CHAPTER NINE
“Langton you are full of meaningless words. A real bag of wind if ever there was one. Hell man I want you to follow up discussions undertaken by my niece and all you can do is inflame the situation further. Why, thank God William Marshal went along with you otherwise what sort of mess would we be in? In any case for all my Lord Pembroke’s efforts we are no further forward.”
Archbishop Stephen Langton shuffled uneasily from one foot to the other. He was well aware of King John’s hostility towards him but felt that he had been given a well nigh impossible task.
“But my liege” countered the Archbishop “the barons were determined to be awkward from the beginning of our discussions. They have at least put forward their case to you.”
“What?” screamed John “you call this drivel here their case, it solely consists of demands, demands which they know I could never agree to accept.”
“It has some basis on an earlier charter that King Henry I your great grand-father agreed, your grace.”
“You believe that myth, Archbishop?” exploded the King.
“I take it that you will not accept these proposals, at least in the form so far presented, sire?”
“Never, never, never! This is a deliberate attempt to provoke me into extreme action. I am too shrewd for that, but I will not be taken advantage of. Don’t the barons realise that I have the support of Pope Innocent?”
“Of course but....”
“Stop prevaricating Archbishop!” stormed John “send someone to Brackeley where my rebellious subjects are gathered and tell them that in no way, under no circumstances whatever will I accept their insulting demand. Would they take the crown off me and use it themselves? God Almighty”
“Sire be more temperate with your language”.
“Oh
take a running jump Langton! I’m fed up with your pious pontificating. Full of
bloody words and damn all else you are. You’re no good to me I can tell you.
Just do what I tell you, get a messenger over to the barons and tell them that
I refuse
their stupid requests.”
“If you want someone with a little dignity, someone who will add strength to your refusal send young de Buissant.”
John nodded affirmatively at William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke. “Trust the Marshal to know what to say” he smiled to himself.
“Good, good William. Thank God I’ve got a man of sense who is always full of the best advice. I’ll do that, I’ll send the gutsy young squire to deliver my message.”
It was a short while afterwards that Guy de Buissant set-off, this time not to embark on a long detailed discussion but to make known to the revolting barons what his liege-lord’s views were. He thought of his princess, the Lady Eleanor, how magnificent she had been when they had first confronted the rebels. God how magnificent she had been later, he shivered with excitement just to think about that momentous event in his life. The contacts he had made recently would be all to his advantage in his career as well. What a good all-round session it had all been. Life was certainly worth living. He thought for a moment about his chance meeting with William Longsword, the King’s half-brother. The latter had seemed slightly distracted and had grasped Guy by the arm as if he had been a long-lost friend. “Godric, Godric I would never have believed it. I relied on him you know and he has misled me and tried to turn me against a dear friend. I still have not seen Athelfreda yet - my God where will it all end?”
Guy had looked apologetically at Longsword wondering if he had been mistaken for someone else. The Earl of Salisbury drew himself up to his full height, shook his head and sensing that de Buissant was obviously very puzzled nodded patronisingly at the young man.
“Sorry my boy I have been rather distraught recently. Some local domestic trouble but one which has weighed heavily on me. Hopefully matters will be settled very soon. Still when you put your trust in someone it hurts to see it misplaced. Godric was an able man - of course, of course, I’m droning on, and you’ve never met the swine. I must call him that now but, by God, he was reliable at all times I thought - oh hell!”
In fact when Longsword had gone in to see his half brother the King his inattention was apparent. His mind just could not focus. “I hope Athelfreda is alright” he kept on thinking.
“William?” almost queried the King “you are not quite yourself. That messenger who arrived earlier had he some disturbing portents to impart?”
“A trusted servant had proved false” confided the Earl “and sought to muddy the waters between myself and a gallant and noble lady.”
“But probably not your wife, eh Longsword?” grinned the King “we Plantaganets are all alike. They call us the Devil’s brood but we certainly know how to live life to the full. Still enough of this philosophy, otherwise you are alright and in good shape for the battles ahead, eh man?”
I am always at your liege’s right hand whenever you want me. Never fear I am not wayward when it comes to staunchness and fealty to my good brother the King.”
John smiled to himself “Yes Salisbury should prove loyal” he thought. In so far as anyone could be trusted in these difficult times the son of the fair Rosamund was about as trustworthy as anyone. He had the boisterous strength of the Lionheart without the latter’s prediliction towards bright young men - in fact, the reverse, he was a red-blooded Angevin, a true son of raunchy old Henry II.
Meanwhile Guy had ridden from the castle and after a fairly uneventful journey had reached Brackeley. The barons were in a vicious mood, not even any smirking, or sarcastic comments for that matter, they seemed intent on action, they had had their fill of John Lackland.
“So!” snarled Robert Fitzwalter when the King’s total rejection of the demands was communicated to him. Guy had expected rather more but Fitzwalter was busy whispering to Eustace de Vesci his co-author of dissension. It was as if Guy did not exist. “I’ll beat a hasty retreat I think” confided the squire to himself. “no point in becoming part of this mass of rebellion. I cannot be certain that they will respect my office of messenger. Let’s face it I’m not an archbishop or an Earl. Better be off.”
“Squire before you go I have a message for your master.” The voice of Fitzwalter came booming towards him. So he had not been totally ignored after all.
“My Lord of Dunmow?” enquired de Buissant with some dignity. His association with the Pearl of Brittany had added to his confidence. Didn’t someone once say that if you
had a close physical contact with a person some of the glitter rubbed off onto you. Who knows, the determination and the fierce courageous pride of that young woman may have taken over his own personality.
“Squire
you are to tell your master that all of us here renounce our homage and fealty
to him. We defy him for the unjust Lord that he is. I am the Commander-in-chief
of this assembly here, you may think of me as the leader of the Army of God and
the
De Buissant could scare conceal a smile. Fitzwalter a leader of an Army of God. Holy Moses, they must be desperate. What a man to have as chief of such a host, and with such a high sounding title.
“And de Buissant - I believe that is your name unless you are out of here within the next half hour I’ll see you hanging from the rafters.”
“Good my Lord” responded de Buissant with deep sarcasm in his voice “I fail to see how on earth I will be able to deliver your message if I am in such a position. Nonetheless I would not want to be in the company of such dastardly rebels as yourself. In fact half an hour is too long by far to be with such scoundrels ....”
“You insolent young pup” stormed Eustace de Vesci “how dare you so address one who is your superior in rank.”
“The King is your superior and yet you denounce him, and raise your standard against him, my gracious Lord” sneered the squire “your comments are somewhat illogical therefore on that score.”
“By my troth I’ll kill you for that. I’ll impale you on the nearest pike.”
“Let me see you try, old man!” snapped Guy “you are full of words but your flabby jowls will not serve as weapons against me.”
“Enough, enough!” stormed Fitzwalter “de Vesci I’m surprised to see you becoming so intemperate towards a skulking squire. He is not worth soiling your sword upon. He’s fit only for a common soldier’s dagger. He will serve a better purpose just for now, however, by conveying our noble intentions to John Lackland.”
“Well,
my Lord, am I to go?” enquired Guy raising an eyebrow ever so
superciliously “time is of the essence, unless de Vesci here wishes for a
lesson in swordsmanship.”
Eustace raced almost maniacally past Lord Dunmow and drawing his sword faced de Buissant with murder in his soul.
“Away old man!” sneered the young squire.
De Vesci could scare believe his ears, did this insolent young pup dare insult him so? What was the world coming to? This was equality gone too far. He stopped for a moment, breathing hard but in the next instance he saw de Buissant facing him sword in hand. De Vesci brought his own weapon slashing down hard towards Guy. The young man, barely perturbed side-stepped and almost casually nicked the baron’s right cheek with his sword. The rebellious noble felt the blood start to spurt but it was his pride that was hurt much more than his face. To add insult to injury the youngster executed a few nimble almost dance-steps with his feet and then with a wristy slash nicked de Vesci just below the hair-line. The blood now started to trickle from his fore-head down his face. Angrily he thrust forward at his antagonist. Quick to the danger de Buissant ducked and slashed hard at de Vesci’s knees. The baron flung his sword away and grasping his leg fell snarling to the ground.
“Now let me access to the draw-bridge and a friendly departure or else you will have a very ill de Vesci on your hands” snapped the squire. Saying this Guy yanked up the fallen baron and leading him roughly by the arm sought to make his exit.
“Let the man go. As I said before” continued Fitzwalter “we want him to tell the King of our serious intent. But remember, de Buissant, none of us here will ever forget this outrageous behaviour. From now on you are marked to die, kingly protection or not.”
“We
will see about that my Lord of Dunmow. You yourself will do well to escape the
executioner’s axe. Farewell and think of
number of them had proved untrue, uncertainty was the only certain thing and
yet it seemed to give the young squire a certain thrill. The adrenalin was
certainly starting to flow. The Pearl of Brittany obviously had had a part in
his buoyancy of spirit, she would certainly have his undying thanks.
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