The Rightful Heir

by Diana Dickinson

  “That’s one less,” she panted as she released him. She bent, retrieved his sword from the sea, and handed it to Raoul.

  “Well done, your Majesty,” he said. “You,” he called across to the knight. “Take this sword and get the rest of them up to the camp.”

  “Yes, Philippe, do so, will you?”

  “But my tunic!” the young man wailed. He was blue-lipped and trembling from cold and fright. “Your Majesty, the ladies and I are half naked. How can I...?”

  “Be thankful you’re alive,” Raoul snapped. “For Heaven’s sake, get them out of here! You don’t how many more are on their way.”

  Needing no further encouragement, the sodden, bedraggled band began to flounder towards the southern end of the bay.

  “Are more Turks coming?” the Queen said, looking towards the far end of the shore.

  “Not that I know of, your Majesty. But I had to say something to get them moving!”

  She gave a breathless laugh and pushed her hair back out of her face.

  “May I offer you a ride back to the camp, your Majesty?”

  “Certainly you may – unless you need to re-join the fight.”

  “I think it looks as if they have it under control,” he said, sheathing his sword.

  Renier and Claude had evidently finished off their attackers and Gustave seemed to be about to deliver the coup de grace to his. Pierre had dismounted and was disarming those who lay on the ground. Someone had dealt with the Turk who had ridden off with the girl and she was slumped sobbing on the ground.

  “I should see to Louise de Tierce,” Eleanor said with a sigh.

  “You would do my friend a favour if you left it to him.”

  Claude was running over to her and scooping her up in his arms.

  “Well, in that case, what are we waiting for?”

  Raoul gave her his hand; she put her foot on the stirrup and swung herself up to sit sideways in front of him.

  “Comfortable, your Majesty?”

  “Splendidly, thank you, though I fear I’m a little damp.”

  “Dampness is totally unimportant, madam! It is a privilege to have you in my arms.”

  Eleanor chuckled.

  “What a charming thing to say!” She slipped one arm round his waist and peeped up at him through her lashes.

  Raoul grinned, very conscious of the shapely, almost naked woman pressed close to him. He gently touched Hercules on the flanks with his heels and guided him back up the beach.

  “I won my bet, Raoul,” Pierre said, walking across to him.

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “And Claude’s got his wish with the fair Louise. Mind you, you seem to have found a pretty cosy armful for yourself, I see!”

  Raoul was relieved to feel a tremor of laughter run through the Queen.

  “Your Majesty, this ignorant dog is my good friend Pierre Chardin. Please excuse his manners.”

  Pierre gaped.

  “Queen Eleanor? Oh my God! Your Majesty, what can I say?” He bowed deeply. “Please forgive me.”

  “I do not think I object altogether to his description. Unless, of course, you find it inaccurate?” Her eyes were dancing as she looked up at Raoul.

  “Not at all, madam” he assured her. “Extremely cosy!”

  “Were there any injuries among your friends?” the Queen asked Pierre.

  “Renier’s pulled his shoulder and Gustave’s horse has a cut on its neck but that’s all. Eight Turks dead, five injured.”

  “Well done. Who do you think they were?”

  “Messengers possibly, your Majesty, or they could be scouts sent to find the whereabouts of our force.”

  “Yes. And we can afford to take no chances of a message getting back to Zengi.” She thought for a moment and gave a decisive nod. “Thirteen killed, Master Chardin, none merely injured.”

  “You mean...”

  “Kill them all and search the bodies. Bring anything that looks like a message or an identifying badge to the King. But don’t tell him I told you to despatch them.”

  “And their weapons and valuables?”

  “Your ‘guerdon’ from the battle. Divide it amongst you.”

  “Thank you, your Majesty.”

  “Now, young man, you’d better take me back to my saintly husband before that flock of silly women get there. When we reach the camp I shall ask Louis to find a fitting reward for you.”

  “That’s quite unnecessary, your Majesty,” Raoul said, urging Hercules towards the sand-dunes at an easy pace. “Being able to help you was...”

  “...An honour, yes, I know.” She smiled up at him. “By the way, I believe you look even more handsome now than when we saw you this morning.”

  Raoul glanced down at her in surprise.

  “You thought I didn’t recognise you?”

  “I couldn’t imagine that you would.”

  “What’s your name, young man?”

  “Raoul de Metz, your Majesty.”

  “Well, Raoul, you have a memorable face, as I expect you have been told before.”

  “Once or twice, madam, yes.” He gave a rueful grin.

  “Would you consider it utterly improper if I asked you for a kiss?”

  Raoul stopped his horse and looked down into her laughing eyes.

  “I would consider it a privilege, your Majesty, and also a pleasure.”

  “Oh yes, Raoul de Metz, so would I!”

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Cries of consternation greeted their return to the Royal camp. It was assumed at first that the Queen had met with an accident.

  “No, we were attacked by Saracens,” she said calmly then watched with wry amusement as their concern turned into something close to panic.

  “It’s all right. This young man and his friends have dealt with them. Yes, thank you, de Montfort, you may assist me to alight from my perch.”

  Queen Eleanor was lifted down by a grim-faced middle-aged man.

  “You! Page! Stop gawping and fetch a robe for Her Majesty!” the baron commanded, snatching off own his cloak and draping it hastily round her shoulders.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Eleanor said. “I am sorry if my state of undress offends you.”

  “Not at all, your Majesty,” said de Montfort, reddening. “I am just concerned that the eyes of...”

  “Never mind all that,” the Queen cut in. “Where is my husband?”

  “At his devotions, your Majesty,” someone told her.

  Eleanor glanced up at Raoul and met his eyes with a smile.

  “I must interrupt him, I’m afraid. Wait here, Raoul. Take his horse, please, Guillaume. Oh, and some of you had better go to the assistance of Philippe de Montauban and my ladies. They are on their way back and are in some distress.” As she spoke she was walking towards an ornate lodge on the far side of the camp. “Not hurt, no,” she said in reply to a question. “But Roland and Simeon are dead.”

  Raoul dismounted and handed Hercules’s reins to the young squire who looked as terrified as if he’d been attacked by Turks himself. No-one thought to speak to Raoul, to ask him exactly what had happened. He might almost have been invisible. He took off his helmet then just stood and watched the confusion grow around him. Once the Queen was out of sight, people started dashing in all directions, exclaiming excitedly. They were like ants whose nest had been disturbed, Raoul thought. Several rushed off to find the other women, not for a second thinking to take gowns or cloaks for them.

  There was such a contrast between Queen Eleanor’s calm control and the panic of her entourage, Raoul thought. What a great lady she was. Not for a second had she shown fear or a hint of weakness. She seemed to have accepted the young knights’ deaths with total equanimity and had ruthlessly but wisely ordered the surviving Turks to be killed. If she’d been a man what a King she would have made. But what a waste it would have been! He would treasure the memory of that kiss. It was just a pity that it was all she could give him. But what was he thinking? Was he as
piring to cuckold the King of France? He gave himself a mental shake.

  And here was the King now, followed by Eleanor and the page-boy. She was still wearing nothing but her shift and de Montfort’s cloak, he noticed with amusement. The boy was carrying a bundle of clothing, some armour and a sword. Fleetingly Raoul wondered why.

  “Are you the young man whom we must thank for saving our Queen’s life?” King Louis asked him.

  “Yes, your Majesty. Though Queen Eleanor herself assisted in the dispatch of her attacker.”

  At close quarters the King looked most unimpressive, Raoul decided. Today he wore a grey monk-like habit rather than his armour or a rich furred robe. His eyes were rather blood-shot and were a pale watery blue, his tow-coloured hair was thin and straggling, his chin receding and weak.

  “There was yourself and...how many others?” Louis was saying.

  “Four, sire.”

  “And between you, you killed thirteen Saracens?”

  “That is so, your Majesty.”

  “Then you must have fought most skilfully. We give thanks to God who strengthened your arms and guided you to our enemies.”

  “Amen.” Raoul said and crossed himself.

  “What position do you hold with the army? I have seen your face before, I think.”

  “At present I am squire to the Count of Tréguier.”

  “You look older than that.”

  “I am twenty-three, sire. The Count requested that I should serve him after his former squire died.”

  “Do you come from Tréguier?”

  “No, sire.”

  “And before you became his squire?”

  “I was a... soldier of fortune, your Majesty.”

  “But your name is a noble one. There is a Baron de Metz, is there not?”

  “My great uncle, sire.”

  “And why did you come on the Crusade?”

  Raoul hesitated for a second.

  “It was my Christian duty, sire,” he said.

  Louis smiled for the first time and took both Raoul’s hands in his.

  “Well said, young man. Well said.”

  The Queen had looked increasingly impatient during her husband’s interrogation of Raoul. Now she stepped forward and whispered in his ear.

  “Yes, yes, my dear. As he is suitable, I have no objection. Kneel, young man, if you please.”

  Puzzled, Raoul obeyed.

  “Do you promise to be faithful and true, to protect the weak and humble and to defend the Christian faith?”

  “Yes, your Majesty, but...”

  The page had unsheathed the sword and now handed it to the King. He took it, touched Raoul three times on the right shoulder with the flat blade and then three times on the left.

  “In the name of God, St. Michael and St. George I dub thee knight,” he proclaimed. “Be valiant!”

  Louis handed the sword back to the page, crossed himself and started to walk away. Raoul stared after him in astonishment.

  “I...I... don’t understand...”

  “You may stand up now, Raoul,” said Eleanor. “You have just been knighted by the King of France.”

  “But I didn’t fast or pray or even have a bath!”

  The Queen threw back her head and gave a peal of laughter.

  “You foolish boy! As if that matters! Would you like him to do it again when you’ve had time to prepare yourself properly?” She went off into another peal of laughter. “Still, even if you have missed all the ceremony, at least I have some of the appropriate presents for you: here’s a fine new hauberk and some gauntlets and a gilded sword-belt – not to mention a scarlet cloak and a red and gold surcoat bearing the Royal Oriflamme. Will that content you?”

  Dazedly, Raoul got to his feet. The page dumped the heavy bundle in front of him and, at a gesture of dismissal from Eleanor, took the King’s sword and scurried away. Raoul picked up the silk surcoat and gazed at it in awe.

  “Is this really for me?” he said.

  “It is. You belong now to our household, and your brave friends may join us also if they wish. You, Raoul de Metz, are a Royal knight and you owe your service directly to us – oh, and also to God, of course.”

  Raoul managed to smile faintly at her ironic tone as he folded the surcoat. When he had set it carefully down, he went over to the Queen, dropped onto one knee and took her hand.

  “It is you whom I must thank for this.” He could hardly speak for the swelling emotion which constricted his throat. “All my life I have dreamed...” He pressed her hand to his lips. “Thank you, most dear lady. I am yours to command.”

  She gently touched his hair with her other hand.

  “Thank you, Raoul,” she said. “I shall make you one of my own personal attendants. But go now and find your friends; return to us when you have spoken to the Count and gathered your belongings.”

  Raoul released her hand and stood up, furtively dashing away the tears which had gathered in his eyes. He then bowed deeply and turned away to pick up his treasures. As he did so, an excited babble and the sound of hysterical weeping told him that the other ladies had been brought back to the camp. Queen Eleanor turned to him with a rueful smile then sighed and went to deal with them.

  When Raoul reached the Breton part of the camp he found it in uproar.

  “What’s going on?” he asked the nearest trooper. “Has there been an attack?”

  “Aye. Loat’s dead.”

  “What, Turks?”

  Raoul had been sure that they had killed them all. There must have been more than one band.

  “TURKS?” The man looked round in terror. “No, it was Mathieu Le Gros. He’s been hiding in the wagon since we left Byzantium.”

  “So that was where the food was going,” Raoul exclaimed. “I should have guessed. What exactly happened?”

  “A few of us came up from the shore with our catch and found him. There was no one about so he’d made himself at home, like. Loat spotted him and Mathieu just went for him. Very nasty, it was.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He took some food and made off on one of the horses – St. Claire’s it was: he’s not right pleased.”

  “But didn’t you try to stop him?”

  “He’s a big man and mean – and there was only the four of us. We was scared he’d...”

  “Heaven help us! What will you do when you have to face the Saracens?”

  Without waiting for the man’s reply, Raoul strode off into the camp. Le Gros appeared to have absconded with a worryingly large amount of their supplies but the Bretons’ agitation over his theft and Loat’s death subsided considerably when Raoul told them about the band of Turkish horsemen. When Gustave, Pierre and the two Tréguorrois knights rode in a short time later, their story was listened to in horrified silence. For the first time since they had left France, the enemy seemed real.

  Towards evening, the Count and Bertrand de Courcy returned from their hunting expedition. An account of both the day’s events was presented to them and Raoul asked Tréguier’s leave to join the Royal camp.

  “What do you mean, Raoul?” the Count demanded. “The Queen said you owe them your service? Why?”

  “Queen Eleanor and her ladies were being threatened by the Turks when we attacked them,” Pierre explained. “Raoul forgot to mention that. He actually saved the Queen’s life.”

  “Are you trying to say that you’ve been knighted, de Metz?” Bertrand’s tone was scathing.

  “Yes. Yes, I have.”

  “What?”

  “Raoul, why didn’t you tell us all this?” Tréguier embraced him. “It’s splendid – although I shall hate to lose you, of course. Bertrand, isn’t this excellent?”

  “Raoul, you sly dog!” Gustave exclaimed, thumping him on the back. “You didn’t even tell us!”

  “I wanted to speak to Lord de Bourbriac first. I can hardly believe it myself.”

  “It’s not enough simply to be patted on the head by the Queen, de Metz, you know,” B
ertrand said coldly, “there’s a bit more to it than that...”

  “There’s no mistake, Bertrand.” Raoul met his eyes unflinchingly. “You and I are equal now.”

  De Courcy grimaced, choking back the angry retort which sprang to his lips. This was not the time or the place to teach this young upstart his final lesson.

  “Excuse me,” he muttered to Tréguier.

  The Count took no notice, continuing to shower Raoul with praise and congratulations.

  “I’d have knighted you anyway when we’d got back to Brittany,” he was saying as Bertrand moved away. “But I’m glad for you that it’s happened now. You must take your share of the food – and your friends’ too, if they’re going with you.”

  After some further discussion it was agreed that Pierre and Gustave would join the King’s troop with Raoul but that Claude and Renier, as Tréguier’s own knights, would stay with the Bretons.

  The following day scouting parties were sent out in all directions to ascertain whether there were other enemies spying out their position. As none were seen, the next morning, at dawn, the French army set out again. This time, Raoul, resplendent in his new chainmail, surcoat and cloak, rode merely yards from the Queen’s litter. Pierre and Gustave were with him as his attendants, and they too now wore the Oriflamme badge stitched onto their tunics. Guillaume, who had been Roland’s squire, was now his own.

  “I’m not entirely sure you’ve done us any favours, Raoul,” Gustave said, “but we’ve certainly become a bit more prominent recently.”

  “Yes,” Pierre agreed. “I think we’ve lost the chance now of going home when we please. And I’ve a nasty feeling we’re unlikely to be allowed to keep the supplies on that mule to ourselves for long.”

  “Well, if you’d like to get fat in anonymity, leave now,” Raoul said with a laugh. “I’m not stopping you!”

  “We can’t do that,” said Gustave. “We want a share of your glory. And in any case, Pierre and I have got a bet on about how long it’ll take you to seduce all of the Queen’s ladies.”