William Marshal Guardian of England- The Complete Series

by Richard Woodman

  ‘Some fellow bound upon his own business, Robert,’ William said dismissively. He stared ahead at the long road as it ran over the low open country north of Amiens as they made their way at the head of the mesnie south towards Aumale in expectation of a tournament.

  ‘No, no, he is for us, William!’ Robert exclaimed cheerfully, making his horse rear in the caracole. ‘I told you so!’

  ‘ ’Twill not be good news. That is for sure.’

  A moment later the horseman, an unarmed knight by the look of him, drew rein and turned his horse alongside that of William.

  ‘I know you,’ said William puzzled, ‘you are Ralph FitzGodfrey, Chamberlain to the Young King. What in the name of God do you here?’

  ‘My Lord Marshal I am sent by the Lord Henry to find you and have spent many days on the road. I heard you were at Aumale, then St Omer…but no matter, the purpose of my quest is of the greatest importance. My Lord the Young King has great need of you and,’ FitzGodfrey looked round and nodded at the bobbing horsemen trailing behind, ‘and of your mesnie.’

  ‘What?’ William could not conceal his fury and pulled his horse up short. ‘I am falsely accused, cast out, repudiated, humiliated, banished and now summoned! By the Holy Blood, would you treat a hound like this? Eh?’

  ‘William, shall I ride on,’ suggested De Salignac, as the column of horsemen came to an untidy halt. William nodded and drew FitzGodfrey off the road to allow the mesnie to continue. The men stared at the newcomer curiously and those that recognised him passed word of his identity among the retinue.

  ‘My Lord Marshal I understand your anger but I am charged to tell you Thomas de Coulonces has confessed your disgrace the result of a conspiracy; that he and D’Yquebeuf sought any means by which to discredit you and charged their followers to report any detail. That of the knight Eustace condemned you, for they could not have wished for a better means by which to accomplish your downfall.’ FitzGodfrey delivered the substance of his message in almost as quick a pace as he had driven his steaming mount.

  ‘What of D’Yquebeuf?’

  ‘He is in disgrace.’

  ‘ ’Tis a pity I had no hand in the matter. And now?’ asked William, scarcely believing this sudden change in his fortunes. The entrusting of the summons to a Court official of such high rank as the Young Henry’s Chamberlain attested to its gravity.

  ‘And now, my Lord, to Aquitaine with all despatch.’

  ‘Aquitaine?’

  ‘Aye, my Lord Marshal. All is chaos there and the Young King would have you at his side.’

  ‘You will ride with us, FitzGodfrey, and appraise us of the matter in hand this evening in Aumale.’

  William spurred his horse after the column and ordered a new horse be supplied for FitzGodfrey from among the remounts.

  ‘We are for Aquitaine and war, Robert. All is forgiven. De Coulonces has confessed, D’Yquebeuf is disgraced and the Young Henry has work for us.’

  ‘Then your pilgrimage was not in vain,’ De Salignac remarked cheerfully.

  ‘I did not pray for war, Robert, I prayed for humility.’

  ‘And God has answered you, William, in returning your lance to the Young King’s service.’

  *

  ‘And I was fool enough not to see it,’ William remarked, picking meat out of his teeth. ‘I suppose you knew,’ he said to De Salignac, referring to FitzGodfrey’s opening explanation that a full blown conflict had erupted in Aquitaine.

  De Salignac shrugged. ‘I think the hounds at Caen sniffed something unpleasant in the wind. Most of the combined Courts did, did they not FitzGodfrey?’

  The Chamberlain shrugged, feeling awkward among the company of these outspoken and obviously close friends.

  ‘You may speak freely here, my friend,’ William said kindly, pouring more wine as they sat over the wreckage of a good meal. ‘Now, how did this come about?’

  ‘Shortly after your unfortunate departure from Caen, my Lord Marshal, my Lord Henry the Old King moved to Le Mans where he proposed a settlement of his realms and possessions in favour of a peace among his sons and in anticipation,’ here FitzGodfrey paused and crossed himself, ‘of his own death in God’s good time.

  ‘Duke Richard and Count Geoffrey were to pay homage to the Young King and hold their lands in fief of their brother. Count Geoffrey did so, as did Richard after a remonstration. However, Duke Richard insisted that he retain full rights of governance and revenue throughout Aquitaine in perpetuity in his own name, whereupon the Young King my master, calling for a copy of the Holy Gospels, swore that as God was his witness he would cleave to his father, but he had already pledged to support the nobility of Aquitaine who refused Richard’s unholy rule and acknowledged the Young King, my master, as the rightful Duke of Aquitaine.’

  ‘God’s blood,’ remarked De Salignac, imagining the scene. ‘And what of Richard?’

  ‘I thought he might draw upon his brother but the Old King held him back and ordered heels to kick until a second meet was held at Angers, assuaging Duke Richard with promises of private colloquy with his heir. I do not know what passed between them but I gained the impression that having taken so public an oath it would have been a blasphemy for the Young King to give ground. At Angers the Old King was obliged to support his natural successor with the consequence that Duke Richard fell into a great rage.

  ‘The rift defied any further healing. Plans for further conference fell apart. The Young King sent Queen Marguerite from Limoges to Paris before she was taken hostage…’

  ‘The Old King washed his hands of them?’ De Salignac queried impatiently.

  ‘In part. ’Tis said he despaired of any peace between them, especially betwixt the Young Henry and Duke Richard, and would wait upon the outcome.’

  ‘Let them tear themselves apart and back the victor,’ observed De Salignac wryly. ‘God’s Blood, no wonder the Young Henry wants you at his side if he is to cross swords with brother Richard.’

  ‘That is the sum of it, is it?’ William asked.

  ‘Oh no, my Lord,’ FitzGodfrey shook his head. ‘There is much more. They have already crossed swords…’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The Young King lay at Limoges in the company of a gathering war-host. Count Geoffrey joined with him and has called his levies out of Brittany, as did the Viscount Aimery of Limoges who summoned men from Gascony and the south. Geoffrey of Luisgnan came into the Young King’s camp…’

  ‘He that had a hand in the murder of my uncle,’ William remarked quietly, shaking his head. ‘And what of Richard?’

  ‘ ’Tis all of Richard: he mustered his force at Poitiers and struck north, destroying the men from Brittany and putting those who were not dead to the sword. Then by a forced march south-east of two days and nights he cut up the Viscount Aimery’s Gascons at Gorre before retiring with his prisoners to the castle of Aixe …’

  ‘Along the Vienne?’ queried De Salignac, who knew the country.

  FitzGodfrey nodded. ‘Here he put out the eyes, threw into the river or simply cut down those Gascons unfortunate enough to be alive.’

  ‘And when was this?’ William asked.

  ‘Some two months since.’

  ‘Go on.’

  FitzGodfrey sighed. ‘The Old King came to Limoges, riding under the leopards and intending, I suppose, to intervene, but someone ordered his party fired upon and, had the King’s horse not reared up and taken the cross-bow bolt in its belly, my Lord the Old King would be dead.

  De Salignac whistled through his teeth. ‘God’s blood!’ he blasphemed softly, looking at William.

  ‘And he went to join Richard,’ queried William.

  ‘Aye my Lord, at Aixe, whither my Lord the Young King went to parley and apologise for the error. He was not believed, especially since he had neglected to deal with the man responsible for loosing his cross-bow and he returned to Limoges fearful of an assault by Richard and the Old King.’

  FitzGodfrey paused to take wine and scratched hi
s forehead. ‘I cannot with certainty say what happened next. There was talk of a parley, of a crusade, of the expense of the forces raised in the Young King’s name, but the continuing bad weather of late February delayed any offensive until early March when the combined forces of my Lord the Old King and Duke Richard appeared before Limoges. We had some hopes that the gales and rain than showed no sign of easing would hamper them, but our own spirits were failing. Duke Richard’s methods promised little if the garrison fell apart and there were intimations that he would not countenance ransom among the nobility. There was much attending Mass in the Abbey Church of St Martial and, upon the eve of his defection to the Old King, Thomas de Coulonces called for me and confessed the plot against you, my Lord Marshal. It clearly weighed heavily upon his mind and he asked me that I waited until morning before acquainting the Young King. I had no idea of his treacherous intention, judging him to be of unsound mind. Indeed, I had informed His Grace before we heard that he had passed to the enemy. I was immediately charged to slip that night through the lines and ride in quest of your Lordship.’

  ‘That is quite a tale’ William said, breaking the silence that followed FitzGodfrey’s account. ‘Then tomorrow we must ride towards Limoges and discover how affairs now lie upon our way.’

  *

  William and his mesnie rode south along the border with the Angevin lands. FitzGodfrey and De Salignac had rendered signal service by securing safe-conduct passes from King Philippe and Theobald of Blois, allowing them to travel unmolested. William was eager for news. There was plenty of it, but what there was seemed contradictory, carried by merchants, tinkers and pedlars, all manner of itinerant persons who had skirted the scene of the fighting and had their information at third or fourth hand. The Young King was out of money, had escaped Limoges and was looting abbeys hither-and-yon; the barons of Aquitaine were wavering in their desire to have the Young King as their overlord; the barons of Aquitaine were content to have Young Henry as Duke; Geoffrey of Brittany had changed sides; no, he remained in Limoges with Geoffrey of Lusignan; Limoges held out against the Old King and Duke Richard; Duke Richard was unwell and Raymond of Toulouse was on the march to the relief of the city.

  William crossed the River Cher and headed for Limoges. Glorious spring weather accompanied them as May swept across France. Roads were open, trade revived and word of his coming reached the camp of the Old King. Shortly after leaving Châteauroux he received an emissary, one if Henry Curtmantle’s heralds charging him with securing Old Henry’s son’s submission and giving him a pass to enter the besieged city with a small escort.

  But the Young King was not there. Only the twin Geoffreys: he of Lusignan who had murdered William’s mother’s brother, Earl Patrick of Salisbury, and the Count of Brittany. William would have no truck with the former and misliked the latter, recalling the words of Robert de Salignac that Count Geoffrey was not to be trusted.

  ‘My Lord Brother,’ Geoffrey informed him loftily, ‘has been about the country raising money and prosecuting the war in his just cause, FitzMarshal. I last had word that he was at Aixe.’

  The castle of Aixe, on the Vienne, had been abandoned by Richard on his investment of Limoges and, returning to his mesnie, William rode hard for Aixe, lying to the south-west of Limoges. All about them were the signs of war, mostly the ruthless stamp of Richard’s fell handiwork: burnt villages, mutilated and rotting corpses from which their approach disturbed the crows and ravens. Aixe was empty of all but a small garrison who refused them entry but held a parley over the ramparts. Upon William riding forward with his standard-bearer, following Harry the Northman, who made a formal declaration for the Young King, the Constable said only that his master had gone south upon a pilgrimage.

  Returning to his anxiously waiting retinue – they had all heard of the Old King’s lucky escape from death at the hands of one of the Young King’s cross-bow-men under the walls of Limoges – William conferred with his principal knights.

  ‘They say he has gone upon a pilgrimage,’ he reported, puzzled.

  ‘To Rocamadour,’ De Salignac suggested. ‘His father was wont to go there. Would he pillage such a Holy Spot?’ At the uttering of the blasphemous thought they crossed themselves.

  ‘It seems he has been plundering other Holy places,’ William put in ruminatively, having hear of this when in Limoges, ‘for he is desperate for money. What say you FitzGodfrey. You know your master’s mind.’

  ‘Little better than you, my Lord Marshal, but I judge you correct.’

  ‘Well, if he has gone south he would have made first for Uzerche and then Martel,’ De Salignac advised. This was the countryside of his youth and it was clear to William that if he was to find the Young King soon he must press on.

  ‘Very well. Onward to Martel.’

  At Uzerche there was positive news: the Young Henry had been there on the 26th May. He had been unwell but had moved on towards Martel and was indeed said to be heading for Rocamadour.

  ‘What day is it?’ William asked, for, unlike many of his peers, he was barely literate and had difficulty reading a calendar. The headmost of his knights began debating the issue.

  ‘We think the second of June, my Lord,’ FitzGodfrey advised him after their colloquy.

  That evening they came in sight of the castle of Martel and William sent on ahead FitzGodfrey and his herald, Harry the Northman. Even before either returned they observed Young Henry’s leopards lazily lifted in the softly moving summer air and moments later, just as his herald rejoined the mesnie, they clattered into the castle.

  It was at once evident that something was wrong. ‘My Lord King is a-bed with fever,’ Harry announced and, as William dismounted, FitzGodfrey ran out of the keep to meet him. His face bore an expression of grave concern.

  ‘He is taken by the bloody flux, my Lord Marshal, and his life is feared for.’

  ‘Christ have mercy,’ William crossed himself. ‘Are there priests with him?’

  ‘Aye my Lord. His chaplains and some from the Holy Shrine of Rocamadour.’

  ‘Did he do damage there?’ William asked anxiously for fear the Young Henry had further compromised his soul.

  FitzGodfrey nodded. ‘He took all the plate and valuable votive offerings…’

  ‘And the Black Madonna?’ broke in De Salignac, his voice infused with outrage.

  ‘I do not know, I had no time to ask…’

  ‘We shall soon learn,’ placated William. ‘I must go to him. He must know that I am here and that I answered his summons.’

  The castle of Martel was not large; neither were its chambers and within the grandest above the hall he found the Young Henry in a parlous state. Even before he entered the presence of the Young King, William’s nostrils encountered the stink of excrement sharper than that habitually thrown onto the midden. Within, the room was dark, but for four candles standing at the four corners of the bed. To one side a priest kneeled at a prié-dieu; two more sat silently watching their charge, while two knights, Simon de Marisco and Robert de Tresgoz, stood in attendance.

  As William’s bulk filled the doorway, all looked up and, catching De Marisco’s eye, William knew, even in the gloom, that there was no hope. He moved towards the bed and was shocked at what he saw. The Young Henry’s golden hair lay dank upon a wet pillow, his cheeks had fallen in and his closed eyes were sunk in their sockets so deeply that he might have been one of the victims of his brother Richard’s savagery. Perhaps he was, thought William, his heart moved by the pathetic creature that had once been the most glorious and Puissant prince in Christendom. Now his pallid skin was stretched tight across his skull, the hollows under his collar-bones seemed pools of darkness, showing above the thin and sweaty fabric of his night-shirt as his chest heaved with the labour of breathing. They had laid his hands crossed upon his breast and placed a crucifix in them.

  ‘My Lord King,’ William murmured, kneeling and crossing himself. ‘God’s good Grace has brought me to your side.’

 
For a long moment there was no response and then William saw, through the film of his own tears, the King’s eyes open.

  ‘William…? Is it truly you?’

  ‘Aye, my Lord King.’

  A hand fell off Henry’s breast alongside his body and the fingers moved as through clawing their way towards William and the King’s mouth seemed to essay a smile. William seized the hand. It was pitifully thin; he felt the bones and tendons under the dry skin and kissed the ring that had gashed the ear of Queen Marguerite.

  William felt the hand twist and eased his over-passionate grip. Slowly turned palm uppermost, William felt it curl in summons and rose, to bend over the King’s mouth.

  ‘Forgive me, William,’ the murmur was barely audible to William’s poor hearing but the odour of disease and death was on Henry’s breath.

  ‘There is nothing to forgive, My Lord…’

  ‘There is much to forgive… Do you stay with me, Will, stay to the end…I beseech you do not…abandon me to make…your peace.’

  ‘I am yours to command…you have always known that…’

  ‘Aye,’ breathed the King in a long and foetid exhalation, ‘it is I who lacked loyalty…’

  ‘Put such thoughts from you, Sire, the priests…’

  But Henry had his own desperate agenda. ‘Have you a man to trust?’

  ‘Aye…’

  ‘Then send him to my father… Ask that… he come… that we may end all hostility. Do it now.’

  The King closed his eyes and seemed to sink back into a comatose state and William rose. Nodding to De Marisco and De Tresgoz he said: ‘He wishes me to request his father’s presence.’ Both men nodded. ‘I shall send De Salignac.’

  ‘A wise choice, Will,’ murmured De Marisco.

  Quitting the chamber William sought De Salignac who had just completed the quartering of the mesnie. ‘There is scarcely room here for the Young King’s retinue, let alone our own,’ he began before William cut him short.

  ‘Robert, I wish you to take my herald and an escort. Remount yourselves; take fresh horses from the King’s mesnie if you wish. Ride to the lines of Limoges and determine the whereabouts of the Old King and tell him his son is dying and would have him here beside him.’