by Ann Turner
He found her, as usual, in her rooms doing her needlework. Berengaria stood along with her women and they all billowed into a deep curtsey to him. He dismissed the women, wishing to speak with his wife alone. Richard began to pace the floor. He had rehearsed the words he was about to use to his meek little wife, but now facing her with those large soulful eyes – reminiscent of one of his trusting, loyal and adoring hound gazing back at him – his resolve deserted him.
‘It seems unfair that I should leave you alone like this in Rouen, as you barely know the city.’ How feeble these words now sounded spoken aloud. His wife sat back in her chair and waited for him to continue. The king cleared his throat. ‘It shall be beneficial for you to move further south to a warmer clime, somewhere where you shall be more comfortable.’ Here he was, the Lionheart, the bravest man in Christendom, struggling with words spoken to a mere woman.
‘You are telling me I am to leave you,’ Berengaria said, quietly, as her lower lip began to quiver. Richard nodded; at least she was making it easier for him.
‘You shall live in comfort and want for nothing,’ he conceded. ‘And once my realm is back under my command, I shall send for you in London. You shall not be alone, for you shall have the company of all your women.’
‘Except I shall not have your company in my bed.’ The queen could not hide the contempt in her voice and Richard visibly shuddered. ‘I followed you around the Mediterranean. I was a woman hopelessly in love with you, counting herself lucky to be chosen as your bride and mother to your children. Whatever you asked of me, demanded of me, I obeyed, thinking you would like me enough to take me to your bed. A king needs to continue his bloodline, but you seem reluctant to ensure this, Richard. Is it me you find so repulsive? Am I not enough for you that you cannot bear to touch me? I do not have the pox, you know.’
‘You shall make preparations immediately to depart.’ His reply was sharp, ignoring her accusations, and he turned quickly to escape. He did not want his wife to see the antipathy on his face. For once, he felt monstrous with himself at his blatant snub to the good woman who had the misfortune to be his wife. His exit from her rooms was ungraciously fast. No more did he wish to see her, as every time he chanced to regard that face, he was reminded that he was the monster in this ridiculous farce.
Queen Berengaria sat alone, silent, miserable, unhappy – too shocked even to cry. The moment of her anger passed as quickly as it arrived. Her women were bustling back into the room now, and seeing her blank and ashen face, knew that the king had delivered some devastating news. They sympathised with her and attempted kindness, but the words fell on deaf ears. These well-meaning women would be sent into internal exile with her, to wherever Richard decided – for him, the further away the better.
This was the end of her life. She would be put away and would be forgotten by the world, by history and by Richard. She would be a widow with a living husband.
61
Life had settled down to a routine for Aubrette. Her three sons were thriving, and Esma spent time in the schoolroom with Eustace and Raymond, learning with her two grandsons how to read and write.
Simon was frequently away in service of the king; he would travel around England or to the dominions in Richard’s name. He would return home with gifts for his wife and sons, though he was no good when pressed for the latest gossip from court. Richard now seemed determined to live his life as a bachelor, and Simon had had to be the one to escort Queen Berengaria and her women to their new accommodation. The queen seemed “a sad and unhappy woman, and old before her time.” She complained that as she was still the loyal and true wife of the King of England, she could not risk the scandal of taking a man to her bed, even though her husband so cruelly insulted her virtue with prostitutes. This had made Simon wince, and he had ridden away as soon as he was able, to report back to his king of the queen’s words. Richard had shrugged his shoulders and said nothing.
Occasionally there would be a woman brought to Simon’s rooms for his amusement, but his desire now was to live a quiet life – much to his own amazement. Him, the warrior, desiring to fight for his king and chivalrous causes, was content to hang up his spurs at Romhill and preside over domestic issues and disputes. And, anyway, there would be weddings in the village, he would bring the bride to the goose bed on her first married night.Simon was never permitted to remain at Romhill for long, and he soon received another summons to attend King Richard in Normandy. He assured Aubrette it should not be for long and he would write to her frequently. There had been some disturbance and he was needed by the king’s side to assist in breaking the dispute.
With Esma, she watched as Simon rode from Romhill. She hoped his absence would not last for too long. He had promised it would not, but if any business involved King Richard Plantagenet, she could not be sure. Simon would never be allowed to retire from royal service; there would always be causes for him to ride to and disputes for him to settle. He had authority from the king to act accordingly, and to give out justice or punishment where fit. He had stood in as Richard’s representative over executions and mutilations. Aubrette found herself resenting her king, though she would never speak her thoughts aloud as this could be construed as treason. She believed that just because he had abandoned his wife, out of choice, it did not mean that each of his lords were to be expected to behave in the same shameful manner.
The two women went back inside Romhill to wait for Simon’s return, both wondering how long the next homecoming would last.
62
Richard, as King of England and Duke of Normandy, quarrelled constantly with King Philip of France over the lands the French King had regained from Prince John. Richard had won them all back, and a struggle had broken out between the two men who had been so close. It seemed that once Richard had ascended the throne as king in his own right, their friendship had begun to evaporate. Now, neither trusted the other.
There was a natural defensive position in the manor of Andeli, high above the Seine that neither king was permitted to fortify because of a longstanding treaty. Richard chose to ignore the treaty and set about creating a castle that would stand solidly against the French King, so that Normandy would belong to the Plantagenets forever. He invested twenty thousand pounds to hire the best craftsmen to bring his vision to life, and frequently came to see the castle rising, talking with the quarrymen, stonemasons and carpenters – even the workmen digging the foundations and the moat. He called the castle Château Galliard – his Saucy Castle. Simon was his constant companion throughout the construction, and he and Richard would study the plans. The king’s enthusiasm was infectious, so that even Simon could not fail to be excited at the speed the castle was being erected.
Richard was patrolling the castle with his entourage, pointing out proudly how fast it was rising. All the money he was investing was being spent wisely, and the castle was set to be completed in just one year. He stood, hands on hips, grinning broadly, observing the work that was progressing around him. He turned to Simon and the crowd, and waved a hand in the direction of the castle.
‘Look ye, at my fair daughter of one year old, all who doubted me of fatherhood,’ he crowed.
Simon exchanged glances with those around him. If they had wanted to look on the king’s daughter, they would have preferred to look on a living child, beautiful as the castle was becoming. Richard seemed ignorant of their united sentiments. ‘So fine is this castle, I would hold her if her walls were made of butter.’
When Philip heard of Richard’s bragging. His response was that he would take Château Galliard as though its walls were made of butter, knowing this provocation would infuriate the English king. It gave Philip a pleasing sense of superiority. Richard might be the King of England and his equal, but as the Duke of Normandy, he was still a vassal of the French throne and was obliged to pay deference to the French king. This was a fact that Richard could not deny, and Philip had great
delight in making sure he never forgot this.
Simon attempted to calm his infuriated half-brother after the French King’s words came back. Richard stormed around his room, cursing furiously, kicking furniture out of the way and striking out at any man unfortunate to be close. This included Simon, who received a sharp, clout across his head. If the king’s bastard brother had his ears boxed, then any other man would bound to be punished with even more severity.
Gradually, Richard calmed down. He and Philip could never be true friends again and they would bicker and squabble as two small boys for the rest of their lives. He countered by saying that he would like to see Philip try to take his Saucy Castle from him, as he would protect her as any proud father would protect their best beloved child.
63
After a year away, Simon returned home to Romhill with stories of the Château Galliard. He said it was one of the fairest castles he had seen, knowing it would not be long before the king called on his services again. Aubrette worried that her husband would want to move his family to join the royal court wherever it was situated. Simon alleviated her fears; he had no intention of moving his family from Romhill. For now, he was content to stay at home with his family and deal with local issues from home and the village.
Aubrette had waited patiently for his return, spending the time replying to his letters with news from home. Loneliness was kept at bay with the company of her mother, her sons and with the assistance of her adopted mother’s nephew, Darell.
Darrell had ridden from his home to meet with Simon and discuss business, and learning of his absence, insisted on aiding Aubrette with the running of the estate. He did not request payment for his services, claiming that family should help one another. She stated that they were not related by blood, as her father had been Lord Oswyn, but he dismissed this as foolish talk. Petronella had been kind enough to take her in and adopt her as Oswyn’s bastard child, so that made her a cousin of his. Aubrette told Simon about Darell’s help with the ledgers, and Simon had to admit that this man whom he had never met appeared to have done good work during his absence. On his return, he rode to Darell’s estate to speak with him and a friendship sprung up between the two men.
They spent many hours whoring, drinking, talking and reminiscing about their time in the Holy Land, as Darell had served there and had been fortunate enough to come away unscathed. This gave Simon the opportunity to tell the tale of how he had lost his eye again, removing the patch to show Darell his eye socket, and of the midnight ride to Jerusalem to see the golden dome in the moonlight with King Richard.
64
Richard waged war on King Philip over the following year and Simon was commanded to attend, which kept him away from home for long periods of time. This made every return to Romhill all the more sweet. He found that running the estate was relaxing in contrast to battle. The disputes between his yeomen were easy to resolve, and he would listen to the petitions from each man before deciding on a solution. The men from the village knew their lord was a just and fair man, and bowed to his judgement almost every time. But as with every other time, as soon as he was settled with his wife and children, a messenger would arrive with a command from King Richard to attend him once again to fight by his side.
In March 1199, he was summoned to Limousin, to the castle of Chalus. Richard had become entwined in a minor dispute, which Simon had first considered to be too petty for him to be involved in. There were other men who resided in the dukedom, nearer to Chalus, who Simon thought could have dealt with this squabble in his stead. However, the king’s command could not be ignored and he reluctantly set out for Normandy, assuring his wife he would be returning soon. This was a local disturbance, and would easily resolved. Once the king had stormed and raged against the inhabitants of the castle and had triumphed, this inane dispute would be done.
Richard strolled through the camp, his captain Mercadier and his bastard brother by his side. They conversed about the reason that had brought the king here in his role of Duke of Normandy. There had been reports that a pot of gold had been found, but was that worth all of this? To Richard, it was. The owner of Chalus had immediately claimed possession of the gold coins found by a farmer while he ploughed his field in the shadow of the castle. Richard, as the duke, stated that as he was their overlord, the gold was his by right. This had been disputed and Richard had set siege outside the castle walls, calling many of his best warriors to attend him to demonstrate that he was not taking this lightly. He would win his trophy and ride away with the plunder, after teaching all that opposed him a harsh lesson.
Richard proudly showed Simon his new warhorse, Tall Henry. He was a large, handsome and muscular bay stallion, with a broad white blaze down his intelligent face and four white fetlocks.
‘Great William was injured beyond recovery, after taking a spear in his belly during a charge. There was no way he would recover, so I decided to have him killed.’ Richard paused, recalling the event. ‘I would not trust anyone else to dispatch my old friend, so I drew my sword, looked him in his eye – he knew what I was about to do – and I slashed his throat. I stood as his blood flooded from his mighty body, over my shoes, soaking into the soil until he was no more.’ He paused again and heaved a heavy sigh, putting his fist to his lips. ‘I shall miss the old bugger; he carried me safely through every battle since he was a flighty colt. Tall Henry’s got spirit. He’s young, he’s high-strung, and he is fast as if a flaming torch is rammed up his arse.’
The siege dragged on, becoming a matter of principle that neither side was willing to stand down from. Richard considered this an interlude – that was all. Truthfully, it kept him away from England, which was not a bad thing. He still held no love for the country or his subjects, who bizarrely adored him, and any excuse to keep him away from that country was a good excuse for him. He decided that once this was all concluded, he would send for his wife again, who now was currently housed in a château elsewhere in Normandy, and set his mind to providing an heir to the English throne. His mother had boxed his ears and scolded him again for his neglect of Berengaria, but he could not bring himself to spend more than a few days in her company. She could still be an attractive woman had she been blessed with love, but because of him, she had turned into a sad and unfulfilled woman. The neglect showed itself on her face on the rare occasions he did see her. Her mouth seemed permanently down-turned and her brown eyes were shadowed in sadness. Even her complexion had lost its luminosity. She had grown old before her time. Few royal marriages were love matches, and theirs had certainly not been. Everyone knew this, though no one spoke it, and it was not to say that Richard completely disregarded women as bedfellows.
He had frequently ravaged women with his debauchery, taking them willingly or otherwise in their beds, tied to trees, for any soldier to abuse, behind battle lines, up against castle walls – anywhere he could drag them – but a wife? He knew he should have tried harder with Berengaria, but she never excited him. She simply lay still in the bed, frigid, and endured the distasteful event. It was not a good way to create a future king of England. So why could she not attempt to make this marriage work, instead of leaving it to her reluctant husband? All it needed was that one occasion, for him to spill his seed into her and for her to be receptive, and his heir would be conceived. Once this ridiculous siege was over, he would not be distracted by war and conquest, as these had been convenient reasons for the lack of issue from their marriage. They were always his excuse, if asked. He planned to ride to where Berengaria was housed, reconcile himself with her and set about the task of taking his wife to bed every night. He would mount her and do the deed, affection and sweet words would not be needed. Richard would plan this as a military campaign and would imagine her as the enemy to be subdued, and then he would be bound to succeed. Eleanor would finally stop chiding him once he presented his son and heir to her. For now, though, his wife would have to be put to the back of his thoughts – a
t least until this campaign was concluded.
For the past few days, an amateur sniper had been targeting him. Each arrow had so far whistled past him or landed short of its intended target, so he felt he was not in danger. He had seen the sniper and he was nothing but a lad, a boy who carried an old bow and shielded himself with a battered old saucepan. Laughable, Richard had thought.
‘My lord, you should take this more seriously,’ Simon warned, as another arrow hissed by Richard’s ear.
The king laughed aloud, pointing towards his would be tormentor. ‘Look you, Fitzroy, the boy is learning his trade and practising on me. He will make an admirable sniper one day and I may bribe him to use his services then. For now, let him shoot at me. I am in no danger. He is no more than an irritating fly.’
The captain was also not convinced, as one more arrow embedded itself in the ground at Richard’s foot. ‘You brother is right to worry, sire. All it takes is a fortunate shot and you could be injured,’ he warned, adding his voice to Simon’s concern.The King turned to face the lad and brazenly waved, calling a greeting. This was returned with a tirade of abuse, as the lad waved his fist angrily and fumbled with his bow to shoot again. Thisarrow embedded deep in the body of the hound trotting by Richard’s side and, howling with pain, it fell dying at his feet. This made Richard finally take notice. He bent down and stroked the dying hound’s head, as its dark eyes looked pleadingly up into his face.
‘Very well, I shall go and put armour on to protect myself,’ he relented and straightened up, glancing up at the lad, now angry with him for the death of his hound.
Their eyes met and they stared at each other. Richard’s cold blue gaze, unblinking, focused in on the hate-filled, young eyes of the boy. Not breaking contact, the boy loaded an arrow into the bow and aimed carefully, this was too easy. Simon and Mercadier looked quickly between the king and the boy, neither daring to breathe as if they knew what was about to happen. The arrow left the bow and hissed through the air towards the king. Richard stood solid, defiant. He was the Lionheart; he was not afraid of this fly. With a quick movement, and without a thought for his own safety, Simon stepped between his king and the arrow, ready to sacrifice his life to save Richard’s. The arrow fell short.