by Rachel Bard
Jean de Brouillet, peering through an arrow-slit a few steps below me, assessed the situation at once.
“If they attack, we’ll have our bowmen posted here in the tower to prevent Arthur’s men from getting close to the entrance to the keep. That’s a stout oak door, but it could be broken down by a few determined fellows with battleaxes.”
There was no thought of retiring to bed now. I went with Jean while he positioned our six soldiers at loopholes from which they could aim their crossbows at the attackers. I asked the castellan to assemble his staff. The dozen men and women included the cook and baker and their assistants, three scullions, a stableboy, a dairymaid, and three men-at-arms. Jean posted the latter near the door, ready to fall on any who broke in. He instructed the others to arm themselves with whatever they could find: cleavers, hammers, brooms, shovels.
Now there was nothing to do but wait.
I’d been in mortal peril many times before. More than once when I accompanied my first husband, King Louis, on his crusade we’d been threatened by attacking Turks and I’d feared for my life. And more than once, in later years, I’d gone into battle to subdue recalcitrant vassals in Aquitaine. But never had I felt more helpless than this July night in 1202.
We watched, waiting fearfully for the first assault, until it was too dark to make out any details. One by one, fires began to blaze here and there in the bailey, fueled by logs pilfered from the castle’s woodshed. Now we could see men swarming around the fires. Did they mean to burn the castle? Then a half-dozen soldiers came through the gate bearing slaughtered lambs and chickens, which they spitted and placed over the fires to roast. Near the gate a tent had been set up and in the firelight I could see Arthur seated on a makeshift bench, watching the preparation of his dinner. He looked lonely and less substantial than he’d seemed on horseback: a vulnerable boy who found himself in a grown-up situation he wasn’t ready for. I felt no pity. He’d brought this on himself.
Two men in armor, one tall and one very tall, approached him and sat down on the bench. They conversed earnestly, gesturing toward our tower, looking around, arguing perhaps. The taller man walked over to the castle door and gave it a thump with his mailed fist as though testing its strength. He shouted something to the to the others. I couldn’t make out the words but the tone was one of utter contempt.
These, I deduced, must be the dreaded Lusignans. William Marshal had told me they’d joined forces with Arthur. I asked Jean if he thought so too.
“I do. I’ve seen them at tournaments, though that was some years ago. I’m sure that big fellow who pounded on the door must be Geoffrey and the other’s his nephew, Hugh. I wonder how many troops they’ve brought.”
I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell from his strained voice that he was apprehensive. We continued our vigil. It was an eerie scene, where dim figures moved about in the dark, lit by the flickering cooking fires. The soldiers had taken off their armor and clustered around the fires, ready to snatch a half chicken or a lamb leg, the minute the cooks began to carve. Swirling blue smoke and the smell of roast meat rose to our windows.
“Surely they won’t attack now, if they’re getting ready to eat?” I called down to Jean.
“We must still be watchful. It could be a trick, to lull us into feeling safe.”
Suddenly I felt my knees buckle and I sank down on the step. In the excitement I hadn’t noticed how near collapse I was, but now I felt ready to give up and let events take their course. My two ladies had already fled to their rooms. I hardly blamed them. I longed to unpin my wimple and let my hair hang free. I longed for a basin of water and a cloth so I could bathe my face.
The soldier posted above me noticed my weariness and stepped down to offer to help, but I waved him away. All I needed was a short rest. After ten minutes, I forced myself to stand up and peer again through my peephole. The bailey had become strangely silent. There was a small group around Arthur’s tent, but the fires were dying down. Most of the soldiers had disappeared.
Gradually a new kind of noise broke the quiet. From beyond the castle walls, from the twisting streets of the little town we had ridden through only a few hours before, came a growing din of whoops and shouts, raucous singing, and thumping of running feet. Tense as a stretched wire, I watched the gate, waiting for the first wave of invaders.
None came. For the next half-hour, though the hubbub continued, no one passed in or out of the gate.
The castellan’s wife, surprisingly agile for her girth, came up the stairs at a trot.
“Albert told me to tell you not to worry!” she said, her words coming in squeaks interrupted by puffs. “That horrid uproar doesn’t mean they’re getting ready to attack. The stable boy managed to slip through the gate and back again. He says it’s just that the soldiers have been in the taverns and wineshops so now they’re all tipsy and happy. Some of them are looking for women, and some have already found a place to stretch out and sleep it off.”
Jean and I looked at each other, both thinking the same thing.
“What kind of a leader is Arthur, to permit such a lack of discipline in his army?” I’d thought Arthur ungrateful and untrustworthy. To those sins I could now add incompetence.
“At any rate,” said Jean, “there’ll be no attack tonight. Do go to your rest now, my lady. I’ll have the archers take turns standing guard, and we’ll all be the better for a few hours of sleep if there’s to be trouble tomorrow.”
Immensely grateful for the respite, I climbed to my chamber and roused my ladies to help me prepare for bed. I fell asleep almost immediately.
The next thing I knew it was morning. I woke with a start. I sensed that someone was there in the shadowy room, looking at me. A man. A man in armor. I sat up, about to cry for help, when he spoke.
“Don’t be afraid, Mother. It’s your son John, come to rescue you from Arthur and the Lusignans. We’ve won the day.”
John, whom I’d always thought the weakest and least of my brood, had done this heroic deed. How? I looked up at him, still taking in his news. I thought I saw strength and assurance in his face that hadn’t been there before. The last time I’d seen him, his beard had been a foppish little pointed appendage, barely covering his rather weak chin. Now he’d let it grow. He looked more manly, more like his late brother Richard, though Richard was much taller and his beard had been red-gold whereas John’s was black. Could it be that John would turn out to be a bold Plantagenet after all, like his father and brothers?
With tears pricking my eyes, I held out my arms, and he sat on the edge of my bed. We embraced like mother and son for the first time since he was a child.
Chapter 32
John
1202
Lifting the siege at Mirebeau—if you could call it a siege—wasn’t nearly as hard as getting there had been.
Within only twenty-four hours of leaving Le Mans we’d arrived, having ridden all day and all night, wearing out I don’t know how many horses. Along the way welcome reinforcements joined us: William de Braose, one of my staunchest supporters, and William des Roches, my seneschal at Chinon Castle, perhaps not quite so staunch. The latter had previously served Arthur in Brittany. When I accepted his fealty, he made it a condition that he’d have charge of Arthur if we captured him. “After all, I know his ways. I’d know best how to keep him from plotting to escape,” he’d said. It was easy enough to give him that promise.
Just as dawn was breaking I led the troops into the little town of Mirebeau, my sword drawn, expecting a battle. But we were met only by disheveled, bleary-eyed soldiers staggering about looking for breakfast. A few were armed and made a stab at halting us, but we simply rode over them. At the castle the portcullis was down and there was one dozing man on guard. We made short work of him and rode into the bailey. There at last was my quarry. Arthur and a group of unarmed men were sitting in front of a tent, eating pigeon pie.
“Seize them!” I cried. Within minutes we’d captured one would-be king, a c
lutch of Lusignans, six seigneurs of Poitou and five of Anjou. I ordered that all, including Arthur, be put in chains. I commissioned William de Cantilupe to go with a dozen men back into the town to round up Arthur’s laughable excuse for an army.
Before the prisoners were led off I surveyed them with satisfaction. So many of my enemies, taken in one net! Arthur was the prize. He wouldn’t meet my eyes but stood sullenly, staring at the ground. He was like a lad who’s been caught out in some mischief and hopes he won’t be punished. I’d have to take pains to see that he could never make trouble for me again.
Hugh de Lusignan was another matter. My old enemy--the man whom Isabella had loved before I knew her, the man who still aroused my jealousy, my onetime vassal who’d gone over to the King of France--stood straight despite the chains around wrists and ankles. He met my eyes with no hint of fear or submission. It was as though I were the transgressor, not he. I trembled with rage at his effrontery. It was all I could do to refrain from striking him on the face. Instead, I spat into the dust at his feet.
Then I went into the castle to find my mother. Thank God, she was unharmed, but more unnerved than I’d ever seen her. I’d been preparing myself for some such greeting as, “So there you are. Where have you been all this time?” On the contrary, for once in her life she showed me real affection and gratitude. I believe she’d truly feared for her life, and welcomed the brave son who’d saved her.
It was the first time she’d told me that anything I’d done had met with her approval. I savored it.
“You’ll want to go back to Fontevraud now, won’t you?” I asked, after we’d exchanged accounts of our adventures. “I’ll see that you have a strong guard, whenever you and your people are ready.”
She rose, threw on a robe and looked around the bare, cold, charmless tower room as though realizing for the first time how distasteful she found it.
“I know this was the safest place they could lodge me, but I’m glad it was only for one night. Yes, I must get back to Fontevraud, and the sooner the better. But first, John, what do you plan to do with Arthur? And the Lusignans, and the others?”
“I don’t know. We’ll hold a council this afternoon and discuss all the prisoners. But I can tell you I’d find it hard to forgive Arthur. After casting his lot with King Philip he deserves the worst punishment we can mete out.”
“That’s true, he’s been rash and wicked. But you’d do well to consider carefully before you settle Arthur’s fate. Think of what people will say about you if you’re cruel and ruthless to your own nephew. Think how much better to win him over and give him recognition and make him an ally. Our support has shrunk, John. You may need all the allies you can gather. And it will be doubly hard to attract them if you mistreat a member of your family.”
Her eyes were fixed on mine as though daring me to ignore what she said. This was again Eleanor the imperious, who always knew better than I what should be done.
“I’ll remember what you say, Mother.” I kissed her and we parted.
“To remember is not necessarily to obey,” I said to myself as I left the tower.
The upshot of the council was that, first, our most noble prisoners should be placed, still in chains, in oxcarts with faces to the rear like farm animals being taken to market. Then they would be sent on a slow progress through their own lands, publicly disgraced. That was William de Braose’s idea. I thought it a nice touch. After that we’d disperse them to various fortresses in Normandy and England.
As for those in whom I took a particular interest-- Arthur, Hugh de Lusignan and his uncle Geoffrey--something special must be devised.
For the time being, I ordered that Arthur and Geoffrey de Lusignan be imprisoned at Falaise, the stronghold in Normandy where my ancestor, William the Conqueror, had been born. Hugh would be sent to nearby Caen and lodged in the castle William had built there.
I grinned at my companions. “It will do them good to be shut up in those Plantagenet fortresses. They’ll have plenty of time to reflect on how puny their strength is compared to ours.”
“A wise disposition of your prisoners, my liege,” said William des Roches. “Now, there’s no reason to delay, I suppose. With your leave I’ll set out tomorrow morning with Arthur and Geoffrey for Falaise. With a strong guard, of course.”
I’d been expecting that. I still didn’t altogether trust William des Roches’s loyalty. I suspected he might switch sides again and contrive to get Arthur freed.
I looked at him, pretending to consider, then said, “No, Sir William. I’d prefer that you accompany Hugh to Caen. We will send William de Braose to Falaise.”
He looked at me first with disbelief, then with barely suppressed rage. “But my liege, you promised me I’d have custody of Arthur.”
“Never mind what I said a year ago. The situation is not what it was.” I rose, and the council was over.
I was very weary. But there was one more thing I had to do before I could rest. I sent a messenger to Chinon to tell Isabella of our victory, and to say I’d rejoin her as soon as I could.
Albert, the castellan, had prepared a chamber for me off the entry hall. I found considerably more comforts than I’d expected after seeing my mother’s room at the top of the tower. She’d had only a narrow bed and a table. My bed was canopied, if somewhat rickety and with mothholes in the woolen drapes. A chair was drawn up by the fire on the hearth. Albert’s wife conducted me, clucking like a mother hen that she hoped I’d find everything in order. She promised she’d send in some wine and a roast capon and whatever else I wished.
It was just getting dark when I finished my lonely meal. I sat on, going over the events of the last three days.
First, the dismaying news of my mother’s danger. There’d been no question in my mind that it was up to me to go to her rescue. Who else was there? It was more than a son’s duty to his mother. If Eleanor of Aquitaine fell captive to the French, the Angevin cause on the continent would be terribly compromised.
That decision taken, there was the hard ride from Le Mans to Mirebeau. With every hoofbeat I’d felt more excitement, mixed with apprehension, at the thought of the bloody battle to come. The victory without any battle at all was almost a letdown.
That was followed in short order by the exhilaration of taking so many of my bitterest enemies without shedding a drop of blood. So many rich prizes! They’d command handsome ransoms, which would certainly be welcome. The money I’d tricked the barons into contributing was almost gone.
All in all it had been a highly satisfactory undertaking. Yet I still felt restless and keyed-up.
I knew what was missing. If Isabella were with me, I could tell her about my exploits. She’d praise me and kiss me and take my hand and lead me to bed. I dreaded the thought of retiring without her just when I needed the release from tension that a night in her arms always provided. I sat there staring into the fire, longing for her.
At last I went to the door and woke up the page who was sleeping on a pallet just outside. I told him to call for Albert. When the man came, I asked him to find me some willing lass, either in the castle or the town, who could come at once to keep the King of England company for a few hours.
Chapter 33
Hugh le Brun
1202
I arrived at Mirebeau in high hopes of capturing Queen Eleanor in retribution for the insults I’d suffered from her son John.
I left Mirebeau in an oxcart.
After John’s swift victory, he immediately dispatched his most valuable prisoners in this degrading manner. Geoffrey and I had no time even to say goodbye; he was off in one direction and I in another.
I was chained to the sides of the cart, facing to the rear so spectators could get a good look. It was a dreary, shameful journey. Though I knew the end was imprisonment, I was almost glad when, at dusk on the third day, the city walls of Caen and the hulking gray castle behind them came in sight. At least now I wouldn’t be exposed to stares and jeers from curious, ignoran
t country folk who had no idea who I was. I was so dirty and unkempt that even those who knew me couldn’t recognize me. I took a bitter satisfaction in the failure of John’s plan to hold me up to ridicule from my own people.
At Caen, two soldiers unfettered me, took me firmly by the arms and led me quickly through the great hall and to the main tower at the rear. One of them hurried me down a twisting stairway, past wine cellars and grain storerooms, to a dark windowless chamber carved out of the rock. The floor was hard-packed dirt. By the light of my escort’s lamp, I saw a straw mattress and a grimy wool blanket on the floor. A bucket of water and a few candles were on a low wood table.
The soldier lit a candle, fixed it to the table with a drop of melted wax, and left. The iron-barred door clanged behind him. I heard the key turn in the lock. Before I’d had time to feel properly sorry for myself the door opened again and in burst a short, squat man with wild red hair and bushy red eyebrows overhanging his little black eyes. He looked very cross.
“So they’ve brought me a prisoner, as though I didn’t have enough to do already.” His low growly voice reminded me of my hound when she thought another dog was encroaching on her territory. He banged a bowl down on the table and looked me up and down. I knew I was a sorry sight: bits of straw clinging to me here and there, rumpled dirty tunic, no hat, torn hose.
“You’re Hugh le Brun, Lord of Lusignan, eh? Well, lordship won’t do you much good here. I’m warden of this castle, and my name’s Gautier. We’ve had many a prisoner in this dungeon, though few as highborn as you. But I see no reason to treat you any different from the rest. You’ll get porridge in the morning and stew at night. That’s your dinner in the bowl. Water’s in that bucket. That hole in the corner’s where you can relieve yourself. We bring you a shovel so you can fill it in and dig a new one every week or so. Any questions?”