The Devil is Loose

by The Devil is Loose (retail) (epub)

  Too late, they realized that the flags did not belong to Richard’s party, but to his loyal Norman barons, who had come to welcome him to his duchy. Four hundred mounted men, with twice as many foot soldiers.

  Howling with frustration, Bruni’s men dragged at the reins, as often as not pulling the horses on top of them. Those mercenaries who managed to avoid the Norman cavalcade plunged away among the trees and on to the swords of Belcourt’s wandering knights.

  Belcourt himself had been knocked from the saddle by a low branch and, by the time he had remounted, his knights were dispersed throughout the orchard. But he had seen the banners, then heard the shouts from beyond the trees, so he knew the battle had been joined. Yelling encouragement, he went forward again, unaware that he was inciting his men to attack the mercenaries. Blows were exchanged, then cries of recognition, then further howls of panic as the Normans advanced into the orchard.

  They fled side by side, Belcourt and Bruni, followed by the remnants of their troops. The puzzled Normans collected a few strays, hanged the mercenaries and kept the knights for ransom. It was some time before they would believe their captives’ story. But, since all the prisoners said the same thing…

  The assassins regrouped. They were not finished yet, not by a long way. True, they had allowed the king to pass unchallenged, and had lost themselves in the orchard, or let their horses run away with them. And, yes, they had attacked the wrong group. Twice. But they were not done for yet.

  Reluctantly, Belcourt and Bruni agreed to rejoin forces, and they set off in a wide, westward arc, hoping to come upon Richard just north of La Pernelle. That stretch of the path was unprotected by hedges, so they decided to charge the king’s entourage from the side and sweep it off the road. Such phrases gave them fresh heart, and Belcourt thought of himself as the broom of France.

  They rode fast, in an effort to out-distance the welcoming force, and eventually raced to the brow of a long, low hill, from where they could see La Pernelle and the open track.

  And there was King Richard, with various bishops and barons, a small troop of knights and the usual contingent of clerks and household servants. And, beside him, smiling at something he had said, his mother! Eleanor of Aquitaine.

  Half the assassins deserted immediately. Belcourt looked round to see them streaming away down the slope. He raised a hand in silent admonition, then let it fall again. He wished fervently that he had gone with them, wherever they were bound.

  ‘Well?’ Bruni grunted. ‘What do we do about that?’

  ‘I admit, I did not expect the queen—’

  ‘We’ll never get near him, not when he has his mother to guard. He’ll hack us down before we’ve—’

  ‘Maybe, maybe. I was thinking of John. He won’t want his mother killed, and one can never be sure in a skirmish.’

  ‘How you spout,’ Bruni sneered. ‘You’re terrified to move, that’s the truth. You know how Richard is about her. He’d kill us before we’d reached the road. Well? What do we do?’

  Below them, one of the entourage called, ‘Men on the hill, lord king.’

  ‘I saw them,’ Richard said, gazing up at the line of horsemen. Some were dressed in hauberks and gambesons, and carried shields emblazoned with the simple devices of the French nobility. Others struggled to control their destriers, and wore rough, workaday clothes. But he was pleased to see that, rich or poor, noblemen or commoner, they had turned out to greet him. He responded to their stiff, weary salute, then took Eleanor on into La Pernelle…

  * * *

  John looked to see if it was a joke, and realized it was not. ‘And then you waved at him? You went there to kill him, and ended by waving? Nails of Christ, I don’t know what to say. I promised Philip – I told him you could be trusted. I said you – Oh, never mind what I said.’ He stared at Belcourt, shook his head, then stared anew, looking for the flaw in his friend.

  ‘You know where we are now, don’t you, Belcourt? I mean, the position we are in. We must ask King Philip for— how many took part in the fiasco?’

  ‘A hundred and twenty, thereabouts.’

  ‘A hundred and twenty,’ John repeated tonelessly, ‘or thereabouts. So, at fifteen marks apiece, we must ask the king for one thousand eight hundred marks. Or thereabouts! And don’t forget the ransoms. You lost eighteen of his knights in the orchard, isn’t that what you said? So he has them to pay for. And then there are the dead to be explained away, and the horses replaced. Better and better. And for me, the best of all.’ He stabbed his chest with a finger. ‘The prisoners will talk. They will tell the Normans who hired them, and the Normans will tell Richard. Will have told him! By now he must know it is me!’

  ‘If it had not been for your mother,’ Belcourt started, then gave up. He felt he had said and done enough. John seemed to share his opinion, for he waved his friend away and went off mumbling.

  Now Richard’s here, Normandy will revert to him in a week… And then he’ll come for me… For Philip as well, but he can take care of himself… He’ll come here to Paris and… No, wait, Philip will not allow that… Ah, yes, I can see what will happen… Philip will wish to save his lands, so he’ll make a treaty with Richard… And give me to my brother, tied and bound… Well, you’ll have to hurry, sweet Augustus, for I’m already on my way…

  As good as his mumbled words, he went down to the stables, collected two fresh palfreys and set out through Paris, in the direction of the setting sun. Philip had long ago told him to rehearse his story, and John expected to be word-perfect by the time he surrendered to the Lionheart.

  * * *

  It was an age that prided itself on its chivalric ideals and traditions of courtesy. Fair women were prized and protected, immortalized by poets and jongleurs, depicted as gentle and dignified creatures, sometimes too perfect for mere men, often as man’s witty and worldly companion.

  But it was also an age in which queens and chatelaines were valued for their wealth and inheritance, then were discarded with the sound of wedding chimes.

  King Philip’s sister, Alais, had been unluckier than most, for she had been put aside even before she was wed.

  Isabel de Clare had been one of the more, fortunate heiresses, for her love was requited and she had borne Marshal two strong-limbed sons. So far as she knew, he had remained faithful to her, and he seemed eager to be with her whenever he could. On occasion, he was absent for weeks and months at a time, but they exchanged letters, and she had her family and friends. All in all, she deemed herself well rewarded.

  She was particularly pleased now, for both Fitz Renier and des Roches had asked her to do all she could to keep Marshal in England, while Richard was abroad. Something about an unresolved argument at Nottingham.

  It could not be said that Countess Hadwisa felt well rewarded. She was aware that John had never really liked her, either as a woman or as a friend. He had married her hastily enough, in defiance of the Church, but that was only to secure her inheritance. Since then – apart from that one short period when he had wooed the English court – she had been left to her own devices. She was neither a fool, nor insensitive, and she had known then that his laughter was hollow, and that the presents he had heaped upon her had been paid for with her own money. But at least she had been on his arm, his wife for all to see.

  And then he had gone to France, to help Philip foment rebellion during Richard’s imprisonment. News of Richard’s release had left John cowering in Paris, and he had been there ever since. And not once had he suggested that Hadwisa should join him, not once in, what, fifteen months, nearly sixteen?

  Small wonder the ladies of England had stopped glancing at her belly. No seed takes that long to flourish.

  But the most tragic of all was the gentle and passive Berengaria of Navarre, the forgotten Queen of England. Her marriage had been a mockery, salt steeped in vinegar, and the news that Richard had arrived in Normandy did little to sweeten the taste.

  According to the messenger, sent down to Aquitaine
by the sympathetic Eleanor, the king had come ashore at Barfleur last Thursday. The unfortunate emissary did not know why that information should have made Berengaria weep so bitterly, but then neither did he realize that last Thursday had been 12th May, the second anniversary of her unconsummated marriage.

  He waited, fidgeting with embarrassment, unable to meet the accusing gaze of Berengaria’s servants. He wanted to shout at them, ‘It has nothing to do with me! I didn’t start the tears!’ But he decided there was less risk in silence, and contented himself by kicking at the uneven tiles on the floor.

  Some while later, a clerk came in to tell him he was to stay the night. In the morning he would conduct Queen Berengaria to her husband.

  ‘And don’t uproot the floor, unless you’re prepared to repave it.’

  * * *

  By the time John had located his brother, he had no need to act. His arduous, erratic journey had taken him from Paris to Evreux, north towards Rouen, then southwest, following the rumours to Lisieux. He had been recognized twice on the way and, during his second bolt for freedom, had been forced to abandon his other palfrey. Since then, he had continued without a change of horses, and with an almost empty purse. Bone tired and caked with dust, his clothes and body rancid with sweat, he was the picture of contrition. There was no need to adopt a penitent expression; his appearance was sorry enough.

  As he neared Lisieux he met men who had actually seen King Richard. On the outskirts of the town he stopped a priest, who told him Coeur-de-Lion was staying at the Archdeacon’s house; follow Tower Street as far as the square, the house is on the north side.

  He went on and was accosted by Norman soldiers. They did not know him beneath the grime, and he did not identify himself for fear of being murdered on the spot. Instead, he claimed he had an urgent message for the king, then allowed them to take his sword and dagger and lead him across the square.

  More guards escorted him inside, and he felt a sudden rising sickness in his throat. He will not believe me! I’m too tired, I cannot handle him like this, I’ve let myself be trapped! He fell against the wall, and the guards scowled at him.

  ‘Straighten up, man! If you’ve brought the message this far, you can deliver it. He’s not a real lion, you know. He won’t bite your head off.’ They nudged him forward. ‘Get along, before he retires for the night. If we have to wake him, well, then he’ll bite!’ Another jab between the shoulder blades, and he was pushed along the corridor and into a small dining room.

  Smoke wreathed under the roof, but he could see the huge figure seated at one end of the table, a booted foot propped on a bench. Exhausted beyond reason, John blinked and caught hold of the doorpost. He heard one of the guards say, ‘I’m sorry, my lord king, but he claims it’s urgent. He must have ridden half a week to get here, by the smell of him.’

  And then Richard’s voice, undeniably Richard’s, though John had not heard it for almost four years. ‘Bring him in. I’ll hear what he has to say. And find another mug for him. The local wine, not my own stock.’

  John was propelled into the room, threw out his hands and swayed forward on the table. Richard glanced at him and dipped his head, indicating that he should get on with the message. Then his eyes rolled upward and he raised his head again, chewed meat showing in his open mouth.

  ‘Alone,’ John managed, ‘with your per—’

  ‘Yes,’ Richard echoed, as though the word was foreign to him. ‘Yes, alone.’ He moved his arm without taking his eyes from John’s face. ‘Leave us. All of you. Everyone, get out!’ Then he swung his foot from the bench and stood up, the smoke drifting around his red hair. The guards and servants withdrew, closing the door firmly behind them. The fire crackled and spat, like crones in anticipation.

  The brothers gazed at each other until finally terror and fatigue sapped the strength from John’s legs. He slithered down, his fingers clutching at the edge of the table, and finished up kneeling on the floor, his head bowed.

  It broke Richard’s heart.

  Here he was at last, his stupid, wayward brother, hunched down to await the whip. With a deep moan of affection and disappointment, Richard moved around the table and lifted John from the ground. He caught the weakling in his arms, pulling him to his chest. ‘Oh, John, look at you, boy! Look what’s become of you! You’re like a curled leaf, blown in by the wind. Look at you, how the dust lies on you. I did not know you at first, and the guards, they thought you a common messenger. My brother, pushed in by soldiers…’ It was as much as he could take, and he held John to him and sighed out his sorrow.

  There was the staircase in the mill-house at Sablé-sur-Sarthe, and the naked whore, the skin of her thighs soft to his touch… And below him his brother, massive in the doorway, his sword dark with blood… What had Richard called him then? ‘Foolish and stupid, doting on rumour … But a traitor, no, never a traitor, for you lack the conviction of treason’… And he had gone down the stairs and fallen at his brother’s feet and been forgiven…

  He felt the heat of Richard’s breath and, like the child he was supposed to be, clutched at the king’s dark tunic. The movement made Richard moan again. John was a child, the only child the Lionheart would know. John Softsword, the ever-infant brother. And Eleanor, the only woman he could love. What were they all, but a group of actors, forced to play a family.

  ‘Don’t cling on so, boy. I won’t harm you. It took courage to face me, I know that, as I know who misled you these past years. I can’t hold you responsible for what they made you do, the Philips and the Frenchmen of this world. They see how vulnerable you are and— What’s that you say?’

  Remembering his story, John lifted his face from the tunic and murmured, ‘If I had not supported him…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘He said— He said he would have you killed in prison. He vowed he would send a man into Durrenstein and have you assassinated… If I did not do his bidding in Normandy…’

  There was some doubt in Richard’s mind, but John’s dust and tear-stained face banished it for ever. ‘I never heard of that threat.’

  ‘You wouldn’t. It was kept secret. That was another thing, if I spoke of it, he would have done it. That’s what he said. And then, when you were released, he turned his threat against’ – Quick! Who? Think of a – yes! – ‘against Queen Berengaria. That’s why we sent men to attack you when you came ashore. God knows, I took no part in it, but Philip would not be dissuaded.’ He felt Richard nod and release him, and he lowered himself on to the bench. He was utterly exhausted, but any man can find the energy to hear his reprieve.

  A courageous servant knocked on the door and appeared with a mug and a flask of cheap, local wine. Richard took the mug from him, then told him to bring better stuff than that. ‘My own stock, I thought I’d made it clear.’

  ‘But, lord king, you said—’

  ‘Fetch it!’

  The servant vanished again, shutting the door.

  For a long time Richard gazed at his brother. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, ‘You think yourself clever, don’t you, boy? But I know you for what you are, what you will always be. You blame Philip for your recent transgressions, and for the most part you’re right. But it was not to save me, or Berengaria, that you sided with him.’

  ‘I promise you—’

  ‘No, no. You’d be well served by my death, and I doubt if you’ve ever met Berengaria. You sided with Philip—’ He paused, but knew it had to be said. ‘You sided with him because you love him. That’s why, isn’t it? Tell me the truth, boy. That’s why.’

  John shrugged to control his astonishment. He had expected Richard to accuse him of throne-hunting, or fratricide, or joining Philip for money, or security, but never for love?

  ‘Don’t frown so deep,’ Richard said. ‘There’s no shame in it.’

  ‘There’s no truth in it!’

  ‘Aah… We are brothers, you know. And I heard how you discarded Hadwisa. You are, what shall I say, more like me than you like?’ />
  ‘I wish the wine would come,’ John diverted. ‘I’m so tired. I will do anything you say. Punish me how you will, but for God’s sake don’t accuse me —’

  With sudden vehemence, Richard snapped, ‘It is not you who should be punished! It’s Philip! I offered him my friendship once, but he spurned it. It seems he has done the same to you. I wanted him for a friend. The West could have been united, if only he had, if only he’d been kinder.’ He twisted away and stood glaring into the fire. Under his breath, he murmured, ‘More amicable.’

  So that’s it, John acknowledged. And Philip never said a word. Richard loved him and was rejected, and now he wishes the same for me. Well, well. The Angevin brothers, cooing over the Capetian. But why not, if Richard is determined to believe it?

  ‘You have broken through me,’ he said. ‘As you know, I am one for the women, but yes, I did come under his spell.’ He gave what he hoped was a bitter laugh. ‘Though with scant result. He roped me with you, Richard, in what he said.’ The king turned from the fire, his face reddened by the heat. ‘He spoke of me?’

  ‘Not with any great favour, and I’d rather not repeat—’

  ‘Yes! Tell me. What did that fish have to say? I want to know.’

  ‘I must warn you, I have no strength left. If you get angry, I cannot resist you, so keep in mind; I am repeating, not inventing. They are his words, not mine.’

  ‘I’ve told you, you won’t be harmed. What did he say?’ John made a show of raking his memory, then invented. ‘He said you insulted him with your protestation of affection. You are like a wild beast, he says, gross and noisome, uncaring where you squat.’ For balance, he added, ‘I’m as bad, in other ways. I hiss where you belch, and he advises us both to find – more suitable animals. For me the leveret. For you the tusky boar.’ He lifted his dust-caked shoulders and, with a final effort, looked directly at his brother. ‘Can you still doubt why I left him?’