As he sprinted through the dung-strewn streets, Raymond de Carew knew that the inn would be deserted and cursed his stupidity for leaving his friends. Only a few of his conrois would have remained. He had dismissed the rest and told them to walk up into town for the festivities taking place in celebration of the coronation. It would mean that Alice and Geoffrey would be defenceless. He had no reason to believe that Sir William de Braose would have discovered where they were staying, but why else, he considered, would a man of his enemy’s standing leave the coronation early and dressed in chainmail? Raymond prayed that he was wrong, that Sir William and his mercenary Danes had not already killed Alice and Geoffrey while he had dilly-dallied at the abbey and talked to Hubert Walter. There would be few witnesses, and who would really mourn the murder of two bastards in a whorehouse brawl?
‘Oh Lord, please protect them,’ he prayed as he ran. Smoke wafted through the air and stung Raymond’s lungs as he dashed towards the river. Where it could be coming from he did not know. His legs burned with the effort and he promised that William de Braose would die if anything were to befall Alice or Geoffrey. His fear proved sobering. As he burst around the final corner, he stumbled over the arm of a dead man. He did not stop, though, for down the street the Thorney Inn was in flames.
Raymond raised his hand to shield his face from the blaze that had taken the alehouse. Somewhere inside a weight-bearing beam crumbled and the top floor crashed into the ground, taking the flaming roof with it. Everywhere Raymond looked he saw signs of a ferocious fight: chainmailed footprints in dried mud, pools of blood, and abandoned weaponry. Screams and shouts were all that penetrated the din of the flaming ruin and everywhere people ran with buckets of water to stop the flames from spreading to other buildings. The wind was blowing up the river like dragon breath, sweeping the fire towards the rest of the town of Westminster, the abbey and the palace. Raymond knew exactly what he had to do.
‘You,’ he shouted at a young man carrying buckets from the riverside, ‘forget the water and grab that mule.’ He indicated to a frightened beast standing with its feet in the muddy shallows of the Thames. ‘And then get some ropes. Follow me to the flames.’ Raymond didn’t wait to see if the boy did as he was told and instead picked up a discarded axe and took off towards the building immediately to the north of the Thorney Inn. He could already see that the fire was smouldering in the thatch of the low house. Heat and smoke plumed out of a side door as he kicked it down with one well-placed foot.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ The owner stormed up to Raymond. ‘That’s my bloody house!’ He was a big man and armed with a wooden bucket which Raymond adjudged capable of causing severe damage if he chose to lash out at him. He grabbed Raymond by the back of his surcoat and tried to pull him away from his home. The Norman resisted, hoping that the man would let go, but when he didn’t Raymond swung his right arm backwards and clouted the man in the chin with his elbow. The man crumpled to his knees immediately.
‘I’m sorry,’ he told the man as he stared into the smoke-filled building.
‘Lord?’ the young man from the waterfront said nervously from behind Raymond. ‘What do you want me to do?’ He was struggling to hold a terrified mule in its place and was equally alarmed by the closeness of the flames and the unconscious man on the ground. The youngster was obviously keen to get back to helping his neighbours put out the flames that threatened his town rather than help the stranger armed with an axe.
Raymond turned towards the boy. ‘What is your name?’ he asked and swiped sweat from his brow.
‘Fulk.’
‘Well, Fulk, we are going to save Westminster from this fire and make you a hero in the process. Are you ready to help me?’ Raymond asked. The boy was blank-faced but nodded once. ‘Good. First, drag that man out of the way and then give me one end of the rope. I am going inside to take out the supporting pillars and then we use the mule to pull the whole house down and make a fire-break. Understand? This is how we stop the fire from spreading. Not by throwing buckets of water at an inferno.’
Fulk nodded nervously and quickly hauled the insensible man away. Raymond took up the rope and, taking a deep breath, entered the smoky world of the house. With the rope between his teeth, he began hacking away at the wooden post nearest the front, all the while praying that the whole structure didn’t come down on top of him before he had finished his work. The heat from above and the smoke that surrounded him were overpowering. Skittering chips of wood sprayed in his already teary eyes and several times he missed his target, slamming the axe into the wattle wall of the house. One such blow opened a small rent in the wall and Raymond fell against it, sucking in the clean air from outside. A few more swings left the beam wobbling but in place and, abandoning the axe, he quickly tied the rope around the pillar.
It was desperately difficult to see as he coughed his way back through the building, feeling his way along the wall with his eyes closed. He exited, spluttering and wiping his stinging eyes.
‘Get the mule moving,’ he croaked at Fulk, who reacted immediately, slapping his hand down on the animal’s hindquarters. ‘Pull, damn you,’ he coughed in Fulk’s direction as he gasped for breath in the constricting confines between the burning buildings. Fulk did not let him down and pulled and cajoled the honking mule so that the thick rope went taut and groaned under the tension. Raymond watched the building and prayed that the rope would not catch fire before the braying mule could bring it down. He prayed the flames would not catch the next house, a smithy, before he could create the fire-break.
‘Fall,’ Raymond urged and coughed again. Shakily, he pulled himself to his feet and grabbed the rope behind the mule, adding his weight to the effort. Fulk too pulled for all he was worth at the bridle of the mule. Nothing seemed to work.
‘Damn you,’ Raymond shouted, his teeth gritted with supreme effort. ‘Break!’
Suddenly, as his hoarse voice echoed around the burning walls, something gave way and the thatched roof tumbled towards the two men and their mule with a violent crash. All three darted away from the danger, the mule breaking free of Fulk’s grip and indignantly kicking his hind legs out at his master before cantering towards the river. Raymond and his companion watched from a safe distance as the rest of the building collapsed into a fiery mound on top of the remnants of the Thorney Inn.
‘Well done, Fulk,’ he said to his new companion. ‘Well done indeed. If you ever find yourself in Wales and in need of work, come and find me. My name is Raymond de Carew and I always need good men like you.’ The boy nodded timidly and, as Raymond again broke down into a fit of coughing, he disappeared back towards the riverbank.
‘Raymond,’ a weak voice called from beyond the burning buildings. It was Strongbow. He was battered, bruised and covered in ash and sweat, but he was alive. ‘We were attacked, Raymond,’ he said with a startled look in his eyes. ‘Attacked!’
To Raymond it looked like the earl had awoken from a swoon. He coughed loudly because of the smoke in his chest, but he dutifully climbed to his feet to greet his lord. ‘I am glad to see you,’ he took the earl by his shoulders to steady him, feeling the prominent bones under Strongbow’s mail. The earl was shaking but in his hand was a bloodied sword.
‘They were Danes,’ Strongbow replied, ‘I am sure of it. It was like something out of a nightmare, Raymond: savages with axes and circular shields coming through the smoke. It was like the old tales.’ He began panting and shaking his head. ‘They were after your charges, Geoffrey and Alice of Abergavenny. I don’t think they were expecting to find my warriors here.’ The earl began blinking vociferously and Raymond wasn’t sure if it was due to the acrid smoke or the high emotion of the situation.
‘They must have been watching us and attacked when they saw the men go up to watch the coronation,’ Raymond said and bowed his head as the guilt and enormity of his short sojourn hit him. Here and there he spotted men wearing or carrying Strongbow’s colours, at least five of them, walking amongst th
e site of the fight.
‘Don’t worry, Raymond,’ Walter de Bloet said as he approached. ‘You weren’t here but we showed them. Lord Richard showed them.’ He nodded respectively towards the earl. Strongbow quickly returned his nephew’s curt nod.
‘What about our people,’ Raymond asked Walter, ‘are any hurt?’ The growing blaze meant that he had to shout over the roar issuing from the wreckage of the Thorney Inn. Before his miles could answer, a wail echoed through the smoke. It was Alice. She was sitting only a few metres from him beside the river with tears pouring down her face and her blue gown covered in ash and mud. Geoffrey was at her side, a long gash across his head and blood on his face. Raymond was by her side in an instant, lifting her to her feet. He took her face in his hands. ‘Are you alright, Alice? Are you hurt?’
‘Geoffrey is injured,’ she replied, rubbing away her tears with her fist. ‘You promised that you would protect us,’ she accused and pulled her face from his hands. ‘But you were not here when we needed you. You are a liar,’ she told him.
Raymond looked at his erstwhile mistress and shook his head. ‘I am sorry…’ he began and knelt down onto one knee beside Geoffrey. The boy had a head wound but Raymond could see that it looked a lot worse than he’d first assumed. As he reached forward to help the youngster Alice slapped his hand away.
‘I don’t need your help,’ she spat. ‘Prince Harry is already sending his private physician to help Geoffrey.’
Raymond stepped away from her. ‘Why would the Young King help you?’ he asked.
Alice tossed her hair to block her face from Raymond and spoke quietly to her brother, ignoring her former lover. ‘He won’t come himself,’ she finally snarled. ‘He’s being crowned, but his knights are on their way. They will protect me,’ she said with a defiant nod of her head, ‘and they will take us to the palace tonight. He says that he will make sure I get back Abergavenny.’
‘The prince will help you?’ Raymond attempted to comprehend Alice’s statement. ‘Harry?’ he asked again. A laugh built in strength as he slowly began to understand. He, a mere warrior from Wales, had been cuckolded by the heir to the greatest royal dominion in Europe. ‘The snivelling little bastard who I saw acting like a child at the abbey?’ he asked. Alice said nothing, pursing her lips angrily. ‘He’s fifteen, a wet behind the ears daddy’s boy.’ Raymond laughed again when he received no response. Alice’s angry countenance confirmed that the prince had indeed taken his place in her affections. Raymond dragged his hands over his face and head, as if uncovering himself from under a hood. He wasn’t angry, and that surprised him. In fact, the more that Raymond thought about the development, the more relieved he was; relieved that Alice had found a powerful protector who could see her dream of capturing Abergavenny come true. And for himself? He was relieved that he could return to Striguil to continue his worship of Basilia without the guilt of having a mistress sharing his bed. In any case, how could he be jealous of a prince? Raymond might as well have been envious of God’s power or angry at the sun for rising. He could never hope to rival the boy who had just been crowned King of England in the great abbey of Westminster. Alice of Abergavenny had opened her legs to a powerful and impressionable youth, and was now in a position to take on the power of William de Braose. And that meant she no longer needed Raymond de Carew.
‘I never thought that I would say this, Alice, but I wish you well with him, and that he returns what you deserve.’ He smiled at her.
‘That is all that you have to say to me?’
‘What else can I say?’ He lifted his chin and nodded over her head to where a small group of horsemen raced towards the burning alehouse. All the men were young and wore their own arms above their highly polished armour. They came to a halt beside Raymond and Alice.
‘Lady,’ their leader said without so much as a glance at the burning buildings. He leapt nimbly from his horse’s back to lift Alice to her feet. ‘I am Sir Bertran de Born, and I come with King Henry’s greetings. I am to escort you and your noble brother to the palace.’ He swept into a dramatic bow before the Abergavenny siblings, pointedly ignoring Raymond, who, covered in mud and ash, was hardly recognisable as a man of any note. ‘I have alerted the sheriff that a fire has broken out. King Harry wishes that he could have come to help you and assures me that he will not rest until he discovers who perpetrated this dreadful crime.’
‘My Lord Harry is a great king,’ Alice replied, casting an angry and victorious glance at Raymond. Despite the dreadful condition of her clothes Strongbow’s captain reckoned that she would still dazzle the royal court. ‘I know who is behind the attack, but that can wait until later. I am afraid all our belongings have been taken by the fire.’ She nodded at the burning building.
‘Do not worry, Lady Alice,’ Sir Bertran said. ‘King Harry will provide everything that you require. Do you have a palfrey?’ he asked.
Raymond held up his hand. ‘Don’t worry, Sir Bertran. I will get her a mount.’
The French knight looked at Raymond for the first time and nodded. ‘Well go and get it then, man,’ he demanded. A coin spun through the air to land at Raymond’s feet.
‘Fulk,’ Raymond shouted down the river, ‘bring your steed for Lady Alice.’ Turning back, he addressed Geoffrey, who had regained consciousness and had clambered to his feet. ‘Are you sure you would not rather stay with me and learn to be a proper warrior?’
The youngster glanced at his sister before answering. ‘The prince has agreed to take me on as his esquire,’ Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders. ‘I only want to get my inheritance. I am sorry.’ He bowed his head.
‘Well then, there can be nothing else to say,’ Raymond began, locking his eyes on Alice. ‘But remember this: if you ever need my help, know that you will have it.’ With that he turned around and walked away, pausing only to give Sir Bertran’s coin to Fulk.
‘What the hell is that?’ he heard Bertran de Born shout as Fulk approached with the angry mule in tow. Raymond laughed as he imagined Alice’s anger at having to ride through Westminster to the palace, covered in ash and mud, on such a poor mount. Without turning he walked past the raging fire that had been the Thorney Inn.
He found Strongbow sitting on a table top outside a house a little downriver from the remnants of the inn. Around the earl sat their milites, who had forced the occupants to scarper so that they could have the house to themselves.
‘We killed a few of the Danes in the alehouse and then blockaded ourselves inside,’ the earl recapped the tale for the benefit of his warlord. ‘They were led by a beast with a red beard tied in two braids. His shield showed a black boar mask and it was he who set the inn on fire, but we fought our way free. That’s when young Geoffrey was hurt. He saw William de Braose and attacked him by himself. I sent Nicholas de Lyvet to help him. The rest is a bit of a blur.’ Strongbow looked like he would continue, but bit back his words and instead nodded across the road to where four bodies lay. One was wearing Strongbow’s crimson and gold. It was Nicholas. The other three bore no devices. Leather tunics, chainmail, circular shields, axes and heavy beards beneath the distinctive conical helmets – they were Danes.
‘What do we do now?’ Strongbow asked Raymond. ‘Go after them? Or do we go back to Striguil?’
‘I think that our troubles with William de Braose may be over now that Alice and Geoffrey have left our company,’ he said before telling his lord about how the siblings had been taken under the protection of Prince Harry.
‘This goes way beyond those two,’ the earl replied. ‘The Danes attacked me and my household, and that cannot be allowed to stand. So what should we do about it?’
The captain considered his lord’s question. He desired nothing more than to give chase through the streets as his enemy retreated towards their ship, harboured at Lambeth if Hubert Walter was to be believed. They had killed one of his men and that was a score that demanded to be settled. But Westminster was no battlefield, he knew, and the streets were crawling with K
ing Henry’s troops. Raymond was sure that the king would not deal kindly with armed bands of men fighting in when the coronation was happening at the abbey. That was to bring disrespect on a solemn occasion. To attack was to invite certain defeat.
‘We should not pursue them. We came here for one reason and that was to ask King Henry to grant you a licence to go to Ireland, Lord. I think we should stick to that task.’
‘My saints,’ Strongbow whimpered as he turned to look northwards at the great Palace of Westminster as it loomed above the thatched rooftops. ‘I think I’d rather go after the Danes.’
Sir William de Braose’s father shoved him into the wall of the cold anteroom and held him there. The back of his skull cracked painfully on the stone wall of Westminster Palace.
‘Danes?’ Lord Bramber hissed. ‘You bring those damned marauders to Westminster during the Young King’s coronation? Do you wish to see us both thrown into Henry’s oubliette?’ He stole a glance over his shoulder as if he was sure that some of the king’s routiers would already be searching him out for questioning.
‘Get off me,’ the younger man growled as his father’s gnarled hand closed around the edge of his leather coif. With his other hand Lord Bramber cuffed the chape from his son’s head. Sir William’s forehead took most of the force of the blow. ‘Please, Father!’
‘You think a hood will keep your secret safe?’ the older man whispered. ‘Do you think for a second that the king’s spies will not have heard that it was you who broke the peace? Why did you tell me?’ he asked with a sad shake of his head. ‘Now I will share in your fate.’
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