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 England had never had a Louis on the throne before, it had even taken them some time to get used to the Normans. Well they would have to accept the inevitable King Louis, Dei Gratia.

“Your serene highness” announced the soldier. “The earls of Arundel, and Surrey request audience to offer you their services.”

“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 England, the blessed Henry of glorious memory. My mother was the fair Rosamund, the sweetest flower of even more blest memory. I have served my half-brother well, but he has betrayed his friends by his recent policies ......”

“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 England. This land of ours needs a change.”

“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 Northern England. Alexander may make a fine King of Scots.”

“If we let him. Why even you English seek to establish the over-lordship over Scotland, don’t expect that I will be any less vigorous in pursuing such a policy.”

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. Salisbury’s original surmise that his royal relative would soon be overthrown and that in the interests of national stability Louis was the better option, why he needed to re-examine such a supposition. Still it was really too late now. He liked John but he really did not have much of a choice. Life was becoming confused of late, old values were being overturned, he always considered his judgement good, first Godric a trusted retainer had betrayed him, he had lost the company and support
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 Dover Castle such an ally was Hubert de Burgh, a man who had stood against John before now but who still preferred the Angevin as his King to the pious Louis the Dauphin. Already at Dover Hubert was organising his resources, moving swiftly and efficiently to ensure that no rebellious earl or foreign prince would subvert his command. Here was a man of iron grip and steady clear-eyed resolve.

“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 Barnard Castle at the moment” mused de Burgh.

“That part of England is always being subjected to the harassments of our wild Scots friends.”

“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 Dover Castle. He wondered if he was ever going to be told of the identity of de Burgh’s spy. Still, no matter, it was no strategic concern to him.

“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!”

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