A Wounded Realm

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘Excellent,’ said Rufus, throwing his tankard to one side, ‘call off the dogs lest they scare him away.’

  ‘The dogs are already secured, sire,’ said Grayling, ‘and I have taken the liberty of refreshing your mount and, indeed, that of Lord Tirel.’

  The king looked over to Tirel and grinned.

  ‘Well, here we go, my friend, you and me against the beast. Let the better man blood his arrows first. Ready?’

  ‘As ready as I ever will be, sire,’ said Tirel, ‘lead the way.’

  Both men exited the tent and climbed astride their horses.

  ‘Follow with a cart,’ shouted Rufus, ‘but stay a while back so as not to spook the beast.’

  ‘Aye, sire,’ said Grayling, and the whole hunting party watched as the king and Lord Tirel galloped in the direction the hunt master had indicated.

  ‘My money is on the king,’ Grayling announced to Henry, as they disappeared into the distance. ‘I have never seen him bettered in such a competition; your father tutored him well.’

  ‘We will see,’ said Henry, before turning around and calling out. ‘Mount up,’ he shouted, ‘and bring forth the carts. Whoever the victor, I suspect we will have a carcass to butcher before nightfall.’

  Rufus and Tirel both rode the same way, sharing any sign of the stag with each other before coming across fresh spoor near a stream.

  ‘Still warm,’ whispered Tirel, seeing the steam rise from the animal’s faeces. ‘It can’t be far from here.’

  ‘Then let us each go our own way, my friend,’ replied the king quietly, ‘and may God guide the arrows of the better man.’

  Tirel nodded and crossed the stream to head for the high ground while Rufus followed the footprints downstream. For what seemed like an age he crept slowly until finally he gently pushed some branches to one side and saw the prize before him, a beautiful ten-point stag in the prime of his life. The animal was grazing peacefully on the lush vegetation at the side of the stream, and looked up only briefly when Rufus snapped a tiny twig beneath his boot. The king froze, hoping the stag hadn’t seen him, holding his breath until the animal resumed feeding. Slowly, Rufus placed his arrows on the ground, keeping one in his hand to load his bow. He notched the shaft onto the bowstring and lifted the weapon up to take aim. Gradually, he slowed his breathing, steadying the shake that crept to his fingers, knowing his grasp must be solid to ensure a straight flight. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a movement and cursed silently as he saw Tirel also notch his bow across the other side of the clearing.

  ‘What are you doing, you stupid man?’ he hissed under his breath, as Tirel broke cover and stepped into the clearing. ‘You will scare the beast.’

  Sure enough, the stag looked up in fright and with a single bound, cleared the stream to run directly at the king’s hidden position. For a second Rufus froze, as the giant animal raced towards him, but he quickly recovered his poise and raised his bow again to take aim.

  Across the clearing, Tirel had already drawn his bow and as the beast bounded towards the king, the archer let his arrow fly. The shaft sped fast and true through the air but though it found a target, it was not deer blood that ran down the shaft – it was human.

  Rufus gasped in pain and fell back amongst the bracken, Tirel’s arrow sticking out of his chest.

  ‘My lord!’ shouted Tirel as he ran across the clearing. ‘I did not see you in the foliage.’ He dropped to his knees beside the king and examined the wound. ‘Oh, sweet Jesus, what have I done?’

  ‘Your approach was all wrong,’ gasped the king, ‘you were upwind of the prey and there was no way you could have dropped him from there.’

  ‘My heart is heavy with my choice, my king,’ said Tirel, ‘but I cannot take back the shaft. Ease your thoughts and if you require, I will take your confession on behalf of the church.’

  ‘There is no need of confession,’ gasped William, ‘for I feel the arrow has lodged short of my heart. The pain is great but if I can survive until the cart arrives, perhaps the apothecaries can yet save my life.’

  ‘Sire, let me take your confession,’ begged Tirel with tears streaming down his face, ‘lest the carts are late and you are denied entry into the kingdom of heaven.’

  ‘Tirel, trust me, I cannot move but the wound is not mortal. I already hear the cart in the distance and will soon be in safe hands. Worry not, for I know your part in this was an accident. You will not be held accountable.’

  ‘Alas I will,’ sobbed Tirel, ‘and will surely lose my head as must all men who take the life of a king.’

  ‘I am not dead yet, Tirel, now call the cart before it is too late.’

  Tirel’s shoulders shook as the tears ran down his face to drip onto the king.

  ‘Tirel, call the cart,’ gasped the king again, ‘quickly, man, lest it passes us by.’

  ‘My lord, forgive me,’ sobbed Tirel, and he lifted his hand to grasp the shaft sticking out of the king’s chest.

  ‘Tirel, what are you doing?’ gasped Rufus. ‘Stop it or you will—’

  Before he could continue, Tirel gritted his teeth and drove the arrow deeper into the chest of the king, piercing his heart with the silver bodkin.

  Rufus’s eyes widened and though he opened his mouth to cry out, all that emerged was a gasp of excruciating pain.

  ‘My lord, forgive me,’ sobbed Tirel as he stood up to back away from the thicket, leaving on the ground the body of the dead king.

  ‘My lord,’ shouted Grayling for the tenth time. ‘King William, where are you?’

  ‘He must be around here somewhere,’ said Henry, ‘for I clearly heard him cry out only a few moments ago. Tell the men to spread out, he may be injured.’

  The rest of William’s hunting party formed a line and walked towards the stream. Several minutes later, a voice cried out in alarm and everyone ran over to find Grayling cradling the king’s body.

  ‘Mother of Christ,’ whispered Henry, and all present formed the shape of the cross on their chests.

  ‘Is he all right?’ asked one of the nobles, jumping from his horse.

  Grayling simply shook his head and looked up. ‘My lord,’ he said quietly with tears running down his face, ‘I fear the king is dead.’ He looked over to Henry still sat upon his horse. ‘Long live the king!’

  Henry stared down at the body of his brother held in Grayling’s arms. The beautiful arrow shaft protruding from the king’s chest shone in the afternoon sun, as if mocking the horror that was the death of a monarch.

  ‘My lord,’ said Grayling quietly, ‘do you wish to say a prayer over your brother?’

  Henry didn’t answer. His face was ashen at the sight of the dead king and his heart raced at the implications.

  ‘Who is responsible for this?’ he asked simply.

  ‘There can only be one man,’ said Grayling, ‘and that is Lord Tirel.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘There is no sign of him, sire, but he is a loyal and faithful servant of William. Surely this is nothing more than a tragic accident.’

  ‘If this is so,’ said Henry, ‘then he will not be found responsible. However, I would hear the tale from his own mouth.’ He turned to one of the sergeants. ‘You there, gather your men and find Tirel. Once he is in your custody, bring him to me in Windsor. The rest of you, secure your mounts for a long ride – you are coming with me.’

  ‘Sire,’ said Grayling, ‘what about your brother?’

  ‘See that his body gets to Winchester,’ said Henry.

  ‘But surely you wish to say your goodbyes?’

  ‘It is too late for that, Lord Grayling, for his soul already speeds its way to heaven.’ Henry tugged the reins to turn the horse but before he left Grayling called out once more.

  ‘Sire, you are next in line to the throne and we have already lost one monarch this day. Where are you going?’

  ‘I am returning to London with all haste,’ said Henry, ‘but have to call in at the hunting lodge first. Take my
brother to Winchester and once he is laid out in the cathedral, I will attend him there.’ He turned his horse and accompanied by five men, galloped back along the forest track.

  Within hours, Henry was back at the lodge and as his men sought fresh horses, he took the opportunity to walk into the nearby trees. Bending over he placed a purse of silver beneath a log and after looking around to see he had not been observed, returned to the lodge where the staff were already mourning his brother. He did not wait to see whether Tirel arrived to claim payment – he had to get to London as soon as possible. There was a treasury to secure.

  Windsor Castle

  July 21st, AD 1100

  Nesta stood in the window of her quarters at Windsor, staring out at the hive of activity in the bailey below. Henry had arrived earlier in the day and though he had to take care of some urgent business, he had sent a message to say he would attend her in the early evening. Nesta hadn’t seen Henry since the day he had gone hunting with his brother and had spent the last two weeks worrying about him. A knock came on the door and Carla entered the room.

  ‘My lady,’ she said quietly, ‘he is here.’

  ‘Thank you, Carla,’ said Nesta turning around. ‘I am ready.’

  Carla stood to one side as Nesta straightened her dress and walked to the centre of the room to wait. Moments later the door eased open and Henry entered. Carla took his cloak and retired from the room, leaving them both alone. For a few moments, each stared at the other in silence, until Nesta lowered herself to the floor in a perfect curtsey.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ she said with her head lowered, ‘welcome to my humble home.’

  ‘Nesta,’ said Henry, his face screwed up in confusion, ‘what are you doing?’

  ‘Greeting my king as is my duty,’ said Nesta, still not making eye contact.

  ‘Nesta, stand up,’ said Henry.

  ‘As you wish, Majesty.’

  ‘Nesta,’ said Henry, ‘stop this foolery and greet me the way you have done a hundred times before.’

  ‘If this is what you command, my lord.’

  ‘Nesta,’ shouted Henry, ‘enough nonsense. Why are you being like this? Am I not the same man who left your bed not two weeks since?’

  ‘No, Majesty, you are not,’ said Nesta. ‘You left as a brother to William but have come back a king in your own right. The two positions are worlds apart.’

  ‘The stations may be different but the man beneath this crown remains the same,’ replied Henry.

  ‘Is he?’ asked Nesta. ‘For the man I knew would have stood beside me at his brother’s funeral. He would have invited me to his own coronation or at the very least would have sent a message explaining what was happening.’

  ‘Is that what this is all about, Nesta – the fact that all this happened in your absence?’

  ‘I was not absent, Henry,’ said Nesta. ‘I was right here all along, almost beside myself with worry about what had become of you. All I had was rumour and hearsay about what was happening and I did not know what to believe.’

  ‘That is why I am here now, Nesta,’ said Henry, ‘to offer the explanation you deserve.’

  ‘Two weeks later?’

  ‘I know it is not ideal but it is the best I could achieve. You have to understand that there was much to do and though you were on my mind, matters of state kept me away. Now most have been concluded, I can at last pay you some attention.’

  ‘I know not why you bother,’ snapped Nesta. ‘If I am that much of an embarrassment that I do not warrant even a pew at your coronation, then you may as well just send me home, out of your way.’

  ‘Nesta!’ roared Henry, slamming his fist onto an adjacent table. ‘Enough.’

  Nesta stepped backward, shocked at the display of violence.

  ‘Now you listen to me,’ shouted Henry. ‘I came here with affection in my heart and intentions to make good my shortcomings but you are making it very difficult. Now sit down and listen to me lest I walk through that door for the last time and you never see me again.’

  Visibly shaken, Nesta sat in one of the two seats before the fire while Henry took the other.

  ‘Forgive my outburst.’ Henry sighed. ‘But I ask you to listen to me. When the king was killed, there was no time to lose. My older brother, Robert, long nursed a claim to the throne of England and if I had not acted quickly, he would now be ruling our country. I rode to Winchester Castle as fast as I dared and secured the treasury before spending a whole day arguing with the clergy regarding my right to the title. Luckily, the nobles backed my claim, but with the archbishops of York and Canterbury not available, we had to make do with the bishop of London and convene a coronation as quickly as possible. If we had wasted any more time, then Robert could have returned from crusade within weeks and pursued his challenge as the older son, and if that had happened, the country would have been plunged into a civil war. I could not allow that to happen, Nesta, so had to move quickly. But, unfortunately, during the chaos, I found no time to keep you abreast of events. I am sorry, but that is the way it is. Yes, I love you, but you have to understand, these are momentous times and sometimes, despite your upset, my life does not revolve around you.’

  Nesta stared at Henry in shock. She had never heard him so angry or so forthright but through her distress, she knew he was right. She coughed gently to clear her throat before speaking.

  ‘I understand, my lord,’ she said.

  ‘Nesta, in the privacy of your chamber or indeed mine, please refrain from formal titles, for it creates a barrier difficult to surmount.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Nesta, before continuing. ‘In the circumstances, I accept the explanation and beg forgiveness for my outburst but you have to understand that I was hurt and frightened. A simple note would have sufficed.’

  ‘You are right,’ said Henry, ‘and I condemn myself for neglecting to organise such a small but important gesture. Please forgive me.’

  Nesta smiled and held out her hand. ‘Already forgotten,’ she said.

  Henry kissed her hand and stood to seek the wine jug already sat upon the table.

  ‘So,’ said Nesta, ‘now you are a king, how does it feel?’

  ‘Like the weight of a nation has been draped across my shoulders,’ said Henry, pouring two goblets of wine.

  ‘As indeed it has,’ said Nesta, joining him at the table, ‘but what about Robert?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Is he not still a risk? After all, he is the older brother, what if he challenges your claim?’

  ‘He cannot,’ said Henry, ‘for I was born to the purple and successfully argued my point at Winchester.’

  ‘Born to the purple?’

  ‘It means I was born to a ruling king while Robert was born before my father took the throne. By accepting my argument, the barons support my claim and should Robert challenge the throne, he takes on the whole of England.’

  ‘So your kingship is secure?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Then perhaps this calls for a toast,’ said Nesta and raised her glass. ‘To my lover, King Henry the First.

  Henry sipped his wine before replacing the glass on the table and taking Nesta in his arms. He kissed her deeply and led her over to her immaculately made bed.

  ‘Come,’ he said, ‘for despite my folly in excluding you from matters of court, you were always in my thoughts at night.’

  ‘Is that all I mean to you?’ Nesta laughed as he threw her on the bed. ‘Nothing but relief to your royal desires?’

  ‘You know better than that,’ said Henry kissing her neck, ‘but I have to admit, other women pale in comparison to my feisty Welsh vixen.’

  ‘So they should,’ gasped Nesta as he started to disrobe her, ‘for with you there is nothing held back.’

  ‘Nor should there be,’ whispered Henry. ‘But enough talking, there are more important things to address. Look to your king, Nesta, for this night I need you more than I ever have done before.’

  The following mo
rning, they sat at the table within Nesta’s chambers. The room was quiet and Henry seemed overly focused on the piece of fish that formed his meal.

  ‘Henry,’ said Nesta, ‘something concerns you.’

  Henry looked up at the beautiful raven-haired woman before him. Never had he loved any woman as he did this one but he knew he was about to break her heart. He pushed the platter away and washed his hands in the finger bowl before wiping his hands on a napkin and turning to the servant.

  ‘Leave us,’ he said quietly.

  When they were once more alone he sat back in his chair and lifted his gaze towards the woman he loved, staring deep into her soul.

  Nesta gazed back patiently, knowing full well that he would speak when he was ready.

  ‘Nesta,’ he said eventually. ‘Never have I known any person, alive or dead, that causes my heart to both ache and bound with joy as much as you do. I love you more than life itself and these past few years have been the happiest I have known.’

  ‘And mine,’ said Nesta with a smile.

  ‘The times we have shared,’ said Henry, ‘will be the last thought on my mind when I leave this life, for never will they be bettered. Yet all this time, we have been living a lie.’

  Nesta’s face dropped slightly and she sipped her honeyed water before looking back up at him.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Many were the nights when we talked of sharing our life together, Nesta, and I longed for such a union just as much as you. Together we condemned the king for disallowing our union but at least we were together in private.’

  ‘We were,’ said Nesta, ‘but now you are king, you can change that rule and put us together as God intended.’

  Henry looked away and took a deep breath before returning his gaze to Nesta. ‘I can’t,’ he said quietly, ‘the clergy won’t allow it.’

  Nesta stared at the king with confusion.

  ‘What do you mean the clergy won’t allow it? Are you the king or not? Because where I am from, the king makes the laws, not some holy men who feed off the backs of the poor.’