by Rachel Bard
“Yes. May I send a message to my wife?”
“King John’s orders are, no messages in or out. And if you’re wondering how long you’ll be here, I have no idea. That’s up to the King.”
He glowered at me, daring me to ask for something else. I was silent, and he left as abruptly as he’d come.
I’d never felt so hopeless. I’d been in bad situations before. Sometimes when I was fighting the infidels with King Richard in the Holy Land I knew that death could come with the next thrust of a lance. But at least there I was master of my actions. Here I had no alternative but to submit to this ignominy. There was no way out. And to think that it was John, my most despised enemy, who had put me here, was enough to make me mad with fury.
I was angry but I was also ready to drop from weariness after three days of jolting over Normandy. I ate a few spoonfuls of the revolting stew, then lay down on the straw pallet and pulled the blanket over me. It wasn’t enough to keep out the damp chill, but I was so tired that, blessedly, I fell asleep almost at once.
The next thing I knew, the grinding sound of a key turning in the lock awakened me. A man came in, put a bowl on the table and left. So it must be morning. I must have slept for twelve hours.
Spooning up the lukewarm porridge by dim candlelight, I brooded on my prospects. Could I possibly bribe Gautier to let me get a message out? With what? I had no coins, no gold, no jewels. Could I convince him that if he’d let me send word to Mathilde of my situation, she would reward him? And even if that succeeded, what could she do next? Ill as she was, she couldn’t take on the task of raising a ransom. If my feckless son were around, he might be able to do it. But he was still off on his Crusade, maybe on his way to Constantinople by now.
But wait. What about my brother Ralph? He hadn’t been with us at Mirebeau, but up north with King Philip besieging Les Arques. But how to get word to him? Another dead end.
My gloomy thoughts were interrupted when, again, my prison door swung open. In walked a tall man in a fur-trimmed hat and a long black cloak with fur at neck and hem. Some people, I thought bitterly, can dress for this bone-chilling cold. A servant followed him, placed a lamp on the table, and left.
My visitor had a lined, severe face, with a square jaw and a thin-lipped mouth that looked as though it seldom smiled. We stood there assessing each other. I was still not very presentable, though I’d managed to wipe away some of the grime and had brushed the dust and straw off my clothes. I waited for him to speak.
“Sir Hugh, I am William des Roches, your guardian during your imprisonment.”
“Yes. Now that I see you I believe you were one of the first of King John’s men to break through the bailey gate at Mirebeau where we were sheltering with Arthur.”
“I was. And you probably also know I led the contingent that brought you here to Caen.”
“So I heard. Welcome to my sumptuous quarters. I am sorry they forgot to provide me with chairs for my guests or wine to offer them.”
I saw no reason to be pleasant to King John’s man.
“Never mind that. I’ve given orders that you are to be moved to a more comfortable room. You’ll have a chair and if you behave yourself, perhaps even some wine.” To my surprise he smiled, but in the dimness I couldn’t tell if it was the smile of a gloating victor or of somebody who wished me well.
“Until later, Sir Hugh,” and he was gone.
In short order I found myself settled in a room off the great hall. It was small and without a fireplace, but there were a charcoal brazier, a real bed, chairs and a narrow barred window. My door was still kept locked. The meals they brought me were somewhat more appetizing than my fare in the dungeon. My dinners were, indeed, accompanied by a goblet of wine. I was even provided with clean hose and tunic. Gautier brought them, though with ill grace.
“Sir William said to see that you’re decently clad and we’re to give you washing water too. In all my days as warden here, I’ve never seen a prisoner pampered like this. What are things coming to if a guilty man can’t be properly punished?”
I couldn’t imagine.
After a week of boredom, during which I occupied myself by wondering what was behind this consideration from William des Roches, he visited me again. This time he was more loquacious.
“Greetings, Sir Hugh. Are they treating you well?” He sat in one of my two chairs and gestured to me to sit in the other.
“They are, and I’m glad to see you again, so I can thank you for my greatly improved lodging. Surely this isn’t at the orders of King John?”
Again the rare smile. This time I saw it as a smile of genuine goodwill.
“No indeed. If he knew, he’d have both our heads. Of course you’re curious. So I’ll tell you why I’ve moved you and what I’ve learned, these past few days, of events since you were captured.” He crossed his long legs, folded his arms and fixed me with his steady gaze.
“First, a little history. You may not know that I served Arthur for five years, when he was just beginning to show promise as a leader worthy of his Angevin heritage. I thought he should have been declared King after Richard’s death. When John was chosen instead, I believed it was my duty to give John my allegiance. But when I did so, I made it a condition that if John ever went to war against Arthur and captured him, I would be in charge of the boy.”
He brushed his hand across his brow as though wiping away unwanted memories. I was watching and listening intently.
“I’ve now learned that after Mirebeau fell, John sent Prince Arthur to Falaise Castle where he was placed in irons with no way to communicate with the outside world. Your uncle Geoffrey is at Falaise too, probably suffering the same conditions. They are both in the care—if you can call it care—of William de Braose, who isn’t known for indulging in pity or mercy.”
His face flushed with sudden anger. He pounded his knee.
“I should have been sent there. I should be the one charged with keeping Arthur secure. It’s true he rebelled against his uncle and deserves punishment. But the fact remains that he’s next in line for the English throne. He should be treated accordingly.”
“So you feel that because King John has not kept his promise to you, you needn’t keep your pledge of loyalty to him?”
“Exactly. And I propose to act as quickly as I can to try to free Arthur and enlist support to attack John. I’d expect the Lusignans to join me.”
At first I thought he was joking. How could we support him if we were all in prison?
“And that means we must free you and Geoffrey and your friends as soon as possible. But I can’t just open the gates and let you go. John doesn’t trust anyone, and his men are posted all around the castle, in case of an attempted escape. Falaise is even more strongly guarded. No, you must raise a ransom. John needs money badly. I’m told that he’s counting on his more well-to-do prisoners to buy their freedom.”
With this encouraging prospect, I took heart. I wished I could do something at once. I rose and paced about the room, then stood before him.
“Then, Sir William, I must get in touch with my brother Ralph. He’s the only Lusignan not behind bars. He can begin raising the money. The last I heard he was with King Philip in the north, but that was some weeks ago.”
“My information is that Philip left Les Arques when he heard of John’s victory at Mirebeau, and headed for Tours. He’s said to be planning an offensive against John.”
“Ralph will still be with him, I’m sure. Can you send him a message?”
“I can and I will.” I liked this man. He wasted no words or motions. He went to the door and called Gautier. When the surly fellow appeared, William instructed him to find his squire and have him come immediately.
“And one more thing. Please have some wine brought to us.” Gautier’s eyebrows waggled up and down, signaling his deep disapproval. He ran his fingers through his unruly hair, making it stand up like a flaming topknot. But he obeyed.
When the wine came, William filled o
ur glasses and proposed a toast. “To the downfall of King John and the rise of the Lusignans.”
I drank willingly, then proposed my own:
“And to the success and well-being of William des Roches, whom I’m proud to call my friend.” He smiled. I wondered that I’d thought him stern and unfeeling.
So the plan was set in motion. Ralph, good faithful Ralph, somehow raised the ransoms for Geoffrey and me. Within a month, I walked out of Caen Castle a free man.
Chapter 34
Isabella
1202
After John left Le Mans to rescue his mother I felt shaky and insecure. Our palace had no defenses. The sturdy old city walls that John was so fond of were pierced by eleven gates, not all in good repair or well manned.
So I willingly let Robert de Thorneham hurry me off on the three-day journey to Chinon. Once within its stout walls, I could relax. There was, in fact, little to do except relax. Sir Robert wouldn't let me leave the castle confines, so there was no riding by the river or visiting the town. Thank goodness, Lady Anne and Adèle were there too.
The three of us passed many an afternoon sitting at our embroidery, listening to a minstrel, or walking in the garden. Sometimes we all practiced our Latin.
“Adèle needs to work on it and if you’ll forgive me, my lady, you could benefit from a little refreshment too.” Anne had had a good education, thanks to a father who had for a time studied for the priesthood. She found a few dusty, crumbling manuscripts somewhere in the castle, perhaps left over from King Henry’s day. One we particularly liked was a treatise on cookery for a monastery. When we sat at dinner, we’d amuse ourselves (and mystify Sir Robert) by introducing terms from our limited vocabulary into our conversation.
“I wonder,” I said, “if there’ll be crustum cum malos for the sweet?”
“I think so,” said Adèle. “When I went by the culina the coquus was peeling some malos.”
Sir Robert appealed to Anne. “Now what are they jabbering about, my lady?”
Anne laughed. “Just about the apple pie they hope we’ll have. But Adèle, wasn’t it Cook Marie you saw peeling apples? So you should have said coqua for a lady cook, not coquus.”
The fine fat apple pie was borne in at that moment. We all gave it our attention instead of our Latin declensions, to the relief of Sir Robert.
While I was at Chinon the news reached me that my father had died. I tried to feel sorry but I couldn’t. For one thing, I’d never forgiven him for the way he deceived me about Hugh’s death. And he’d never been a loving father. He was far too wrapped up in building up his power and adding to his lands. He was devoted to my mother, but that was the extent of his family feeling. I was devoted to her too, but even as a child I knew that her affections and attentions were focused on her husband, not on me. I sent her a consoling message.
Finally we received word from John. We were all gathered in the dining hall for the midday meal when the messenger was admitted. He handed me the parchment. He told me that after I’d read it, he was to deliver the message to John’s vassals in Poitou and Anjou.
I read it to the others:
“Know that, by the grace of God, we are safe and well, and God’s mercy has worked wonderfully with us for on Tuesday, the feast of St. Peter ad Vincula, we heard that the Lady our mother was closely besieged at Mirebeau, and we hurried there as fast as we could. And there, after a hard-fought battle, we captured our nephew Arthur and all our other Poitevin enemies, and not one escaped. Therefore God be praised for our happy success.”
The messenger then told me he had been particularly instructed to tell me John was leaving for a short time in Normandy but he’d send for me as soon as possible.
“This is joyful news!” I said to Sir Robert.
“It is indeed. He doesn’t give any details, but it must have been a fierce fight. I only wish I could have been there to stand by the King’s side in battle.”
“Never mind, you’ve done your part by taking such good care of your charges here at Chinon,” said Anne. “With brave Sir Robert to guard us, we’ve felt perfectly secure.”
I went to bed that night filled with pride at John’s victory and wishing I were with him.
It didn’t occur to me then to wonder who the enemies were that he he’d taken captive, besides Arthur.
The very next day, as Anne and I were getting out chests and garments, hoping for an early departure, we heard a tremendous uproar that seemed to come from just outside the castle walls: shouting, hoofbeats, then what sounded like pounding on the door of the portcullis gate. Sir Robert burst into my chamber, red-faced and breathing hard as he did when he had to move his bulky body quickly.
“My lady, the lookouts on the walls say it’s a force of two dozen or so horsemen, looking like they’re about to make an assault. I’m going now to the gate to see what it’s all about.”
Anne and Adèle and I looked at each other in confusion, wondering what we could do. Perhaps barricade ourselves in one of the towers? But before we’d made a move, Sir Robert came back and reported that he’d talked to the leader of the force, William des Roches. I recognized the name. John had spoken of him as one of his powerful Angevin vassals. So what was he doing, attacking his King’s castle?
“He says he’s no longer the King’s man. He’s going to keep us all shut up here until John releases Arthur. He’s sent word to him that he won’t see his Queen again until Arthur is in William’s hands. Then they’ll lift the siege.”
We were shocked, fearful, angry—and helpless. Confined within the walls of Chinon, we had nothing to do but wait and worry. Every morning I woke to the hope that today John, the conquering hero, would arrive and put down the rebels, just as he’d done at Mirebeau. Surely if he could bring off such a daring rescue of his mother, he could do no less for his wife.
We were set free at last but not by John. After ten days Peter de Préaux, one of John’s mercenaries, arrived with a large pack of his fearless, merciless fighters. They soon sent our besiegers flying. Peter announced that he’d been instructed to escort us back to Le Mans.
All the way I fretted at the slowness of our progress. I had no eyes for the pleasant autumnal countryside, the smoothly flowing Loire and its broad valley where tight little villages sprouted amid the fields and vineyards. All I wanted was to be safely back in Le Mans, where I’d find John.
Our pace was governed by that of the soldiers, who were in no hurry. They’d had a nearly bloodless victory, they were feeling smug and carefree until the next battle, and they’d been well paid by Robert de Thorneham with more to come when we reached Le Mans. Peter de Préaux indulged them when they wanted to stop and spend some of their new riches in the taverns along the way. There was nothing I could do about it.
When we paused for a meal at an inn in Angers, I said I wasn’t hungry and asked the innkeeper if I could rest somewhere while the others ate. He showed me to a small room next to the dining hall. It held a plain uncurtained bed and not much else. I suspected it might be for the convenience of lusty travelers who’d take a lass there for an hour or so. But it was clean and neat, and I lay down gratefully. Anne stayed with me. I knew at once I wouldn’t get much rest because we could hear all the conversation through the thin wall.
Robert de Thorneham must have asked Peter de Préaux why he’d come instead of John. Peter had a loud, carrying voice. I had no trouble hearing him over the clatter of jugs and tankards and tableware.
“Oho, that’s easy. He was going to come all right. We were up in Normandy when we got the word that the Queen was being besieged. He was all for leaving at once. But we hadn’t gone two leagues before a man came from Alençon to tell us that we’d best avoid the town because its lord had just gone over to King Philip after years of loyalty to John.”
I couldn’t make out Robert’s reply but Peter’s braying voice came clearly.
“No, it’s not so shocking. Lords all over Normandy are going over to Philip. John is losing his support
though he won’t admit it. Anyway, when we got that news, you should have seen the change in your King. All at once he says, ‘We could be surrounded by enemies and not even know it. You go on to Chinon, Peter, and I’ll go to Le Mans and wait for the Queen there.’ Or words to that effect. So here we all are, safe and sound, and no thanks to John Softsword. That’s what they call him now, you know.”
This time I heard Robert’s reply. By now they’d both probably had so much wine they didn’t care who heard them.
“Even after his victory at Mirebeau? I heard he took the castle from a force three times his own, and captured every one of them.”
“Ha. So you were taken in too. That’s the story he’s been telling. You should have been there, my friend. Arthur’s army, if you can call it that, was either asleep or drunk when we rode into the town. All John had to do was ride hard to reach the castle, find Arthur and the Lusignans in the bailey without any guards on duty, and put them all in irons. It didn’t take bravery, just good horsemanship.”
“You’re being most disrespectful to your monarch, Peter. Are you planning to desert him too?”
“No danger of that. He pays me too well. As long as he has the gold, I have the loyalty.”
His guffaw put an end to the conversation, or what I could hear of it. I sat on the edge of the bed with my face in my hands. Anne sat beside me and put her arm around my shoulders. Neither of us said a word.
Bewildered, I joined the others. We remounted our horses and set off again.
All the rest of the way I tried to come to terms with what I’d heard. Every time I thought I had John’s character figured out, he proved me wrong. I’d been so proud to hear of his courage and leadership at Mirebeau. Yet apparently the tale he’d spread wasn’t what had really happened. Now at the very next challenge, he’d crept like a coward to Le Mans and sent Peter to save us. It reminded me of his fit of nerves when he feared the Lusignans would ambush us during our first journey to Le Mans. Would I ever, ever understand him? I wanted so much to believe in the man I loved.
