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 Midlands and North. Some pundits said why not go straight for the jugular and take London. That’s just what the Lion-Heart would have done, settle the issue right away. All very well but John needed to pay his mercenaries and a siege of London would be lengthy with few immediate benefits. Devastation of the areas outside would be easier and as the barons saw their lands being sucked-up by the King’s friends then they would hopefully lose morale. A weak-kneed bunch were the rebel barons, lily-livers like Eustace de Vesci and Robert Fitz-Walter.

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 Liege but we were to discuss some technical aspect of administration, or was it some legal matter?”

“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 England’s King and felt that she knew how to keep him in order if a further similar situation presented itself.

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 Northampton and then give our enemies a taste of Royal Justice? Are we to make them truly bow the knee”

“Of course, de Buissant and thence to Nottingham. A good central position, who knows we may celebrate Christmas there. At least our noble friends - enemies I should say, will be in no mood for festive celebrations they will wish that they had never crossed their King. It is not only the Lion-Heart who can be hot in blood.”

“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 Northampton without any further delay.”

“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.”

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