‘He needs time to grieve alone.’ Should I tell him about the baby? Richard wondered. I will later, when we know each other better.
The Viscount returned. ‘While I’m bathing, why don’t you two ride over to Isabel’s house and make sure that everything is in order? Check the stables, too. There should be four horses.’
‘We’ll be gone a while,’ Brito said.
‘I’ll be having a long bath.’
‘It’s a family tradition,’ Richard said as they rode away. ‘Down in Anjou, the Old Duke would lie for an hour or so in his bath, thinking. The King has the same habit.’
Brito nodded. ‘I think we should return quickly.’
‘Heating enough water will take ages. We’ve got plenty of time.’
By now it was dark, but the huge golden orb of a full moon balanced on the eastern horizon. It’s staring at us, Richard thought. Instead of riding through the apple orchard, for which they would need lanterns, they went through the town. The main tavern was still open, but most doors were closed and shutters covered windows so that only cracks of light gleamed around their edges.
‘It feels eerie,’ he said. ‘A full moon is always … strange. It’s like a big face that wants to tell you something.’
Brito said, ‘In Somerset at this time of year, most people sleep as soon as the sun goes down and don’t wake before sunrise. Not like court, I suppose.’
‘With the King, even in winter, if you get six hours’ sleep you feel lucky. One night last week I slept nine hours. God’s eyes, it was luxury.’
‘I believe our liege will be much more lenient than His Highness.’ They turned to each in the moonlight and smiled. ‘We’re blessed,’ Brito added.
At Isabel’s house, the old couple who had been left in charge were already in bed and went dithering around in their night attire, lighting torches and apologising for the lack of supper for their visitors. Richard said, ‘I’ll check the house. How about you go to the stables?’
Brito followed the husband out and was gone a long while. He returned looking annoyed. ‘Two lame! One in the hoof, the other in the leg. He can’t explain how, in the middle of winter, two horses have gone lame. We’ll have to come back tomorrow. It was impossible to tell in the dark what the trouble was.’
Richard said, ‘Let’s return to our liege. I’m hungry.’
‘He’s probably eaten already.’
When they arrived, the old nurse said, ‘My lord told me that if you’re gone a good long time and he’s still in the bathhouse, you may enter. “I could have fallen asleep,” he said.’ She nodded towards the corridor that led to the bathing chamber where William and Isabel had played for many hours.
Richard said, ‘I don’t feel well.’
‘Probably hunger.’ Brito knocked on the door. There was no answer. He tried its latch. ‘It’s locked.’
‘I’ll open it,’ Richard muttered. He drew his sword and, squinting along the blade, inserted its tip into the crack between the frame and the door. The opening was too narrow and the sword could not reach the piece of wood holding the door closed on the other side.
‘Don’t blunt that beautiful weapon,’ Brito said. ‘I’ll use mine.’ His sword was even thicker.
Richard suddenly reached to his right boot. ‘My Cupid’s arrow! It must fit.’ He carefully inserted the stiletto’s point into the tiny space beneath the latch. Very slowly he began to raise it. His eyes closed tight as he concentrated on the small sound he needed to hear that meant he had connected with the wooden latch. Nothing happened.
‘I’ll knock again,’ Brito said. ‘He must be asleep.’
Richard said, ‘Shh!’ He raised the blade again. Abruptly it jammed. ‘Now,’ he whispered. ‘Please steady my arm. The wood is heavy, but my blade is strong.’
Brito stood against his back, both hands supporting Richard’s arm. From the other side of the door came a soft clunk.
They pushed it open and stopped dead.
In Dover Castle, Hamelin shook himself upright from a couch. He dropped the viol he had been plucking to the floor. ‘The King!’ His giant voice seemed to shake the walls. ‘Where’s the King!’
Guardsmen came running. ‘He’s with the Queen, lord,’ they said.
‘His chamber or hers?’
‘Hers.’
Outside the door to Her Highness’s apartment, guardsmen crossed halberds to bar Hamelin’s entrance. They gasped when he flung their weapons apart as if they were straws. He opened the door. Orianne was more formidable than any armed man. ‘You may not disturb them, Lord Hamelin. They lie together as man and wife.’
‘Orianne, you are to open the door a crack and call to Her Highness, “My lady, the merlin needs to speak to the King.” Say that.’
A few moments later, Henry appeared, clasping a fur over his navel. ‘God’s teeth, Bullfrog!’ He paled as he saw Hamelin’s look. ‘William?’
The merlin nodded.
‘When?’
‘Not long ago.’
‘A fall?’
Hamelin bent to his ear to whisper.
‘No!’ Henry shouted. ‘No! No! No!’ He turned, rushed back to the bed and began flinging pillows onto the floor. Eleanor leaped up, snatched a gown to cover herself and ran towards Hamelin. Henry was dragging the fur from the bed. The sheets he ripped into two. As the bare mattress appeared, he fell on it, tearing it with his teeth, throwing feathers, wadding and straw around him.
Hamelin held the Queen tightly. ‘Don’t go near him, or try to speak to him,’ he rumbled. ‘He’s gone berserk. A berserker, as the Vikings say. He may not recognise you.’ He may kill you. ‘We’ll step outside.’
He closed the bedroom door behind them and ordered the guards to leave. Turning to Eleanor he murmured, ‘William is dead.’
‘When!’
‘Just now. He came to me to say farewell.’
Eleanor was quaking. ‘I feared he’d get himself killed with some recklessness.’ She gazed up into Hamelin’s face, set as hard as the King’s when an evil event confronted him. ‘Brother, there is something …?’
He nodded. She covered her mouth to stifle a scream. There was a small couch to which he led her. The Queen leaned her head against his chest as she sobbed. After a while she murmured, ‘Isabel is in the castle. What shall we tell her?’
Roaring reverberated against the stone walls. Hamelin said, ‘I believe, sister, we say William fell asleep and drowned in his bath. It has the advantage of being half true.’
‘But you told Henry the truth.’ Hamelin nodded. ‘And now he’s gone mad. England’s King is mad.’
Hamelin looked into her uplifted face. ‘The King grieves for his brother. That is all we say.’
She repeated like a sleepwalker, ‘The King grieves for his brother, who fell asleep and drowned in his bath.’
‘Correct.’
She seemed to wake up, alarmed. ‘How long will the madness be on him?’
The animal noises from inside the bedchamber raged on. ‘This happened once before, sister. It lasted weeks.’
‘He wasn’t king back then. Now he has pressing duties. We’ll have to say he’s ill with fever.’
Hamelin squeezed her shoulders. ‘Stay here. Shut the door behind me. When he went mad before, I wasn’t yet a merlin. I couldn’t help him. Now, perhaps, I can.’
‘Hamelin, his animal nature has broken free. He’s a lion that may kill you.’
He nodded. ‘Please lock the door after I go through it.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
At Rouen docks, after her farewell to the monarchs and the Countess, the Empress returned to her house of retreat. That night in her meagre bedchamber, she was drifting into sleep when the full moon shone straight on her face. The windows have been left unshuttered, she thought. Careless girl. We’ll freeze if the braziers run out of fuel. She was about to call to the nun who slept in a cot in her room when she realised she was too tired, and shut her eyes again. The moon no longer looked in
through the window. It now stood at the foot of her bed. ‘What do you want?’ she demanded.
‘You’re to stay asleep,’ it replied.
‘You’re not the moon. You’re Douglas.’
He sat on the side of the bed and enveloped her soft white hand in his paw. In the palm of his other hand lay a dead fly.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘William, my lady.’ His French was perfect. Having spoken, he moved under the bedclothes and took her in his arms. He was naked now, as was she. The Empress buried her face against the beard that covered his chest. He kissed her forehead. He stroked her arms. He kissed her lips. She found her legs twining around his, and moments later the strong, gentle pressure of his penis. ‘Stay asleep,’ a voice said.
The Empress began to sob. ‘My William,’ she whispered. ‘My most beloved child.’ It didn’t bother her that she copulated with the merlin from the north. The pulsing of warm life in his penis comforted her.
‘William couldn’t forgive the Countess when he discovered what she’d done.’
‘She killed their baby?’ the Empress asked.
He kissed her forehead again. ‘His mind refused to know, but his heart knew. He knew she was an honourable woman who could never shame her family with the bastard he’d sired on her. Stay asleep.’ He stroked her some more. ‘I tell you this to ease your mother’s heart. William knew in his soul that his love would turn to fury when he acknowledged to himself that she used the herb of grace. He preferred to die than to hate. Your son was a prince of the highest chivalry.’
‘Thank you,’ Matilda sighed. She felt him slide out from her. A moment later, she woke. From the cot at the far end of the room a quiet snore came from the nun. The Empress blinked at the shuttered windows. Around their edges moonlight entered the room, its beams slender as blades of grass.
Douglas remained watching from the foot of the bed until she slept deeply again. Then he vanished.
Not far away, the guardian knights read the instructions William had written and left on a bath chair for them to find. Steam in the room had made the ink run a little, but the lettering was still legible. Richard picked up the lapis-handled dagger from the floor and placed it reverently beside the parchment. Behind them they heard the old woman shuffling along the corridor in her clogs. ‘Latch the door, quick!’ he said. When she knocked, calling, ‘Supper’s waiting for you, my lord,’ he replied, ‘We’re all in the bath. We’ll be out soon!’
Brito was sitting on the flagstones, weeping. ‘Look at the water,’ he whimpered.
‘We must get rid of it. Nobody will see if it runs out in the dark. But the river might look strange in daylight.’
‘It’ll be gone to the sea by then.’
They threw off their clothes so as not to soak them in the bloody water and heaved William’s white body aside, feeling for the bung in the bottom of the tub. With persistence they were able to pull it out. Red water gushed into the channel that ran from under the tub through a channel to the wall. From there it would flow into a stream outside the house. As the tub was emptying, they re-read their orders.
‘I can’t do it,’ Brito said. ‘I’d prefer to die of thirst on a battlefield.’
Richard said, ‘This, brother, is the battlefield of love. Our liege lies slaughtered. We now care for his corpse as he has instructed us.’
He pulled the stiletto out of his boot a second time and looked at it with dissatisfaction. ‘Opening the door blunted it.’
The housekeeper knocked on the door again. ‘Go to bed,’ Richard shouted. ‘We’ll eat supper when we’re ready.’ They listened to her clunking up the corridor before they began work.
With ingenuity, they managed to drag the body from the tub onto the floor. ‘Careful!’ Brito said. ‘He’ll get splinters in his back.’
‘He can’t feel them,’ Richard muttered. ‘We’ve got to wash the blood from his hair. Is there some water in those two pails?’ Iron pails stood beside the bathroom fire where the water was heated for the tub.
‘It’s tepid.’
‘That’ll do. I’ll wash his hair. Why don’t you have a look for something to dress him in?’
‘The clothes he wore today are all here.’
‘We need bandages to strap his arms.’
‘I’ll find sheets,’ Brito said.
Richard was studying the wide, perfect young chest. ‘I need something to break the ribs,’ he murmured. ‘My sword will shatter them and the jagged edges will tear his clothes.’
‘I’ve got an axe outside.’
Richard held out the stiletto. ‘Would you mind sharpening it? There’s a grind stone in the kitchen near the cooking knives.’ As he spoke, he ran his thumb along the edge of the Seneschal’s dagger.
When Brito returned, his breath caught in his throat. The skin and thick muscles of William’s chest had been cut away in a neat square over his heart, leaving the white ribs exposed.
‘Just these three,’ Richard said, taking hold of the battleaxe. He kneeled to deliver two fast, shallow blows, cutting the ribs so cleanly he was able to slice the tissues that joined them and pull the bones clear of William’s chest. ‘Got Cupid’s arrow?’
The rest of the work was done quickly. Using both hands, Richard lifted out the heart inside its sac of fluid and lowered it reverently into an empty pail. With the dagger their lord had used to open his veins from wrist to elbow, he slashed into strips the sheets Brito had found in a bedchamber and bound William’s arms. There was not even a drop of blood. All had drained away in the bath.
‘I wish it was me lying dead,’ Brito said.
‘I wish it was Becket,’ Richard muttered.
‘Can you remove the intestines, as he asks?’
‘I don’t have the skill. We’ll need an embalmer.’
The corpse had not yet stiffened, and although it was difficult, they managed to dress it. ‘Can we carry him?’ Richard asked. ‘Even without his blood, he’s still the weight of a horse.’
‘There’ll be a stretcher in the stables.’
His nurse had set a vase of red winter berries in the candlelit bedchamber to welcome him home. They carried the viscount into this once joy-filled room and tipped him onto the bed.
‘He went to sleep in his bath and drowned,’ Richard said.
Brito nodded. ‘But we were in there. Why didn’t we save him?’
‘We were all drunk. We didn’t realise. We must pour mead into the tub. The bath chamber will stink of it.’ Richard trickled a little into William’s throat. Brito was unable to watch. The sickly smell made his stomach heave.
‘Close his eyes, man! For God’s sake, close his eyes.’ He searched a pocket for pennies, then they both went outside and threw up.
Hamelin entered the bedchamber of the mad, naked King as silently as a shadow. He stood in a dark corner, observing his quarry. Henry still roared with grief. He had torn some hair from his head and flung it, along with the straw and feathers, onto the floor. Now he stood rocking back and forth, beating himself on the chest from time to time.
‘My beloved!’ he moaned. ‘My William! The best of us. Flower of our family. Your heart pure as spring water.’ As he spoke, he began to calm. The heat that radiated from him as if he were on fire gradually cooled.
Hamelin continued to stand perfectly still, his breathing imperceptible. He sent a thought to Henry: ‘Begin to walk the chamber, then go to the bed and pray.’
Henry paced around the bed, surprised to see it so disordered. ‘What’s this?’ he muttered when a drift of white goose down piled over his bare feet. ‘And straw?’ He stared at the mattress, its innards ripped out like the innards from a horse on the battlefield. He began looking around for a pack of dogs, perhaps hiding beneath the bed. He whistled softly, but no animal crept out. What did this? he wondered. ‘Why am I here?’ he asked aloud.
Hamelin stepped from the shadows. ‘Brother, all is well. Let us pray together.’ He took Henry’s hand, led him back to the saggin
g mattress and slowly kneeled. ‘Guardian,’ he murmured, ‘your protégé Henry prays for your guidance. Wise deity, please come to him now.’
The King closed his eyes. When he opened them, the blue light of England’s Guardian was shining from them, surrounding his head and chest. He smiled. ‘I … ah … lost my temper, it seems.’
‘In a good cause.’ The merlin hugged him, running his hand over the patch oozing blood on Henry’s scalp.
An expression of satisfied determination crossed the King’s features. Abruptly he stood, brushed himself down and slipped into a warm robe.
The merlin unlatched the door from the inside and knocked on it. ‘Sister, you may enter now,’ he called.
Eleanor had dressed in the hour it had taken Hamelin to help dissipate the madness in her husband, who stood looking at the vandalised bed with an air of satisfaction.
‘Wife, we were fondly engaged earlier this evening. May I suggest we leave this chamber and go to mine? I feel weary. I need to sleep now. But in the morning …’
‘Of course, my dear.’ She glanced at Hamelin. He nodded.
The receptacle Richard found for transporting William’s heart was a wooden box used for storing documents. The church bells for vigils tolled as they knocked on the door of Rouen’s senior sheriff. On the cold last morning of the month of January, men were roused from their beds to carry the corpse to a barrel wagon and drive it up to the palace. The old nurse lay prostrate with grief. ‘Not one night’s sleep in his own bed,’ she wailed.
Clutching the wooden box, Richard sailed on the first ebb tide for Southampton in the teeth of a bitter north wind. It was a long, rough crossing. When his ship docked, Hamelin was standing on the wharf. Four guardsmen accompanied him.
He nodded at the box. ‘Give me that,’ he rumbled.
‘It’s for the Countess.’
‘Lout, give me the box.’
‘You’re a bastard.’
‘We both are. Now give it to me.’
‘My lord’s instructions were that his heart be delivered to the lady of Warenne, so she would know he loved her to his last breath.’
The Lions' Torment Page 27
