Lord of the Sea Castle

by Edward Ruadh Butler

  Any other rider would have fallen from the saddle, but somehow Marshal hung on as his charger dropped her shoulder to get away from the prickles. Raymond was not about to let the chance go a-begging and he dragged the branch along the horse’s flank, setting her scurrying the opposite direction with a frightened snort of horror. No man could have held onto the twisting and bucking horse, and Marshal finally slammed onto the ground as the crowd, and his knights, gasped in astonishment.

  Raymond laughed as he watched Marshal sprawl on the ground. Many men would have stayed down, winded from the heavy fall but Marshal grunted only once on impact and then slowly pulled himself to his feet, seemingly unaffected by the fall.

  ‘So you are human,’ Raymond smiled as Marshal put his hand to his chest.

  Raymond’s opponent did not respond as he dragged his sword from the scabbard and stabbed it into the ground before him. He began dusting himself off as two of his knights galloped forward to aid their commander.

  ‘Sir William,’ one shouted and pointed at Raymond, ‘shall we take him?’ Marshal did not answer but held up his hand to wave them away. It was enough for the two knights who swapped nervous glances and then directed their horses back towards their companions and their captives.

  ‘You know,’ Raymond said loudly towards Marshal, ‘I haven’t two brass beans to rub together. Capturing me would be a waste of your time and effort.’ The man clothed in metal pulled his sword out of the ground and in answer pointed it at Raymond’s head. ‘No, really,’ he continued, ‘I am Strongbow’s captain! How much could a man working for him actually be worth? You must have heard the stories?’ He held up the prickly branch. ‘I can’t even afford a proper sword,’ he laughed.

  ‘Here’s one,’ Marshal spoke for the first time, kneeling and picking up Raymond’s sword and throwing the weapon in his direction.

  Raymond nodded in gratitude of Marshal’s chivalrous behaviour and cast the rudimentary, yet successful, branch aside in favour of steel. He took a deep breath as Marshal stalked forward and raised his sword aloft. Behind the famous knight, the nobles and townsfolk in the crowd cheered the greatest contest of arms they had yet seen on the prince’s tourney field.

  Chapter Five

  ‘That’s it!’ Strongbow shouted as he stormed into the low roofed alehouse. Raymond leapt to his feet, almost upsetting the table as his lord entered. Candle flames and braziers whipped crazily on tabletops and walls brackets as a gust of wind swept through the drinking den. For a moment the earl’s eyes lingered on Alice of Abergavenny from whose shoulders his captain had quickly removed his arm. His eyes narrowed judgementally at the woman before flicking back to his warlord.

  ‘Collect our belongings, Raymond. We are leaving for Striguil immediately. Curse Henry! Who does he think he is dealing with, a backwater knight from the hills of Ceredigion with only sheep to command?’ In the week since they had caught up with King Henry’s court Strongbow had accomplished absolutely nothing. Frustratingly, the king had refused to allow the earl into his presence even after sending his herald to summon him to his Palace of Westminster before dawn each day. Strongbow had been hideously embarrassed as he waited outside the main hall in the scorching heat while the king judged ever lowlier legal cases inside. Lords, ladies, barons, local landowners and knights had been summoned into the king’s presence while the disgraced Earl Strongbow stood outside waiting to be admitted.

  Raymond did not have the heart to confess to the earl that on at least two of the days when he had dutifully remained at vigil outside Henry’s door, the king had actually been hunting in the Middlesex countryside. In every tavern and alehouse Sir Richard de Clare was ridiculed and nothing Raymond could say or do would stop the iniquitous talk of courtiers and soldiers. To make matters worse, Strongbow had been forced to find lodgings with his men in the Thorney Inn while other less grand courtiers were entertained by the king in the palace or with the Hospitallers down river in London. And in the earl’s noble opinion the Thorney Inn was populated solely by rats, drunkards and foul whores.

  ‘That is unfair,’ a drunken Borard had whispered to Raymond. ‘The whores are by far the best available in Westminster.’

  However, just that morning, Strongbow had been admitted into the king’s presence. Finally a breakthrough! But of course it had been another of Henry’s attempts to mock the earl and Strongbow had been forced to stand at the back of the hall amongst the lesser nobility while the king had taken a faux interest in a case about two local knights who felt that the other was encroaching on their hereditary rights to pasture lands. Strongbow had looked on helpless, unable to move from his embarrassing position or complain, as the arrogant king had laughed to his friends and pointed at the earl at the back of the hall. A head taller than everyone else around him, it was obvious who was the target of their scorn.

  When finally his name had been formally read to the court it was only as Sir Richard de Clare, rather than as Earl of Pembroke or Lord of Striguil. In a move that could only have been choreographed to embarrass Strongbow further, seconds after his introduction Henry’s tall steward strode ahead of the earl towards the dais and had whispered into the king’s ear. Henry had shot Strongbow a victorious and malevolent glance as his steward had made a short announcement that the king would return the following morning, and had exited the main hall leaving the earl standing before an empty throne, the mocking whispers rattling around the stone walls. It had proved the breaking point.

  ‘Well,’ the earl continued, angrier than ever, ‘I am no mere courtesan to be toyed with for Henry’s entertainment. I am Strongbow,’ he shouted the last statement so that everyone in the low ceiling alehouse stopped what they were doing and looked at the apoplectic man in the crimson and gold surcoat.

  Raymond swapped a brief, apologetic glance with his companions, a broad-shouldered knight and a young priest with auburn hair whose eyes seem to record every word of the nobleman’s outburst.

  ‘Drinks for everyone on his lordship, the Earl Strongbow, in celebration of Prince Harry’s coronation,’ Raymond shouted and signalled to the owner of the inn. The men in the alehouse responded with a cheer and turned their backs on Raymond’s table to resume their drinking.

  ‘I hope you don’t actually expect me to pay,’ the earl growled as he cast his gaze over the motley group that accompanied his captain. He was sure that the surcoat which the knight wore was that of the Marshal family of Marlborough, but he could not place its wearer. The priest looked out of place, though Strongbow observed that he was not in the slightest bit uncomfortable despite being surrounded by coarse fighting men at their ale. Alongside the trio were Raymond’s charges, the bastards of Abergavenny. The earl smiled thinly to Geoffrey and Alice before noticing that almost all of Raymond’s milites were scattered around the wooden tables of the alehouse and had heard his flare-up.

  ‘We must continue to be patient, my Lord. My friends,’ Raymond indicated towards the priest and the knight, ‘know that King Henry is being...’ he shook his head as he searched for the correct word, ‘tiresome in his treatment of your lordship, but they think that he will meet with you after his son is crowned tomorrow.’

  ‘It could be,’ the auburn-headed priest butted in, ‘that staying out of King Henry’s way while he is in one of his moods,’ he paused over the last word and raised an eyebrow towards the smirking knight, ‘could be the best course of action for you right now. You do rather irritate him.’

  Strongbow turned on the cleric angrily. ‘What do you know of kings and earls, priest?’

  It was Raymond’s turn to intervene and he laid a hand on Strongbow’s shoulder. ‘This is Hubert Walter, Lord.’ Raymond leant in close to whisper in Strongbow’s ear. ‘He hears many happenings that occur around the court, undertakings that could help your cause,’ he stressed.

  The earl stiffened at his captain’s soft reprimand but he took his point and nodded towards the priest. ‘I apologise, Father Hubert. I have been away from court too long.�
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  Hubert held up a hand. ‘No apology is necessary. My advice remains the same. Keep your distance until Henry’s business in England is done and pray that he comes through the coronation in better humour. You must remember that this whole occasion is about giving our errant Archbishop of Canterbury a bloody nose, politically speaking. I assure you that once done it will make our king enormously happy.’ The priest held out a hand, inviting the nobleman to join them at their drinks. For a second it looked like the earl might refuse the invitation, as if sitting in a lowly alehouse with a priest, a mere knight, his lowborn captain and two bastards was another affront against his already delicate pride, but after a few seconds he acquiesced.

  ‘It is all this sitting around which makes King Henry act irrationally,’ the as-yet-nameless knight told Hubert. ‘God, but I don’t need to be on the receiving end of one of his tongue-lashings because he is fed up and bored. The sooner he gets back on campaign against King Louis, the better for us all.’

  ‘This is William Marshal, Lord,’ Raymond described. ‘He won Prince Harry’s tournament this morning.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Strongbow grumbled, ‘as I wasn’t invited to attend.’

  ‘Your captain did you proud fighting with the Earl of Hertford’s men,’ Sir William told the earl with a nervous laugh. ‘Our bout on the London Road went on for longer than all the rest put together, until we decided to call it a day. It will take me many weeks to get over the effort.’

  ‘It had better not,’ Raymond laughed, ‘for I want some revenge and tonight we will have another battle at my chosen battleground - the bar. Anyway, you put me on my arse first. I’ll be pulling prickles from my backside for weeks to come!’ Everyone laughed except Strongbow, who nodded and smiled politely before climbing to his feet.

  ‘Good, good,’ he said, though his tone was anything but that. ‘We will keep the course upon which we have set and hope that King Henry will treat me as he would any other lord.’ Strongbow sighed. ‘I will see you tomorrow then. Goodnight.’ He nodded to each of the men before turning on his heel and leaving the tavern for his rooms above.

  ‘So that was Strongbow,’ Hubert Walter said to Raymond as the earl vacated the room. ‘He is not as impressive as his name would suggest. He wants to go to Ireland then?’

  Raymond drank long from his mug of good Gascon wine before answering. ‘He has little future in England,’ he said finally. ‘It may be that he can make something of himself across the sea.’ He noticed Hubert’s intrusive eyes exploring his face. Raymond wondered if he had done the right thing by approaching the sly cleric for help. Hubert was said to be a close adviser of King Henry, though he had attested no charters and was rarely seen in the king’s company. ‘It is probably too late for Strongbow anyway,’ Raymond continued, adopting a flippant air. ‘He is forty and my uncle, Robert FitzStephen, has this King Diarmait wrapped around his finger and his realm of Laighin won for himself. I even heard Diarmait has offered his daughter in marriage to Robert. Still, if Strongbow wants to waste his time rustling cattle in Ireland, I can’t imagine why King Henry would be angry at letting him depart.’ He leant back on the bench and shrugged his shoulders, taking another deep draught from his cup. Hubert mirrored his movement though Raymond was unsure if the priest was indeed relaxing or attempting to make him feel like he could be at ease when he should be concentrating. The priest’s currency at court was information and Raymond did not want to sell his too cheaply.

  ‘I had heard about Diarmait’s offer also.’ Hubert told him and paused to think, again studying Raymond with his suspicious green-grey eyes. ‘I will do what I can to sway the king’s opinion in Strongbow’s favour. I can make no promises. Now,’ he said glancing at Alice and Geoffrey, ‘to what we were discussing before we were rudely interrupted by our friend the earl.’

  ‘Abergavenny,’ the young woman said.

  ‘As I said, this will not be easy,’ Hubert Walter told Raymond, ‘and at this moment William de Braose and his father are completely unassailable. They are two of the king’s most trusted nobles, and have promised many warriors for Henry’s coming campaign in France. You, on the other hand, have nothing that the king wants or needs, but of course this may change in the future.’ He gave a small smile of encouragement to Geoffrey and settled back into his chair with a mug of wine.

  ‘What? That is all?’ Alice snarled. ‘Patience?’ she spat the word out in Hubert’s direction. ‘For this we give you our money? We are the lawful heirs to Abergavenny!’

  Hubert was on her in an instant. ‘Lower your voice,’ he snarled as his eyes darted around the room. ‘Henry has spies everywhere and if you do not want my help, I assure you others will benefit from my time and advice. This king is not to be poked and prodded onto whatever path you choose. He will not care whether you have a document signed and sealed by the Lord above stating that your brother is the legitimate owner. If he has no reason to support your claim, and you offer no reason for him to support you, then you have no hope. To be successful you must wait and listen for your opportunity. It will take time,’ he stressed with a contemptuous look which would have felled a courser. ‘And it will take patience.’

  Alice was not daunted. ‘So much for the much vaunted influence of Hubert Walter,’ she sneered as she whipped her headdress from her head to reveal a shower of golden locks. ‘I knew this was a waste of my time,’ she said scornfully to Raymond.

  ‘Alice, lower your voice,’ he responded as he grabbed her hand. ‘This is the only way. We will keep at it until it is done,’ he said supportively.

  The young woman ripped her fingers from his grip and cast a livid glance in his direction. ‘No, there are other ways to get what I want.’

  ‘Sister,’ Geoffrey murmured, urging her to be quiet and smiling at some men close by who had noted her outburst. Something in Geoffrey’s body language piqued Raymond’s curiosity, but his train of thought was disturbed when Hubert Walter climbed to his feet and dusted off his dark brown robes.

  ‘You are lucky that you have a friend in Raymond de Carew,’ the priest told Alice, ‘for otherwise your anger and quick tongue would land you in great peril. Of that I have little doubt.’

  ‘Hubert…’ Raymond started but was stopped when the priest raised his hand.

  ‘We will talk again,’ he said, ‘but next time we shall do it alone.’ With a seething look down upon the blond head of Alice of Abergavenny, he was gone. Seconds later Alice shot to her feet and would have run off if Raymond had not taken hold of her hand again.

  ‘Alice, what is wrong?’ he asked, confused at her flare-up of anger.

  ‘You are not the only one who can make plans,’ she snapped and tried to rip her hand out of his grasp, ‘and how I do business costs nothing and makes more powerful friends than you could ever provide.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘That you can tell Hubert Walter that Geoffrey of Abergavenny does not need his help to have his lands returned to him.’ She was alight with rage. ‘And you can tell the same to your pathetic Strongbow. My brother and I will be gone by tomorrow evening.’

  Raymond was confused. ‘You are leaving? Where will you go? Has something happened?’ He let go of her hand.

  She held his gaze and licked her teeth inside her mouth as if considering whether or not to devour him. ‘We are going with Prince Harry,’ she said finally. Her eyes held a challenge.

  ‘What?’ he started to say, but a split second later Raymond understood what must have happened. While he had talked, begged and bribed behind the scenes on behalf of Strongbow and Alice, she had been making her own friends from the influential nobles who frequented the Thorney Inn looking for the companionship of whores. And who would have blamed them, Raymond thought? Walking into the alehouse they could not have missed the young beauty – dressed like a noblewoman thanks to Raymond’s generosity – and surrounded by wenches. Already filled with lust they must have flocked to her table and whispered promises in her ear
of great riches and even more powerful friends, if only she would give herself to them. Raymond wondered which knight in Prince Harry’s retinue had promised enough to Alice for her to betray him. Anger filled his mind, thoughts of revenge, dark feelings fed by wine.

  ‘Who is it?’ he demanded. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that this would eventually happen, but he never supposed that she would leave him so soon. ‘Who?’

  She shook her head and did not answer. ‘Geoffrey, follow me,’ she ordered instead. ‘We leave tomorrow after the coronation.’ She stomped across the alehouse towards the room which she had shared with Raymond. Behind her, Geoffrey slowly followed in her wake with a sympathetic shrug towards his erstwhile master.

  ‘Who is it?’ Raymond shouted at Alice’s back, but she did not answer. Silence had over taken the Thorney Inn. It was Marshal’s voice which broke the hush.

  ‘I would rather go into a tourney without armour, helm or shield than have an argument with that young lady.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Raymond whispered as he watched his sometime mistress leave the inn for their rooms above. His anger receded slowly. He told himself that this had been their understanding all along, that she had never promised to stay with him and that he was better off alone anyway. Slapping a smile on his face he laughed belatedly at Marshal’s joke.

  ‘Now, before you tell me the story of your first fight against the French,’ Raymond said with a smile, ‘what are you drinking?’

  Strongbow had not been invited to the coronation of Prince Harry as joint King of England with his father. Nor had Raymond de Carew, of course, but during his all-night drinking session with Sir William Marshal, he had decided to sneak into the abbey to see the historic ceremony. To that end an unstable Marshal now smuggled him into the grounds of Westminster Abbey through the stone refectory.