Lord of the Sea Castle

by Edward Ruadh Butler

  ‘He could make you a lot of money,’ Raymond replied.

  Marshal shook his head. ‘Only the desperate will give his company a fight at a tourney. Who in their right mind wants to be on a vengeful king’s hit list if they succeed in capturing some of his knights? At any rate the arms and horses of desperate men will hardly be worth the effort of fighting them off.’

  ‘But the Young King is a good fighter?’

  ‘He could be,’ Marshal considered, ‘but from what I have seen he little more than a wastrel and layabout.’ He turned to Strongbow who sat quietly by, picking at the mutton in his bread trencher. He greeted the earl who, having been admitted by Raymond’s friend, Hubert Walter, had been relegated to sit amongst the lowly and bawdy hearth knights at the furthest point of the hall from the dais. ‘I heard about the attack,’ Marshal said and turned to point a greasy finger at Lord Bramber and his son as they joked and laughed with the Old King. ‘It was an ill-done thing.’

  ‘Sir William must have come straight here after the attack on the inn,’ Raymond replied. ‘He may be worried that we will attack him now that his Danes have gone.’ Following the departure of Alice and Geoffrey, Raymond and Borard had made their way down to the riverside and stared across the river towards Lambeth where a single ship under oar had been making its way upriver against the current. At the steering oar had been a giant man with a red beard in two braids, as Strongbow had described. Raymond had watched impotently as their enemy had fled the scene of the crime.

  ‘I can’t believe that they are so brazen as to come to court,’ Strongbow replied. The earl still had the vestiges of smoke from the fire on his face and clothes. ‘If I did not think that King Henry would declare me outlaw, I would go straight back to Wales and burn Abergavenny and Brecon to the ground.’ He looked around at Raymond as though he wished to know if that had been the correct response.

  ‘Who is that with King Henry now?’ Raymond asked Marshal, giving Strongbow a tight-lipped, though supportive, smile.

  ‘Ranulph de Glanville, the Justiciar’s man,’ Marshal said of the bearded man at the Old King’s shoulder. ‘He all but runs Henry’s court now that Becket is gone and nobody gets to meet the king without the say-so of Ranulph’s nephew Theobald.’ He nodded in the direction of the king’s tall steward who roamed in front of the dais like a great alaunt guarding a castle bailey. ‘They will both be friendly to your cause, however. Hubert Walter is Theobald’s younger brother and our priestly colleague,’ he coughed to stress his uncertainty at the term, ‘has already cleared the way for you.’

  Raymond raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ll expect a large bill in due course from Hubert.’ He turned towards Strongbow. ‘Are you ready to meet King Henry?’

  ‘Right now?’ The earl looked distraught. ‘With those two fiends whispering malice against me?’ He eyed Lord Bramber and his son. ‘God’s peace, Raymond, but why did you ever bring those two bastards of Abergavenny to my hall? They have caused me nothing but trouble.’ Strongbow blinked as if his eyes were beginning to water.

  Raymond pictured Alice’s beautiful face, but said nothing.

  ‘It is now or never,’ Marshal announced and climbed to his feet, lifting his chin in signal to the steward. ‘Remember that King Henry likes nothing better than a man who agrees with him,’ he told the earl as he too stood up. ‘He hates defiance and would rather have a broken man serve him through fear than a brave one in loyalty. I urge you not to show any fight even if he antagonises you…’

  ‘Which he probably will,’ Raymond added. ‘Marshal has agreed to introduce you to the king, Lord, and has been advising him in your favour since the day we met on the tourney field. I pray that the king is playing Sir William for a fool, teasing out their secrets as they hope to earn his good favour.’

  ‘He probably means to do the same to me.’ Strongbow was sweating terribly, his sparse hair caked to his head and his armpits uncomfortable. Nevertheless he nodded to Marshal who gave him a last sympathetic grin before walking away towards the dais to prepare his approach. This was the moment that Strongbow had been dreading, the moment which had haunted him as he had crossed the sea and the lands of France and England; his meeting with Henry FitzEmpress. Suddenly the earl felt compelled to talk to his famous father and he cast his eyes heavenwards, through the arched roof of Westminster Palace. The words failed him and instead he bowed his head and said a short prayer to St Benedict, appealing for his aid and advice.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Raymond from beside the earl. Strongbow opened his eyes to see Marshal waving for them to join him and the king on the dais. The earl experienced acute alarm as he approached the dais. Henry FitzEmpress laughed bombastically with his court cronies, pointing in Strongbow’s direction and whispering jokes, he was sure, at his expense. Thankfully, behind him he could sense the encouraging presence of Raymond de Carew. He tried to remember the advice which Marshal had provided and prayed that nothing would upset the king before he had that for which he had come: an unambiguous and definitive licence to journey to Ireland. He thought of his mother in Heaven and prayed that he would not let her down again.

  ‘Sir Richard de Clare of Striguil, Lord,’ a voice woke Strongbow from his daze. It belonged to the king’s steward, the tall man with an icy stare who wore the same blue and yellow arms as Ranulph de Glanville. The steward cast his daunting gaze down upon the earl as if he did not consider him worthy to talk to his king.

  ‘Hubert Walter’s brother,’ Raymond whispered behind Strongbow. ‘Keep going, Lord. Remember, he is on our side though he hides it well.’

  ‘Strongbow,’ a derisive voice echoed throughout the great hall. ‘Really? Who invited him to attend my son’s big day?’ It was Henry FitzEmpress who had spoken. ‘Well, let the traitorous churl come forward and I will hear what he has to say.’ He did not blink nor avert his gaze as the earl tottered towards him and swept into a deep bow. The stout ginger king’s shining eyes bored into Strongbow while upon his face Henry wore the barest hint of a smile. He was enjoying the discomfort that his unwavering gaze had on his subject.

  ‘You look like you have been through the wars, Strongbow. The stories of your friendship with beggars are not false after all? I, for one, never doubted them for a second.’ The king giggled and took a long drink from his mug of wine.

  ‘I was attacked at my lodgings,’ Strongbow described and indicated to the blood on his surcoat, ‘this very afternoon, Lord King.’

  ‘Who would attack you?’ Henry said scornfully as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘And what the hell would they steal from you? Cheap bliauts and dirty braies? Oh for God’s sake stop shaking, man,’ he ordered, recognising Strongbow’s fear. ‘I am not going to kill you, yet.’ He let the silence stretch as Ranulph de Glanville tapped the king on the arm and for many minutes they conversed secretly. No-one in the great hall was brave enough to interrupt. ‘So,’ he asked as he turned back to Strongbow, waving Ranulph away, ‘now that you have piqued my interest, who molested you?’ His voice easily penetrated the din from the revellers in the body of Westminster’s hall. Strongbow’s eyes flicked to Sir William, who squirmed angrily beside the king’s seat. Henry missed nothing and laughed at the youngster’s uneasiness. ‘Do you want to accuse someone? Well, I would think extremely carefully about what you think you saw or I may see fit to rethink my decision on letting a traitor like you keep his fortress at Striguil.’

  ‘My family won those lands by their strength of arms, not by the grant of any king,’ Strongbow replied and wrung his hands together behind his back. ‘They are not yours to bequeath or deny.’

  ‘Easy, Lord,’ Raymond whispered to Strongbow but Henry seemed not to mind the earl’s rebuke, issuing a snort of laughter at his small act of defiance. Raymond’s eye drifted towards William de Braose and his father. The younger man stared balefully at the earl while the elder, Lord Bramber, chewed nervously on his lower lip. Raymond suddenly realised that they were as scared of Strongbow as he was of them. Both parti
es were caught in Henry’s trap and neither party truly knew if they were in peril or protected by the king’s favour.

  ‘What say you?’ the Old King waved a hand in Sir William de Braose’s direction. ‘Inheritance is a tricky and complicated matter, is it not? Your experiences in Wales must’ve given you a new and fascinating point of view on the subject.’

  The younger man looked to his father, who offered no assistance before shaking his head and pathetically shrugging his shoulders. Henry coughed a laugh.

  ‘The men who attacked Lord Strongbow were mere outlaws, Lord King,’ Raymond interjected brightly. ‘They launched a pitiable attack on a simple household at rest. Even a peacock troubadour like Sir Bertran de Born could have bested them and sooner, rather than later, I will catch up to them and I will teach them the king’s justice; nothing for you to worry about, Lord.’

  Henry turned on Raymond immediately with his stern grey-eyed stare. Such was the power of his eyes that Strongbow’s captain immediately wondered if he had made a serious mistake in speaking up. However, Henry’s anger quickly turned to mirth and his barking laughter made every man on the dais visibly relax.

  ‘You hear that boy,’ the king leant over towards his son Harry. ‘He called your friend a prize peacock!’ He laughed again and turned back towards Raymond. His finger shot out to point at the Marcher warrior. ‘What’s your name, lad?’

  ‘His name is Raymond de Carew,’ said the petulant voice of the Young King before Raymond could answer. ‘Not content with offending my comrade,’ he put a hand on the shoulder of a furious Bertran de Born, ‘he almost ruined the dignity of my tourney yesterday by playing the fool with Sir William Marshal.’

  ‘Good,’ the Old King replied and turned back to look at Raymond. ‘Next time make sure and knock my son’s block off while you are at it so I don’t have to keep on funding this ludicrous hobby.’ Without waiting for Raymond to respond, the king turned to Ranulph de Glanville who circled behind him like a great dog waiting for scraps at a kitchen door. ‘How much was it this time?’

  ‘Two hundred pounds.’

  ‘That’s my income from the Rutland estate for a year!’ the Old King laughed long and hard before turning on Strongbow once more. His smile dropped away immediately. ‘So tell me, Sir Richard, why have you expended so much effort trying to attend my court? Could it be that you have adopted some of Henry de Hereford’s bastards? Young William de Braose says you are trying to steal Abergavenny out from under him.’

  ‘Of course not, Lord,’ Strongbow began nervously. ‘I merely offered them a roof over their head while you decided upon the veracity of their claim.’ The earl breathed in deeply and looked the king directly in the eye. ‘My reason to come before you, Lord King, was because I have a request to make of you...’

  ‘A request?’ King Henry cut him off instantly and leapt forward in his seat and smashing his fist down on a table. Every cup and plate rattled and every conversation that had been going on in the great hall stopped. Henry did not seem to notice. ‘Why would I help you, who hurt me worse than death by supporting that bastard usurper Stephen de Blois? What I should do is throw you from the nearest castle wall with a long bowstring around your neck and another short one tied to your balls. I owe you nothing but a long, painful death. So tell me, Strongbow, what request would you have of me?’

  The sudden venom of Henry’s words seemed to act like a strike of a mace on the earl who stepped back, bumping into Raymond who, for his part, realised that what he was seeing was King Henry in a good mood.

  ‘The earl wishes to obtain your permission to depart your lands, Lord,’ Raymond told the king. ‘As you have stated your dislike of his presence at Westminster, I wonder if it would be to the benefit of both Earl Richard and your own royal person to see him gone.’

  The king laughed. ‘Do you fear to speak for yourself, Strongbow?’

  ‘I do not, Lord,’ squeaked the earl. ‘I seek your permission to go to Ireland with King Diarmait Mac Murchada as your licence directs. I have nothing left to give you in my present standing. In Ireland I hope to be able to find some small fortune,’ he dropped his eyes to the floor, ‘to better serve you.’

  ‘I see,’ King Henry mumbled as he dropped back into his chair. He picked up an emerald ring from the table before him and looked deep into the green jewel, rolling it around in his fingers. ‘“To better serve me“, you say. If I grant you leave to go to Ireland, your estates in Wales will be left without a lord?’

  Strongbow nodded. ‘My son-in-law, Sir Roger de Quincy, will act as deputy in my stead.’

  Without answer Henry leant back in his large wooden chair and waved a finger in the direction of Lord Bramber. For several minutes they whispered secretly as Ranulph de Glanville listened in. Raymond licked his lips with concern, wondering what Henry could be saying to Strongbow’s enemy.

  ‘My Lord Richard,’ the Young King Harry spoke to Strongbow while his father communicated with Lord Bramber. ‘I wanted to thank you for helping to save my dearest Alice and her brother from those ruffians earlier today. Doubtless they were some of my father’s routiers who attacked you...’ He cast an eye in his father’s direction to see if he was listening. ‘...but if you offend Holy Mother Church by purchasing the services of such irreligious mercenaries that is the kind of behaviour you should expect.’ He again glanced in his father’s direction, but it was clear that the Old King was not listening to his son’s words. King Harry looked irritated.

  ‘Your thanks are not needed, Lord King,’ Strongbow replied. ‘The girl was under my protection, but I am thankful that you have now taken an interest in her wellbeing on this day of all days.’

  ‘A lovely creature,’ Harry mused. ‘I have asked Sir Bertran to compose a song about her. I am sure that he alone can do her beauty justice.’ He was speaking to Strongbow, but his words struck home with Raymond de Carew. He ground his teeth as he watched the newest King of England accept the earl’s obsequious words as if he had waded through the blood of an army of Danes to save the damsel in distress. The thought of being cuckolded by this fallow youth was galling, but Raymond calmed down and reminded himself that he had never actually had claim to the beauty from Abergavenny.

  ‘I must add my heartfelt congratulations on your coronation, Lord,’ Strongbow added with a bow to the Young King of England.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Harry said absent-mindedly, his eyes flicking to his father who was still deep in conversation. ‘I think it is sensible to make good and lasting friendships with those that one means to rule one day,’ the Young King paused, ‘and I obviously think that there is a great deal of credence to young Geoffrey of Abergavenny’s claims in Wales.’

  Raymond froze as he listened to the words come from the King Harry’s mouth. His eyes flicked to Sir William de Braose and his father. They too had heard the declaration and were angrily staring at the Young King.

  ‘You should concentrate on your food, young pup,’ King Henry told his son and heir, ‘and leave the real work to the big dog.’ The king punched a fist to his wide chest and turned back to his advisors.

  ‘No, Father,’ Prince Harry grumbled, ‘I should be included – I am a king after all.’

  Henry’s laugh was somewhere between a caustic bellow and jolly giggle. ‘You sit there and watch how it is done, boy.’ The king turned towards Lord Bramber. ‘That pup is too much like his mother,’ he told them loudly. ‘She is always sticking her nose in my business too. Proud bitch,’ he added with a smile.

  ‘You will not speak of my mother like that,’ Harry cried as he landed a punch on the table top.

  The murmur from the feasting nobles diminished to listen in to the growing argument between the Old and Young Kings of England.

  ‘My court, my law,’ Henry announced without turning to look at his son.

  ‘I should have my own court, like King Louis had after he was crowned by his father.’ He pulled off his golden circlet as he slumped into his chair and contented himself with
staring broodingly at the back of his father’s head.

  ‘What do you think that they are talking about?’ Strongbow whispered in Raymond’s direction with a nod towards the Old King.

  ‘Nothing that we can influence now,’ his captain replied. ‘We must trust that Hubert Walter has won Ranulph de Glanville to our side.’ Strongbow turned and looked at him as if a particularly bad smell had wafted through the great hall of Westminster.

  ‘Well, Strongbow,’ Henry said quietly as he turned back towards the two men from Striguil, ‘it seems like I was overly angry with you.’ The earl smarted in shock at that statement but said nothing to interrupt. ‘Your request is one that interests me,’ the Old King continued, ‘and Sir Ranulph has advised that I should…’ Henry stopped talking suddenly as a servant approached the dais holding a gold gilt wine bowl in two hands. It was half-filled with red wine which sloshed around. Henry smiled broadly and waved his page forward, forgetting whatever he was about to say to Strongbow. The king climbed to his feet and accepted the wine from the boy. Two trumpets sounded behind him.

  ‘My lords and ladies,’ the king raised his voice causing the rumpus to slowly subside. ‘We are here in my Palace of Westminster to celebrate the coronation of my son Harry as King of England.’ He swept his hand towards his son who still slumped in his seat, still annoyed it seemed. ‘It is not often a man can see his son crowned king,’ Henry said with an infectious smile, ‘but it sends a message to France,’ he paused to allow boos to echo around the hall, ‘and to that bastard Becket, that no King of England will cower before them ever again.’ The king bounced on his toes as he spoke, enjoying the attention of the noblemen as he raised the bowl towards the heavy oak beams which soared above them all. ‘The King of the English is strong. His son is strong, and his family is strong. His empire is strong and his dynasty is strong!’