The commander of the archers said bashfully, ‘Do we get a kiss?’
In the billowing, stinking smoke, Xena and Maria kissed more than a score of sooty faces. Each man crossed himself after his kiss. For the first time, Xena wanted to cry.
‘What grace there is in little gifts,’ Maria said.
‘They live on crumbs.’ Life’s sparrows, Xena thought.
‘The boys will remember this,’ the commander was saying. ‘But what about me?’ His men roared and clapped when the girls kissed him, simultaneously, one kiss on each sooty, weatherbeaten cheek.
As his work was over for the time being, he offered to explain what was happening in the main battle outside the town. But when they went to look over the parapet, Henry’s red and gold standard was not to be seen in the swirl of chaos below. ‘Don’t know what that means,’ he said thoughtfully.
Isabella was pacing the chamber, clasping and unclasping her hands. ‘They’ve disappeared!’ she said. ‘Geoffrey, Guillaume and Henry. Vanished!’
Xena felt nauseous from the tallow smoke. Her face was white beneath its film of soot. The white veil she had put over her hair that morning had already turned grey. The young mothers huddled together in front of the Madonna and fumbled their babies’ mouths to full breasts. The two Henrys angrily pushed the breasts away, and wailed. Little Guillaume stamped his feet, screaming.
The commander said, ‘I’ll have another look.’ Outside he conferred with the other archery captain. They walked behind the parapet together, pointing, nodding, pointing again to other parts of the field of battle. Returning to the women he said, ‘My comrade reckons something is going on, because King Louis has vanished too. Our orders were not to shoot him. Or his horse. But what happened, Louis leads their cavalry charge and immediately the Duke, the Old Duke and Lord Guillaume surround and begin harassing the King, as if to kill him. Then this other man rides up, very tall, and the Duke turns round and starts fighting him. The Old Duke and Lord Guillaume keep going at the King. But now Louis has his field marshal fighting beside him. So it’s two against two. Then the Duke is unhorsed. My comrade says it didn’t look like he was unhorsed. Looked like he’d jumped off his horse. Anyway, the Duke’s on foot, and he’s shouting at the tall Frenchman to get off his horse. And he does. So the two of them go for each other. But the Frenchman’s a lot taller than our Duke, and my comrade reckons he had a fauchard.’
All the women except Xena clasped their hands to their mouths.
Unwillingly, the captain added, ‘One of ’em’s dead.’
There was a long silence. Isabella said, ‘I’ll ask the Madonna.’ She closed her eyes and after less than a minute opened them. ‘It’s not Henry,’ she said firmly.
‘We’re thinking the same thing, lady,’ the commander said. ‘Because they’re all still fighting down there. The French field marshal’s going like a fire, but so are our men. They must believe the Duke is still alive.’
‘So where are the Dukes, and my son? And the King?’
‘It’s a puzzle,’ the commander agreed.
At that moment Henry, Geoffrey, Guillaume and King Louis were seated inside a deserted tavern in Rouen. Louis was without a scratch but Henry was bleeding from a slash on his leg. Guillaume had a cut and bruised eye that was already half-closed and Geoffrey’s forehead was cut, his hair stiff with blood. None of them was in pain. In battle, there was never any pain. That came afterwards.
The four of them had removed their helmets and chainmail. Their swords were stacked in a corner. A group of magnates, eight from Normandy, eight from France, stood around the chamber. The King, who refused to sit on the same bench as the Anjevins, constantly wiped tears from his eyes and sighed.
Henry beckoned to one of his men. ‘Take it outside and put it in a bag,’ he said. In Catalan he said to his father and brother, ‘He’s dribbled tears over it long enough.’
The officer rammed his fingers into the thick grey hair of Baron Estienne de Selors and carried his head outdoors.
Pages brought bowls of water, one for the King, a separate one for the Anjevins. As Henry plunged his hands into the water, scarlet billowed through it.
When Louis’s hands were clean, he said a prayer.
Food arrived, but the King refused it. ‘I’ll take a cup of wine,’ he said.
Henry whispered to Geoffrey, ‘Can we eat if he won’t?’
His father said, ‘Lord King, do you permit us to break bread?’
Louis gave Henry, Guillaume and Geoffrey a glance of contemptuous loathing. ‘Do not deprive your appetites.’
Henry could feel his temper rising, but wrestled it down by staring at Louis, mentally sending an image of himself licking the Queen between her legs. He saw the King flinch, but it could have been from the wine since, with each succeeding mouthful, Louis grimaced.
After they had eaten and the King had drunk another cup of wine, negotiations began. By agreement, Henry allowed his father to speak for Normandy since, according to Louis, Henry was not yet the Duke. The King’s first demand astonished them.
‘You shall cede to France all of Normandy and the Vexin,’ he said.
Henry became so angry his father told him to go outside, where a group of French knights lounged about.
‘His Highness dislikes the wine inside. With your agreement I’ll send to the castle for something more palatable for him.’
‘You’ll have to taste the cup first,’ a Frenchman replied.
‘Of course.’ Henry beckoned the Count of Pacy and spoke to him quietly. The Count mounted and cantered off.
Henry wandered to and fro then stopped to pat Louis’s horse. ‘What’s he called?’ he asked.
‘That’s Jason, sir.’
‘Good horse, is he?’
‘King’s favourite mount. Brought him back from Outremer.’ Jason wore the gorgeous caparison of the House of Capet: gold fleurs de lys on a blue ground, the iron rings of his harness gilded and studded with turquoise.
‘Work of art, that saddle,’ Henry said. He walked around Jason, admiring his conformation while the stallion observed him with curious, intelligent eyes, moving first one ear, then the other, as Henry studied him. The moving ears told Henry the animal was attentive. He recalled the horse master’s instruction and imagined Louis handing him Jason’s reins. You’re my horse now, he thought, and saw himself on Jason’s back.
‘You know a horse can see in a complete circle?’ he commented to the closest French knight.
‘Didn’t know that.’
Kick him! Henry flashed to Jason. The stallion lashed out with a hind leg.
Everyone called, ‘Hey! Hey! Steady, boy.’
‘He’s thirsty. Like all of us,’ Henry said. He sat on the ground to examine his wound. ‘The Seneschal did that. Cut right through the armour on my leg.’ He spoke in the same amiable, casual tone he had adopted since he came outside, and lay on the ground on his back, his uncovered hair spread over the dirt.
The Frenchmen looked sullen. One said, ‘You didn’t have to take the Baron’s head.’
Henry regarded them through narrow eyes. ‘He had a fauchard.’
They shifted their feet uneasily. There had been talk in the camp last night that the King had permitted the Seneschal to carry a fauchard.
Henry closed his eyes and appeared to be taking a nap. After some more time had passed one of them said, ‘Sir, you’ve had a hard fight. Would you like to lie on a bench inside? A page may be able to heat water to clean your wound.’ It was almost an hour since the Count of Pacy had left to fetch palatable wine for the King.
‘You don’t like my company,’ Henry said. ‘Alright. I’ll go back.’
Inside, his father and the King were now sitting at one table with advisors at their elbows. Geoffrey seemed worried. Louis, Henry thought, looked both regal and smug.
‘He won’t give way on the Vexin,’ Guillaume said. ‘And he’s threatening to burn Rouen.’
‘Doesn’t the fool realise we fi
ght better than he does?’ Henry muttered. ‘When he led the cavalry, you or I could have unhorsed him a dozen times. We just tourneyed to make him feel good. We haven’t started fighting yet.’ They spoke in Catalan.
‘Henry, you were certainly fighting the Seneschal.’
‘I tricked him into dismounting! I knew he had a limp and I guessed I could unbalance him.’
Guillaume ignored the boast. ‘Louis says we’re so outnumbered it’s just a matter of time.’
‘We’ve captured their trebuchet and four of their magnates! They’ve only got two of ours. And if it comes to that, Rouen is a Norman city and Louis, right now, is in my country.’
‘You can’t do that, Henry!’ Guillaume said. ‘We agreed the tavern was neutral territory.’
‘Only inside,’ Henry said.
Geoffrey called to them, ‘If you two don’t calm down, you’ll both have to leave. This isn’t easy, Henry. You want to be recognised as Duke. He wants the Vexin.’
‘So if I’m in England, he’ll take Normandy! And Anjou next!’ Henry shouted.
Geoffrey stood. ‘Will Your Highness allow me to confer with my sons?’
Louis waved the back of his hand at him in a gesture of utter condescension.
The Anjevins walked to the other end of the tavern, out of earshot of the French, who immediately put their heads together and began talking fast. They too, it seemed, had needed a break in the negotiations. The ransoms Geoffrey was demanding for the French magnates were steep. And there was the issue of the Seneschal’s body. Henry had ordered it hidden inside the castle, and Louis desperately wanted it back. He wanted to give Estienne a full cathedral burial beside the other great seneschals of France.
Henry said to his father and brother, ‘We must all fulminate at each other. You shout at me, Papa. And I’ll shout at you, and Guillaume and I will shout at each other.’
‘With pleasure,’ Geoffrey said. In Catalan he suddenly yelled, ‘Henry, you’re your own worst enemy! I’ve been negotiating with King Louis in good faith, but your insupportable rudeness –’
Henry broke in, ‘Damn you, Father! I don’t trust Louis as far as I can piss. He’s a schemer who sends money to England to keep Stephen in power. And he’s a useless warrior, while you and his wife are rutting like monkeys –’
Geoffrey’s face turned red with rage and he leaped to his feet, his fist raised to strike Henry. ‘Never say that again! I won’t forgive you! I, I …’
Guillaume kicked Henry so hard under the table he yelled with shock.
‘That’s my cut leg!’ He added quickly, ‘I apologise, Papa. I deeply apologise. Please forgive me.’
‘We’ll all calm down,’ Guillaume said.
He took his father and his brother by the hand. For a minute or so the three sat in silence, hands joined, heads bent.
Henry looked up. ‘We’ve got to keep arguing.’ He poked Guillaume in the chest. ‘Don’t you think, Father,’ he said in a belligerent voice, ‘I did a fantastic job with the Seneschal’s head? Whack! One whack.’
‘I was appalled.’ Geoffrey was still angry over the insult to Eleanor. ‘You planned that all along, without telling me. We could have ransomed him. His wife has more jewels than the Queen of Sheba.’
Henry was not paying attention, still exulting in his defeat of the Seneschal. ‘I took off his head like Douglas with that Saxon!’ he yelled. His eyes were ablaze with excitement.
At the other end of the tavern the French had stopped their conference to watch them.
‘Barbarians,’ Louis said. ‘Listen to the tone the boy uses with his father. If I’d ever spoken to my father like that …’ He sighed, thinking again about Estienne.
Henry shouted at Geoffrey and Guillaume, ‘You two should be in a nunnery! You squat down to piss.’ He banged his fist on a trestle.
‘They seem to be reaching agreement,’ Louis said. ‘Shouting, kicking, pushing …’
Henry muttered, ‘We’ve got to keep talking. Just another few minutes. Papa, say something pleasant to me.’
Geoffrey said, ‘In spite of everything, I love you. I wish I knew what was going on.’
‘What’s that noise?’ Guillaume asked.
‘Ignore it,’ Henry muttered. Then he slowly shook his head at Geoffrey. In a clear, strong voice, in French, he said, ‘I regret to tell you, Father, I cannot accept such terms.’
He rose. Geoffrey and Guillaume glanced at each other, shrugged, and rose also. The three walked at a measured pace back towards the King. The Anjevins bowed. ‘Your Highness,’ Geoffrey said, ‘we cannot agree to your demands.’
Without a word Louis turned his back on them.
The Anjevins pulled on their armour and helmets, gathered their swords and walked out.
When he heard their footsteps fading Louis said, ‘The young scoundrel doesn’t realise we’ve got a second trebuchet and a thousand infantry in reserve. Prince Eustace will lead his knights from Boulogne tomorrow. Tonight our climbers will scale the north-west wall.’ For the first time he gave a faint smile. Around the trestle they had used as a negotiating table the French exchanged glances of amusement.
Outside, suddenly, there was shouting.
‘What’s going on?’ Louis demanded.
Almost immediately a man entered, a look of horror on his face. ‘The building is surrounded with Norman crossbowmen, Highness! And they’ve stolen Jason!’
‘They’ve broken our truce!’ Louis shouted. ‘They’ve broken the truce!’
It took the cool head of the Count of Reims to calm him. ‘They have, indeed, Lord King. But their crossbowmen will kill us all.’
The man who had brought news said, ‘Their orders are to keep Your Highness in here for another two hours.’
‘Can we break out?’ Louis demanded.
‘Not against crossbows at short range.’
‘Can we pay them?’
‘We can try.’
‘Try!’ Louis said. ‘They’re all mercenaries.’
But as the Count of Reims walked purposefully out of the tavern towards the crossbowmen whose weapons were aimed at the door, all heard the uproar coming from above the town.
Henry was riding Jason through the French ranks, standing in the stirrups, his head uncovered and his sword aloft. ‘Men of France!’ he shouted. ‘I’ve captured your King! I ride his horse as proof of what I say!’
A cry went through the French army. ‘They have King Louis!’
The French and Norman archers on the edges of the battlefield leaped to their feet, snatching arrows as they rose. ‘I’ll get him through the neck,’ a French archer said. The Normans took aim at him. Henry wheeled the horse to put himself between the French bowmen and their field marshal.
‘Men of France, lay down your arms! I have your King! I ride his horse!’ Henry roared.
The field marshal shouted, ‘It’s a trick! They were negotiating! Fight on, men of France!’
But the French army was staring at the Duke of Normandy, his red hair flying, riding their monarch’s gorgeously caparisoned horse. Henry was close enough to the field marshal to grab the bridle of his destrier. ‘You’ll get Louis’s head from me,’ he shouted in his face. ‘France has no heir.’
The field marshal flung open his visor, his eyes white with shock. ‘You threaten regicide?’
‘You attacked without provocation. Louis broke the sacred trust of overlord. I can kill him!’ Henry shouted back. ‘You’ll have anarchy in France!’
The field marshal panted in torment.
But he turned to the archers and gestured to them to lay down their weapons, then likewise the knights and infrantrymen.
‘Your weapons and horses are forfeit to Normandy!’ Henry roared. ‘I command you lay down arms. Knights, dismount.’
Riding behind him, Guillaume and Geoffrey repeated the order, which the Normandy forces took up as a chant. ‘Lay down your arms! Dismount!’ hundreds of voices shouted. To the field marshal Henry said, ‘Give me your swor
d. Give it to me immediately.’
As their field marshal handed his sword to Henry the rest of the army began tossing their weapons to the ground. In the stillness and silence that spread across the battlefield the sullen clank of iron falling on iron and the panting and groaning of knights as they dismounted were the only sounds. The field marshal prepared to get down from his horse. His face was set hard but tears streamed down his cheeks. For a moment Henry looked with attention at the sword he had just received. Its hilt was gold embedded with lapis lazuli.
‘Is this an heirloom?’ he asked.
‘My grandfather brought it back from Jerusalem.’
Henry returned it to him. The field marshal sobbed, ‘I’m utterly disgraced.’
‘Come now,’ Henry said. ‘I won by a trick.’
The field marshal, on foot now, looked up at Henry. ‘You know, my great-grandfather fought beside Foulques the Black … You won by a trick?’
‘Yes. It doesn’t matter how I did it. I still won.’ He took the reins of the field marshal’s horse and tossed them to a Norman knight.
As he rode beside Guillaume across the drawbridge he said, ‘They’ll burn the city tonight. Or tomorrow.’
‘Can we prevent them?’
‘Not a chance,’ Henry said. ‘We’re outnumbered ten to one.’
‘You said five!’ Guillaume objected.
‘Five sounded better,’ Henry replied. He turned to his brother and laughed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Louis burned Rouen and nine other towns and villages along the frontier, but none completely because people rushed from their refuges to defend their property. Stronger men drove off the arsonists with pitchforks, hammers and long-handled axes. French infantrymen who’d kept daggers hidden killed some, but the inhabitants of Normandy and the Vexin met little resistance once they showed they were prepared to fight. As their courage rose, so did their sense of triumph and their admiration for the new Duke. Although their dwellings were lost, they had won a victory against an oppressive overlord.
The Young Lion Page 18