Lionheart moe-4

by Stewart Binns

  ‘The first part is over. You will have a day to recover.’

  This time he was as good as his word. The rope around my wrists was cut and I was led away to a comfortable room in the building that housed Wolvesey’s garrison. Although the door was locked behind me, there was wholesome food and a pitcher of beer on the table, and the bed looked clean and comfortable.

  I took care to eat cautiously this time and enjoyed what felt like one of the best meals I had ever eaten. Sleep came quickly and was long-lasting.

  I woke just before dawn the next morning. My brief respite had been a great comfort, but I knew it would only herald more hardship to come.

  My weapons and armour were returned to me and I was told to prepare as if for battle. I was then escorted to the castle stables. Máedóc and his men, already mounted on horseback, were waiting for me. As usual, he barked his instructions.

  ‘Óengus and I will ride in front, Fáelán and Mochán will bring up the rear. You will be in between us and will match our pace. If you fall, or fail to keep up with us, you will be punished.’

  Then, without a moment’s delay, he kicked on.

  I was used to forced marches – they were part of our training – but none had ever been as demanding as this one. The first hour was at a reasonable pace, and I felt comfortable. But it was only a placid beginning. We were soon up on the Downs of Hampshire, where Máedóc began to vary the pace. He chose the steepest of hills to climb and led me through streams and ditches. By midday, when he stopped to rest the horses, I was exhausted. But unlike the horses, which were able to enjoy fodder and water, I was denied any comforts and had to stand rather than sit.

  Máedóc, relaxing with a leg of chicken in one hand and a flask of wine in the other, took the opportunity to goad me.

  ‘You seem a bit skinny to be a king’s bodyguard. In Ireland, men like you guard nuns and monks.’

  I chose not to respond, which led him to throw his chicken leg at me. It bounced off my forehead, producing hoots of delight from his men. Mochán then walked over to me and told me to pick up the chicken remnant. Again, I did not respond, which led Mochán to aim a fist in my direction.

  I was ready for him. During my morning’s exertions I had decided that, although I would succumb to the tests, I was not prepared to submit to physical abuse. I blocked his blow with my forearm and landed a solid punch of my own, before twisting his arm against his elbow joint and locking it behind his back. I then pushed him to the ground.

  Máedóc smirked at me, but I was determined to make my point.

  ‘I am prepared to endure whatever has been prepared for me to examine my suitability for the task that awaits me. But if I am struck, I will strike back.’

  Máedóc’s condescending smirk changed into a pitiless stare. He got to his feet and strode towards me, holding me in an unblinking gaze. He was half a head taller than I was. As he neared me, he bent his head slightly to look me in the eye.

  ‘Brave words, Englishman, but foolish ones. Mochán told you to pick up the chicken leg I so generously offered you. Do as you’re told, boy.’

  I stiffened my resolve. ‘You pick it up; I believe it belongs to you.’

  He did not answer. I knew a blow was coming, so I braced myself. But the retribution did not come as I thought it would. Although he resumed his leering expression, he put his arm around my shoulders in a mock sign of affection. It was a disconcerting experience. I felt I was in the grip of a huge bear, its arm weighing down on me like the bough of a large tree. He leaned on me, urging me to step towards his men, all of whom had adopted the same ominous sneer.

  ‘I like you; you are strong. Few men ever cross me. You must know that, but you did it anyway. I like that.’

  His flattery was a feint. The arm that rested on my shoulders slowly tightened its grasp until I was ensnared in a headlock. His grip was so powerful I was unable to break free. I reached for my sword but his men grabbed my arms, rendering me helpless. They closed in on me, surrounding me, squawking like monkeys.

  ‘I am going to reward your bravery. I would normally let Mochán punish you for your impertinence, but I’m going to spare you that and give you a little treat. You’re going to be given a little exercise in the fresh air. It will do you good. You see how kind we are to you, even though you’ve behaved so badly?’

  He let go of my head and began to walk away, leaving his men to goad me with taunts and insults. The blood rushed back into my ears and my eyes began to focus again. Then there was an appalling pain as I was catapulted backwards by an almighty blow to my temple. I did not see it coming, nor do I remember hitting the ground, but when my head cleared I realized that I had been poleaxed by Máedóc’s fist.

  Mochán was looming over me, grinning inanely, chicken drumstick in hand.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want a little bit of chicken?’

  He forced it into my mouth; I was too weak to resist. He pressed my cheeks, encouraging me to chew, his stupid grin becoming a contorted snarl of anger.

  ‘You would be wise never to speak to Máedóc like that again. He has killed men for far less.’

  Anger started to rise in me again, but I realized that, for the time being, I had to submit. My hands were bound again and, with the aid of a long piece of rope, I was attached to the pommel of the saddle of Máedóc’s steed.

  For the next three hours I was put through hell. My arms soon felt like they had been dislocated at my shoulders, and I lost my footing several times. This left me helpless, to be dragged along the ground like a dead carcass. By the end of it I was unconscious, only coming round in my bed much later that night.

  The first sensation I felt was warm water on my feet and sharp pains as the liquid seeped into deep lacerations on my soles and lower legs.

  ‘Lie still.’

  The words, delivered warmly, came from a monk who was sitting on the side of my bed. He was a slight man in his early thirties with olive skin and hair that was almost raven black, but with contrasting piercing grey-green eyes. He had the look of a scholar and the soft hands of a monastic scribe.

  I was in considerable pain and exhausted, but summoned sufficient energy to speak, if only with difficulty.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I am Father Alun; the Earl is my patron and is helping me prepare to join the chapter at York. He has recommended me to Roger de Pont L’Évêque, Archbishop of York.’

  ‘So, what is your role in these tests? Do you read over me when I’m dead?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid that Máedóc’s methods are severe, too severe. You are only the second one to have made it this far. Sadly, the other knight died a few days later in an accident during weapons training. My role is to assess your ability in languages, your suitability to be at ease in the presence of noblemen and your ability to conduct intelligent conversation with them.’

  I managed to raise myself on to my side and could see the pitiful state of my legs, which looked as if they had been flayed from the knees downwards. My elbows were also raw, and the front of my torso burned with the pain of countless lacerations.

  ‘I’m afraid my ability to behave in the presence of noblemen is soon likely to be an irrelevance. Unless the rest of the tests can be done from horseback, I doubt that I will be able to continue.’

  ‘I agree. I asked Máedóc for a week to help you recover, but unfortunately he would only give you until tomorrow morning. I have sent for the Earl of Huntingdon, but he’s in Salisbury and will not be back for three days.’

  ‘Does he know how these tests are being conducted?’

  ‘No, I’m sure not. Máedóc was recommended by King Henry, who recruited him in Ireland. The Earl wants the tests to be demanding, but I’m sure Máedóc is taking them too far.’

  ‘Well, the man is a killer; I can see it in his eyes. And he means to kill me. As soon as I can get on a horse, I am leaving for Westminster.’

  ‘I will help you as much as I can, but I can’t protect you from Máedóc u
ntil the Earl returns.’

  ‘I understand, but do what you can to heal my legs. Where are my weapons and armour?’

  ‘His men have them; I won’t be able to get them for you.’

  ‘Where is my horse?’

  ‘With the rest of the garrison horses. But Máedóc has given instructions that it is only to be released to him.’

  ‘Do you know what the next part of the tests involves?’

  ‘Yes, weapons.’

  ‘Very well, let’s see what tomorrow brings. By the way, do you have any idea what it is I am being tested for?’

  ‘I am sorry, Sir Ranulf, the Earl has not told me. But I do know that he cares passionately about England, as do I. Now that he is very old, he chose me to help him, an honour I accepted without hesitation.’

  ‘Why you? And why did you accept so readily?’

  ‘England is in my blood, as it is in yours. We have come a long way since the dark days of the Conquest. I want that progress to continue.’

  ‘Father, your response poses more questions than it gives answers.’

  ‘I can tell you just one more thing. The Earl told me that his mission needs two special men. One of them must be wise without equal, the other must be brave beyond any other. I know I am not the brave one. But so far, it looks like you may just be the man the Earl is looking for. Let’s hope that together we can live up to his expectations.’

  The pain in my legs kept me awake for most of the night, which gave me the chance to contemplate how I was going to extricate myself from the dire circumstances in which I had found myself. By the morning I had made no real plan, but I had reached the conclusion that I would have to fight my way out of my predicament.

  Father Alun was at my side when Máedóc and his men burst into my room. He had bound my feet tightly but it was still almost impossible for me to walk, and then only with searing pain.

  Máedóc scowled at the young monk.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Sir Ranulf is not able to continue the tests.’

  The towering Irishman turned his withering glare towards me.

  ‘Then you have failed the tests.’

  ‘So be it. If I may trouble you for my weapons and my horse, I will be on my way back to Westminster.’

  ‘I thought you were a weak-willed little twat as soon as I saw you.’

  I chose to ignore the insult and limped past him. As I reached the door, Máedóc’s men blocked the way. I paused, but they did not step aside.

  Father Alun admonished them.

  ‘Let Sir Ranulf go, his challenge is over. He is free to leave.’

  Máedóc rounded on the monk and struck him across the face with the back of his hand.

  ‘No one gives orders to my men, except me.’

  With blood spewing from his mouth and splattering the floor, Father Alun landed on the ground with a heavy thump. Máedóc’s men still blocked the doorway. With a leer on his face, Mochán glanced down at the monk. As he did so, I seized the opportunity to pull his seax from his belt and thrust it hard under his chin. He froze, as did his two companions.

  I looked Mochán in the eye.

  ‘Walk backwards through the door and tell your two friends to step aside.’

  I saw Mochán’s eyes turn towards Máedóc, who must have nodded his assent, because he began to move through the doorway as I had asked. It was excruciating for me to walk, and I stumbled several times. But I made sure to keep the blade firmly embedded in the soft skin of Mochán’s throat. Then I saw my hostage’s expression change and heard Father Alun caution me with a gurgled cry that he managed to spit from his blood-filled mouth.

  ‘Sir Ranulf!’

  I knew what the warning meant and quickly swayed to one side. As I did so, Máedóc’s sword passed within a hair’s breadth of my ribs and impaled Mochán through his belly. Without uttering a sound, he fell backwards and landed in a heap on the floor. Máedóc, shocked at realizing that he had killed his companion, let go of his weapon, which remained deeply embedded in Mochán’s stomach.

  I seized my moment and sank my seax into the lumbering Celt’s throat until it exited at the other side. The giant man stood motionless for several moments as blood gushed from his neck like a stream of piss and ran down the wall next to him. Unable to say anything, he just stared at me incredulously. Eventually, his eyes lost all ability to focus; he took one faltering step forwards and fell over like a massive oak tree succumbing to the woodsman. The spew of his blood tracked his fall, leaving an arc of crimson on the wall and a rapidly growing puddle under his head.

  Óengus and Fáelán looked at one another. They both drew their swords.

  Father Alun, despite his prone position and the blood pouring from his mouth, was quick to remind them that killing me would also require them to kill him. And should they do so, the Earl would be certain to hunt them down without mercy. The monk had made a crucial intervention for, with only a seax in my hand and almost no agility at my disposal, my prospects were miserable.

  The two Irishmen quickly realized the realities of their situation. They took one look at their stricken companions and sheathed their swords. Moments later, with neither a glance nor a word in my direction, they were gone.

  I thanked the good monk profusely before the pain and exertion got the better of me and I fell to my knees.

  3. Ghosts of Bosham Manor

  The next morning, despite Father Alun’s exhortations, I was on my horse and making slow progress towards London and the comforts of the garrison physicians at Westminster. Sitting was one of the few positions that was relatively painless; as long as I kept my horse at a steady pace, my progress was not too uncomfortable.

  When I reached Farnham, I decided to rest with the monks at Waverley Abbey. It sits in an idyllic position by the River Wey and was an ideal place for me to recuperate and reflect on my recent misfortune.

  It was early on the morning of the fourth day at Waverley when my life changed irrevocably. I was feeling much better. My feet and legs were still raw but, with the judicious use of a couple of sticks, they could bear my weight with only moderate discomfort. I was using the abbey cloisters to attempt some exercise while several Cistercian brothers, looking resplendent in their pristine white habits and black scapulars, were sitting in devout prayer and contemplation.

  All was quiet, save for the gentle clack of my sticks and the soft shuffle of my bandaged feet – until, that is, heavy footsteps made a purposeful approach from behind me. With a wince of sudden pain, I made a slow turn just as my visitor spoke in his loud and distinctive voice.

  ‘Ranulf of Lancaster, is that you?’

  The unmistakeable voice belonged to the last man I wanted to see: the Earl of Huntingdon, the instigator of the torture I had been subjected to in Winchester. Scurrying in his wake were Abbot Henry, the head of the Waverley community, Father Alun and a sergeant-at-arms with a small retinue of men. It looked like a posse seeking my arrest, but I was in no position to resist.

  Rather than looking stern, the Earl smiled warmly as he neared.

  ‘I am so relieved that you appear to be recovering. What a dreadful ordeal you were put through. Please accept my apologies.’

  Despite the warmth of the Earl’s greeting and his expression of regret, I was still wary of his motives.

  ‘My Lord, I accepted the challenge in good faith. But you left me at the mercy of a madman.’

  ‘I know, Father Alun has told me. I am very sorry. I wanted the challenge to be stern, but not an opportunity for brutality. We have tracked down Máedóc’s two accomplices. They are simple souls, but they will spend a year in Winchester’s dungeons before they are shipped back to Ireland in chains. They admitted that Máedóc was a malevolent soul, and they also explained that he wanted the opportunity for himself. He was determined to make sure that no one came through the ordeal until, eventually, he planned to offer himself for the role.’

  ‘Did he know what the opportunity was, my Lor
d?’

  ‘No, but he assumed it would be lucrative in some way.’

  ‘If I may ask, sire, is it a challenge where success will be rewarded?’

  ‘It may be, but there is no guarantee of that. More importantly though, it will add greatly to the vigour of a man’s soul.’

  ‘Then, my Lord, I am sorry I failed the examination.’

  ‘But you did not fail, Sir Ranulf. I want to offer you the role that so many have striven for.’

  ‘My Lord, I withdrew – Father Alun will attest to that.’

  ‘I know, but you withdrew from a test that could not have been passed. More importantly, you stood up to a thug and put an end to a reign of terror carried out in my name. For that I am eternally grateful.’

  ‘Sire, given my recent experience, I’m afraid I am not able to accept the challenge until I know what it involves.’

  ‘Under the circumstances, that is reasonable. However, I will need some time to explain what the task is. Father Alun will help me with this, because he has a particular interest in ensuring that whoever carries this responsibility is the right man. Not only that, but should you choose to undertake the responsibility, he will be your companion and wise counsel for its duration.’

  ‘I understand, my Lord.’

  ‘You must also understand this: if, after hearing what the task involves, you choose not to accept the calling, you must never repeat any of the information you are given. Never. Not to anyone. Do you understand?’

  ‘I do, sire.’

  ‘Do you follow a code of knightly chivalry?’

  ‘I do, my Lord, the Mos Militum, the code of the English heroes during the Great Crusade.’