‘Aye.’
‘I cannot, but find pen, ink and parchment and I will dictate you a safe-conduct.’
These materials having been assembled, Des Roches - protesting feebly that he was not a clerk but that in the absence of such a personage he was prepared to assist the Marshal as he had in the matter of holding up the King’s pursuers – bent to his task.
‘I, William Marshal, to Richard, King of England, Duke of Aquitaine, Count of Anjou, Maine, Touraine and Berri, greeting,’ William began. ‘Know you that it hath pleased Almighty God to call to his bosom that High and Mighty Prince, Henry, lately King of England, Duke of Normandy, Aquitaine, Count of Anjou, Maine, Touraine and Berri.
‘Know you that I, William Marshal, do Your Grace homage as my Liege Lord and that I shall bring the mortal remains of the King, your father, to Fontevrault where I shall await such orders and instructions as you shall be pleased to give me.’
When he had finished scratching in his rough hand, Des Roches looked up. ‘Is that all?’
‘What more would you have me say?’
‘There is no mention of a laisser passer…’
‘Do you write again… no, no, on a separate sheet… Er: To whom it may concern…’
When Des Roches had finished William awkwardly scrawled his name, practically his only literate achievement, and sent Guillaume des Roches off with an escort of what remained of Henry’s own mesnie.
Then William called for a river barge and laid the bier upon it, ordering all the knights remaining at his command to escort the cadaver down the Vienne to Fontevrault. The solemn procession descended the river, William and his senior knights standing armed upon the barge, the escort riding along the river’s bank.
At Fontevrault the King’s body was handed over to the Abbot and monks of the great abbey church who prepared it for burial, eviscerating and embalming it before dressing it in mail and surtout and laying it in state in the abbey nave. Thereafter William’s mesnie stood guard over it, night and day until word came that Richard advanced upon the city. When he head of the Lionheart’s approach William called John de Earley to his side to don his full coat of mail and his cleanest surtout.
‘Call hither Tresgoz and FitzRobert, fully armed,’ he ordered his squire, ‘and come yourself, though clean yourself up.’
Half an hour later William, Robert de Tresgoz, Geoffrey FitzRobert and John de Earley relieved the knights then on duty and took up their posts, quartering the dead Henry as he lay upon his bier in his mail, a gold circlet about his head and his sword by his side. Fittingly, he no longer smelt of excrement, merely the sweet scent of embalming oil. About them rose the chant of the choir while the Abbot, fully adorned in cope and mitre, his crozier in his hand, led the clerical assembly of Fontevrault in a continuous round of devotion.
Full of apprehension William and the men of his mesnie awaited their new Lord.
CHAPTER FIVE: RICHARD, COEUR DE LION 1189
When Richard strode into the great church at the head of a small retinue he paused a moment and regarded the four armed men who stood guard upon his father. Their eyes were downcast but Richard had no need to enquire, for catching the westering sunbeams that lanced in through the abbey windows, was a tall figure who leaned upon a shield of gold and green, emblazoned with a red lion rampant.
Without a word Richard stepped up to the bier and bent over his father, then he stood back and for several moments stood respectfully beside the corpse before walking out into the sunshine of the late July afternoon.
After some time a knight approached the four motionless guards. It was Robert de Salignac. With no show of recognition he asked that ‘William Marshal’ should lay aside his sword and shield and follow him. Outside De Salignac had two horses saddled and waiting. De Salignac motioned for William to mount up. Fearing the worst from De Salignac’s silence William did as he bid and followed as De Salignac led him out of the city into open countryside. Sensing this meant immediate banishment, William contemplated breaking the silence between them. But De Salignac could not have relished his duty and it was perhaps best for William to hold his tongue. Instead he quickly resolved to ride north, asking De Salignac to order John de Earley to follow with sufficient arms and treasure to fund their return to England. He was on the point of asking this one boon of his old friend when De Salignac drew rein.
‘Wait here,’ he said curtly and then put spurs to his horse.
‘Robert!’ William called, intending to pass the message to De Earley, but De Salignac was gone. Surprised, hurt even, and certainly thwarted, William turned in his saddle. What he saw set his heart a-tremble; De Salignac had drawn up alongside a knight who had been following at a distance: it was Richard. Then De Salignac rode back towards the distant spire of Fontevrault, leaving William to the tender mercies of the Lionheart.
Richard came on at a smart canter. He rode a bay mare, a reminder, perhaps that William had killed his favourite war-horse. Drawing himself up in the saddle William awaited the new King, noting that Richard bore no conspicuous weapon and lowering his head as Richard drew rein beside him.
‘So, we meet again, Marshal.’
‘My Lord King,’ William made to dismount and do obeisance but Richard had other ideas.
‘Stay! Come, you shall ride with me.’ Richard turned his horse off the road and began to walk it across the water-meadows of the Vienne in silence. William fell into station on Richard’s right-hind quarter, holding back to a respectful distance. At the river’s bank the King swung south, upstream and motioned William alongside him. William was now between Richard and the river and the King eased his reins, allowing his horse to pick its way round the overhanging willows and through the tussocks of grass of the river-side. William, his heart still thumping with apprehension, did likewise.
‘At Le Mans you would have killed me had I not thrust aside your lance with my hand,’ Richard said at last.
It was palpably untrue and William bridled at the falsehood. Had Richard been thus explaining the event to diminish William’s achievement and limit the damage to his own reputation? He might concede the point for Richard’s benefit and his own oblation, but to agree to this implied his intention had been to kill Richard. He chose not to fall in with this face-saving exercise, realising that Richard had allowed his knights no closer that afternoon so that they largely missed the dialogue between the two protagonists. William’s hesitation caused Richard to look at him askance.
‘Well?’
William shook his head. ‘It is not true, my Lord, and you know it…’
‘By God’s bones you would contradict me!’
‘Your hand did not touch my lance, my Lord,’ William said quietly.
‘You lie!’
‘No, my Lord King, I do not lie. You lie!’
Richard drew his mare to a standstill and swung her so that the beast all but forced William’s backwards into the Vienne, but William jabbed his spurs to prevent his own mount giving ground. He had never ridden the animal before but it did not give way to the King’s.
‘By Christ, Marshal, for a man with but a hand-span of land and dark, wet English land to boot, you are damned high and mighty.’
Sensing Richard was testing him William said, ‘My Lord, I had no intention of killing you, though I might have done easily enough. Instead of your breast, I deliberately chose that of your horse…’
‘Upon your honour?’
‘Upon my honour, Your Grace.’
There was a long silence, so long that William, whose ears had been shut to it, heard the rustling of the willows, the lapping of the Vienne and the song of a sky-lark rising to heaven in the hot air. Then Richard chuckled and held out his hand. Even now William hesitated uncertainly, until Richard added: ‘Come, I have need of trusted allies and would have you as a friend before I insist upon you respecting the oath you have already made to me and the protestation of fealty Des Roches brought me… By the way, that was not your hand on that parchment, was it?’
‘No, my Lord, it was Des Roches… My sign manual…’
‘Well it was execrable.’ Richard went on so that William fell prudently silent. His illiteracy had not been a problem until now.
‘Come, let us ride back,’ Richard turned his horse’s head. ‘Stay with me,’ he ordered as William dropped back. ‘As you well know that I have taken the cross. It is my most earnest desire to recapture Jerusalem and I am persuaded that God has chosen me as His instrument. After I am crowned King I intend going upon a crusade and I shall need Counsellors, Governors and Justiciars to rule my lands in my absence.’ Richard looked at William. ‘I should wish you to be one of them, Marshal.’
The shock of the immensity of what Richard was asking after the event of the afternoon felt like a blow. He was reminded of Henry’s great confidence in him and felt himself at a loss to explain either, but where Henry’s had been conjectural, Richard’s was to be real, practical.
‘Your Grace, you do me great honour, but as you yourself said, I am a man of little land. How may I command respect among greater lords than myself?’
‘I intend you for England and I shall raise you, William,’ Richard said with a sudden intimacy. ‘My father promised you the ward-ship of Isabelle de Clare, but I grant it in my own name. You shall go to England, marry the Lady and take charge of my lands and interests as Lord of Striguil.’
‘But what of Count John, Your Grace?’
‘What of him, William? Surely you will treat him no more roughly than you did me under the walls of Le Mans.’ Richard’s expression was one of sarcasm and William glimpsed the ruthlessness below the easy charm, a charm that now sought to smooth over the affair outside Le Mans. ‘You were lucky then,’ he went on, ‘had I been fully accoutred it would have been you rolling in the dust.’
‘Aye, my Lord,’ conceded William wisely, ‘very probably, though I am not yet too old to grasp a lance firmly.’
Richard chuckled. They had regained the road and turned towards the city. ‘D’you know why I was so ill-equipped?’
‘Nay.’
‘I had word they had found a new ford across the Huisne when I was breaking my fast. But ten minutes earlier I had been told my father with a mere handful of his mesnie was scouting the far bank, so I leapt into the saddle and rode pell-mell, right through Le Mans, hot on the old fox’s heels and by God I should have caught him but for you.’
William bit his tongue. ‘Did you know, Your Grace, that your father had gone out on that reconnaissance that morning similarly ill-equipped.’
Richard jerked his horse to a standstill and stared at William. ‘No, I did not. The old fool,’ he added, seemingly oblivious to the irony. ‘’Twas a fault of his to be so precipitate,’ he remarked casually, kicking his mount forwards again.
They rode on in silence, not a quarter of a mile from the city when William coughed. Richard turned. ‘You have something more to say, Marshal?’ he asked, dropping the informality as they approached the gate.
‘I would ask a boon.’
‘Is the Lordship of Striguil not enough for you?’
‘It is not for me, Your Grace.’
‘Who then?’
‘If you give me Striguil as a public proof of your trust, may I ask for the dubbing of John de Earley as a knight?’
‘De Earley? He that my father gave you ward-ship of?’
‘The same, My Lord King.’
‘Who stood guard on my father this afternoon with Tresgoz and Fitz…’
‘FitzRobert, yes.’
Richard kicked his horse ahead, dropping William behind. ‘If you wish, Marshal,’ he called back over his shoulder.
***
With the Court in mourning William ate that night in his lodging and he had hardly sat down to board with Tresgoz, FitzRobert and the other senior knights of his mesnie when De Salignac was announced.
‘Robert!’ William rose and clasped his old friends’ right forearm, calling for meat and wine. ‘By God, but I was wondering how matters stood between us after the affair of Le Mans, let alone that business this afternoon.
‘Did you not recognise my device at Le Mans?’
‘No, I fear not, at least not immediately. I was only aware of the Lionheart and another and I could not, in all honour, leave Richard to poor Des Roches.’
‘’Twas as well it fell out that way for I durst not despatch Des Roches for fear of having to run to Richard’s aid and,’ De Salignac shrugged, ‘well, that is past considering.’ De Salignac laughed. ‘The Lionheart has taken Des Roches into his mesnie for his gallantry and loyalty to Henry Curtmantle. He has done honour to others loyal to the Old King, among them Baldwin de Béthune, who is become Lord of Aumale.’ Des Salignac smiled. ‘And I am sorry for my silence this afternoon.’
William brushed aside his friend’s apologies and introduced him to the others at board.
‘I am come only in part as a friend, I am also a messenger.’
‘Richard’s?’
‘Aye.’ De Salignac looked at William’s squire. ‘You John de Earley must do vigil this night and the King will dub you in the morning when he also commands your presence, William. You know he intends you for England.’
‘Aye, he told me so…and you, Robert, what doth he intend for you?’
‘The Holy Land. I shall go with him but first I am to accompany you to England, then attend the Coronation before leaving with the King for Outremer.’
‘The Holy Land eh?’ William paused, recalling that last night at sea on their return voyage. He felt a faint envy of his friend but the moment passed in contemplation of the immediate future. ‘Well then, we shall have some time together. By heaven, that pleases me.’
‘’Tis perpetually wet in England, Sir Robert,’ Tresgoz put in, wearing a mock doleful expression.
‘Perhaps, but no more so than your native Brittany,’ and with that they fell to a convivial evening of drinking and recalling recent events.
John de Earley was dubbed and belted knight the following morning, after which King Richard drew William aside and addressed him in a low voice.
‘You shall go to Winchester, Marshal, where lies the Lady Eleanor my mother. The Clerks are even now preparing the necessary papers. There are matters contained therein closely touching yourself which, if you please her, she will attend to. See that you do please her.’
‘Your Grace?’ William looked puzzled.
‘The matter will fall out as it may, Marshal, but if I have my man aright, you will not object,’ Richard said with a faint air of mystery before going on with his instructions. ‘You shall leave tomorrow and ready her for my coronation which I intend to be in September. I must first settle matters with Philippe and buy him off by bribing him for the Vexin. Count John will not be of nomination to the Council ruling England in my absence but you do not know my brother well, Marshal. Watch him and keep him loyal; as you well know, he is easily swayed according to the wind. I entrust this duty as sacred to you. D’you understand?’
‘Aye, Your Grace. At least regarding Count John.’
‘Shall I lay you under oath?’
‘No, Your Grace, that will not be necessary.’
Richard smiled. ‘Good. Entrust your hopes with me as to the other matter. Now, FitzPeter shall go with you, for the moment he is mine and he shall have precedence over you until after he has delivered that which I wish my mother, the Lady Eleanor to be acquainted with. You may take with you those of your mesnie you wish to accompany you and who do not wish to take the cross, for I would have your arms upheld as one of my Justiciars in England. Choose wisely; men loyal only to you. I have enemies in England and there are those who would seek to profit from my absence. Use the velvet glove for the most part, but do not scruple to enforce matters by the mailed fist should you think it fit in my interest. For that you shall answer to me.’
William was dismissed and went to pass his orders for an early departure, calling William Waleran and Geoffrey FitzRobert to join him in E
ngland, along with John de Earley. It was only later that day, as he took stock of the morrow that he recalled Richard’s words: ‘Entrust your hopes with me as to the other matter.’ William had little choice; his entire future and fortune rested upon this new arrangement. He was Richard’s man now and must do as he was bid; did Richard mean something related to the proposition of marriage to Isabelle de Clare?
He had little time to consider the matter further being joined first by FitzPeter, who laid the King’s instructions before him, and then by De Salignac, Tresgoz and the other knights of his mesnie from whom he was taking imminent departure. Again, and in spite of the officially sombre mood of the Court, they dined again in mild and muted riot, saddened by the break-up of the mesnie of William Marshal.
CHAPTER SIX: THE LADY OF STRIGUIL 1189
‘Rise, William Marshal. I thought never to see you again.’
William kissed the ring on the Dowager Queen’s right hand and rose. ‘God has preserved us both, Your Grace.’
She regarded him with the cool grey eyes he remembered well. Nor were her features much damaged by age. The straight nose and the well-formed mouth nestled somewhat in furrows but she wore her years well and she remained every inch a Queen.
‘FitzPeter has been sent away upon an errand in my name. He will return hither within a few days. He tells me that you were not present at the death of the King my husband’s death.’
‘Not at the actual moment, Your Grace…’ William began to explain.
‘Why, pray, was that?’ the Queen asked sharply.
‘In the rout of Le Mans, Your Grace, I drew off to the north, to Alençon where the majority of the late King’s mesnie awaited the outcome of events…’
‘They had deserted him?’ she asked, her voice quiet.
‘Yes, my Lady.’
‘The perfidy,’ she whispered, half to herself. William held his tongue as Eleanor appeared to contemplate the ruin of her husband’s ambition. ‘You did not go to join them?’
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