The Lions' Torment

by Blanche d'Alpuget

  In German he said, ‘Did you smell the roast pork, Lothar? They look after us well. But we don’t leave without the jewel we came for.’ He knew Henry understood German.

  The King showed no sign of comprehension. In Angevin he murmured to his brothers, ‘He refers to Charlemagne’s emerald, but I don’t have it.’

  Abruptly the Archbishop struck himself on the forehead. ‘I almost forgot! The Emperor sends a gift, Highness.’

  Lothar undid the canvas at the top of the cage and gingerly lifted it away. The reception party stepped backwards. A black monster stood before them. Its hackle feathers stood out like spears, its scaled feet tied to an iron bar with leather jesses. After days spent in darkness, it turned its gaze on the humans, its eyes as yellow as dandelions, glittering with savagery.

  ‘The biggest eagle I’ve ever seen!’ Henry exclaimed.

  ‘She comes from a land far to the east. You can hunt wolves with her,’ the envoy said.

  ‘She’s trained?’

  ‘A king’s bird. Only a strong man can control her. Please excuse me. I’m an old man, compared to Your Highness.’

  The ambassador waddled out, following Becket to the apartment prepared for foreign dignitaries. In German he said to his assistant, ‘Lothar, this English courtier could charm a monkey to peel fur off its back. We have to be careful.’

  Inside the audience chamber, Henry pointed at the eagle and looked from one to the other of his brothers.

  ‘I’ll take the stinking thing outside,’ William said.

  ‘As soon as he leaves, she leaves,’ Henry muttered. ‘She’ll slaughter our falcons.’

  ‘You can’t free her,’ Hamelin grumbled. ‘She’ll kill sheep.’

  ‘We’ll clean her cage and place her in the dining hall to show Barbarossa how delighted we are.’

  While the envoy rested, Henry gave Becket the background information he needed to negotiate. ‘If my mother’s information is correct, the Emperor is moving eleven thousand troops towards the border of his territory, Burgundy, hard against Aquitaine. I hope it’s a lie. Prelates have been warning me for weeks, but they’re all Louis’ men, trying to force me to declare for Pope Alexander. If Barbarossa were to invade my southern domain, I’d need Louis’ help to defeat him.’ As the King spoke, he walked about restlessly.

  In Angevin Hamelin said, ‘For God’s sake sit down, brother. You look nervous. To negotiate well Thomas must feel confident of our position. He must feel confident in you.’

  Becket snatched a look at the merlin. He’d not understood the words but had caught their tone. ‘I’ll crack him, Henry,’ he said. ‘I have the upper hand. I sense a weakness in the Emperor’s position. The envoy is agitated. The slightest thing makes him laugh to disguise fear.’

  The King patted his cheek. Becket realised he felt suddenly calm. I’ve changed, Henry. Grief was the price of my love for you. I can’t grieve more or I’ll go mad. In the fire of desolation I forged a different man.

  A chamber close to the dining hall had been set aside for the chancellors. ‘He’s used to a much colder climate. I want the air very warm. I want him to feel uncomfortable,’ Becket said. ‘And he’s a glutton. The fragrance of dinner should waft into us. The heat and his stomach will slow his thinking.’

  Henry laughed. ‘My Tom.’

  Becket had a large chessboard set up between two richly draped chairs, for use in those moments that could arise when each man needed time to think of a response without loss of authority.

  ‘Please begin, Lord Archbishop.’ Becket observed that Rainald’s cheeks were changing colour from sallow to pink. His clothing was of the thickest wool and appeared lined with lambskins. Soon you’ll ask for one of the braziers to be removed. The ambassador was peering at the chess pieces. He moved a pawn forward.

  ‘Here we go, Chancellor.’ He tapped the piece. ‘This is you.’

  Becket cocked an eyebrow. ‘How elegant. I believed it was you, Excellency.’

  Rainald chuckled and tapped a rook. ‘This is me, and this …’ he poked a piece with such force, it fell over, toppling all those in front of it, ‘this thing calls itself the Pope.’ The piece he’d pushed down was the black king.

  Already at the first hurdle, Becket thought. ‘I fear, my lord, you’re mistaken.’ He reached over the downed pieces to snatch the black king from the board and tapped the white king. ‘This is the anti-pope.’

  ‘They’re your orders?’

  ‘Not orders, Excellency, but the belief of all pious Christians outside Germany. And if I may be so bold as to pass on intelligence we have, also the view of many of your own clergy.’

  ‘How do you hear that?’ Rainald demanded.

  ‘Men set out on pilgrimage and somehow wander into our territory, or to the lands of King Louis. Naturally, the question of who is Pope arises.’

  Rainald grunted. Becket watched his skin become shiny as oily perspiration began to form around his hairline.

  ‘Is the chamber too warm for you, Excellency?’

  ‘No,’ the ambassador snapped. ‘Louis is a religious fanatic. It warps his thinking.’

  He needs to gauge the relationship between Henry and the King of France. ‘Indeed, he’s pious and to his great honour led the Second Crusade.’

  Rainald lifted a buttock to fart. ‘That was a decision made by his wife, now Queen of the English. We don’t put store by that.’

  ‘Ah, my dear friend, the experience of the Holy Land had a profound effect on Louis. He’ll fight like a mountain lion to ensure Alexander is recognised as the true Pope.’

  Rainald snorted. ‘Last year Louis and your liege fought a vicious war in Toulouse.’

  Becket made a quick decision to lie. ‘Indeed. But when Christmas came, the holy season softened the hearts of both kings. They exchanged gifts and renewed their vows of amity.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  The fart had been loud but seemed odourless. Nervousness, Becket thought. He leaned forward, his eyes caressing Rainald’s perspiring face, and dropped his voice to a confidential pitch. ‘I myself took a sacred relic to Paris and presented it in person to King Louis. He was overcome with emotion.’

  ‘What was it?’ Rainald demanded.

  Becket drew back, shocked. He closed his eyes as if in a struggle with himself about how to reply. ‘I don’t believe I may reveal that.’

  The Archbishop grinned sceptically. Becket glanced towards a wall, seeming to gather courage. His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Actually, we cut a little finger from the sacred hand of St James – cut right through the golden glove – and presented it to the King. Hence Louis’ great emotion and gratitude to King Henry.’ He noted that Rainald looked as angry as a wet cat.

  ‘That was ours! The Empress stole it.’

  Becket murmured, ‘Please, I beg you, do not reveal to my liege that I told you this. I have disclosed a royal secret. The hand is truly miraculous. When we cut the finger off, it regrew.’

  Rainald nodded slowly, smiling. ‘Did you mention that to King Louis?’

  ‘I was unaware of it at the time.’

  The German nodded again, his small, clever eyes alight with amusement.

  ‘I confided in you, my dear friend, so you would understand the closeness of the bond that exists between the kings of England and France.’

  The chamber fell into silence. At length Rainald said, ‘So, due to his friendship with Louis, your liege supports the false Pope Alexander?’

  Becket closed his eyes again. He sighed. ‘In truth, Lord Archbishop, my liege is not a man of much piety.’

  ‘We all know that.’

  ‘And therefore he tries to stay aloof from the politics of the Roman curia.’

  ‘You haven’t answered the question,’ Rainald said. ‘But before you do, I must inform you that the Emperor is moving eleven thousand fighting men towards the western border of Burgundy. It’s merely a step into Aquitaine.’

  Outside, the oyster-grey sky turned purple with rainclou
ds; churls lit torches throughout the palace. In his private chamber, the King waited for the moment when the chancellors reached an impasse, trying to distract his mind from the problem of Charlemagne’s emerald with a word puzzle. After a while he said, ‘Willi, dash to Mother and beg her to tell you where the emerald really is. You can be back before supper.’

  Moments after William left, the tall assistant arrived, beads of sweat on his moustache. ‘Sire, the chancellors ask if they may join you.’

  Once they were seated, Henry asked his visitor, ‘May I address Your Grace as Rainald?’

  ‘That’s my name.’

  ‘Rainald, King Louis and I – and the Emperor, I believe – would prefer to avoid the expense in blood and treasure of a war.’

  ‘The Emperor is well prepared for war.’

  ‘I’m aware of that. And what, my dear Rainald, do you think would persuade him to order his army to move away from the border with Aquitaine?’

  The ambassador laughed out loud and jerked his thumb at Becket. ‘Lord King, he already asked me that question. I said we needed to consult you.’

  Henry raised an eyebrow at his guest. ‘Rainald, what the Emperor and I wish to achieve will happen through the diplomatic skill of my Chancellor. Won’t it, dear Tom?’

  ‘I trust so, Highness.’ Becket relaxed in his chair.

  The King stood. The ambassador and everyone else leaped to their feet. ‘When it comes to serious matters, I believe roast pork speaks with the greatest wisdom.’ He cocked an elbow for the envoy’s hand. ‘Your Grace, allow me to conduct you to the dining hall. It’s much cooler in there.’

  ‘Thank God!’

  As he left, Rainald’s head swivelled. He stared hard at Richard, who had sidled into the chamber. ‘Another beautiful young man,’ he murmured. ‘The linguist. What would he be? Eighteen years old now?’

  ‘We think so,’ Henry said.

  Becket hung back until all the Plantagenets, including Little Geoffrey, had left. Richard said with a grin, ‘Worming your way back into favour?’

  ‘Worm, Richard? I’m negotiating our escape from a war with Germany. You’re a worm. I am His Highness’s strong right arm. Slut.’

  The youth stared at him. ‘I know about your letters to Herbert of Bosham. Shit-eater.’ He laughed as he dodged Becket’s well-aimed kick.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The eagle, fed a rabbit, bathed in tepid water, stroked by the falconer who had travelled with her, allowed to fly around the sky above the palace then re-hooded, had been carried to the centre of the dining hall. The envoy clapped with pleasure. When he belched, Henry judged the moment had arrived to speak frankly.

  ‘If I may summarise the events that bedevil us, Rainald, I would like to do so now.’

  ‘Go ahead.’ The Chancellor-Archbishop patted his stomach, his eye on a platter of buttered beets that pages carried towards the dining board.

  ‘There was an election by the papal curia, but the vote was not unanimous,’ Henry began.

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Under canon law, a pope’s election should be unanimous, but at the end of an exhaustive process a cardinal from Siena had the majority of votes, while Cardinal Octavian, whom your Emperor calls Pope Victor, had fewer. Only three.’

  ‘The Sienese cheated. He comes from a wealthy family and bought at least four votes. The election would have been unanimous in our favour had he not done so.’

  ‘Of that I know nothing. I know the Sienese and his supporters believed he was to become Bishop of Rome. But at the moment when the purple stole was being lowered over his shoulders, men with drawn swords intervened. They were your Emperor’s knights.’

  ‘Quite so. They arrived to ensure the Sienese did not steal St Peter’s throne.’

  Henry continued, ‘Instead the purple was placed over a cardinal now styled Pope Victor.’

  ‘Victor is the Pope! He lives in Rome. The Holy Roman Emperor – my Emperor – protects him.’

  ‘The Sienese and his followers fled to Louis. All the bishops of France recognise him as Pope Alexander. They declare Victor an anathema.’

  ‘Idiots!’ Rainald banged his fist on the dining board. ‘I’ve known that Sienese since we were students in Bologna. Lord King, I’m a plain-speaking man. He speaks out of both sides of his mouth at once.’

  ‘Nevertheless, from this impasse the situation can deteriorate. If my dear friend His Highness Barbarossa were to attack France, for example, Pope Alexander might declare an interdict on his entire domain. There would be riots, especially in the communes of Lombardy.’

  In a provincial dialogue unfamiliar to Henry, His Eminence said, ‘Lombardis are shit-eating swine,’ before reverting to French. ‘Pope Victor is a good man. An honest man.’

  Henry became thoughtful. ‘Of that I have no doubt. But to keep him on Peter’s throne requires a great many troops.’

  Becket, seated on the King’s left hand, was paying close attention. Now the King turned to him and in rapid English murmured, ‘You see Barbarossa’s military problem, Bec?’ He turned back to the envoy. ‘Excuse me while I confer with my Chancellor.’

  He and Becket both rose. The table stood. They strolled to a corner of the dining hall while the ambassador made expressive hand gestures to the pages to serve him more beets.

  ‘The Emperor is desperate to prevent the northern cities in Italy from revolting again. He’s forced to garrison a third of his army there, but in championing an anti-pope, he’s overreached himself. Did you watch Rainald when he spoke of the army in Burgundy?’

  ‘He was lying.’ Becket’s expression was calm.

  ‘I’m of the same opinion. Barbarossa believes that after the disastrous encounter in Toulouse, the time is opportune for him to make an alliance with me against Louis.’

  ‘I’ve convinced Rainald that you and Louis are now bosom friends.’

  Henry bent to Thomas’s ear. ‘Fox!’

  They returned to the board with the quiet, determined expressions of men committed to a cause. When everyone was seated, the King said, ‘I believe, Rainald, the Emperor and I need to forge a closer bond. I know he does not yet have an heir, but in a year or so he will have. I therefore want to offer him my daughter as a bride for his future son.’

  The toad jaws stopped chomping. Rainald had to swallow twice before he flung back his head, laughing. ‘The Emperor warned me! He said, “Rainald, my friend is of nimble mind.” I come with a warning of war. You offer me a baby girl. Ha ha ha ha!’

  Henry’s jovial smile was the cue for loud applause and banging wine cups.

  When the noise abated, he said, ‘Within a few days my Queen will arrive with our daughter. You can see the girl for yourself and report to the Emperor. Meanwhile, I thought you might do my widowed mother the honour of calling on her. I believe when she was Empress you were presented at court.’

  ‘The Great Lady! What a delight.’ Rainald beckoned to his assistant. In a dialect of their own he said, ‘Lothar, we’re trapped in a spider’s web.’ To Henry he said in French, ‘I’ve just asked my assistant if we have a suitable gift for the Empress. I fear we do not.’

  ‘She lives in utmost simplicity. A nostalgic conversation will delight her more than a gift.’

  Becket whispered in English, ‘Remember when Barbarossa demanded you return the sacred hand of St James?’ They grinned. ‘You told him the hand would not let go of the marble of your grandfather’s tomb.’

  ‘We sent him a Byzantine tent as compensation. You pissed yourself laughing.’ Henry patted Becket’s cheek. ‘You and I made a good team, Tom.’ He looked into Becket’s eyes. I feel a rent in the fabric of reality. Our souls fly through it, wing to wing, to a sky of sweet memories. His gaze, resting on Thomas’s face, was gentle.

  Becket’s heart gripped inside his chest and for a moment he could not breathe. I still adore him. ‘We will be again, Henry.’ To the German Chancellor he said, ‘It would be my honour to escort you to the Empress.’

 
; At that instant the threatened storm arrived with a clap of thunder. Imprisoned on her perch, the eagle, her hackles standing like swords around her neck, flared black sails.

  ‘Good omen!’ the ambassador cried. ‘She makes the Emperor’s sign.’

  At the house of retreat, Empress Matilda said to William, ‘You’re to tell Henry it’s vanished.’

  Night enclosed the palace when he arrived back, downcast and empty-handed. Becket, on edge from the day’s events, a turmoil of love and pain once more struggling inside him, happened to be walking back and forth near the entrance when the Viscount stepped through the double doors.

  ‘My lord, you look miserable.’

  ‘Mother used to have Charlemagne’s great emerald. She says she’s lost it. Or can’t remember where she put it.’ He stared at his boots.

  He believes his mother lied to him. ‘How nerve-racking for all of us. That horrible little man told me Barbarossa believes it has magical powers. He’s convinced Henry has it. He believes it was thanks to the emerald that Henry won the English throne and beat the Welsh, and Virgin knows what else. If diplomacy does not work, he’s determined to get it back by force. We face war over a jewel, rather than a pope, if your mother can’t find it.’

  The Viscount nodded glumly. ‘I tried my best, Chancellor.’

  Becket blurted, ‘You’re so gorgeous; if you asked me for the heart out of my breast I’d give it to you.’

  William laughed to cover his embarrassment.

  Overnight it rained heavily, but by morning the sky was clearing and Becket joined the King’s party for a pre-breakfast ride.

  In Normandy, Henry did not bother to attend morning prayers, and on this side of the Narrow Sea, Thomas was not obliged to oversee the arrangement of the palace chapel. They took a falcon and hounds in case they spotted something worth hunting, but the point of their excursion was the pleasure of exercising themselves and their horses after the long, dark months of winter. Mud flew from hooves, even spattering the King, who rode in the lead. He was in a jocose mood, delighted with himself and Becket for their progress around the papal schism.