by Ann Turner
The gathered soldiers slowly dispersed, quietly dismissed by the captains. None wanted to be close to their king while his temper was so volatile. Hugh Fulbert slunk off silently alone, glancing furtively at his wife. He needed to be on his own, knowing his presence would provoke a savage reaction from the crusaders, who needed little excuse to attack him. Aubrette watched Hugh merge into the gathered men. If he wanted to talk, he would know where to find her, but she would not run after him.
Once his boiling lechery had been satisfied, without further word to his defiled wife, Richard pulled back and, seeing the small spots of blood caused by his attack, departed, with no reproach. She was left shaking and painful, afraid to rise from the table while he was still here. She would not cross her husband again. She felt unclean by the bestial power he had exuded.
Her attendants entered, once they knew it was safe, to wash the queen and brush her long hair – restoring its smoothness after Richard had looped a fistful of it in one hand, pulling her head back, while the other pinned her to the table preventing escape. She was dressed in a fresh gown, as the previous one had been torn and stained with blood from the violent assault. It would be burnt, removing any evidence or reminder of what had recently occurred. They then listened to her as she lamented her misfortune of being married to this brute, with his peculiar and unnatural taste in bedfellows.
44
A messenger arrived at the Christian camp and was taken to King Richard. He brought a request that his master, Sultan Saladin, meet the Christian king to discuss terms for control over Jerusalem. He agreed to an emissary from Saladin to negotiate a peace settlement.
The emissary, once he arrived, was revealed as Saladin’s own brother. Richard had assumed that Saladin himself would come to Jaffa, but the sultan, never intending to attend, he had feared that the Lionheart would see this as an opportunity to keep him a hostage and sent his brother – whom he considered his equal – to act on his behalf. Al-Adil was shown all honours by King Richard and was treated royally throughout his stay. They shut themselves away to discuss the settlement, and could be heard arguing long into the night.
Richard devised a plan for peace between the Christians and the Saracens, and a way to win back Jerusalem. It was a tactical decision that his late father would have been proud of. For once in Richard’s campaign, he would win without further bloodshed. His proposal would be a marriage: a match between his widowed sister, Joanna, and Al-Adil.
Al-Adil wrote to his brother with this revelation, telling Saladin that Joanna was a fine-looking woman, who was totally different from the obedient Muslim women. She was a virago, opinionated, and spoke her mind bravely, and he was in need of a wife. Saladin replied that he should delay the answer. He instructed that his brother should pay court to Joanna, but had, in reality, no intention of allowing him to marry a Christian woman. Al-Adil would keep the English king guessing while they talked over an end to the hostilities, that he planned for his brother to steer to his own advantage.
Richard’s next task was to broach the subject of marriage to Joanna herself. She and Al-Adil had found a mutual respect for each other and had spent time together talking and debating topics. The Muslim found her company stimulating. There was a chance, then, and he hoped that when he spoke of the proposal to her, she would be agreeable to it.
The king was very wrong.
Richard and Joanna were walking around the gardens within the citadel at Jaffa. It was a time that he enjoyed very much, as his sister’s intelligence matched his own. Their mother, Queen Eleanor, had ensured that all of her children, including her daughters, were educated to the highest standard. This meant Richard could discuss subjects with his sister, knowing she would understand and that he would receive an equally intelligent answer.
She noticed this day that her brother appeared to be distracted. There was something on his mind that troubled him. ‘Richard, what is wrong?’ she asked.
He was relieved she had instigated the conversation. ‘Marriage,’ he began and she smiled.
‘You and Berengaria, is it? You really should consider her a little more than you do. She is a good woman, who does not deserve the treatment you give her.’
Richard frowned. ‘I know, but she does not excite me as others,’ he said. ‘This is not about me or the queen, anyway. Joanna, you have been widowed for too long now. It is time I considered your future and a second marriage for you, while you are still childbearing age.’
Joanna stopped walking and looked quizzically at her brother. ‘What are you saying, Richard? Have you found a man you think is suitable for me? What can this bring to your coffers and do I have any say in this?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’
‘You are now talking in riddles. You are Richard yea and nay; you say yes and no and mean it. Who is the man and do I know him?’
‘Al-Adil,’ Richard said, bluntly, and waited for the reaction from his sister. She was like him in many ways and so he was expecting an explosion.
‘What?’ she exclaimed. ‘Al-Adil? A Muslim? Saladin’s own brother? Me, marry him?’
‘Aye, it makes sense. It is a good match and will bring our two cultures together,’ he explained, calmly, determined not to lose his temper. ‘And I shall claim Jerusalem for Christianity. Our father would have done this and you would obey his command with no complaint.’
Joanna gave a rueful laugh. ‘You are the greatest leader of our time, you are a warrior with no equal, but you have absolutely no idea about arranging a marriage. Were it were our father’s command or not, I shall never marry that man. I do not care what you say about our cultures, I will not marry a Muslim and you cannot make me.’
‘You shall obey my command, Joanna. I have been in communication with Sultan Saladin through his brother and he is in agreement about this. You shall marry Al-Adil. The wedding shall take place in the citadel in Jerusalem and you will live your life here as a Muslim wife, obedient and compliant,’ he said, firmly.
Joanna shook her head. ‘Just try! I would rather slit my own throat than marry him. Don’t push me, brother, for you know I shall do it,’ she warned.
Richard gripped her arms and shook her. Despite his resolve to remain calm, his anger was beginning to rise. ‘I shall disinherit you and leave you behind if you refuse this match. You shall be penniless and alone!’ he shouted.
‘Go on then, disinherit me. I dare you!’ she shouted back, wrenching herself free.
‘I shall not be disobeyed! You shall marry Al-Adil and be grateful!’
Joanna turned her back on her brother, refusing to listen and ignoring his rambunctious raging. She marched forcibly towards the citadel with Richard shouting at the top of his voice at her with threats.
‘When I marry again, it will be to a man I love!’ she shouted back over her shoulder.
‘You shall marry Al-Adil and accept it, even if I have to drag you by the hair to the altar and speak the marriage vows for you myself!’ he roared back.
Joanna stopped in her tracks, turned to face her brother and made an indecent gesture at him before returning to the citadel. The king was left breathless with rage. He was right not to involve himself more than necessary with women, as they brought nothing but trouble. Why had he been cursed with a pitiful wife and a shrew of a sister?
Brother and sister kept their distance from each other after their argument. When they were forced into each other’s company, they ignored the other in an icy atmosphere. Most people declared sympathy for Joanna at the absurd idea of her marrying an infidel.
Al-Adil found this highly amusing and wrote to his brother about the Plantagenet siblings – how their glacial silences would suddenly erupt into volcanic explosions of temper, resulting in plates, cups and food being thrown around the hall, before the hostile silence returned and they both stalked away. Although he was the king and kept reminding a
ll that he was so, Richard found he was quickly on the losing side in this argument. It was difficult for him to accept and admit failure in this, but he was forced to back down in a humiliating defeat.
Eventually, as Saladin knew it would, the negotiations for peace and the match between his brother and the king’s sister broke down. It was all strategy; the marriage would never have occurred. His brother reported back that Joanna had refused to be bartered off, and that the king had lost this pointless battle.
None were more thankful for the failure than Joanna. She had recently become amiable with Raymond of Toulouse, and he had shown an interest in her, too. She was convinced theirs would be the love match she was determined to have, and Richard, knowing his sister was as strong-willed and volatile as he, had to agree that he had failed with the attempted matchmaking. He also knew that there was a strong possibility that Joanna and Raymond would eventually marry, with or without his permission.
Al-Adil, meanwhile, returned to his brother to report back the details of the conversations he had had with Richard. There had been no agreement reached. Jerusalem remained in the hands of the Saracens and Richard still fiercely pledged to bring the Holy City back to the Christians, as fervently as Saladin vowed to keep it for the Muslims.
45
It was hand-to-hand combat, Christian against Saracen, madness against insanity. Four men of Richard’s company formed a kinship, keeping close together, and surreptitiously planned an assault on a man who they had decided must die. It was Hugh. They were waiting for the opportune moment, when the signal would be given, to put their agreed plan into action, making sure what had occurred looked like an act of warfare. What they were to do was for the good of England. If they were discovered and executed for this, it would be worth it.
During the battle, briefly, the fighting lessened, and this was the moment they had been waiting for. Hugh Fulbert was leaning forward in his saddle, driving his broadsword deep into a Saracen’s chest, when the four swiftly surrounded him. Their horses trampling on the fallen man and jostling Hugh’s own mount, preventing any chance of escape. They knocked his helmet from his head and he was pulled from his horse. The four men dismounted and removed their own helmets, so that Hugh would recognise and know who they all were.
‘What is this?’ He growled, turning around alarmed at the merciless faces looking back at him, with murder in their eyes. ‘Let me pass, you curs,’ he shouted, raising his sword, attempting to push past, but his sword was wrestled out of his hand, leaving him defenceless. A punch to his face stunned him and he staggered back.
‘Hugh Fulbert, you are a sodomite and that is unnatural in a man,’ the general said, shoving him hard in the chest.
‘You have corrupted our King Richard and taken him from his wife.’
‘You are not fit to call yourself a man, you lapdog. There is not a single man in our Christian army that says a fair word for you,’ the captain added, coldly.
‘You shall pay for your corruption.’
A sword slashed forward. Hugh raised his arms to protect his face from the blade, and felt it slice into the flesh of his arm making him cry out in pain. ‘It was not I that corrupted the king! He needed no help from me and when I am gone, he will find another. Let me be,’ he demanded, as another sword swept across his back and a kick behind his knees made him drop to the ground. He looked up, surrounded, knowing how this was to end. ‘The king shall have you all gutted for killing me!’ he shouted.
The general, who was the ringleader in this grim venture, gripped Hugh’s face, squeezing tight, and brought it very close to his own. ‘Not before we have gutted you first,’ he hissed and spat into Hugh’s face. ‘Then, who will tell it was us?’
Hugh shouted for help, but no one came to assist. Anyone who witnessed the attack stood back, not wanting to be one of those responsible. They were willing to see this man getting what he deserved.
The pommel of a sword came down heavily upon Hugh’s head, smashing into his skull, and a blade stabbed deep into his back, while a third blade sliced across his face. The attack continued, with swords stabbing and slashing, He was defenceless to the attack and his blood spilled from the many wounds inflicted. Even when he lay dead on the blood-sodden soil, the four men continued to stab his lifeless corpse and kick it in inexorable gratification.
They stood back to observe their work, then all looked at each other with cold-blooded satisfaction.
’You know what to say to the king,’ the general said and they all nodded.
‘How do we explain the blood on us?’
‘We have been attacking the enemy. How is anyone able to say whose blood this is?’
‘Good thinking.’
‘Let’s get this over with, Richard must not suspect anything.’
The king trudged into his tent and threw himself in a chair. He was quickly served a goblet of wine by Kamal, which he swallowed fast and held out to be refilled. The battles had been gruelling and he knew he had lost many good men in this disturbance. However, he was satisfied that they had also sent many infidels to hell. Like himself, Saladin still lived – a worthy enemy.
Richard shut his eyes. He felt particularly weary today, and had still not fully recovered from his latest bout of tertian fever. It had been a mild attack this time; not severe enough to debilitate him completely, but enough to leave him lacking in strength. Kamal, sensing his master’s fatigue, pulled his shirt loose and massaged his bare shoulders. It felt good. Richard could feel the tension in his stiff muscles easing under the manipulation of the boy’s long and slender fingers.
He opened his eyes, as outside he could hear a commotion in progress. Several men were arguing and exchanging infuriated words. Richard listened, without investigating the reason for the quarrel. Let them get on with it; he was not in the mood to mediate over a dispute. Then one of his generals, his tabard bloodied, hurried in and bowed low to his king, apologising for bothering him.
‘How now, what is the problem to disturb me?’ Richard growled, irritated by the interruption. For one evening, just one evening, he wanted to relax and forget the crusade. His general looked ashen-faced at him, appearing to find it difficult to speak. The king sighed. ‘If you have unsavoury news for me, spit it out.’ He shrugged his shirt back over his shoulders and waved Kamal away. The boy obediently melted into the shadows.
‘Sire, I bring you bad news,’ the general began, avoiding looking at his king. Richard sat forward. ‘Sire, sorry, but Sir Hugh Fulbert…’ He stopped talking as Richard had risen to his feet, his stomach churning.
‘What of Sir Hugh?’ he demanded.
The general swallowed hard, finding it increasingly difficult to continue. ‘Sire, Sir Hugh has been killed and we have brought his body to you. We thought you would wish to see him.’
For a moment, the world swirled around Richard. He felt giddy and misshapen images floated in front of his vision. Bile rose in his throat, his stomach jarred violently and he staggered. Was it the remnants of the fever or was it this news that had made the king break out into a cold sweat?
The general stepped forward and held out a hand in preparation to catch the king if he collapsed.
‘Show me,’ he rasped.
The general turned and called to the others, who were waiting outside. They entered the tent, carefully carrying Hugh’s body and placed it on the table, and then stood back.
Richard gave an audible sob at the sight of his dead companion, bloodied and mutilated in front of him. ‘Hugh,’ he uttered bitterly.
The men saw the tears slide down their king’s face unhindered as he approached and gently touched the cold, blood-streaked face. His hand smoothed Hugh’s beard, which was matted with congealing blood.
‘Did any of you see who killed him?’ Richard asked, looking up, red eyed, at the men.
They exchanged glances, not expe
cting this question. ‘I did, sire. He went down bravely taking three infidels with him,’ one lied convincingly.
Richard nodded and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt in an attempt to control his emotions.
He rounded on the four men. ‘None of you liked him, did you? You all thought my friendship with him unnatural. How do I know you did not instigate this yourself?’ Fury shook Richard’s voice as he looked at the men standing before him. His voice then altered, becoming reminiscent. ‘His presence brought me solace and he steadied me. His love for me was honourable, not false.’
They all bowed their heads, mutually feeling uncomfortable, so that their guilty faces would not be seen.
‘My lord, we did not like Sir Hugh – that none of us can deny – but we would not turn on a fellow Christian while there are more urgent deaths needed,’ lied the general.
Richard turned back to Hugh’s body. When he next spoke, his voice was broken with sorrow. ‘My sweet Hugh. He shall be buried with full honours.’ He dismissed the men so that he could mourn alone.
Outside, they stood together in a tight knot talking in hushed tones together.
‘It seems the king believed the lie about Fulbert’s death,’ the general said, nervously, and they all glanced back at the royal tent.
The captain shrugged. ‘We could not tell him the truth. We said everything that Richard wanted to hear,’ came the reply and they all agreed.
‘You are sure no one will speak out about us?’
‘No, I never met anyone who had a good word for the king’s whore. We are among allies,’ was the answer. ‘Perhaps he will now return to his wife and finally give us an heir to the English throne.’
They all agreed that Hugh’s murder was the best for England and the territories in France.
For the first time, the king attended the burial of fallen crusaders. Hugh was to be buried alongside them. To all who saw him, Richard had never looked so defeated, wretched or sad. His shoulders were hunched, there were tears in his eyes and he sucked in his lower lip to keep his overwhelming sadness in check. He was aware that many eyes were watching him, and he was determined not to give any man the chance to say he wept only for Hugh Fulbert. Behind him, at a safe distance, Kamal stood silently watching, pleased that the competition for the king’s affections had been removed. He would have Richard all to himself now.