Lionheart moe-4 Page 6

  Without hesitation, the Earl then threw back the curtain to the Duke’s chamber and strode in. All was still inside. A pert female backside was partly exposed beneath several layers of rugs and bedding. It moved a little, but only to emit an audible fart. Earl Harold grimaced, his contemptuous countenance only made more scornful by the young woman’s prosaic bodily functions.

  Duke Richard’s outline was difficult to discern, but eventually a slight movement next to the girl revealed his presence. He pushed the young woman, a tiny creature not much older than a child, to one side and sat upright. He rubbed his eyes, his vision blurred by the bright lantern.

  ‘Who is in my tent? Show yourself.’

  Earl Harold answered with an austere tone I had not heard before.

  ‘It is the Earl of Huntingdon.’

  ‘What do you want at this ungodly hour?’

  The Earl turned to Father Alun.

  ‘Get the girl out. Give her a shilling and send her on her way.’

  The Duke was not best pleased that his plaything was being sent away.

  ‘I haven’t finished with her. She’s got the body of a snake and the temperament of a whore.’

  ‘That’s because she is a whore!’

  With a heavy thump to her backside, the Earl lent his boot to her momentum as she rushed towards the entrance of the tent. Despite his nakedness, Duke Richard immediately moved towards us threateningly. I steadied myself, ready to make sure he did not lay hands on Earl Harold, but there was no need. The Earl took a huge swipe with the back of his gauntlet and caught Duke Richard across the side of the face, sending him sprawling to the floor.

  Before the stricken man could move, Earl Harold was above him. He placed a boot on the Duke’s throat and held the point of his sword under his chin. The two knights behind us had stirred by now and were looking for their weapons, but a gesture from Duke Richard told them to stay their hands.

  Earl Harold looked at the young man at his feet with a flash of anger that I had rarely seen from anyone.

  ‘I don’t mind you drinking and whoring – we’ve all done plenty of that in our time – but I’m here to tell you about two things that are unforgivable.’

  The Duke, embarrassed and angry, tried to respond in kind.

  ‘Who are you to tell me anything?’

  ‘I am your great-uncle – in name, at least. I was “uncle” to your father and his brothers, and I was your grandmother’s most trusted friend. She was very fond of you and was particularly keen that your future be safeguarded. She entrusted me with your safety when you came of age. Now that you are marauding around Aquitaine with an army, I think it is time. Your father, King Henry, agrees and has given me his blessing.’

  The Duke’s anger subsided, but not his discomfort.

  ‘Let me get up; you have made your point.’

  The Earl removed his foot from Duke Richard’s throat and threw a pile of discarded clothes at him.

  ‘Get dressed and we’ll talk.’ Earl Harold then barked an order at me. ‘Tell Godric to rouse the Duke’s stewards; he needs some breakfast.’

  The idea of breakfast seemed odd – not only to my delicate stomach, but also because it still seemed like the middle of the night.

  Twenty minutes later, the tent had been put back into reasonable order and the stewards were serving food and fresh beer. The Earl had found himself a chair and seemed more relaxed. I looked at him closely. The disdainful demeanour had gone, and he looked more exhausted than scornful. I suddenly remembered his age. What he had just done was remarkable: he had chastised a man who was half a foot taller than him and a quarter of his age. My respect for him grew even more.

  The Duke had dismissed several knights who, somewhat belatedly, had rushed to his aid. He had made himself look presentable and now sat down next to Earl Harold. The young man took several swigs of beer and fiddled with his jaw, which was obviously sore from the blow Earl Harold had inflicted on him. He then spat a mixture of blood and beer into a cuspidor at his feet.

  ‘Did you reprimand my father like this when he was a boy?’

  ‘No, I would never strike a child like that – only a grown man who was acting like one!’

  The Duke took another quaff of beer and smiled humbly.

  ‘So, “Uncle”, I suppose I am well and truly struck down, body and soul.’

  ‘Yes, but you will recover quickly.’

  ‘You said there were two things I had done that were unforgivable?’

  ‘I did. Let me address them. First of all, you insulted the Empress Matilda. Apart from being your grandmother and largely responsible for your father becoming King, thus securing your inheritance, she was one of the finest women in Europe. You were only a boy when she died, but she was brave, kind and dignified; she loved her family, her kith and kin in Normandy and England, and believed passionately in the future of your father’s empire.’

  ‘I know, and I am sorry. I was drunk and surprised by your sudden appearance. But the rumours about you and my grandmother, you must admit, have been gossiped about for years.’

  ‘That is as it may be, but rumours are what they are. And they don’t justify you speaking of them to all and sundry. Your grandmother and I were very close for many years, right up to the end of her life. That’s all that anybody needs to know.’

  ‘I agree, please accept my apologies.’

  ‘Now, the second thing: the state of your army. It’s a shambles—’

  ‘How so, Earl Harold? They fight like Trojans and have overwhelmed every fortress we’ve challenged.’

  ‘—as evidenced by our ability to reach your own chamber in the middle of the night, almost unopposed. Good siege engineers and a rabble of mercenaries do not an army make. If we had been cut-throats, you would be dead now.’

  ‘I grant you that I should be more conscious of my own security. But when it comes to a fight, my men can overcome anything sent against them.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that they are seasoned soldiers, good in a skirmish – and especially in a brawl – but a pitched battle between armies requires a lot more than men who are good at killing.’

  The Duke looked perplexed.

  ‘You are young,’ observed the Earl. ‘How many major battles have you fought in?’

  Duke Richard did not answer; it was obvious that his fighting had been restricted to sieges and small encounters.

  ‘Wars are won by tactics, logistics and planning; only after those things have been taken care of is it time to fight. Then, discipline becomes the key. Men who can fight as an individual or in small groups need discipline if they are going to fight in large numbers. Only right at the climax of a battle, when it is man against man, does the ability to fight become important. Up to that point, rigid discipline is vital. An army of good men, without the discipline to take orders and act in unison, can be run off the field in a few minutes of panic.’

  The Duke listened intently to Earl Harold’s lecture on generalship.

  ‘Are the deficiencies in my army easily remedied?’

  ‘Yes, but it will take time. The mighty army of King Harold of England and that of your great-great-grandfather, King William, the Conqueror of the English, were a lifetime in the making. But you have time; you’re still only a young man. One day, when you rule this mighty Plantagenet Empire, you will need an army that can defeat anything that opposes it. You start from a strong base; you are already recognized for the strength of your resolve and for your chivalry. Your mother taught you well. But if you want to lead a powerful army one day, you should start the preparations now.’

  ‘Will you help me with that?’

  ‘Of course, but only for a short time. I am old now and I have a home to return to, where I want to see out my days in peace. But I will leave you with these men; they have all the skills and wisdom you need.’

  ‘Then you had better make the formal introductions.’

  ‘This is Father Alun, one of the cleverest men in England. He knows everything y
ou need to know about the history of the peoples of your realm.’

  ‘But, Earl Harold, a scribe of history, how can he help me build an army?’

  ‘Because without the wisdom of the past, you cannot understand the present. And nor can you shape the future.’

  Father Alun stepped forward, bowed slightly and offered the Duke his hand. Duke Richard grasped it, a little hesitantly, clearly not convinced that he needed a learned monk in his entourage. Even so, he was polite in his response.

  ‘Welcome to Aquitaine, Father Alun.’

  ‘And this is Ranulf of Lancaster, hand-picked by me from the elite officers of your father’s garrison at Westminster. He is an exemplary knight and the finest of soldiers.’

  I bowed to the Duke and held out my hand. He grasped it warmly.

  ‘Sir Ranulf, that is a glowing introduction. Welcome to the army of Aquitaine.’

  ‘Earl Harold is very kind; I hope I can do justice to his praise.’

  The rest of the dark winter of 1176 was spent watching the ageing Earl Harold and the young Duke Richard become closer and closer. They hunted together and spent countless hours talking. Richard was fascinated by the stories he heard, especially about England’s civil war, when the Empress Matilda’s army was led by Earl Harold, as she tried to claim the throne from her cousin, Stephen.

  Father Alun and I shared in many of these conversations and we soon developed a strong bond with the young Duke.

  Eventually, as the New Year approached, Richard decided it was time to move south to confront his intractable lords in Gascony and beyond. That was a journey too far for Earl Harold, especially in the depths of winter. His campaigning days were over and it was time for him to return to his home to the east of Bordeaux. When he was preparing to leave, I asked him where his home was.

  ‘It is many miles to the east of here, high up above the River Lot. It sits at the top of a crag above the river and has wonderful views down the valley. It is called St Cirq Lapopie and it is as pretty as its name suggests.’ He looked to the east, with a hint of tears in his eyes. ‘It is a special place. I will be buried there; perhaps you will come and see my grave when your adventure with Richard is over. I would like to know the outcome of his life. Perhaps you can sit by my grave and recount it to me; I may even be able to hear you above the fires of Hell.’

  ‘I would be happy to, my Lord, but I doubt that Hell awaits you after such a noble life.’

  ‘Sadly, young Ranulf, you only know the half of it. When you learn more, you may have the same misgivings that I have about my eternal destiny.’

  He smiled sagely, and I responded with as much admiration in my expression as I could muster. As he was in a reflective mood, I took the opportunity to prod him again about my mission.

  ‘My Lord, I realize that I am expected to help the Duke build his army and prepare for the day when he is King. But I suspect there is more to my mission than that.’

  ‘There is, but it is only detail, and Father Alun carries all that in his head.’

  ‘How will I know when my task is complete?’

  ‘You will know. Just remember why you were chosen, and keep in mind all the things from your past that you believe in. Those are things that will guide you. It is your life that will unfold as well as the Duke’s. You are helping shape his destiny, but also your own. When you know more about my family from Father Alun, you will understand. Eventually, you will become part of my family’s journey and we will be proud to have you.’

  ‘Earl Harold, I relish the opportunity to help England’s cause and that of your family.’

  ‘Good, because they are one and the same thing. Young Richard has little regard for the English part of his father’s vast realm, so it is important that you and Father Alun help him understand what England means to us and why its future is so important.’

  The next day was a poignant one for all of us. For several days, the warmer air from the west had been replaced by a much cooler wind from the east. The ground had turned cold, and ponds and lakes had frozen. As the morning wore on, the icy easterly wind subsided and a stillness settled over us. But it was only a temporary tranquillity; heavy dark-grey clouds filled the sky over the sea to the west, and by mid-morning heavy snow began to fall.

  The stillness became an eerie silence as the snow covered everything like a death shroud. Everyone in Bordeaux stayed in their homes, and the men of Duke Richard’s army huddled in their tents. Braziers were lit beyond the awnings and their flaps pulled back to encourage heat to circulate inside.

  In the midst of this ghostly scene, I saw Earl Harold busying himself. He was preparing his mount and packing his belongings on to two bay sumpters. I called to Father Alun and walked over to the Earl.

  ‘My Lord, would it not be wise to wait until the snow stops?’

  ‘I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I like the snow, it brings back fond memories.’

  ‘Of what, may I ask?’

  He did not answer, but a look of nostalgia spread across his face. Father Alun answered for him by whispering in my ear.

  ‘Have you heard the story of how, during her war with King Stephen, Duke Richard’s grandmother, the Empress Matilda, escaped from Oxford Castle in the middle of the night when a brave knight led her through the snow to safety?’

  ‘Indeed I have. Every child in England has been told that story.’

  ‘Well, that knight was Earl Harold.’

  I smiled, but I was not surprised to hear this latest revelation because, by now, I had realized how extraordinary the old warrior was. However, I remained concerned about his welfare.

  ‘Sire, I hope you don’t intend travelling alone. Take Godric and a couple of the men with you.’

  ‘I don’t need a nursemaid, young man. I’ve travelled the length and breadth of this empire many times.’

  ‘But, sire, if I may say so, you were younger then.’

  He smirked at me, before turning away to give the girth of his saddle one last tug. He then called for a mounting block, thanked Godric and his men and seated himself for his long journey.

  ‘Father Alun, offer Sir Ranulf wise counsel; he will need it. Sir Ranulf, take good care of our future King; he will need you. I have said goodbye to the Duke. The bargain is struck. You will join his entourage as a knight of Aquitaine and, like Godric and his men, will carry my grandfather’s colours.’

  He then kicked his horse on and, without a second glance, rode off towards the east and the old bridge over the Garonne.

  As his form became smaller and smaller in the distance, he soon became no more than a receding silhouette against the white background. Snow covered his shoulders like a shawl of fur, but he never bowed his head against the inclement conditions. He was too proud for that.

  I wondered whether he had tears in his eyes. He had completed the final task of his long life; his adventure would soon be over.

  But mine was just beginning. I turned to Father Alun.

  ‘Don’t you think it strange that Earl Harold is so certain that the Duke will be King one day? After all, his brother Henry is not yet thirty and is already anointed as his father’s successor.’

  ‘I know, I’ve often thought about that. However, the old man has an uncanny habit of being right about things. I’ve come to trust his judgement and accept his predictions without reservation.’

  I turned back to stare into the distance. The silhouette had disappeared from sight. I wondered if I would ever see the Earl again.

  5. Grand Quintet

  Although the time Duke Richard had spent with Earl Harold had had a mollifying effect on the young man’s demeanour, he remained tempestuous and volatile. The day after the old Earl had left, Father Alun and I were summoned to see the Duke.

  Warm air had returned to Bordeaux and the snow had melted, but not so the harshness of the Duke’s tongue.

  ‘Gentlemen, I have accepted the offer from Earl Harold that you join my retinue. But you must understand that I will not accept t
he Earl’s recommendations about you at face value. Like everyone else in my service, you will have to prove yourselves.’

  I readily accepted the Duke’s pragmatic position.

  ‘Of course, my Lord; you are right to require that our actions speak for themselves.’

  ‘My senior captains will soon return from their homes to begin our campaign in the south. When they do, you and your men will each be assigned to a captain. From that moment onwards, I expect total loyalty to him and to me. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  Father Alun nodded his agreement also.

  We both left the meeting with the same feeling: the Duke was well named. And we had been asked to hold this particular lion by its tail!

  Three days later, on 6 January 1177, the Duke’s loyal henchmen returned from their estates. I had never seen such formidable men before. Not many men could stand as equals in the presence of Duke Richard, but the men of this quintet could. They each had their own entourage of four or five knights and a conroi of cavalry bedecked in their personalized armour and colours, which added to their spectacular arrival.

  There was a cacophony of greetings and bellows of delight as the column rode into camp. This was the core of Richard’s army – a far more formidable group than his Brabançon mercenaries – which made me wonder what would have happened had they been with the Duke when Earl Harold raided his tent.

  The first of them was from the Artois, Baldwin of Bethune. A man about the same age as Duke Richard, he sat tall in his saddle, his long mane of auburn hair and his bushy beard making him look ten years older. He spoke with the strong accent of a man of his region, a tongue much influenced by the languages of the Low Countries.

  Robert Thornham was a little older, perhaps twenty-five; the son of a middle-ranking Anglo-Norman father, he had come to prominence as a knight while competing in tournaments. A dark-haired, powerful man, adept with sword and lance, he had been noticed by Duke Richard at the age of nineteen when he had taken one of Normandy’s most formidable champions clean out of his saddle at a tournament in Rouen. He had been with the Duke ever since.