I was enjoying the sheer pleasure of sitting out and drinking with my men when I heard a sharp intake of breath from Alf. He was frozen with his goblet half way towards his mouth. “What is it, Alf? Have you seen a ghost?”
“No lord, but look.”
I saw where he gazed. There were four men at arms and they wore a surcoat with four red stars on a yellow background. The last time we had seen that was in the Holy Land and they had been with my enemy, de Waller, but we had met them earlier in Nissa and in Constantinople. Their master, the Count of Provence had abused Alf’s mother and ill-treated him. We had taken him from them. One of their knights, Guy of Èze, had sworn to have vengeance. The last meeting had not been pleasant but then we had had the protection of the King of Jerusalem. Here we would be in the land where they held the power.
“They may not recognise you but we shall be wary.” In truth, they seemed not to notice us. An hour later and they had gone. They had not even glanced in our direction.
John and Gurth had done well. They had secured the services of eight men at arms. All were English and, like us, keen to return to an England free from civil war and riven by internal strife. We headed back to our ships. My three French men at arms had found us and told us that my family was safely back on the ship and that they had all that they needed. Leaving my archers and men at arms to enjoy a night in the port I went back to the ship with Sir Thomas, our squires and my new men. I would divide them between the four ships. I was pleased with the way the day had gone and I had put the red stars and yellow surcoats from my mind.
My wife was happy. She had found fresh food and she was pleased with the quality. The captain had made good trades. He had traded some of our figs, lemons and olives which might be over ripe by the time we reached England and he had split the profits with us. It was all good. We ate on the quay. The captain had tables brought from below decks. My men had often cracked their heads on the low decks. By the time my warriors returned the food was ready and the air was one of celebration. The new men were welcomed to our family. Samuel and his sister Ruth never stood on ceremony. They smiled and giggled at any new face. The warriors had been fighting for ten years and the sight of a four-year-old giggling was, somehow, exciting.
The mood was broken when I saw the approach of a number of armed men. My sword was on the ship and I had been drinking. The yellow surcoat should have warned me but the four officials wearing the Genoese livery dulled my reactions. I recognised Guy of Èze who jabbed out an accusing finger. “There, that is the slave and the ones who abducted him! I demand justice!”
His voice was high pitched and he was angry. Behind him I recognized Robert of Nissa. He had a smirk on his face which I was desperate to remove with my sword.
Once of the men in the Genoese livery spread his arms, “Lord, I am sorry to intrude but the men of the Count of Provence have made an accusation against you.”
I had not had enough to drink to make me insensible. “And what is that accusation?”
“They say that you took that slave from Constantinople and he is their property.”
“And to whom do I answer?”
“The mayor has a court and there is a justice there. You need to present yourselves and answer the charges.”
I nodded, “We will be there.”
Guy of Èze became almost apoplectic with rage, “Arrest them now! They will flee the port!”
I stood and walked over to the warrior. I was taller than he was and, although he had a sword, he shrank back at my approach. “Guy of Èze, you are a rodent! I am a lord. I say that I will answer the charges in the court and that should be good enough. If it is not then I will fetch my sword and we will settle the matter here before God!”
I could see that he was not willing to do so. He wanted more than my death. He wanted me to suffer and to be humiliated but the official settled the matter, “No, lord, that will not be necessary. Your word is good enough for us. We will see you at the court at the third bell of the morning.”
I could see, in his eyes, that he was pleading with me to flee. I would not give the Count of Provence that satisfaction. “We will be there.”
After they left Alf said, “I will not go back to that man! I will take my own life before I will do that!”
I turned on him, “Are you a man or something which crawled from a pond? Do you think that we will not defend you? We will settle this matter here or else it will pursue us home to England. When I reach the Tees, I want no entanglements from the past. I have suffered that before! Now tell me all!”
I sat with Sir Thomas, Brother Peter and John of Chester. We listened to Alf’s full tale. Brother Thomas was unfamiliar with all of the details. When he had finished I said, “We have a case, do we not?”
Brother Peter concurred, “They have not a leg to stand on. This is a bullying tactic.”
“Good, then all of you get some sleep. We will go to the court and then sail home. We will not stop again!” I glanced at my wife who nodded. As I lay in my bunk I ran through the events. Had the Count of Provence wanted Alf he would have sent more men and taken him by force. His men had not been afraid to fight. There was something else going on here I did not understand.
I was awake early and I spoke with Brother Peter before we left. We went to the court with swords. All men did so and we went without helmets and shields. I left my new men aboard for they did not know Alf but the rest would all come. They would be there to defend their shield brother. I also left Masood to watch my family. He had a bow and he knew how to kill. No matter what happened I wanted my family to be safe. Before we left I ensured that the captain would be ready to sail when we returned.
I saw that the men of the family of the Count of Provence were well represented. The count himself was not there but the two cousins were. They had the smug self-satisfied look of men who think they are going to win.
The magistrate was a knight; or he had been a knight when he was younger. He was a large man and he had not been astride a horse since Alf had been born. He glared at us as we entered. The Count of Provence held power here and justice would be more likely to favour him. We would not receive a fair trial. I had a plan. I had talked it through with Brother Peter and my men were all ready. Alf was worried. I could tell that. He did not want to be returned to the Count of Provence. If he did then he would die. I was not going to let that happen.
“Lord, give us your title and your credentials. Let the court hear.”
I forced a smile upon my lips. “I am William of Bella Aqua in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. I am the son of Alfraed, Earl of Cleveland, the Empresses Matilda’s Champion, Warlord of the North and I am here to answer for my deeds.” I saw that my introduction had disturbed the magistrate. I had thrown around names which were far mightier than the Count of Provence. “I might also point out that Alf, son of Morgan is the son of a Varangian guard who died in the service of the Emperor.” I smiled again.
The magistrate nodded and looked slightly less annoyed, “Who brings this case?”
Guy of Èze confidently stepped forward, “I do, on behalf of my uncle, the Count of Provence!” Had I not named Empresses and Kings he might have impressed those gathered but, I had already grabbed their attention, it fell flat. I saw that he was discomfited. He ploughed on regardless. “This so-called lord and another barbarian took this slave from my uncle in Constantinople and then fled, like felons, to the Holy Land. My uncle demands justice. He demands the return of his slave and reparation for his loss over the intervening years.”
I saw now that this was nothing more or less than an attempt to extort money from me. That was why he had not taken Alf by force. He wanted the treasure that was in my ships. He was nothing better than a pirate.
The magistrate spread his hands, “My lord, what have you to say?”
I nodded, “Where are the papers of ownership?” I stared at him and saw the first flicker of doubt. They had no papers. “You say that Alf was your slave and if that is true you wi
ll have papers to prove it.”
I could not believe that they had not concocted some forgery to prove their lie. They had thought that the count’s name alone would serve.
Guy of Èze jabbed a finger in Alf’s direction, “His mother was a slave!”
I turned to Alf, “Did the count pay money for your mother?”
We had been over this and, although it had been difficult for him, Alf answered truly. “The count took her as a courtesan when I was seven summers old. He used her but he did not pay coin for her.”
Guy of Èze shouted, triumphantly, “There! There! He has admitted!”
The magistrate turned, “He has admitted that the count took the mother of a young boy and used her. That does not amount to ownership.” I watched his face as he weighed up what he had heard. As much as he did not want to upset the count, there were fourteen warriors in his court and Guy of Èze’s argument was weak. “Unless there is more evidence I cannot rule on this case. Sir William is right. There should be some documents of ownership.”
It was then that Guy of Èze lost all composure. He turned on the magistrate, “You would side with a barbarian who takes a jewess whore as his wife over the Count of Provence!”
I sensed the anger in my men but I became cold, “Apologize!”
Guy of Èze looked around for support. Apart from his own men he had none, “But it is true.”
I watched the magistrate metaphorically washing his hands. He sat back. He knew that the young Lombard had gone too far.
“Apologize or I will meet you with sword and shield and we shall let God decide this matter.”
“I will not apologize!”
The magistrate leaned forward. He looked relieved that the Lombard had given him a way out. “Then William of Aqua Bella has the right to trial by combat. I have so judged!”
Guy of Èze was no coward. He smirked, “Good! I will kill you, Englishman and then we shall see what happens. There is a field north of the city gates. I will meet you there in an hour.”
Once outside I said, “Sir Thomas and Brother Peter go back to my ships and watch them and my family. I do not trust these men. It may be that they try to take the ships by force.”
“But lord this may be a trap. They do not seem like honourable men.”
“Quite likely but I have my own men and we will be watched from the walls of the city. I have no doubt that many burghers will come to watch the spectacle. I cannot believe that the Count of Provence and his family are popular. Trust me. Alf, fetch my shield.”
He nodded, “Aye lord and thank you.”
“For what? You are my man and you are entitled to my protection. What kind of lord would I be if I abandoned you?”
He went off with Sir Thomas and Brother Peter. With the men I had left on board they would be able to defend the ships. My men took out their whetstones and began sharpening their swords and daggers as they waited for Alf to return. My archers selected their best arrows.
Henry son of Will said, “Any chance of a wet, lord? All that talk made me thirsty.”
John of Chester shook his head, “Afterwards, you ale skin!”
He smiled affably, “Just so long as I get one. It will be a long voyage home to England.”
Robin Hawkeye said, “And there they have decent ale.”
The shield I bore had been freshly painted on the voyage from Jaffa. The gryphon was sharp and seemed to leap out. Alf had also brought my helmet. If Guy of Èze wore one then so would I. This would not be like a mêlée. There would be no unexpected blows from behind. It would be better to have a head protected by just a coif. It would allow better vision. My foe was there already. Robert of Nissa stood close by and they had brought twenty men at arms. We were outnumbered. It did not worry me. My men were better. Most of my men had lived off their wits in the Holy Land. They had existed amongst the worst of cut throats. If the Lombards tried anything they would see real warriors at work. There were also thirty or forty men and youths. They were spectators who were eager to see a fight to the death. Such events were rare. I saw money in their hands. There would be gambling on the outcome. It was ever thus. I suspected that almost a thousand years ago the same thing would have happened at the Roman gladiatorial games.
Guy of Èze did not bother with a helmet. I hefted my shield and made sure it was comfortable. Alf checked that the cross strap over my shoulder fitted well and did not snag on anything else. I drew my sword. Guy of Èze was eager for the fight. Younger than I was he bounced on the balls of his feet. From his stance, I guessed that he had learned his skills in the tourney rather than the battle field. I had fought in both and I knew which prepared a man for a combat to the death better.
“Good luck, lord.”
I smiled at Alf. “I have right on my side and skill, Alf. Luck is for those who have neither.” I moved towards my opponent.
As we closed Guy of Èze said, “When you are dead then your men will die and my uncle will have his slave again!”
I was confident that my men would be watching for treachery. I held my sword by the blade and kissed it like a cross, “Let God be my judge!”
I saw a flicker of something in the eyes of the Lombard. Was it fear? If it was not fear then it was doubt and that is never a good frame of mind for combat. I had not fought since Ascalon. I had had many years of combat and as soon as I brought up my shield my body seemed to know what to do. I placed my left foot forward and held my sword behind me. It was the stance I liked to use. It invited attack. Guy of Èze obliged. Seeing my defensive pose, he raised his sword and brought it down from on high. He was going for a quick kill. He was going for my head. He expected me to block with my shield. It would be a powerful blow and would drive me backwards. I spun around on my left foot so that the blow struck fresh air and then the ground. My men and the spectators cheered. I brought my own sword around in a sweep. He barely blocked it with his own shield. Off balance he stumbled backwards.
I stepped forward and raised my sword. He took the offensive again and swept his sword towards my middle. It cracked into my shield and my sword darted towards his eyes. It was a feint but he reacted. He stepped back and brought his shield up. I changed the stab to a sweep. In the heartbeat it took for him to realise the blow had not connected, my sword had scythed into his mail leggings. My blade came away bloody. It was not a serious wound. If it had been my leg I would not have even worried about it but this knight had little experience. The blood seeping down his leg worried him. He sought to end the combat quickly. It was a mistake.
He roared and charged at me holding his shield before him and swinging his sword over his head. I stepped quickly back and then, as he brought his sword down, punched into the sword with my shield. I held my sword horizontally and I saw the indecision. Was this a feint or a strike? I used body sway to fool him this time. I swayed to the left as though I was going to open my body up for a wide sweep and then swayed right and spun around. He was confused and he did not move. I brought my sword around as I turned quickly and it would have struck him in the back but that he managed to get his shield around in time to block the blow. It was a wild move and he tore free the strap which held his shield to his shoulder. He carried the weight now in his left hand.
It was time to end this. I moved quickly forward threatening him with a raised sword and then I smashed my shield into his chest. The blood from the wound in his leg now began to affect him and he was moving more slowly. His left arm lowered slightly and I saw my chance. I first brought my sword around in a wide sweep to smash into his shield. I used the flat of the blade so that I did not dull the edge. He reeled again and his arm dropped lower. This must have been one of the first times he had fought on foot. He was tiring. I feinted with my shield towards him. As he tried to block it with his own shield I swept my sword backhand. I hacked across his shoulders and then into his chest. Blood spurted. He reeled and both his arms dropped. I swung again at his neck. My blade went through the mail and into his throat. When the blood
arced, I knew that it was a mortal wound. The contest was over. He lay prostrate on his back. Men cheered.
I had just sheathed my sword when I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. I heard a collective, “No!” from the onlookers. His squire raced towards me with a sword held high. I began turning my shield to defend myself when three goose feathered arrows sprouted from his head. I bent down to pick up the sword of Guy of Èze. I strode over to Robert of Nissa. I did not need to look behind me to know that my men had bows and weapons levelled should the Lombards try another act of treachery. “I hope the squire acted out of loyalty. If I thought this was planned then I would slaughter all of you here!”
He shook his head. Guy had had courage, Robert of Nissa was a coward. “I swear he acted alone.”
I held up the sword of Guy of Èze, “Then God has judged. I have the right!” I glared at him.
“You have the right, lord.”
“And it is over now? For, know this, Robert of Nissa. If I find out that you have plotted against me or send men to do me harm then I swear that I will return here and your whole family will suffer. Tell that to your uncle too. Do you understand me?”
He nodded, “I do, lord. I swear.” His eyes kept glancing to Guy of Èze. They must have thought that his success at tourney guaranteed him victory. They had miscalculated.
“And this sword is our reparation for the sullying of the name of Alf son of Morgan. This is weregeld for his name. Come, Alf, son of Morgan, and receive your new sword.”
He came forward. The sword was, indeed a fine one. I handed it to him. “Thank you, lord.”
Looking at Robert of Nissa I said, loudly so that all the onlookers could hear, “This is good?”
He nodded, “This is good, lord.”
We turned and made our way back through the city towards the docks. There was a buzz as we walked for the watchers on the walls had spread the word. The Count of Provence had had his nose bloodied. I had gathered that, while he had power, he was not popular. This would encourage dissension. As soon as we reached our ships I nodded, “Now, Captain. It is time to sail home. These foreign games do not amuse me!”
The Welsh Marches (The Anarchy 1120-1180 Book 15) Page 2