CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

King John of England spurred his horse hard, riding as if the Devil had inspired him. It was all his army could do to keep pace with the avenging monarch. When thus moved the Angevin was just as ferocious and just as terrible to his enemies as the much vaunted Lion Heart. But for ill-luck John might have been remembered much more favourably than his brother. At least, as he himself had said on many an occasion, he had spent a fair amount of time in England. Not for him joy-riding on the Crusades in the Holy Land, what he had achieved he had achieved for the people of this robust little Island.

“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 Liege” replied Sir Guy de Buissant. “However we believe his more pragmatic advisors suggested that caution was a better attribute in a leader. We should find him at Berwick on the Tweed if we maintain our present rate of pursuit.”

“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 Pearl in his arms, her body swaying energetically, moving in unison to his own, that ringing laughter in his ears. For one so full of breeding Eleanor had an ability to make people feel totally relaxed. Through being side-lined in the contest for the crown she was not perpetually in the demoralising company of hangers-on and sycophants. She certainly knew how to laugh, to live in fact and to love. Oh the pulsating joy, and fulfilment of human energy just being with the Pearl and the fierce, frenetic explosion at the end of physical union with her. The subtle way in which she excited the senses and the passions, in fact drove one forward into a journey through the heavens, almost crying out with pleasure. Surely even the famed Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt was not more desirable, or indeed more lovely?

“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 Scotland. A proper battle then, not this savaging of old people, women and children, for that’s what it was when it came to the crunch.

“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 Nottingham.

“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 Eastleigh’s corpse. This is one death that I feel no guilt for whatsoever. He was a nasty piece of work.”

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 Midlands with that highly competent bowman what was, or rather is his name?”

“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!

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