Lionheart moe-4

by Stewart Binns

  Chivalrous warnings given and returned, Barbarossa began to move his army through the Cilician Gates. The herald gave a graphic account of what happened next.

  ‘On 10th June of this year, we came to a river called the Saleph. It was a hot day; my Emperor was in full armour, but he still sat high in his saddle in the middle of the river, his great red beard cascading down his chest as he barked orders at his men. Suddenly, his horse, hit on the leg by a log floating down the river, stumbled, throwing my Emperor into the water. It was not very deep, but the shock of the cold water was great and he either suffered an apoplexy or his heart gave out. We got him to the bank in seconds and pulled off his armour, but he was already dead…’

  The herald paused; there were tears streaming down his face.

  ‘My Lords, it took me many weeks to find you, but I have to tell you that most of our army has turned back and returned to the Empire to wait for the election of a new Emperor. Only Barbarossa’s son, Frederick, Duke of Swabia, has made it to Antioch with a much smaller army, about five thousand men in total.’

  The Lionheart thanked the herald and told him to rest in Messina before making haste to Antioch, where he should tell Duke Frederick that Plantagenet and French armies would reinforce him as soon as possible. The German herald had brought chastening news, but it did not deter the Lionheart; in fact, he seemed more invigorated than ever. He called his Grand Quintet together and sent for Abbot Alun.

  He came straight to the point.

  ‘We must sail for the Holy Land before winter has us in its grip.’

  William Marshal was the first to respond.

  ‘None of us is a sailor, but even I know that the gales of autumn are just as dangerous as the storms of winter. It is almost November; we can’t sail until early spring next year.’

  ‘Then we will go overland. The fleet can follow.’

  I made the next interjection.

  ‘Sire, with the loss of the Germans, our supplies are even more important. We must be cautious.’

  The Lionheart looked around the room. No one supported his proposal.

  ‘But the Christians are hanging on by the skin of their teeth in Antioch. And now they have five thousand hungry Germans to feed.’ He turned to Abbot Alun, and implored him, ‘Alun, we must do something!’

  ‘We can pray, my King.’

  The Lionheart seethed with impatience, but he knew we were right.

  ‘Then send for Bérengère. I’ll be married and sire an heir.’

  ‘We can pray for that too.’

  Alun’s ready quip eased the Lionheart’s mood. The King continued in a more reflective vein.

  ‘Perhaps that would be wise, given that Barbarossa’s army has gone home and I may die by Saladin’s hand and never return to England.’

  Knowing that there would be a long winter ahead, Richard released his prisoners and unlocked the garrison; all remained calm in Sicily. Just before Christmas, the Lionheart called us together once more.

  ‘I have decided that the most sensible way to get the army to the Holy Land would be to employ Tancred’s existing ships and use his boatyard to build more. He has powerful triremes, equipped with Greek fire, and men who know how to use it. But I don’t want to pay for them. What do you suggest?’

  Mercadier answered immediately.

  ‘Conquer the island, imprison Tancred and take his ships.’

  ‘I’ve thought about that, but Alun has some interesting information for you.’

  Alun stood and spoke in his now familiar paternal tone.

  ‘Tancred is King here because of the Pope’s intervention and he will not tolerate us interfering in a realm so close to Rome. The throne should have gone to Lady Constance, the aunt of the old King, when he died without an heir. But she is married to Henry, a German prince of the Holy Roman imperial house, and the Pope does not want a German to rule here at the southern end of the Italian peninsula when he has more than enough Germans in the north to worry about. So he and the local Norman lords found Tancred and manoeuvred him on to the throne.’

  Alun then looked at the King in his scholarly way, before issuing a warning.

  ‘Sire, the last thing you want is to be excommunicated before you even get to the Holy Land.’

  ‘So, what’s the answer?’

  Alun was now in his element; a mischievous smile spread across his face.

  ‘Your sword, my Lord.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘It is a fine piece of craftsmanship, is it not?’

  ‘Of course, it was made in Toledo, the home of the world’s finest swords, by Master Zahib, the city’s most famous craftsman, who died a long time ago. It was given to me by my good friend, Alfonso of Aragon; it is very old.’

  ‘You know, of course, the story of King Arthur and his sword, Excalibur?’

  ‘I do, indeed. I was made to read Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the Kings of Britain in Latin until I was sick of it! What are you plotting?’

  ‘Well, Tancred has been asking me about King Arthur; he’s fascinated by the story and is reading the Romances of Chrétien de Troyes, one of which tells of Arthur and Excalibur.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, sire, let us tell him that your sword is Excalibur, passed to you at your coronation from all the kings of England back into the mists of time. If he could own Excalibur, he would give you his entire island in exchange.’

  We all looked at Abbot Alun with expressions of amazement. Blondel led the questions.

  ‘For an Abbot, you’re typically devious, but unusually astute. Also, on this occasion, a bit naive. Do you really think he would believe it? And, if he did, isn’t there something very immoral about this, coming from you, who is supposed to be the keeper of the King’s conscience?’

  ‘Well, two things in reply, my dear Blondel. First, I have no doubt he would believe it; he’s stupid and he’s vain, an unfortunate combination for him, but fortuitous for us. As for the morality of the ruse, I would say this: Excalibur is a myth, so any sword could be called Excalibur, especially one as fine as this, with its jewelled pommel and beautiful workmanship. And if the King of England calls it Excalibur, then that’s its name. Besides that, Tancred is an odious little toad whose only gift seems to be an ability to spit wads of phlegm into his cuspidor. He is not worthy of any moral veracity – neither the King’s nor mine!’

  We all looked at Alun in admiration. He was as clever as a fox, and a silver-tongued fox at that.

  The Lionheart pondered for a while before speaking.

  ‘I’m very fond of that sword, or should I say “Excalibur”? But if it will buy us the use of Tancred’s war galleys, then let’s make use of it. I think Abbot Alun is right; the man is an upstart little bastard, he’ll believe it’s Excalibur and he’ll crow about it across the Mediterranean. Alun, as it’s your fiendish scheme, you can handle the negotiation.’

  Blondel picked up his lute and broke into song. The stewards served some of Sicily’s rich wine, and we celebrated Alun’s wicked scheme. As we were drinking, Alun turned to me with a broad grin on his face.

  ‘Do you know who sponsored Geoffrey of Monmouth to write the story of Arthur?’

  I answered honestly; I had no idea.

  ‘Robert, Earl of Gloucester, the bastard son of Henry I, the Lionheart’s great-uncle, who fought with Earl Harold in the Empress Matilda’s civil war against Stephen of Blois. Earl Robert heard the story of Arthur from the Welsh bards and asked Monmouth to write it down for posterity. Small world, is it not?’

  When I was first introduced to Alun, when he was just ‘Father’ Alun, I was told he would be Archbishop of Canterbury one day. I had realized many times how astute that prediction was; this was another such occasion.

  Alun’s devious plan worked perfectly.

  Tancred was beside himself when offered Excalibur. Alun presented the offer with great aplomb and persuaded the Sicilian King to loan his entire fleet to the Crusade for a whole year. He opened his
shipyards to the Lionheart to commission more ships, and also threw in a handsome geld: a hundred gold bezants and a chest of silver denarii, all of which were secured for a single sword.

  The good Abbot’s next task was to deal with the thorny issue of the Lionheart’s betrothal to Princess Alyse. With Bérengère’s arrival imminent, the problem had to be resolved quickly.

  Abbot Alun’s first move was to include provision for Philip’s army in the new fleet that had been hired, for which the French King had little choice but to be grateful. He then called a discreet meeting just for Philip and Richard. He did not give me a full account of what transpired, just the detail of the vital moment.

  When the encounter reached boiling point and Philip was about to fly into a rage, the wily Alun produced a beautifully scrolled letter from an admiring nephew to a famous uncle. It was from ‘William’, Alyse’s bastard son sired by Richard’s father, Henry Plantagenet. Now almost a man, he was writing from Blois, asking his uncle if he might join his service in Paris as a knight.

  I can only imagine the look on Philip’s face. He had known about Henry’s seduction of Alyse, but the news about William was of a different order altogether. Not only was William his nephew, but the boy was Richard’s half-brother; a marriage between the Lionheart and Alyse was now out of the question.

  Alun did, of course, promise to be extremely circumspect about the letter. He also had another palliative to soothe Philip: he offered him 10,000 pounds of silver to ease the disappointment.

  Alun had amazed us all yet again.

  A few days later, as the Lionheart and the Grand Quintet relaxed over several flagons of wine, Robert Thornham asked Alun when he had received the letter from young William.

  His reply was equally astonishing.

  ‘I didn’t, the letter is undated; William wrote it before we left. I brought it with me. I thought it might be useful.’

  So, by February 1191, all was well in Sicily. Tancred could caress his Excalibur, and show it off to his friends, and Richard and Philip’s passage to the Holy Land was secure.

  16. Fauvel

  The beautiful Bérengère arrived in Palermo at the end of March. The excitement surrounding her landfall was multiplied when it was known who her mentor for the journey had been.

  When the Lionheart sent word to Poitiers in the autumn that Bérengère should be despatched to Sicily, none other than Queen Eleanor herself had undertaken to escort the young princess. Despite her great age, and having suffered the travails of bearing ten children during her lifetime, she had crossed the Pyrenees with winter nigh, crossed back again and then, in the depths of winter, traversed the Alps. She took only a small retinue of cavalry and a light baggage train and made the entire journey without a single complaint – except to bemoan the slow pace of her escort. Hannibal the Great would have been proud of her; on the other hand, it was anybody’s guess what Bérengère made of her mother-in-law to be.

  A great feast was held to greet the Lionheart’s intended bride. Philip Augustus did not attend – perhaps out of pique, or perhaps out of diplomacy – for he was already at the harbour at Messina preparing to sail for Antioch. Queen Eleanor did not dally either; within three days, she was making her way back to Aquitaine. For some old campaigners among the Lionheart’s senior commanders, there was a sigh of relief, as rumours had circulated that she intended to join the Crusade. The stories that surrounded her participation in the Second Crusade of 1145 were legion and caused unease. It was said that she had led a brigade of Amazons, but that the presence of women had cursed the entire venture – especially because their leader was the mother of the Devil’s Brood. Some even said that she was the Devil’s succubus and that she had entered the dreams and drained the potency of the crusaders, as well as diminishing the powers of her husband, King Henry.

  As the Lionheart bade his mother farewell, he faced another dilemma. It was Lent, not a time appropriate for weddings. Not only that: his fleet was ready to sail. Dozens more ships had been arriving in Sicily throughout the winter to add to his own formidable fleet. The ports could not cope, and it was time to leave. Richard decided to resolve the dilemma by taking Bérengère with him.

  Later, with his fiancée snuggled in his lap, he declared his intentions to us over dinner.

  ‘We will be married in Jerusalem, by the new Patriarch. I shall appoint him.’ He then turned to Alun. ‘A job for you, perhaps, to preside over the holiest place in Christendom?’

  ‘I think not, sire, I’d rather preside over the holiest place in England, at Canterbury, where I can keep my eye on you.’

  In early April, the weather was fair and the fleet was ready to depart. On the eve of the embarkation, we all attended a feast as guests of King Tancred in his fine hall at Palermo. With Excalibur hanging on the wall above him in pride of place, a bizarre guest appeared.

  The heavy oak doors to the hall suddenly opened, followed by a cold gust of wind. As two guards rushed to close the doors, the silhouette of a reedy outline appeared in the doorway. The guards moved towards the figure, but it stared at them with piercing green eyes and a steely resolve; they hesitated. He announced himself as Joachim of Fiore, a renowned mystic from Calabria. He carried a staff that was little more than the spindly branch of a tree, wore neither crucifix nor sandals, and was dressed in rags. He was at least sixty years of age, and was all but bald, with a long scrawny grey beard that was home to the residue of all the meals he had eaten for the last month.

  The Lionheart, uninterested, turned away; he fixed his gaze on the beautiful Bérengère. But Tancred ushered the man in and said it would be wise to listen to him. The old ascetic raised his hand to demand silence in the hall and approached the high table.

  He spoke like an orator.

  ‘I will address the one they call “Lionheart”.’

  The King turned, annoyed at being interrupted.

  ‘I am Lionheart.’

  ‘You are famous before your time, young King. Are you worthy of the fame?’

  The King, disarmed by the old man’s showmanship, smiled.

  ‘I doubt it, old man; the Abbot Alun here tells me that none of us can know if we are worthy until we stand before God on Judgement Day.’

  ‘Your Abbot is a wise man, be sure to listen to him.’

  ‘Do you have wisdom for me and my friends?’

  ‘I do; it would be prudent to listen to me, as you listen to your Abbot…’

  Holding his audience with his wild eyes, he paused and looked around the hall.

  ‘First, you must repent your sins, for where you are going is no place for sinners.’

  ‘But we are going to the Holy Land; is that not the best place for sinners to repent?’

  The mystic raised his voice and filled the hall with a roar.

  ‘The Holy Land is not holy any more; it is in the hands of the infidel!’

  He looked to the heavens and closed his eyes.

  ‘I have been searching to know the future for all of us. I have found the hidden truth in the Book of Revelation. We are approaching the Third Age of the Spirit, a time of love and joy. But before that we must destroy the sixth of the Seven Great Persecutors of the Holy Faith. Herod and Muhammad and the others have passed; the Sultan Saladin is the sixth.’

  He then pointed his staff directly at the King.

  ‘You, the one called “Lionheart”, must annihilate him!’

  He paused again and moved the staff closer to the King.

  ‘Cast him into the fires of Hell!’

  I could see that King Richard was transfixed by what was being said. But not so Abbot Alun, who had a look of disdain on his face. The Lionheart leaned forward in his chair.

  ‘But if I kill Saladin, what of the Seventh Persecutor?’

  ‘He will come; he will be the Anti-Christ. He is born already and is now fifteen years old and lives in Rome. One day he will be elected Pope, before he reveals himself as Satan! Beelzebub! Lord of the Flies!’

  The old ma
n fell to his knees, as if in prayer.

  ‘But he will rule only for three years until we rise up to challenge him. For now, Saladin is Satan’s emissary. He defiles the Holy Places, but God has chosen you to cast him out.’

  He then stood and raised his staff over the Lionheart’s head; his voice growled even more.

  ‘Your arrival in the Holy Land is vital. Go there quickly; God is calling you. He will give you victory over His enemies and will exalt your name beyond all the princes of the earth!’

  There was a stunned silence in the room. Moved by what he had heard, King Richard was ashen-faced. Bérengère looked dumbstruck, in awe of what lay ahead for her betrothed. Tancred offered the mystic food and drink but he refused, and turned and left.

  After a few minutes, the volume in the hall rose slowly and the guests continued with their feast. The Lionheart turned to Abbot Alun.

  ‘What do you make of him?’

  ‘A fine performance, sire.’

  ‘Of course, man… but what about the things he said?’

  ‘A fine speech, my Lord, but the Book of Revelation can be read a hundred ways. When you meet the Sultan Saladin, I would rely much more on your sword and your siege engines, rather than on divine intervention.’

  ‘You sound more like Marshal and Mercadier than one of God’s abbots!’

  ‘Sire, I would listen to them much more closely than to Joachim of Fiore when it comes to the tactics of the battlefield.’

  Although the Lionheart listened carefully to what Alun said, I could sense that the old preacher’s words had had a profound effect on him.

  They had also given Bérengère much food for thought. Later, as we sat and reflected on the evening, she spoke to me in the very stilted Occitan that Queen Eleanor had taught her on their journey from Navarre.

  ‘Ranulf, how dangerous is our mission against Saladin?’

  ‘Very challenging, ma’am; as you know from your Muslim neighbours to the south, in Iberia, they are very resourceful and very proud. Now that they have retaken Jerusalem, they will not give it up easily.’