has had a fair amount of help - that glum-faced cleric hasn’t the wit to think entirely for himself. Hopefully I can put my great seal on a fairly meaningless piece of paper and then everyone can go home happy.”
“What exactly is this Charter?” queried Isabella.
“A tiresome document discussing forest laws, rights of inheritance etc. The barons would try and press me to be less than an absolute ruler. Still it all depends on the wording. In most cases you can agree terms, then build your strength up again and forget about the nonsense that you had solemnly supported. I am expecting Langton here virtually any moment.”
As John was completing his statement a tall dignified young lady entered the presence.
“Well, well” smiled the Queen. “It’s Brythech I believe. I will not chastise you for entering the room while the King is bathing. Indeed, I know, my child that you are accustomed to seeing the Royal Person in such a state of undress”.
“Quite my dear” scowled John “no need for sarcasm.”
“Oh my husband don’t be so pompous I know all about your cavorting and Brythech meets with my approval. She is a considerate lady and keeps you amused. A King needs to ease away the pressure now and then - although, of course, I feel that I have met with some success there as well.”
Brythech coughed politely seeking to draw the attention of the King and Queen to her.
“My
“Well damn it woman, don’t keep the prelate of All England waiting send him in” responded John.
After a slight interval the sober figure of Stephen Langton appeared at the threshold. As was invariably the case the Archbishop gave the impression of stoicism and self-importance combined.
“Well Archbishop what news?” demanded the King.
“If your Grace is otherwise engaged... “
“Tush man, the King of England has nothing to hide from the senior Churchman in the land.”
“Quite so my Lord” muttered Langton more than a trifle embarrassed.
“The state of the Country is really what I came to discuss.”
“Quite so indeed Langton!” snorted John “Have the rebels come to heel yet? I could have crushed them completely if I had so desired. I am more of a diplomat than most people give me credit for. If I had let my routiers run-riot there would have been bad feeling for a generation afterwards. I do hope that my magnanimity is not interpreted as weakness”
“Surely
not my Liege.” insisted Langton “You know, of course that William Marshal and
myself have been having discussions with the rebels in
“What
a fine mess those rebels have made of things. My London Subjects are loyal -
they must be, after all I granted them favourable terms and conditions covering
a number of issues barely a few weeks ago. Damn it if a few traitorous dogs
don’t open up the
“Even so, my Lord” agreed Langton somewhat cringingly “but now is probably the best time to strike a bargain. It may be the right time to conclude a negotiated peace with the barons.”
“What do you suggest I promise them - holding up this so-called Charter that has been produced and agree to abide by the fine print?”
“Fine print is a matter for a King....”
“I’m glad you acknowledge as such Langton, after all I am the monarch who commands here. I’ve agreed to go on a crusade for what it’s worth and I am sure that Pope Innocent is keen to see my unruly barons brought into line.”
“The Holy Father has always been your friend, your Grace.”
“Well he certainly has a peculiar way of showing his friendship, he’s been a pain in the arse to me for a number of years..... “
“Let bygones be bygones John let us see how we can negotiate from here” interrupted Isabella “after all it is not only your crown, my husband, that we have to consider but that of our son Henry who will become King ultimately.”
“A long time ultimately I hope” snapped the King “still ‘tis no matter, where do you suggest I meet my enemies?”
“I
have had discussions” responded the Archbishop “and provided that you are
agreeable we could meet in a meadow called Runnymede on the banks of the Thames
between
“Well I suppose I will have to agree. Let us get the matter over with as quickly as possible. I can manage to see the feckless baronage in, say, a few days time. Let’s make it 15th June.”
“I
see no problems arising my good Lord. In fact I know that all your nobles will
be pleased to be back in the fold once more.
“God
you talk the most arrant nonsense at times even for an Archbishop, Nevertheless
I will be there. Tell everyone that they are offered safe passage and let us
get back to Governing a united
“Indeed, my Lord. Indeed my Lord” muttered Langton backing-out from the Royal presence.
As
the Archbishop shuffled through the corridors, his head buried in thought, he
could not resist a quiet smile. Yes he had done quite well. All this talk of
barons, and warriors, even Kings, it was really the administrators such as
himself who kept society in order. His
learning, his diplomatic skills, yes he was certain that he would go down in
history as a distinguished personage. It was good to be at the centre of
things, it was good to be needed, a Prince of the Church, someone of
importance. Thank God that he was who he was and neither a baron nor a peasant.
The Church had been valuable to him, it had got him where he was. Life was not
so bad after all even though
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Eleanor of Brittany smiled at Guy
de Buissant as he peered towards the assembly of barons gathered at
“Well Guy what do you think of all this?” inquired the Pearl of Brittany to her warrior-squire.
“My Lady who am I to say, but since you ask all hot air and wind if you ask me.”
“Bravely spoken Guy, but no-good points eh from the signing.”
“The peace agreement yes, but as for the document I heard someone call it ......”
“Never mind what people have called it Guy. If it had meant something then the King would have been hide-bound. Whoever put it together displayed excellent sense and good judgement, someone with a brain in their head that did not want to tie the King down. Just getting everyone here, ending the fighting that is a Herculean achievement in itself.”
The general chatter and murmuring amongst the assembled crowd was silenced as the King raised his hand to demand silence. The Archbishop moved forward to place the document before his monarch who merely smiled whimsically at the Prelate.
“Not a particularly devasting parchment to sign” almost smirked the King winking slyly at Stephen Langton “why it covers so many liberties, or rather so-called liberties that not many people will have much idea what its all about. Gets me safely off the hook nevertheless my good Archbishop.”
Langton
coughed nervously “Quite so, my
sign now, and if I may be so bold with some semblance of solemnity.”
“I will place the Great Seal of England on this Charter” beamed the King speaking seriously but glancing wryly at his Archbishop “a justification of the barons through and through” he hissed through the corner of his mouth, “what else is it? Still a mish-mash of clause, after clause, after clause it would take a genius to understand what all the clap-trap is about.”
John Lackland bowed with great magnificence and with a regal sweep of his arm added his Seal to the Magna Carta. There was barely any sound from the nobility, a feeling of unreality indeed, was all the trouble over by dint of a simple act from a beleaguered King? Gradually there was a stir, a few half-hearted cheers, a few grins, the odd twisted look, a few broad whispers, a strange response indeed to such an event.
“You see what an English King I am” almost grated the King addressing his nobles, then smiling “why I have signed a Charter which binds me to put into a position of authority no-one who does not understand the Law of the Land, and importantly is willing to observe it in its entirety. This Charter unites King and people together, are you, like me, ready to make England great, great as her reputation has made her, great as her warrior Kings have created her.”
The
immediate group of noblemen around the King shifted uneasily from one foot to
the other. It had almost seemed as if John Lackland had turned the tables on
them. His brief speech was a war-like, shield banging exhortation to the
Guy
de Buissant was enthralled by the proceedings. He reflected to himself that for
one of his less than exalted status he had featured in a number of events that
had involved people of high rank and standing. Many had bemoaned the
uncertainty of life especially in John’s reign but Guy had found it all a
challenge. In fact even now he could feel the adrenaline in his system. Inspite
of an, at times, studded
courtliness in his behaviour he was a spirited young man who felt fiercely and
indeed passionately about a number of issues.
“Your master will doubtless want you to collect the horses forthwith, we ride later today. I think the formal signing is over now.”
A jolt from the past, a never to be forgotten memory flooding back into his mind sent shock waves through the whole of his body. He looked to where the voice had come from, seemingly a noble lady addressing her servant on a fairly mundane type of errand. There was more to it than that though as sweet tender moments that he had savoured came back to him with all their earlier intensity. His eyes met the deep brown oracles of Saint Mary of Magdala, the unknown lady who had given him his first experience of life. Was it all those years ago, not many really, but like an eternity in view of all that had transpired subsequently. He gasped slightly then slowly lowered his eyes as nonchalantly as possible. Overcome with curiosity he looked-up again mesmerised by the person that had re-appeared after such a long time. Those deep, seemingly intense brown eyes, that jet black hair, that tall perfectly formed body all unchanged by the years - still she would on reflection be as young as he was - anyway such beauty was ageless, like the ocean, forever wild and desirable.
“Good-day to you sir. I hope you find me acceptable to your attentions, you have studied me deeply for a while now.”
“My lady I am sorry, a fleeting memory....”
“My dear young man rather more than that I hope I never forget a face although by my Faith I know rather more about you than merely your handsome visage.”
Guy blushed deeply and coughed slightly attracting the notice of Eleanor of Brittany by his side.
“Your Highness” blustered Guy “please to meet”... then stuttering realised that he had never known the name of his angelic vision, was she really the Saint of Biblical times, he could have sworn she was.
“Allow me to introduce myself, your Highness” interrupted Magdala smiling delightfully with complete self-composure “the gentleman was doubtless about to tell you my name.”
“Indeed” smiled the Pearl of Brittany, amused at Guy’s temporary discomfiture.
“My
name is Eggertrude of Norwich, I am married to Sir Simon of
“Indeed, indeed Lady Eggertrude I have heard the King speak in glowing terms of the good Sir Simon a most valiant warrior and a loyal and devoted follower in these difficult times. Were that all my Uncle’s people were so inclined and so resolved.”
Guy could scarce forebear to laugh. That angel of loveliness, that creature of so much tenderness and at the same so much fire and vibrance, that adorable, most beautiful of women, God, her name was Eggertrude! The name Mary of Magdala seemed so much more apposite, so appropriate. Yet the reality was.... Eggertrude .... still what’s in a name he thought. No-one was perfect, certainly not in these violent, untamed, unregulated times. Eggertrude - Mary of Magdala seemed so much better still no matter - Eggertrude the person was more than perfect in every respect, intelligent, beautiful, exciting, amusing, courageous, every single virtue. Yes, give it to her if she had to have a flaw let it be her name, that was beyond her control - she would always remain Mary of Magdala in his eyes and mind. So let it be!
As Eggertrude made her way from the Concourse, casting a last fleeting amused smile at Guy, Eleanor fixed her eyes on the squire. Guy’s equilibrium remained disturbed for a little longer as he turned to attempt some semblance of a fixed expression in response to the Princess’s gaze.
“Well,
well de Buissant” laughed the
“My Lady I ......”
“Oh come, come, dear Guy, no more pomposity I thought we had got that out of your system.”
“Yes, madam, indeed, but I would never wish to compromise a Lady.”
“Of
course not, Guy, you are an example to all
“Yes, you Highness!”
“God, you would never believe that we have had more than a tumble or two you and I, Guy. By the Faith of all the saints you can be a strait-laced one at times. Still it enables me to keep something of a reputation for probity and chastity among some of those starchy busy-bodies at Court - not that I see much of them where I spend my time under close confinement.”
“Not too close, my Lady.”
“Probably not, but don’t change the subject, Guy. In any case if that young lady was your first you show excellent taste. She obviously taught you a lot. In addition I have heard very good reports of her, this Eggertrude, a fine mind as well as a fine body. Her husband and her are a well-suited pair, in fact Uncle John does not deserve such fidelity and efficiency. More like those two, Sir Simon and his wife, and we would not be in the pretty pickle that we are in now. Still the Magna Carta, as some call it now, has been signed, that might give us all a brief respite.”
“I hope so, my Lady” resumed Guy, glad that the conversation had now taken a slightly different direction “the King deserves some time to get his house in order and show to his subjects what an effective monarch he can be.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Hugh, for God’s sake what’s that ....”
Rolf
de Claimant woke suddenly from his fitful sleep, a loud crash, emanating from
where the Lord only knew, had disturbed his troubled rest as he sought to gain
a brief few hours of respite. The voyage had been proceeding as well as could
have been expected given the tense relationship between most of the crew and
their Captain and mate now allied to the former prisoners. The destination had
been
“We’ve struck something, God knows what. This puzzles me I thought that we had navigated this area quite well.”
Hugh seemed totally surprised by this new dramatic development.
Rolf
muttered to himself. He thought that he had been quite astute not landing at
We cannot be far from the coast anyway” barked Rolf “let me up on deck I know this area as well as most.”
The Captain raced up the ladder with his mate following close behind to inspect the damage and ascertain the geographical location. The winds were starting to build-up and they both swayed giddily on the slippery surface underfoot.
“The
coast is not far away at all” slightly enthused Rolf. “We must be somewhere
between
“Seems good sense, skipper” nodded Hugh. “What do we do about that swine Hagon?”
“Free him, we are well rid of most of our ex-compatriots let them look to themselves, all good luck to them, but we don’t want them following us around when we reach land.”
There was another sudden crashing sound as the ship began to flounder and vast quantities of water began to overwhelm the injured vessel. Hugh felt himself being flung forward and just managed to grasp onto a mast. There were people running about, all sense of discipline gone. It was pointless staying on the wreck much longer, for that is what it had become now. Rolf was ushering the women up on deck and Hugh looked with amusement to see Athelfreda and Elle struggling with the former’s oak chest. They were obviously determined that when they reached land they had more than merely the clothes and possessions they stood up in. A sensible precaution if they could find a raft to support them.
Hugh waited until he had seen Rolf get the women to the edge of the ship and then with sword and axe, whatever was to hand he helped to hack-off pieces of the vessel. He managed to manufacture what passed for floating mini-boats in his own amused mind, barely a few feet long, but a number of rafts which provided they had not far to go, would see them to the shore.
“Damnation to you!” Hugh turned to see the foul-mouthed Hagon standing over him with sword in hand. “Don’t look for much support either, I have done for William and Alfred, your loyal friends. A thrust of steel and a watery grave for the both of them. Now its your turn, and when I find him that fop Rolf too.”
“So, my evil foe” snapped Hugh “even at this severe pass you are spitting venom, still not reconciled. Is there any salvation for you?”
“Not from your sort anyway” sneered Hagon. “Prepare to die a watery death, but taste my steel first.”
The
villainous seaman cum brigand swung his sword clumsily at Hugh who even with
the disadvantage of standing on a rapidly declining vessel, submerging below
sea level, had time to adroitly step away. Hagon ignored his own ineptitude and
rushed straight at Hugh. He had barely moved, however, before the intrepid
defender brought his axe crashing-down on the villain’s skull. Hagon let out an
almost inaudible gasp then sank down to his knees before crashing on the deck.
He would
have no need of a raft of any description, he had met his nemesis, probably too
quickly for such a black-hearted rogue.
Another massive wave almost devoured the sagging wreck and at the same time sent Hugh floundering into the swirling sea. Strong swimmer as he was he felt powerless against the choppy waves, and with mouth-full after mouth-full of salt water choking him he felt his lungs close to bursting. In circumstances such as these it was almost pure luck as to whether or not he would survive, better to just offer no resistance and hope that fate was on his side. Suddenly he felt himself being pitched forward. As he went under once again he felt his knees hit something. He stretched out his arms and shook his head which was now above water. Incredibly he was lying on a grimy beach. How long had he been tossed about in the sea? No matter, saturated and dishevelled as he was, he was safe, only let’s hope the others were in similar condition.
As Hugh staggered ahead he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Rolf wading behind him.
“Skipper, thank the Lord that you have survived. We were pretty close to the shore after all. I’ve done for Hagon but sadly William and Alfred had tasted death at his hands.
“That’s evil news” responded Rolf. “Well the ladies appear all right. Athelfreda is surveying her precious treasure chest. Just like a woman she was determined that must not be lost at any cost.”
Hugh looked ahead and saw a huddle of women namely Flavia, Jacquetta, Rosa Reebald all shivering in wet, now straggling clothes. Elle and and Athelfreda were sorting out the oak chest which they had prised open. Nowhere could be seen the mutinous crew - they needed to be taken care of in some way or another. Not necessarily violently, now that their ring-leader Hagon had gone they were likely to be more amenable to reason.
“Come on ladies Hugh and I will give you a hand with your effects. We must find an inn somewhere so that we can rest up awhile and plan our movements from then on.”
“Indeed!”
piped-up Flavia somewhat sardonically “You were going to trade us
for money, have us living as servants....”
“No my dear girl, you would have lived quite a good life. Anyway enough of that I’ve jettisoned that idea, I’m resolved on your safety.”
“What? Can a rogue change his ways?” almost sneered Flavia.
“So the Good Book tells us, madam” interposed Jacquetta the maid “if I may make so bold why don’t we give Rolf the benefit of the doubt, he is after all our only real hope.”
“Yes Rolf has been particularly good to us” reminded Athelfreda.
“Certainly
to you” almost snapped
“Don’t be so bitchy” interposed Reebald “Athelfreda is a gracious lady with charming manners and a good sensible head on her shoulders.”
“I’ll second that” responded Flavia “now for God’s sake let’s all stop being such whinging washer-women and try and co-operate. How well we do that depends on how successful we are in reaching safety.”
“Certainly” agreed Athelfreda “I for one regard you all as my friends, let’s undertake this enterprise in a spirit of good will with everyone ready to do whatever is required for our mutual benefit.”
“Good girl” smiled Rolf “we need to get off this rugged-looking beach, Heaven knows what muck and filth is floating about here. Let’s get somewhere where we can have a good wash and scrub-down and a change of clothes.”
“Quite
the gentleman of style, our Rolf is he not?” smiled
“Rolf was a knight and is much more of a nobleman in the real sense of the word than many of the English barons.” interjected Athelfreda. “Half of them at least have hardly seen water let alone have they washed in it. What a foul-smelling bunch they are, as for manners, well I’ve seen more elegant pigs than most of them.”
“Thank you Athelfreda” grinned de Claimant bowing graciously “I feel, however, that the speeches should finish now. Follow me and we will see if we can find any form of habitation here.”
The
little band of companions, thrust together in somewhat unusual circumstances,
began their stumbling progress along the coast. The light was
beginning to fade and it was more and more essential that they found shelter
somewhere. A further consideration was that being English they would have to be
selective about who they spoke to and confided in. The French were not the most
hospitable of people as far as the inhabitants of the land beyond the
Time was difficult to judge in these conditions and just when Rolf and his band were giving up hope of meeting anyone at all a fierce-looking almost skeletal individual came into their view. The most notable features of this person were his penetrating eyes and sallow skin which seemed to be almost stretched in the tautest of fashion across his mask-like face. For almost an eternity the man remained staring at them barely moving except for a slight shifting from one foot to another. It was difficult to gauge either his age or status in society because he was attired very simply but not inexpensively, wearing for protection only a short dagger at his side. The near silence was broken as the man commenced either by design or as the result of a nervous affliction to click his tongue on his broken teeth.
“Qui se ressemble s’assemble!”
The group of shipwrecked companions started suddenly as they heard this exclamation in French. They looked again at the Skull-head barely believing that he had actually spoken. And yet his lips were not moving he looked in their direction but not really at them as if he were in some kind of trance.
“The man is a Frenchman doubtless” muttered Hugh.
“Cela va sans dire, mon ami” exploded a very mirthful voice “bien que quoique dans cet vivre il ne faut jurer de rien. Vous êtes anglais n’est-ce que pas?”
“Vous êtes à bout de soufflé? Allez-vous à tâtons le long de la côte?”
It
gradually dawned upon the English travellers that the man who held their
attention was not responsible for these latest comments. As they shifted their
gaze away they beheld three more strangers, two on horseback and another very
solidly-built individual well-armed but on foot. The mounted Frenchman who had
made the first couple of humorous comments was dressed well but extremely
casually. He was dark-bearded, very muscular and athletic, of the average
height and in his early middle years. The sword he wore was sheathed in an
elaborate scabbard but otherwise
everything about him seemed purely functional. A down-to-earth no nonsense
character was this, capable of laughter as he had demonstrated but also with an
air of command which hinted at one who would breech no disobedience. The other
gentleman was of a seemingly different personality, well-groomed to the point
of extravagance. He was attentive of his appearance to the point of wearing the
most expensive perfume “more associated with a woman” thought Hugh to himself -
his clothing was sewn with rich jewels and his feet were shod with the most
fashionable of court slippers. He too had a fiercesome weapon at his side and
inspite of his effete, dandified appearance gave more than an impression that
he knew how to handle himself.
“Vous avez voyagé en bateau ou en navire?” enquired the seemingly foppish individual.
“En navire, monsieur” responded Rolf “Dites-moi où nous sommes s’il vous plaît.”
“Berck-Plage mon ami” smiled the dark-bearded Frenchman “la brume est épaisse ici toujous. In fact” he added speaking in English with a clear, if slightly affected accent “ a veritable hell-hole.”
“I
suppose we must be about, what, 25 to 30 miles South of
“Your geography is sound, my dear friend but why, if I may make so bold, are you wandering along our coast-line? What happened to your proud ship, is it anchored near-by?”
“I think it is pointless giving you a cock and bull story” responded the scar-faced Rolf “our vessel is wrecked beyond repair.”
“ The shore-line is difficult to follow, n’est-ce que pas” interupted the other mounted, more dandified Frenchman revealing at the same time that he too had some command of the English tongue.
“It
is indeed. Of course” continued Rolf somewhat ruefully “we are not too far from
“Unfortunate
for you Englishmen” grinned the swarthy dark avised athlete
revealing a fine row of healthy teeth.
“It is not polite to gloat, mon ami” intoned the other Frenchman “pardon my companion’s manners, he is very direct at times, sometimes over direct. However, that is no matter I feel that as hosts here it is our privilege, nay our duty to put you up somewhere. I take it that you have not made alternative plans?”
“No certainly not” replied Rolf “I am not too bothered about Hugh and myself but the young ladies with us will be catching their death of cold. I would accord it a favour if you could see to their wants, that would be a kindness.”
“Say no more” bowed the elegantly dressed horseman “my friend here will gladly surrender his mount, and so will I. At least two of the ladies can ride. Fortunately we have not far to go although it is lucky that we came across you.”
“Your names sir” interposed Rolf “it does seem strange that we are being offered hospitality but have no way of thanking-you by name.”
“My name is Hugh, like that of your henchman and my determined and formidable friend here - indeed my brother believe it or not is named Ralph.”
You are sharp of ear my friend” grinned Rolf who proceeded to detail his own appellation and those of his little party. He was, however, careful to avoid giving away too many details about the reasons for their voyage. He did nonetheless intimate that there had been some trouble with the members of the crew who he regarded with less than admiration.
“I know, I know” mused the brother named Ralph “servants, good servants that is are so difficult to find. These two retainers of ours are worth their weight in gold, as reliable as ...”
“Philip Augustus” smiled his brother Hugh, causing both men to burst into fits of laughter.
“Ah yes your good King” muttered Rolf de Claimant “I would not wish to become involved in internal politics....”
“Infernal
politics, my lad” laughed Ralph the Frenchman “we’ve had enough of it in recent
times. Whatever they say about him, not a few of us have some regard for your
King John Lackland. He has had a bit of bad luck, but he does not lose too much
in comparison with his late warlike brother, the Lion-Heart.” The man’s brother
scowled inwardly as if expressing some disagreement with that statement.
“Anyway,” he interposed, “enough of this talk let us get the good people to some safe accommodation. Abbeville is the best prospect, I feel.”
“Agreed, let us ride-on before this foul weather is the death of all of us” responded Ralph
“Your brother’s command of English like yours is excellent , if I may be so bold as to express an opinion” confided Rolf to Ralph.
“God yes, he is a proud one that, generally thinks a slight on his honour to be heard conversing in a foreign language. Nonetheless he speaks a few tongues, we French nobles are better bred than your English barons, n’est-ce que pas?”
“Nobles?” gulped de Claimant “I, indeed we are honoured my lords, by such attention.”
“No matter!” almost waved away, Ralph “in any case I think that I recognise the very fair young lady there as someone I met in exalted company once.”
Athelfreda started slightly as her mind went back to a day a few years ago when a peacock, popinjay Frenchman had come on a special diplomatic mission, and she had been in the company of her lover, William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, brother to King John.
“What the hell’s all this about?” muttered Rolf’s man Hugh.
“‘L’ has a lot to do with it” half-smiled Athelfreda. “If I am not mistaken this gentleman here is Ralph de Luisignan”
“Parfaitement, madame” Ralph replied bowing deeply “and now Count of Eu. Permit me to give you my brother’s full title, also a Count, très important, en effet Le Comte de La Marche, Hugh de Lusignan.”
Athelfreda
and Rolf whistled almost simultaneously the capable-looking, businesslike
warrior was none other than one of
“This
is not the time to engage in discussion about family trees” intoned Hugh de
Lusignan “we needs must reach our destination soon I like not this weather, the
sea spray and biting rain eats into one’s bones, why it’s almost as foul as
your English
climate. Come let us go as swift as we can, if need be we can talk in more
detail later.”
The strangely mixed band of companions progressed as quickly as was feasible given the conditions. The now driving rain did not help matters as those on foot staggered one way and then another as they were buffeted all over the place. Even those on horse-back had difficulties as the handsome beasts that carried them whinnied and neighed with the capricious impatience of the well-bred. After what seemed a life-time a solidly-built mansion-house came into view. A few beggarly-looking individuals cast furtive glances at the travellers but then slithered away on their own business. The habitation seemed almost a mistake of planning as it stood there so imperiously with very little else surrounding it but grimy, foul-smelling hovels. The de Luisgnan brothers strode ahead with the Comte de La Marché bellowing fiercely at the gate to be allowed entrance. A subdued-looking servant came running to open up to the fierce demands of the Lord and with his eyes firmly fixed on the ground ushered in the group.
“Quite
a neat little place” enthused Flavia “I’ve not come across anything like this
back in
“Not
exactly a cross between a king’s palace, and, say, the
“Kindly follow-me up these stairs, ladies and gentlemen” almost commanded the Comte de La Marché “this place is owned by a distant relative of mine who is, of course, at your command. If you turn right at the top of the stairs you will find suitable washing facilities including a couple of baths at least. Please avail yourselves of whatever you feel appropriate.”
The bedraggled English hurried-up behind the French noble, after all the misadventures that they had suffered and the pounding that they had taken from the storm and driving rain this was sheer heaven.
“There are separate rooms enough for you all” continued de La Marché “do not stand on ceremony just carry on to your right and select your own little abode.”
Athelfreda
was quick to find a moderately-sized bath and drag it into her selected room.
How she had dreamed of this, well almost despaired of it happening,
now she could get out of her
mud-bespattered clothes. What would her lover William Longsword, Earl of
The English woman decided to banish these deep, philosophical thoughts from her mind and concentrate on the job in hand. She quickly stripped-off and barely noticing how cold or how warm the water was stepped into her bath. God, what luxury it was to feel good clear water caressing her body taking away all the aches and pains of the long tortured journey begun so long ago. Not just the trip from the ship-wrecked vessel but from that time when Rolf had captured her and Elle. What irony that Rolf had subsequently developed into a close ally. Yes, of course, Rolf - she had momentarily forgotten about him - he was a strange man - capable of great kindness but an outlaw, a bandit really, a good man gone wrong? Was it a wise move to become so involved with him, nothing but pain and misery would come out of the association. The man with the strong handsome frame but a devilish scar spoiling his otherwise acceptable looks. But it was not appearances she was thinking about. What of Rolf’s soul? Was he really contrite?
“Is my lady finding everything to her wishes?”
Athelfreda started as she looked-up and saw the smiling visage of the Comte de La Marché but ten feet away.
“Excellent”
responded the English lady quite confounded by the sudden appearance of the
French noble. Regaining her composure, however, and realising the impropriety
of the Comte’s arrival in her quarters unannounced and alone, she glared
straight at him.
“Please do not think me an ingrate” continued Athelfreda “but is it the French custom to interrupt a lady in the middle of her bath? Is privacy not a feature of your establishment? You will also note that we are without a chaperone.”
“Come, come, dear lady” laughed de La Marché “this situation is surely not new to you. Remember also I am regarded highly in this realm of ours. Why when Philip’s son Prince Louis becomes King of France I will be even more influential. A wise and solid monarch will Louis become when he gets the chance.”
“On that subject, my Lord” intervened Athelfreda “you would do well to remember the pious nature of the prince. He is, I hear on good report, a dutiful husband to his wife the Princess Blanche of Castille. Unusual for a prince he has had no mistresses as far as one can tell and is extremely strait-laced and sober in behaviour. I trust that he would frown upon your behaviour now.”
“Well, well” gloated Hugh de Luisignan” quite a political expert is our Athelfreda. From my brother Ralph I do know at least something about you. Close to King John’s half-brother eh? What’s it like to be the play-thing of an English Earl? How vigorous are these English nobles”
“Sir!” almost shouted Athelfreda “your language and your attitude is becoming most un-gentlemanly. If you purport to be a great noble, then show magnanimity to your guests and behave like one.”
“‘Tis no matter” laughed de La Marché “you are, as you state, my guests here. Where else can you go, and to what purpose? Still those two cut-throat dogs that you have with you, I have little use for them.”
“They have been very kind to both myself and the other women” admonished Athelfreda.
“Don’t insult my powers of investigation” barked the Comte “They are known to be outlaws of a particularly despicable type. Why I would have thought that you would have been pleased to see them out of your way.”
“They saved our lives....”
“So did I! My dear girl another hour or two in this atrocious weather and you would have frozen to death.”
“Sarcasm is not an attractive trait, my Lord.”
“Well then, if you agree to become more tolerant towards me, more kindly disposed we may change our attitude towards the two gentlemen. It all depends on you, but cross me and seek to go against my wishes and you will find a harsher Comte de La Marché than you have so far experienced.”
The nobleman turned quickly on his heel and had vanished from view almost as suddenly as when he had appeared. Athelfreda groaned inwardly. Why was it that when everything seemed to be improving a period, of near-contentment was almost on the horizon, that fate played an ugly trick on her? It would require all her considerable intellect and highly focused mind to extricate herself from this situation. Still all was not lost, she had been in worse positions before and had come through. No, she was far from beaten yet!
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Archbishop of
“You are in some distress....” began Abbot Roger sensing with not a great deal of difficulty that the Archbishop was not in one of his better moods.
“I might as well get rid of all this pomp and ceremony and become one of your monks, Roger. Why did I have to live in this age when so much hassle and bickering destroys all attempt to live a life of solitude and grace?”
“Life without stress is a life untested” suggested Roger.
“Perhaps if you had held high office such I have had to, your views would probably have been different.” snapped Langton with considerable rancour.
“No-one is happy about
“Indeed, indeed!” almost stormed
Langton “but it was necessary to establish a rapprochement between the King and
his nobles. They considered that John Lackland was the chief disturber of the
peace and not themselves. I sensibly refused to publish a sentence of
Excommunication and because of this, an alleged weakness in the face of
baronial pressure, I am suspended from office by the papal commissioners. All
of
Roger smiled slightly “The Charter was only a temporary measure, both Reasea and myself realised that when we helped to draw it up. A few years from now, who will remember it? Cheer up, my Lord Archbishop you still have your friends.”
“Yes, but what a mess this great
nation of our’s is now in. Fire and sword as devastating as in King Stephen’s
day. Have you heard what went on at
“Indeed, my Lord, yes. In fact,
Reginald of Cornhill held the royal castle at
Langton flashed an angry glance at
the Abbot “Reginald!” snorted the
Archbishop. “He did very well for himself that individual. A pity that when the
Army of God, as the nobles hostile to the King insist on calling themselves,
arrived he offered no resistance whatsoever.”
“Yes, but what an opportunity for our King” grinned Roger. “He took control of a handful of men and set-out to subdue the castle forthwith.”
“Somewhat impetuously I feel” gloated Langton in pompous fashion. “It showed that the King regarded the noble rebels with less than full consideration. Never underestimate your opponents under any circumstances, that’s sound advice.”
“‘I know them well enough’ said John Lackland” replied Roger in response to Langton’s condemnation “‘they are not to be made much of or feared. We could safely fight them with fewer men than we have’.”
“Bold words indeed!” smirked the Archbishop.
“Yes but the King’s confidence was not without reason, was it my Lord?. The castle was not well provisioned was it?. True it was well-manned by ninety-five knights and forty-five men-at-arms under William d’Albini, Lord of Belvoir. I would rank him one of the best of the rebel commanders. A difficult nut to crack I agree. But what energy the King displayed under such difficulties. There’s more of the Lion-Heart in him than people give credit for.”
Abbot Roger smiled almost as if in a
trance, almost as if he had some fellow-feeling for the King in his military
ambitions. He could almost see the Plantagenet monarch in front of him leading
his small but effective army. Indeed if he could have seen John he would have
been impressed. The rebels, the scurvy knaves ill-befitted to hold baronial
rank had already like the false rogues they were begun negotiations with the
French. Just let the defenders hold-out against the King for a little while and
the French invaders would arrive and rescue them. To hell with patriotism, did
it exist, wasn’t
“Sirrah!” barked John to one of his
subalterns “ I want all the smiths in
The King showed up well in the forthcoming activity. Not sparing himself and riding close to the castle ramparts he put some of his own followers in fear for his life.
“My
“In
“Even so my good Lord we have not made too much progress recently. Our determination is faultless but the resistance is at least a hindrance.”
“Yes, yes, sirrah!” snapped the King “we must mine the castle. Pass on my orders to dig a tunnel, we’ll shore-it up with timbers, fill it with materials that will burn and explode. Get on with it, time is now of the essence.”
When the timbers started to burn what a conflagration that was. Low and behold John saw, what was it, one of the corner towers of the keep come smashing, crashing down. No-one, however brave could resist this for much longer, the capitulation must come soon. Wave upon wave of grimy, throat-tearing, eye-watering clouds of smoke rose column upon column almost rising seemingly into the heavens.
Victory, this was victory, John was
confident even before the surrender came. It was one of those occasions when
John knew that events were very much turning his way. He would show them what a
warrior-King he was. A damn good administrator to boot, not just a thick-headed
militarist, he was a balanced, cerebral individual, God
“What is it, about seven weeks since the siege began” mused John “11th October it all started, damned obstinate beggars they deserved more than they got from the barons. If I had been in the same situation as the nobles I would have sent in some supplies, or tried to have relieved the castle. Typical of those gutless swine. Lions led by brainless pack-horses.”
“Any orders about the garrison, sire?” enquired a retainer.
“To be honest” half-grinned the King “I had felt tempted to hang the entire lot of them but then I remembered who had let them down, the filthy barons. The people in there are just ill-advised, the great and glorious lords who are their leaders would not give a fig if I had all their loyal servants and followers butchered.”
The King glanced to his right as he saw a group of enemy soldiers being led away.
“That man there” he snorted “I know him, by Devil I do, bring him before me.”
A sulky, grimacing individual was dragged and pushed before Lackland who stood there surveying him intently. He remembered that face, God could it be true? A stout-hearted fiercely independent villain. But was that the right title to confer upon him. Someone he had considered loyal. “Same name as myself” muttered John “a rugged, reliable supporter, a good servant, blast it can anyone be trusted these days?”
“Sirrah!” voiced the King maintaining direct eye contact with his namesake “you have been in my household since youth, one of my finest crossbowmen.”
“You are too kind, sire” replied the man.
“You may not think so from now on” rasped the King “I may be merciful with the others, they can be ransomed, but as for you, you’ll hang till corruption takes you.”
“My liege is that how you regard loyalty?”
“What? You dare to use that word with me, you turned against me, why?”
“Even a King cannot be right all the time, the people’s rights must be protected.”
“By whom, sirrah? The barons? What have they ever done for the people of this Country? Precious little, other than exploiting them for their own purposes. You are more stupid than wicked. ‘Tis no matter, you have known me as my retainer, have a greater need than those others to have shown obedience to me. When a pet animal, a dog turns and bites his master, the master is more hurt than if a stranger cur had rounded upon him.”
“A pet dog, a cur, is that how you
regard me?” snapped the crossbowman
“God I’m just as much a man as you for all your royal airs and graces.”
“Enough of that!” snarled the King “take the fellow away and hang him. There is a limit to how much bilge I can digest. See that he dies slowly and is aware of what is happening to him. I only wish I had one of the barons at my mercy.”
“Hypocrite!” roared John the crossbowman “they have the best of both Worlds. They carry too much rank and importance. They can commit murder but when a truce is signed they remain unpunished. It’s one rule for the filthy rich and another one for the poor!”
“God, you should have been my Chancellor” sneered John “My Kingdom is full of people who know how to rule better than me. Even so it wont save your neck. Take the fellow away and dispatch him. Enough is enough.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“To what do I owe this pleasure?
enquired Princess Eleanor of
The pleasure is mine entirely my
Lady” responded the hardy warrior facing the
“So what plans are you involved in, de Mauléon, or are they military secrets not fit for the ears of a chaste young maid?”
“Probably not, my
“Well Savary I will say one thing you are more fun than the King’s whey-faced little brat, my cousin Henry.”
“Have you been in his company recently then?” enquired the man of action.
“Hell yes. In August the King deposited his Queen my Aunt Isabella and Henry at Corfe for safety reasons. Thank God the stay was short. Isabella is basically alright I suppose. A bit stuck-up, yet I remember a few years ago she was fairly good fun. It seems funny calling her Aunt seeing that we are approximately of an age - well who is counting anyway? She dotes on that boring son of hers.”
“You cannot blame her for that” suggested de Mauléon “and, to boot, he is the heir to the throne.”
“I may have made criticisms in the
past about my Uncle John but this lad is so insipid. I never thought that I
would ever say this but I hope that the King lasts a few more years yet, What
on earth would happen to
“He is only eight years of age, madam” grimaced de Mauléon “give him time to grow and mature into a lusty young prince.”
“Lusty?” almost gulped the Princess “mark my words a dull, pompous little God know’s what will never be anything but a humourless faint-heart. I would even suggest that Stephen Langton has more about him than what this Prince will become.”
“My Lady is in a quirky mood, is it
the wrong time of the month, perhaps too
much tension?” De Mauléon had barely finished the sentence before he
felt a fierce hand striking him about the ears.
“You scoundrel!” snapped the
“My dear Lady” responded a crest-fallen de Mauléon. However, his open-mouthed incredulity turned to a gust of laughter as the Princess also began to guffaw in the most rumbustious fashion.
“You should have recognised the
Argevin blood in me, sirrah!” resumed the
“You are very gracious my dear, what are your orders now?”
The
“I am entirely at my Lady’s command, what special attentions can I give you, just say the word” beamed Savary bowing slowly with almost the poise of a courtier.
“Yes my warrior come caress my back, you have, if I remember a gentle touch for a military man, one that can take away a thousand aches and pains. Come quickly and obey my every whim.”
De Mauléon was swiftly at the
Princess’s couch smoothing her silky flesh with as tender hands as a hard,
rugged soldier could muster. With sensuous athleticism the
“God, Savary” yelped the Princess laughing uproariously “you just missed my right nostril by about half an inch with that great foot of yours.”
“A thousand pardons, divine Lady” apologised the mercenary. “I was overcome by your beauty, my sincere......”
“Never mind, my dear de Mauléon I am still here in one piece. Let us forget apologies and resume the very interesting action.”
The routier felt his body at once
stiffen and then melt as if under the glare of a thousand suns. For some reason
he felt the mixture of heat and cold all at once. His body shivered and yet he
could feel the perspiration rolling down his face. Some divine interaction
perhaps but it was as if he was on a heavenly journey through
“Lie with me just a while longer, Princess.” De Mauléon could only just recognise his own voice as if he was speaking in a trance. He found it difficult to focus his mind properly, who would want to under these circumstances, there was rare pleasure in being relaxed and uncoordinated, just lying there, supine, but what joyous non-action. What a change from his day-to-day work in the field, wielding a sword or axe, exacting retribution on his enemies, some difference this!
“Les reins, la cuisse, les jambes
sont magnifique” murmured the routier
“Donnez-moi les lèvres.
Je suis au septiòme
ciel.”
“Tu es toqué“ laughed Eleanor “tu es un nocour, un mauvais example par une princess.”
“Tu es plus charmante que jamais. Il y a un siecle qu’on ne tu a vu.....”
“Parle anglais quand tu es en
Angleterre” interrupted the
“You are incorrigible my dear girl” laughed Savary.
“Never mind de Mauléon what plans are you currently involved with?”
“Ah yes, back to work” groaned the
mercenary “King John held a council at
“And what, I pray Savary my love are
you doing here in
“I diverted slightly to pay you a call my Lady. One so close in blood to the King deserves honour and attention. Duty is everything to me....”
“I know, I know” grinned the Princess “you are a healthy rogue, one who has, shall we say, ....”
“My Lady!” expostulated a shocked de Mauléon “I always do my duty. Would you deprive me of a little fun, a little entertainment prior to the pursuit of that duty.”
“Don’t be so priggish you saucy rogue” roared Eleanor in great gusts of laughter “I enjoy your company, I love to tease you as well as titillate and captivate you.”
“You certainly achieve that dear Eleanor” smiled Savary “I am glad that you are so understanding to a tried and tested warrior.”
“Of course, my bold mercenary
captain but should you not be encompassing that fine form of yours in cold
steel. My Uncle surely needs his support to be in place as quickly as possible.
You are the strong man of the three entrusted to your latest venture. The Earl
of Salisbury is a good drinking companion of the King but limited
in some respects. As for Fawkes de Bréauté
he has his abilities - yes a noble warrior. Nonetheless if I were in a tight
spot I would look to your brave spirit, your rugged experience and flair. You
would be my knight, the one to whom I would turn.”
“My lady does me more honour than I deserve. Nonetheless I will respond to that hint and get ready; a naked soldier is of service to no-one I must arm and prepare to give my all for your - or rather our - sovereign Lord.”
Eleanor smiled to herself considering that she was a Princess under guard, one who was allegedly kept under close scrutiny her life had been quite free. Yes she had not, so far, worn a crown but probably more importantly she was valued by someone who ruled as King. Her virtues and abilities had been recognised. No milk-sop fair-complexioned, fainting young girl was she but a real woman who knew how to use her strengths and talents to the full. Long may that remain so.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Athelfreda started suddenly. After all the earlier events culminating in the confronation with the Comte de La Marché she was very much living on the edge of her nerves. There was a distinct tapping noise at the door of her room, very staccato extremely sharp and almost agitated. If it had been the Comte he would have loudly demanded entrance. No it must be someone else, but who? Well only one way go to the door and see who it was.
The noble Englishwoman moved quickly and almost silently and opened-up to the insistent enquirer. Peering into the dark she made out the stalwart figure of the pirate captain Rolf de Claimont. Before she had a chance to utter a word he had placed his hand over her mouth.
“No need to fear” he whispered “please do not cry out, I wish to have a brief discussion with you.”
Rolf released Athelfreda and with a wave of his hand ushered her to the interior of her own room.
“I followed de La Marché to your room earlier, and overheard the last portion of the conversation. I was lurking outside and so only picked-up part of the story. As I suspected the Comte is a determined fellow who will brook no interference. He probably does not remember me but inspite of not appearing to recognise him at our earlier encounter .......”
“What do you mean Rolf?” enquired Athelfreda.
“Some years ago I was in a
deputation with Savary de Mauléon
the Poitevan mercenary. It was all about the
“What was he like then? I realise that with the fortunes of war unlikely bedfellows are flung together. In the same way some opponents can sometimes develop into friends.”
“Yes Athelfreda” mused Rolf “but I would not place that arrogant, status-orientated de La Marché in the latter class. A cold fish that one, I would find it hard
to genuinely trust him.”
“I trust him” snapped the young woman “I trust him for what he is, a vicious unprincipled swine. Anyone who would seek to take advantage of someone under his protection is worthy of only contempt.”
“I agree but he is an efficient warrior and well regarded amongst his peers. His brother seems a more amenable individual but not one to stand-up against de La Marché unless there was a particularly good reason.
“Well what do we do now? How can we make a satisfactory get-away?”
“Bide our time for the moment, dear Lady. Wait for our opportunity, I agree sooner rather than later, but not just now. Everyone will be on the look-out for some movement on our part, lull the Frenchies into a false sense of security first.”
“Alright but watch out for Hugh and yourself. Remember de La Marché is not too squeamish about how he treats you. He purports to have some sensibilities to myself and the other women but against you two men he is ruthless in the extreme.”
“Don’t worry Athelfreda we have both survived against more difficult odds have Hugh and I.”
“Well, fair enough but do be careful.”
“Thank-you for your concern” smiled Rolf “would you object to a quick caress, we may not have the opportunity again for some considerable time.”
“Speed is not necessarily a good policy in all matters” responded Athelfreda “for some things slowness and deliberation give greatest joy.”
Athelfreda quickly disrobed and
flinging her arms round Rolf pulled him hungrily to her. The pirate chief
offered no resistance when the young woman led him to her couch. That fierce
burning in his temples was on him again. What an amazing human being was this
friend of the Earl of Salisbury. Rolf sought to focus his mind, take control
but in Athelfreda’s power he seemed totally helpless. His body could function
but only as an adjunct to his love-partner’s passionate movements. Strange as
it appeared his brain was now virtually in a cloud unable to discern between
time and space. All the past events were swept clean out of his mind. He was
young again swimming against a tide of flagrant flowers which engulfed his
whole body. There was laughter and a tender throbbing which took control of
him. His
shoulder-blades quivered and shook and now he was interchangeable with
Athelfreda as his whole being was subsumed within something greater than
himself. He heard a cry, was it his own, but not of pain rather of total joy as
he crashed yet ever so gently into a brave new World.
“Do you generally take-up so much of the bed?”
Rolf was brought back to reality by the cheerful tones of Athelfreda. He turned to face her his brow glistening with sweat. Suddenly he realised where he was and the hazards that faced them. Still they were not in immediate danger and it was good both for the body and the soul to relax in the path of pressure. There was only so much that the human body could take. The delirious experience that they had shared was a great contribution to easing both their troubled minds.
Rolf subsequently dressed and giving Athelfreda a cheeky wink he left her room to return to his own quarters. Having been a man of action for much of his life he had developed an extra sense that could identify trouble before it arrived. Suddenly he stiffened, anticipating something untoward he pressed his back against the wall, seeking to become as unobtrusive as possible. His premonition was correct, walking arrogantly down the corridor was the Comte de La Marché. A stern-faced older man was keeping him company. Quietly but reasonably well-dressed this individual looked to be some servant of senior standard. Everything about him was precise even to the point of a short neatly-clipped black beard. Someone who doubtless was used to obeying orders and following them out to the letter.
“
“I thank-you for that confidence in me master. I have memorised everything to the last detail. Never fear the problem will be eradicated as speedily as it has arrived.”
“Good, I find that I need never repeat anything to you. How is that son of yours, Pierre, is he growing-up strong and well?”
“Yes and no monsieur Le Comte”
responded
possibly an archer, or man-at-arms.
“Well tell me if I can be of any help on that front. I would welcome a sturdy youth amongst my retainers.”
With that comment the Comté swiftly turned on his heel, with just a parting shot “Remember Pierre if you want me I will be in conference with Prince Louis. God be praised our King Philip has many years left to him but pious Louis, the chaste faithful Louis should be monarch of England before the New Year is upon us, or at least not much after.”
Rolf’s mouth almost dropped in
anguish. He had been out of touch with events for a good few months now. What
had happened? Had the French become involved in the war in
De Claimont dressed quickly and made his way to Hugh’s room. There were no lights when he entered and the whole area had a quiet, spectral appearance about it. Rolf made good at least part of this inadequacy by gingerly searching for a candle and then, moving cat-like to the door, sought a light from one of the burning tapers outside. Re-entering Hugh’s quarters he moved towards the bed where his friend lay apparently oblivious to the whole World.
“Hugh!” whispered Rolf fiercely “Hugh, wake-up there is something I must tell you.”
“Hugh will awake no more, Englishman!”
De Claimont spun round to confront Pierre, the stern-jowled retainer. The faithful, dogged servant of the Comté had a look of sheer malevolence on his face, the closest to passion that that slavish individual could probably muster.
“What do you mean, knave?” snarled
Rolf “In any case what are you doing
here?”
“My work is done already” snapped
“You fiend!” roared de Claimont “What cowardice is this? Defend yourself now against an opponent who is awake.”
With that the Englishman drew his
sword and thrust at the Frenchman. The latter showing more alacrity than might
have been expected from one of his years sprung aside and simultaneously flung
his cloak over Rolf’s lighted candle which he held in his left, non-sword hand.
The room was in near total darkness but Rolf felt his street-wise experience
would see him through. Damn it, he had struck his shin on Hugh’s bed. He
hobbled about, saw a shape then thrust and missed. God, if only he could see
his enemy, that had been Hugh’s misfortune too. He must keep his mind clear, he must focus properly, this
“Ah-h!” Rolf gasped in pain as he
felt his enemy’s sword cut into his right shoulder. However, that was the
opportunity that he was ironically waiting for.
What to do next was the problem
immediately confronting him. The residence consisted mainly of people asleep
but obviously there would be people on duty dotted here and there. His thought
process was disturbed by a muffled cry of pain nearby. He turned to see
“Good job I had just about recovered my senses, captain.”
Rolf looked-up to see the grim but
sardonic countenance of his stalwart first
lieutenant Hugh. God, how had he arisen from the dead? What was happening here?
“It was sound practice of me to wear my mail-shirt under my clothing” commented Hugh almost in response to Rolf’s unspoken thought, “the swine caught me a side-blow on the head first, a shifty customer him, I didn’t hear him coming at all. He must have thrust a couple of times at me but this protection will take more than a fancy French dagger. I had just about come to when I saw the devil rising to strike at you. The only thing for it was to polish him off with my good English steel.”
“Thanks for that, Hugh” gasped Rolf “and by God how glad I am to see you alive, I never realised how much I valued you until you were dead.”
“Not quite dead I hope, skipper” roared Hugh in amusement “ready and waiting to obey your commands when you give them.”
“Well there may be a number of those old friend. First of all I could do with some good advice. How do we get out of this place not just ourselves but the young ladies as well. We can both look after ourselves but I would consider it a great dishonour if any of the women in our care were even slightly injured.”
“I’m sure we’ll find a way” responded Hugh. “We’ve not survived as long as we have without showing fire and determination when the situation is really tough. I know we can do it again, danger brings out the best in us.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Reasea smiled a trifle wanly at the King as he tugged fiercely at his beard. John Lackland was a man of not inconsiderable talents, a shrewd administrator and able warrior but he could easily give himself a poor image by suddenly acting in an unpopular fashion. An inconsistent, capricious individual was the Lion-Heart’s brother, he deserved to be better remembered but in some respects he was his own worst enemy.
The King was, to be honest, somewhat
preoccupied. Here he was in St. Albans in December 1215 in feverish haste to
harry his enemies in the
Reasea had been summoned by the King on the pretext of undertaking some academic work. He knew of her reputation and that of Abbot Roger, both intelligent highly astute people. For the moment, however, it was Reasea who interested him. To be frank she felt that Lackland was prevaricating, evading the issues, waffling away really. Why was she here?
“My dear lady” smiled the King “I have noted with interest your exceptionally long legs. Do you think that there is some relationship between intellect and length of limbs?”
“My Lord?” responded Reasea quizzically “I do not follow the gist of your discussion. Is this meant to be a joke, or some jocular aside to put me at my ease?”
“Aye lass, put you at your ease” sniggered the Angevin Monarch placing his hand firmly on the young lady’s knee. Reasea raised her eyebrows ever so slightly but maintained her cool poise. God, how naive and obvious he was, what did he take her for? The King was used to having matters far to easy for him. She even remained unmoved as he shifted his bejewelled hand higher up onto her now exposed thigh.
“Is the Queen in residence, my Lord?” casually enquired the young woman “or possibly your close friend Brythech. Fine people both, I believe.”
“No, no, the Queen is elsewhere. Brythech I will see sometime in the near future. However, I do not see how their welfare concerns you, my girl. Are you the social conscience of the Kingdom?”
“Far from it, my
“Let us discuss that later” snapped John showing some irritation.
“Are you as expert in matters other than scholarly?”
Reasea sucked inwardly trying as best as she could not to insult her monarch too much. It was pointless now trying to change the course of the conversation as John had embarked on one of his “romantic courses.” God, what a man, behaving like this. If he had been anyone less in stature she would have given him a good talking to. The King moved closer to the intelligent young lady and purposely brushed his hand across her chest. This was too much, Reasea rose swiftly drawing her right knee into the man’s groin. John Lackland staggered away in pain his voice choking and gasping with incredulity.
“My Lord I am so sorry. I turned rather too rapidly. Nevertheless I trust that the experience was not too traumatic? I would never dream of causing hurt to my monarch. Can I get a drink for you, to assuage your fevered brow?”
“Madam” commenced the King still gasping “my brow is not fevered, but I am sore distressed elsewhere. ‘Tis no matter I like a woman with spirit, a gusty wench. If you had been a man....”
“I would not be here I trust” smiled Reasea.
“Well no matter, I forgive you, if indeed there is anything to forgive.”
“My Lord, what are your orders? Are we ready to depart?”
King John turned to see the energetic young squire Guy de Buissant standing before him.
“Mon Dieu!” spluttered the Angevin “you move remarkably silently, de Buissant. Still alacrity and stealth are an attribute that we need at this time.”
“My Lord, do you require my attendance any longer?” interrupted Reasea “If talk is now of lance and sword I feel that that is an avenue of development blocked-out to me.”
“You are quite a war-like little vixen when the mood takes you, my girl” grunted John his eyes still smarting from the earlier encounter.
“Oh, sire!” minced Reasea lowering her eyes in the coyest manner that she could muster. “You speak ill of a chaste young maid who has only the King’s highest wishes forever in her mind. Mine is to hear and obey.”
“God, girl don’t give me all that tosh. I value your contributions to our royal cause. This particular conversation we may continue at a more appropriate moment. Go now I will send for you if I require to be put in my place yet again.”
Reasea curtsied elegantly and left
the room, thankful that she had dealt effectively with the, at times,
over-raunchy monarch. She had more than the measure of
Guy de Buissant smiled with a somewhat embarrassed air at both the King and the retreating form of Reasea.
“My Lord” he resumed. “Are the plans
still to advance directly to
“Of course, de Buissant and thence
to
“Good, my Lord. I will make preparations.”
“Before you do let it never be said that John of England is not grateful to those who stand by him.”
“I do my duty, your Grace.”
“Maybe de Buissant” smiled the King
grimly “but you have achieved more than some of my supposedly loyal friends,
high-born to boot. Methinks a knighthood
would rest quite happily on those youthful but brave shoulders of yours.”
“My gracious Lord” almost stammered the young man “I feel.....”
“I’m sure you do!” laughed the monarch “on your knees you young pup while I officially dub you a true and valiant knight.”
Guy de Buissant did as he was commanded, barely believing that all this was happening. The King was not as bad as some people made out. Thank God he was on the throne in charge of the Kingdom. The very thought that someone like Eustace de Vesci and his swarthy cut-throats might impose their will - God they not only had barely any will but certainly were without minds. Guy’s contempt for the barons knew no bounds. Still, never mind about that. He felt the monarch lightly touch him on both shoulders with his sword. Guy de Buissant, squire was no more, now he was Sir Guy de Buissant!
“Well Sir Guy arise, no standing -
or rather kneeling - on ceremony. Let us see you start to justify your new
exalted rank. We march to
“Yes sire. You will find me as equally enthusiastic for your cause whether I be squire or knight.”
“Let your sword speak for you sirrah. Words are alright for a monk’s scribbles on parchment but I want action, nothing else.”
“Understood, sire” smiled Sir Guy “the barons will be totally subdued before the new year is through.”
John smirked but with an element of grimness in his pleasure. “Hell, de Buissant let us get 1215 out of the way before we start forecasting what next year holds for us. Still optimism is a good thing, especially as in our case it is based on a firm foundation. You are quite right though we’ll teach those filthy turncoat rebels more than a trick or two. Right, to horse my young knight let us start to celebrate a victory or two.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The surly individual took a savage bite at the rancid piece of meat that lay grotesquely on the filthy platter in front of him. Hungry as he was he could barely stomach the taste and spat it out vehemently. With more relish he seized the goblet on the greasy table in front of him and poured the liquid contents down his throat. A twisted almost apoplectic expression transfixed his face as if he had been poisoned. Angrily he deposited the ale from his mouth as expeditiously as he had first commenced to drink it.
“Bile water, or else goat’s widdle, God damn me if I cannot get decent food or ale in these stinking parts.”
The inn-keeper scowled fiercely at his less than pleasant customer. What did these people expect for the small amount of coinage they gave him? this was not the King’s palace, some men were never satisfied no matter what you gave them. An ugly character this, one who would be vicious in a fight, someone to have as little to do with as possible.
“What sort of a tavern do you run here?” stormed the man throwing his goblet across the room “I’m not used to such lack of custom.”
“If you find us beneath you then try elsewhere” suggested the inn-keeper not unreasonably “there are several establishments like ours dotted all over the place in this locality.”
“God!” snapped the customer “I’ve a mind to go, this is one of the worst flea-holes that I’ve ever.... “
“Surely not Godric, even this place is far too superior for the likes of you. Why don’t you go away and lie under some boulder and hope it crushes you to death.”
Godric looked-up to see who the newcomer, who recognised him, was. Why yes an archer who had served under Rolf de Claimant. The former servant to William Longsword shivered slightly. The pain of that wound close to his shoulder-blades was still there. Only his innate ability to survive, and, he supposed, the lack of ruthlessness on the part of Rolf had saved him. A local apothecary had tended his wounds and with the help of his own low cunning and native wits he had eeked out a living of sorts.
“So one of Rolf’s men” snarled Godric diverting the conversation from himself “where is that one-time leader of ours?”
“Somewhere in
“And what are you doing now?” enquired Godric.
“We all have to keep the wolf from the door” mused the archer “I’m serving as a recruiting officer for Robert Fitz-Walter.”
“Well, well a supporter of the rebel barons eh?” smiled Godric “anyway what’s your name? I feel a fool talking to you and not remembering who you are.”
“Call me Hal” responded the archer “I think you get the gist of my conversation. I thought you a rough unruly fellow when we served together but beggars cannot be choosers these days. You are a sturdy rogue, how about joining us, the pay and looted booty are quite good.”
“Eh-m” murmured Godric “alright I’ll follow you. After all I’ve nothing to lose, and, in fact, everything to gain. William Longsword supports King John and so there’s no place there on his side. That blasted abbot spilled the news to my master about my behaviour - at least his interpretation of it. It will have to be the rebel barons.”
Hal tossed a few well worn coins across the table. Godric seized the money with obvious relish and quickly stuffed it into the pouch he kept at the belt round his waist.
“That should be enough to keep you going for a while” smirked the archer “do you want another drink? If so we’ve plenty of time yet, then you can help me recruit some more rascals like yourself.”
“If the ale is as insipid as the bilge-water I’ve already tasted here then ‘no thanks’ I say. Is there an ale-house nearby where they serve a better brew? God above my guts are plaguing me beyond endurance. Even the rats would die in this hell-hole if they drank the liquid that the inn-keeper keeps dishing up.”
“Not an advocate for this grimy old
tavern are you Godric old lad?” grinned Hal spitting vehemently on the ground
“alright then follow-me and we will see if we
can find somewhere that suits your obviously very sensitive palate.”
Godric arose scowling from the rickety bench on which he had been seated and muttering a blasphemous oath lurched towards the main door of the premises. Hal winked side-ways at the inn-keeper and putting his arm round his new-found ally strode out into the dank late afternoon air. The two men wandered on for a good half-hour almost to the point when Godric wondered if they would see civilisation again. he was almost beginning to wish that he was back at the ale-house he had left. At long last they spied a building if anything more ram-shackled and run down than the one they had just left.
“What place is this?” muttered Godric.
“You know what they say” grinned the archer “taverns that have an excellent decor serve the worst ale. This one is such a mess in terms of appearance anyway that the brew must be good.”
“That’s a funny kind of logic” snapped the former servant of William Longsword “well at least it’s somewhere to rest our weary bones awhile. After you Hal.”
The two companions strode into the tavern and much to Godric’s surprise found that the place was bustling with life. A very large individual seemed to be holding court in the centre of the inn. He was of uncertain age but had a healthy ruddy complexion and the brightest gingery red head of hair that Godric had ever seen. His beard was scruffy and was showing signs of grey, or was it specks of ale that had become enmeshed? The stranger had two lively blue eyes that seemed to be continuously searching the room. Doubtless in his time he had been athletic and of a sturdy disposition but this effect was now spoilt by the appearance of a pot-belly. The gentleman was, however, obviously the life and soul of the party as he had two young serving wenches sat on his ample lap. The more buxom of the two was leaning over to whisper in his ear but at the same time accidentally spilling part of the contents of her goblet onto his hose. The big man seemed totally unabashed by this as he was gently stroking the young lady’s partly exposed bosom.
“Will, you old reprobate!” roared
Hal. “Some men become old at twenty worn down by life’s cares. Bless me if you
don’t put us all to shame. How old are you now
and yet you have the vitality of a young stag.”
“Tush man” laughed the giant “I live a quite severe life, surely you would not begrudge me my pleasure. I see you have brought a friend with you, both of you draw up a bench and we will exchange ditties together. Firstly, however, never let it be said that Will Scarlett failed to show hospitality to his guests. Allow me to get you both a flagon of real ale, until you sup this you can never have claimed to have imbibed true English brew,”
Hal and Godric did as they were bidden and almost in a trice two full goblets were placed in their grateful hands. This Will Scarlett had a presence about him that few people could ignore. Inspite of his friendly exterior one could tell that he would not suffer fools gladly and he had an imperious manner that spoke of one used to being obeyed.
“And what is your line of work, Will?” enquired Godric after first taking a swift draught of ale.
The giant fixed his enquirer with a steely gaze, at once threatening and yet overlaid with amused contempt.
“Ha, my fine fellow you did not hear tell of the trouble we gave to the Sheriff in these parts during the reign of the Lion-Heart?”
“I heard stories about a Robert of the Woods, or was it Locksley the Hooded One, God knows, all these tales that get distorted.”
“Yes, well” mused Will. “I’ll give you that. There was no Robert of the Woods, some blasted myth was that. There was a band, however, and I led it. Heaven forbid but I broke the jaw of the Sheriff’s man when he became overfond of persecuting a poor humble cottager for his taxes,”
“You don’t look like a man who would be squeamish about breaking a few bones” responded Godric “why did that trouble you?”
“Why man, at that time I was a Friar, and technically I suppose I still am. Still unusual times and unusual events produce strange results.”
“You cannot have become too popular with the authorities then?”
“More than that I was a wanted man. Still there were others like me who hated the rapacious Sheriff and all he stood for.”
“Did you rob the rich to feed the poor?”
“Hell, no man, we had to fend for ourselves most of the time. We certainly did not rob the poor, they didn’t have anything to take anyway. What squalor we lived in, sleeping rough among stinking leaves in the forest. That big fellow always used to see the funny side of it. You think I am of ample girth but big John was something else, he could split anyone’s skull with his quarter-staff.”
“Is he the man known as Little John?” questioned Godric.
“God’s blood, man. Fortune it is that he did not hear those words. Big John was a fierce Yorkshireman who had wandered from village to village, a quarrelsome chap, strong of arm and a noted lock-smith well practised in his trade. He could have settled down anywhere but for his fiendish temper. Still a great man to have when you have your back to the wall.”
“And what of the local Sheriff you speak so ill of?”
“He died a few years back, or so it
seems. They say that if the Lion-Heart had spent more time in
“And were you responsible for his demise, my sturdy friend?”
Will was becoming increasingly irritated by the feigned camaraderie of this insolent rogue. Nevertheless he kept his temper and sought to answer as politely as he could.
“No, not I. In fact someone of better birth than myself. To be honest I am surprised that Hal here has not told you the tale, perhaps you and he are not as close as I have surmised.”
“Probably not” interjected Hal. “To answer your question Godric, the Sheriff of Nottingham Will has spoken of met his death at the hands of Sir Rolf de Claimont.”
Godric whistled softly. “A thousand torments” he gulped. “You mean the Rolf de Claimont that led our band. The two are the same?”
“Exactly” answered Will “and for exacting justice Rolf had his spurs of knighthood struck-off.”
“Did he not appeal to the Lion-Heart?”
“Richard was hardly ever in
“Well” mused Godric “I see Rolf in a different light now. What was the trouble that caused all this?”
“Oh the usual” snarled Will Scarlett
“the Sheriff was determined to tax
“And what happened after that?” enquired Godric.
“Rolf was hauled before the Deputy Sheriff who would have flung him into the dungeons without further ado. However, as our brave friend indicated he was a knight with rights that had to be respected. The Deputy was incensed with rage and slashed Rolf across the face with his dagger. That deeply etched scar never seemed to heal from what I remember. Anyway to a filthy cell went de Claimont and King John was quick to sanction his loss of knighthood.”
“Anyway, Will, he did not stay long incarcerated, did he?” enquired Hal the archer.
“Why no, man!” retorted Scarlett
“there were a lot of people sympathetic, who agreed with what he had done. I
got together our old band of cut-throats and when he was being brought to
trial, or sentence rather, we intervened in no uncertain manner. You should
have seen the arrows fly. God, that was a day that
“So you served alongside Rolf, you and Hal, did you?” enquired Godric.
“He was with us but a while”
spat-out Will “a good enough bloke but one with ideas of his own. Hal here left
with him, but you have been a close associate of ours
for some years and never forget your origins and old mates do you my bonny
eagle-eyed archer?”
Hal smirked slightly and took a long gulp on his goblet of ale. With a lusty wipe across his mouth with his tattered sleeve he turned to eye a busty serving wench who brushed by him.
“Yes you certainly have a sharp eye, my lad” grinned the street-wise Friar “I take it you will be partaking of more pleasures here in this humble tavern of ours, you reprobate?”
“Mayhap I will” grunted Hal. “How do you fancy some action yourself, Will. You look as sound of wind and limb as ever, is that stout arm of yours ready to lend us some aid.”
“Well any enemy of King John is a friend of mine.” mused Scarlett “Even so these rebel barons are a pretty unglamorous lot, hardly the stuff of which heroes are made. God half of them at least could do with a good wash, an illiterate bunch of turnip-heads if you ask me.”
“Still the offer is open if you should change your mind, old pal.”
“I’m grateful for that, I’ll keep my
options open. These days you are better staying out of politics, show me an
honest person mixed up in that lark and I’ll show you a remarkable individual.
Nay to be straight with you Hal there’s only one person who ever lived that I
would really trust and He died 1200 years ago on a cross at
“Well, Will I respect your views but you know where to find me if you ever change your mind.” smiled Hal.
The discussion was virtually at an end but before Hal and Godric could make their farewells there was something of a disturbance at the entrance to the tavern. Four fierce-looking soldiers had pushed their way in and were behaving as if they owned the place. The one seemingly in command had hold of a raggedly-dressed old man whom he was shaking over-violently.
“Do you specialise in beating-up old
people?” Will Scarlett’s deep voice could be heard throughout the whole of the
serve here?”
The brutish soldier could barely believe his ears. He had not expected such spirit from these down-trodden people. Who was this big fellow who issued such contemptuous comments in open defiance of the force of law.
“You insolent dolt” stormed the
officer “I am under the command of your King, John of England who is here in
“So” hissed Scarlett “and how does that square with pushing around an old man?”
“That is nothing to do with you” snapped the soldier “keep your mouth shut unless you have some useful information to impart.”
“Indeed I have “smiled Will grimly “you are a contemptible pig of a man, fit only to have your nose rubbed in manure, and your arse kicked till your cheeks are red.”
The scowling official stood momentarily nonplussed then in frenetic rage he drew his sword and advanced on the man who had insulted him beyond measure.
“Prepare to taste my steel!” snarled the bully.
“Those who speak never act” chortled Scarlett and rising swiftly he aimed a straight uncompromising kick straight between the man’s legs. Will’s adversary roared in pain sinking to the ground in sheer agony. The rogue soldier’s three companions moved to come to their leader’s aid. One of them, however, a more cautious fellow than his comrades pointed disconcernedly towards Hal who had fitted an arrow into his bow-string and was meticulously aiming it in their direction.
“Move just a few more yards” snapped the archer “and I will pinion the first man that disobeys against the tavern door.”
“Well Hal” laughed Scarlett “whether we like it or not we are allies once more. We look to be very much on the same side now.”
“Too true” mused Hal “let’s get out of here while the going is good.”
Destiny was not too kind in this
respect as Hal misjudging his footing found himself sliding uncontrollably on a
stream of spilt ale. That moment of disaster was enough for one of the braver
soldiers to leap at the archer and bring him crashing to
the ground. Scarlett and Godric moved quickly to come to Hal’s aid and with
their combined efforts were winning the struggle. Unfortunately some more of
King John’s men had quickly arrived on the scene doubtless being alerted of the
situation by the shouting and general uproar emanating from the tavern. Even
Scarlett was eventually overpowered but not before giving a very good account
of himself in the fracas. Barely one bully-boy officer escaped a bruised chin,
a cracked rib, or a broken bone of some description due to the Friar’s
ministrations.
The leader, now almost standing on two legs, spat vulgarly across the tavern floor. Limping towards Scarlett, who was being held by three colleagues, he lifted his right arm to deal the source of his injury a blow in the face. As he sought to strike Will he felt his muscles tighten. Try as he might his arm would not move as his wrist was held in a vice-like grip.
“What is the meaning of this coarse behaviour” barked out a determined voice into the soldier’s ear.
“Leave go of my arm, dolt!” snarled the irritated officer “It will be the worst for you if you do not desist.”
“No, my friend it will be injurious to your health if you resist me. I am a knight in the company of the King. My name is Sir Guy de Buissant. Your name, not only do I ask I demand.”
“Richard of Eastleigh” responded the
soldier turning to face the athletic figure of the friend of Princess Eleanor of
“Well, well” snapped Guy “King John would be very annoyed to hear that you were ill-treating his good subjects. The orders are to maintain good relations with the population hereabouts. You do not win support by bashing people about and treating them like dirt.”
“The King must have changed if he is now so considerate” whispered Hal to Will Scarlett “or else he has got a better quality of Knight following him.”
“We were ordered to root out anyone who seemed suspicious” muttered Richard of Eastleigh glancing in surly fashion at Guy. “We were but doing what we had been told to.”
“You are ill-deserving of the trust
given to you Richard” commented de
Buissant. “Leadership brings with it responsibility. Behaving in a boorish
manner is not the best way to win hearts and minds.”
“All the same, no-one has complained before” muttered the discredited soldier.
De Buissant turned his back on Richard of Eastleigh displaying maximum contempt. Quickly he waved his other followers to release the prisoners.
“Tell me, big fellow” he enquired of Scarlett “your name and background. I can see your quality already, I would know more about you.”
“Men, and women” smiled Will “call me Will Scarlett.”
“Ah yes” responded de Buissant. “That is a name I know well. The tales I have heard tell about a Robert of the Hood, a boisterous Friar, a John Little of quarter-staff fame, and Will of the scarlet clothes.”
Will Scarlett smiled broadly. It amused him to think about how reality had been expanded and indeed turned into semi-fable. There was no Robert Hood, unless it was Rolf de Claimont and he had joined later, for only a brief spell - his name was certainly not Robert or was it Robin this fabulous person. As for John Little well poor Big John had been dead these 9 or 10 years. It amused Will still further to hear that there was a Friar in the band. True there was but the Friar and Will were the one and the same. As for himself he had got his name from the colour of his hair and possibly his own high facial colour not from being a fashionable dresser in red garb.
“I have got the story right have I good Will?” enquired de Buissant. “You were a merry band under your leader, men of principle ready to uphold justice at the slightest need.”
“I am sure we were” grinned Will “I would not wish to contradict you, sir, stories do have a habit of being becoming slightly altered and added to over time, even, might I add when you hear stories about us Northern folk down in the South.”
Sir Guy bowed deeply and then proceeded to clap Will on the shoulder in kindly fashion.
“Will Scarlett” he announced “I
would wish to cultivate such as you. If I can ever be of any assistance to your
good self please make yourself known to me. I am leaving these parts shortly to
advance with the King towards
River Tyne. We hear that that young cub Alexander King of Scots is causing
trouble and taking advantage of this Nation’s current ills. His
“Thank you Sir Guy” smiled Scarlett “I wish more of the King’s officers were like you, inspite of your relative youth you are very much one of the old school, a gentleman of quality and bearing.”
De Buissant again bowed low and turning on his heel was quickly out of the tavern motioning his followers to take similar action. Richard of Eastleigh also obeyed but the fierce intense look he gave Guy warned of a growing hatred for the knight already festering in his bosom.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Rolf de Claimont had quickly summoned together his small party of followers. As our reader will know this had been reduced to Hugh and himself and the young ladies. Given the urgency of the situation it was necessary to act swiftly and effectively. They had the current benefit of comfort and warmth but their ultimate safety, indeed their very lives were now in jeopardy.
“I suggest that we have only one realistic approach to get us out of our predicament” indicated de Claimont. “Direct action would be useless but results can often be achieved by stealth.”
“What had you in mind?” enquired Flavia “It is going to be extremely difficult to smuggle us all out of this building. Why even at night there is a close watch kept, and given the circumstances security will doubtless be tighter than usual.”
“The only solution is a diversion” responded Rolf “It would not take a great deal of work to produce a small fire. We can get hold of a few torches and there is enough small timber about to create a couple of minor conflagrations in separate parts of this establishment.”
“Could the young ladies please assemble at the far end of this corridor” requested Rolf’s henchman Hugh. “We do not want you exposed to any danger. Safety and security is of the essence.”
“That’s sensible and very thoughtful” commented Athelfreda “but I feel that there is a contribution that we women could make. We are far from shrinking violets. The guards are on the look-out for a bunch of females let us disguise ourselves as boys there are plenty of voluminous robes about to conceal our femininity”.
“Good idea” voiced Rolf “but remember we need to act now. First light is not far away and we need to catch the occupants here off guard.”
The little band proceeded to busy
themselves with their various designated tasks. Importantly there were soon two
small but quite noisy crackling fires under way. Hugh took the opportunity to
yell aloud in not very exact French. Fortunately his roar was more apparent
than the few words he spoke and very quickly retainers came running from all
parts of the building. Rolf, heavily cloaked, commenced directing operations,
the French servants being oblivious to his identity. The former knight then
ushered Athelfreda and the women down the stairs also urging Hugh to follow
him. He deliberately drew attention to himself reasoning that such an up-front
approach would not be expected of someone seeking to escape.
“Ouvrez, ouvrez!” shouted Rolf to the guards at the entrance gate. His assured manner, as one born to command resulted in his orders being obeyed almost without thinking. With the inside of the place blazing away it seemed not illogical to evacuate as many people as possible. Rolf and Hugh had in fact got as far as the stables and had secured suitable mounts for everyone before even the slightest of confrontations took place. One arrogant, swaggering fellow, bolder than the other guards seized Rolf’s horse’s bridle and demanded to know on what authority was he mounting and indeed was he preparing to leave with these companions of his?
“Fils d’un couchon!” snarled de Claimont bringing his whip across the face of his questioner.
With a fierce wave of his hand the brigand chief directed his party forward riding with determination and agility. On and on Rolf, Hugh and the women galloped as fast as their mounts would carry them. Fortunately there was far too much attention being paid to the blaze for anyone to notice the absence of the English guests.
“Who are those horsemen over there?” enquired Athelfreda pointing to a group of impressive - looking individuals mounted and heavily armed. Rolf swayed slightly in his saddle and acting on impulse nudged his own mount across the path of his companions’ charges. With a rapid motion of his hand he indicated an old disused barn that had caught his eye. Instead of going inside this obsolescent building he guided his sturdy animal round the back. Quickly dismounting he urged his friends to do likewise and fairly soon everyone in the party was crouching out of sight behind the crumbling edifice. Athelfreda was more than thankful that Rolf had been so observant and had an excellent intuitive feel for the situation. This became apparent when she recognised, as did her fellow travellers, the distinguished features of their former hosts Ralph, count of Eu and the sinister Hugh, Comté de La Marché. They were in the company of four other horsemen who were now entering the barn.
“These two rascals must have left during the night” mused Hugh, the Englishman. “What on earth are they doing here, and who are their confidants?”
“Quite Hugh!” hissed Rolf. “Just let us listen and see if we can ascertain anything of value to us.
The two French counts appeared generally disdainful of three of their companions but surprisingly were paying some attention to a small dark individual who apart from a certain richness of attire had relatively little to commend him to the observer. He was very dark, not quite swarthy and had a neatly trimmed beard and moustache. There was not much about him that appeared either vigorous or noteworthy of a subsequent glance. There was almost an air of sadness about him, denoting a man who seldom laughed and certainly did not seem to possess even an ironic sense of humour.
“But your Highness, now could be the
time to strike while the iron is hot and embark on your trip to
“Mayhap, there could be a case for
such a decision” responded the small, dark man. “However, I have my father’s
position to think of . I must not implicate him in anyway. There is a danger
that once I, the Dauphin, am seen to be challenging John Lackland, then it will
be construed that this is war between
“Yes, my Lord” intoned the silky smooth Hugh, Count of Eu. “It is, nonetheless, important to remember that your expedition is independent and you are acting alongside the English barons in an independent capacity.”
“I know, I know!” snapped the dark
man “after all I already have some of my retainers over in
“God’s blood” smiled de La Marché “I believe that they grow tired already of English beer and would prefer the finery of French wines. Now is the time, Louis, my Prince, to go over the Channel and instil some confidence, some drive, some new life into these malingering Frenchmen.”
“You have a point as always de La Marché“ nodded the Prince.
“We should still move by stealth I feel, nonetheless. As much as I admire your strategy, and personally I am willing to engage those Englishmen sooner rather than later, this very moment is not the time.”
“Should we at least push in some more reserves, my Lord?” enquired the Count of Eu.
“No let the various battles and skirmishes take their course, let the English wear themselves to death, then I will step in. The disaffected barons, nominally my allies must know me as their undoubted leader. They need to be kept at heel as much as anyone. Easy enough to rebel against one king they may well try it with his successor.”
“Heaven forbid, my Lord” added de La
Marché
“but when your great father dies we can have two mighty Kingdoms united
together under one Head. What a power that will be, with yourself as Louis VIII
King of
“Do not speak so soon de La Marché“ grimaced the Prince. “The Conqueror’s Norman brood were almost in that position not so long ago. It is only through the misfortunes of John Lackland that territorial supremacy has been pushed back and pushed back and the English King is no longer what he was.”
“Yes, my Prince” interjected Ralph
Lusignan, Count of Eu “but you are more militant than your father. You have
demonstrated your ferocity in the martial arts, your lance is firm and sure
against the enemies of
“What balderdash is my brother talking?” moaned de La Marché to himself hardly the thing, albeit indirectly, to criticise the Prince’s father.
Louis stared steadfastly at the Count of Eu but did no more than place his hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Whatever we may think the time is
not yet right to strike further at
“Quite so, my Lord” responded Hugh de Lusignan, Comté de La Marché “we can talk about this issue again shortly. At least allow us to join your escort for part of your return journey. It is good to be in the presence of one who is, I am certain, destined to be a great Monarch.”
“Of
“Of a certainty, of a certainty” repeated de La Marché “we must get moving nonetheless. Probably by now a little irritating situation will have been taken care of at a location not far from here.”
“Nothing too distressing I trust?” enquired Prince Louis.
“No, my good Lord” smiled de La Marché “you will find us efficient and effective in any enterprise that we undertake. That determination and dedication is placed now and always at your disposal.”
Rolf de Claimont could barely believe that he had been witness to such an amazing scene. Fortunately his presence and that of his companions remained unknown to the Comté and his party. Everyone remained quiet and calm as the Prince Dauphin rode away with his retainers.
“That makes our next move all the
easier to decide upon” grimaced Rolf “we return to
“With respect, sir” commented Hugh, his hench-man “where do we find suitable sea-transport from? We had a difficult enough time getting here, what with the adverse weather conditions, the rough sea.....”
“I know, old friend”
interrupted Rolf “but you seem to forget that I have contacts. My life of
criminality has made me useful friends across Country barriers. Just give me a
few hours and I’ll ensure that we are booked on a passage home to
“Yes but please, as respected guests not as galley slaves of some description” suggested Flavia.
“Well I hope Rolf has learnt his lesson, I’m sure he will take care of his female companions” interposed Athelfreda “we have become used to more luxurious living albeit very briefly at the Comté‘s residence.”
De Claimont laughed merrily at this
wry interjection. Athelfreda studied his face. Now she thought of it but for
that horrid scar on his face he was, in a rugged robust way, devilishly
handsome. She knew of the passion that he could stir in her when she melted into
those powerful arms of his. In his days as a Knight of the realm he must have
caused many a lady’s heart to flutter. Yes when he displayed his gentler side
he was such good company, he was no longer a discredited outlaw, an
opportunist, but a steady and true
friend. Still he had changed from many of his old ways, and here he was
rallying to the side of his King. When he got back to
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Alexander, Ard Righ King of Scots, moved leisurely along a line of his troops. He sniffed slightly still not having shaken-off the effects of a heavy cold. Although Lord of a proud, fiercely independent Nation the King of Scots was only 17 years old having succeeded his father, William the Lion, in 1214. Nevertheless inspite of his youth he was sturdily-built with distinctive sandy-red hair. He also had about him an air of determination mingled with sagacity and astuteness that belied his age.
“They say our Kingdom is the Far
North” muttered the King. “How they can say we are the Cold North is another
matter. I swear I caught this dratted cold since I crossed into
“They’ll understand how to be hospitable when you’ve clattered a few of them with your sword” snapped a craggy-looking individual to the right of the King.
“We’ve burnt and pillaged over much Sir James” responded Alexander “why how can we make friends of these people? They are potential subjects of ours if we can control these lands. I want trusting faithful people, willing to ride with me with enthusiasm and drive, not cowed resentful enemies within.”
“That’s too high-flown philosophy for me, my Lord” grimaced Sir James “I’m just a humble, down to earth soldier, ye ken?”
“Aye, truly you are, Sir James”
sighed Alexander “truly you are! But no matter, what is the news about King
John of
“You’ve the right of it there” answered Sir James “I would resent what he calls you as well.”
“And what is that?”
“Why he is set-on running, if you pardon the quote, my Lord, ‘that sandy little fox-cub to earth’”
“So, the King has a sense of humour
then. If his own barons are against him he must have realised that the King of
Scots would want to intervene. I see great benefit coming out of this. My God I
feel sick at heart to think about what my father had to
suffer at the hands of the English. If I do nothing in my life, at least I can
exact some recompense for his imprisonment.”
“Well then good Lord Alexander why not teach these local peasants a salutary lesson in manners?”
“No James I’ve told you before my quarrel is not with simple folk but the vicious masters, those who are full of over-weaning ambition. Those I will scold, but not the poor and down-trodden.
“Typical pap from a young kid scarce out of the cradle” muttered a fierce-looking warrior to Sir James.
“Sir Archibald, except that you had served my father faithfully for so many years I would have chastised you heartily for that remark. Remember though I am young in years I have the advantages of youth also including a very good pair of ears that hear the faintest of whispers!”
Sir Archibald inspite of his years and experience blushed deeply and bowed slightly but the narrowing of his eyes suggested that he still held firmly to his statement. Here was no respect of the new age, but an old campaigner with every intention of never changing, determined to die in the breach rather than admit his fault.
“I suggest we have a good night’s
rest here in the Castle” announced the King. “It is a substantial building and
we will make certain that we are not taken by surprise. In any case it is not a
straight-forward
Alexander made his own way up the dark solemn steps of the Castle, was it William Rufus or his brother Robert Courthose who had built this new defensive bulwark - hence the name of the locality Newcastle upon the River Tyne. Still, no matter, inspite of his young legs it was wearisome after a day’s campaigning to have to tramp upstairs with no supports to hold onto going in a continuous, seemingly never ending circular route. They were well designed these stairways. In the event of an attacker moving upwards his right sword arm was always constricted and vision round the corner was non-existent until too late.
At last the young monarch reached the room which had been prepared for him
somewhat hurriedly. In his short reign so far he had made quite an impression.
The son of a hero, albeit one who had promised more than he had actually
attained. Still that was often the way of kings, years afterwards reputations
could be re-assessed and an air of romanticism would envelop the personality of
the long dead ruler. William the Lion would doubtless fall into that category.
Why look how quickly the English King Richard the Lionheart had been almost
deified, and he had been dead for barely 16 or 17 years. Still young Alexander
had hopefully a long life and reign ahead of him, a chance to make a real reputation
based on solid achievement.
“Does my Lord require sustenance, possibly a goblet of wine before he retires?”
Alexander held the lighted torch close to the figure that had addressed him inside the room where he was to spend the night. His mouth trembled slightly in a wry smile as he beheld Barrisa, the dark Moorish girl that he had seemingly inherited from his father’s court. She had not long been in the service of the Scots and the young monarch was somewhat vague about her early history.
“I can help my Lord to relax, or at least provide some bodily warmth against the winter’s chill. Your Northern climate is so cold and bitter no wonder you Scots are so hardy, you have to be to survive.”
“Yes but this is
Barrisa smiled sweetly at the youth
and without taking her eyes off the Ard Righ King of Scots drew her hand across
her body touching the hem of the light cloak over her left shoulder. With one
elegant movement she pulled the loosely fitting clothing away, or what passed
for clothing, to reveal her voluptuous form naked to the night air. Alexander
gasped inwardly as he gazed with more than appreciation on the pointed curves
of her bosom, her slim incredibly trim waist and firm athletic legs. With
amused deliberation Barrisa grasped the King’s right wrist and placed his hand
on her body. All this time her deep brown, almost coal-black eyes fixed
intently on
his face as she poked her tongue ever so slightly between her teeth emitting a
low barely audible yet extremely erotic sound. Next she wrapped her arms round
the young man hugging him with steadily growing ardour. Moving her face to his
right side she flicked his ear with her tongue continuing to murmur in the
language of love.
“My Lord” purred Barrisa “In order to get really warm you first must remove those cold clothes of yours. Only when my warm Moorish body is close to your undraped Scottish flesh will you feel the full benefit of my ministrations.”
“Seems a bit illogical” mused Alexander “but who am I to disregard the promptings of such a devoted subject.”
Barrisa laughed out loud and ever so
gently led her Lord and Master to the bed awaiting his arrival in the corner of
the room. Alexander had had some pleasurable contact with women, being the
eldest son of the King of Scots and now actually King he was in a useful
position to gain experience of that nature. Even so he was still young in years
and he could tell the way that his body trembled in anticipation that this was
going to be an evening he would remember for a long time. Almost without
realising it he raised his hand to stroke the dark girl’s hair. How tingling to
the nerves it was, hard yet of a texture that excited his senses, not like some
of the straggling
“Does my Lord prefer the Moorish
girl to his cold Scottish subjects?” enquired Barrisa smiling a smile surely
conceived in the
“I would give you....” began Alexander.
“Quiet, my Lord” purred Barrisa again” In you current passion you would promise me the World. I have not come for that. All I want is to give you pleasure that you have not experienced before. Tell me, my King, do you feel the warmth of North African shores?”
“My god I do, Barrisa my angel!” gasped Alexander, his body now writhing in joyous union with the Moor.
Barrisa controlled the boy by subtle movements, replacing outright passion with tenderness then slowly but surely moving back into eroticism. It was almost like a dance movement played before the Gods of pleasure. Hedonism took on a new dimension, this was pure love-making that deserved to be placed upon the Altar as an alternative to Holy communion. This was not sacrilege because the bodies of both participants had become sacred things each exploring the very highest senses of the other’s being. This was an exploration the like of which the Greek heroes of old had embarked upon to please the Gods. It was a trial, a testing of the human spirit, a realisation of the Divine Mystery, it was all of those things. Alexander could barely separate what was his own body from that of his delightful companion. He felt that his youthful soldier’s body had been transformed by the silky, velvet touch of Barrisa. Suddenly he felt himself, as if by a magic spell, being propelled through space and time, that could not have been, but the sheer exultant joy of his intercourse with the dark stranger made his mind seem gloriously unreal. A long low gasp escaped from his lips as he exploded into another dimension of attainment and pride, no pleasure on Earth could match it as he sank happily into oblivion.
The young King had difficulty in
focusing back into the mundane World. Was it really January in the year of our
Lord 1216 and was he really here in
gently at him and nodded in agreement.
“Will you stay till the morning Barrisa?” enquired the King of Scots.
“Yours is to command, my Lord” replied
the Moor. “However, I have various duties to perform and in view of the advance
of King John upon
“Too true” admitted Alexander “I hear John Lackland has spoken very disparagingly about me, so I must show him that I am made of stronger stuff than that.”
This brief conversation was disturbed when Alexander and Barrisa heard the sound of running feet outside the door. This was followed by a loud banging noise entreating an urgent response.
“For God’s sake who is there?” bellowed Alexander in high dudgeon. “At this time of night, let me have some sleep at least.”
“My Good Lord this is Sir James here” replied a familiar voice outside “King John and his forces have been sighted barely a couple of leagues away we need to arm and decide upon a plan of action.”
“God’s face!” stormed the King. ”The crafty old devil, coming here at this time.”
“It is early morning” interposed Sir James.
“Hell!” thought Alexander. “Had so much time passed since.... well since.... never mind.” The thoughts of the Ard Righ King of Scots were in a jumble, he had to take immediate command of the situation.
“Await for me downstairs, Sir James” he ordered “we will then decide how we can ruffle King John’s feathers. A little fox cub did he call me then? He should remember that as well as teeth and claws the fox is crafty and cunning to boot. This is a moment that I have waited for with some anticipation.”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
King John of
“De Buissant” bawled the King “What news have we of Alexander of Scotland? Is he no longer desirous of confronting us head-on, such a foxy little cub is he that he fights by stealth?”
“He was keen to effect some type of
response, my
“You may rely on that my friend” grimaced the King. “That ungrateful little swine will wish that he had never been born. God above, his father had little enough success against the English, you would have thought that that would have taught him a lesson that he would never forget.”
“Indeed so, my Lord” smiled de
Buissant, pushing his horse energetically in order to maintain the pace of his
impatient master’s galloping steed. Today was not the time for absorbing the
picturesque scenery or gazing in awe on the rolling countryside. In any case
thanks to John’s rapacious treatment of all and everything that stood in his
way there was less and less of beauty to feast the eyes upon. Smouldering
thatched roofs, poor dwellings burnt to the ground without trace, peasants with
glazed expressions on their faces surveying what was once their proudest
possessions. Why was it that the poor and helpless always came out worst in
these circumstances? They seldom asked much out of life, and yet they always
got the dregs and slops thrown in their face. The barons and those of allegedly
high repute caused all the trouble, ravished the land and yet anything
beneficial, any advantage
going went their way. It was so unfair!
De Buissant’s thoughts shifted to his princess the Pearl of Brittany. He smiled to himself, “his princess”, that was rather arrogant on his part. Fair enough now he was no longer a squire but a knight at the side of his King. Even so Eleanor was far above him in status and about everything else. He thought of that beautiful but impudent face, the classical high cheek bones, the big expressive brown eyes, the elegantly shaped little ears, the crowning glory of her lovely flowing locks, and above all that loveable pert retroussé nose. Guy felt a pleasant quiver run down his back as he thought of those long sensuous legs of the Princess, longer in fact than his own, those legs that he had intertwined with in a delicious chorus of love. As he grasped the bridle of his stallion firmer to control the animal’s movements his mind strayed to the last time that he had enjoyed Eleanor’s unique charms. That soft but athletic body, the curvaceous hips, the throbbing breasts, and the wet moist active mouth seeking his. Some people needed clothing to set them off to their best advantage, Eleanor was magnificent unadorned and yet could maintain a majestic dignity and propriety inspite or because of her glorious nakedness.
The former squire pictured the
“Take a detachment of soldiers into the centre of the town, de Buissant, we will soon see if our fox cub is cowering here or not.”
Guy shook his head as he was brought
quickly back to earth. It was a distressing necessity now to ride insensitively
into the heart of Berwick seeking out
the Scots and their master. Poor Berwick, she always got it in the neck lying
as she did in a border position, one moment a Scottish possession, another time
English, whatever invariably the scene of bloodshed and violence. With less than
enthusiasm de Buissant motioned a group of armed men to follow him through the
streets.
As one might have expected the Scots
had thought wiser about a head-on confrontation with one of the Devil’s brood.
Even Berwick was not regarded as a useful location in which to make a stand.
Far better to get back to the heather and the moss where an Englishman would
feel imperilled if he traversed too far. Guy looked round to see at the far end
of the Town smoke billowing-out and the all too familiar crackle of timber
smouldering under fire and flame. King John had all too obviously acted with
fierce Angevin anger and was demolishing the whole area. Well Guy was not going
to follow suit, he would behave with gentleness to those who could not fight
back. Better carry out the search for any recalcitrant Scots who had hung about
here too long, possibly over-inebriated. God forfend let’s have no nastiness,
let’s get out of here and after young Alexander and his troops into
“Good sir let me go I am defenceless against your strength. Strike me no more, what would you have with me?”
Guy looked round to see a
brutish-looking soldier waylaying an elderly woman. The man seemed to be almost
enjoying the experience smashing his mailed fist into her already bleeding
mouth. The very sight sickened de Buissant and as his anger rose he recognised
all too well the visage of the cowardly hireling. It was none other than
Richard of Eastleigh who the former squire had had cause to restrain near
“Richard hold your hand against the lady!” stormed Guy dismounting from his horse and placing his hand on the soldier’s shoulder.
“Lady?” queried the scoundrel “ I see no lady. We have orders to reduce this place to rubble and those who stand in our way.”
“You are under my instructions here”
snarled Sir Guy “any further disobedience on your part and I’ll send you back
South with your tail between your
legs.”
“The King would not disapprove of my actions” spat out Richard of Eastleigh “I obey my monarch not some puffed-up young smart arse.”
“You’ll take that back or else die here in Berwick.” snarled de Buissant unsmiling and grimly serious.
“Go to hell, popinjay pup!” snorted the ruffian.
De Buissant quickly glanced round to see that he was not being too closely observed. The King and his more immediate retainers were heavily involved elsewhere, they would not be too interested in a private fight. Sir Guy indicated to Richard of Eastleigh to prepare to defend himself. The rascal crouched low circling round looking for an opportunity to strike. Quick and light of foot de Buissant easily evaded the soldier’s initial wild lunges. The duel could have continued well into the day with no advantage accruing either way. However Sir Guy misjudged or rather misplaced his foot upon the uneven terrain the result of which was to send him clattering to the ground on his back. Richard of Eastleigh scowled a grim smile of victory as he saw his adversary helpless before him.
“Pray your last prayers on earth boy!” snapped the villain raising his sword to administer the coup de grace.
In the next instance Richard was regretting his premature expectation of success. He felt a searing pain in his chest as de Buissant quick of mind and action had driven his own sword upwards and into his enemy. The evil hireling gritted his teeth but then gazed in semi-disbelief as he saw a steady trickle of blood ebb from his mouth as his strength began to desert him. Falling onto his knees he tried to steady himself but succeeded only in crashing forward narrowly missing de Buissant who pulled himself to one side and adroitly jumped to his feet.
“One foul-mouthed devil gone to Hell!”
grunted Sir Guy quickly brushing himself down and then aiming what he realised
afterwards was a petulant kick in the side of his now dead antagonist. The
recently knighted paladin bit savagely on his lip. God, what had he done? Yes
Richard of Eastleigh had died in a fair fight and was an evil scoundrel.
Nevertheless, not too many of King John’s retainers would be completely
supportive of him. Certainly the King would not applaud what he had
done.
“Everything alright Sir Guy”
De Buissant turned to see his sargent-at-arms Philip standing close-by. The knight explained his recent actions which gained the admiration of the reliable Philip who also detested Richard of Eastleigh.
“I suggest we dump the rogue in some old disused building and then put it to the flames. That sort of thing seems to be going on elsewhere. Hopefully it will be assumed that some Scots sniper has picked him-off.”
“Good idea Phil” nodded de Buissant
“Let’s find an appropriate location to dispatch
The two warriors dragged the body of their former colleague along the road until they came across a suitable dwelling to deposit it in. Swiftly they pushed the cadaver into a disused ramshackle shed. As they searched frantically for a log of wood to light and torch the place with they became aware of a pair of eyes scrutinising them.
“Ah Godric isn’t it?” enquired de
Buissant “You joined us in the
“Hal, your honour.” responded Godric.
“Of Course, of course. What made you join our forces, if it is not too bold a question?”
“Hal was quite impressed by your considerate behaviour to us in the inn. Will Scarlett suggested that if we were to ally ourselves to anyone then a detachment with you as leader would be as good as any, at least we would know where we stood.”
“Ah yes” remembered Sir Guy “I seem to believe that ......”
“The gentleman that you have in your possession was behaving somewhat uncivily to us.”
De Buissant glanced quickly at
Philip. They were of a single mind. Could this Godric be trusted? It was quite
obvious that he had seen much of what had happened, If not he could easily put
two and two together. It would be necessary to sound him out, unfortunate
because the fewer involved in the “problem” the better. This
presented something of a concern, at very least an irritation, still the fellow
was no respecter of Richard of Eastleigh, surely he would be reasonable?
“He was justly slain” commented Philip.
“Indeed he was” rejoined de Buissant. “In easier times we could have had a judicial tribunal of sort. In these more troubled days decisions have to be made on the spot. It would be better for everyone if this villain’s body were to be disposed of immediately.”
“Of course, masters” smirked Godric “I am here to obey orders. What do you want me to do?”
“Just keep a look-out, old fellow” suggested Philip “we should have the body disposed of in a matter of minutes.”
Godric did as he was bidden looking around in a somewhat shifty manner. The two comrades were as good as their word and it seemed only a very short time before the fragile building was aflame. The dilapidated premises were some distance from the densely inhabited part of Berwick and had been selected by de Buissant exactly for that reason. The last thing that the knight wanted was to cause further suffering on the people of this tragic part of the Country.
“Come on!” shouted Sir Guy “Let us join the rest of the army and ensure that some discipline is kept during this orgy of devastation.”
This view was not, unfortunately,
shared by a number of Guy’s colleagues and least of all by the King. The angry
monarch was driving his horse with increased fury issuing orders swiftly and
almost delighting in the growing terror amongst the local inhabitants. De
Buissant was gratified when at last John
urged his men out of the town into enemy territory. At least this would
be a fair contest, soldiers against soldiers. Sir Guy then mused sardonically
to himself, yes even John may have bit off more than he could chew. Their
opponents were hardy warriors and knew the area they were approaching like the
back of their hand. Stealth and ferocity were two of the attributes of the
Scots and they must ultimately turn and fight. Had Lackland finally allowed his
mind to become unhinged or else was he totally confident about English force of
arms? Was this a great majestic sweeping movement well thought-out supported by
non pareil warriors, the flower of Chivalry indeed under the Angevin
King? Time alone would tell. In the meantime it was for Guy and the others to
keep up with the King and seek to harry these capricious Scots. So be it!
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Eleanor of Brittany threw her head
back and laughed uproariously until the tears streamed down her face. Even in
such a mood of gaiety her natural
dignity and poise seemed unimpaired. Savary de Mauléon, the beau sabreur of
John’s mercenary captains, smiled a broad unrepentant smile. He surmised that
whenever the
“So my brave soldier boy exactly how
successful have you been against my Uncle’s rebels?” queried the
“Why my dear girl” responded de Mauléon.
“You need have no fear about those scurvy devils they are well and truly boxed
in around
“Oh so the Capital is still not in our possession? You have made no inroads there”
“It is extremely difficult and if anyone could have made an impact it would have been my bold Poitevans. Still we have stopped the swine from breaking-out and the King has reduced his enemies to rubble, seemingly. in the rest of the Country.”
“Poor young Alexander has been
chased up and down dale I believe?” enquired Eleanor” The young Scot was
pursued as far North as
“Yes indeed. He has certainly
covered a lot of ground, it’s only March and the King is now back in the South
and has already been some time in
“Certainly not, dear Savary. I must confess, however, that much of your military reputation I have learnt from elsewhere. Don’t get me wrong I have no wish to see you cavorting on the battle-field waving your sword about ....”
“My dear Princess you shock me” guffawed de Mauléon throwing-up his hands in mock surprise “I thought that you had seen me in action....”
“Well action of a sort, you’ve almost broken at least a couple of beds here, you certainly have energy, especially for one of your age.”
The routier convulsed in spasms of laughter. “Well, well, age is it? I know that I cannot compare in that respect with that young squire de Buissant.”
“Ah, Ah!” teased the
“Don’t tell me” enthused Savary “I have heard excellent reports of that young man and I like him unreservedly.”
“Great, I like it myself when all my men get on so well together” added Eleanor smacking de Mauléon playfully across his buttocks.
“My Lady, this violence is terrible” smiled the warrior “you of all people striking a poor defenceless supporter of the Crown.”
Eleanor commenced her silent laughing only stopping to wrinkle her pretty nose when Savary stroked her long lustrous hair.
“What a lovely touch you have, Sir mercenary” interjected the Princess “I hope you don’t catch cold totally undressed as you are, where is your finely wrought armour, breastplate, and shield?”
“At this moment I have no need of such implements” grinned the Captain “I am good enough to meet your needs as I lie before you now.”
“Are you indeed” purred Eleanor rubbing her perfectly formed breasts against her admirer. “Then cease your courtly talk and show me that you have lost none of your ardour.”
Every time with the
De Mauléon wiped his brow of
perspiration. Inspite of his undoubted fitness
and excellent physical condition, maintained in the course of fighting numerous
skirmishes and battles on John’s behalf, a session with the Princess tested his
metal to the full. He felt exhausted, but it was a tiredness that gave him a
glow, a feeling that it was good to be alive inspite of all the traumas that he
had to contend with outside.
“God, Lass” he muttered “I feel drained of all my strength, what incredible stamina you have.”
“We Plantagenets are noted for our drive”
“Is that what you call it?” grinned the mercenary “I can only say that I am glad that I am alive in 1216 and not some period in history long before or long after”
“Indeed why so my bold Savary?” enquired Eleanor.
“Tush lass, it’s obvious I would not have been able to savour your charms. When it comes down to it that’s what life is all about.”
“Thank-you, I am overwhelmed”
blushed the
“What do they know anyway?” laughed de Mauléon running his hand through Eleanor’s soft luxuriant hair.
The philosophical discussion was interrupted by a discrete knock at the Princess’s door.
“Your Highness, there are visitors to see the Poitivan Captain Messier Savary de Mauléon.”
“My, my” grimaced the Princess “your whereabouts are well known by my staff, or should I say my captors. Uncle John keeps a close watch on me and there is a thin dividing line between my servants loyalty to me and their responsibility to the King. Still, after all he does pay them and they treat me respectfully enough.”
“He certainly gives you a good length of rope ....”
“What? To hang myself with you mean? Still no matter I’ll see who wants to speak to me”.
“Actually” interrupted Savary “I believe the visitors were for me.”
Eleanor convulsed into fits of laughter and thrusting a cloak round the mercenary’s shoulders pointed hem impishly towards the door.
De Mauléon allowed the servant awaiting him to lead him down a flight of stairs into the main hall of the castle. Savary thought to himself “why on earth have I responded so quickly to this summons? After all I am a Captain of the King’s forces, should I really run around for every popinjay who barks out my name?”
“Can I present Rolf de Claimont and his party?” announced the servitor gracefully.
Savary glanced quickly round the small group of people standing before him. Apart from the central figure who seemed anxious to address him, and a stalwart fellow who to de Mauléon’s practised eye looked as if he could handle himself well in most situations the party was composed of the female sex.
“I take it I have the honour of addressing the famous Captain of mercenaries .....”began Rolf.
“Yes, yes, no need for the complements” grated de Mauléon a trifle irritated.
“I hope that we have not disturbed the honoured Captain at an inconvenient moment.” This comment came from one of the female members of the party.
De Mauléon raised an eyebrow in slight annoyance. They had, of course, come at an inconvenient time and it was more than a nuisance to have to give an audience when he could have been involved in more pleasant activities. However, his irritation subsided somewhat when he paused to look more closely at the lady who had addressed him. God in Heaven she was lovely, her features were flawless, sheer perfection, her fair hair spoke of possibly Saxon blood, the way she held herself erect with calm but expressive eyes fixed on him. There was an aura about the woman that spoke of vibrancy and intellect and also something else that gnawed into de Mauléon’s soul or was it his body, there was a hidden passion there that made him tremble even after knowing the woman for barely a few minutes.
“Lady who do I have the pleasure of talking to?”
“Myself you mean sir, my name is Athelfreda, sometime friend of the Earl of Leicester, William Longsword.”
“You mean the King’s half-brother?”
“Indeed the very same, although it is some time now since we parted, not by either of our wishes but by circumstances beyond our control.”
“I heard the name of my good Uncle being mentioned.” The assembled group looked-up to see Eleanor of Brittany descending the stairs into the main hall. “Ah yes” continued the Princess “I thought I recognised you, you are ....”
“Athelfreda, my Lady” responded the noble woman “I am privileged to see you again. I admired you not just because of your royal blood but because of your fighting spirit in great adversity.”
“Thank-you, you are too kind” smiled Eleanor.
“Exalted Lady” interposed de Mauléon. “With your permission I think we need to ascertain what important news these people wish to bring to our attention.”
“Certainly, carry on my dear Savary.”
“Well de Claimont what have you to say for yourself?” enquired the mercenary.
“We came hot foot from
“So-o-o-o!” rasped de Mauléon through his teeth. “What hellish tricks have they planned?”
“Nothing less than an invasion of
“I had gathered that my dear de Claimont” responded Savary. “In fact some of the French are already here, pretty well impotent for that matter and making little impression on the situation.”
“That is as maybe” commented Rolf
“You may not, however, realise the full implications of the French
intervention. Prince Louis has indicated that he plans to use the rebel barons
who have asked for his help purely for his own purposes. He dreams of the Crown
of England and of
“If he succeeds!” snarled Savary.
“That he will not, rest assured, also I feel the filthy barons, disreputable
that they are, are using Louis as much as he plans to use
them. Nevertheless this is very useful information. I can tell King John that a
fuller-scale invasion under the Dauphin is now much more imminent.”
“My good sir” interjected Athelfreda. “It would be expedient if you told William Longsword of my good health and that I am in safe hands.”
“Of course my Lady” agreed Savary. “Better still, I can arrange an interview, the Earl would be delighted to see you again.”
“Of a certainty, or perhaps not” added Athelfreda musing almost to herself. “Much has happened since our parting and I am sure the noble gentleman has made arrangements elsewhere.”
“If he has he must be blind or possibly mad” half-smiled de Mauléon “you are the kind of person who leaves an impression that would survive the Apocalypse.”
Eleanor coughed quietly, nudging the mercenary Captain’s elbow. “My, my” she whispered “you are a healthy rogue. How many women does it take to satisfy you?”
De Mauléon grinned sheepishly at the Princess and discretely gave her a gentle but playful pat on the backside. Eleanor almost convulsed into one of her fits of silent laughter but by sheer self-control, on this occasion, managed to desist.
Athelfreda meanwhile half-blushing, half-smiling moved as if to go, motioning Rolf to join her.
“However” continued Savary. “On a
more formal and indeed political basis we need to touch base with the King. I
am due to join forces with him again and need to, and indeed have arranged to
see him at
“Is that necessary?” enquired Athelfreda “Rolf has given you all the information you need.”
“I am afraid it is essential that you all meet the King. He is a stickler for facts and would want to question you in detail, especially de Claimont here who appears to have some military training, and also the other fellow with you.”
“Athelfreda looked apprehensively in
Rolf’s direction. When they had first met they were daggers drawn, she could
never then have imagined taking his part on any issue. The situation now was
different, they were effectively lovers, and the noble
woman dreaded the thought of a head to head with John. True he would be
grateful for the information but would he forgive Rolf who after all a
convicted outlaw?
“I am at the King’s service if he
needs me, if it is a matter of loyalty to
“Very well” grunted de Mauléon “I am sure the Princess would have no objections to guests here for a short while. To-morrow we go to see the King.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Sir Guy de Buissant looked apprehensively towards the King. He was in one of those dark, brooding moods of his. At such times it was best to keep a very low profile. To metaphorically cross swords with the King at such moments, or to even indirectly be on the end of one of his Angevin rages was not to be recommended. For about the tenth time the English monarch paced backwards and forwards tugging at his greying beard.
“I remember that name from somewhere.”
“Sire?” enquired de Buissant.
“This fellow who purports to bring
me vital news from
“The person we are to see in a few minutes time, your Grace?”
“Yes, indeed. I have a mind for close detail, that is why I can administer this realm of ours with such efficiency. Rolf de Claimont is a name that should mean something to me. Doubtless when I see the fellow something will register. Still no matter he will be here presently.”
At that instance a page arrived followed by Savary de Mauléon, Rolf de Claimont, Hugh, and the Lady Athelfreda. The other ladies in the party had on this occasion remained behind.
“My old Captain of mercenaries” bawled John restored to something like his old spirits “I can never make-up my mind who I am indebted to the most you and your Poitivan rogues or Fawkes de Breauté and his Flemings.”
“Sire” responded Savary “I have the pleasure to present firstly a young lady by name Athelfreda.”
“Ah yes” grinned John “My half-brother’s close and honourable friend. This is good news we feared you lost, captured by unscrupulous outlaws. Well met my dear Athelfreda.”
“The two gentlemen in the lady’s company are Rolf de Claimont ....”
“De Claimont!” gasped the King, a look of recognition appearing on his face. “By Lucifer’s knees I have it. You are the murderer of my Sheriff of Nottingham some years back. In fact you had your spurs struck-off and were outlawed.”
“I was never formally tried, your Grace” responded Rolf.
“Since you escaped our custody, it would have been difficult to have given you a full judicial enquiry” grated the King.
“I am willing to take whatever punishment you feel merits my actions” replied Rolf. “However, with respect, you may find what I have to say regarding Louis of France of some interest.”
The King nodded fiercely and remained silent as Rolf outlined how he had come to be in France, his earlier plans involving Athelfreda, Flavia and the other ladies, his change of heart and military knowledge obtained following ensnarement by the Comté de La Marché.
“This is very useful information, de Claimont” barked the King “I will act on it, of course. Indeed I hope that that fact gives you some consolation as a loyal subject while you lie in one of my dungeons.”
“No sire!” shouted Athelfreda “Rolf
has suffered enough. He told me over on the boat coming back to
“Indeed madam/” barked the King. “That so-called evil Sheriff was appointed by me. In any case I am amazed that someone who treated you so harshly should gain your respect. This de Claimont was going to sell you overseas. God alone knows where you might have been now.”
“Yes sire” interposed Athelfreda “but Rolf changed his mind. I owe him my life. The real villain of the piece was that man Godric who was responsible for my being in danger in the first place.”
Sir Guy de Buissant froze almost to
the spot. The name Godric was not all that common, could the man who followed
him into battle who he had recruited in the
“Sire a word with you in private.”
John stared hard at his mercenary Captain Savary de Mauléon. What was he doing
interfering, still he had been the King’s right
arm in a number of ventures, a sensible rogue as well, better listen to what he
had in mind.
“With respect, my Lord King” began de Mauléon when he had the attention of Lackland “this Rolf de Claimont has come back here at no little danger to himself to warn you of what could be a great catastrophe. He may have broken rules in the past, but hell, sire, think of the rebel barons. Can I indeed be blunt? When we have swept aside this hornet’s nest of vipers .....”
“A mixed metaphor I would have thought” smirked the King his temper slightly cooled.
“Indeed, sire” resumed de Mauléon “when we have brought them to heel will all of them feel the whip? Let’s face it the more influential ones will have their lands and titles guaranteed for life. This de Claimont has risked his life for the King’s cause, clemency would be a popular move.”
“Thank-you for the lesson in statecraft de Mauléon” frowned the King “but what exactly is to happen to this slayer of my Sheriff of Nottingham?”
“At this stage in our campaign we need every man who can draw a sword or string a bow. Use the fellow’s expertise. In the same way you rely on Fawkes and myself with our mercenary bands give de Claimont a minor commission of sorts, free-roving or even here as back-up in the South.”
The King thought for a while before his deep frown changed into an expression of relative compliance.
“My dear Savary you are indeed a man apart. Not only an able commander but a subtle wit, a deep intelligent mind. I’ll take your advice let’s give de Claimont his freedom, but one slip on his part, one misdemeanour and I’ll quickly rescind everything.”
“Naturally sire” beamed de Mauléon.
“In the meantime we will concentrate
our army in
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Rolf de Claimont smiled quietly to himself. He had never expected to come out of the situation so well. At best he had hoped to keep a low profile but when an audience with the King was demanded he felt his prospects decline somewhat. In many respects the current position was extremely acceptable a captaincy of outlaws and brigards, his recent job description made legal. This time, however, he would be fighting against the rebel barons. Athelfreda had not shown any inclination to be re-united with her Earl, in fact a distinct non-interest in that gentleman except to make known that she was safe. Anyway she had asked to see Rolf before he set-out on his military expedition, that would be an enjoyable experience, every day in that woman’s company had made him appreciate her all the more.
“Come in messier Rolf I would not want you to depart before a last glimpse of your lady - at least for the moment anyway.”
De Claimont responded to the summons emanating from behind the open door that stood directly in his passage. Striding in he bowed deeply fully attuned to the intention of quoting some courtly poetry or making some witty comment that would cause Athelfreda to break into one of her radiant smiles.
“Am I not a Princess or indeed a Queen from the Courts of Love?”
Rolf stopped in his tracks. There was Athelfreda in all her unadorned beauty standing before him. No it was not quite true to say unadorned because round her neck she wore a gold clasp which shone brightly and seemed almost to be part of her. Round her waist was a belt composed of gold, or imitation gold coins - that did not matter the effect was stunning. The belt dangled down from her middle, and the overall impact was one of a heavenly being transported for a moment into the presence of unworthy mankind. Rolf gulped in semi-unbelief, not a doubt about the divinity of the lovely creature before him, but whether or not he was truly privy to such an earth-shattering event. Overcoming his incredulity he grasped Athelfreda to him and felt his body grow feverish and every particle of him throb a million times. The young lady helped him disrobe and together they sank upon the magnificent bed that seemed to dominate the room.
“Keep me in front of you in our mind
and vision when you go forth to do the
King’s work” enjoined Athelfreda.
“The King’s work can wait awhile” moaned de Claimont joyously “this is what I call reality, only this counts.”
The two lovers inspite of their inner urgency controlled their movements with great discipline. Rolf thought to himself that no woman felt softer to the touch than Athelfreda. What a magnificent body she had, yet it was the less obvious features that drew him to her, the velvet feel of the skin forming the nape of her neck, the erotic curve of the back of her legs below the knee, the sheer exultancy of sensing her sweet nature next to him. There were no inhibitions with Athelfreda, he felt that he had known that body for the whole of his life. That gloriously beautiful face, perfect in the classical sense, but expressive of the very essence of her soul, her kindness and courage brimming over into enduring bliss. Their bodies moved together, gaining in momentum and then that sweeping panorama of light and shade, a thousand dazzling explosions and then floating ever so gently back together locked in a love duet.
“The Pope should canonise you at the next Council” voiced Rolf.
“You were not so bad yourself, for a leader of brigands” laughed Athelfreda lying back and smacking de Claimont impishly on the shoulder.
“Just another twenty minutes together to enjoy the after-glow on this magnificent bed” requested Rolf smiling roguishly.
“I think I can allow you that” grinned Athelfreda “after all moments like this do not occur every-day and soon you will be riding your stallion into the fore-front of battle. Let us seize our opportunity while we may.”
“This is one of the most remarkable ceilings I have ever seen” murmured Rolf.
“You talk such drivel at times” laughed Athelfreda. “Still life is improving for both of us, so in circumstances like these I can forgive you almost anything.”
“I hope so” responded the former bandit leader “I must recoup my strength and start to think about this military campaign that I am embarking on, on behalf of our noble King.”
“I trust that there was no sarcasm
there in your tone?” enquired Athelfreda. “Anyway they are all the same, still
at least there is more of right in John’s cause this time than the barons, and
it wont do you any harm to have the backing of the
Establishment.”
“Well said, my girl” laughed Rolf “All this ducking and diving is no good for one of my advanced years. Tell me will you still adore me when I am old and without teeth?”
“You cheeky wretch” gasped
Athelfreda in mock surprise. “Who said that I adore you, you dragged me all the
way to
“God that hurt!” expostulated de Claimont putting his hands up in surrender.
“Time up my fierce soldier” Athelfreda grinned. “Let us see you get dressed and move might and main for the Lion-Heart’s brother. You’ve given me food for thought and rather more, do your stuff for Lackland and gain his appreciation now.”
“Certainly, my Lady. From now on I am your most devoted servant.”
“You sarcastic brute!” stormed Athelfreda “I have no wish to be subjected to your peculiar sense of humour, but” she added winking craftily “I have appreciated all that you have done for me. Go with my support and blessing, I hope you will regard my benediction with greater happiness than any you might receive from the Holy Father.”
“Indeed, I definitely do, Athelfreda, my hand is very much on that.”
Dressing quickly de Claimont blew a kiss to his Lady and bounding from the room moved into a new phase of his life. There would be excitement to follow, how he was to handle it would be very much dependent on his own native resources. An interesting future beckoned, and he knew that he had the support of a solid friendship behind him.
As Rolf wandered pensively through the corridors, confident in one sense but thoughtful about how he should start his campaign, he was aware of someone following him. It was not long, however, before he discovered who the person behind him was. With a light, athletic step Sir Guy de Buissant drew level with him and placed a friendly hand on his shoulder.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance again de Claimont” smiled Sir Guy. “Would you care to join me for a quick drink. I have been appointed your liaison officer and I feel that a briefing session might be in order, provided you have no objections.”
“None at all” responded Rolf, who quite liked the young squire already. Guy was one of those individuals who right-minded people instantly warmed to given his obvious integrity and honesty.
“I hope that you have no qualms about my position” apologised Guy “I am somewhat junior to you in years and experience and am only recently knighted whilst I know that you were an eminent soldier, well-regarded until ....”
“Until I had my spurs struck” grinned Rolf. “Nay, nay lad think nothing of it. I regard it as an honour to work alongside you, or at least in whatever capacity you suggest. Anyway lead on, let’s get that drink I feel a trifle thirsty already.”
Guy led Rolf to a small, modestly-furnished room, and speedily poured out two goblets of wine, offering one to his new friend. De Claimont gulped down the contents quickly but waved away the offer of a second libation.
“Thank-you, Sir Guy” voiced de Claimont “But I want to keep a clear head.”
“Of course, of course” laughed the younger man. “Rolf, my I call you that ...”
“Certainly, I regard that as an honour.”
“Well Rolf, before we start our discussion I would like to ask you about another matter.”
“Please do”
“You mentioned a character called Godric who was originally a follower of yours. He was the man who betrayed the Lady Athelfreda, I believe.”
“Yes, I curse the day I laid eyes on him. Although, on reflection I would never have met Athelfreda but for that rogue, so, I suppose I should suspend judgement on that point.”
“Could you describe this Godric to me?”
Rolf de Claimont with his excellent attention to detail promptly proceeded to give a blow by blow description of the villain, one that was exact in every detail.
“My God!” gulped Sir Guy.
“What ails you my friend?” asked a worried-looking de Claimont. “Do you know this man? Has he been up to more villainy.”
“It would not surprise me, there was always something about the devil that I could not put my finger on. I am going to put myself in your power Rolf. Firstly, I like to think that I am a good judge of a person, and, damn it, I feel I’ve known you for ages already. Secondly, in the pass that I am in at the minute I need the advice of a good solid friend.”
“I hope that you regard me as trustworthy, Sir Guy, please feel free to confide in me. In the coming months we need to build-up a rapport and any confidence you give me will go no further.”
“Right then, let me be plain. I killed a man at Berwick while fighting for the King.”
“Not surprising, you are a soldier as I am” responded de Claimont.
“Yes” mused Guy. Unfortunately, however, we were on the same side. The fellow was a black-hearted swine, a molester of women. He refused to obey orders when I bid him desist.”
“I see” intoned Rolf. “Was this rogue that you killed our friend Godric?”
“No, it was someone called Richard of Eastleigh. The point was, or rather is, Godric knows of my action, he saw myself and one of my other men disposing of the body.”
“And the other fellow is trustworthy?”
“Yes, as far as I know, a stalwart
reliable fellow. The one to worry about is this Godric, the devil knows what he
will do. I can only hope that he has changed his character since you knew him.
He was after all somewhat grateful when I intervened on his behalf in a little
fracas in the
“
“Of course” responded Guy “I was privileged to meet a living legend there, well almost, a robust friar called Will Scarlett. I accord that a great honour.”
“By the Holy Mass!” almost exploded Rolf “You met Will, good strong, no nonsense Will. I will never cease to keep that man’s memory deep in my very being. Indeed, someone to have when you are in difficulties.”
“Ah you know him?” enquired Guy “That other individual I told you of, the associate of Godric, he served or had dealings with Will, Hal is his name, an archer of the very best quality.”
“God’s blood!” gasped de Claimont “By the sound of it, one of my men also. Hal, if it is the same, and must be could split a willow wand from any distance given him. My word it truly is a small World.”
“Indeed it is” smiled de Buissant. “Anyway the upshot is that I have found myself a new ally. However, I need to keep a close watch on this Godric fellow. His reputation is sufficiently bad, mayhap that no-one would believe his tales in any case. Nevertheless someone to be wary of and not turn your back on. Thank-you for your information, Sir Rolf.”
“Sir Rolf?” enquired de Claimont “I once was Sir Rolf but I need to achieve quite a bit in the King’s eyes before I am free to wear that coveted title again. Nevertheless thank you for your confidence in me, my boy.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Brother Endfeld gazed calmly at the King. He had heard of the Angevin temper before. It had been equally fierce and indeed feared in Henry, John’s father and, of course, in John’s brothers Richard and Jeffrey when they were roused. King John Lackland could be like the Devil when cut to the quick, the most terrifying storm of thunder and lightning could seem like a tranquil lake compared with the monarch in his worst throes of anger.
“How in Heaven could this have happened to me?” he stormed. “Am I cursed by all the saints?”
“I think not, my gracious
“I don’t want a philosophy lesson from you” almost spat out the King “I have enough with your master, Abbot Roger. Still” added John “I should be grateful, Roger has been a good help to me, and I have forgotten my manners, thank-you Endfeld for informing me of the latest disaster.”
Brother Endfeld bowed slightly. He
could understand John’s rage. Acting on information that Prince Louis was
preparing to embark from
“Damn good job Roger and his Benedictines had a Conference near-by. Always involved in some learned matter or other” muttered the King. “Anyway Brother Endfeld you have ridden here speedily, it is for us now to settle upon some stratagem to defeat the pious Louis. My whole life seems to have been involved in trying to outwit his father, now I’ve got the young pup to contend with as well.”
“Sire the Marshal is here to see you.”
The monarch together with Brother Endfeld looked steadfastly at the servant who had entered upon their discussion.
“God, what does the old fellow want at this stage?” muttered the King. “Still he has pulled our apples out of the fire on many occasions before now, let’s see what he can do at this major crisis.”
“A new expression, your grace ‘apples out of the fire’?” enquired Endfeld somewhat blandly.
“You pedantic young prig!” half laughed, half snorted John Lackland “Well it shows that you’ve a cool head on your shoulders even when one disaster after another is tumbling all over us - and don’t pick me up on my grammar either!”
“No, my
“Anyway we are keeping the good William Marshal waiting. Sirrah send in our eminent guest, we value his counsel and he may well be one of the few people who can come to our aid with a really effective plan of action.”
“Sire I present William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke” announced the servant.
“My dear Marshal, the guide and protector of my youth and much else thereafter” greeted the King.
“My
“More than rumours” interrupted John. “This good monk here has told me of the progress of Prince Louis’ fleet.”
“Have you any instructions your Grace? As you know I am always at your service, no matter what task you have for me I am here to serve the Plantagenets.”
“A difficult job indeed!” grinned the King “We spent so much time squabbling amongst ourselves in the Old Days that your prime role was to keep us in check, see that we did not destroy the Devil’s Brood entirely.”
“If I may make so bold, sire” recommenced the Marshal sternly “We need troops along the coast, but if Louis has a large contingent then we need an alternative plan to fall back into the heartland of your Kingdom.”
“Yes, you have a point Marshal”
mused John. “
“I would support that approach,
sire. Only if Louis flounders off the coast, or if his force is merely a small
detachment of troops then we can go on the offensive. Otherwise discretion is
the better part of valour. After all the Dauphin already has some of his
soldiers here in
“Right, but first let’s test the
water, we need to see just how strong Louis is before we start to back-track on
the little weasel. Confronted by real men he may well run back to
“Quite so, my
“Hence your name” smiled the King.
“Indeed so, your Grace” smiled the Earl of Pembroke somewhat weakly “I think that we can still rely on a number of trusted friends.”
“The Devil’s face we can” snarled
John. “We have my new Justiciar Hubert de Burgh at
“Hubert I would trust with my Life, if I could trust anyone at all” suggested the Marshal.
“Yes, and, of course, there is my half-brother William. He would never desert me. He may have been a by-blow of the great Henry but he is more reliable and more brotherly towards me than any of the legitimate Angevins.”
“I know your family well” mused the Marshal “Let us put our trust in God and pray that He ensure a successful outcome. We are living in very difficult times, in fact in some respects more uncertain than when Stephen and Matilda were battling it out when I was but a child.”
“I would have thought that was the worst period in this Country’s history” Interposed John. “It was said that Christ and the angels slept and no-one was safe from pillage and rape, the land was in turmoil.”
“That is something of an
exaggeration, sire” responded Pembroke “King Stephen did have good control over
most of
soldier. Life was not all that bad in many parts of the realm.”
“Well thank-you for the history lesson, Marshal” grinned John somewhat sardonically. “What with Brother Endfeld here and his philosophy I have some fine tutors. God above I should be the most learned monarch on Earth. I only hope it does me some good, I certainly need all the help I can get at the moment.”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Prince Louis smiled bleakly at the
French soldier who marched ceremoniously up to him and saluted with some show
of bravado. At least the weather had improved somewhat. Not that there should
be too much complaint on that score as the storms had well and truly wreaked
destruction on John’s fleet. Even so the English summer, or rather late
Spring/early Summer was never the most reliable. Rather like the barons, once
loyal supporters or so-called of John
Lackland, now coming over if not exactly in droves none the less at a
steady rate. The King of England had thought better of engaging the French
ships and had made a strategic withdrawal to the hinterland. It must only be a
matter of time now. Well
“Your serene highness” announced the
soldier. “The earls of Arundel, and
“Bring them before me” responded the Dauphin and then to himself “Why the Comté de la Manrhé, even he, would be surprised at the response that I am getting from these peevish barons of John Lackland.”
Two thick-set individuals appeared before the Prince, giving the impression of surly obedience born not out of love or even respect, but self-interest.
“My Lord” commenced one of them. “We have with us someone who wishes to throw in his lot with you ....”
“Am I no more than a gambler’s reward? You English are arrogant to a degree, but I accept your swords and will make better use of them than your former King.”
“Quite so, my Lord” continued the baron “we would like you to meet this gentleman here who commands a great deal of respect on account of his prestige ....”
“Sacre bleu!” mouthed Louis, for once forgetting his reputation for piety. “I have indeed met you before, I never forget a face.”
“I hope not Prince Louis” responded
the newcomer “I share a father with King John of
“You mean that he is no longer lucky?” enquired a smiling Dauphin “Don’t try and rationalise the reason for your defection.”
“You do want me to join you, Frenchman?” snorted John’s half-brother.
“Oh come , come, don’t be so waspish sirrah!” scolded the Dauphin “I know you for a useful ally, one who could rise well in my service. Another brother was Archbishop of York was he not, and you are William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury. I can use a man like you, and, in addition, you will find me a better master than your blood relative.”
“In that case, Prince Dauphin, I am
at your service. I accept you as Liege-Lord for the greater good of
“We are in total agreement there good cousin” smirked the Dauphin. “How are John’s mercenaries behaving, are they deserting as predicted? I doubt if the rascal has enough money left in his coffers to reward them for their barbarity in his colours.”
“Strangely enough they are supportive of him” replied Longsword “Savary de Mauléon is his right-hand man in many respects and militarily he is going to be a difficult nut to crack.”
“Ehmm” muttered Louis “What news of our young red headed Scot, has he plucked-up courage again since his ignominious clash with your half-brother?”
“Yes, I hear that he has got a
fierce band of retainers together and is already into
“If we let him. Why even you English
seek to establish the over-lordship over
William Longsword bowed his head. He
had a niggling thought that he might not have done the best thing. This French
Dauphin was an ungracious bore, he may hint at precision and efficiency but
John had flair and came up successful at the time you least expected.
of Athelfreda through Godric’s villainy. Oh God when would things start to
level out again? Still let’s view one day at a time. Life was difficult enough
without trying to become too philosophical about it all.
The disaffection amongst the English
was not as pronounced as the rebels might have thought. Those who remained
loyal demonstrated their affection and resolve by extreme determination and
steadfastness. If John was the dissolute tyrant that his enemies claimed why
could he still command such stalwart service? At
“Do not ever feel that you are cut-off from loyal support my Lord.”
Hubert de Burgh eyed the speaker thoughtfully. A stalwart individual who seemed as if he could deliver what he promised, such men were worth cultivating in these troubled times. This idea - the King’s? Or someone else’s? - of having a harrying force of brigards disturbing the baronial column was strategically very sound. This de Claimont seemed a good selection as well. Certainly John knew how to judge his people, the mercenary Flemings and Poitevans had been very effective indeed.
“My dear de Claimont” smiled Hubert “I will count on you to pursue and pester until death these vile French dandies and their treacherous English allies.”
“Certainly my Lord, but they are not so effete as you suggest. Also the French back home are keeping a watching brief on the situation. That cunning fox, the Comté de La Marché, him I fear the most. In a straight man to man confrontation I back away from on-one but that unscrupulous fiend I would not trust were he to swear undying friendship to me on the Bible. I see his hand in most things, he may be in pleasant sojourn on his estates but his mind must be working overtime, advising Philip, Louis’ father, engaging in subtle diplomacy, moving like a snake.”
“Well, for the moment we must face
the realities of local aggression, take on the Frenchmen that are here and
waiting to attack us, that is all that anyone can ask of
us, and it is our duty not to be found wanting.”
“I accept that my Lord” replied Rolf “I will be in close touch with young Sir Guy de Buissant, if messages have to be sent between us.”
“I know, although at the moment the position is fluid. Sir Guy, following the latest upheaval has been summoned North to halt the advance of Alexander of Scotland. Hopefully he should not be detained too long.”
“That red-haired youth is too impetuous for his own good. A stabilising influence is necessary there. From all accounts he has ability but he needed to be tutored, have the right advisors around him, many a young monarch has faltered through ill advice.”
“He marches on
“That part of
“Indeed?” noted de Claimont “My Lord I must say that your information is very good, I take it that you have a good supply of contacts able to keep you up to date? How convenient to our cause is this knowledge of Alexander.”
“Yes, of course” grinned Hubert “Our intelligence source is a quite delightful person, someone who has adapted well to this over cold climate. Come to think of it most of us of Norman lineage have lost out by our devotion to this ghastly land - I mean in terms of weather not an any other, or at least most other accounts. Still I digress I was speaking of our lovely young spy in the Scottish camp. Someone of soft, silky dark rapturous appearance with coal black eyes and purring sensuousness. My mind wanders again ....”
“Obviously someone almost close to you, your excellency?” queried Rolf. “You speak of intimate knowledge of, I take it, the lady’s charms.”
“S’blood!” interjected de Burgh
“Indeed ‘tis a lady, I would never get so worked-up over someone of male
designation, I’m not a descendent of Rufus’s allegedly over-perfumed court
of infamous memory. Still William Rufus
was not a bad King, efficient administrator and all that, he was probably
ill-used by the monkish scribes of the day, well over a hundred years ago
anyway.”
De Claimont laughed out loud
at the prevarications of the custodian of
“God yes” continued Hubert “a wonderful woman, no harm in telling you I’ve described her in such detail, if you ever stumbled in on Alexander’s assembled throng of hardy Scots warriors, retainers, and followers you would recognise her forthwith. That warm Moorish charm, once seen never forgotten, that’s Barrisa!”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Hugh Balliol surveyed the approaching
rider with little short of total disdain. From his vantage point on the
battlements of
“I come on behalf of Alexander, second of that name, Ard Righ King of Scots. He does beseech you in your own interests to surrender unto him.”
“Tell your Prince” roared Hugh
Balliol “that we do not give ourselves to vapid boys, we are strongly fortified
here and can withstand the greatest of sieges. Turn away and chase the sheep
back to
“I come from a King, no mere Prince”
stormed the messenger “and here this, gathered in arms is not only the might of
“Proud words” sneered Balliol “but words mean nothing unless backed by deeds. Go back to your masters and tell them that we widdle on them, we regard them as of no account, leave now ere we chase you and make sport with you, vile youth.”
The horseman visibly shifted in his saddle then turning swiftly he spurred his mount and rode hard down the valley. The audience on the battlements watched silently until he had disappeared from sight.
“Harsh comments?” enquired or suggested Hugh Balliol’s nearest companion.
“Not really, who the hell do these rebels and ill-brought-up Scots think they are, de Buissant?”
Sir Guy de Buissant smiled wryly, almost to himself, he had ridden hard with his troop of men to be here. The King was placing more and more trust in him. He thought to himself how even greater would his star be shining if Eleanor of Brittany was monarch instead of her Uncle John. Still, no complaints he was regarded as a man of parts, a reliable cog in the affairs of state.
“I think - indeed I know - from discussions with you,” enjoined de Buissant “that our preparations are more than adequate to withstand the onslaught of our savage opponents.”
“Quite my good Sir Guy. I suggest therefore that we remain vigilant but at the same time do not remain over tense. We will keep a permanent watch obviously but change shifts as appropriate. As our guest you can relax for the next few hours but I would appreciate it if you took over the night duty. I know from your reputation that it would be difficult to pull the wool over your eyes. Our castle here will be in unfailing safe hands.”
The period under Balliol’s control passed without incident almost as if the Scots and their allies had lost interest. Similarly for the first hour or so that Guy had charge of operations the situation was equally quiet. The former squire wondered when the enemy would pluck up courage to attack, or possibly was there some cunning strategy being developed. The waiting was much more difficult than the action.
“Sir Guy I would speak with you. Have you a moment?”
De Buissant spun round to confront one of the guards from the battlements.
“Surely that is what I am here for. Have you some information to give me?”
“Strangely enough while I was patrolling a small silk bag or purse , call it what you like, was thrown almost directly into my path. Where it came from I don’t know. Anyway here it is. I have not looked inside, in case as head of operations at the moment you wanted to make the first inspection.”
“Quite sensible of you my man” smiled Guy “right let’s look inside and see exactly what we have here.”
On opening the silk bag Guy’s
attention was immediately attracted by an ornate ring, some semi-heraldic
inscription suggesting that it was no ordinary piece of
jewellery. Twisted round it was a small parchment script with a brief unsigned
message inscribed. The gist of the written comments was a request to see the
owner of the ring in a location some 500 yards from the castle.
“They are asking a lot to expect us to fall for that trick” mused the guard.
“I don’t think so” responded Guy “what advantage is there in luring just a few of our number into an ambush? After all they would not expect us to send a large detachment of troops on the basis of a scribed demand.”
“No, I see your point.”
“Indeed. In fact I am tempted to go alone and find out for myself. I will wait until Balliol has had his ration of sleep and then tell him of my plans.”
When Hugh Balliol was roused from his slumber he was considerably unlifted in spirits when he was shown the ring and the message. He chortled to himself for a while and slapped de Buissant on the shoulders in obvious glee.
“Well my boy, we have a good contact here. This is authentic beyond doubt. I should also warn you that if you meet up with the bearer of the message you will get a very pleasant surprise.”
“In what way my good sir?”
“Why the lady concerned is a dark Moorish woman full of beauty, charm, and about everything else.”
“Then I await the meeting with pleasure.”
“Aye, but first take a couple of stalwart solders with you. The lady is completely reliable but in case anything goes awry, say you are spied upon, then an extra few swords are to your advantage. When you see the lovely Barrisa - that’s her name - you may need two strong lads to pull you off her” concluded Balliol with a nudge and a wink.
“Thank-you” nodded Guy “I will bear those sentiments in mind. I will select a couple of capable men and discretely locate the area where Barrisa will be waiting for us.”
A short while later Guy was
manoeuvring himself into a strategic position behind a clump of bushes. With a
discrete wave of his hand he ushered his two stalwart companions alongside him.
Searching the area with keen young eyes he
espied a slight movement some distance away.
“Barrisa” he voiced quickly. There was a further slight undulation in the forestry and so he followed-up by hissing “the ring you sent, Barrisa” Stealthily a dark-cloaked figure moved alongside him, swiftly pulling back part of the hood she revealed a beautiful brown face with the darkest of eyes.
“I am Sir Guy de Buissant and these are two of my fellow soldiers” announced the former squire.
“Thank-you for the introduction”
responded Barrisa “I have important news for you. I must speak quickly or else
my non-appearance in the coup will be noticed. Eustace de Vesci plans to attack
“That will do him little good” snorted de Buissant. “This is one of the most secure castles in the land. We are difficult to approach from any side. What a total waste of time.”
“My opinion also” smiled Barrisa “but de Vesci is not over-burdened with brains. I thought that I would let you know nonetheless in case you wanted to send a party out to cut him off in his tracks.”
“Indeed that is an excellent suggestion” agreed Guy “I have had dealings with de Vesci before, a straight out and out conflict would be much to my liking.”
“This is one of de Vesci’s so-called stratagems” indicated Barrisa “Alexander is concentrating on besieging Balliol and his people. The Ard Righ King of Scots is a lively, quick-witted young lad and I would not wish to see any harm befall him. He has other virtues, capabilities as well should I say” grinned the Moorish lady.
“Never fear, good lady” replied de Buissant “We are not in the business of despoiling youths, we know who are the evil ones here, the vicious barons and their adherents.”
“Yes indeed Sir Guy” smiled Barrisa
“Alexander does learn fast, not such a callow, gauche young man that you
suggest. However your sentiments are well appreciated and as a measure of my
gratitude to you can I bestow upon you a chaste kiss.”
Sir Guy looked slightly taken
aback but seeing how beautiful his new-found confident was he shrugged his
shoulders and held out his arms to her. The voluptuous Moorish woman embraced
the knight firmly, her obvious and very evident femininity communicating itself
to him even beneath the deep-folded cloak she was wearing. De Buissant felt his
head spin as Barrisa forced her lips hard onto his and responded by running his
hand down her back and holding her in a vice-like grip. Their bodies moved
together each seeming to demand more and more from each other as if they were
joined together in a rhapsody of desire. Guy almost forgot where he was as he
struggled to free the monkish cowl covering the woman’s head. He pulled it back
to reveal Barrisa’s long strong hair, the thrill of feeling those thick-waft
coal black strands sent his mind and body into numerous ecstasies. That
intensity of passion that almost borders on the losing of the mental faculties,
that forces flesh and spirit to leap over the ravine to a world of no control,
all the signs were there. Inspite of the coolness of the morning Guy felt the
perspiration overwhelm him, he was beside himself with suppressed ardour when
Barrisa pulled away from him.
“I could follow this up on another occasion, sir knight” beamed the lady pulling back the hood to cover her head. “Sadly this is not quite the right place and we both need to get back to make our respective plans. May God go with you, if you fight like you love then de Vesci will have no chance whatsoever.” Laughing coquettishly Barrisa turned on her heel and was gone deep into the undergrowth.
A short while afterwards Sir guy was quietening his faithful mount by gently caressing the side of the animal’s face. He thought to himself as he surveyed the surrounding area from the hill-top that de Vesci would surely play into their hands. Not a man to tangle with was the notorious Lord of Alnwick but nevertheless not a particularly clever villain. King John could leave him standing when it came to cerebral powers, and it certainly said much for the barons, or rather very little thought Guy that de Vesci should be regarded as a leader of sorts, God help the rest.
Suddenly there was a movement below
as horsemen approached together with a number of infantry men and soldiers
carrying cross-bows. Guy scoured the terrain in anticipation seeking to
identify his enemies. Yes he was unmistakable the surly features encased in
mail, savagely defiant, so full of himself, ordering and blustering
in his usual arrogant fashion, Guy held his hand steady then at the strategic
moment brought it down. In response a flight of arrows sped at deadly speed
towards the would-be assailants of
Here was de Buissant’s chance as he now urged the front file of his small group of cavalry down the hill-side. In a trice he was almost alongside de Vesci who gave him a look of recognition.
“Damn squire, the popinjay of Eleanor of Brittany!” he snapped simultaneously bringing his sword crashing against Guy’s shield.
“Now a knight, my Lord” responded de Buissant “You may call me Sir Guy.”
“Still an impudent brat” almost spit out the fierce-visaged baron, wheeling his horse away to obtain a better footing. The sudden movement brought a response from Guy who sought to turn his own animal but alarmingly a small piece of rock struck against one of the beast’s front hooves. The horse began to cavort in semi agitated fashion as the debris stirred-up by the activity had lodged in his leg. De Buissant felt a savage glow catch him on his unprotected upper arm as he rocked backwards seeking to adjust his shield. Alnwick moved closer to his antagonist and brought the mailed fist holding his sword crashing against Guy’s jaw. The King’s supporter gasped in pain and rolled back in his saddle. He could see for just a split second it seemed a look of utter contempt on the face of his enemy. Somehow this spurred him into action, the adrenaline started to flow, and twisting savagely on his mount he just avoided a downward slashing stroke from de Vesci’s weapon.
“Just a deferment for a few minutes, boy” snarled Eustace gloating “Prepare to meet your maker.”
De Buissant flung his shield
straight at the head of the Lord of Alnwick who brushed it away with one sweep
of his arm. He was, however, slow at regaining his composure as Guy drove his
sword straight at his midriff in Roman style. Eustace de Vesci grimaced more in
shock than through severe injury. His mail-coat absorbed most of the blow but
he had lost some of his orientation. Guy leapt from his own
horse and grasping de Vesci firmly round the body pulled him and himself down
onto the ground. The older man seemed distracted and had taken more severe
bruising than his antagonist. Nevertheless he reacted fiercely and the two
rolled together in the dust each seeking a quick advantage. De Vesci somehow
got to his feet and with one last great effort aimed a kick at de Buissant. Guy
grabbed hold of the attacking foot and pulled it towards him sending Alnwick
crashing onto his back. With a snort of fury de Vesci fell back seemingly at
best semiconscious.
De Buissant got to his feet and turned to se how the rest of the skirmish was going. De Vesci’s followers were showing reluctance to fight Guy’s men lacking both commitment and enthusiasm and a number had already run away. They would not try this ploy again that was sure, at least not if they had any sense. Guy noted a flash of steel and casting his eyes downwards saw de Vesci rising. The former squire jumped backwards not a moment too soon as the baron swung his sword in a vicious arc near Guy’s head. This time, however, there was no second chance for the rebel because de Buissant drove his own sword at his enemy’s throat. The Lord of Alnwick started to speak but all he could manage was a gurgling yet savage cry. He would speak no more, give no more orders, chastise no more servants, abuse and maltreat no more innocents, rebel no longer against his Liege Lord. He had departed into the other world.
“We can always fight another day, my
“After all” added the English knight
“
“Then why have we spent such a hell of a long time besieging it, and seeking its destruction?” grated Alexander.
“It seemed the right policy at the time” responded the Englishman “but times change, flexibility of tactics and even strategy is a sign of a mature mind!”
Alexander laughed inwardly to
himself. What further excuses would they
find. Quite a disaster all round, Eustace de Vesci dead, other soldiers both
Scots and English also no more and the Castle still as defiant as when the
campaign had started. Still a warm night with Barrisa beckoned, even if the
weather was less than it should be, it was always hot and sultry with that
young woman. Yes at least there was somebody that the King of Scots could
trust, a lady who was reliability itself.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Rolf de Claimont peered through the forest at the small band of horse-riders approaching his camp. He had been aware of their presence some time ago as his organised system of look-out points forestalled any possibility of surprise. There were about twenty people in all, mostly cloaked and booted but representing a wide variety of human kind. The leader was a sparely-built tall individual who sat his horse well, one who seemed to have been almost born in the saddle. This man led more from his ability to guide the party through the difficulties of the forest rather than from any obvious status or breeding. A well-built bluff fellow rode slightly behind him. Here was someone older in years but manifestly able to look after himself although attired in the habit of some religious order. Alongside him was a woman of great beauty, even in the unglamorous setting this divine creature radiated a breath-taking bewitching yet impish charm. The lady nonetheless also had about her a presence that more than hinted of high rank, and steely courage.
Rolf whistled out loud as he recognised two of the leading riders. “My God!” he almost spluttered “My old friend Will the Friar, and surely can it be, is that not the Pearl of Brittany with him?”
The tall horseman halted and as Rolf had suspected was merely there as a guide. He immediately reined-in his mount and bowed his head respectfully in the direction of the royal Princess.
“My dear de Claimont” smiled Eleanor
“I have brought you some strong and sure allies. Brother Will here had brought
a small detachment of sound fellows with him all the way from Middle England.
“Are you sure that it is not the work of Willikin of the Weald that has reached my friend’s ears?” smiled de Claimont.
“Nay you young reprobate!” roared Will Scarlett “I know the precise effect of your trusty sword when I hear about it. How glad I am to greet you yet again, just like old times when you took on the Sheriff of Nottingham.”
“Yes a lot has happened since then”
mused Rolf. “Not all good mayhap but
still we are on firmer footing now. I feel that the King’s fortunes are
changing for the better and, of course, I wear the King’s colours figuratively
speaking.”
“These are difficult times for all of us” ventured Will “and anyone with spirit, and a sharply focused mind would wish to take action on the side of right and justice.”
“A fine speech my old friend” grinned Rolf. “Quite the orator as I always knew, but an old rogue like you speaking out on the side of probity, these are sober times are they not?”
“Hey, hey young Rolf” scolded Will Scarlett. “Remember that I wear the habit of a religious order and my office demands thoughtful prayer and devotion.”
“Of course, of course” laughed Rolf “Inspite of your riotous ways and love of a merry jape you always did take the side of the mistreated and maligned. King John would feel a little put-out to be so circumscribed, and also a trifle puzzled considering that he was once your avowed enemy of sorts.”
“The same applies to you my dear de Claimont” responded Will. “Anyway here we are now all together and united in a common bond.”
“I am glad that I have managed to
unite such loyal fellows” interrupted the
“Indeed, my Lady” responded Rolf
“But had you not better be getting back to
“Nay, good sir” laughed Eleanor “You are twice the rogue of any man in these parts and they would run for their lives if you but raised an eye-brow in their direction. I fear no-one here, with your patronage it is like being in a secure Kingdom.”
“I am flattered by my Lady’s confidence. Nonetheless I take it you will be staying here but a brief time before returning to your base.”
“I do have rather more opportunities
than one of my breeding. I am in a curious position, a Princess of the blood
and yet excluded from the throne. In theory I am kept under close guard and yet
I have performed a number of services for the crown small mayhap but my wit is
valued, in short I have my uses. Hence there is
close scruiny and at the same time there is something akin to laxity.”
“And exactly what message are you giving me, my royal Lady?”
“Why surely bold Sir Rolf” pouted Eleanor “you have need here of a woman’s intuition, the feminine qualities are lacking, there is something that I could add here to your band?”
“Ah, Ah, my Lady” interjected Brother Will Scarlett “you have probably been influenced by the stories of the maidenly Marion, the supposed companion of the non-existent Robert the Hood. As outlaws we had our cavorting playmate wenches of spirit and some beauty who enjoyed a frolic but not included within the structure of our organisation even if we ever had a structure.”
“So you have little use for me, my friend?” enquired Eleanor.
There was no response to this question as a flighted arrow sped through the air and embedded itself deep into Rolf’s left shoulder. The brave paladin rocked backwards, staggered briefly and then with great determination stood up to his full height. With almost contempt he grasped the missile by its shaft and sought to ease it out of his bleeding flesh.
“Steady messire Rolf” begged
Eleanor. “Remember what happened to my Uncle Richard the Lion-heart. He was lax
and cynical about the dangers of an arrow in the shoulder and that proved his
down-fall. With better medical care and a more sensible disposition on his part
and he could still be alive today. Here, you men” ordered the
“Do as the Princess commands!” instructed Will Scarlett “The health of our leader is paramount. Meanwhile who fired that shot? We have men looking-out for enemies all over the forest. Where did the villain come from and where the hell has he got to?”
“Will” interposed a sturdy looking fellow “I wonder if it was not one of our own company that struck the vile blow.”
“How come Herbert?” enquired Scarlett “What evidence have you got for that?”
“Well I was never one for numbers,
or adding or counting or such-like but
knock me down if I don’t sense that not all of us is here.”
“In that case we should make an inventory of who is here and who is not” ordered Will.
“No need, good Captain” a voice echoed from nearby “I have noticed already who is no longer with us. Its that sneaky swine, that sow-faced devil Godric.”
“Godric, by thunder” snorted Rolf from his reclining position “How did he get here, is there no end to the fellow?”
“He joined up with the Kings’ forces when Hal did, but two more different fellows you cold not behold” frowned Will Scarlett.
“I suggest we scour the forest for him then. It is about time that the vicious ne’er do well were taught a lesson for all our good.” Rolf rasped almost between clenched teeth.
“A good idea,” agreed Eleanor. “However you like still I have some medical skill of my own, I’ve not entirely wasted my days at Corfe.”
The Princess preceded to gently yet firmly ease out the arrow from Rolf’s shoulder. Concentrating fiercely she eventually pulled the shaft out without leaving any broken remains in the wounded man’s body.
“Thank God it was not an over ornately-shaped missile” mused Eleanor. “It could have torn the flesh badly otherwise. Now is the crucial time Will can you heat a metal bar and apply it to Rolf’s shoulder. It is essential to cleanse the wound of any infection otherwise fever could set in. I’m sure that was the cause of part of Uncle Richard’s problem. Mind you about four stalwart men on either side of Rolf is absolutely necessary, the pain will be for an instance extremely excruciating and he needs to be held down very firmly.”
Eleanor’s instructions were obeyed to the letter, and Rolf showed great courage in barely shouting out as the hot metal implement was applied to his injury. Nevertheless immediately he gasped audibly and then sank into unconsciousness.
“No matter” commented the Princess “The sleep will do him good. We need to bandage the shoulder and give him plenty of rest. It’s not as bad as it appears and our friend de Claimont here is strong and vigorous. The next few hours will be the difficult ones, after that hopefully it will all be plain sailing.”
“Thank-you for those excellent ministrations, my Lady” added Will “your quick decisive action has probably saved our leader’s life.”
“My pleasure” half-smiled Eleanor “I will stay for awhile until he is more himself and then make my way with a small escort back to Corfe.”
“Much obliged for that kindness, your Highness” acknowledged the Friar. “Now it is our duty to seek out this Godric and pay him for his skull-duggery.”
The sinister, malevolent Godric had, in fact, moved some distance away, dodging and weaving between and amongst thickets as quickly as his evil legs would take him. His attention to his own welfare and escape from Rolf’s men had made him think in very narrow terms. Therefore it was something of a shock to his system when he glanced through the undergrowth to see a helmeted warrior standing by a tethered horse stroking the animal’s Muzzle. The sturdy soldier appeared resplendent in his attire, indicating that he was someone far removed from the common strain of human-kind. Godric moved further forward to espy the gentleman a little closer. His jaw dropped when he beheld the arms and insignia of the Earl of Salisbury. William Longsword, half-brother to the King, and Godric’s former master no less - what a meeting! The surly rogue could not believe his eyes he half, no more than half-gasped attracting the attention of the Earl.
“Who goes there?” snapped Longsword “Come out if you value your life, I’m not in a mood to trifle with anyone.”
With a quick movement the Earl was alongside Godric who he proceeded to drag by his hair into the clearing. Throwing the former man-servant to the ground he pointed his sword at his throat.
“By all that is strange” snarled William Longsword “What mean you here Godric? Sadly I have heard stories of your villainy and your treatment of the Lady Athelfreda. You have much explaining to do and I await with interest your recounting of these recent happenings.”
“My Lord” blustered Godric “I can be of help to you. I follow the King but am aware of more prudent policies should the occasion demand. Indeed I may have interesting news that would be of value to the baronial faction.”
“So you would sell your soul for your worthless life?”
“But my Lord you have felt it necessary, expedient whatever to ally yourself with the King’s enemies.”
“For awhile much to my regret” mused Longsword.
“What mean you by that?” enquired Godric.
“I have had enough of Prince Louis and his prating followers. As for the English barons, those who have sworn to dethrone my brother they are a worthless bunch of aimless, indeed mindless cut-throats and disaffected failures.”
“What seek you here then my master?” queried the crest-fallen servant.
“Why, man, to reaffirm my loyalty to John. My half-brother is a pragmatist, he and I were always close, closer then his full-brothers for that matter. My sword is now back where it should have stayed, at the disposal of my Liege Lord.”
“What plans have you for me?” groaned Godric paling slightly.
Before the Earl could answer the stalwart figure of Friar Scarlett appeared in front of them, accompanied by a small number of heavily armed comrades. Godric pulled back in some trepidation, staring wild-eyed at both Scarlett and his little band and his former master.
“Well, well caught in a trap, my scurvy knave” barked the Friar placing both hands on his hips and spreading his feet wide.
“I take it that you have some mercenary or other arrangement with the King’s forces” interrupted William Longsword.
“I know you for your quality, sir” responded Scarlett “I feel that I should know you by name, your fierce determined visage speaks of a warrior of some repute.”
“I am the Earl of Salisbury” answered Longsword.
“Ah, once the King’s true follower, but now otherwise.”
“You may not believe me but I have come seeking the forces of my brother. Truth to tell I have had a belly-full of the rebel barons and wish to replight my troth to the King.”
In the midst of this earnest
discussion less attention was being paid to the villainous Godric. Moving
stealthily along the ground, barely a few feet he sought to draw his dagger.
With an athletic spring he seized Longsword’s arm and raised his weapon to
strike at the Earl’s throat. With a thrust of his boot the baron sent Godric
sprawling on the ground. Defiant to the last the former servant seized an arrow
from his quiver and lunged again at Longsword. He had, however, scarce
commenced this onslaught when he felt a searing pain in his chest. Looking down
in considerable agony he saw the Earl’s sword buried deep into his flesh. His
senses reeled, he gasped for air, saw the whole forest spin round, heard sounds
of laughter, or was it contempt, he was in another World, he tried to retain
contact with his surroundings, it was all to no avail, he had departed this
life for another realm, the undiscovered Country. Godric was no-more, at least
not in 13th Century England.
“No-one’s death is to be welcomed” muttered the Earl “But God in Heaven if any man truly betrayed his trust then it was Godric. I can barely speak without appearing a hypocrite on such matters but Godric was a malicious villain, all the more detestable because I placed so much trust in him.”
When Will and his party together
with Longsword returned to the outlaw camp they were mindful to avoid pestering
Rolf unduly. Following Eleanor’s careful, expert and very tender ministrations
he appeared to be making steady progress. When the
Fortunately Rolf obeyed Eleanor’s instructions and given his sound physique and overall good health his convalescence was relatively short. In similar vein the Princess did not seek to antagonise the hardy warrior and when she was certain that he was making good progress she elected to return with a suitable body-guard to Corfe Castle. In any case there she was certain to hear how the situation was developing in other parts of the Kingdom. Corfe had its disadvantages but it had its advantages also.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
“I hear the Fox cub is marching on Cambridgeshire. At least he is riding in concert with his rag-tag-and bob-tail Scots in that direction. He seems to achieve very little of practical value does Alexander, rather like father like son!”
“Indeed my Lord King” responded Savary de Mauléon. “All the important battles are being won by us, the Summer is nearly over and it has been one that the rebel barons and their allies will wish to forget.”
“Yes” mused King John “even the
departure from
“I tried to cause as little damage as possible to your loyal subjects” added de Mauléon “It was essential to extricate ourselves from that location and link up with yourself as quickly as possible.”
“Tut, tut man, don’t apologise” grinned John “The advantage is very much with us now. Victory favours the intelligent and resourceful.”
“I take it my
“You read my mind like a book” grunted the King “ Mayhap you would make a more worthy successor to me than my milk-sop son Henry.”
“Heaven forbid, Lord King” laughed Savary “Let legitimacy be preserved at all costs.”
“And yet” mused John “there are numerous by-blows of our royal line running around who have more about them than those untainted by the bar sinister. Why my great ancestor William was not Robert the Devil’s lawful son, he was the product of a tanner’s daughter with seductive eyes and much else beside. Old King Henry the First had half a kingdom of wantonly-sired brats and Robert of Gloucester was probably the best, an astute military man who deserved more.”
“Your own brother, or half-brother Longsword and Jeffrey sometime Archbishop of York also springs to mind” added de Mauléon.
“Well Jeffrey” muttered the King “he
was totally unlike the other Jeffrey, Eleanor’s father. In fact he could not be
compared with Longsword his full brother, an
obdurate man that and a problem to me when ensconced at
De Mauléon bit his lip as he realised that the conversation was taking a controversial turn. He must try and move on to something of greater interest and more direct profit to the King.
“I take it, sire, that action as
always speaks louder than words. Shall I bid your army muster and begin the
journey to
“You sly old courtier de Mauléon”
grimaced the King “as much a diplomat as a routier. Indeed we need to saddle
and hack through to the East Country. After
In the
“I’ve come this far but how much farther and with what specific success at the end of the day I ask myself.” Alexander Ard Righ King of Scots turned to face the beautiful dark-skinned Moor Barrisa.
“Your father would have been proud of you, my Lord” responded the sultry young woman.
“Faith, he would” smirked Alexander “He spent much of his reign as a guest of the English King. William the Lion he was, but a lion shackled and confined albeit he lived a life of some luxury at his captor’s court.”
“A brave man nonetheless, full of vigour and determination.”
“Alright Barrisa, I know, and you probably think that I do not measure up to my sire.”
“Oh Alexander” smiled Barrisa “Do
not deride yourself so, you measure up in
more ways than one. Follow me to this shade beneath the trees where the sun is
not quite so hot and I will build-up your confidence.”
The Scots King shrugged his shoulders and laughed gaily. In spite of all the recent activity, positive outcomes mixed with frustration he realised that life was not solely about political manoeuvring and fighting senseless skirmishes. God, Barrisa was a tonic to him, he thanked Heaven that she was here at his Court - wherever the King went his court was there with him - and Barrisa was the colour and beauty of that concourse. He walked almost in a trance behind her, letting her lead him on doubtless to some new delights.
“My Lord it is very private here. Throw your cloak on the ground and let us enjoy the benefits of being King and subject undisturbed. Let us again become one in spirit and in flesh.”
Alexander needed no second
invitation as he did as he was bidden. Very quickly, indeed urgently, he was in
Barrisa’s arms. That indescribable tingling sensation, the throbbing of the
temples, the cloying, passionate desires of his body took control as he felt
himself no longer a part of 13th Century
Also unknowingly he found himself
back amongst his troops. He turned slightly to see Barrisa moving away pulling
a light cloak over her shoulder. Before
disappearing in the direction of the main tents she gave him a full smile, a
look of sheer exultant joy, his knees started to shake but somehow he
controlled himself. What a woman, did she really exist, could anyone be that
good, was she a vision? The moisture on his brow, and the perspiration soaking
his whole body made him realise that if she was a vision, then she was a
substantial one. His experience had certainly been real!
“Our informants tell us that the old
goat, King John of ill repute, has somehow skirted round
Alexander nodded sternly at the sergeant-at-arms who was confiding this information to him. Too arrogant by half he felt, what was a paid soldier doing expressing opinions on the character of his opponent. King John was a hard man at times but they could ultimately be on better terms, Whence then a reference to the “old goat”? The sergeant would do well to guard his tongue.
The King of Scots scowled and spat vehemently onto the ground. Jerking his head towards the soldier he urged him in almost monosyllabic format to join his troop.
“Time for action mayhap my Lord?” enquired one of Alexander’s immediate retinue of followers. “At least when we identify the exact locality of John and his army, close by, judging by the comments of the sergeant.”
“A head-on collision is just what the King of England would want” mused Alexander “He has a hardy bunch of warriors at his back. You know, of course, that he has Savary de Mauléon with him and all the latter’s Poitevan mercenaries. If you have any sense you do not charge like a madman straight at those odds, you use a lot of discretion. There are a number of ways to fight a campaign. Whatever you choose you ensure that you are not decimated immediately and that you do not merely seek glory for glory’s sake.”
“Wise word from a young ....”
“Untutored pup, eh my Lord” grinned Alexander at the tough Scots knight who had commenced to mutter this phrase.
“Not exactly my sentiment, my King” bowed the warrior “I meant to complement you on your discernment.”
“And thanks for that” smiled Alexander “I think you will agree with me that we need to shadow John and only risk a battle if absolutely necessary. I have not come this far to see my brave Scots butchered as a result of some cunning ruse or other by the English. Although in this instance our enemy is being pretty direct in his intentions, he is going very much onto the offensive.”
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
“Athelfreda.” The name was spoken
almost tonelessly, less a reflection of surprise or expectation than a
descriptive account emanating from Court. The recipient of the address stared
knowingly at its originator. This was the first time since she had returned to
“My gracious Lord” responded Athelfreda “I had not expected to see you here. Have you come on the King’s business?”
“Ah yes my good half-brother” mused Longsword “I hope that I do not denote a tone of disapproval in your voice. My loyalty is firm now, I am resolved to fight by my King’s side. The earlier disaffection was not out of a lack of friendship.....”
“Politics are strange indeed my Lord” half-smiled Athelfreda. “It is prudent that we poorer folk keep out of such matters.”
“Fie, fie, lass!” roared
“What, my Lord, are you courting me afresh? Do you want comfort and warmth to keep out the ensuing Winter ere Autumn has scarce passed us by.”
“Athelfreda I would never force my attentions on you. I was, however, surprised that you have avoided me since your return. We had such good times before.”
“Your good wife is a handsome woman, my Lord” simpered Athelfreda. “And surely there is many a lusty wench who would welcome the close embrace of old King Henry’s son.”
“Nay lass you do me wrong. I am not
so grasping as you suggest. I valued your friendship and your sharp
intellectual gifts. There are no conditions to my affections. Come to me at
your will. If not, it is no matter. I have heard tell of this converted
renegade of yours. Let it never be said that Longsword was jealous in love. All
good fortune to your association but if you ever stand in need here is your
poor forlorn
“Come, come William” laughed Athelfreda. “You have the resilience of a true Angevin, the Devil’s brood. I will bear that in mind, too true you were always good to me and I would ever wish to retain your friendship.”
“Then enough of this” grinned Longsword “I will do what I can to help your new fancy this Rolf de Claimont, let us stay friends forever.”
The two former boon companions clutched each other in an unspoken vow of spiritual fidelity. The old relationship was gone, but a newer, freer and somehow more vital and less hypocritical bonding was taking place.
“And what are you doing here in
“I am paying a visit to my niece the Lady Eleanor” responded Longsword. “Her life has not been easy, and there have been some quite vivid low points. Nevertheless she has shown courage of an amazing quality. Would that some of my retainers had half her spirit. God what a gutsy lass she is. I feel for her because of the lack of status that she has had to endure. Myself I have particular sympathy being a by-blow of King Henry and the Fair Rosamund. Eleanor is different, she is King Hal’s legal grand-daughter. Some would say technically the Queen of England.”
“Yes a good point” replied
Athelfreda. “Still coeur-de-lion gave John his blessing on his death-bed. At
that time Arthur, Eleanor’s brother might have inherited the crown. In any case
the
“Yes indeed” mused Longsword “The Empress Maud did not win much support and King Stephen was a warrior, a military man of some consequence. Still she was a spiteful bitch by all accounts and that perverseness of nature went as much against her as her gender.”
“Possibly” responded Athelfreda
“Even so it’s a man’s world we live in. As long as your position in life is
judged by how well you wield a sword, and, of course, which bed you were born
in, then it will continue to be unfair.”
“Deep philosophical words, my
dear girl I don’t expect that you would want a detailed response from such as
I. The reason that I get on so well with the King is that I am an uncomplicated
sort of person, a good drinking companion, one to crack a yarn with and end
laughing boisterously, fully sozzled and dead to the troubles of the World.”
“You underestimate yourself, my Lord” smiled Athelfreda “You have a more incisive mind than you give yourself credit for.”
“My Uncle is indeed a wily old warrior, or perhaps I should not refer to him as old.”
Athelfreda glanced round to see the fierce dark-haired beauty, the high tempestuous cheek-bones, the retrousée nose, the full red lips and sparkling eyes of the Pearl of Brittany.
“My Lady Eleanor I did not notice your entry.” The half Norman-half Saxon young woman curtsied low in recognition of the status of the Princess.
“Oh tush Athelfreda we do not stand on ceremony here. This will be a jolly time, my good Uncle in attendance as well, what fun we will have.”
“Indeed lass” laughed Longsword “It only needs your former squire de Buissant to be in attendance, or is it Savary de Mauléon, or indeed some other that you cherish these days.”
Eleanor blushed deeply. “Oh come Uncle, you know me for a chaste maid, untutored and indeed a stranger to the joys of love!”
“As you will have it, my
“Quite, my dearest Uncle” responded Eleanor biting her top lip in mild irritation. “But what of this Civil War, how goes the fortunes of your brother the King?”
“Well, dear niece. He relieved
“That’s the news I like to hear”
responded the
“I hope that I was not considered lily-livered when I temporarily deserted the Royal cause?” questioned the Earl of Salisbury.
“My good Uncle” smirked Eleanor “you have your faults like all of us but cowardice was never one of them. In any case you are once more in the fold of your friends.”
“Good” replied
“Yes” mused Eleanor. “Young Henry, my dear sour-faced cousin. I doubt that he will have changed much in twenty years when he comes into his own. What a prospect that is. Alms giving, psalm singing, the end to all pleasures. It’s not that he has much kindness in his soul, give me a bawdy sinner with plenty of heart anytime.”
“You do Henry some wrong, niece” interposed Longsword. “After all he is only a young lad.”
“This reminds me of an earlier
conversation” smiled the
“Well we will see, anyway this is
rather premature we still have John to contend with as King. By no means can
you describe him as weak and lack-lustre. Have confidence, lass,
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Savary de Mauléon
cast a worried glance at Guy de Buissant. It was one of those indeterminate
sort of days, not exactly cold, certainly not warm, but almost typical
early/mid-October weather conditions. There was still a faint tinge of Summer
air that under the right circumstances might quicken the blood, but the wet
miry leaves on the ground and the occasional chill wind indicated that the hot
sticky months of the year were now a thing of the past. The frown upon the brow
of de Mauléon
was not, however, related to the outside conditions. The routier had discretely
warned his King against setting-off from
The reason for de Mauléon’s concern was closely aligned to the King’s condition. John was not one to deny himself the pleasures of the table and the gratitude of the relieved town was exceptional. Ever since the King had complained of a gnawing pain in the belly and in Wisbech had spent some time backwards and forward to the pallet. Inspite of his vigorous well-made if short physique Lackland was looking decidedly pale and drawn, barely able to sit his horse.
“Is everything alright with the baggage train?” enquired John somewhat gruffly.
“Yes, my
“Well I suppose so” muttered the King. “Everything of value to me is in that convoy, my grand-mother’s regalia when she was Empress, my own coronation treasures, gold and silver goblets of inestimable worth, ornamental plate the lot.”
Savary bit slightly on his lip. He
was not altogether convinced about the way matters were being arranged. The
baggage with its mass of carts and wagons was being conveyed across the
Wellstream estuary. It would have been better to have a guide prodding the
route with a pole in view of the treacherous sands. October was not a good time
on the
“I will turn back a little way, my friends” suddenly announced John. “For why, my Lord?” enquired de Mauléon “You have enough to consider, let us make as much speed as we can to arrive at the Abbey in reasonable time.”
“It’s this dratted pain in my stomach, I need something to take my mind off it. In any case I must be certain that the crown jewels and all my other possessions are proceeding to their destination.”
“In that case let de Buissant and I go along with you. If no more we can at least help to reassure you.”
The King nodded wearily and spurring his horse galloped off with slightly renewed energy. De Buissant and de Mauléon quickly followed their monarch. They seemed to have covered the ground quite speedily when they heard John gasp audibly. His face was blank except for an intensity of expression about the eyes. De Buissant touched the King lightly on the arm but it was as if he were in another World.
“My God!” John exploded as if the realisation that had frozen him to his saddle like a statue had at last communicated itself to his vocal chords. The Angevin monarch pointed a trembling finger, both de Buissant and de Mauléon following its course.
“My treasure, my treasure!” roared the King “It’s sinking in that quagmire. Follow me, we must retrieve every last piece of equipment.”
“No sire” responded Savary” To venture in those quick-sands is certain death. I felt that we were expecting too much, the waters are now starting to rise. We cannot go forward and the wagons cannot go back.”
“At least let me try and rescue some of my plate and coronation regalia.”
Before Guy or Savary could say anything further the King charged into the water like a man inspired. As if fighting a human foe he sought to hack his way towards the centre of the shifting sands. The two paladins could not see their master destroy himself in such a quest, noble it may be but the chances of success were minimum.
“Let me try and save just one item, God in Heaven at least something.”
Ignoring this plea de Buissant and
de Mauléon
turned the King’s horse round
and shoving and moving with great dexterity they managed to get John back on
shore. They both received that flashing Plantagenet glare, a look of the Devil
Incarnate. Then almost as suddenly the King slumped over his horse’s neck and
started to wail in a most despairing fashion.
“Think of the poor fellows who have sunk in this pit trying to guide the wagons over” mused Guy to Savary.
“I hope the King remembers that as well, the loss of the treasure has quite turned his mind” grunted de Mauléon.
“God, one moment I am riding on the crest of victory, next devastation.”
The two soldiers looked gravely at the King who was staring wild-eyed from place to place. He seized his sword withdrawing it from its scabbard and looking keenly at the naked blade. With one tremendous effort he tossed it through the air seeing it land some yards away. De Mauléon strode forward and wiping the weapon on his cloak handed it back to the monarch.
“Come, my King. We can do little here let us make tracks to the Abbey where we can at least rest for awhile.”
“You know I spent years and years collecting some of those pieces of plate. I had one of the finest collections in the World, and now all gone what a waste what a disaster.”
“I understand my good lord but we really must accept realities. A good long rest at the Abbey is the best solution in the circumstances.”
“I suppose so, you always were a good counsellor de Mauléon. Lets make progress we’ve little else to do anyway.”
Reluctantly John slapped his horse’s flanks and with his two retainers in close attention lead off back on the road to Swineshead.
Coughing and spluttering, shivering and hacking, spitting, gasping, every distressful condition it would seem was almost continually being experienced by the King on his journey. At last the Abbey loomed on the horizon and at least this seemed to provide the King with some mild enthusiasm. De Mauléon and de Buissant both inwardly expressed a sigh of relief, they had been genuinely worried about the middle-aged monarch.
One of the King’s retainers helped John to dismount as the feverish brother of the Lion-Heart half stumbled on contact with the ground. Fortunately the Abbot, none other than Roger that faithful ally of the Plantagenet monarch, stepped forward to catch him and lead him gently along the patch to the Abbey gate.
“You look a trifle weary and not in the best of health if I may make so bold” commented Roger.
“Straight talking as always” grunted the King. “Still I cannot disagree with you on that point. Just give me a short rest at your Abbey Master Abbot and I will be as good as new.”
“I trust so. We provide a very pleasant rest here free from the troubles of the World.”
John Looked up to see the charming and beautiful Reasea stood by the Abbot’s side.
“Yes, I should have realised” half-smiled the King “Reasea would be here. I hope that we have got over our little misunderstanding girl?”
“My Lord, have we ever been but good friends, as far as a subject and a King could be?”
“Eh?” mused Lackland furrowing his brow “You are a cautious one, Reasea. Still I admire you for your numerous abilities, as indeed do I appreciate the staunch qualities of your friend the Abbot.”
The King allowed himself to be led
to a comfortable seat where he slumped down and let out a huge sigh of relief.
After all the exertion and travelling, all the stress and turmoil at least now
he could count on a short period of rest. On reflection, however, he wondered
how much spare time he had. Although the war was going well, he needed to relax
and unwind a bit. God though all his treasure lost, what a blow, he really
needed some activity to take his mind off that. A pity his lovely Queen
Isabella of
“Have you any cider Abbot Roger?” enquired John of his host “some succulent peaches would also not come amiss. God, I’m famished, I would almost promise you an Archbishopric if you could deliver. Still the Pope would probably not be too happy.”
“Who knows?” smiled Roger “Our old friend Innocent is dead and Pope Honorious rules in his stead. Mayhap he has a sense of humour.”
“One prating priest is much the same as another” snarled John. “Although considering that my Kingdom is in hock to the Holy See I suppose I should restrain my comments. Also, of course, I make exceptions in my condemnation not all clerics are worthy of approbation especially your good self Roger. Anyway enough of this tittle tattle get me some food and drink.”
“Certainly, your Grace” nodded Roger “But please do not overdo things. Moderation in everything is a wise course to follow. Your body will be weak from your recent exertions. Sip gently and do not put too much pressure on your stomach.”
“Alright Roger, don’t treat me like a spoilt brat, I can behave with moderation and even decorum when the occasion demands.”
Roger ordered the cider and peaches and left the King to his own devices while he took de Mauléon and de Buissant to one side.
“How bad is the King?” he enquired “He has a pasty, sick look about him.”
“I think the loss of his treasure on the way has affected him as much as his medical problems.” voiced de Buissant “He has a strong physique.”
“So had his brother the Lion-Heart” suggested Roger “But even he fell victim to a severe wound.”
“Yes but that was at least due to the physician botching-up the job in trying to extract the arrow. John, here, is merely suffering from a severe case of belly-ache and the flux.” added de Mauléon
“Merely?” enquired Roger raising his dark eye-brows “I have seen the bloody flux see off more soldiers in war than the direct impact of cold steel into the vitals”
“Well yes” admitted Savary “you probably have it there. It’s safer being in the midst of battle with axes and maces swinging past your head, than drinking foul ale or rancid meat.”
The rest of the day passed uneventfully and Roger was on the point of getting his head down for the night when he noticed a dark figure leaving the King’s room. The personage looked vaguely foreign, yet other than that barely significant, one of life’s nonentities, a body slipping backwards and forwards from one nondescript event to another. Yet this time there seemed something decidedly sinister about this “non person”.
“Excuse me my friend what message are you delivering?”
“I am going to the kitchens on behalf of our good King. He is desirous of some more peaches.” This was spoken in clipped almost accented, tones.
“I would not advise” muttered Roger “The King has a weak stomach at the moment.”
“If the King requests , it must be done” was the reply.
Ignoring the man’s comments the Abbot advanced swiftly to the door of John’s room and knocked sharply. “Your Grace may I enter?” he enquired hoarsely.
“Come in!” growled a voice from inside betraying evidence of slight intoxication.
Roger entered the semi-darkened surroundings and puckered his brows in irritation. The King had been eating and drinking as if there were no tomorrow. This was about the worst that he could have done.
“Sire, is this wise? All this food and drink?”
“Oh God in Heaven Roger, is all enjoyment censured here? I’ve had a hard time recently, I need to unwind.”
“Yes indeed my Lord but not at the expense of your health. I am willing to risk your anger but as far as I am concerned no more food and drink will pass your lips until the morrow. Even then it will be the mildest of breakfasts.”
With this statement Roger left the room leaving his monarch suitably chastised. Amazed at the Abbot’s effrontery of his Royal dignity John was totally speechless.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
“You are sure of your suspicions Roger?” enquired Reasea.
“Yes, it took me time to realise it
but I have a good memory for faces. That man I saw leaving the King’s room was
in
“God I hope he did not manage to interfere with the King’s food. It would only .....”
“No need to worry I sent him packing from the room as soon as I could. Apparently he had not brought anything in. I managed to see him just at the right time.”
“Did you tell the King about your concerns?”
“Better still” smiled Roger “I got Brother Enfeld to waylay the rogue. He is firmly bound in one of our monastic cells, the King need not bother himself with this villain for the moment.”
Reasea clutched the Abbot tightly by the arm in a meaningful way. “I am not a great admirer of John Lackland” she confided “But he is the best monarch that we have. Do you think that everything is going alright?”
“As far as one can predict with these Angevins” grunted Roger “John is too careless about his health, one of these days it will be the death of him.”
Abbot Roger would have been even
more disconcerted if he could have seen John at that very moment. Together with
Reasea and the monks of Swineshead Abbey he had earlier seen the Plantagenet
and his band on their way. The King still looked weary but was of such a
determined mood that even the Devil would have been unwise to have crossed
swords with him. In such humour he moved steadily West with his entourage to
Sleaford. There his fiery temper got the best of him when messengers from
Hubert de Burgh announced that that worthy gentleman had been compelled to
agree a truce with the rebels at
have the advantage of having close by
the Abbot of Croxton, a good friend of Roger, who had built up a
reputation as someone skilled in the medical arts. The good monk, however,
could do little for the King whose own restless behaviour made him a difficult
patient.
“I think that everything is going well for us, Master Abbot” mused John raising himself on his elbow. “Once I get my blasted stomach in some shape again I’ll ride into the midst of our enemies and shatter them beyond repair.”
“Good sire, can I be frank with you?” enquired the Abbot of Croxton.
“Well you clerics certainly make a habit of frankness. I thought that I had taken more than I could bear from your pal Roger. Still honesty is the best policy as they say. Speak on you’ll find no opposition from me.”
“Your Grace I have tried my best to control your symptoms but you become progressively worse. I hope to Heaven that God intervenes and saves your life, but sire I can see no other result then ......”
“My death, eh cleric?” snapped John “So another Plantagenet is on his way to Hades?”
“Sire some solemnity would be in better order.”
“My arse it would!” snarled the King. “Fetch me some clerk with writing materials and bring in de Mauléon, de Buissant and my other immediate retainers. I might at least dictate my will and leave an ordered Kingdom if the worst does come to the worst.”
When his orders had been obeyed John surveyed the grave faces surrounding him. Brave fellows these, he owed his continued position in the Kingdom to their steadfastness. It would be a pity to leave them. Yes and his lovely Queen Isabella, as well as Brythec and a few others.
“What a sad-faced, sour-mouthed bunch of prating God knows what you resemble” smirked the King.
“Sire we are only concerned for your welfare” responded de Mauléon “You know the loyalty that you have inspired in all your Captains. My Poitevan mercenaries have stood by you through thick and thin.”
“Yes you and
Fawkes de Breauté
have been more reliable than all my so-called kith
and kin, blood brothers we are.”
“My Lord King is far too kind.”
“Enough of this courtly behaviour. Here scribe” motioning to a young crop-haired individual “take down what I say. How shall we begin? Yes something like this. Being overtaken by a grievous sickness, and so incapable of making a detailed disposition of my good, I commit the ordering and execution of my will to the fidelity and discretion of my faithful men whose names are written below, without whose counsel, were they at hand, I would not, even in health, ordain anything, ....”
Guy de Buissant momentarily turned away deep in a brown study. It had promised to be a good winter following a successful Summer and Autumn of 1216. Now, however, the fates had dealt a bitter hand. The strong Angevin Monarch had seemingly only hours, at best days of his life left. What a blow to their hopes - and who to follow him on the throne but a pasty-faced little boy. That was all anyone needed with the Country still full of the French Dauphin’s troops and the English rebel barons still not fully subdued.
John’s voice began to trail off,
overcome by exhaustion “First, then, I desire that my body be buried in the
Church of the Blessed Virgin and St. Wulfstan at
“Guy turned to Savary and pressed him on the arm, nodding slowly. The King had a high regard for the mercenary chief with some justification.
“You are all aware of the line of succession” announced the King. “My eldest son Henry will become your new master. I commend him to the Guardian-ship of old William the Marshal, Earl of Pembroke. Inspite of his white hairs that man is still a tower of strength.”
“We have heard your wishes, your Grace. Rely upon us to regard them as God’s Ordinances” responded the Abbot of Croxton.
John Lackland groaned almost
silently but roused himself sufficiently to grasp
the hand of Savary de Mauléon.
He nodded almost fiercely but smiled a somewhat painful smile as he eventually
released the routier from his grasp. The small mournful group round the King’s
bed slowly filtered out of the room moving in a most dispirited manner into
various parts of the castle. It seemed like an eternity with very little
happening, no real decisions being taken as if time itself had stood still.
“Messire de Mauléon.”
Savary glanced upwards from his seated position to behold the grave expression of the Abbot of Croxton.
“Well my good Abbot what news?”
“It is ended, the King is dead. His life ebbed away a few minutes ago. I took his confession which was bravely made by our good monarch. What a time to go, its howling a gale outside. Messengers have been struggling through with appeals from a number of rebels asking to be reconciled to his Grace. Sadly King John was not in the best of conditions to take much notice. Well there it is 19th October in the year of Our Lord 1216 and a fierce unyielding monarch goes to his final rest. He was a worthy member of an illustrious royal house.”
“Indeed master Abbot” agreed Savary “I will tell everyone else and see that the necessary arrangements are made.”
Guy de Buissant seemed unusually subdued when told the tragic news. Savary with his great perception and experience of life sensed that there was something else on his young friend’s mind. He did not pry but kept a seemingly casual but in actual fact close watch on Guy to see if his agitated manner would provide any more clues. A stalwart fellow was the youthful knight, a man of honour and firm resolution, he did not want anything to happen to such a valuable member of the late King’s entourage.
“Savary, could I have a word with you?”
De Mauléon glanced quickly at Guy. So he was making his intentions known without any need for Savary to embark on subtle but friendly espionage.
“My dear Guy speak your thoughts. I am ever the listener.”
“This death of the King is a cruel
blow to
“Indeed it is, we have lost a vigorous fighter.”
“Ah!” mused de Buissant “and only a sop-faced brat to succeed him. What leadership is that?”
“There will be something of a regency backed by stout friends” suggested de Mauléon “myself and Fawkes de Breauté amongst others have soldiers at our behest ready to deal with all exigencies.”
“No doubt, but we need more than a figure-head at the top. You deserve better, Savary.”
“What alternative is there then my fine young warrior?”
“The Princess Eleanor of
Savary stared hard and long at de Buissant and then burst into gales of laughter.
“God’s face!” roared de Mauléon. “You certainly are smitten by that young woman. A fine mind I’ll warrant you, and like your good self I have experienced the joys of her lithe, supple body. God, yes indeed I have but I don’t let my loins rule my mind.”
“Surely Savary you must have considered Eleanor as a possible successor to John. True she is a woman, but Hell’s teeth what a woman and let’s face it she has more guts and drive and intellect than any man I’ve met.”
“A pretty speech my friend” smiled Savary “I must agree with you she is a remarkable human being. Sadly destiny has not put her in the way of a crown. Like it or not John’s decision was that this wey-faced pious little prat Henry should succeed to the throne. To suggest an alternative monarch would plunge the Country into even further chaos.”
“Savary please give me a little
time. Let me ride to
“Wait a moment Guy” suggested de Mauléon “You would also have to persuade Fawkes and his Flemings. I’m not the only mercenary leader in these parts. To answer your first question I am sworn to abide by King John’s last Will and Testament. You have my friendship at all times but my treachery never.”
“Would you stop me going to Eleanor?” enquired de Buissant.
“I would never hold a lusty young knight back from his love” responded the routier. “I will imagine that we have not had this conversation and that when you return you come back as a loyal subject of King Henry the third.”
“I promise nothing” answered Guy “I could never trick you, Savary, or take advantage of your friendship. I will go to Corfe and do what I must do.”
“Then go with my blessings. However, if you remain obdurate and instead of just playing the merry lover with Eleanor you seduce her to your political ideals then I must on principle use my armed might to stop you.”
“No man could be fairer. I’ll give Eleanor your ....”
“Nay lad, no need for that what I would want to give her would require my personal attention. That woman could melt the resolve of the Pope and all his cardinals.”
De Buissant shuddered quite violently as, a few moments later, he sought to saddle-up his shivering mount. The weather was cold even for October and quite a surprise after the relatively hot Summer. The storms and gales of the last few hours seemed as if they would never abate. Still if he took it fairly steadily he should be alright. He would probably be the first one to inform Eleanor of her Uncle’s demise. The strong wind almost blew him over, it was as if an extra gust had come from nowhere at all. As he almost swerved to stand-up to the violent storm he saw the hilt of a sword raised above his head. Incredibly holding the weapon point downwards to the ground was his friend Savary de Mauléon.
“God’s blood, Savary, what are you at?” he gasped.
“Merely a light tap on your head, Guy. A thick head and a short stay in the Bishop of Lincoln’s Castle here are worth having if it saves you from the accusation of treachery”
“Savary, you promised not to interfere. I know my own mind.”
“You may well at the moment but with a little thought you will thank me for my timely intervention.”
Guy de Buissant drew his sword and began to circle the Poitevan mercenary with a grim expression on his face.
“I will not willingly harm you Savary” he announced. “But Heaven help me if you seek to stop me I will leave you with a nasty wound.”
“Stop this foolishness you young scoundrel, to take me on is crass stupidity. I have seldom been bettered in a fight and my opponents number some of the best trained knights in existence.”
Guy bent low and scooping a handful of mud and dirt from the ground he flung it into de Mauléon’s face The routier coughed and spluttered with extreme irritation during which time de Buissant had bounded onto his horse and sped forward in the opposite direction.
“I acknowledge your prowess” shouted back Guy “It is essential I get to Eleanor and that old trick was my best hope.”
De Mauléon wiped his face clean. He could scarce forebear to smile inspite of his indisposition. Here was he a hardened warrior thrown by one of the oldest tricks in the book. Still perhaps when Guy reached Corfe his hot blood would have cooled and he would have more time to think. In any case if Eleanor had any sense she would reject his offer and concentrate on supplying his more direct needs.
“You seem perplexed.”
Savary turned to see the very
athletic, finely tuned figure of Sir Simon of
“Oh it is nothing. Or rather should I say it is something. My young friend Guy de Buissant can be a trifle hot-headed at times. I think I can trust you Sir Simon could you do me a signal honour which I would appreciate greatly?”
“Anyone such as you Savary de Mauléon who has fought staunchly by the King’s side is worthy of support. Name your request and consider it done.”
“Why then can you take 5 or 6 of
your most trustworthy retainers and follow Guy’s trail. I believe he is
destined for
“I will indeed. However”
recommenced Sir Simon “ I feel that my wife the Lady Eggertrude might have had
more influence on the good Sir Guy. From rumours I have heard the two of them
met some years ago, albeit briefly, but rather passionately. My dear wife has a
way with her and I am certain that the young man has not forgotten those dark
piercing brown eyes of hers.”
“Probably not” smiled de Mauléon
“A spirited fellow is our Sir Guy. Your wife is at
“It shall be done” responded Sir Simon. “From what I have seen of de Buissant I like the cut of his jib, his general bearing, and his uncomplicated frankness. The new King needs people like him. I will keep a watch on him and try and ensure that he keeps out of trouble.”
Savary smiled as he heard Sir
Simon’s last comments. Yes indeed, the new King Henry would need men like Guy,
let it be hoped that Guy himself saw the situation that way. Otherwise
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
“Melissa is your mistress here?”
“Certainly Sir Guy do you desire an audience with her?”
Guy de Buissant had arrived weary
and mud-bespattered at
“Yes I do” responded Guy quickly “It is news of the most urgent.”
“Then please wait here I will be back very shortly” replied the lady.
De Buissant wandered up and down somewhat impatiently for seemingly an eternity. Every second, in Guy’s mind added up to a good solid hour as the urgency of his quest became more and more evident. Time was absolutely crucial. He felt like breaking all the rules of protocol and charging in to see the Princess.
“Come this way Sir Guy.”
Standing before the former squire was a young woman of a fairly dark complexion that he had not seen before.
“I thought I knew all Lady Eleanor’s people” announced Guy “but, dear lady, you are new to me. You could be Norman-French yet there is the slight indication of the East about you.”
“In that case I will introduce
myself. My name is Jadabal. My father was a crusader with Richard the
Lion-Heart and took part in the taking of
“I will bear that in mind” smiled de Buissant.
“In the meantime please follow me” replied Jadabal.
The half-Saracen lady took Guy into a pleasantly decorated room one that he was not unacquainted with. In the middle of the floor was a bath-tub filled with water into which he was invited to step.
“I will get Melissa to bring in some
towels” indicated Jadabal. “I will leave you now but please get out of your
dirty clothes and give yourself the luxury of a soothing bath.”
“I thank-you, my girl”
responded Guy “But I would wish to speak to the Princess Eleanor somewhat
urgently.”
“Have your bath first, my brave young knight” smiled Jadabal leaving the room quickly but winking impishly at him.
Guy did as he was bidden. The feel of fresh water on his body was a balm in itself. The aches and pains that he had suffered in his journey South gradually seemed to subside. It was sheer Heaven by comparison with the exertions of the last few weeks, fighting on behalf of John Lackland. Guy nodded appreciatively when Melissa came in and left some sweetly smelling towels for him. It was like being in another World, a glorious World at that.
“Is everything alright for you, Sir Guy?” enquired Melissa. “The Princess Eleanor will be with you shortly.”
“Fine, as always I am appreciative
of the kindness you have shown me. It is almost like old times being back in
Melissa bowed demurely and with a coy smile left the warrior to his bath. There was little for it but for de Buissant to ensure that he was as clean as was humanly possible. His mission seemed to have come to a halt at least momentarily and all he could do was to bide his time.
“Well, well my troubadour and former squire. Please do not rise I am not such a stickler for convention.”
Guy looked-up from his ablutions to see the Pearl of Brittany directly in his line of vision. She wore a loosely-fitting gown which even hugged carelessly about her body could not disguise her exquisite figure.
“Madam” responded Guy. “Your uncle,
our Lord King John is dead. He passed away but a few days ago in great agony at
the Bishop of Lincoln’s castle at
“My God!” spluttered Eleanor “he had the constitution of an ox. How in the Devil’s name did the old satyr manage to die. My Uncle was a vigorous man, a hard driving difficult man at times, but a formidable King for all that. I suspect foul play here. The last I heard he was sweeping all before him, full of fierce anger and steely determination. How do you see his death, Guy?”
“A great impediment to the Nation, Eleanor. It took me by surprise but the King treated his own health with reckless abandon. Instead of cosseting himself he aggravated the grinding stomach pains and the dysentery and ate and drank as if there were no tomorrow. Still a youngish man, older than his brother Richard when he died but nevertheless not quite 50 years old.”
“Yes but older than his brother my father Jeffrey when he died” mused Eleanor.
“Too true, my Lady” resumed Guy “but have you thought of the succession? They plan to make your cousin Henry the new King.”
“As was to be expected” commented Eleanor.
“Madam, could you consider wearing the diadem? Many would prefer to see you on the throne rather than a pasty-faced boy.”
“Guy, Guy are you speaking as one of my lovers or as a detached spectator of the current political scene?”
“Madam” resumed Guy ignoring Eleanor’s amused comment. “Please allow me be to the first to salute you as the Queen of England.”
“Well Master Guy” smiled the
In a typical dramatic gesture Eleanor flung off her robe revealing her nubile charms to the young knight. Almost hypnotically he obeyed her commands and trailing water advanced towards her. With considerable hilarity she grasped him round the waist and pulled him to the ground. Locked in the Princess’s arms Guy forgot his present dilemma, the troubles and concerns of the last few days seemed to fall into place, in essence of no account compared with enjoying Eleanor’s charms.
“I like you when you are frothy and wet” laughed Eleanor.
“As always at your command, my lady”
“Or possibly your Queen?” enquired
the
De Buissant felt all the old
ardour returning. The battles and skirmishes against John’s enemies had
concentrated his mind over-much on affairs of State. Now exposed to the charms
of the angel of
“So what are your plans for me, my dear boy?” purred the Princess.
“Plans? Oh yes” moaned de Buissant “I knew that I had come here for some well-defined purpose.”
“You intrigue me Guy. I have been thinking while we were locked in our embrace. God, you have to exercise the mind at such times it gives you something to do” continued Eleanor wrinkling her nose and sticking out her tongue in playful mood “but to be serious, yes I feel that I have served the King well. I’ve done my duty by him, damn it man so have you. In fact I’ve no responsibility to my young cousin Henry. What a prat of a ruler he will make. A waddling goose or a splay-footed duck would be a better choice if you ask me. If you have a fool-proof plan and no-one suffers, unnecessarily loses their life then I will treat your request with consideration.”
“I will be honest with you Eleanor, our good friend de Mauléon will not be with us. He feels obliged to the son of his old master. That is the biggest blow of all he would have carried considerable weight in our campaign.”
“Savary would have been a good ally
I agree” responded the
“Agreed, I’ve had little dealings with him I must confess.”
“Well it’s all very well having high ambitions for me but apart from Melissa, Jadabal and yourself what support have I got? The last thing that we want to do is get involved in some half-baked escapade. You’ve got guts, Guy my boy, and a number of other attributes but you are far too impulsive. It would have been better to have assessed the position first and then selected a time to move when more appropriate later.”
“My Lady I do have a good idea inspite of what you say.”
“Well spit it out man, you are beginning to look a trifle ridiculous dripping water standing there in your birthday suit.”
“No matter” resumed Guy ignoring the young woman’s banter “I am liaison officer for Rolf de Claimont ad his outlaw band. They have created havoc amongst the King’s enemies including Prince Louis and his Frenchmen. What they have achieved against the odds there they can achieve against other opposition as well.”
“You may have the germ of a good idea there” mused Eleanor. “The day is advancing fast and dusk will be on us soon. A journey into the depths of a forest is fraught with dangers at the best of times. Let us have a good night’s rest, or in your case should we say a good knight’s rest” added the Pearl showing her lovely white teeth in a full throated laugh “then let us make an early start to have our discussions with de Claimont.”
“I would subscribe to those views Eleanor” responded de Buissant thoughtfully. “In the mean time let us behave as normally as possible and maintain something of a low profile.”
Athelfreda moved quickly back from
the canopied side-door entrance which she had approached, quite innocently,
only moments before. She had not heard all of the conversation but enough to
realise that the
William Longsword had departed Corfe
a few days ago. However, he might
not have been the best person to confide the news to. He was a good man all in
all but he would probably have taken the side of Young Henry and been rather
severe on anyone seeking to prevent that young boy ascending the throne. Even
more incredible to Athelfreda was the fact that King John was dead, he seemed
capable of living many more years, what a calamity.
The young woman was in something of
a torment to say the least. As she walked briskly down the corridor she kept
asking herself what she should do. A conference with Rolf before Eleanor and
Guy got to see him would be invaluable. However, how was she to get to see him
and who amongst the Castle guards could be relied upon to ask as her guides?
She thought desperately of the personnel within the confines of the fortress.
They were all good people but all thought the World of Eleanor they would never
do anything against her wishes. What a mess this all was, staunch and kind
people involved in a maelstrom of certain disaster. How could Eleanor and Guy
have persuaded themselves that there was any future in their madcap plan.
Athelfreda ironically agreed in her own mind that Eleanor would make a better
Queen than young Henry would a King. Still wishing was one thing, political
realities were another,
“The Lady Athelfreda?”
The young woman was shaken out of her reverie by a swiftly spoken comment. She looked-up to see a rough-looking peasant staring straight at her. He was well-built and inspite of attempts to disguise the fact had an air about him that suggested someone of breeding. The unshaven appearance and ragged clothing somehow looked out of place and did not tally with his crisp modulated speech.
“Yes, but how do you know me?” responded Athelfreda.
“I saw you on a number of occasions
with the Earl of Salisbury, my lady. I am Sir Simon of
“How can I help you, Sir Simon? To
be truthful I am in need of advice and counsel myself. I fear that Sir Guy de
Buissant and the Lady Eleanor intend to mislead my friend Rolf de Claimont.
There is talk of taking the crown - do you know that
John is dead?”
“Yes, yes” replied Simon “It would appear that I am ideally placed to lend you my assistance. I have followed the good Sir Guy deliberately to keep him out of trouble. He has a hot, passionate nature and needs friends to cool his ardour. I am not here alone, in fact I suggest that we make tracks to see your Rolf and warn him of de Buissant’s hare-brained scheme.”
Eleanor of Brittany and Guy de Buissant as planned waited until the morning before embarking on their foray into the forest where de Claimont and his band were lodged. They took a leisurely breakfast and with deliberation set-out accompanied by just a few retainers. Guy had calmed down and outwardly appeared influenced by if not exactly imbued with Eleanor’s clear-eyed circumspection. The journey was as expected fraught with difficulties. How anyone could imagine that there was anything romantic or idyllic about an English forest was beyond reason. When the fitful October sun deemed to shine producing shimmering cascades of light reflecting on the fast fading Autumn leaves there was an element of gaiety in the surroundings. This was, however, quickly dispelled when the small party became aware of the bitingly cold wind cutting through their thin court clothes little protected by the stylish cloaks they wore to provide only minimal protection against the elements.
“This journey seems unending” voiced Eleanor. “It is certainly a circuitous route towards a crown. How many of my predecessors had to put up with this? None at all I would surmise.”
“I have a feeling that Rolf will find us first, my Lady” suggested Guy. “Little can happen here without his being well informed. As we speak now there are doubtless eyes watching us from a number of locations.”
“Was this such a good idea after all?” mused the Princess.
“Have patience Eleanor” responded de Buissant. “Something will happen before long.”
In fact the trek through the
undergrowth continued uneventfully for some time. It seemed like hours but
could not have been that long. Nevertheless even Guy the supreme optimist that
he was, was starting to have second thoughts. Was his plan ill-thought out?
With hindsight he had probably bitten off about fifty times more than
he could chew! His friendship with de
Mauléon
was at risk. In any escapade or any situation for that matter the support of
the staunch mercenary captain was well-nigh essential. Technically that gallant
gentleman was now on the opposite side to himself. God, if only he had thought
this through a bit more, no a lot more. He had risen well under King John, why
had he suddenly got hopelessly involved in high politics? Glancing sideways he
realised that his promptings were as much of the flesh as the mind. If only
Eleanor had not had such a delectable sweet smile and such an alluring charm.
Her full-bodied warmth would set most men’s hearts a tingle. Yet de Mauléon
had known her exquisite beauty as well, had tasted the joy of her voluptuous
form and yet had separated his recreational interests from the cool reasoning
of his mind. Even he must have been impressed by the woman’s mind nonetheless.
Most people who had met Eleanor commented on the sharp intellectual gifts which
she possessed. Even her late uncle John Lackland, had valued her sagacity and
realised her worth. Only a dullard or an ale-sot would refuse to acknowledge
that the Princess was a better proposition than her young cousin Henry. Was there
no satisfying some minds?
An arrow with lightning speed sped its way through the air embedding itself in a stout tree trunk some ten yards away from Guy. The young paladin sought to pull at his horse’s bridle to control the natural reaction of the beast who started to twist and paw the ground in some anxiety. In a matter of seconds green-clad figures sprang-out from almost every point of the forest. The small group did not exhibit too much surprise given that they had achieved their initial ambition of establishing contact with Rolf’s band of officially approved outlaws.
“Is Rolf de Claimont here amongst you?” demanded Guy quickly dismounting and throwing the reins almost negligently to one of the approaching archers.
“I am here Sir Guy de Buissant” exclaimed an athletic figure striding through the green ranks.
“Thank God for that I would have a serious conversation with you about the weal and safety of this great Country of ours.”
“I am at your leisure good Sir Guy” smiled Rolf “follow me a little until we reach an appropriate location.”
De Buissant heaved a huge sigh of relief. Matters seemed to be improving by the moment. De Claimont had a likely bunch of lads with him. He knew for certain that Friar Scarlett would be among them, a canny fighter was he, a great man to have in a struggle.
“One point I would make before we go much further” confided Rolf.
“Indeed what is that?”
“Quickly lads seize Sir Guy and bind him fast. Gentle with the Lady Eleanor now but escort her and also persuade those armed retainers with her that discretion is the better part of valour.”
Guy had virtually no time at all to react. In a trice strong, firm hands were on him and very expeditiously he was bound tightly and dragged along a few yards to be placed in front of Rolf.
“Is this madness de Claimont?” spluttered Sir Guy. “Is this how you treat honoured guests? I am, after all, your liaison officer here acting between you and the King’s Grace.”
“Indeed, indeed!” rasped de Claimont “Which King is this you speak of. John, of blessed memory, or if not blessed then of fiercely effective Plantagenet memory, is dead as you know.”
“A technical matter” snapped de Buissant. “Have you taken leave of your senses, man? Unbind me now!”
“You have taken leave of your senses de Buissant” barked Rolf “You are seeking to overthrow your liege and rightful King.”
“Why so?” muttered de Buissant. “How are you privy to my thoughts? In any case who is acclaimed monarch now that John lies dead? Do you favour a pale-faced simpering boy as his successor?”
“Even so Henry was proclaimed as John’s successor on the latter’s death-bed.” This was a different voice the words spoken lightly but with authority.
De Buissant turned to see the
beautiful form of Athelfreda standing in the forest. How had she got here? His
consternation turned to unbelief when he beheld the staunch form of Sir Simon
of
“I accidentally overheard your
plans” was the only comment offered by Athelfreda.
Guy struggling with his bonds looked
helplessly in the direction of the
“My dear de Claimont, surely you are a man who knows the worth of most things?” These were Eleanor’s first spoken words since the arrest of Guy.
“You flatter me my Lady.”
“No, no, indeed not. You are a man
who has lived and knows the price of everything, someone who can judge well.
Look on me and tell me honestly and without elaboration that I am less worthy
to wear
“You are a fine woman my Lady” admitted Rolf. “But if justice and honour and integrity, real justice, real honour, were adhered to the World would be a different place. In another context you would doubtless be a notable Queen. As it is, Henry is the choice of the great lords and also his late father’s choice.”
“Rolf de Claimont” retorted Eleanor with considerable spirit. “Does not the man in you cry out against this injustice? Help set me on the throne and nothing that you would wish would be denied you. In John’s reign you unjustly had your spurs struck, I would restore you not only to knight-hood but to higher glory. I would welcome firm, staunch men such as you around me.”
“I am sorry” smiled Rolf “I am too old for adventuring of this sort, adventuring where the result could only be disaster. You will be made comfortable here, my Lady, and treated with every courtesy, but, for the moment, you are our prisoner.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
“God save King Henry, of that name the third.”
A roar of acclamation sounded
throughout the old church built by Abbot Serlo so many years before. The
surroundings were more austere than regal but
Isabella of Angoulême, now the Queen-Mother turned to the stalwart Earl of Pembroke, William the Marshal after the full observances had been adhered to.
“My good Earl will you keep my son sure and safe?” I should not ask that, you are the finest knight in Christendom. Still I fear for Henry, he is but a young boy.”
“Indeed madam” responded the Marshal. “Nonetheless I am already impressed by his sober bearing and his upstanding appearance. He has the making of a good and true King. Let his advisers mould him, make certain he listens carefully to the sound knowledge that will be imparted to him. Why already there is a breath of fresh air in the land. Nobles previously disaffected are rallying to the call of their young monarch.”
“My second son Richard is a much tougher individual in various respects, a lover of the rough and tumble is that one. Perhaps he is the sort of King this Country needs.”
“I know your lad Richard and he will be a fine support for his brother when the time comes. Do not underestimate Henry though he has all the dignity of a King already and I believe that he has the intellect to apply himself assiduously to his royal task.”
“Let us hope so” responded Isabella
“Incidentally we should set about gathering in our little brood from
“It has sufficed for their cousin Eleanor of Brittany and indeed a couple of Scottish princesses in the past” commented the Marshal.
“Ah yes the
“She is a lady of great charm and attainments .....”
“I know all this” interrupted the Queen-Mother. “But some would say she has some rights to the throne. Is she not dangerous? Could she not become a rallying point for mutinous subjects?”
“On the contrary your Grace” suggested the Marshal “she has been a loyal supporter of your late husband. Some would say surprisingly so in view of the alleged fate of her brother. Nevertheless she has shown tact and diplomacy, no-one could have expected any more from her.”
“I see you are obviously smitten by the Lady.”
“Queen Isabella!” retorted the Earl of Pembroke “I am a man of 80 years, such a suggestion is ill-founded.”
“Tut, tut man I but jest. In any case you have conveniently added a good eight years to your age.”
“Well perhaps madam. I have, however, lived now during five reigns beginning with King Stephen. The old King spoke to me, you know, very civilly I might add considering that I was just a young lad at the time.”
“These reminiscences are
interesting” scowled Isabella “but there
are more important issues afoot. I trust my son to your care, Earl of Pembroke,
you have grown grey in
“I will indeed madam, although the honour ill-befits me.”
The Queen-Mother smiled steadily at
the old warrior nodding her head slowly. The Marshal did not shrink from her
fierce dark looks merely bowing politely and with barely a flourish moving from
her presence. Isabella might need some watching now. During John’s reign she
had been notably uninterested in politics. The changing situation could well
have altered her outlook. The Earl of Pembroke remembered that she had been
promised to Hugh de Lusignan, the Comté
de la Marché
before John had secured her in marriage. An interesting combination possibly if
that association were renewed. William mused over the possibilities. Joanna,
Isabella’s young daughter was now officially betrothed to Hugh although it
would be some years
before she attained woman-hood. He would watch developments with interest.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Fawkes de Breauté glared at his fellow-mercenary Savary de Mauléon. Even a casual glance at the two could surmise that Fawkes was the more ruthless, the more grasping of the two. There was a hard flinty self-seeking shiftiness in the eyes. Confront this man and expect total aggression, beg mercy and expect none, show kindness and expect to see it repulsed. An efficient practitioner of his craft was this man, although not as capable as de Mauléon some said. Nevertheless de Breauté was a proficient, self-publicist - he would seemingly nearly always achieve what he set-out to attain.
“We can not make any exception at all” barked de Breauté. “Treachery is treachery and that is an end to it.”
“Tush man” grimaced de Mauléon. “We are talking about a minor disruption, something that was undertaken in the heat of the moment. I suggest we let everything blow over.”
“Indeed” snarled his rival “Your own part in this distasteful business leaves a lot to be desired. Why, God, man you would have kept quiet about it all only for reliable and loyal subjects reporting back from Corfe.”
“I am ever the practical one” half-smiled Savary “My loyalty to the new King is as rock-solid as my fidelity to his father. I was with John in his last campaigns, my tenacity of purpose was never disputed.”
“And yet you brush-over the matter of the Lady Eleanor and this up-start young squire de Buissant.”
“I had Sir Guy and the Lady Eleanor
placed under close confinement by Rolf de Claimont and his men. Sir Simon of
“Fine start they have made to the new reign. Even to the point of seeking to secure the crown for Lady Eleanor herself. What had they in mind for young Henry I wonder?”
“Nothing as vicious as John perpetrated on Arthur, Eleanor’s brother. As for Sir Guy I know him as a brave and gracious knight, kindness and forbearance are an essential part of his nature.”
“My decision is that Eleanor and Guy are traitors and deserve the requisite punishment” snapped de Breauté.
“And who will carry-out that order?”
sneered Savary “My Poitevans are a match for your Fleming scum any day. In
addition when Hubert de Burgh manages to shake-off the French round
“I have been named in John’s will as one of his Chief executors” snarled Fawkes.
“So have I” growled Savary “Cross me and you will find me an implacable enemy.”
“As the Lady Eleanor found you a most acceptable friend, particularly in her boudoir” gloated de Breauté.
“Is that praise or condemnation?” queried Savary.
“You will find-out soon enough” responded Fawkes drawing his sword and making a savage lunge at his adversary. They were alone in this particular part of the castle but such was the intensity between the two men that the ensuing confrontation was inevitable even if they had been in a crowded market-place.
“By the time I’ve finished with you” resumed de Breauté “Eleanor will find you of little use in her amours, a very truncated lover you will be.”
“Save your breath for your fighting” almost spat-out de Mauléon feinting to the right and then bringing his sword fiercely against that of his rival. The two warriors were fairly evenly matched but Savary had a lithness about him, an agility on his feet which as the contest advanced seemed to give him a narrow yet gradually widening advantage.
Savary tried-out a number of subtle
improvisations seeking to keep his opponent perpetually on his guard. Fawkes
was strong and active but somewhat lacking in imagination. As time progressed
de Mauléon
detected a bead-line of glistening sweat appear across de Breauté‘s
brow. Perhaps the arrogant mercenary
chief was not quite as fit as he purported to be. The sword thrusts of the
Fleming became more and more laboured and what inspiration he seemed to have at
the commencement of hostilities was almost exhausted. De Breauté
suddenly twisted his face in some pain and shrank back. Savory was too old a
campaigner to be taken in by this trick, some subterfuge no doubt. The Poitevan
was right and kept a cool head as Fawkes roared back into action intention on
one last desperate thrust.
“Damn you de Mauléon you are taxing my patience to the end.”
“Your end, Fleming dog,” smirked Savary “Have you had enough of this yet?”
De Breauté had scarce enough breath left to respond. One last savage throw, perhaps. He swung his sword, grasped two-handed hard downwards towards de Mauléon. The effort took him off-balance, and his adversary skipping aside adroitly pointed his weapon directly at his fallen enemy.
“This is madness de Mauléon I will never submit” barked de Breauté. “This is a victory not worth the winning.”
“What victory is this? Come
gentlemen what is this foolish escapade about? I come hot foot from
De Mauléon recognised the voice instantly without taking his eyes off his reclining opponent slumped heavily on the floor.
“By all the saints Hubert de Burgh.
My God, I believed you to be in
“Indeed” responded de Burgh. “The
scurvy French want to advance up to the
“Your services will be in great
demand” responded de Mauléon.
“
“Indeed?” queried de Burgh “I had often associated such qualities with yourself, Savary. Unfortunately you seem to have temporarily taken leave of your senses. What is the meaning of this contra temps with de Breauté here? I had thought of you both as staunch allies, united in a common purpose.”
“Tis but a foolish piece of
business” shrugged de Mauléon
“Fawkes and I
were arguing over the .....”
“Qualities of a woman of our acquaintance” completed the fallen de Breauté “I am willing to let bye-gones be bye-gones if Savary is also so inclined.”
“Indeed!” smiled de Mauléon. “Here on your feet you Fleming rascal grasp my hand and let us talk no more of the matter.”
De Breauté rose to his feet and slapped Savary heavily on the shoulder. There was a flintiness, a fixed and resolute manner that brooked ill for the future. This was a man to beware of.
“And now to more important matters” resumed de Burgh “I was pleased to learn that William Marshal is to be Regent to the young King. There is a worthy man who inspite of his years will bring nothing but honour to his rule.”
“Indeed” interjected de Mauléon. “It took some persuading to show the good Earl that he was much needed as the King’s chief pillar and support. You know how he always insists on his so-called great age as a hindrance to his taking-up offices of state.”
“Why the man is over-modest” snorted de Burgh “He is still capable of cracking a few-heads together as well as providing sound and sane advice to the advantage of the Nation.”
“Well at last he concurred with the
general opinion, I can still see him now as he drew himself up to his full
height, straight-backed and defiant. ‘By God’s glove!’ he cried ‘The advice is
good and true. If all should abandon us, I would carry the King on my
shoulders, one leg here ad one in
“Such a noble man is worthy of support, we all need to get firmly behind him in the name of Henry III.” Fawkes de Breauté added the statement with emphasis on the name of the youthful monarch.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
“Melissa what is this affair involving my cousin Eleanor? Why all the activity at Corfe in recent time? My good brother Henry is now Crowned King but the Kingdom seemingly is still divided and the French roam this land as if it were their birth-right.”
Eleanor’s friend, confidant, and
lady in attendance looked away at Jadabal her colleague avoiding the fierce
stare of young Richard Plantagenet. This Richard was the slightly younger
brother of Henry and whilst there was some superficial resemblance to his elder
sibling there were noticeably strong differences as well. A more determined,
gutsier little fellow, more broadly built was this Richard, better for
“It is all a matter of politics, far too intricate and deep for me” mused Melissa.
“Nonsense woman” growled Richard surprisingly for one so young. “You have one of the finest brains in this castle.”
“Your highness should show a little more manners to your elders” interposed Jadabal.
“Of course” muttered Richard “I really am sorry but I will not learn anything at all unless I ask.”
“The Princess Eleanor is highly regarded in the Kingdom” continued Melissa. “She and her former squire Guy de Buissant, now Sir Guy de Buissant had important business with allies of your late father.”
“You mean the outlaws?” smiled young Richard. “Why did they not take me with them? Will Scarlett, Rolf de Claimont what a merry bunch of rogues .....”
“You impudent young ...” began Jadabal then remembering that she was addressing the new King’s brother toned her comments down to “why you impudent young man. Those brave outlaws as you call them have risked their lives against the French raiders and anyone else not loyal to your late sire King John of blessed memory.”
Both Jadabal and Melissa felt
decidedly more uneasy as the conversation developed. Eleanor and Guy had been
gone for some time, and other messengers had
been backwards and forwards to Corfe reporting on the coronation of young
Henry. The succession seemed to have been accepted without a hitch whilst the
death of King John had not left many people exactly devastated surprising
though it had been. Where exactly did this leave the
“A troop of horsemen are approaching I think.”
Both Melissa and Jadabal swung round startled by the sudden announcement from young Richard Plantagenet.
“Can you make out who they are Jadabal” interposed Melissa. “You have very keen eye-sight.”
“My God” retorted Jadabal” It’s Guy
and Eleanor between Rolf de Claimont and Sir Simon of
“Is this the start of the ....” Melissa began intending to end the sentence with “rebellion” but remembering that Henry’s younger brother was in their company.
“Start of what?” enquired the precocious Prince Richard.
“Procession” suggested Jadabal.
“Who wants to start a procession at
“I’ve told you to mind your language before, young man” scolded Melissa. “Your elder brother Prince Henry is much better mannered than you. Try and take a leaf out of his book.”
“Oh him!” moaned Richard pulling a face “In any case its King Henry now. I thought you knew that.”
“Of course, your Highness” muttered Melissa. “You are a bright young man are you not.”
The two women rushed down the stone steps showing scant courtesy to their royal companion. They needed to know exactly how the land was lying, was Eleanor indeed returning to them as the Nation’s undisputed Queen?
“Open in the name of Rolf de
Claimont and Sir Simon of
Melissa and Jadabal started somewhat: Why not in the name of Queen Eleanor? Sure some breach of protocol?
The draw-bridge creaked open,
finally hitting the ground with some effect. This strategic
All this was, of course, in the past and Melissa and Jadabal watched anxiously as the visiting party rode into the Castle. Both Eleanor and Guy seemed somewhat expressionless, barely seeming to look more than straight ahead. It seemed almost impious to vouchsafe even a slight indication of recognition towards the two people. Were they indeed part of the visiting party come as conquerors, or, could it be, did they not seem more like prisoners?
“I would emphasise that the Princess is in no way culpable.” This was Guy speaking as he quickly dismounted and placed his hand on the arm of Simon of Norwich.
“You have made that point more than enough, sirah” grunted the burly knight. The matter is not entirely in our hands now. We have had word that your intentions are known by people who may not be exactly favourable to you.”
“I know, I know” snapped de Buissant “That is past history now alas, but the Princess she has rendered much valuable service to this Country of ours.”
“You repeat yourself again young
man” almost yawned Sir Simon. “We are all living each hour as it comes. What
fate holds for you and indeed the lovely Eleanor
Heaven only knows.”
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
“The French are a continuing threat
to the peace and contentment of the land” urged William Marshal, Earl of
Pembroke banging his fist hard on the table. “That is why we have met here in
“I support the good Marshal” voiced Hubert de Burgh. “No man is wiser or more experienced in the needs of the Kingdom. We are all Englishmen now, all fighting for a common cause.”
“Tell that to my Flemings” snarled Fawkes de Breauté glowering darkly. “We were hired by King John to undertake a professional job of work. If our pay is maintained then, fair enough, we are as good a group of Englishmen as any of you.”
“Don’t be so cynical Fawkes” voiced Savary de Mauléon grimly “I’m a Poitevan, yes a routier and a mercenary. I would hesitate to add “like yourself” because I do not subscribe to your ethics, or lack of them ......”
“De Mauléon this is too much. Another statement like that and I’ll make you grovel like a whipped puppy.”
“I thank-you for considering me to
be so young” smirked Savary. “As I was saying, however, although I too am a
paid hireling I have become closer and closer to the heart of this otherwise
cold land.
“Indeed Savary” responded the Marshal. “Then we can count on your good offices. As for you Fawkes I know that the attractions of wealth, high office, whatever will lead you on to greater exertions on behalf of the new young King.”
“Ehm” muttered de Breauté “you make me out to be a rapacious dog.”
“No matter” interposed Hubert de
Burgh placing a fierce restraining hand on the routier’s arm. “You have shown
your worth, we need fighters like you. Are we all agreed now to end this
rancour and present a united front against sour-faced Louis?
Personally I would like to have some sort of response. I cannot stay here long
in
“And what guarantee have we that everyone will stay loyal” snapped de Breauté.
“Pride, my dear Fawkes” responded the Marshal. “Pride is not bowing down before the Dauphin and his effete band. Pride in fighting to the last drop of our blood. Pride in that we could not truly live with ourselves if we buckled in to the invaders. At the end of the day it is the question that we all must ask ourselves are we men or ....”
“Not only men my good Earl of Pembroke but women of spirit as well.”
The assembly of notables gathered together as a war-council turned to see the elegant form of the Pearl of Brittany descend the stair-case towards them.
“My lady is given freedom of movement here?” hissed de Breauté
“The Lady Eleanor is safe enough here under our close surveillance” retorted the Marshal. “In fact the Princess can be of great use to us in our plan of campaign.”
“How say you?” blustered de Breauté. “The woman is dangerous, not loyal even to her cousin the King.”
“The Lady Eleanor is a woman of
spirit and integrity” interposed de Mauléon.
“She has given her word to help us. The Princess holds out no love for the
recalcitrant barons who still war against us. As for Louis and his Frenchmen
why they seek the crown of
“Well stated, my dear Savary” beamed the Princess “I am at the command of you good lords here. I served King Henry’s father inspite of what he probably arranged for my brother. Why doubt me now?”
“A traitor in all but accomplishment” stormed de Breauté. “If matters had turned out differently would you be so sweetly compliant? What would have become of your good cousin Henry?”
“A better fate than that which attended my brother Arthur at John’s hands” sneered Eleanor.
“Enough, enough de Breauté“ interposed Hubert de Burgh. “You are becoming too obvious. Less of your incessant ravings, show us the strength of your right arm and help us to crush our enemies. This continual whining does you no credit, be ruled by the Marshal and myself, we are content that the Princess will be of great help in our further progress.”
“There are some able men in the French Camp, English nobles who only deserted our cause because of the fierceness of temper of the late King” resumed William Marshal. “My Lady Eleanor has charm and a shrewd and ready wit which may help us to detach such as Fitzwalter, de Quincey, de Ros and Mowbray from the talons of the thieving French. It is our land they seek to take. If only we can bring these stalwart fellows back to our cause that would be a great thing.”
The assembly of notables nodded sagely to each other, even de Breauté resigning himself to a rasping grunt. The Marshal, inspite of his years, was a tower of strength in these circumstances. His advice was worth considering nay more than that, actually acting upon because over the years his judgement had been found to be invariably right. The young King Henry could hardly have a better counsellor and guide.
“I would not place too great a value on my Lord of Dunmow.” Eleanor advanced this almost as an after-thought following the earlier announcement of Robert Fitzwalter’s name.
“Ah yes” mused the Marshal “I believe you and young de Buissant did not exactly see eye to eye with him when you met. Still Eustace de Vesci is no longer a problem .....”
“Indeed Guy dispatched him outside
“There I draw the line!” snapped Fawkes de Breauté “A conspiring traitor! Why not go the whole hog empty the prisons, recruit every foul sewer rat to your cause my lady.”
“You obtain most of your Fleming mercenaries that way de Breauté, what’s the big deal?”
All eyes turned to regard the
sardonic figure of Savary de Mauléon.
With one
hand on his hip and the other stroking his chin his feelings of contempt for
his adversary could not have been better conveyed. De Breauté
narrowed his eyes, gasping heavily, his heavily jowelled face started to work
furiously as if he were about to have an apoplectic fit. He opened his mouth as
if about to speak but the matter was swiftly taken out of his hands.
“Sir Guy de Buissant is under close restraint, de Breauté.” Explained the Marshal. “He is being kept in reasonable conditions, and we are appreciative of what he has done for us in the past. Let us leave the matter there. As for your immediate request Lady Eleanor I must refuse permission I will arrange for yourself to be accompanied by a stalwart troop of our most loyal soldiers, that should be sufficient.”
The Lady Eleanor paused for a moment
as if planning something of a retort to this suggestion. She decided that
apparent acceptance was a more politic arrangement in the circumstances. Guy
was a young man of spirit with a
quick-thinking mind, he would be sure to extricate himself from his present
predicament. Still it was worthwhile to keep his name in the discussion, the
result could only be for the good. There were people of good faith amongst
Henry’s retainers, men of higher integrity such as the Marshal, de Burgh, and,
of course, Savary de Mauléon.
In the meantime Eleanor, thought to herself, she would seek to gain an audience
with the Dauphin’s erstwhile English, or rather Anglo-Norman supporters. This
is what the Earl of Pembroke had designated as her immediate task. Well in the
circumstances she would seek to be a loyal ally.
CHAPTER FORTY
Sir Guy de Buissant checked himself
as, for at least the fortieth time, he paced up and down his modest cell at
“You have guests de Buissant but only for a brief while.” These words came almost at a gallop from the coarse-looking guard who entered Guy’s enforced quarters.
“Who have I the honour to see?” enquired the former squire.
The slovenly dressed official merely spat vehemently on the ground and pointed a grubby thumb in the direction of the two people who had entered the prison. Clearing his throat violently and spitting once again the guard turned on his heels and left Guy with his two visitors.
“Melissa, Jadabal!” cried Guy almost gleefully “I am thankful that I have been given leave to see you both albeit I gather for just a brief period.”
“We are here for a specific purpose my brave Guy.” Answered Melissa.
“Yes indeed” continued Jadabal. “We
have become gravely concerned with the development of affairs. Eleanor has been
taken to
“My God!” snorted Guy. “They surely
would not do her any harm. William Marshal and Hubert de Burgh rule the land,
they are men of great honour and integrity they would never see any harm come
to her.”
“Hopefully not” replied
Melissa. “But would you stand in such good stead. I feel that freed with room
to manoeuvre and you would be a much better ally to Eleanor. An eagle with its
wings clipped is no eagle at all.”
“All very well my dear lady” mused de Buissant. “However, how am I to secure my release from this quaint little cell here?”
“Perhaps we can help you in that” winked Jadabal. “Provided that you would not mind switching clothes with me . Melissa can spirit you out of the castle while I await here in your place. When the deception is found out you will be miles away.”
“An interesting idea” smiled Guy. “However, I could never allow you both to compromise your positions. Far better if I exchange places with our scruffy friend out there. You would not be suspected if I engineered the scheme entirely by myself.”
Jadabal and Melissa looked at each other seeking some form of inspiration. With none forthcoming Guy strode to his cell door and hammered loudly. After what seemed an eternity the slovenly footsteps of the guard could be heard moving slowly towards them in the outer area. A muttered expletive followed by a revolting belch was firm evidence that the man was close-by. There was a slightly swifter jingling of keys as the captor sought to place one of them in the lock outside.
“Alright the two of you outside now, your time is up.” The uncouth gaoler barely looked at the two women jerking his head towards the now open door.
“Temporarily my dear friend your time is up” snapped Guy driving his fist fiercely under the chin of the guard sending him crashing to the ground. Moving quickly he stripped off most of his own clothes, and kneeling over his fallen adversary he commenced to remove the rough-hewn garments from the man. Soon he was dressed in the same garb as his gaoler the latter, privilege of his former prisoner, was shortly afterwards an unimpressive replica of Guy at least in terms of clothing.
“Come my dear ladies time is of the essence. I need to make my escape from here as quickly as possible.”
“It would help if we both walked with you for a distance. Seeing three people in casual conversation would be unlikely to excite too much comment. At least let us do that.”
“My dear Melissa you are a treasure.
I will gladly take-up your offer” smiled
de Buissant. “Let us proceed.”
There was considerable tension over the next twenty minutes or so as the three participants in the drama sought to appear as casual as possible. Almost as if in a dream Guy and the two women somehow managed to find themselves in the court yard outside the castle. There was almost an over-casualness about the day as market traders, hawkers, and merchants passed to and from the building.
“Leave me now ladies” whispered de Buissant “I am a good judge of horse-flesh. Allow me to wander to the stables I can saddle-up and be on my way before anyone realises that I have disappeared from here.”
Melissa nodded silently to Jadabal and the two friends moved discretely away from the worthy paladin. They had done their work well and hopefully Guy would have left Corfe well behind him before anyone was the wiser. In seemingly a matter of minutes the young knight had selected an appropriate animal and was mounted almost as if he were on a casual ride out soaking in the atmosphere as if there were nothing in life to worry about.
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
Eleanor felt a slight apprehension
as she approached the French camp. She told herself that it would be generously
peopled with Englishmen who had become somewhat disenchanted with Louis’
leadership. Even so she could not afford to take any chances. For that reason
to avoid recognition she had dressed as a boy, wearing thick clothing, the
heavy cloaked appearance hopefully hiding her voluptuous womanhood. There was a
cold wind blowing not unexpectedly for the time of year. Yet if Eleanor had
been honest with herself the dismal weather conditions if anything made her
feel more English. True she was
“Declare yourself boy. What business have you here?”
Eleanor was stirred out of her reverie by the hard grating tones of the sentry on duty who now confronted her.
“I would have discourse with Saire
de Quincey” announced the
“Would you, you young rogue?” snapped the guard. Name your purpose and who you represent. My lord is a busy man, he has little time for tittle-tattle, you must convince me that your quest is worth his attention.”
“I am here on behalf of the Earl of Salisbury.”
“Indeed how does that old turncoat? I thought that he was back with the so-called English Royal Party.”
“Longsword is well worth cultivating” remarked Eleanor. “Your master would be well advised to listen to what he has to say. I would not like him to miss a golden opportunity of - shall we say advancement.”
“Wait here lad” commanded the guard
“I’ll see what I can do, I wont be a
minute.”
In a short while the official was back followed by a young man, darkly handsome in a somewhat supercilious effete way. The newcomer eyed-up Eleanor in a not unkindly, indeed rather attentive fashion. The Princess was quite used to glances - indeed more than glances - being cast at her voluptuous form. She was, however, puzzled on this occasion given that she was, she felt, well disguised as a boy.
“If you will follow me young man I will ascertain what value there is in your message and then bring in my Lord de Quincey. But beware, your information must merit such a decision.”
“As your excellency wished” bowed Eleanor deeply.
“Indeed, follow me to my tent we will not be disturbed there. Privacy is of the essence given the times in which we live.”
The
“Well young man my name is William de Freize I am close to Saire de Quincey in most major issues. Tell me your own appellation first before we begin our discourse.”
“My name is Guy of Leicester” responded Eleanor smiling to herself. If she was to be a man Guy was as good a title to take upon herself - a real tribute to her lover de Buissant - “I only hope he appreciates the honour” she almost smiled.
“Guy?” mused de Freize. “A fine bold name for a young lad, slap my cheeks if its not.”
“Indeed” replied Eleanor “Can we get down to the discussion I am sure my Lord de Quincey would not wish to be held-up any further the matter is, as I intimated to the guard, of the utmost urgency.”
“So be it” grinned the courtier. “My
word you are a fine young cockerel. Take some food and wine first, allow me to
entertain you in some style. Your hose and
outer apparel are besmirched with mud you must have ridden some distance.
Faith, a growing lad like you should not exhaust his strength.”
Eleanor gazed somewhat quizzically at de Freize. What a strange customer he was. Those foxy grey eyes of his, enough to put anyone on their guard. His bearing was quite noble, almost soldierly except for a slight mincing gait. If he flew into a passion it would, felt Eleanor, be more a vexed bitchy rage rather than a knightly exhibition of righteous indignation.
“What fine arms you have boy. Good
for grasping a sword against the enemies of
Eleanor started back in some
consternation as William de Freize commenced to stroke her shoulders with some
animation. Disguised as a boy she had not expected this, God in Heaven even
going incognito a woman was not totally safe. She had heard about men like
William, the second son of the victor of
“My Lord” resumed Eleanor assuming a gruff-sounding voice. “Can we dispense with the pleasantries? I am a soldier, hard-ridden some distance as you suggest. After this business I could do with receiving some comfort from a willing lass. What are the wenches like in these parts?”
“I would not know” sneered de Freize blanching slightly.
“What a waste” he muttered releasing Eleanor almost with contempt.
“Whether or not it would be a waste
is irrelevant” responded the
“If I but what?” enquired a voice almost from nowhere.
Eleanor and William glanced to the
side to see the stalwart figure of Saire de Quincey enter the tent. The
Princess almost felt like sighing in relief, at least de
Quincey was a real man. Misguided in his loyalties may be but someone you could
relate to, a good person to have on your side when the pressure was on.
“I was interrogating our visitor here before I decided whether it was worthwhile bringing him before your Lordship.”
“The Devil you were!” half roared - half laughed de Quincey “I’ll be the judge of who I see, my lad. Who have we here then?”
“Guy of Leicester” announced de Freize. “Well considered by his peers doubtless. He is an envoy of the Prince Henry.”
“So he is, is he?” replied de Quincey emphasising the he with some amusement. “In that case young man follow me to my quarters. As for you, de Freize we will not need your stalwart presence with us. Get some arms drill, or some other form of martial practice, we need not be disturbed, the young lad and I.”
Eleanor followed after the fast-striding de Quincey glad to be rid of the too sweetly-smelling William de Freize. Once inside the tent of the nobleman the latter burst into almost explosive laughter. With one majestic sweep of his arm he pulled back the cloak covering the riding clothes of the Princess.
“God’s Face as I suspected the
“How did your Lordship remember me or rather how did you recognise me so astutely disguised?”
“You may have fooled that poncing prat de Freize, but you should know lass that to any real man your loveliness and sheer womanhood can never be hid.”
“Well William certainly took a shine to me” smiled Eleanor “but not as a girl I fear.”
“Hell what is this army coming to?” snorted Saire de Quincey. “With poltroons such as him what chance have we against anyone?”
“Precisely my feelings, Saire” responded the Princess “Prince Louis must be little better than a fool if he shows so little appreciation of soldiers such as yourself. The English have been scurvily treated by the Dauphin. Instead he has simpering favourites, French laggards leading where yourself and de Ros should logically be in charge.”
“You echo much of what I think, my Lady.”
“In that case need I say more are you with us? We could do with such as you in our ranks?”
“There is much wisdom in what you say but may I make a small suggestion? King Henry is in need of intelligence. As soon as I withdraw my support from Louis then that knowledge is lost. Trust me, but allow me to stay with the Dauphin’s forces a little longer. I will pass information to you through whatever means is appropriate.”
“Fair enough but do not hesitate too long” suggested Eleanor “we need your strong arm and the forces you can command. With respect they are more valuable than cat and mouse espionage.”
“Point taken, lass” grunted Saire. “In the meantime would it be impudent of me to offer the Pearl of Brittany refreshment in my tent?”
Eleanor threw back her head and
burst into gales of laughter. With deft movements here and there she flung away
the coverings and trappings that had hitherto disguised her femininity. Soon
she stood before de Quincey wholly and indisputably a woman, much more indeed
for surely one of the fairest in the
whole of
“Well my Lord you were not always so tentative. Show me that the King will be getting a warrior firm set of purpose, a Titan among men.”
Saire responded by quickly dispensing of his noble accoutrements, the cloak and outward marks of his status in society. Soon he stood before her a man, like any other man but even more so.
“Take your Princess now” urged Eleanor “and show me that you have real commitment to our cause.”
The baron needed little further
encouragement as he swept his arms round the
like freedom taking control, one of total pleasure devoid of the pains of
earthlychild-birth.”.
“My Princess” moaned Saire gasping loudly.
Eleanor laughed out loud and ran her
fingers through de Quincey’s relatively short earlier Norman-style hair. She
felt the vibrant urgency of the man as his passions gained momentum and their
bodies started to ride together borne away on a journey to
Saire de Quincey was the first to speak lying beside the Princess he gently stroked her arm.
“Is this truly Heaven or merely my humble quarters in the French Prince’s establishment?”
“Make of it what you will” smiled Eleanor. “Joy is here for all of us, we must take our opportunity when we may.”
Saire de Quincey was the first to make a move, bursting with frenetic urgency he quickly replaced his clothing his relaxed mood now being subsumed within his soldierly facade. The Princess gave him a wry smile and moving more slowly she elegantly began to attire herself again in the guise of a young boy.
“My lady is free to stay for a while and refresh yourself with wine and bread. However, it would be advisable not to stay too long, I would not like to see your disguise penetrated.”
“Quite so my good lord” mused Eleanor “I will leave now, after all I am here primarily on business, and I need to report back to my masters the good news.”
“Indeed you do, follow me quickly and we will see you on your road.”
The two conspirators walked steadily along the track outside de Quincey’s tent and were soon on the edge of the camp. A sharply given command made de Quincey and the Princess turn round to note a troop of soldiers marching determinedly forward.
. “Pay no heed a group of de Ros’ men. I’ll seek to persuade him of the better course of action” added de Quincey tapping the side of his nose in a confidential manner.
Eleanor was paying only partial attention to the nobleman. Could her eyes be deceiving her, or was that Guy de Buissant marching in the middle of this group of soldiers. Wearing the equipment of a plain man-at-arms and looking slightly worse for wear. There was a patch over his left eye and his hair looked as if it had been subject to the attention of inebriate barber. Yet for all that it was her one-time squire, no doubting. God, did he recognise her? She almost started to look away but just caught a glance from Guy. Ever so cautiously he half-winked in her direction and puckered his lips slightly. The Princess blushed inspite of herself but then the soldiers had marched on. Well at least Guy had escaped from his confinement, but exactly what was he doing here? Was he now a committed opponent of King Henry allied to Prince Louis and the rebellious English lords? Or indeed was he playing a game of espionage? Or perhaps another alternative was he playing fast and loose seeking to ally himself with whatever party showed greatest inclination to support him? It was all very mysterious!
CHAPTER
FORTY TWO
“Young King Alexander the Second has been a more than useful ally to you, your Highness.”
Louis the Dauphin wrinkled his forehead in obvious disagreement as he also sought to place his hand over his wine bowl preventing the servitor from refilling it. He glared almost fiercely at the speaker who was none other than Barissa the dark Moor from the Scots party. The intelligent young woman had been sent by the Ard Righ King of Scots to discuss further requirements from the French allies.
“Apart from irritating old King John, I fail to see what your young Lord has achieved, young lady.”
“You are too harsh, noble Lord” demurred Barissa “the King is young and impetuous but he shows great promise. Mark my words but he will become a great monarch in time.”
“Time is something that we only have in very short supply” snapped Louis “Still your little fox cub is a useful distraction. I must admit that he has added to the troubles of the English, albeit not greatly.”
“My Lord Prince is too kind” beamed Barissa but received only a cold smile from the pious Dauphin.
“No matter, child. Anyway I have consultations with my officers it would be seemly if you left me now.”
“Child?” enquired Barissa “I am hardly that!”
“Whatever” snapped Louis waving the Moor away with a brusque gesture. “Now please leave me.”
“As you wish” responded Barissa twisting her face into a mock frown “Not many men would regard my company with so little interest.”
The beautiful dark young woman swung away walking with fierce, passionate pride into the main concourse of the camp. This was not a very profitable encounter, still life was like that, and Louis was a dull pious, somewhat uxorious individual, not much fun at all to be sure.
“Barissa!”
The young Moor was shaken out of her
reverie at this mention of her name.
What was happening now? Who desired her attention?
“A quick word with you. Don’t you
remember me from
Barissa looked closely at the
nondescript individual before her. Could it indeed be the brave young knight
that she had negotiated with those several long months ago in
“Yes my brave young sir “ smiled the dark statuesque lady “can I be of service to a bold warrior such as you? I feel that you are of a kind that would appreciate my abilities and other attributes.”
“Is there somewhere that we can talk?” demanded Guy urgently.
Barissa smiled sweetly and motioned Guy to follow her. The former squire wrapped a moth-eaten cloak round his shoulders and imitating a shambling walk hobbled alongside the Moor. A short journey past disinterested groups of soldiery ended with Barissa pointing Guy to the entrance to her tent.
“I am treated well here” beamed the dark young woman. “An emissary of some standing no doubt? Whatever you might think of the French and their allies they know how to treat people.”
“A matter of opinion!” snorted Guy.
“Oh my dear young knight” sighed Barissa. “Such cynicism ill-befits you. Enough of this, however, lets talk about more serious priorities.”
“Fair enough” responded Guy “I take it you have heard murmurs of my defection. Well let’s face it my loyalty to Princess Eleanor as the rightful monarch in this land of ours.”
“I have heard stories” mused Barissa. “So you thought to establish the Pearl of Brittany as Queen? Not a totally unsatisfactory decision I must admit. Still we must face realities and live in the World as it is not as we would wish it to be. Sadly Henry, young and inexperienced as he is, is the only candidate likely to be accepted.”
“Yes you are right” sighed de Buissant. “But for a moment it did seem that we might get our way. It was after all through acting quickly that King Stephen seized the crown ahead of his rival the Empress Maud some 80 years back. I thought that we might have the element of surprise on our side.”
“All this is interesting but what is it to do with me?” enquired Barissa.
“You carry some influence especially with Hubert de Burgh. If I can gather useful information or at least achieve something for the new King’s party will you add your voice on my behalf. I might even be able to help in a more direct fashion, I have some reputation as a soldier.”
“Indeed you do Sir Guy” smiled Barissa. “Here take my hand you have my word that I will be firm in your support.”
“Thank God for that” replied Guy “You are a generous woman, my Moorish princess.”
“No princess I” laughed the Moor “But I do have heavenly charms that many would suggest are on a par with the best at Court. Still enough of talk show me how you reward me for my friendship.”
The young woman quickly disrobed and flinging her arms round Guy bore him fiercely to the ground. De Buissant felt his head reel but snatching feverishly at his own clothes he responded in kind to the frenetic urgings of Barissa. The lovely spy had the body of a Goddess allied to the vibrancy of a Greek athlete from the Olympic games. It was as if Guy no longer had responses of his own as he reacted instinctively, it seemed, to the urgings of his new lover. He gasped with sheer exultation as Barissa and himself rolled over and over in a vibrant collusion of flesh, flesh and more flesh. God in Heaven was this real? The stars clashed together in some form of eclipse and moved out into a new dimension.
“Tell the
Barissa grinned roguishly at this statement from the knight. Was this some form of self-justification?
“Get your breeches on first my lad before you start philosophising” advised the Moor winking mischievously at Guy.
“I did what I thought was right” mused de Buissant. “And it was all for the Princess.”
“I have no doubt about that” smiled Barissa “you are a fine defender of this Nation of ours.”
De Buissant looked a trifle coyly
and somewhat absent-mindedly stroked his
thick smooth hair.
“Come on my boy” grinned Barissa. “You’re not getting ethical compunctions about our little tête à tête just now. A roll in the tent is not like surrendering your mind. You can give your body without giving away your spirit and your soul. No-one has ever penetrated my innermost being, my mind and personality, whatever else they may have penetrated.”
“Quite” muttered the Knight.
“Oh for God’s sake put a smile on your face, we have only had a saucy tumble together.”
“Of course, of course” smiled de Buissant albeit slightly sheepishly. “Enough of self-recrimination on my part, after all Eleanor is free enough with a number of beaux, that’s the advantage of royal birth doubtless.”
“A fine intelligent woman that one” commented Barissa nodding appreciatively.
“The very best. God what an opportunity the Realm has lost not having her as its Queen.”
“Yes my bold young paladin but where does your duty lie now?” queried the dark-skinned beauty.
“With Eleanor, of course” responded Guy. “But since she now follows her young cousin Henry, then I am as loyal a servant to the new King as he will ever have.”
“Good, good” smiled Barissa. “That was the sensible, pragmatic answer I was expecting from a wise young man such as you. Play whatever game you want here, I’ll respect your tactical acumen, in the meantime I return to Alexander to keep a watch on that promising young monarch.”
“Best wishes in that enterprise dear lady” grinned Guy “I trust that our paths may cross in the future?”
“Who knows?” laughed Barissa “Today has provided me with an interesting experience shall we say?”
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
William the Marshal smiled grimly at
the soldier standing before him. It was a cold May morning in 1217 and Sir
Geoffrey de Serland had ridden with considerable expertise over difficult
terrain to provide him with much needed information. The widow of the castellan
of
“Thank-you Sir Geoffrey for your cool headed determination” beamed the Marshal. “The French could not have played into our hands more fully if they had been privy to our plans.”
“Indeed” grinned de Serland. “The
Dauphin still remains at
“Louis is foolish for not giving a lead command to one of the rebel English lords” suggested the Marshal. “I know for certainty it has already cost the Dauphin something in loyalty.”
Early next morning on the 20th May Saire de Quincey gently jogged along the road patting his trusty stead with the inside of his gloved hand. Robert Fitz-Walter scowling deeply rode alongside him, the fierce warrior barely seemed to have time to glance at his companion, he was obviously in a deep rage about some matter.
“God’s blood!” he spat out at last.
“Something troubles you my friend?” enquired de Quincey.
“Everything troubles me!” roared Fitz-Walter. “This poltroon of a Frenchman who leads us is a mounted disaster In the short time I have known him he has made error after error, I wonder now why we left our English comrades to fight in such a cause.”
“My thoughts also, my Lord” voiced de Quincey.
“We would be assured a welcome still from the Marshal and his people if we changed sides.”
“What, de Quincey, are you suggesting treason?”
“Of what false scruples,
Fitz-Walter, we have turned coats once already. What is loyalty anyway?” Do you
think
“Look yonder!” commanded Fitz-Walter ignoring the last snatch of conversation. “There comes William the Marshal and his force, totally without cavalry. We can soon dispatch this little lot. What has persuaded the fools to come at us in such a manner? I am back to tell the Count of Perche of our good fortune.”
De Quincey shrugged his shoulders swung his horse round and followed his companion at a fast gallop back to the French camp. If only Fitz-Walter had listened to him a little longer, if only the English force had been slightly more substantial then perhaps this battle need not have been fought. Saire was firmly of the opinion that this Civil War needed to be ended as quickly as possible. What other stratagem could he use to persuade more of his fellow Englishmen to return to their old loyalties?
The youthful Count of Perche surveyed the two hardy warriors with something approaching disdain as he listened to their description of the English army. Trusty soldiers, experienced mayhap but dull laggards, lacking in drive and originality in his estimation. He felt that he must see the situation for himself, the very success of their campaign was dependent on making the correct decision.
“I appreciate your assessment of the situation, gentlemen” announced the Count. “However, I will, myself approach ....”
“God, man we have eyes what else is there for you to see?” blustered Fitz-Walter.
“Allow me to be the best judge of that mesire” bowed de Perche with mocking gravity.
Fitz-Walter spat vehemently, the veins protruding from his large fore-head. Indeed it needed all de Quincey’s strength to turn the nobleman to one side thereby preventing him from physically assaulting the Frenchman.
“Leave him, Fitz-Walter” demanded Saire speaking quickly into his companion’s ear. “Let him cook his own goose. Let us see what French military genius is truly like.”
“Eh? What are you talking about? Have you lost interest in this war?”
De Quincey shrugged slightly but refused to answer this mainstream question. The Count of Perche was already doing much of his work for him. Did the French dandy realise what he was up against? The Marshal was no callow young warrior, he had earned his reputation in a hard school. Imagine therefore the consternation of the Englishmen when de Perche returned advising caution.
“Caution, my Lord?” shrieked Fitz-Walter “The English royalists have only a handful of men. If we meet them on open ground it will give your much vaunted French cavalry a chance to drive them before us.”
“There are more English troops than you surmise” retorted de Perche.
“Surely you have not fallen for that old trick?” demanded a contemptuous Fitz-Walter “God in Heaven, there are just a few wagons and peasants strung behind the main force to impress the naive. In terms of effective soldiery why, man, we outnumber them by a considerable amount.”
“We will occupy
“Tosh man, we have the numerical strength. Are you mad”
“Arrogant Englishman!” stormed de Perche. “When we have won this war, let alone this battle I will make you eat your words in pig’s slop.”
“I’ll make you eat your words now, I’ll make you digest more than that, you effete over-dressed popinjay.”
De Quincey patted Fitz-Walter on the shoulder drawing him to one side again.
“Hell, Saire, surely you agree with me, why this introspection on your part. Don’t you support me in my views?”
“Of course, of course” whispered de Quincey “Let the valiant Frenchman reap what he plans to sow. He has played right into the Marshal’s trap, the experience will do him a tremendous amount of good. It will be a salutary test of his worth - indeed I doubt if he will ever forget.”
De Perche was biting his top lip in
a mood of extreme irritation. How would he ever reconcile himself to these
insolent Englishmen. If only he had solely
Frenchmen to rely on. Still he would achieve what he meant to achieve despite
the objections of his so-called allies.
“Fitz-Walter you are, I presume, a man of some honour? Bring your men with you we will need our most able soldiery to outwit Marshal’s forces.”
De Quincey nodded briskly at his colleague and made as if to move on.
“De Quincey will you join us in
“You need good support in reserve, Monsieur le Comté“ suggested Saire “I and my men will hold back ready to intervene if necessary. This, I know you will agree, makes sense rather than to commit all our forces at one fell swoop, that would be a disaster in the making.”
The count glared fiercely at the English baron. He made almost as if to strike de Quincey, thinking the better of it he muttered something to himself and strode away. Turning briefly on his heel he roared “Be it on your own conscience Englishman. Mind I expect you to respond without question when I send, if mayhap I have to, for immediate reinforcements.”
There was a greater air of optimism in the Marshal’s camp. It had been a tremendous advantage that Sir Geoffrey de Serland had been able to point out to them an unguarded postern. It was located near the western sally port on the walls. That was all that was required for the English to take full advantage.
“Fawkes de Bréauté!” hissed the Marshal “ inspite of our differences, indeed your disagreements with a number of friends I account you a bold and resolute officer.”
“I thank-you for that compliment” bowed de Bréauté if somewhat sarcastically.
“No matter” resumed the doughty old warrior “I want you to take a company of archers into the city through the unguarded access, and reach the castle. From there you are to rain arrows on the French below. We will then attack from the North and West and the Earl of Chester from the South.”
“I fully comprehend your plans, Lord Regent” responded de Bréauté. “This is a battle that we will win, and hopefully settle the result of the war.”
“See to it then, I am relying on
your leadership skills, let them be employed to
your best ability. You will have the gratitude not only of my unworthy self but
also the young King Henry and the loyal English population at large.”
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
The Count of Perche rode his horse furiously scarcely bearing to glance left or right. Arrows were flying steadily from the battlements picking-off his men with sickening regularity. In God’s name how had the English archers gained access to the castle. This was like Hell on Earth.
De Perche swore violently as his steed reared up with front hooves pawing the ground. The beast had struck some sharp stone or object in the way and whinnied in obvious pain. Fine horseman that he was the Frenchman managed to gain control and succeeded gradually in calming his mount.
“Time to surrender my Lord don’t you think?”
The French nobleman glared ahead of him as he surveyed the aged Earl of Pembroke mounted and defiant barring his progress.
“I never surrender, why I would rather die than suffer such dishonour.”
“Then die valiantly my friend” responded the old warrior bringing his sword crashing down on de Perche’s quickly raised shield. Out of the corner of his eye the Frenchman saw further trouble. His men were now firmly hemmed in seemingly on all sides, with arrows also raining down incessantly from above. In his own mind he had to concede that he had made a mistake trying to fight a battle in these narrow, mazy streets. The Marshal’s strategy had quite overwhelmed him. Damn it those English allies of his had been right in much of what they had said and advised. At least he could fight with honour, that was the most important thing to consider now.
“You fight well for an old gentleman” acknowledged de Perche to the Marshal.
“And you show some courage for a young cockerel” laughed the Earl.
De Perche aimed a calculated blow at
the Marshal’s head. The Englishman was equal to the problem posed him and moved
with amazing alacrity in his saddle. The Earl was ready to launch a
counter-attack when four or five knights charged fiercely at his young foe.
Before the old warrior could halt the proceedings de Perche had been sent
spinning from his horse, or at least partly so for he grasped his bridle firmly
and managed to maintain some part control. A fierce thrust from the Frenchman’s
sword penetrated a gap in one adversary’s body armour sending that
opponent gasping throatily in a death agony. Another blow across the helmet
knocked an unwary Englishman back over his saddle clawing wildly at a facial
wound that was gushing blood.
“Even out-numbered I am too good for you English mountebanks” sneered the Frenchman.
A horseman raised his weapon to strike at de Perche but was pushed back by another of his fellows advancing quickly to his side.
“Fie on you, gentlemen would you deny the gallant an equal fight. Withdraw and leave the count of Perche to my attentions.”
“So you feel capable of dealing with me alone, my fine English rascal” scolded the Count. “Who have I the honour of addressing? It would be good to know your name before I dispatch you.”
“I am Sir Guy de Buissant” answered the knight.
“So be it, my lad” grimaced de Perche. “Let us commence our labours then and may victory go the valiant.”
The two warriors were not unevenly matched. They traded blow for blow, each feint, each manoeuvre meeting a timely rejoinder. The contest seemed as if it would last until nightfall no man willing to give quarter. De Perche, however, was seldom noted for a completely cool head and in a fatal moment of rashness lunged over-vigorously at de Buissant. The fury of the Frenchman’s assault slightly over-balanced him. This was the moment that Guy had been waiting for, he saw a chink in de Perche’s armour and drove his weapon in hard and true. The Frenchman rose in his saddle lifted his sword arm high as if in a trance. For a moment he rocked slightly then went crashing to the ground.
Guy de Buissant leapt from his horse and quickly went over to his fallen opponent. He cradled de Perche’s head in his arms seeking to remove the Frenchman’s helmet. There was a faint murmur from the Count’s lips as he struggled to utter some words.
“Finished, finished ....” he managed to enunciate with some difficulty.
“A brave fearless fellow” sighed de Buissant. “A pity that he had to die this day.”
“Your own sword arm claimed that achievement, young man. Why do you now bemoan your victory?”
Guy rose and turned to look into the kindly, thoughtful face of the Earl of Pembroke himself.
“My Lord Marshal” he responded.
“Why that is a voice I believe I know, and yes your bearing is familiar.”
“I am Guy de Buissant, my Lord.”
“Ah the denounced de Buissant” grimaced the Marshal. “This might have been well-met but for events you contrived in earlier.”
“I have remained loyal to the King, my Lord.”
“Yes indeed” mused the Regent “The Lady Eleanor has informed us of your watching brief whilst serving in the ranks of our enemies. I would personally not doubt your zeal on our behalf, whether others would be as hospitable in their judgement of you is a matter of conjecture.”
“I am content to allow you to judge me ....”
“You showed scant regard for that
when you escaped from
Guy threw his hands up in mock
despair. He felt content to allow the Regent to decide his fate. With this
defeat at
“I suggest you make yourself inconspicuous” advised the Marshal “Fawkes de Bréauté may be here shortly. He is not exactly one of your greatest supporters, he spoke harshly against the Lady Eleanor as well, a good soldier but a fierce fellow when provoked.”
“I am at your Lordship’s command” replied Guy.
“In that case throw a cloak round you and mingle with the throng. Take this ring and guard it closely and come to me at the location which I will now write down on this slip of parchment. Exactly two days hence.”
“I thank-you my good Lord” bowed Guy at the same time moving quickly away and as bidden melting in the crowd.
The French now seemed a dispirited bunch and many of the English had not the heart to fight to their fullest capacity. Saire de Quincey, as he had indicated, had held his forces back. Robert Fitz-Walter had fought fiercely as was his wont but strangely without too much conviction, as if the result did not seemingly matter anyway. For him he had a somewhat hang-dog expression when brought before the Marshal and his entourage. The Regent gave a knowing smile to de Quincey when that worthy appeared, obviously glad that the whole distasteful affair was over.
“It is a joyous day for
Saire de Quincey grimaced but thrust his hand on the arm of the old Regent.
“You know my feeling on this, a titled lady has doubtless spoken to you.”
“Of course, of course” smiled the Earl. “And you Fitz-Walter where do you stand now?”
“I must take the lesser of two evils and throw in my lot with you” muttered the dark-avised rebel.
“Tush, tush such ingratitude!” suggested the Earl.
“Honesty more like” retorted Fitz-Walter. “Better an admission of the situation than silky courtier’s responses. At least, God in Heaven, you know where you stand with me. If I say I am with you, however sour-faced I appear, then that is my word spoken with true intent.”
“I trust so, Fitz-Walter” replied the Regent. “There is further work ahead if we are to rid this Country of ours of the Dauphin and his men. I hope we can count on you in this enterprise now that you have embraced our standard.”
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
The proud dark-haired woman strode haughtily across the room and with considerable vigour seized the arm of the grim-faced man seemingly in deep contemplation. The latter looked up sharply but did not seek to rise from his chair. Indeed after the initial look of surprise he appeared to lapse into a brown study.
“Hugh of Lusignan are you a real man, or just a political schemer?”
Even this direct statement or question did not appear to ruffle the lassitude of the deeply thoughtful nobleman. The gentleman in question was in fact the Comté de Marché who had featured prominently earlier in our story.
“I have had a belly-full of the machinations going on on both sides of the Channel, my dearest Isabella” responded de Lusignan.
“Yes indeed” snorted Isabella. “I find that hard to believe knowing you as well as I do. For God’s sake my son Henry is involved here. Surely you can take sides against the Dauphin”
“God’s teeth woman” snapped de Marché “I was very helpful to Louis, I was a great encourager of his earlier in the campaign, why should I change now? I agree the whole affair has been mishandled and is like to be totally inconclusive.”
“Yes but your old enemy my husband King John is dead now. Why do you have to take such a line? Henry is my own flesh and blood. You were wont to admire my flesh once my dearest Hugh, my ardent lover. Is it true then even your recent crusade could not obliterate me from your mind?”
“I fail to see the connection madam” glared Hugh.“Even so John took you away from me, you were promised to me all those years ago.”
“Yes and I’m yours now, we can be
married quickly and secretly. But above all do I have your word and your will
to support my son in all things, especially in defence of his
“Yes indeed” smiled de Marché in his doleful fashion. “It would tickle your late husband’s fancy to know that I am solidly behind his brat. I don’t know how he would react to my at last securing ....”
“Watch your tongue, my future
husband” fumed Isabella “Henry is no brat but
the Lord’s anointed.”
“Of course, of course, my dear, an unfortunate turn of phrase on my part. I apologise.”
Isabella had almost even more allure when moved to temper. Hers was a capricious temper which in someone less intelligent and beautiful would have been regarded as a major irritant. Given her many attributes such storms of fury were almost acceptable. Hugh le brun, bold warrior, shrewd politician that he was, had a weak spot for the woman. He had all those years ago and even now he could not resist her. Time had enhanced her beauty, added maturity and poise to her earlier sensuous charms. She needed no coronet to adorn her brow to announce her regality, her very presence indicated a person of special quality, someone who must be listened to, even obeyed or face the consequences.
“The Dauphin does not deserve your help and comfort” resumed Isabella.
“I will not be other than a dutiful supporter of your rights, my love” responded de Marché wincing slightly.
“I can then rely on you to be ......”
“I am a man of honour” grunted Hugh le brun. “If I give my word, consider it done. I have designs here on the Continent myself. It is after all not too good an idea to have an over-strong French monarch. When Philip dies, I think that I will be able to control his less brilliant son. Louis looks to me to provide an input of some sort on a number of issues. I can play a useful rôle here helping not only your good son madam, but myself as well. Admit” continued de Marché “that I may be crafty but at least I smack of honour.”
“Yes” murmured the Queen “You are honest in your cunning way. Perhaps that’s what I admire about you.”
“What?” enquired de Marché. “Do you mean my honesty or my cunning.“
The two lovers stared at each other
as if seeking to explore the depths of their respective souls. Then all of a
sudden they were swept away in gusts of laughter. Here were twin hearts and
minds meant for each other in these difficult, uncertain times. What a
combination, who could stand against such forces? Young Henry, if he had heard
this conversation, would have been pleased that he had such unscrupulous, or
was it merely determined allies.
CHAPTER FORTY SIX
Rolf de Claimont gazed with
unflinching attention on the sight below him. Louis the Dauphin was, if nothing
else, persistent. He must have realised that his chances of conquering
“Do we march much further before we rest, messire?”
The Dauphin swung round his face almost apoplectic with rage. Who dared speak to the French King’s heir so? What indignity, lese majesty was this?
“What varlet questioned me so?” snapped Louis.
The immediate cluster of soldiers behind him looked blankly ahead, somewhat perplexed.
“This journey is plaguey loathsome, fair wears one out.”
The Dauphin slapped his thigh with considerable emphasis.
“Who dares insult me so?” he almost bawled.
“Try me for size your magnificence” laughed someone.
Louis turned his head to the front to see a green-clothed figure standing in front of him, bowing low with mock reverence The newcomer, God knows from whence he had come - possibly the thick green foliage of this hellish forest thought the Prince - anyway the newcomer was a fine athletic individual possibly approaching his middle years but with a light-hearted almost relaxed air about him.
“Who in .....”
“You are addressing Rolf de Claimont, outlaw, brigand yet kindly rogue.”
“Indeed” snarled Louis “I will pay you for your impudence very shortly. At least it is good to know the name of the villain that I am going to have hanged from the nearest tree.”
“I am obliged to you my Lord Prince for your exquisite kindness,” beamed Rolf bowing even more graciously.
The Dauphin raised his gauntleted hand to urge a couple of his retainers to ride forward and apprehend de Claimont. They had barely urged their horses into action when two well directed arrows came hurtling through the air embedding themselves in the shoulders of the unfortunate soldiers. Louis snarled in high rage, his anger turning to shock as a third arrow cut through his horse’s bridle causing him to sway backwards in his saddle.
“Think you that I am a hay-seed
dunderhead, my
The ex-brigand snapped his fingers, as countless stalwart figures descended from the trees on all sides. The French Prince was surrounded, all his hopes dashed for the moment, swallowed up in fierce English drive and determination. Was there no end to the mass of humanity which appeared from nowhere? He could do little but glare ahead attempting to retain at least a little of his injured dignity. One older habited fellow, red-faced and heavily flushed was laughing heartily. How dare he, did he not realise that his future monarch was here before him? Or perhaps Louis himself was being too optimistic. One disaster seemed to be following another.
“How are the mighty fallen!” It was the older man speaking now.
“Speak not too soon, outlaw trash” snarled the Dauphin.
“Put not your trust in princes” responded the Friar who was none other than Will Scarlett.
“I would entertain the Prince and his entourage” interjected Rolf. “Let not it be said that the English are lacking in manners. Follow us but a short distance and we will provide you with a feast that you will not have set eyes upon for some time. You have starved yourself concentrating on useless sieges against stern defenders. Better now that you eat, drink and make merry.”
“I would rather die” snorted Louis.
“Oh no, my good Lord” smiled de Claimont. “That is not on the agenda for today. We hold the superiority here and make the decisions - you will eat and enjoy yourself - that is my command.”
The captured army trudged slowly towards the area indicated by Rolf. There was little to do in the circumstances but obey. The fighting and skirmishing of past months had begun to seem senseless with little headway being made. Louis was probably the only one who had much optimism in the tactics. Somehow now there was a peace and tranquillity about the forest that boded better times. There was merriment in the air, admittedly emanating fro Rolf’s band but which was almost contagious. There was a relaxed feeling spreading amongst Louis’ army, not yet spreading over the leader but still he was after all only one human being. Eventually they arrived in an open space, their eyes gazing on numerous set tables overflowing with succulent meat and other food and flagons of appetising liquids.
“Take your seats my new-found friends” announced Rolf. “There is venison enough for everyone’s taste and much else beside.”
“Damn you man I am not likely to be enticed by ....”
“By what, my Lord? Could you be enticed by me?”
Louis stared hard, somewhat nonplussed to see the exquisite figure of Eleanor of Brittany before him. What indeed was the cousin of young Henry, self-styled King of the English doing here?
“Madam, you take me by surprise, what part do you play in these proceedings?”
“I am here to grace these events with the official stamp of approval, on behalf of my good cousin, the Sovereign Lord of these Isles” beamed Eleanor slightly tongue in cheek.
The Dauphin nodded without much enthusiasm resignedly shrugging his shoulders in near apathy.
“Can I also introduce you to my two companions” resumed Eleanor “My ladies-in-waiting Melissa and Jadabal.”
“Indeed my Lord Prince” interjected Melissa. “Allow me to escort you to the seat secured for the Chief Guest of Honour, your good self.”
Louis scowled deeply as he noted a scruffy-looking, wispy-haired individual already occupying the position indicated to him. This elderly, rough-looking peasant seemed very much the worst for wear and was imbibing the contents of a drinking horn, the liquid splashing down his front with gay abandon.
“Oh ignore Brienne” grinned Melissa. “He’s just a friend, he’s not waiting for lunch, you will be served before him. I’ll ask him to go away and make himself useful, he should be here to cater for your requirements. In the meantime if you wish to spruce yourself up and have a good wash, my Lord Prince, I can get you a few cloths and whatever. We are well catered for here in the forest.”
“I would endorse that” complemented Jadabal. “The hospitality here is so good that you would never want to eat anywhere else ever again.”
“This fellow de Claimont seems quite a remarkable person” mused the Dauphin. “Brigand and cut-throat is obviously only one side of his personality.”
The soldiers of the French Prince seemed to cheer up somewhat as they were offered food and drink and quickly forgot their captive status. There was a strong element of Summer festivity, as if this was a holiday, a time for true merrymaking. Long may it continue was the sentiment of virtually everyone. Everyone, of course, except sour-faced Louis, he was only too well aware of his real predicament, a prisoner in the hands of a deadly effective enemy. What would his next move be?
“My good sir, a word with you.”
Rolf was roused from his thoughts by a young man in monkish habit touching his arm.
“Ah yes Brother Endfeld, a scholar destined to go a long way. How is Abbot Roger, your superior? “In the new way of things you are both highly regarded. This Century is certainly creating new people, and new opportunities.”
“Indeed messire Rolf” bowed the Brother. “You may be interested to know of some quite startling news.”
“Of course, of course” nodded de Claimont “I would like to hear of anything that is vital to our interests.”
“Vital indeed” responded young Endfeld. “It is the Dauphin I feel sorry for, all his hopes just a tattered memory.”
“Hopefully so, but why do you speak with such obvious certainty?”
“Eustace the Pirate that damned brigand has failed his exalted Lord this time.”
“Ah Eustace” mused Rolf “I have crossed swords with him before now, but why such venom, brother, surely Eustace was one of your calling.”
“In name only, that man has many sins etched deeply on his soul.”
“It would appear from your hinted comments that his days of glory are now somewhat faded. Out with it man, about this vital news, don’t keep us waiting, I pray you.”
“You may or may not be aware of the
fact that Hubert de Burgh has been contesting the Seas with our enemies. This
Eustace was a strategic part of the Dauphin’s logistical plans. He was
intending to form a bridgehead with his fleet and send further soldiers and
other resources into
“Yes Eustace the Monk, a valiant rogue, fiercer than ....”
“Fiercer than no-one now. He was found skulking in the bottom of one of his ships, that rogue as you so aptly describe him is no more.”
“Then I take it that de Burgh was successful in his campaign?”
“Totally and utterly” smiled Endfeld. “Without supplies I cannot see what Louis can do now. Are you proposing to inform the good Prince of his loss?”
“Indeed not, far be it for me to be
his adviser and confidant. He can take advantage of the sustenance we offer
here at the table, but his military plans I am not here to guide. Let him limp
back to
Elsewhere the merriment in the camp
continued. Eleanor took the opportunity of chatting with her ladies-in-waiting.
Their gentle sophisticated talk was interrupted when the
“My God” laughed Eleanor “That is William de Freize he is still loyal to Louis.”
“Indeed madam” responded Jadabal. “But why does he interest you?”
“Because, dear girl when I was disguised as a winsome young man he took rather a fancy to me. If he had seen me as a woman doubtless he would have been less interested.”
“I wonder if he recognises you now, your Highness?” interposed Melissa “Do you intend to renew acquaintances?”
“I will speak to him but I wish you
two young ladies to accompany me I have
some merry work for you to undertake. Leave those cloths there Melissa, on this
occasion you will have little use for them.”
The three beautiful women walked sedately towards the obviously disillusioned knight. In fact de Frieze was so preoccupied in his own thoughts that he did not notice the distinguished young ladies until they were almost in front of him. He glanced-up slightly alarmed but then gazed away as if in a trance.
“Messire I wonder if you remember
me?” enquired the
“Madam I have not met with the
ladies of the
“And yet you desired my company so ardently when we last had discourse.”
De Frieze gave Eleanor a slightly haughty look. Indeed why would he have considered her a mere woman. Now if she had been a boy that was something different. Was this noblewoman- that’s what she appeared to be - was she using him for her sport?
“Madam I feel that I would have recognised you if we had been introduced earlier. I assure you there must be some mistake.”
“Ah well, have it your own way my lad” smirked Eleanor “I will leave you with these two friends of mine I promise you you will not be disappointed.”
The Princess turned on her heel and started to return to the main festivities. Behind her she heard wails of consternation, shrieks almost. Glancing over her shoulder she beheld de Freize being pinned to the ground with Melissa sat on top of him grasping his wrists firmly. Jadabal was sat determinedly on the young man’s legs laughing uproariously.
“You must not struggle so” commanded Melissa. “We have promised to give you the most enjoyable time of your life.”
“But madam this is not my idea of enjoyment” gulped de Freize seeking to wrench himself free from his unique form of imprisonment.
“Just lie back and relax my young lad” grinned Melissa tickling William under the chin.
“Leave some of him for me, you saucy wench” laughed Jadabal.
“My dear kind young ladies please
remember where we are. We must not lose
our dignity.”
“You may lose more than your dignity sir” roared Jadabal. “This is the greatest battle you will have fought in your entire career. Let victory go to the swift and sure!”
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
September 12th in the year of Grace
1217, a day to go down in History. Prince Louis with an irritated sweep of his
pen on a sheet of parchment at
“William Marshal smiled benignly on his vanquished foe. The terms were not harsh, the Regent was too kind a man for that and also a shrewd politician to boot. Better get the French out of the land as quickly as possible rather than bicker endlessly about conditions. That suited Louis fine. His next difficult problem was to confront his father, the astute Philip Augustus, King of France. Yes that would be a difficult experience indeed, still the Throne would be his some day. The English crown was now out of reach but the French version, his real heritage should not be scorned.
Isabella, the Queen Mother, was pleased with what had transpired. Her son Henry was now seated firmly on the throne and her resumed love with de Marché had its obvious benefits, political as well as emotional. Louis had lived for a time on the moral support of the enigmatic Comté, his steadily disinterested approach was just one factor wearing away the Dauphin’s own enthusiasm. Such was life!
There was a greater lightness of
mood than the Nation had known for some time. People slapped each other on the
shoulder, and joked merrily as if there was to be happiness and joy for ever.
Many of the personnel who had figured closely in these past events were here to
celebrate. Abbot Roger was talking quietly to Reasea with Brother Endfeld
nodding sagely. The lovely Reasea was looking as beguiling as ever laughing in
relaxed fashion. Soon they were joined by Sir Simon of
“And where is the Lady Athelfreda?” demanded young King Henry looking disdainfully at the rings on his fingers.
“I see her but a short distance
away, my
“Allow me to bring her to you.”
The King nodded his head in agreement. The celebrations, associated with the successful signing of the Treaty, made him feel more confident than he had done throughout his short reign so far. Even so he did not always relish some of his more irksome duties. He felt himself above his subjects, young as he was he was already imbued with a spirit, if spirit it could be called, of considerable self-esteem.
“Your Grace desires to speak to me?”
The King was shaken out of his
meditation to see the beautiful figure of Athelfreda standing before him. Well
she certainly had class about her, part Saxon, part
“Ah yes the Lady Athelfreda” enunciated Henry. “We are pleased to announce your betrothal to a gentleman well-esteemed by us.”
“Indeed, sir?” half-gasped Athelfreda “I thank you but why do you pay such attention to but a humble subject?”
“We are a generous monarch, Lady” retorted the King. “We have in mind for you the Lord of Wark. It has been our wish to crowd favours and lands upon him for his services to our Self. We have decided that a further benefit to him should be your hand in matrimony. What with our Royal favour you can count yourself well blessed.”
“Have I no say in my own future, Lord?” gulped Athelfreda “I never intended to marry for position or wealth. God only knows that I have seen enough of life to know that they are of no real account. Let me be freed from your kindness, Your Grace, and at such later date marry for love.”
“My Lady Athelfreda folk such as you
and I - although of course I stand alone in many respects - folk such as you
and I do not have that luxury. When I marry, for
instance, doubtless it will be to some
hateful French princess that I have never seen
- and all for reasons of State.”
“I sympathise dear Lord” answered the Lady. “But I am a poor thing, no where near the throne ....”
“You are a very enterprising woman, Athelfreda, a highly articulate and intelligent person, admired by many, do not underestimate yourself.”
“Is there no respite from this request of yours sire?” begged the beautiful woman.
“My Command, Lady!” stormed the King. “Present yourself to William the Marshal instantly he is but a few yards away engaged in discussion. He will inform you of what we require of you, our good and loyal subject I would hope!”
Henry swung away leaving Athelfreda nonplussed and in a state of near panic. Pleasure, sheer happiness associated with the way that recent events had turned out were now transformed into anxious forebodings. Walking ever so slowly she made her way to where the Regent, the aged but able William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke was standing.
“My good Lord” commenced Athelfreda. “The King commands me to wait upon you.”
“Ah yes, my child” beamed the Marshal. “Your forthcoming betrothal.”
“On that subject, my Lord I am not all that happy.”
“Do not let me read your thoughts too deeply, good Lady” beamed the Marshal. “I know what you must be thinking. To have to spend your life with a gouty old man with an irritable temper, thinning hair, no teeth, declining eye sight - for a fine young woman such as yourself .....” The Earl spread out his hands in sadness.
Athelfreda’s head was starting to pound, the more she heard about this terrible match, the more disastrous it seemed. She wanted to be physically sick, never in her entire life had she been so distressed. What had she been let in for? Was this how her life was to turn out? The play-thing of a rich, embittered, sick old man.
“Why Athelfreda you look so pensive. What has transpired on this day of days that should make you seem so wan and sore distressed?”
The lovely young woman stared
bleakly ahead, barely taking in this question.
When she looked more closely she saw the laughing visage of Rolf de Claimont in
front of her.
“Rolf is it you?” gasped Athelfreda “Oh God I have heard the most dire news, even your presence here will do little to compensate for such a tragedy.”
“Tragedy lady?” queried Rolf. “Strong words, what indeed has transpired here to deflate you so.”
“Why Rolf I am, at the King’s royal command betrothed to a rich old man.” William the Marshal who had remained quiet during Athelfreda and Rolf’s discourse interjected sharply.
“Why madam when I was talking earlier I was only philosophising I did not mean to imply that your intended was ancient in years, or in a state of mental and physical deterioration. I was only speculating on the possibilities, and problems of arranged marriages.”
“Then he is reasonable?” enquired Athelfreda.
The Marshal rocked on his heels and laughed heartily until the tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Even were he reasonable” resumed the Lady “I could never accept. It is love or nothing, wealth means nothing to me.”
The Earl of Pembroke continued to laugh until it seemed that he would collapse with exhaustion.
“My Lord, you are in high spirits while I am close to weeping. What kind of sympathy is this?”
“My dear young lady” roared the Marshal. “Please meet the Lord of Wark.”
Athelfreda followed the Regent’s pointing hand and stared open-mouthed as she noted his index finger in direct line with Rolf de Claimont.
“But .....” began the fair-haired beauty.
“I am the Lord of Wark, so designated by the King” explained Rolf “For services to the Crown. I have had my knighthood restored and these new titles and offices bestowed on me. I am sad to learn that you would wish to reject my advances.”
“Oh, my dear Rolf” almost screamed Athelfreda “I don’t know what to say.”
“Well is it ‘yes’ or ‘no’?” queried de Claimont.
“Why you foolish oaf of a man of course its ‘yes’. I could kill you for teasing me so, and leading me on .....”
“Pardon, lady but as you can see all of us are equally culpable myself, Hubert de Burgh, even the young King. I can see, however, that you are a woman of spirit, I wish there were more like you.” This was the kindly Marshal speaking.
“My Lord I accept your apologies” beamed Athelfreda.
“And do you accept mine, my Lady?” enquired Rolf.
“Yes, my lad but don’t put me through anything like this again. Oh what a relief to know that you are the Lord of Wark.”
Rolf pulled Athelfreda close to him and kissed her long and passionately. What a woman, that lovely soft, supple body, Lord he was in paradise once more. Surely there was nothing on Earth to compare with this. He felt himself desensitised, floating on a thousand clouds into and beyond Eternity. Nothing else seemed important, time had no meaning.
“Captain.”
De Claimont turned round to see the smiling face of Hugh his comrade in arms. The determined warrior, and staunch friend winked playfully at his chief.
“Can I be the first amongst your old rascals and pirates to shake you by the hand and wish you a thousand happinesses?”
“You certainly can my dear Hugh” grinned Rolf.
“And you too dear lady. It is a joy to see you two so unitted” resumed de Claimont’s friend.
Rolf placed his arm round the beautiful Athelfreda and led her away from the crowd, he wanted to spend a long time with her solely in his company. Even a lifetime with her was going to seem far too short, she was that delectable. What joy awaited him! He stopped to kiss her eyelids and felt again that overwhelming sensation as his legs almost seemed to buckle and he felt transported again into another world. This was really living. Was there a woman like Athelfreda anywhere? Just one moment with her was sheer Heaven, a lifetime was more than any human being merited, God, life was good!
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
William the Marshal placed a firm
hand on the shoulder of Hubert de Burgh. The two able statesmen walked together
silently for some distance. It had been a very busy time for them recently but
there were still important issues to be settled affecting the well-being of the
Nation. As they glanced around they could not but be aware of the lush greenery
surrounding them, it was still too early for Autumn to have done its worst and
transformed the gay scenery into a dull brown. It was almost like a reflection
of the mood in
“My dear Hubert” commenced the Earl.
“We must decide what needs to be done with the
“Indeed my lord” nodded de Burgh smiling faintly.
“Oh come, old fellow, do not be so non-committal surely you have some sound advice for me.”
“My Lord has already designated that
good lady for
“Well I have suggested such a possibility but what do you deem sensible? You admire the young woman I do not doubt.”
“That lady is dear to my soul. I was concerned for her brother Arthur when he lived and the Princess Eleanor is the epitome of all that womanhood should be, and a damn sight more besides. She has assisted us greatly in our recent tussles with the barons and Louis.”
“Yes, I agree” mused William the Marshal. “Besides seeking to wear the crown for herself.”
“A mere interlude, good Regent”
quickly interjected Hubert. “She has been a hell of a more loyal subject than
Fitz-Walter and his other cronies. If you forgive them then it is an outrage
not to embrace the
“I am all for embracing the
statement came close by and as the two companions looked-up they beheld the
athletic figure of Savary de Mauléon
standing before them.
“Pardon me for interrupting your discourse, gentlemen” continued the routier. “But I have admired the Princess, to be honest at close quarters, she is the sort of woman that men are willing to die for. Anything less than full justice for the lady would be met by fierce anger from many quarters.”
“I appreciate your sentiments” responded the Marshal. “But not everyone is so enthusiastic, Fawkes de Breauté for instance.”
“He is ever a realist” smirked de Mauléon. “That self-seeker will be easily placated now.”
“Even so the Princess because she is so highly regarded may well be a danger at some later date to the peace and weal of this realm.”
“Even so to keep her under close
confinement at
“She survived well enough at Corfe” frowned the Marshal.
“Indeed my Lord” interjected de Burgh. “That could be the answer, theoretical confinement but scope to exploit her know talents at appropriate times. There are people who would be willing to give Eleanor only a slight flexible leash and let her go as she would. She is a woman of principle we can come to some arrangement with her no doubt.”
“We can discuss this with her in some depth now. I perceive her talking to another of the chief protagonists in these striking times” added Savary de Mauléon grinning broadly.
“Ah yes” remarked the Marshal. “Sir Guy de Buissant, her former squire - a valiant gentleman inspite of his misdemeanours. He has more than compensated of late, however, a very useful ally to have at our command.”
The little group joined Eleanor and Guy and engaged in a detailed, if at times spirited conversation. At least some agreement seemed to have been reached and the Princess and the former squire were left alone once more.
“So you have been detailed for some new escapade, eh my bonny lad?” smiled Eleanor.
“In the service of the King, dear madam” replied de Buissant. “But I shall not be gone for long. I will have the opportunity to see you from time to time.”
“And I closeted in
“I am sure that you will make the best of your opportunities as you always have done. There is little that can quench the spirit of such as you, a resolute, determined Plantaganet, indeed a woman fit to be Queen.”
“God above Guy don’t start on that again. We got into enough trouble before.”
“I know, I know” confessed de Buissant throwing his arms up in quick apology. “I must merely acknowledge you as the Queen of my Life and my being if not my Liege Lord to follow until death at the head of this Kingdom of ours.”
“If I were Queen, how could it be
called a Kingdom?” enquired the
“Logic always was your strong trait, dear Princess” laughed Guy. “You defy all the laws and rules of this society of ours.”
“That’s as may be my lad” nodded the
Guy pulled Eleanor close to his
breast feeling his heart beating alongside hers. It was as if nothing else
existed in the whole world, they had achieved some mystic union only they could
identify. It was hard to believe that so much had happened since those days in
“I can never thank-you enough dear lady” he exclaimed. “But enough, I must be on my way, fate or destiny, or both, await me.”
De Buissant summoned a couple of retainers who quickly helped him to mount his destrier. Eleanor gazed half-smiling at him, what a warrior he had become, although she could always have forecast a great future for Guy, he had that steely determination about him only thinly disguised by his courtly manners.
“Think of me on my journey, my sweet” announced Guy “I will be back, and certainly you will be forever in my prayers, my Queen that never was.”
Eleanor placed her hand on Guy’s leg
and smiled wistfully up at him, the sun was shining quite brightly now and
formed almost a halo round de Buissant’s head. A golden knight indeed. The
youthful warrior looked down and bending gracefully swept the
The
“My Lady” commented Melissa. “You are weeping.”
“Oh not really” the
THE END
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