Lionheart moe-4

by Stewart Binns

  ‘That is good to know. Then I need your solemn oath as a knight of the realm that what you hear from me and Father Alun will be known only by you.’

  ‘You have my word, Earl Harold.’

  ‘I have an estate at Bosham. I think you will enjoy the surroundings. Many years ago, the land was held by Godwin, Earl of Wessex, the father of King Harold. Godwin is buried in the chapel there, as is the little daughter of King Cnut, who was drowned in Bosham Creek. So you see, I have leased the manor for nostalgic reasons. I thought that the old kings of England would appreciate knowing that the home of the Godwins was back in English hands.’

  I was impressed and captivated. The Earl was clearly a man of great repute within the Norman elite and yet he had leased the estate of Harold Godwinson, the Earl of Wessex and England’s last English king, just for nostalgia’s sake.

  ‘Father Alun and my men will stay with you until you are fit and well. When you are, come and join me in Bosham and we can talk about what I’m sure will be an adventure that will fascinate and excite you.’

  ‘Thank you, sire.’

  Over the ensuing days, Father Alun refused to divulge anything he knew about what lay ahead, his own personal interest in it, or even anything about himself or his background. He was an engaging and knowledgeable conversationalist and helped Abbot Henry’s monks at Waverley during my recuperation. But any talk of the assignment that I was to be offered was strictly forbidden.

  All Father Alun would say was that Earl Harold was a wise and kind man, and that he would tell me everything I needed to know when we got to Bosham.

  By the time we reached Bosham in late October 1176, I was fit and well and eager to know what more lay beyond the tantalizing morsels of information I had been given so far.

  Bosham reminded me of my home in Heysham. It sat on high ground, from where an ancient chapel looked out to the many rivers and creeks that led to the sea a few miles to the south. A small cluster of thatched cottages circled the old church which, like my father’s chapel, was built of stone and was said to be centuries old. Bosham was in the old Earldom of the South Saxons, not far from Chichester, an important burgh I had visited before, with its gleaming Norman cathedral and imposing castle. But Bosham was like the England of old – quiet and peaceful, with none of the pretentious scale of the new Norman burghs.

  There seemed to be water everywhere, making the high ground of the village almost an island amidst the myriad creeks and mudflats. Numerous fishing boats were in the harbour and many more were pulled up on dry land all around us. Small boatyards were making and repairing vessels of assorted sizes, and there were the many buildings of the other artisans who thrived in a community that had lived cheek by jowl with the sea for centuries: chandlers, fishmongers, rope-makers, basket-makers, lightermen, watermen and trawl-makers. These were all trades I had known well as a boy.

  The hall belonging to the manor sat behind the church, in its own enclosure about a hundred yards away. A modest hall, with a few smaller buildings nestling close beside it, it was far removed from a royal palace, but comfortable enough for a man of some stature.

  The Earl of Huntingdon was certainly a man of stature. Despite his great age, he strode out to meet us when we arrived, offered a warm welcome and ushered us inside his hall, where food and wine had been prepared.

  After the courtesies and the food had been dispensed with, the Earl cleared the hall and asked Father Alun and myself to join him by the fire.

  ‘I am delighted that you seem to have made a complete recovery, Sir Ranulf.’

  ‘Thank you, my Lord.’

  ‘I think it is time to describe what I would like you to do for me and – this is very important – for England. But first, let me repeat, I will now tell you things that must remain a confidence between the three of us. Do you concur?’

  ‘I do, my Lord. I gave you my word at Waverley Abbey. The oath of a knight does not need to be given twice.’

  It was an impertinence to speak so bluntly to an earl of the realm, but I had come to suspect that the role I was going to be offered was not one for a man of timid demeanour.

  ‘Well said, Sir Ranulf, I am duly admonished.’

  In standing my ground, I had made an important point.

  The Earl smiled warmly.

  ‘First of all, let me briefly tell you about me. I am the grandson of the mighty Hereward of Bourne. My mother, Estrith, was one of his twin daughters. She was with him at the Siege of Ely and was reunited with him, many years later.’

  I was in awe, my jaw dropped and my eyes opened wide.

  ‘So, he did survive Ely after all. Many people say he did, but there are so many stories. My Lord Earl, it is a privilege to meet a man descended from such a noble family. Did you meet Hereward?’

  ‘Yes, in a way. When I was a small child my mother and I stayed with him at his mountaintop home in the Peloponnese, in the empire of the Byzantines. But alas, I have no memory of it. When I was old enough, I attempted to make my own way in the world. It was not easy to live in the shadow of such an illustrious grandfather, but I used him as an inspiration rather than an obstacle. With more than my fair share of good fortune, I managed to make a modest mark of my own.

  ‘I was made Earl of Huntingdon by Henry Beauclerc, grandfather of the present King, and took personal command of the Empress Matilda’s forces during her struggles for the English throne against her cousin, Stephen of Blois. After the war, I became guardian to Empress Matilda’s children and acted as confidant to her firstborn, our liege King Henry, through the difficult days of his succession to King Stephen. Since Matilda’s death ten years ago, I have kept a close eye on the King, who – I hope – continues to regard me as a somewhat ancient but wise godfather.’

  I felt myself gulp. I was in the presence of a remarkable man who had been at the centre of the affairs of England for the last thirty-five years. The Earl sensed that I was somewhat overawed. Like a caring father, he rested his hand on my shoulder and smiled at me sympathetically before resuming his story.

  ‘Although Matilda, known to those close to her as Maud, is no longer with us, her pedigree and that of England live on. Now I must come to the nub of the matter.’

  I cast a glance at Father Alun and saw a smile forming on his face. I began to feel my heart beat faster; all I wanted to do was ask more and more questions. But I realized that I was only just at the beginning of what could be an astonishing journey for me, and so I forced myself to hold my tongue and listen.

  ‘Empress Matilda and I fought all our lives to ensure that her son, Henry Plantagenet, would succeed to the throne that she was never quite able to grasp. Thankfully, that came to pass and King Henry now unites us all – English and Norman, all the Celtic peoples of our islands, and many other peoples from south of Normandy, all the way to the Pyrenees. He has ruled his great Plantagenet Empire wisely and fairly. And through his mother’s English royal blood, he has ensured that every Englishman can look upon him as one of their own.’

  The Earl’s eyes began to moisten and his voice cracked with emotion. He slowly hauled himself up from his chair, walked away from the fire and paused before continuing.

  ‘But the King won’t live for ever. He is now in his mid-forties and is beginning to lose the vigour he once had. His sons are very troublesome to him, and I fear that the peace we have enjoyed throughout the Empire under his rule may not survive his death.’

  Three years earlier, three of Henry’s sons had campaigned against him. I was not involved in the rebellion, because I had been assigned to the King’s personal bodyguard at Westminster – and most of the fighting took place in Normandy and the surrounding provinces – but it had been a time of great anxiety when many thought the Empire would disintegrate. Even though the King prevailed, and his sons were reconciled to him, many said it was only a matter of time before the issue would come to the fore once more.

  ‘As you know, the King has kept Queen Eleanor under house arrest these last two y
ears and I fear for her and for the future of the realm. She is a formidable woman with many admirers; the King would be wise not to continue to see her as an enemy, lest she becomes one he cannot control.’

  ‘My Lord, I have seen her at court many times. She is, indeed, daunting and very beautiful. I hear she is currently held at Sarum Castle.’

  ‘She is, but she is well treated. She has a huge entourage, all of whom are free to come and go, and she is constantly entertained by the troubadours and poets from the Court of Love she kept at Poitiers.’

  I had heard much about the Queen’s court at Poitiers. Every knight in Europe talked about its code of chivalry and how the young knights swore oaths of undying loyalty and love to their fair maidens. At Poitiers, the most esteemed knights were not just the ones who were brave in battle, but also those who could compose and sing ballads expressing their eternal love for their ladies.

  ‘As you know, Prince Henry is heir to the throne. But he is only interested in prancing at tournaments and cavorting with girls, he is not the man to follow his father in controlling an empire half the size of Europe.’

  ‘But, my Lord, is he not already crowned and anointed as our sovereign?’

  ‘He is, but he is the Young King only in name. He can’t be our true King while his father lives, and certainly not while he acts like a juvenile.’

  ‘But, sire, he’s only twenty-one years old. There will be plenty of time for him to become a mature leader.’

  ‘I disagree. If you are a crowned king, even while your father lives, you should act like one.’

  Although kindly in demeanour and as old as Methuselah, the Earl took on the unmistakeably fierce look of a seasoned warrior.

  ‘We need a king who has the courage to lead his men in battle, not a mannequin in the fancy dress of the tournament.’

  There had been a flash of anger on the Earl’s face. But it soon subsided, to be replaced by his usual sagacious warmth.

  ‘But there is a man of valour… and one day he will be the King we need.’

  I looked at Father Alun again. He nodded his approval with a benign smile. The Earl returned to his seat by the fire and threw more logs into its heart.

  ‘I feel the cold these days. When I was younger, no amount of cold bothered me, but now I have to look after myself like a newborn baby, heavily swaddled and kept close to the fire!’

  He sat back in his chair and stared at the roaring fire, which crackled and spat with energy.

  ‘The young man in question is like this fire. He burns with ambition and courage. His mother, Queen Eleanor, is wary of my interest and has kept me at arm’s length, but I’ve watched him grow from a distance. He is prodigious. Still only nineteen, but he’s been leading his army in Aquitaine for three years and they already call him “Lionheart”. He’s tall like all his kin, with hair the golden red of a lion’s coat and a beard the dark tinge of the beast’s mane.’

  I had heard the name ‘Lionheart’ before. His reputation was already known among my fellow knights. He was Richard, Duke of Aquitaine, King Henry’s third son and, after the early death of his elder brother, William, was now second in line to the throne.

  ‘Sire, I have heard of this man. But I believe he spends all his time in his dukedom, many miles from England.’

  ‘You are correct. That is part of the problem that must be solved. Duke Richard was born at Beaumont Palace, in Oxford, but has spent very little time in England. He does not speak our language and, from what I hear, thinks our precious land is a dismal, godforsaken place off the coast of civilized Europe. He thrives in Aquitaine, where he loves the warmth, the wine and the women. He likes to fight and relishes its lawlessness and the challenge of the many formidable adversaries he finds there.’

  I was now perplexed. If the task was to persuade the Duke of the value of his English pedigree, it appeared that the Earl needed a sophisticated diplomat rather than a soldier.

  ‘My Lord, are you suggesting that I can play a role in the life of the Duke?’

  ‘I am.’

  The Earl was quick to see my furrowed brow.

  ‘Don’t be concerned, there is logic to my plan. But it does require some guesswork on my part and, I admit, for providence to play a role. However, there are several precedents for fate playing a major part in my family’s history.’

  He paused to stare at me keenly.

  ‘It will also involve a leap of faith on your part, but I will leave that to your judgement. If you accept this commission, you will do me and England a great service. This young Duke has the world at his feet. He has good men around him, but they are not men who can help him understand and appreciate his English pedigree, a lineage that is far more important than he realizes. For that, he needs you and Alun.’

  With an earnest intensity, Father Alun then spoke for the first time.

  ‘I have made my leap of faith. For me there could not be a more important calling in life.’

  I looked at the priest. I could see the passion in his eyes and felt humbled that these two men should think me worthy to be an accomplice in their quest. Alun had saved my life, and I knew him to be a true and kindly man. If my role was to lend the strength of my arm to the wisdom that he would bring to this intriguing mission, then I would not only be a fool to turn down such a unique challenge, but also disloyal to England and to my people.

  A spark flew from the fire at that point, breaking my concentration. Realizing that I had been listening so intently that I had not moved for several minutes, I adjusted my position in my chair. My backside had become numb and I winced slightly as the blood flowed back and made my buttocks prickle.

  ‘Some more wine, Sir Ranulf? I think you need a little respite for a moment.’

  Father Alun leaned across and poured another goblet of the Earl’s excellent dark-red wine.

  ‘It is from a small estate I have in Aquitaine. You will like it there. In the winter it is not unlike here, but the autumns are mild and the springs and summers are like heaven on earth.’

  ‘So, I am to travel to Aquitaine?’

  ‘Yes, all is ready. Our ship is at harbour only yards from here, and I took the liberty of having your things sent down from your garrison at Westminster. We can sail on the next tide.’

  ‘So, you will accompany us, my Lord?’

  ‘Yes, I have to prepare the ground; young Richard has no inkling of my proposal yet.’

  ‘Sire, with the greatest respect, I don’t either. The last thing you said was that I would need to make a leap of faith.’

  ‘Quite so. I am growing to like you, Ranulf of Lancaster; you have a good sense of humour, and you’re not afraid to speak your mind. Have some more wine.’

  Both he and Alun laughed heartily as my goblet was filled once more. It seemed that they had made up my mind for me and that I had accepted the mysterious role. I chose not to demur; I liked my two companions as much as they seemed to like me, and I was spellbound by the prospects that lay ahead. What was more, Bosham was full of so many ghosts from England’s past. So, how could I refuse?

  Earl Harold held out his hand, as did Father Alun. I shook them vigorously.

  ‘Aquitaine is a long way from here. We will have many opportunities to talk more on the journey.’

  My mission had begun. A powerful energy began to course through my veins. Even though all logic suggested that the young Duke might well dismiss Earl Harold’s proposition out of hand – or, indeed, that the young warrior might have feet of clay and not be the man his reputation portrayed – the mission offered me a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

  Not only did the Earl’s commission bring the prospect of adventures in new and exotic lands, but it also offered the opportunity to be part of his attempt to manoeuvre Duke Richard in a direction that would be to England’s great benefit. I knew not how – but for the time being that mattered little.

  Countless others before me, including Earl Harold, had put themselves at the mercy of an unknown destiny for En
gland’s cause. Now it was my turn.

  4. Aquitaine

  We took ship on the next day’s tide. The Earl had gathered an awesome quintet of warriors who would share our journey, but at that stage I knew them not at all. Our crossing of the Channel was uneventful and we made landfall at Saint-Valery-sur-Somme, from where, poignantly, the Conqueror had set sail in 1066. Horses were waiting for us, organized by Godric, a man who would become a lifelong companion.

  We moved south rapidly, passing Abbeville, Rouen, Le Mans, Tours and Poitiers, before turning west towards Saintes in the Charente, where we hoped to make contact with Duke Richard.

  I had been to Normandy only once before, and then only briefly – to Rouen, to escort the King back to Westminster – so our journey was fascinating for me. Just as Normandy was very different from England, the further south we travelled the more the people, their buildings and their languages changed. The local inhabitants were shorter and sturdier, with darker complexions, the further south and west we travelled, and their buildings became more rustic. Only in Normandy and its neighbouring provinces did we see towering castles and cathedrals; further south, the churches were more modest, the fortresses less imposing.

  The people of Angers and Poitiers spoke in tongues that were similar to one another but very unlike Norman, while around Saintes the local language changed yet again to something much gentler in tone, but unlike anything I had heard before.

  During our journey, the Earl travelled with all the ease of a man half his age and spent much of the time talking about the stability of the huge Plantagenet Empire and the threats from its many enemies, especially the King of France. I listened carefully, realizing how little I knew about the complex issues King Henry had to deal with every day.

  I also got to know the warriors the Earl had assigned to our task. Godric was their leader – a short, broad-shouldered man with hair the colour of hay. He was an intelligent but stern taskmaster and followed the rules of military discipline rigidly. His men were Penda, Leax and the brothers Modig and Rodor. Penda had been named after the old pagan King of Mercia. He was a big, softly spoken man, with the dark look of the Celt about him. Leax was an imp of a man – small, thin, with boundless energy – who never stopped talking and kept us all amused with his quick wit and sense of fun. Modig and Rodor could easily have been twins; they said very little and had the brooding presence of English warriors of old. Their long blond locks reached well below their shoulders, and their heavy beards almost completely obscured their features.