Lionheart moe-4

by Stewart Binns

  Negu immediately produced a high-pitched note as clear as a Sanctus bell.

  ‘I thought so; you have a clear and crisp voice, and a young throat. I knew you could sing. If you would like, I will teach you how to sing like the nuns. In every church I know, the monks sing and the nuns do the chores. Here my girls sing. It is through our singing that we express our love for one another and for Our Lord.’

  Negu beamed from ear to ear.

  ‘I would love to learn, Reverend Mother. I have never been able to do anything other than make a man happy in bed.’

  ‘Well, that is a gift too, child, but it is always good to have another string to your bow.’

  Hildegard was unlike any nun I had met before. She exhibited a generosity and a sense of mischief that was infectious. She had made Negu feel welcome and charmed her with her openness and lavish attention. She then turned her focus to the Duke, who had been sitting patiently, drinking the kirsch that the attentive novice kept pouring for him.

  ‘We make it ourselves, you know, from our own morellos, which we also use to make our Kriek Lambic, the beer you had with dinner. Our kirsch is particularly potent, and it is good for the flatulence we get from the beer – which visitors are often relieved to know, after they’ve suffered for two hours listening to my girls break wind in the refectory. You see, I encourage them not to be inhibited about any of their bodily functions.’

  Hildegard delivered her comical homilies in a totally matter-of-fact way, making it difficult to know whether she realized how droll she was being.

  ‘Father Alun tells me that you are called “Lionheart”. So, I wonder how I should address you?’

  ‘As you like, Reverend Mother.’

  ‘Good, then I shall call you Richard. And you may call me Reverend Mother. Father Alun tells me that you are seeking wisdom?’

  ‘I am, Reverend Mother.’

  ‘Are you sure? He also told me that you only agreed to come here because your father had a much more onerous penance for you in the Holy Land.’

  ‘That is true.’

  ‘Not an auspicious introduction, Richard, but at least you’re honest; that’s a good start.’

  On Hildegard’s signal, the young novice then leaned forward to fill the Duke’s bowl with yet more kirsch.

  ‘Would you like to bed her?’

  ‘Well…’

  He hesitated. Hildegard finished the sentence for him.

  ‘You mean, if she was not in a nunnery and not wearing the white habit of a novice.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘She is very pretty and may well oblige you. I rescued her from Robert, Count of Nassau, who threw her out when he found her cavorting in the stables with several of his grooms.’

  With a smile on her face, the young girl interrupted the Abbess.

  ‘All of his grooms, Reverend Mother. But I am trying to give up such base pleasures to find the more gentle love of God.’

  The novice patted the Duke on the cheek, then backed away to sit at her Abbess’s feet.

  Hildegard put her hand on the novice’s shoulder.

  ‘You see, Richard, it is possible to control the most powerful of our feelings. Our teaching here emphasizes honesty and truth above all other things. We must be truthful about our demons, otherwise we can’t learn to control them… But enough kirsch, and enough talk.’ She suddenly gestured to the novice that she wanted to leave. ‘We must go to our beds.’

  After she had gone, the Duke shot questions at Father Alun like an archer in battle.

  ‘Has she always been like this?’

  ‘As far as I know, yes. But I think she was making a point with the young novice.’

  ‘Astonishing! What do the Church and the Emperor make of her?’

  ‘I am told she is the same with them. But her knowledge is beyond equal, even among the most learned men in Christendom. Some say she’s a witch, but many more revere her as a living saint. Either way, no one dares threaten her or challenge her.

  ‘She has had visions since childhood, and the Church has lost count of the number of cures and miracles that have been ascribed to her. Besides her music and poetry, she has written leading texts on theology, healing and the natural world – and in her own alphabet, which she devised so that her nuns could have their own private manuscripts. Wise men come from all over Europe to seek her advice and hear her pronouncements. She has travelled as far as Milan and Vienna, preaching against corruption in the Church and calling for reform. When they held the Synod of Trier thirty years ago, she sent a simple message: “Glance at the sun. See the moon and the stars. Gaze at the beauty of earth’s greening. Now, think.”

  ‘Because it didn’t include God in its litany of wonder, the assembly of the great and the good of the Church at the Synod thought it was blasphemous. But Pope Alexander raised his hand to stop them and repeated her word: think. He said, “Do as she asks before you speak.” They did; and no one spoke. When I heard that story as a young monk, it changed the way I saw the world, and still does. She teaches us that God is everywhere, not just in Heaven. By “greening” she means nature as the pagans saw it, as in their Green Man of legend in England.’

  Father Alun continued for some time. We all listened intently, including the Duke. I had never seen him so still and so quiet before.

  Later that night, as Father Alun, Negu and I walked to our cells, he grasped my arm and said that what we had just talked about was important. He insisted that I remember it.

  ‘Think back to what I said about Earl Harold’s family. One day, tonight’s conversation will make more sense to you, so you must remember it.’

  ‘Another riddle for me, Father?’

  ‘No, just another observation for the future.’

  We spent almost three weeks at Rupertsberg. The Duke went hunting almost every day, but we spent every evening and several afternoons listening to Hildegard talking about the mysteries of life – not just on the earth we know, but elsewhere. She talked about worlds above and beneath ours, and about phenomena that were both real and surreal. She asked us provocative questions about the stars and what was in the heavens, and about good and evil and the nature of men’s souls. Usually we had to seek guidance from Father Alun about what exactly she had said or meant. Sometimes he helped explain things, but on other occasions he admitted that he was as baffled as we were.

  Most importantly, Duke Richard was like a man transformed. He hung on every word Hildegard uttered, especially when she talked about honour and chivalry. The turning point came when she talked about a man from the past she particularly admired.

  ‘Have you heard of Pierre Abelard?’

  The Duke knew the name because his mother, Eleanor, also worshipped the man’s memory. But he confessed that he had never taken much notice when she talked about him. She had become wistful, almost tearful, when speaking of him.

  ‘Abelard was the most important philosopher of the last hundred years, and a great influence on me. Had we been contemporaries, and had I not taken my vows to Christ, I would have gone in search of him and married him. He challenged the Church and all modern thinkers to base their views on questions and answers, on logic and thought, rather than rely on blind dogma. He was hounded for his radical views by the Church hierarchy, but young people came from the far corners of Europe to listen to him. I was one of them. I heard him speak in Paris, when I was not much more than a girl. I was so moved by what he said about the power of the human spirit, I cried all the way home to the Rhine. After that, I knew that I had to devote myself to God’s greatest creation – the human imagination.’

  The Duke had heard a different story about Abelard.

  ‘Did he not seduce the lady Heloise, a deed for which he was castrated?’

  ‘Indeed, he was a human creature, weak like the rest of us. Heloise may well have been his intellectual equal, but their affair meant that she had to leave Paris and become a nun. Now, the story of their tragic love affair has become an inspiration to young kni
ghts and their ladies all over Europe. But his most important legacy is his insistence on the importance of our ability to think, as well as our ability to act.’

  The ancient nun then beckoned Duke Richard to kneel before her. With her sitting slightly slouched in her chair and him kneeling upright, their eyes were level. She stared at him intently, placed her hands on either side of his head and gripped him firmly. She began to sway, with his head in her hands, and brought his head close to hers, so that their noses were almost touching.

  ‘If you take anything from here, young Lionheart, take this thought: Your mind is much more powerful than your sword arm. That is why, when soldiers fight wars, they win land and riches. But when thinkers fight wars, they win men’s minds. You can’t change the world with land and wealth, but you can with men’s minds.’

  Hildegard’s words had a profound effect on the Duke and influenced the rest of his life.

  I was also moved by them. I had come so far already, but Rupertsberg seemed like only the beginning of our journey.

  When Negu began to whisper in my ear on the eve of our departure from Rupertsberg, I was not surprised by what she had to say.

  ‘Please don’t be upset, but I want to stay here with Mother Hildegard and the nuns. I am so happy, and my voice is improving all the time.’

  I had become very fond of Negu, but I knew that my journey was only just beginning and that she was still searching for her own identity.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure I want to stay, yes.’

  ‘And to become a nun?’

  ‘I don’t know. But here, I’m a woman, respected for what I am, rather than being viewed as a body to be desired by men.’

  ‘I hope I haven’t treated you as merely a body—’

  ‘No, of course not. You have changed my life, and I will always be grateful to you. But now I can live my life through me, rather than through you. Do you understand that?’

  ‘I do… but I’ll miss you.’

  ‘And I’ll miss you. Always. Come back here, and tell me all about your adventures with the Lionheart.’

  Alun had been right about Negu; she had taught me the importance of love and companionship, and how a woman’s view of the world can be so different from a man’s. I had lived the life of a soldier and, other than my mother, had not treated women with much respect – and certainly not as equals. Now, at last, I understood the folly of my ways.

  9. Triumph at Taillebourg

  The journey back to Poitiers was uneventful, as were the next two years. The King did not honour his side of the bargain by letting Duke Richard resume his lordship of Aquitaine, but insisted that he stay in Poitiers to build a professional army and forestall the need to rely on thugs and mercenaries. I was delighted; it meant that I had the time and resources to train a body of men who could fight in any situation, and fight effectively – whether in a small-scale skirmish or siege, or in a full-scale pitched battle.

  Before Rupertsberg, King Henry’s broken promise would have sent the Lionheart into an apoplectic rage, but he had become much more sanguine and now devoted himself to long hours of military training and manoeuvres.

  Building a new army from nothing was a daunting but exciting challenge, especially as there would be two stern judges of our work: the Duke’s five lieutenants, who had promised to review the army when we had finished its training; and the stubborn and fierce Gascons who, once again, had been troubling the King.

  We sought young men who were ambitious and hungry: Normans for our cavalry squadrons, English archers and some infantrymen – with a sprinkling of tough Celts in the infantry – and sappers and siege engineers from Iberia and Italy. They made a good blend, welded together by rigid discipline, clear limits to indiscretions, good food and generous pay.

  Hildegard of Rupertsberg died in September 1179. By then, the King had relented and sent the Duke with his new army back to Aquitaine. We were camped near a Gascon village called Nogaro, not far from Negu’s village of Riscle. Our men had passed the harshest of scrutiny by the Duke’s loyal friends – especially William Marshal – and had performed well in the various small encounters of that year.

  Word of Hildegard’s demise spread through the ecclesiastical cloisters of Europe like wildfire and prayers were said in every church, large and small. Priests prayed, bishops wrote eulogies and the Pope began the process of her beatification. In truth, they were glad to be rid of her and her radical thinking.

  Richard sent a generous donation of silver to her monastery so that a large cross could be made in her honour and ordered that the army be stood down for a week so that he could go into mourning. Typically, on the last night he organized a feast which, as closely as could be arranged, was a replica of the frugal meal we had eaten on our first night at Rupertsberg. His cooks were amazed when he ordered the thinnest stew that could be made, then sent his stewards in search of a fruit beer to match the lambic of the Rhine and to find a drink similar to kirsch. The nearest match that could be found to kirsch was the local Gascon speciality, Teneraze, a much more palatable offering.

  During his absence from the area, old enmities had surfaced in Gascony, as had the desire of its local lords to extricate themselves from Henry Plantagenet’s sovereignty. Even more significantly, Duke Richard’s old ally, Alfonso II, King of Aragon, had widened his influence to include the whole of the Iberian side of the Pyrenees and into Roussillon and Provence. Here was another king with imperial ambitions, as ‘Emperor of the Pyrenees’. It was fortunate that we had spent the previous year and a half recruiting and training a new army in Poitiers; it, and the Duke, were about to be tested to the full.

  The summer of 1179 had brought success upon success for the Duke. Pons, Richemont, Genzac, Marcville, Grouville and Anville all capitulated, some with token resistance and some with a fight. But our next challenge, a mighty fortress looming over the Charente, was an entirely different proposition. Taillebourg Castle stood on a high rocky outcrop on the Charente, five miles downstream from Saintes. Defended on three sides by a sheer rock face with a massively fortified fourth side, many said it was impregnable. It was just the kind of challenge the Lionheart relished – especially as it was defended by a man for whom he had a particular dislike.

  Geoffrey de Rançon was a minor Gascon lord, well known for his thuggery and for being the custodian of a big belly and a small intellect. Rançon had discredited himself during the Second Great Crusade, where he had made a foolish decision while leading the army of Eleanor, Duke Richard’s mother – a mistake which nearly cost the French King, Louis VII, his life. He had brought shame on the Plantagenets and was sent home in disgrace.

  Although he lacked brains, he was cunning and had managed to keep some of his lands in the south-west. He now skulked behind Taillebourg’s colossal walls.

  The Emperor Charlemagne had held the Muslim army back at Taillebourg, almost 400 years earlier – a fact that inspired the Duke even more. Richard deployed his entire range of ballista and catapults, which he used, together with his archers, to launch a relentless bombardment of incendiaries against the walls and into the castle’s interior. He also began to lay waste to the countryside for miles around, denying the defenders any prospect of further supplies.

  Then he made a move that would seal his reputation as a general of great cunning and great bravery. He called his Grand Quintet together, asked Father Alun to join us, and we sat down in his tent and dismissed his stewards. We only knew something was afoot when he began to pour the wine himself. It was a very good wine; clearly something important was about to be said.

  ‘Gentlemen, I have looked at Taillebourg long and hard and from every angle. It is a beast – more formidable than anything we’ve tackled before. It will fall, but it could take weeks. And I, for one, have got better things to do with my time than wait for that fat Gascon in there to starve.’

  William Marshal knew something audacious was brewing and tried to advise caution.

  ‘
Richard, you have built a fine army and your siege weapons are as good as any in the world. Don’t jeopardize everything by being rash. As you said, if we wait, it will fall.’

  ‘William, your advice is well put and well meant, but I have a plan. It is daring, but it will bring us a victory that will make everyone in Europe sit up. Not even the great Umayyad warlord, Abd-ar-Rahman I, Emir of Cordoba, could bring Taillebourg to its knees with an army of forty thousand men. But we will.’

  The Duke had hooked us; we all sat expectantly, waiting for his heroic military coup.

  ‘I need beer brewed, butts of that local spirit bought. And bring in some girls; we’re going to have a feast, right under the walls of Taillebourg.’

  Mercadier, not averse to speaking his mind bluntly, was the first to ridicule what seemed a farcical idea.

  ‘Wonderful, Richard, an idea on a par with anything Alexander or Caesar could have devised.’

  ‘Wait, listen closely.’

  The Duke leaned forward and took a deep gulp of his wine; he was warming to his task.

  ‘First, we will move up the army and camp as close to the walls as possible. They won’t bombard us immediately until they work out what we’re doing. That evening we will have a huge feast in the open. But the beer will be low in strength and we’ll dilute the Teneraze. The girls will only be for show; there will be no fornicating. The men will be informed of the plan and be told to hide their weapons and armour. Crucially, they must be ready to fight within minutes of my signal.’

  The Lionheart then turned to me directly.

  ‘De Rançon does not know you. So you will keep two conrois of men hidden in tents close to Taillebourg’s gates. They must be fully armed and ready to fight at a moment’s notice.’

  Robert Thornham realized what the Duke’s strategy was.

  ‘You think they’ll come out and fight; they’ll assume that we’ve been overconfident and left ourselves exposed.’

  ‘Yes, de Rançon is not the most astute of men. But more importantly, he would love to redeem himself and restore his reputation after his catastrophe in the Holy Land. He would see this opportunity as divine intervention, given that it was my mother he disgraced in Palestine.’