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
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