A Sister's Crusade

by Ann Turner

  Aubrette went into her confinement, with the midwife, Petronella and Esma assisting – the two women putting aside their differences for the birth. As before, Aubrette endured the pains of childbirth well and the result was a third healthy son. Immediately, he became her favourite, as this infant would only ever know her as his mother. Simon was satisfied that he had another son to bear his name and the child was baptised Corbin at the small church close to their home.

  Esma did not attend the service and avoided being among the curious villagers who come to watch the small procession from the house to the church. Carrying Corbin in her arms, Aubrette scanned the faces, hoping to see a glimpse of her natural mother. Simon ushered her in through the open doors of the church. The baptism of her son was more important at this moment and there would be other times.

  Back at the hall, Simon announced that he was to commission a chapel to honour God, King Richard and his family. It would be built onto the small village church and would include a family vault, alongside the existing Redfearn vault, where Simon said he and his descendants would find eternal rest. Above the entrance to the church, he would have his personal device installed with the motto he had adopted in the Holy Land: Deus mansurum latus meum – God stay by my side. Work was to begin as soon as permission had been given by the bishop and the archbishop of the diocese.

  57

  News from Europe confirmed what Queen Eleanor, William Marshal and Simon had feared. While travelling to England overland through Austria, King Richard had been taken prisoner by Duke Leopold as retribution for the insult during the siege of Acre – when the king had torn down the Austrian flag and had trampled on it in one of his rages. This affront had not been forgotten, and once the duke learnt that the English King was in his country, he had his spies find him, after which he was arrested and imprisoned in one of his castles.

  The news distressed Queen Eleanor and alarmed William Marshal. However, the news pleased Eleanor’s youngest son, John. With Richard out of the way, his hopes to usurp the throne had improved. He had travelled the length and breadth of the country gaining support for his claim, with a combination of bribes, threats and false promises to the barons. The revelation that Richard was now a hostage was music to his ears.

  Scraps of information reached England, saying that the king had been handed over to Henry VI, the Holy Roman Emperor, who demanded a ransom of one hundred and fifty thousand marks for his release. King Philip of France surreptitiously suggested to John that they offered money to keep Richard locked away until Michaelmas 1194. This assistance would cost John much of the dominions in France, though he was tempted by the offer. He kept this information from his mother, as Eleanor was still an indefatigable woman – even at the great age that she was – and had many powerful men who were fiercely loyal to her. She kept her mind sharp, and John knew it would be difficult to keep this deal with the French King away from her. The old woman seemed to possess a magical quality that enabled her to know every plan or plot in England. His mother had a talent for getting her youngest, most suggestible son to own up to any ideas and plans that he was hatching.

  There was a spate of frantic action, and spies and emissaries were sent throughout Europe in futile attempts to find Richard. All returned without locating the king. Eventually, the minstrel Blondel, a favourite of the king, made the decision to attempt to find his royal master himself – much to the derision of the lords. How could a simple minstrel, whose only talent was to play the lute, have the brains to succeed where these learned men had failed? Eleanor was willing to try anything to bring her son back and, with her blessing, he set off to travel through Europe. He would play his lute and sing the songs he knew only his king would recognise, as Richard had composed them himself.

  His anonymity of being a simple musician gave him access to places that more powerful men could never go. His delicate, almost feminine appearance enchanted women of all ranks, and his entertainment amused many. For these reasons, he would be rewarded with a night’s sleep in the kitchen of a castle for warmth and as much food as he could eat. This was fortuitous, as servants gossiped about their masters in the kitchen, and would frequently complain about their treatment. He would take susceptible kitchen wenches to bed or flatter the grand dames with songs of unrequited, undying love, asking seemingly innocent questions about the crusade. Their lords would be more than happy to boast and embellish the time they served with the English, French or Germans.

  It seemed half of Europe knew that the volatile English king was held captive, but no one seemed to know where. He would frequently be told that King Richard was in a certain castle, which would lead him into another fruitless search. The tenacious musician would soon be back on the road, strolling innocently through towns and villages, and around the perimeter of castles, his sweet voice soaring to the highest windows, waiting for the harmonies to be sung back.

  Eventually, his search was fruitful. He discovered that his king was being held in Austria. Blondel concentrated his search along the River Danube, after more information had been divulged to him during a long night of drinking and deliberately losing at cards. For him, this was a small price to pay to discover his king’s prison, and from a high window in the Durnstein castle, the harmonising he had been waiting to hear came back to him. Blondel stopped and sang again, and once more the tenor voice, slightly strained, yet unmistakable, floated through the air to him.

  ‘Sire!’ he shouted. ‘Thank God, you are still alive! I shall return to England and tell the queen that you live and where you are held captive. We shall free you soon, my lord!’

  ‘Tell my mother I am well, as I am treated fairly. Tell her I think of her constantly,’ the voice said.

  Looking up, Blondel saw an arm come through the small window and a hand waving. ‘God bless you, sire!’ he called. He was unable to resist one more song to sing in harmony with his king, before starting on his long journey back to England with news of his success.

  Eleanor fell to her knees, weeping in gratitude, and gave thanks to God that her son had been found. She quickly became obsessed with gathering the ransom money for Richard’s release. She levied a tax, which was gathered by her men as they toured the country. Most paid willingly, because they wanted their heroic king back in preference to his malevolent, depraved younger brother – or the unthinkable prospect of precocious Arthur of Brittany. Richard’s time in the Holy Land and his appalling kidnap were the substance epic stories were made of and he was becoming a national hero. The churchmen found that their establishment was not exempt either, and their gold and silver were seized. All monies and chattels were demanded in order to bring their glorious king home.

  The ransom was raised and taken to the emperor by the German ambassador. It was at this time that John received a message from the emperor, which said he would not accept the eighty thousand marks from him or the French King. King Richard would be released on receipt of the money from the English, and the prince would have to explain himself to his mother and to his brother on his return. For this, John refused to return to England, preferring to spend his time travelling through Normandy and living off the benison of lords residing there.

  58

  Simon was summoned to Winchester to be present when the king arrived back in England and to participate in the welcoming ceremony. As he neared the city, Simon joined the multitude of travellers heading in the same direction. There were lords with their retinues, fellow knights, and ladies in their carriages, being jolted around on the uneven, dusty roads. Pedlars rode their mules weighed down with trinkets, pots and pans, hoping to make a profit from the crowds that were ascending on Winchester. Even pickpockets and cutpurses, attempting not to draw attention to themselves, hurried side by side with the gentry, some already relieving the men on foot of their money pouches. Wagons full of prostitutes also rolled along the road, with the brazen women hanging over the sides of their wagons, shouting and waving t
o the crowds heading in the same direction. Many had their bodices unlaced, exposing their large, juicy, round breasts, inviting men to suck on their teats and to insert their members somewhere warm and moist for a moment of amatory pleasure – for a price, of course. There would be easy money to be made on the streets, down the alleys and in the beds of Winchester.Simon, riding past, grinned and waved at the wagons of squealing women, promising to enjoy their delicious company during his stay in the city.

  Once he entered through the city gates, he road along streets strung with pennants of red, gold and white, fluttering gaily in the breeze. On the order of the Queen Dowager, all fountains and conduits were to flow with wine. The order from the palace to the citizens of Winchester was to dress in best clothes, the ones reserved for Sundays and Holy Days, and all were to wear sprigs of broom in caps and bonnets. The queen had cannily ordered the local silversmiths to strike silver medals with King Richard’s image on them and made her servants distribute them to the people of Winchester. She let it be known that these were special and not to be used for money, but as a keepsake to remember the day they welcomed their king back to his realm. This ensured a rapturous welcome for her darling son. He was returning the conquering hero of Jerusalem and the tragic victim of an evil emperor, found by a brave minstrel. This was the stuff legends were made of. The truth that Richard had never conquered Jerusalem and had brought about his own kidnapping by his atrocious behaviour was inconsequential detail. Eleanor would ensure he would be remembered for his victories, not his failures.

  The queen stood on the steps of Winchester Palace, her heart racing with exhilaration. She felt young again. The crowds were gathering on the streets leading to the palace and the atmosphere was prickling with ebullience. The free wine had succeeded in its task. For all his dislike of England and the English, these people were prepared to forget it. The stories of his time in the Holy Land were told and elaborated in epic proportions. King Richard was a hero to be adored and the bravest man in Christendom. The world must know about their King Richard, the greatest king to ever sit upon the throne of England. His adventures would be told and retold throughout the centuries.

  There was a loud blast of a fanfare from the heralds, which soared above the clamorous cheering. There he was, surrounded by smiling knights, thinner and gaunter, and looking older than his thirty-six years. His time in the Holy Land and enforced incarceration had seen to that. His hair was long and in need of a good cut, and his beard needed grooming – it now had flecks of grey amid the ginger bristles – but Richard rode confidently into the courtyard astride Great William. The mighty, and equally famous, horse had been taken into the ownership of the Holy Roman Emperor during Richard’s imprisonment at Durnstein and had been released reluctantly back to his master upon his restored freedom. Sensing the celebrations around him, Great William’s ears pricked and he began to prance like a colt. He shook his big head and swished his long tail. The wild, rapturous cheering deafened Richard, and he felt the waves of love flowing to him like the flowers thrown from the people of Winchester. Then, he saw his mother, Eleanor, the woman he loved above all other women, standing tall and proud. In an instant, he was off his horse and kneeling before her, feeling her hand on his head.

  ‘Stand, my son, and be recognised by your subjects,’ she said.

  Richard rose and turned to face the many looking up at him. He bowed elegantly to them and they roared their approval, ecstatically. Looking around, Richard saw Simon. Grinning broadly, the king went over to him and they embraced warmly. Even though the crowd did not know whom this one-eyed man was, the obvious affection their king held for him was enough for them to raise their voices again.

  ‘You are looking well, Fitzroy,’ Richard said approvingly.

  ‘Sire, I am a content man now, Simon replied. ‘My wife is fertile and my sons are thriving.

  ‘Then, you are blessed.’ Richard turned back to the crowds, who were still making much noise. He raised both hands to silence them and waited until an expectant silence had fallen. ‘I have returned to restore order to the land,’ he shouted, waving to them all.

  They cheered loudly as the king took his beaming mother’s hand and, after kissing it, entered the palace and the waiting banquet in honour of his successful return, with her. They would travel to London for a second coronation, and Richard explained to his mother that he would reveal his future plans for his territories in France. She was concerned at his words. His love for the battlefield and combat would not keep him in the country as a loyal king. She knew him, this favourite son of hers.

  She would later berate him for not arriving with Berengaria, in order to present his queen to her subjects, and abandoning her again. She would persuade him, and would enlist the bishops of England to persuade him, to return to Berengaria and produce an heir. However, this could wait. She would let him re-establish himself first, deal with petitions, talk with the church and the barons before making this glorious son of hers return to his queen.

  King Richard stood before the altar at Westminster Abbey, gazing with adoration at the golden, bejewelled cross on the altar. He had given thanks for his safe return to his realm, received the body and blood of Christ, and had pledged to be a good and wise king to his country. Even as he made these promises, Richard was planning his future – which did not include England. He would restore order here, but then he would head for his dominions as he was needed there too, and his preference still lay on the continent.

  The king was told that Prince John was in Rouen, refusing to return to England for fear of retribution from his brother. He would deal with John when he arrived in Normandy and already knew what he would say to his scheming brother. However, that was later. For now, he would revel in this astonishing adoration from the English. They idolised him. He had already heard rousing songs sung about his heroic time in the Holy Land and his bravery in captivity. These fools will be willing to pay higher taxes when I demand it to finance wars and the putting down of revolts. Why do they love me so? It will be easier than picking apples from a tree, Richard thought, wryly, intending to exploit this worship for all its worth.

  59

  Aubrette became aware that Petronella had been looking pale. She assured Aubrette she was just more tired than usual, and refused suggestions for the physician to examine her. She said she would be well again when spring arrived and the days were more temperate.

  However, as the temperature became warmer and the daylight hours lengthened, Petronella continued to feel unwell. She would spend entire days in bed, refusing to admit that perhaps this time she truly was unwell. She had never been exceptionally strong and had frequently been ill, though she had survived the plague when it ravaged its way through Essex. It had claimed souls from the village and the household, and even her husband, whose constitution had been stronger and more robust than her own. After Oswyn’s death, her grandsons had kept the worries of her delicate health at bay. Now, even receiving her boisterous grandsons brought little relief to her.

  Eventually, Petronella agreed to a visit from the physician. He arrived and examined her, drawing blood in an attempt to restore the humours. He prescribed a draught for her to take several times a day to restore her back to health. She promised the physician she would drink the vile green liquid, but threw the contents of the small bottle out of the window as soon as he departed.

  Aubrette and Simon argued with her, and insisted that she take her medication, but she refused, telling them again and again that it would not cure her.

  She grew painfully thin and her hair became lank. Her skin became sallow, which made her eyes appear to bulge in their sockets. Her hands, which had always been long and elegant, now resembled talons. Her wedding band would not remain on her finger and she kept it on a table by her bedside.

  ‘I am dying. You cannot deny what is true and shall happen,’ Petronella said to Simon and Aubrette as she reclined in her bed, p
ropped up with pillows. ‘It is old age that is claiming me and it will finally win.’ She gave a small chuckle. ‘I never thought I would outlive Oswyn. I would have been content to die of a fever if I had only given him a son, but God had other plans for us. So, here I am quietly dying of old age while this luxury was denied my husband. I am not sorry, truly I am not.’

  ‘Simon will find someone in Whitehall to make you well again,’ Aubrette insisted. ‘The king’s own physician, perhaps. King Richard can refuse Simon nothing.’

  Again, Petronella shook her head. ‘No, let the Lord take me when He decides it is time.’ She reached out and stroked the soft head of her small dog, who was curled up on the bed beside her. He thumped his tail on the coverlet, happily. ‘I am ready to go. Take care of my little dog and give him to Raymond. I think my grandson feels lonely, as he now has older and younger brothers who seem to take all the attention. Raymond is my sweetest boy and shall look after Ned when I am gone.’ Petronella sank back on the pillow, sighing. This had proved a weary task and she knew she would not live much longer. She already felt that her heart was slowing, and beating less and less. ‘Simon, you have been the son I wanted but never had. Look after Rowena for me; she is fortunate to have a husband such as you.’ Petronella was becoming confused as her life began to slip away.

  She held out both her hands and took those of Simon and Aubrette, squeezing them, but with barely any strength. ‘Rowena, my lovely daughter, and Simon, my handsome son, be strong and do not cry for me. My life has been good. Goodbye, my children. Never forget me,’ she whispered, so quietly that they had to lean close to hear her words.

  ‘I shall stay with her,’ said Aubrette, as Simon departed to find his eldest sons.