by H A CULLEY
They met in the taproom to eat. Edward and the knights, the squires and the serjeants all occupied different tables, according to their station. The same potboy who had served John Little served them, now three years older, taller and with a face covered in acne. The serjeants complained at the lack of serving wenches but the meal was otherwise uneventful. When the boy came to take away their platters and bring more ale Miles grabbed his arm and asked if he remembered a man in his forties, nearly a foot taller than most with fair hair who might have been in the tavern three years ago. The lad looked scared and refused to answer but his eyes slid sideways to another table where fives locals sat drinking and playing dice. Four of the men looked unremarkable but the fifth was a big man, both in girth and height. He had a fat, jowly face but Miles saw a slight resemblance there to John. At first he thought it might be John himself who had put on a tremendous amount of weight, but then he recalled that John had once said that he had a brother, called Cedric, here in Hathersage.
He got up and walked over to their table. The five men looked up in surprise at the young knight. Miles wasn’t clad in armour but he was wearing a padded gambeson made of fine black leather with a badge of a white chevron between three gold dogs’ heads. The badge caused Cedric’s eyes to narrow in speculation because it was similar to that of Waldo Cuille, apart from the dog’s heads.
‘Cedric Little?’ the knight asked the big man who nodded cautiously. ‘I wonder if we could have a word in private?’
‘What do you want with me?’ the fat man asked with a note of hysteria in his voice; he was now thoroughly alarmed.
‘Come with me and you’ll find out. Or I can get my serjeants to take you outside for me but they are a rough lot, I fear.’
‘No, I’ll come.’ The big man nearly scuttled out of the tavern and into the stable yard. Miles’ squire and one of the serjeants, a man called Colbert who had come with Miles from the garrison at Otterburn, followed them outside and stood out of earshot by the door.
‘Thank you for agreeing to talk to me,’ Miles began affably. ‘I just wondered whether you had seen anything of your brother, John, in the last three years?’
‘John?’ The man looked worried then puzzled. ‘What does a fine young knight like you want with an outlaw like John Little?’
‘He was my friend and a finer man I have yet to meet.’ His look made it clear that he thought that Cedric wasn’t fit to lick John’s shoes.
‘Well, yes, he did turn up here about three years ago but he was arrested by the deputy sheriff from Peverel Castle further along the valley and taken to Nottingham. The last I heard was that he was hanged as an outlaw.’ The man suddenly realised that a dagger was pricking his fat jowls.
‘Did you betray him?’ The intensity in Miles’ clear grey eyes made the man swallow nervously. The movement caused the dagger to nick the skin and a trickle of blood ran down his neck.
‘No,no,’ he almost squealed with fear.
‘Well, who did?’ Cedric hesitated but then Miles moved his dagger down until it was pricked the braies covering Cedric’s crotch. ‘Tell me or I’ll castrate you and leave you to bleed to death.’
‘I don’t know for certain,’ Cedric gabbled in terror. ‘But everyone thought it must be Fyren the priest’s son. He suddenly became wealthy and left the area.’ Miles knew that, although it was frowned on by the Church, many village priests were married and had children, both in and out of wedlock. Often a son would follow his father as priest so the position became hereditary. The practice was dying out but change took a long time to reach the High Peak.
‘Where did this Fyren go to when he left here?’ Another encouraging prick with Miles’ dagger caused Cedric to yelp as a little blood stained his braies, mixing with the urine where the fat man had wet himself.
‘I don’t know for certain where he is now, my lord, but I heard that he had bought a tavern in Nottingham.’
‘What is the name of this tavern?’ Cedric hesitated for a second then shrugged.
‘I seem to remember someone saying it was the Green Man, or something like that.’
‘Thank you Cedric.’ Miles sheathed his dagger and motioned to his squire who came over and handed Miles as small bag of coins.
‘This is for your trouble. But if I find you have lied to me I will return and do more than cut off your balls. You can go.’ The man ran back towards the tavern. ‘Try not to lose all that money tonight,’ Miles called after him.
The next day Miles, his squire and Colbert set off for Nottingham whilst Edward and the other dozen men headed north. For June the weather wasn’t particularly warm and all three wrapped their cloaks tightly round them. Such a small group or travellers was more vulnerable so both Miles and the serjeant rode in armour. However all three men were dressed plainly with no badge displayed. Even Miles’ surcoat was just plain black.
When they reached Nottingham they entered the town at Chapel Bar and asked an urchin the way to the Green Man. The boy gave the three men a curious look and told them in was in Narrow Marsh.
‘Sounds salubrious,’ muttered Colbert. Miles spun a small coin in the air which the scruffy boy deftly caught.
‘Take us there and you get another one’ he told him. The boy set off at a lope through the streets into Vault Lane and then out of the French Borough into the English Borough. Here the houses were more like hovels and the muddy track that passed muster as a street was full of offal, excrement of every sort and scurrying rats. Eventually the urchin stopped in front of a ramshackle two storey building with faded lettering over the door that might have once said the Green Man. There was no sign of a stables and Miles felt that if they chose to stay here they would be eaten alive by fleas and bed bugs. He threw the boy the promised coin.
‘Now take us somewhere which is habitable and you’ll get another one.’ The boy smiled and loped off again, turning uphill until he reached High Pavement where there was a decent looking tavern with stables. As they left Narrow Marsh they were watched by several people who wondered what business they could have there. Miles realised that when they returned they could hardly just walk in and ask for a quart of ale; they would have to come late at night and would probably need to break in to question Fyren.
In the early hours of the next morning Miles and his serjeant dressed in dark clothing and put on their cloaks to hide Miles’ sword and the serjeant’s battle axe. They kept to the shadows but saw no one except a man and his whore humping against a wall in an alley. When they reached the Green Man it was in darkness. Miles tried the door but it was barred on the inside. Colbert slipped the blade of his axe between the ill-fitting door and the frame and raised it sharply. There was a clatter as the bar jumped out of the socket and fell to the floor.
‘Who’s there?’ A voice called from the back room as they slipped inside the tavern, shut the door and lifted the locking bar back in place. The two men pressed themselves against the wall behind the thick plank mounted on two old barrels that served as a bar but the scrawny, naked man who came into the taproom only carried a rush light. He looked at the door suspiciously but seemed reassured to see that it was still barred.
‘Who is it, Fyren?’ a woman’s voice called from the other room.
‘No-one. Go back to sleep woman.’ With that he turned back to the inner door, only to find his way blocked by Colbert holding his wicked looking horseman’s axe.
‘Don’t worry Fyren, we just want a little chat with you.’ Miles stepped out of the shadows behind the bar and smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way at the naked man.
‘What? Who are you?’ he asked nervously looking about him.
‘Me? Oh, I’m a friend of John Little. Do you remember the name?’
‘John L… never heard of him.’
‘Oh I think you do, at least that’s what the people of Hathersage told me.’
‘Who you talking to?’ A naked woman appeared in the doorway behind Colbert. She was probably about thirty but looked well used b
y life. Colbert grabbed her by her long, greasy black hair and pulled her yowling in pain into the centre of the taproom to stand with the man.
‘Now where was I? Ah yes. You were going to tell me what you knew of John Little.’
‘I told you; never heard of him.’ Miles sighed. He was going to have to do this the hard way.
‘Colbert, tie the woman up would you.’ He drew his sword and pointed it at the man whilst the serjeant found a length of cord. He looked for a chair to tie her to, but there wasn’t one so he tied her face up to a bench and then gagged her to stop the stream of invective she directed at him. When he had finished he felt he needed a good wash. She smelt foul and her body was covered in bites from various insects. The couples’ bedding must be crawling with them.
‘Now you were going to tell me about John Little.’
‘I keep telling you…’ Before he could say any more Colbert grabbed his hand and, holding it down on the plank that formed the bar, raised his axe to cut it off at the wrist.
‘Now we can dismember you piece by piece or you can tell me the truth,’ Miles told him as Colbert started the axe on its downwards path.
‘Wait, wait for the love of God.’ The man was sweating profusely and writhing like mad trying to free his hand from the serjeant’s vice-like grip. ‘All right. I’ll tell you. But you have to promise to let us go.’
‘We’ll see. It all depends on how honest you are with me.’
‘Yes, I did see John Little but only twice.’
‘When was the first time?’
‘I was in the tavern in Hathersage and he was talking to his brother, Cedric.’ Miles nodded. ‘Well, I remembered that there was a reward of a fifty marks for his capture about fifteen years ago so I went to ask the deputy sheriff at Peverel Castle if it was still available. It took me some time to get to see him but eventually I did and he said, yes, he thought so.’
‘So you betrayed John.’
‘He was a wanted outlaw; I was just doing my duty,’ Fyren said defensively.
‘Selling him for thirty pieces of silver more like.’ Fyren coloured. As the son of a priest he was familiar with the story of Judas.
‘What happened to John?’
‘He was taken to Nottingham to stand trial and was sentenced to death by hanging.’
‘And was he?’
‘Yes, I was there and saw him hanged.’
Miles’ shoulders slumped. He had hoped against hope that John had somehow survived. Colbert felt the same; he had been one of Robert of Loxley’s men-at-arms who had followed him north and had been a good friend of John Little. Both men were silent for a little while whilst Fyren’s eyes swivelled from one to the other and back again.
‘What do we do with this weasel?’ Colbert asked eventually.
‘Let him go. We’ve got what we came for.’
Once outside Colbert expressed surprise that Miles hadn’t punished him in some way. The knight grunted.
‘I think living in a flea infested hovel with that doxy is probably punishment enough.’
‘What do we do now? Go back home?’
‘No, we finish what John set out to do.’
They retraced their steps to Hathersage and rode on to Edale. Miles’ intention was to ask for a bed for the night and then break the laws of hospitality by killing his host. However he was doomed to disappointment. The bailiff told him that Sir Waldo had gone to join the king’s army in France to discharge his obligation to provide military service: the arrangement was known as knight’s fee, under which Waldo held his manors from the king. The bailiff had no idea where Sir Waldo was, nor when he would return so Miles had little option but to return to Otterburn.
~#~
Edward had made good time after leaving Miles and was back at Harbottle a week later. He was much relieved to find that Blanche seemed to be positively blooming. After they had lost the last baby he tried to insist that she took things easy but Blanche was strong willed and she not prepared to be mollycoddled.
‘You needn’t think I’m going to be treated like an invalid just because I lost the child last time. My mother always said that a miscarriage was God’s way of dealing with a babe that wasn’t meant to be.’
Nothing Edward said made any difference and Blanche continued to behave exactly as she would have done had she not had a new life growing inside her. In late January 1187 she finally conceded that bed rest might be sensible as her back ached so much she could barely walk and her ankles had swelled to twice their normal size. Three days later she went into labour and gave birth to a lusty baby girl without any problems.
‘What shall we call her?’ She turned her head to watch her great bear of a husband cooing at his daughter who was cradled in his arm.
‘I hadn’t thought. Do you have a name in mind?’
‘Well, if you don’t mind I would like to call him after my mother.’
‘Capital idea. Emma it shall be.’ He bent over and kissed Blanche on her forehead before handing his daughter to the wet nurse.
~#~
King William was feeling mildly pleased with life. Although not exactly a love match, his marriage had at least given him Edinburgh Castle back. It was Henry Plantagenet’s gift as Ermengarde’s dowry so the royal couple and their entourage had somewhere to live. Henry had also restored the earldom of Huntingdon to his brother David. The one problem was his queen’s failure to provide William with any children so far. It wasn’t for the want of trying, though it was becoming something of a chore rather than a pleasure. Ermengarde was not a passionate woman and made love as if it were a duty to be endured rather than something you did for enjoyment.
News from the Continent continued to reflect the struggle between the kings of England and France for supremacy over Henry’s empire with his son Richard being drawn one way and then the other. Henry had tried to play the same game with Richard as he had with his elder brother, the Young King, but it didn’t work. Richard was better at managing people than his brother had been and he was a better general in the field than either of the Henrys. He was also the coming man. When his nobles looked at Henry they saw a tired old man, worn down by four decades of conflict. When they looked at Richard they saw a young warrior of thirty who would shortly be their king. They began to desert Henry and support Richard.
In January 1189 Henry fell ill but Phillip of France and Richard thought that this was just a delaying tactic. Suspecting that Henry was about to declare Prince John his heir, Phillip and Richard attacked Anjou and Henry had to flee the county of his birth and head for Normandy. Richard set off in pursuit and caught up with his father’s rear guard, which was commanded by Sir William Marshal.
King William had been told what had happened next and, although he thought the tale was probably apocryphal, it was a good story none the less. Richard had not expected to overtake his father’s army so quickly and so he wasn’t wearing armour. Neither was William Marshal as the fleeing army of King Henry were trying to cover ground as quickly as possible. Seeing Richard halt his men and hesitate, Marshal grabbed a lance from his squire and rode straight at Richard, who was in the front rank of his men.
‘By God’s legs, Marshal, do not kill me for I am unarmed.’ Richard is supposed to have cried out as Marshal’s destrier thundered towards him.
‘The Devil may kill you but I won’t!’ William Marshal replied according the story, though William didn’t think anyone could have carried on a conservation whilst galloping full tilt with couched lance in hand. With that Marshal struck Richard’s horse in the chest and killed it instantly. It crashed to the ground, rolling onto Richard’s leg and trapping him there. By the time the prince had been rescued and was mounted on a new horse Henry’s rear guard had made good their escape.
The king’s intent had been to muster his forces in Normandy and then return to Maine and Anjou to recapture the two counties from Richard. Instead he fell ill again; this time he didn’t recover and died at Chinon on 6th July 1189 aged fifty six. At t
he end even John, his favourite son, deserted his dying father and publicly joined Richard. Henry Plantagenet, king of England, duke of Normandy, duke of Aquitaine, count of Anjou and count of Maine, the most powerful king England had ever known, was no more. His dying wish was to be buried at Grandmont Abbey in the Limousin but his rapidly putrefying body in the heat of mid-summer made this impracticable and he was taken to nearby Fontevraud Abbey instead.
Chapter Eleven – The Lyon Unchained 1189 A. D.
There had been public clamour for a crusade ever since Balian of Ibelin had surrendered Jerusalem to Saladin on 2nd October 1187. The late King Henry had taken an oath to go on crusade with Phillip Augustus of France and the Holy Roman Emperor but this had never been likely to happen, given Henry’s age, his problems at home and the antipathy between him and Philip.
King Richard’s situation was very different though. He regarded Phillip of France as a friend, not an enemy, and he had no rivals in his own family to oppose him. It was true that he didn’t trust John but his younger brother had no following and no power base, either on the Continent or in England. Furthermore one of his father’s greatest opponents, Eleanor of Aquitaine, was his strongest supporter. Richard had always been her favourite son and his first act as king had been to release her from the house arrest that Henry had imposed on her.
When Richard Plantagenet had come to view Henry’s corpse at Fontevraud before he was interred he had shown no emotion, merely remarking that he was now free to fulfil his father’s oath to take the cross. Everything now became subordinate to the crusade. Richard was first and foremost a soldier; fighting to restore Christian rule to Jerusalem and the land where Christ had lived and been crucified was, he believed, the noblest cause that any soldier could have. But first he had to secure the kingdom he would leave behind. He regarded his brother John as fickle and untrustworthy so he needed to leave England in the charge of people he could trust. He turned to those who had stayed with King Henry to the end, who were waiting with some trepidation to hear what their fate would be.