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 Bristol. I would counsel no more bickering amongst ourselves. We have a new monarch, indeed a new start. Former foes are now friends let us build on this coming together and not seek to launch new enmities.”

“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. England is wet, damp and chilly - yes even in high Summer and now at this time of the year it sends shivers down the spine. Nevertheless the people here are valiant and true - at least the best of them are - they have their faults, their human pecidillos but they have a gutsiness, a Northern gritiness that somehow appeals to me.”

“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 Bristol it is agreed that I must soon return to our fortress at Dover.”

“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 England. Eleanor is above all things an Angevin, would she stand idly by and see her birthright put to one side. Her cousin now wears the diadem but that is preferable to the Dauphin sitting in the seat of power.”

“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 Barnard Castle. On that prompting can I take my former-squire with me in my quest, he will be a tremendous support for me.”

“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. Bristol had a rather impersonal air about it. Corfe Castle was supposedly Eleanor’s confined quarters, only theoretically of course, but somehow she got more of a buzz out of the place than here on the West Coast. Still no matter she needed to lay her plans and see what she could do in the service of doe-faced Cousin Henry. How times had changed, and how swiftly. Still that was life.

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