William glowered at his wine for a long while, then took a deep draught and looked at his friend. ‘You have a subtle mind, Robert,’ he growled.
‘Can you see a hole in my reasoning?’
William shook his head. ‘No, by God, I cannot.’ The two men relapsed into a long silence and then William asked rhetorically, ‘what would you do now in Henry’s circumstances? He fears the loss of prestige that his father’s continuing refusal will bring about his head once it is generally known, and he has ensured that by his pilgrimage to suck at King Philippe’s tit in Paris. What one act would outflank the Old King and his brother Richard? Do you know, my clever friend?’
‘Why,’ responded a smiling De Salignac, warming to the game, ‘of course. The Holy Land… Why William, ’tis not I who have the subtle mind…’
And both men laughed into their cups.
*
The Young Henry’s announcement that he would carry his mesnie by sea to the aid of his distant kinsman, Baldwin IV, King of Jerusalem, proved the two men correct. This wretched man, a leper from child-hood, was increasingly menaced by Muslim forces intent on ousting the Frankish enclave and the Old King’s desire to come to Baldwin’s relief had been diverted by the rebellion of his sons. That the Young Henry should pick up the gauntlet and surpass his father would not only strike a blow at the old man’s pride, but gain Papal merit which might be swung in the son’s favour in the reconsideration of the question of Normandy. Beyond that, it might secure the crown of the Kingdom of Jerusalem for himself, for Baldwin the Leper had no heir of his body. Such a prize was beyond equal and, remarked Robert de Salignac drily, ‘a thing worth tilting at’.
And then, with this magnificent and Holy policy raised, the Young Henry was lured away, seduced by an opportunity nearer home: to undermine brother Richard and loosen his grip on Aquitaine.
Thanks to his ruthless cruelties and outrages against them, both real and imagined, many of the lesser nobility in the western duchy had again risen against their overlord. Anxious, the Old King crossed the Channel and marched south to his son Richard’s aid, summoning the Young King who was ordered to join them at the rendezvous in Périgord where the Angevin loyalists were besieging the castle of Puy-St-Font. On 1 July the two Henrys were united with every appearance of amity. Within weeks the rebellion collapsed and the Angevin armies dispersed. The Young King lingered, making slow progress north, dispensing largesse among the nobles and, with his elegant appearance and easy charm, casually offering them an alternative to his vicious brother.
The ploy worked. That autumn Richard’s rule was again openly defied and the Young Henry was receiving secret pleas for help from Aquitaine. A duchy lay within his grasp
*
‘Well William? What is the state of our high project?’
The Young Henry had assembled his Court and retinue at Evreux where his mesnie awaited the order to advance into Aquitaine. Among the assembled knights banneret that sat as counsellors in the matter that morning the mood was one of mixed expectations. On the one hand, despite Duke Richard’s formidable reputation, they had all convinced themselves that the appearance of the Young King at the head of his own prestigious war-host would suborn the majority of the vassal lords of Aquitaine, from north to south. They had been assured this would be the case and all waited the word to mount up and ride. There was, however, a problem beyond the dynastic evil of one brother making war upon another, and it centred upon the man to whom the Young King now turned for confirmation that the mesnie was ready for war. Without precisely knowing its cause, Henry had caught something of the cautious hesitation of these knights and had called them to his board to thrash out the matter and help overcome his own residual doubts.
William, the Young King’s closest military confidant, retained his post as Marshal; he had no lands, was unmarried and therefore had neither distraction nor reason not to act as the Young Henry’s chief counsellor for war. Besides, he was exceptionally able in the matter of assembling a siege train and the requisite horses, men and forage. Thanks to his high standing in Young Henry’s opinion, the King had delegated responsibility to William to muster, arm and review the foot-soldiers and mounted men-at-arms committed by the Young Henry’s vassals. And whilst these qualities commended him to the King and brought forward Young Henry’s political aims, making of them a reality, neither endeared him to many in Henry’s wider mesnie.
Ever since Lagny-sur-Marne a faction had been growing within the Young King’s household that sought first the displacement and then the downfall of a man they thought unworthy of the heights to which prowess and renown in the field had brought him. He was an unlanded upstart, an Englishman to boot, an outsider, some said a bastard (his lack of land proved that); others kept up the old canard of his being bewitched, the Devil’s spawn. How else, they argued, could such a man rise so spectacularly? By such means did the jealous acquit themselves of accusations of sin? And now there was something else; it was popularly held by men such as D’Yquebeuf, whose animosity towards William had become psychotic, that William had himself fomented this new interest in Aquitaine, that he had poisoned the Young King’s mind and diverted him from his Holy intention of going on a crusade. It was a novel notion and found favour among the clerks in Holy orders to whom these knights turned for their spiritual guidance and soon it became clear that William must be rooted out of the Young King’s Court altogether, for – it was now obvious - he imperilled their master’s soul.
‘He is too ready to find fault…’ D’Yquebeuf was fond of grumbling, sounding out the opinion of those about him.
‘Or picking it where none exists…’ echoed Thomas de Coulonces, who was firmly of D’Yquebeuf’s opinion and stood at his right shoulder.
‘He would not be so particular had he lands of his own and felt his own coffers draining dry…’ added Jean de Laon.
Robert de Salignac knew of the intrigue and constantly warned William.
‘De Laon…’
‘Who we both know to be a French spy, Robert, and who will shift his allegiance when he is told to do so,’ William interrupted, brushing his friend’s anxieties to one side. It was inconceivable to William that anything substantial enough could be brought to the Young King’s ear to discredit him. Indeed the very arguments that persuaded his enemies that he was dangerous, for William indicated his helplessness. He had no land and therefor lacked a base for his power; he was wholly dependent upon the largesse of the Young King. And such a lack of distraction surely made it logical that, if Henry required a disinterested friend, then William’s amity – a matter of proven loyalty – was to be preferred. Besides his prowess and wider martial skills, no-one but Henry knew that William had rescued him from the rage that had threatened to destroy him after the death of his short-lived son. And the Young King knew William never sought to capitalise upon this incident. True, Henry had felt touched by humiliation when William had had to rescue him at Lagny, but of all his knights he would rather it had been William than any other. And what man better fitted than to keep his mesnie fit for purpose and to see the money bestowed upon his companions-in-arms was properly used?
William rose at the Young King’s question, placed both hands flat upon the table and leaned forward to sum up the state of the war-host.
‘My Lord King, we are all assembled and are in tolerably good order. I would recommend we await the arrival of Ranulf FitzStephen who is late to the muster but, should Your Grace wish to proceed and not lose this fine weather,’ and here William gestured towards the shafts of sunlight pouring through the casements, ‘then we may move within two days…’
‘Why not tomorrow?’ asked the Young King pointedly.
‘I would remuster one mesnie, Sire, it was wanting some bowmen who are said to be hurrying hence…’
‘One mesnie? You mean one among those here assembled, that of a knight banneret?’
‘Aye, Sire…’
‘To whom do you refer?’
‘My Lord Ki
ng, I, er…’
‘Do not evade the query, William,’ the Young King said, his voice warm.
‘I do not evade…’
‘Then whose, sir, whose?’ The Young King glared round the table as William hesitated. ‘Well, one of you must know. Which of you is it?’
Thomas de Coulonces raised his hand. ‘I believe the Marshal refers to me, Sire. I have a want of bowmen and bow-staves despite a requisition to my Lord Marshal for the latter…’
The Young King looked from De Coulonces to William. ‘You have been squabbling over the matter?’
William shrugged coolly. ‘The bow-staves await the men, my Lord King; I would have saved the worthy Thomas the embarrassment of this. The matter will be swiftly concluded…’
‘But I wish to march tomorrow,’ said Henry, suddenly resolute. ‘My mind is fixed upon the matter.’
‘Then we march without the bow-men, my Lord King and carry the bow-staves with us in anticipation of the archers following us. Ranulf FitzStephen may take them under his wing and bring them forward.’
‘Very well.’
And there the matter rested, though William afterwards deplored the matter as a nonsensical farce to Robert de Salignac.
‘ ’Tis a pity it was De Coulonces’s mesnie,’ De Salignac mused, ‘but who else’s would it be other than Adam D’Yquebeuf’s. Did you see how he coloured at his friend’s discomfiture?’
‘No, I saw only De Coulonces anger. They are such damnable hotheads…’
‘It would not surprise me if De Coulonces had delayed bringing forward his men to catch you out and that the thing went against him only caused him a mortification.’
‘Surely it was no more than a discomfiture,’ William remarked, ‘not a matter for choler, surely.’
‘As you yourself say, my friend,’ De Salignac observed, ‘they are such damnable hotheads.’
William shrugged again. ‘Well,’ he said resignedly, ‘there the matter must rest.’
*
Would that it had.
During the rest of that day Evreux buzzed with the hurrying forward of the war-host as the order went out for the expected march to commence on the morrow and all the knights looked to their own equipages, harness, weapons, horse and men. For William the hours passed speedily and he was quite unaware of any consequences from the morning’s council-of-war. It was only as the knights fore-gathered in the great hall to dine that evening that Robert de Salignac told him that the castle had been disturbed that afternoon by the noise of the Young King falling into one of his Angevin rages.
‘What has upset him?’ William asked, surprised.
‘I have no idea, but I hear that he was put out of countenance by this morning’s council and later by something said by Queen Marguerite, or one of her women. Anyhap, here he comes…’
The Young King swept into the great hall and took his seat at board. Taking his own place William shot a glance at him and saw him composed, but of that high colour that William knew of old presaged ill-temper.
After some moments Henry leaned over and asked: ‘What would you say if our departure were to be postponed to await the arrival of FitzStephen and De Coulonces’ men?’
William thought a moment, then responded. ‘We are poised to move, Sire, a further delay might signal irresolution.’
‘But I would have the host together in all its puissance when we enter Aquitaine, surely you can see that? FitzStephen’s mesnie is second only to your own.’
‘Would you have me send someone to meet FitzStephen and hurry him?’ William asked with a suggestion to ease the Young King’s obvious fretfulness.
It was the Young King’s turn to consider. He shook his head. ‘No, place your own mesnie under Robert de Salignac and wait here yourself until FitzStephen musters. You are best fitted to urge a forced march and will surely catch us up by the time we reach Alençon.’
William nodded agreement. Privately he deplored Henry’s too evident anxiety, FitzStephen would take the matter badly and it would require William to provide a soothing balm to a wounded spirit, but Ranulf had been lately in Eu and had had a long march.
‘Whatever happens, William,’ Young Henry said, ‘I want you at my side by the time we leave Alençon and I cannot afford to break my march there for more than a day, or word of our coming will reach my brother.’
William nodded. So that was it; now the matter had ceased to be a dream, the long shadow of brother Richard was thrown across the threshold of Aquitaine. ‘Do not fear my Lord King,’ he said reassuringly, ‘both FitzStephen and I will be with you ’ere you cross into Maine.’
The following morning William rode up and down the length of the column as it passed through the town gate and headed south and west. He saw his own mesnie ride out under his own banner, the red lion rampant upon its field of pale gold and green, led by Robert de Salignac who saluted him. He watched his following, all with his emblazoned surtout, led by his bumptious herald, Henry the Northerner, whose pompous flourish made William chuckle. Last, he watched as the Young King mounted his own white palfrey, a horse as handsome as any destrier, and led his own retinue clattering out of Evreux on the road to Alençon.
‘ ’Till we meet again, William!’ the Young Henry called, in high good humour now that all matters were settled and he was on the move. ‘God speed you to my side!’
‘God’s will be done, my Lord King!’ William shouted in response as the cavalcade passed and a slow and anticlimactic silence fell upon the town.
With the Young King’s army on the march William returned to the castle and ordered his own affairs. He had held back two squires and a dozen men-at-arms for an escort and earlier that day he had sent one of the squires to ride in quest of Ranulf FitzStephen. As for his person, he had retained only a body servant, a lad named Adalbert, and a single groom to look after his own preparations. The castle seemed empty and silent, even though populated by a garrison consisting of some fifty men under the Constable of Evreux and the Court of Queen Marguerite numbering some one hundred souls of differing ranks. Most of the men therefore wore the leopards of the Angevins and it came as some surprise to run into a knight wearing the colours of Thomas de Coulonces.
‘What do you here?’ William asked out of curiosity.
‘I am left by the Lord Thomas to await the arrival of his archers, Lord Marshal.’
‘Do you know when they are expected?’ William asked.
‘In two or three days. Four at the most.
‘Good, for I would not have it longer, nor would I wish to linger once they arrive, but march immediately.’
The man nodded. ‘They are my own orders, Sieur Marshal.’
William nodded with satisfaction. ‘What is your name?’
‘I am called Eustace, my Lord.’
That evening, after a solitary meal in his chamber, William went as was his wont in moments of quiet to pray. The chapel was empty, it being William’s habit to avoid the offices of the church that he might give to God his own time. Vespers had long been sung and beyond a pallid sunset shining through the east window, there was only the glim of the reserved sacrament to light the Holy place. He was lost in prayer when he felt a light touch upon his shoulder and started with surprise. A hooded figure stood behind him and although dimly lit by the dying light he knew immediately who it was and dropped to one knee.
‘Madam…’
‘Forgive my disturbing you at your devotions, my Lord Marshal, but I would have conference with you.’
‘Madam, I am yours to command,’ he responded uneasily, rising.
‘Not here, in this sacred place,’ she said, ‘come…’
William followed, his heart sinking. He had no wish to become embroiled with Marguerite and had always studiously avoided all contact with both her and any of the ladies of her Court, two of whom had attempted his seduction at various times. He preferred to take his pleasure in less complicated places, preferably in the chaotic aftermath of a tournament and then only upon occa
sion.
‘Madam,’ he began a protest as it became clear that the Queen sought to confer with him in her own apartments. ‘Madam, is this wise?’ But all she did was turn and bid him be silent. There was no guard on the door to her apartments, nor any lady-in-waiting in the ante-chamber within; he was drawn into her presence like a fly into a spider’s web, unresisting as they passed into her private quarters.
‘Madam,’ he said again as she flung off her cloak and turned towards him, slim and elegant, her blonde hair caught up in braids, her face uncoifed, sculpted by the imperfect light of a solitary sconce. ‘Madam, I should not be here. What is it you want of me?’
‘Comfort, my Lord Marshal, comfort…’ She sat on a settle covered with furs beyond which lay a huge chest and a bed. She indicated a small table set with a flagon of wine and rare crystal glasses – two of them. She had planned this and others knew of it. William felt his heart thump. ‘Pray pour some wine and be seated.’ She patted the furs next to her.
Knowing the folly of the act he filled two glasses, handed one to her and sat beside her. ‘Madam, this is not wise…’
‘You took my husband from me the day my child was born and died, FitzMarshal, and yet I cannot find it in my heart to condemn you for it for I do not love Henry…’ Her accent was decidedly French, sharp and precise, lacking the robust and rounder forms of the corrupter Norman tongue.
‘You should not say such things to me…’
‘Nor do I care about him or his want of a son,’ she continued as though he had not spoken. ‘He barely notices me unless he wants me as a pawn in his diplomacy.’ She sighed. ‘It is the lot of women, to be so used, even a Queen.’
‘I would stop my ears,’ William said, rising.
‘Sit!’ she said sharply and then in a softer tone, ‘must I command you to sit? Or will pleading be sufficient. You are a knight of great renown, FitzMarshal, Henry speaks so often of your prowess and the lustre you add to his mesnie that I grow jealous of his affection for you.’
William Marshal Guardian of England- The Complete Series Page 24