Much of this sentiment arose from his own experience: the abandonment of his mother; his parent’s heartlessness, his elder brother’s demonstrable indifference and his lack of inheritance. The effect of such a casting-off had become visceral in William. All he could see about him appeared to lead to vast expenditure and ruin, and in the early months of the New Year he was much given to these thoughts, for the Young Henry had become uncharacteristically quiescent, often refusing the exercises of the tilt-yard and preferring to watch over his gravid wife as she grew rounder.
As for himself, beyond these bouts of introspection – near as bad in themselves as the gossip in the Young King’s Court over the dynastic possibilities of not just the coming birth, but the fate of Queen Eleanor and the marriage prospects of Duke Richard and Count John – William maintained a rigid adherence to the knightly exercise. In this he was followed by only a handful of the mesnie so that it was remarked that in not following the new and languid fashion of Young Henry’s Court, FitzMarshal was showing a dangerous arrogance.
The effect upon the Young King was that of reproach, inclining him to listen to the tittle-tattle of those envious of William’s prowess, chiefly Adam d’Yquebeuf.
‘Your friend would have us believe he is a great knight,’ Young Henry remarked pointedly to Robert de Salignac one summer morning as the two of them watched William tilting at the quintain.
‘My Lord King, he keeps himself in readiness to serve you,’ De Salignac replied in defence of his friend.
‘I am not sure that I need his service,’ Young Henry replied darkly, turning away and leaving De Salignac staring after him. For two days De Salignac kept the Young King’s remarks to himself and was on the verge of warning William when Queen Marguerite was brought to bed. But the tiny boy she brought forth into the world breathed for no more than a few moments before he gave up the ghost. The word spread quickly, helped by the mad rage into which the Young King descended.
‘The mite took one look at the world and sensibly declined the blessings of life,’ Robert de Salignac murmured to William, simultaneously crossing himself. The sardonic blasphemy drew a long sigh from William, who shook his head and followed De Salignac’s gesture. ‘ ’Twill be a Requiem Mass now, I trow,’ De Salignac added with a languid boredom before thinking that he ought to warn William of the Young King’s disfavour. ‘He is in a rare passion…’ he began, but William seemed to have gathered himself up and, invested with resolution, made for the chamber door.
‘William, there is something… Whither do you go?’
The noise of Young Henry’s raving came in through the opened door and William paused on the threshold and turned. ‘As you love me, Robert, arm, go into the tiltyard and raise the whole mesnie; tell Odo to make ready my destrier and pass word that the King’s should be caparisoned. Blunt weapons for this day’s work.’
‘We are riding out?’ De Salignac asked, puzzled. ‘On such a day as this?’ but William had gone. He stood for a moment watching the motes of dust dance in the sunlight where it entered the room like the shaft of an unstrung bow-staff and then did his friend’s bidding.
William received no answer to his knocking on the Royal Chamber door. From within came noises like that of rutting beasts, rising and falling, punctuated by great sobs and indraughts of air. Two priests stood shivering with nerves and the squire on duty stared at him, wide-eyed and nervous.
As it appeared he would force the door the wretched squire protested: ‘You cannot, my Lord Marshal! It is not seemly.’
‘My Lord Marshal, it is we who should first console the King when he has ceased his blasphemies.’ The priests looked too terrified to do anything.
‘Then why to you not attend to the matter?’ he said to the priests, ‘I hear no blasphemies.’ Then he turned to the squire. ‘Stand aside, sir.’
‘My Lord, I dare not…’
William opened the door. The Young King was on his knees beside his bed, gasping for breath. At first William supposed him at his devotions, until he saw the rent blankets and the torn palliasse below, the straw from which was crammed into the King’s mouth. Then the roaring began again, though it subsided as he became aware of the presence of another in his private quarters.
The act of uninvited entry brought Henry to his feet. Fury at the cheating of God in the death of his heir changed to outrage at the enormity of the intrusion. William closed the door behind him as Henry, unable to articulate anything beyond a resumption of his leonine roaring with his mouth full of old straw, spat it out. When he had done so he vented all his ire on the intruder.
‘You!’ he shrieked, stumbling forward almost blinded by his wrath, his fists raised as if to strike William could he but bring him into focus. ‘You! God rot your devilish soul, FitzMarshal. You have been the Devil’s agent ever since the Queen my mother sent you to join my mesnie! Christ in Heaven, not one thing in my affairs has prospered since that moment! Do you know that?’
He was face-to-face with William, a few inches shorter and looking up, uttering his words with such vehemence that William felt the spittle on his face.
‘And now…and now, in a moment of the most private grief, you burst into my chamber unannounced, unsummoned, un…’ Young Henry could think of nothing to add and now began to strike William upon his breast, hammering with both fists. William braced himself against the blows and in the silence broken only by the dull thump-thump of Henry’s assault gasped out ‘My…Lord…King…you dishonour…me as…you dishonour yourself…’
‘How dare you!’ Henry stood back, his handsome face distorted with fury.
‘This is not kingly conduct, my Lord!’ William said steadily, breathing hard, for the pain in his bruised ribs was considerable.
‘You sir, exceed yourself, God damn you to perdition!’ Henry paused, gathering his wits. ‘How do I dishonour you? Is there not a yawning cavern between us, FitzMarshal?’
‘It was I who knighted you, Sire; dubbed and girded you, and I come as your loyal vassal to save you from yourself more readily than the two terrified and canting priests waiting without…’
‘Priests? I have not sent for priests…’
‘They come out of pity at your raving, my Lord King, and would give you the Host were you to take the straw out of your beard.’
Young Henry plucked at his mouth, over-swept by the sudden realisation of the fool he must look. To fill the void that threatened, William said quickly, ‘my Lord King, we have more in common than you think.’
The Young Henry seemed to shrink. ‘H…how can that be, you are a penniless knight; you owe all to me…’
‘And you to your father, Sire, in that you are a Prince. But I was sent a hostage as a small boy, disowned, cut off from any inheritance since. I am not FitzMarshal, my Lord, but William Marshal, in the service of my Liege Lord and to that end I have ordered the mesnie made ready to ride out.’
As he strove to understand William’s meaning the Young King partially calmed himself. ‘You have what?’
‘The person of the Queen is in no danger, I understand, and it would be better if we rode out and matched our mesnies. The day is perfect.’
‘They will say…’ Henry seemed uncertain what the world would say and hesitated.
‘That your conduct was unseemly?’
‘Yes.’
‘Or that you recovered your manhood having seen the Queen comfortable. I warrant she will be sleeping. Word of all this,’ William gestured round the chamber at the torn bedding and the strewn straw, ‘will reach your father’s ear. Better he hears otherwise, wouldn’t you say?’
The Young Henry was still breathing heavily mastering his temper and staring hard at William. ‘God’s blood, William Marshal,’ he said at last as he perceived something in William’s proposal. Eventually he nodded. ‘Very well. Go. I command you to make ready my mesnie privée. A red band upon their right arms and a white upon those who cleave to you.’
William made his obeisance and withdrew. Outside
he dismissed the priests, who scuttled away with every appearance of deep contentment. To the Squire he said, ‘The King will call you to arm him presently.’
Leaving the lad with a puzzled look upon his face William ran down the spiral steps and out into the tiltyard. The sunshine dazzled him for a moment and then he saw the horsemen and felt the palpable atmosphere of disbelief and half-heartedness, as though they were set upon a fool’s errand.
Kicking aside a small pig which had escaped enclosure, William shaded his eyes and raised his voice. ‘The King’s knights to arm with blunted weapons, a red cloth to be knotted about their sword-arms above the elbow! My own likewise with a white cloth! Go to it!’
There was a moment’s hesitation as the import of the order sank in, then Robert de Salignac roared for his horse. ‘Come lads, to horse! We cannot keep our Lord the King waiting!’
De Salignac had done his work and Odo, already in helm and hauberk, had William’s own gear ready and his destrier saddled. William waved aside his surtout and lance Once caparisoned William put his left foot in Odo’s joined hands and with a grunt from both men, flung himself into the saddle. Seeing his own men drawing up he rode along the line giving them a cursory inspection. Two of the knights wore their surtouts and William ordered them removed before returning to the head of the little column where De Salignac awaited him, his mount foaming at the chafe of the bit and pawing the gravel of the yard.
‘We are somewhat outnumbered, Will,’ he said drily.
‘Aye, and we must lose, you and I especially. I would have the King win.’
‘He comes,’ De Salignac nodded and William turned his horse and walked it towards the Young Henry.
Leaning from the saddle, his helm on his saddle-bow he asked in a low vice, ‘Does the Queen sleep, my Liege?’
Young Henry nodded.
‘Then a game, my Lord King - for stakes,’ he said, so that it was clear what lay between the two of them. ‘Ten marks a life, to be signified by the tearing off of our marks.’ William touched the white woollen strip of blanket Odo had torn off for him and that now encircled his right arm. ‘With blunt weapons.’
‘Agreed,’ Young Henry said curtly, adding, ‘the flat and not the point or edge,’ by which William knew the Young King’s own sword was not for exercise. He bowed to pride.
‘And with your permission my following to leave first since you have the advantage in numbers.’
‘You would ambush me?’ Henry’s tone mellowed slightly, William thought, and a faint light of anticipation gleamed in his eyes.
‘Since I lack a mesnie proper of mine own, Yes. Besides, only if you let me, my Lord King.’
‘Then get you hence, William Marshal and do your damndest. I shall give you but half an hour by my own reckoning.’
William turned away, kicked his horse into a canter and led his own column out through the gate.
‘What miracle have you wrought here?’ De Salignac asked, riding up alongside him as they cleared the city and rode through open country.
‘God knows, Robert, but I may be deader than a mere forfeit acknowledged by this day’s end. I must pass word that each life is vested in our cloth token.’
‘I have already done that.’
William turned and smiled at his companion. ‘My thanks.’ They rode on for a mile or two until they were passing through scrub and open woodland. Denser woods lay ahead of them and William held up his hand and drew rein.
‘We cannot make this too easy for fear of further angering the King,’ William said to De Salignac and his headmost knights as they gathered round, their mounts steaming from exertion in the sunshine. ‘You shall all do your utmost; do you understand?’
They nodded or grunted and De Salignac asked, ‘Do you intend we divide into two groups?’
‘No, three. Two of eight lances; one of ten. The first eight under Robert de Salignac, then ten under the Sieur Jean and eight under my command. Jean, when we have chosen our ground do you conceal yourself and your party to the right of the road. Robert, yours to the left; you are to confront the head of the King’s mesnie and as it turns to engage, Jean will fall upon them. You will be surrounded, their numbers will ensure this, but you should then break off the action and ride as if to escape. They will see it as a lure and break off their pursuit. That will be the point at which I fall upon their rear…’
‘But my Lord Marshal we may well be too distant to come swiftly enough to your aid,’ argued Jean de Laon.
‘That is my intention. I shall pay the forfeits. It is the King’s day for good sport, not ours. He has had enough grief already.’ William looked around him, ‘do you understand?’ Again the nods and grunts of affirmation. ‘Do not think he will not put me to the test,’ he added, thinking of the King’s sharpened sword. ‘Now, let us choose our ground before we are caught in the open.’
They rode on into the woodland until, just beyond a slight bend, a glade opened up beyond which two low hummocks rose. The summer sun filtered through the canopy of leaves and the ground, thick with the rotting vegetation of last year, was dappled. William checked his horse and the column reined in. It would suit William’s purpose and they had no time to linger. Indicating the slight rise to their left William nodded to Robert de Salignac.
‘Lances low,’ he said as De Salignac led his eight horsemen off. He only had to nod to Jean de Laon before turning to the remaining eight. ‘Follow me…’
William turned about and rode back a bowshot along the way they had come. Having rounded a slight bend in the track he turned aside and drove into the woods until he judged the sunlight, shadow and interposing trees gave some concealment. He was lucky too, a slight dip in the ground added to their concealment. Ordering his men to dismount he handed his reins to Odo.
‘Remount the instant you see my signal,’ he ordered before walking back to lie beneath a tree from where he could command a view of the road.
They did not have long to wait. The still summer air carried the dull thunder of shod hooves and the faint jingle of harness a moment or so before he saw them, four out ahead and then the main body of fifty or so horsemen: odds of roughly two-to-one. It was going to prove an expensive day for himself, William thought ruefully. He waited until the Young King’s mesnie was out of sight, rose and loped back to his waiting men. They mounted the second they saw him coming. Even as they did so they could hear the first shouts and clash of arms.
Holding up his hand, his heart beating, William led his men at a walk back to the road but once all were clear of the trees he waved them forward. Ahead of them they could hear the clang of arms and the shouts of exertion, then there was a sharp change, the noise of fighting ended and there were several loud shouts. William waited until they reached the bend, then kicked his horse into a fast canter. Having eschewed a lance he drew his sword.
Beyond the glade which opened up as they advanced they could see the swirl of indecision. The mêlée was over, but the Young King’s mesnie had stalled and lost its cohesion. William had little time to assess the matter, but it seemed to him that the men who faced about as someone shouted a warning of his own approach were not the full fifty he had seen ride past him earlier.
The shock of battle when it came bore both fear and exhilaration. It was only mock warfare but its intent was grim enough, to wrest from the enemy the coloured arm-bands by whatever means came to hand. Some tried the sword, others the fist, but the first was too clumsy and easily evaded and the latter required the removal of a gauntlet. Better by far to knock your opponent off his horse and have your own destrier, trained for the very task, to strike its hooves about the fallen foe to keep the fellow writhing in fear of their shattering effect until he submitted. William unseated two of Young Henry’s men, a knight and his squire, before dismounting alongside them to cut off their arm-bands. Odo came up and grasped the destrier’s reins as the beast stamped either side of the knight’s torso until William called him off and completed his business. He saw the discomfited war
rior was Adam d’Yquebeuf and wished it had been another. He could see the humiliation and fury in D’Yquebeuf’s eyes as he tore off his helm in submission.
All about the two the swirl of the mêlée continued and this small triumph accomplished, William sought to remount, handing his trophies to Odo, when a great shout rent the air. William looked up and saw approaching what seemed to be the rest of Young Henry’s mesnie, coming full-tilt after turning back from their pursuit of De Salignac and De Laon. At their head rode the Young King and he had identified William even without his surtout.
‘He’s mine!’ he heard Young Henry bellow.
‘Get clear!’ William shouted to Odo, seeking room and digging his spurs into his destrier’s flanks. He met the King at a half-gallop, parrying the blow aimed at his head and wheeling round just as the King did the same. But Henry did not return, instead he reined in his horse and William found himself surrounded by six or seven of the Young King’s knights and four or five men on foot. He laid about himself with the flat of his sword, dealing several powerful blows and unseating two men before he felt a loss of control; one of the men on foot had severed his left stirrup strap and threw up his leg with a mighty heave, even as William’s destrier turned its head and attempted to throw them off by biting them. For a moment they spun in a tight circle, then Henry rode forward again and was upon William. Wherever the Young King intended the blow to fall was uncertain, for the gyration of his quarry was so fast, but it struck William across his left shoulder and cheek as the King drove his own horse into the flank of William’s. The great war-horse staggered sideways under the impact and might have fallen, throwing William and landing on top of him, but William’s hours of training paid off. Somehow it skittered sideways and William heard Henry curse.
William Marshal Guardian of England- The Complete Series Page 20