The Lions' Torment
Page 14
‘Where’s your dagger?’ Richard whispered.
‘I can’t reach it until I’ve unwrapped the standard.’
They arrived at a stairway and bounded upward, their light deerskin shoes squelching. Nobody challenged them. Towards the top of the keep, William signalled Richard to halt and help him unwind the flag. Both removed their shoes. As quietly as they could, they wrung water from the standard before, barefoot and step by step, they mounted to the peak.
Two guards were on duty, peering over the wall at the commotion below, but they were well trained, and sensed rather than heard the intruders. They spun round. William held his dagger in one hand, the flag in the other, but his height intimidated the guards, who chose Richard as their target. He leaped into the air like an acrobat, knocking one man to the stones. His dagger moved so fast the second guard barely saw it. The guard stepped over the body of his comrade, advancing cautiously behind his shield, his short sword at the ready. Richard rushed behind him, grabbed his hair and cut his throat, air escaping from his windpipe in a long hiss.
William re-sheathed his weapon and concentrated on hauling down the flag of Blois from the castle’s masthead. He raised the standard of gold leopards rampant.
Henry had stationed himself and a small body of knights, including Becket, on a little hill outside the castle. Glancing up, he gave a hand signal to the six hundred infantry who lay in wait in a pine forest close to the castle’s outer wall. A few weeks earlier, bowmen would have shot them to pieces. Today there were no archers protecting Chaumont. Henry’s infantry swarmed up scaling ladders, across the food garden into the kitchens and up a flight of stairs.
Deep inside the castle, in the armoury, the knights of Blois had begun dressing in hauberks, helmets and other paraphernalia of war. Satisfied that enough of them were armed, their constable gave the order: ‘Attack!’ They dashed out. As they did so, Henry and his knights cantered away. ‘He flees!’ the men of Blois shouted.
‘Not too fast, give them time,’ Henry cautioned his squadron. As the defenders rode and ran onto a stretch of level ground outside the castle, he wheeled, sword in one hand, battleaxe in the other. ‘Look up!’ he shouted.
A knight of Blois lifted his helmet to look behind him at the masthead. A horrified wail went up.
‘Abandon your arms!’ Henry roared. Each man, as if he had battled for hours, let his weapons drop from his hands.
The Seneschal of Blois wept as he kneeled before Henry, now seated in the fine carved chair of the Count of Blois. ‘I find this very comfortable,’ he remarked. ‘You may take the Count’s clothing, except his silk and velvet cloaks, jewels and furs. Everything else stays. All of you are to be gone by dawn. You may ride two men to one horse and take one packhorse. I keep the rest. All the dogs and the hunting birds.’
‘You don’t wish me to leave some cooks to prepare your food, Lord Duke?’ the Seneschal asked.
Henry replied amiably, ‘Do I look like a fool?’
The man hit his forehead on the flagging. ‘It’s the greatest disgrace Blois has suffered in two hundred years.’
‘Indeed.’ Henry turned to glance at William, who stood at his shoulder. ‘Brother, I believe you’re anxious to return to your duties in Normandy. You and our knights will accompany these men of Blois and their servants until they find new housing. After that, you can gallop to Rouen.’ He noticed that Richard, who was never more than half a foot behind William, seemed not to be paying attention. He waved the others out, signalling that his cherished scoundrel was to stay. ‘What’s wrong, Piglet?’
Richard was so self-absorbed it took him a moment to focus his mind. ‘I killed two men today, sire.’
‘It’s a while since you slit a throat, isn’t it? You seem oddly affected, but that’s what one does in a battle. Are you squeamish suddenly?’
Richard’s face lit with joy. ‘I felt …’ He stopped, unable to find the word he needed.
Henry’s curiosity was intense. ‘Felt what?’
A spasm flashed through Richard. For a moment he visibly trembled. ‘Ecstasy! Elation! They had shields and swords and body armour. I had only a dagger. As I cut them down, I rushed into heaven.’
After he had spoken, the silence in the chamber was eerie. Henry scrutinised Richard’s face. The ecstasy of the god of war fell on you, he thought. ‘Most men in battle think only of how to kill or avoid being killed. Their souls don’t touch what it is that is divine in battle, the inner conquest of fear. A man discovers himself at that moment, an instant of complete purity.’ He paused. ‘I’ll make you a knight.’
Just then Becket entered the chamber. ‘Mighty King! The brilliance of your tactics humbles not only a county. It humbles me, who rode beside you. To win without fighting the enemy is surely the mark of military genius. May I kiss your hand?’
In Angevin, Richard said, ‘He’d prefer to kiss a hairless part.’ Henry’s expression remained regally calm. He held out one hand to Becket and with the other smacked Richard across the ear.
When a post rider brought news to Eleanor that Chaumont-sur-Loire had fallen, she ordered a feast to welcome the victors. ‘Isabel, my dear,’ she said, ‘a woman in mourning does not need to starve. Will you not join the celebration? The whole of the Île-de-France speaks of nothing but this conquest. Your husband-to-be is a hero. Surely …’
‘Please don’t make me sit beside him,’ the Countess whispered.
Eleanor observed her hectic blush. She beckoned Orianne. ‘Buttercup, summon the seamstresses. All the ladies will wear masks at our victory feast.’ She turned back to Isabel. ‘We have much work ahead of us. Masks are fiddly, but,’ she laughed, ‘amusing. The men will be forced to guess who is who. I may seat you beside my husband. If you cover your hair in a purple veil and wear one of my tiaras, you’ll discover how ridiculously people behave towards a queen. Purple is appropriate for mourning, especially after more than a year.’ Eleanor thought that Isabel’s smile, though apprehensive, was happy. She leaned forward to give the younger woman a playful pinch on the hand.
As soon as she was alone with Orianne she said, ‘You’re to befriend her personal maid and persuade her that the Countess should stay on this side of the Narrow Sea to celebrate Christmas with us. It’ll sound better coming from a maid than from me. The widow is in love with Willi, but in bringing them together I must proceed cautiously.’
Orianne’s eyes grew round. ‘Do you think they might …’
‘Such things are too wonderful to know. The way of an eagle in the air, the way of a serpent upon a rock, the way of a ship in the midst of the sea, and the way of a man with a maid.’
Orianne’s white eyelashes dropped to hide her smirk.
‘We’ll have a splendid Christmas court. As a mark of honour to Henry, I’ll arrange it in his birthplace of Le Mans.’
The maid saw that her mistress intended to get herself with child. Perhaps they both will, she thought. The Queen with the King and the Countess with His Highness’s brother.
Eleanor was still speaking. ‘Because next year, as soon as the ground has thawed, Henry and Louis will be at war.’
In Paris, the new young Queen screamed, ‘I told you the Angevins are devils! They’ve stolen our greatest castle, our jewels, our furs, our horses, our falcons. And my favourite puppy.’
‘I’ll win everything back for you, my dear,’ Louis answered wearily. He’d been awake most of the night, trying to calm his raging wife. He’d been disappointed that she had not fallen pregnant on their wedding night, as the prophecy made him expect she would. Since then, the shock of his baby daughter’s wedding with its malicious gossip about her bowels, the automatic loss of the Norman Vexin and now the capture of Chaumont-sur-Loire had all combined to unman him.
Adela was alarmed. I’ll ask information from my ladies about the marriage bed, she decided. I’ll get a son in it who will kill Henry Plantagenet.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The masked banquet to celebrate the capture of
Chaumont had been such a joyous success, the Queen decided that masks should again be used during the nativity festival, with prizes for those who showed most imagination. These would be in addition to awards for singing, dancing, miming and reciting poetry, all competitions open to both men and women.
‘Is it wise to invite women to perform in public?’ Henry asked.
‘They’ll be incognito,’ she replied.
The excitement of this novelty was so great that people rode fifty miles to Le Mans to attend it. In addition to the Queen’s ‘troubadour court’, as it was called, each night her husband held archery tournaments, sword-fighting games and wrestling matches under a huge tent pitched on flat ground in the park of the chateau. Hamelin won the archery time after time. Richard won a jumping event, surprising the crowd by flying over the bar backwards from a handstand. Henry chose not to enter the sword fights, as he knew that whoever his opponent was, the man would let him win. He ordered William to follow his example and seated them both on a dais as judges. The prizes were gold coins from the share of loot seized at Chaumont. For her competitions, Eleanor gave away Blois hunting birds and a few of its finest hounds. When the entertainments ended, she and her husband left together, hand-in-hand and laughing.
When guests at the St John’s Day feast assembled wearing masks, a group of churchmen arrived bare-faced. They looked around at the cats and dogs, deer, fish, Viking helmets and someone in a parchment mitre. ‘Devilry!’ one gasped. Henry pushed the lion mask to the back of his head and beckoned them over.
‘Have you never read the Bible?’ he demanded. ‘Our Saviour enjoyed a feast. He consorted with harlots. He turned water into wine. If you don’t like my hospitality, you may leave. Immediately.’
Becket had been wearing a rabbit’s face, but had removed it just before the prelates arrived. He doubled up with hilarity at Henry’s dismissal of the bishops. My moment presents itself, he thought.
Next morning he dispatched a page with a message asking for a private audience. He chose a robe of a silvery gold over a purple gown, the image of grandeur completed by fine purple shoes from Lombardy.
Henry was in an expansive mood. He had spent much of each night enjoying his wife, who clearly wanted another child. The Chancellor arrived whistling. The audience hall was not much more than a desk, a couch and a few gilded chairs. A fire partly warmed it, with more heat from a couple of braziers. The King was yawning. Hamelin lay asleep on the couch. Becket’s whistle died on his lips.
‘Henry, I wanted to speak privately.’
The King waved a hand towards his brother. ‘Bullfrog sleeps like a hound after a day’s hunt. He won’t bother us.’
‘He bothers me.’
‘Well, darling, don’t let him.’ He smiled at his visitor, remembering a particularly exciting moment with his wife a few hours earlier. He couldn’t be more well disposed, Becket realised.
‘It’s about Canterbury,’ he began. The King grunted. ‘You’ve given no indication whom you’ll propose to the conclave of bishops as their next leader. As Archdeacon, I believe we can’t allow the situation to drag on. They grow restless. They need a leader.’
The royal face remained amiable and attentive but was no longer suffused with languid content. ‘Whom do you have in mind?’
‘There’s Foliot, of course.’
Henry nodded. ‘Everyone wants him.’
‘Sire, the brilliant tactics you showed in your strategy for capturing Chaumont are needed for Canterbury.’
The King’s head leaned to one side. Suddenly he guffawed. ‘Bec! An abbess! Is that how your thinking runs?’
‘Please, Henry, this is a matter of utmost seriousness. I believe we must move outside the normal limits of what is considered possible.’
The King inhaled deeply and stared at Thomas in silence.
‘I-I-I believe …’
The scoundrel is going to ask me for it. A slow smile spread across Henry’s face. ‘You believe …?’
Becket clenched his fists. It came out with a rush. ‘I believe you should nominate me.’
Henry flung back his head, laughing so loudly Hamelin woke up. Becket’s cheeks turned scarlet.
‘What have I missed?’ Hamelin boomed.
Tears of laughter ran down his brother’s face. ‘Bec wants to be Archbishop of Canterbury! Eh, Bullfrog, what do you think of that?’
The merlin glanced at the Chancellor, then lay down again and closed his eyes. He seemed to have gone back to sleep.
Henry wiped his face with a handkerchief. ‘You’re a very amusing man, Tom-Tom. You’re not a priest. You’ve never said Mass. You’ve taken no vows. You’re a fancier of fine food. Your Latin is appalling. You barely know the Bible. You’ve slaughtered thousands of people. You would make the Church the merciless heart of the realm.’
Becket rose, his face white. ‘I slaughtered for you! How dare you fling it in my face? Without me, Henry, your kingdom would be a ruin! It was I who rescued the country from starvation and poverty after the civil war. It was I who taught you how to read the chequered board. I filled your treasury with silver and gold. I advised you to ban moneyers and reserve the minting of coin exclusively to the Crown. I entertained ambassadors for you because holding banquets bored you. I was a free man you turned into a slave. You owe me a great deal. If you had a sou’s worth of honour …’ Abruptly he realised he had gone too far.
Henry’s face was black. ‘Honour? You question my honour, you swine? Get out!’ He flung an inkhorn at his visitor, its contents staining his gown with a hundred spots.
The King’s ferocity made the Chancellor stumble as he rushed from the chamber, but as he reached the door, he turned, wrenched the aquamarine from his thumb and hurled it at Henry. Outside, he doubled over in pain but slowly straightened until he could stand with his back against the cold of the stone wall. He waited for his heart to stop pounding before returning slowly to his quarters, a hand pressed against his side.
His page ran forward. ‘Sir, you’re ill! How may I assist you?’
‘You can leave me alone. Give me a cup of wine before you go.’
As he drank it, he composed in his head the letter he would write to Herbie. It would be brief: I requested the position. He laughed in my face and threw an inkwell at me. Everything is lost.
In his bedchamber, he lay down face down, sobbing. I’ll kill myself, he decided. The obloquy must fall on Henry for driving me to it. He began to imagine how it could be done. Poison, with a note to Herbert, sent well in advance, saying that the King in a drunken rage had ordered him to swallow it. But where to buy the poison? Henry would insist on discovering its origin. He’d detail his most intelligent justiciar, Richard de Lucy, to investigate. More difficulties mounted in Becket’s mind. At length, despite the pain in his side, he slept.
His mother came to him. ‘Persist,’ she said. ‘You will overpower the lion. You will humiliate him for a thousand years.’ She changed into a leopard, and he woke suddenly.
‘The leopard, the spotted panther cat,’ he breathed. He looked at the ruined gown he still wore. ‘I am that leopard. I lie silently, patiently, waiting to leap.’ The thought made him smile, but after a moment gloom covered him once more. Living with Henry means a darkened heart, he realised. It means contempt for all others who don’t suffer as I do. My love, that he spurned, corrupts my soul.
Hamelin had heard everything from the moment Becket entered the audience chamber. Henry glared at him. ‘Say something.’
‘You could have done that better. You could have agreed with him about his importance. You could have pointed out he would have the honour of foster father to the Crown Prince. You might have said you were aware Theobald had recommended him as his successor. You might even have mentioned that thanks to you, he is one of the richest men in England.’
‘That’s not thanks to me. That’s thanks to his own thievery.’
Hamelin snorted. ‘You’ve known of it. You’ve not stayed his hand.’
‘Your married life is complicated because your wife is the most powerful woman in Europe. That’s not stopped you defying her wishes in the past.’
‘This is different,’ Henry muttered. ‘I happen to agree with her reasoning. Bec wants power for power’s sake. He doesn’t want to build a strong house, a ship that will carry the realm safely through both calm and stormy weather. He doesn’t begin to understand the obligations of a throne. His passion is to be considered glorious. He needs the world to admire him, to look at him and gasp, “How handsome! What elegance!” He wants to strut about.’
‘True,’ Hamelin sighed.
Henry looked up and startled. Tears were streaming down his brother’s face.
‘Was that the lightning of the storm you spoke of, when you saw Becket stand in the sky?’
The merlin shook his head. His tears stopped. ‘They show me but forbid me to tell you. If I disobey, I will instantly forget what I’ve been shown. Brother, you should have let me die in the forest. I’d be happier dead than half blind, seeing the future but with a gag in my mouth.’
Henry cradled him against his chest, remembering how, in childhood, Hamelin had cradled him, saying, ‘Hush, little brother. Your mother is only teaching you strength to become a great king.’
December was mild enough for riding through the leafless woodlands before the afternoon feast. Each day when the weather was dry, William and Isabel trotted side by side, trying to outdo each other in spotting squirrels that crouched on grey branches, guarding their hoard of nuts. Sometimes they saw mysteriously beautiful swans drifting on the cold, still water of a pond.
On their third ride, they dismounted, and Isabel allowed him to hold her hand as they walked towards a stream. Next day, beneath the limbs of an oak, she drew him to her and they kissed. When they opened their eyes, both were panting.