Lionheart moe-4

by Stewart Binns

  I was asked to wait in the cloisters, where I sat and watched the nuns quietly at prayer. I was the subject of a few stares and whispers – and, no doubt, much speculation about my hook for a hand.

  ‘I am told a mighty crusader is here to see me.’

  The voice came from behind and startled me.

  ‘They said you look like you have fought many battles… and that you only have one arm.’

  Negu had hardly aged. I could only see her face, framed tightly by her wimple, but it had almost no wrinkles. Her eyes shone brightly, her figure seemed trim and she had the self-confident bearing of a mature woman of the Church.

  ‘I see I find you well; you have obviously flourished here at Rupertsberg.’

  ‘I have, indeed. I see that you have also prospered, if with a few scars to prove it.’

  ‘They are a price worth paying; I have had my share of adventures.’

  She took my good arm.

  ‘Come, let’s walk. We’ll find a quiet place in the garden. The gossip will be halfway round the women already that Sister Negu’s lover has returned.’

  We walked and talked for over an hour. We shared a restrained embrace and exchanged fifteen years’ worth of stories. She laughed at my escapades; I smiled at her achievements.

  That evening, she arranged for us to eat together in private in one of the small chapels of the monastery.

  ‘I will always be grateful that you brought me here. Otherwise, I would have been a rich man’s whore – until I was thrown in the midden as too old – or dead from the pox.’

  ‘Will you stay here?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I’m just curious.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘King Richard has given me some land in the north of England, near my childhood home. He’s promised me some more when we return. I want to see my parents; as far as I know, they are still alive.’

  ‘No wife to take home with you, then?’

  ‘No, there has been no time for women in my life.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘Well, a few local girls to calm the beast from time to time.’

  ‘Of course! But no serious romances?’

  ‘Just one, a princess… but only a single tryst. She was murdered when I was supposed to be protecting her. It took me a long time to get over it.’

  ‘It sounds like her memory still haunts you.’

  Negu was right, of course, but I changed the subject. It was my turn to question her.

  ‘And how have you coped with celibacy?’

  Negu’s expression suddenly changed. Her animated demeanour became very serious.

  ‘I’d like you to do something for me.’

  ‘What would you like me to do?’

  ‘Go away and leave me in peace.’

  I was mortified.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, it’s just for a day; I need time for reflection. Come back tomorrow evening, and I will arrange for us to eat here again.’

  ‘But I’ve only just arrived—’

  ‘I know, but you’ve suddenly walked back into my life after fifteen years. There is so much to think about. I suppose I should say that I need to pray. But whatever it is, I need time to do it.’

  ‘Negu, you are the one who took the decision to stay here.’

  ‘I know, Ranulf, but please do as I ask. We can talk again tomorrow.’

  A little bewildered, I nevertheless did as she asked and found a room in the village.

  After a sleepless night, I spent the next day wandering the banks of the Rhine, my mind in a turmoil, wondering what conclusions Negu was coming to.

  When I arrived back at the monastery gates, I was even more anxious than I had been before. Negu also seemed tense when we met, and our dinner together began awkwardly. I feared the worst.

  She had poured several cups of Rupertsberg’s famed kirsch before she began to relax. Then she took a deep breath and I sensed that our reunion was destined to be short and platonic.

  ‘Last night you asked me how I had coped with celibacy.’

  ‘I did, and I’m sorry if I upset you. I was thinking like the young lovers we once were.’

  ‘So was I. And I was enjoying it; I felt like a woman again. That’s why I asked you to go. I’m third in the hierarchy here, I’m not supposed to feel aroused by crusaders who come calling.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be; you haven’t taken a vow of celibacy. And I’m flattered that you think I’m still attractive.’

  She smiled sweetly and rather uncertainly, then stared into her almost empty cup of kirsch before filling it to the brim and quaffing a deep draught of it.

  ‘So… you asked me about celibacy last night.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, it was wrong of me to ask.’

  ‘It does matter. The truth is, I don’t deal with it at all well. There was a young monk a few years ago. He was sweet and very handsome, but I had to stop it; it became too dangerous. Then there was Philip of Heinsberg, Archbishop of Cologne, one of Barbarossa’s favourite warriors, a Prince Bishop who owned half of Germany. He died last year, but four years ago he started inviting me to his Palace for “meditation”. I was flattered and eventually gave in. He treated me well, but I soon realized I was just his harlot – one of many. Since then, there have been others, but I’ve managed to slowly rid myself of male suitors over the past two years.’

  ‘And now you are content?’

  ‘No, my feelings are locked away, dormant.’

  She smiled again, this time holding my gaze without embarrassment. I was beginning to feel aroused, in a profound way that I had not experienced for a long time, and, to my delight, knew that the old fire still burned in both of us.

  ‘When I heard that I had missed you, after you called last year, my heart missed several beats. I’m very pleased you came back.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘How long can you stay?’

  ‘I have to meet the King at Antwerp. We sail for England in the second week of March.’

  ‘Will you stay until then?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Tell me, besides your left hand, have you lost any other parts of your anatomy?’

  It felt like we had been playing a teasing game of sexual chess, and I had just been put into checkmate.

  It was a good game to lose.

  Over the next few days we consummated our reborn passion many times; it was gloriously debauched and decadent. It was as if the years had not passed and we were in Aquitaine again.

  Although Negu broke her vows in every way imaginable, she was very adamant about the morality of it. For her, being a nun was about the good deeds done by the nuns of Hildegard’s foundation, about the beauty of the music they sang and about the knowledge and wisdom she had acquired at Rupertsberg. Chastity was a nonsensical rigour imposed by the Church. Negu had no doubt that Hildegard would have approved.

  As for my part, I was simply happy to have fallen in love again – and with a woman with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life.

  Although we were discreet, rumours abounded within the community and Negu was summoned to see the Abbess. It was the ideal moment for me to reveal the future that the King had promised to make available to us in England.

  Negu had, of course, remembered Alun. I explained to her how he had become a close friend and adviser to the King, and I described the tragedy of his death. When I told her that the Lionheart had promised to create a foundation in his honour, and that she could be part of it, she leapt with joy at the prospect.

  ‘We follow the rule of St Augustine of Hippo here. I have reached the rank of Conventual Prioress, one level below an abbess, so I can govern a priory of nuns in my own right.’

  ‘Whose permission do you need?’

  ‘I don’t need anyone’s sanction – except God’s, of course – but I do need the funds to buy the land, and some women to come with me.’

  ‘Well, if
you can bring the nuns, the King will provide the geld.’

  ‘There are fifty women here who will follow me to the ends of the earth. Finding some monks, and an abbot to lead them, should be easy along the Rhine; there are dozens of monasteries, most of them overcrowded.’

  ‘In that case, what are you waiting for?’

  ‘Nothing, my love. The conversation with the Abbess should be fairly straightforward. When she starts asking difficult questions, I’ll be able to tell her I’m leaving.’

  ‘How long will it take you to be ready to leave with your monks and nuns?’

  ‘About three months.’

  ‘That will give me enough time to make good the offer from the King. I will send three ships to Antwerp to collect you, at the beginning of June; I’ll give full instructions to the Master of the Harbour before I leave.’

  As I made my way north from Rupertsberg, I reflected on the strange paradoxes of life. Had the Lionheart not been captured in Austria and imprisoned on the Rhine, I would never have seen Negu again.

  Fate plays its hand in strange ways.

  31. Return of the King

  The Lionheart spent his remaining time in Germany and the Low Countries building on the friendships he had won by his performance at Speyer. Many in Europe now realized that his deeds in the Holy Land had been misrepresented by those with an axe to grind. Word travelled to realms far and wide that, in truth, he had been the only Christian leader to act with courage and tenacity against Saladin.

  We sailed from Antwerp on 11 March, aboard a ceremonial fleet sent by Queen Eleanor. After a pause to wait for the winds and tide on the coast, we arrived at Sandwich, in Kent, on the morning of 13 March 1194, an auspicious day for all of us. It was the Sabbath, and we rode to Canterbury to give thanks for our safe arrival.

  News spread quickly that the King had landed. At Ash, close to Sandwich, people rushed out to wave as we rode through. Astute as ever, the Queen made sure that heralds rode ahead of us to announce the King’s return. From Wingham onwards, especially at Littlebourne and Canterbury itself, the scenes were reminiscent of his coronation five years before; every hamlet, village and burgh gave us a rapturous welcome.

  The Lionheart was overjoyed, and turned to me with a broad grin on his face.

  ‘I have just cost these people a quarter of their livelihood!’

  ‘I told you they loved you, sire.’

  It was true; he was the Lionheart, their King, a man who shared their blood. If only they knew just how much.

  When we reached Westminster, where the people lined the route cheering wildly, we were greeted with heartening news. Prince John had hidden himself away in Normandy on hearing the news of his brother’s release, leaving his supporters in England isolated. As a result, all those who had plotted with him against the King had capitulated and declared their loyalty to the Lionheart; all save one. The garrison at Nottingham refused to believe that the King had returned.

  Itching for a fight against any traitors he could find, the Lionheart acted quickly.

  ‘Mobilize my cavalry! Bring the sappers and the Greek fire, we have work to do.’

  The siege did not last long. Initially, the defenders refused to surrender, claiming that the man wearing the Three Lions on his mantle was an imposter, sent to trick them. The King was furious and, as he had done all his life, led us in an attack on the barbican.

  After the sappers destroyed the heavy oak doors of the barbican with a huge battering ram, the Lionheart pulled down his helmet and charged forwards. He had lost little of his speed and agility and, as usual, it was difficult to keep pace with him.

  As he reached the arch of the barbican roof, he suddenly gave the signal to crouch down and, in that moment, a volley of crossbow bolts passed over our heads from the platoon of arbalests he had positioned behind us. A bolt from a crossbow at close quarters is a fearsome weapon and several defenders were taken clean off their feet from the impact, while several others ran for cover.

  Then the Lionheart resumed his charge. I could see the look of horror on the faces of the defenders when they realized that the man wearing the Three Lions was indeed their King.

  The fighting was ferocious, but brief. The Lionheart made a beeline for a huge sergeant, who took an almighty swing at him as he approached. This was a fatal move against a swordsman as skilled as the King. He simply ducked under the arc of the blade and thrust his own sword deep into the man’s ribs, just below his right arm. The blood spewed across the courtyard and the big man let out a squeal like a stuck pig.

  The fight seemed to go out of our opponents at that point, and they began to surrender. There were a dozen or so bodies at our feet, and several injured men. Among the dead was William of Wendenal, High Sheriff of Nottingham and the Royal Forests, a long-time supporter of Prince John.

  Frustratingly, despite the loss of their barbican, the defenders within the castle still refused to surrender, and the main castle gate remained closed.

  The King turned to me, smiling.

  ‘More sport tomorrow.’

  Then he gave instructions for the bodies of the fallen – men who, despite their traitorous allegiance to Prince John, were still his subjects – to be removed with due ceremony and respect, before ordering his men to set up camp for the night.

  The next day, when we began to build one of the huge siege engines used in the Holy Land and to prepare the Greek fire, the castle gates opened. Leading out the garrison were the last two rebels who had allied themselves to Prince John’s cause: Robert Brito and Hugh of Nonant. They were both lords of little consequence who, like many others, had gambled that the King would not return from his captivity.

  They fell to their knees and begged the Lionheart for forgiveness, which he duly granted. Not only that: he stepped forward and lifted both of them from the ground.

  ‘Go to Prince John in Normandy; tell him that he has nothing to fear from his brother, who loves him dearly. Reassure him that, for the future of England and the Empire, he will be treated with magnanimity, as I have treated you.’

  After the breaking of the siege, the King called a Great Council of the realm to gather at Nottingham and then, while the preparations were being made, we went hunting in the Forest of Sherwood. Propitiously, the land was owned by Earl Harold. I learned that it had been a gift from the Lionheart’s great-grandfather, a grateful King Henry Beauclerc, while the Earl was in his service.

  Two days later, when we were deep in the forest and relaxing by a camp fire, the King handed me a sealed scroll.

  ‘These are the deeds to Earl Harold’s estates. He holds much of this forest, but also land at Barnsdale and Loxley Chase. These estates are yours now; he had no heirs, so it is only right that they should go to you.’

  I was shocked and delighted.

  ‘I am so grateful, my Lord. You are more than generous.’

  ‘Not at all, you deserve it. The income will give you a life of comfort; after what you have been through on my behalf, that’s the least you should expect. I must also make good my promise to establish a foundation for Abbot Alun. Will you help me with that?’

  ‘I will, indeed, sire. In fact, may I offer you an ideal solution?’

  He looked at me inquisitively.

  ‘Do I sense that you have hatched a plot, and that it may involve the beautiful Negu?’

  ‘I have and it does, my Lord. My rendezvous with Negu at Rupertsberg exceeded my wildest dreams. In fact, with your agreement, we would like to establish a foundation in memory of Alun. She holds the status of Prioress in the Rule of St Augustine and can easily recruit a prior, monks and nuns from the Rhine to begin a new community.’

  ‘A cunning scheme, my friend.’

  The Lionheart laughed heartily, and put his arm around my shoulder.

  ‘And if this foundation happened to be near your lands in the north, where you and Negu could enjoy communion together on a regular basis, that would be, as you put it, “an ideal solution”?’

&n
bsp; ‘Something like that, my Lord.’

  He then laughed again, with even more gusto.

  ‘Let me speak with Roger de Lacy, Lord of Bowland; he’s a good man and owns most of the lands north of the Ribble. I’m sure he can find you a place where a community can flourish.’

  We hunted well in the ancient Forest of Sherwood, and it was a time of unbounded happiness for me. I had brought the King home safely, he had regained control of England, and it looked like Negu and I would have a life together.

  I had only one more task to perform, which was to complete my undertaking to Earl Harold and pass on his casket to the King.

  But for that, I had to wait for the right moment.

  At the Council of Nottingham, which began on 30 March 1194, the King made secure the resumption of his authority over England. He appointed nineteen new men to be sheriffs of the domain’s twenty-eight shires, all of which produced substantial income for the Exchequer. He also accepted a large number of pleas and requests from plaintiffs and made numerous other appointments. They were mostly petitions that had not been pursued while Prince John held sway – because men did not trust him – and they brought more new income. At the end of the Council, William Longchamp, the King’s Chancellor, announced that Winchester’s treasury held 25,292 pounds in gold and silver, a large increase over the previous year’s amount.

  As the Council closed and the King thanked everybody for their attendance and loyalty, he raised his sword and proclaimed loudly.

  ‘Now to Normandy, to deal with the lamentable King of the French!’

  He called me over a little later, still beaming about the geld he held at Winchester.

  ‘You were right, my friend, this is a land of good and loyal people. Not only that, it is rich and pays its taxes. I have a sufficient war chest to meet Philip Augustus head on and win back what John has given away. I have mobilized the army and called out the Grand Quintet. I am seeing William the Lion at Southwell Minster next week, to make sure he and his Scottish lords still support me, and then I will sail to Normandy. A fleet of a hundred ships is gathering at Portsmouth – a new port I am creating in the west – ready for the crossing to Barfleur.’