Seeking Jerusalem Read online

  ‘What a mess,’ William Marshal thought to himself as he lay beside his sleeping wife. He and Queen Eleanor had decided that the only sensible way of uniting the country again and restoring order was to call a meeting of the bishops and the nobility to seek a solution. William knew that Longchamps would have to go, but it had to be done in a way that Richard would accept on his eventual return. Furthermore, they had to curb the growing power of Prince John without alienating the man who might well be king if Richard’s foolhardy bravery did cost him his life in Palestine.

  The meeting had been called for the next day. William had consulted those he considered sound supporters of Richard and himself, but there were many more who he didn’t trust. He just prayed that, with the dowager queen’s support, he would prevail.

  ~#~

  ‘Good morning, brother,’ Geoffrey of York greeted Prince John as a young page was helping the latter into his overtunic.

  ‘I do wish you wouldn’t call on me unannounced, Geoffrey, and don’t call me brother; we are only half-brothers,’ John replied testily.

  ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon my lord; but then you would have to call me ‘my lord archbishop’ wouldn’t you?’ Geoffrey replied a trifle sardonically. ‘I just thought that we should make sure we are prepared for today’s auspicious gathering.’

  ‘That’ll do Rollo, now piss off and leave us alone.’ John slapped the boy’s hands away as he tried to finishing lacing the neck of the tunic. The page ran out of the room before he was hit again. John had a reputation for physically bullying his servants and it was totally justified.

  ‘How do you intend to play today?’ Geoffrey asked once they were alone.

  John didn’t reply at once but studied the archbishop critically. Geoffrey was wearing his cleric robes to impress the assembly of the lords spiritual and temporal of England, but the way he wore them was a clear indicator that he was uncomfortable in them. Making him archbishop had been an easy way for Henry to provide for his bastard, but the man was happier hunting, hawking and whoring than he was in a church.

  ‘I think the answer to that is probably ‘very carefully’. I want to keep my cards close to my chest but my objective is to get rid of Longchamps one way or another and replace him as co-regent myself. I know that my beloved mother won’t want that but I’m not sure how Marshal will play it. That man is too honourable for his own good sometimes. What do you have in mind?’

  Geoffrey smirked. ‘Not only do I and other like-minded bishops want to banish Longchamps, but we have decided to excommunicate him as well. I’ll support you as co-regent if you make it worth my while.’

  ‘What are you after?’ John asked cautiously.

  ‘Richard made me archbishop and forced me to become a consecrated priest to make sure I had no ambitions for the throne myself. If you make me your heir, should you die childless, and in the meantime allow me to trade my mitre for an earldom, I’ll be your most avid supporter.’

  ‘What about my nephew, Arthur of Brittany? After all Richard has named him as his heir?’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about little Arthur if I were you, brother. I’ll make sure that the citizens of London acclaim you as Richard’s successor and then we can arrange for our dearly beloved nephew to have an unfortunate accident.’

  ~#~

  Eleanor of Aquitaine swept into the great hall of the palace of Westminster and, such was her dominant personality, all conversation died instantly as she made her way to one of the two thrones placed on a dais at one end of the hall. The Earl of Pembroke followed her and sat on the other throne. As chancellor of England, William Longchamps should have chaired the assembly but in his absence William Marshal asked Richard FitzNeal, Bishop of London and Lord Treasurer, to preside.

  The great hall was enormous and so tall that the great beams that supported the roof were lost in the smoke that still hung around, even in mid-summer. The braziers that lined each side of the hall were empty. Even when they were lit they did little to warm the place. Today the contrast between the hot sunshine outside and the chill gloom of the interior couldn’t have been starker. There were benches for the magnates, like Prince John, his fellow earls and the bishops, to sit on but the many barons had to stand.

  William had prepared his ground carefully. The deposition of Longchamps as co-regent and his arrest was proposed by Richard FitzNeal and passed unanimously. The motion got the meeting behind the Bishop of London, as William and Eleanor intended. Then, just as Geoffrey of York got to his feet, intending to propose Prince John as the new co-regent, the Bishop of Worcester proposed Hugh de Puiset, the Prince-Bishop of Durham and a long-time ally of King Richard’s, for the post. He was the longest serving bishop, having been appointed in 1153 in King Stephen’s time. He was respected and, being the Sheriff of Northumberland and the Count Palatine of Durham, as well as its bishop, he had a strong power base in the North of England.

  It was an astute move and the majority of the assembly immediately acclaimed the proposal whilst the Archbishop of York slowly resumed his seat in frustration. Marshal glanced across at John and noticed with some amusement the puce colour of the prince’s face as he tried to hide his fury. However William Marshal and the queen didn’t have things entirely their own way. Once the hubbub had died down, Archbishop Geoffrey got to his feet again.

  ‘Madam, my lord of Pembroke, my lords,’ he began. ‘I know that it is the fervent wish of us all that good King Richard returns to us safe and well and that soon he and Queen Berengaria will be blessed with a son, but life in the Holy Land is fraught with dangers.’ William noted with resignation the nods of agreement from many of those present. He had a feeling that he knew where this was going.

  ‘So I believe that it would be prudent if this assembly nominated an heir so that, should the worst befall our valiant king, there can be a smooth transition of power without uncertainty and conflict. Some of us, like Hugh, our new co-regent, are old enough to remember the Anarchy that followed the death of Henry the first. I’m sure that none of us want a repeat of that.’ He paused and his eyes swept the hall, engaging every man present for an instant. Very clever, thought William.

  ‘So I propose that every man here now swears allegiance to Prince John as King Richard’s heir until such time as the king has a son.’

  ‘But Richard has already nominated an heir: Prince Arthur of Brittany.’ Queen Eleanor was on her feet glaring at Geoffrey with the loathing that only a wife can feel for her husband’s bastard: a permanent reminder of his unfaithfulness to her.

  ‘Madam, Arthur is but a little boy. He knows nothing of England, never having been here. It is the present danger that King Richard is in that must be of concern to us. Once the king returns he can chose his heir himself.’ Geoffrey smirked as if to say ‘you know I have won and there is nothing you can do about it’ as the assembly clamoured for John to be named as heir.

  ~#~

  It wasn’t long before Hugh de Puiset encountered his first problem as co-regent with special responsibility for the North. The d’Umfravilles of Prudhoe had long coveted Harbottle Castle, the major stronghold of Richard de Cuille, which lay at the northern end of the Prudhoe barony. They had even besieged it once, with tragic consequences. Now that Richard was away on crusade and the castle was only held by an aging knight, Gilbert d’Umfraville, Baron of Prudhoe, saw his chance. Unfortunately for him, Turstin was no frail old man and proved to be made of far sterner stuff than Gilbert had imagined. Not only had he refused to surrender the castle, he showed every intention of holding it come what may.

  As soon as he was warned that d’Umfraville was moving against him with a siege train Turstin sent his nineteen year old son and squire, Edwin, to tell Eustace de Vesci at Alnwick and then to go onto Durham to inform Hugh de Puiset as the sheriff of Northumberland. Eustace was Richard de Cuille’s cousin and, as he was far closer than Durham, he had hopes that Eustace would come and put a stop to Gilbert’s aggression.

  Harbottle Castle sat on a steep-s
ided mound and so it was difficult to assault. It had already withstood two sieges in the past: once when Odinel d’Umfraville, Gilbert’s father, had tried to take it and once when the invading Scots had invested it in 1174. On both occasions the attackers had lacked siege engines; not so this time, as Gilbert had brought three mangonels and a trebuchet with him. As soon as these were set up he started to bombard the walls.

  The approach to the castle was easiest from the north so Gilbert concentrated on weakening the wall on that side. However the stone his men had collected locally as ammunition was limestone and made little impact. On the third day he changed to boulders of the much harder granite which had been found north of nearby Alwinton. These started to make some impact on the outer face of the curtain wall.

  Richard de Cuille had taken many of his knights and men-at-arms with him on crusade. Turstin had been left with three knights and fifteen soldiers at Harbottle. He had managed to summon others from the ten manors that formed the barony but, even so, he only had a garrison of forty to hold off the two hundred that Gilbert had brought against him.

  He was very concerned about his son. The lad was one of three bastards he had sired on various women he had enjoyed brief affairs with. As a household knight he had been in no position to offer marriage to anyone as his home was the great hall, where he slept with the other members of the mesnie and the servants. Now he was constable he had considered it but all three of the women who had born him children were long since married or dead. His two eldest children, both girls, had also married – one to the bailiff of Akeld and one to a merchant in Wooler – and he had several grandchildren. However, as he had played no part in bringing them up, he wouldn’t have recognised any of them.

  His son, Edwin, was different. His mother had been the maid of Lady Marianne, the wife of Sir Robert of Locksley and mother of Sir Miles of Byrness. Edwin’s mother had died in childbirth and Marianne had brought the boy up until he was eight. Richard de Cuille had then arranged for him to serve as a page to his cousin, Blanche de Cuille, the wife of Richard’s brother, Edward. When he was fourteen Edwin had come to serve the father he had never known as his squire. At first the boy had been resentful towards Turstin, blaming him for his bastard birth and for ignoring him until now; but it was impossible not to like such a bluff, warm-hearted and worthy man. Now father and son were as close as they could be and Turstin hated the thought that his son might be in danger.

  Edwin had reached Alnwick Castle safely only to find that Eustace was at Bamburgh, his other castle which stood high on a rock overlooking the North Sea. He set off again but got lost in the dark. He settled down to sleep in the open after a meal of stale bread and cheese and a drink of water from a nearby stream. When he awoke he heard men nearby. From the noise they were making it was a large group, so he cautiously led his horse through the undergrowth towards the sound.

  Edwin was surprised to see that the noisy travellers were monks who were chanting as they made their way south. He stepped out onto the track and the leading monk, mounted on a donkey, called a halt to the procession. As soon as they stopped two serjeants rode forwards with drawn swords and pointed them at Edwin.

  ‘Who are you and what do you mean by stopping us, young man.’ The leading monk dismounted from his donkey and pushed his way past the serjeants’ horses to confront Edwin.

  ‘I’m Edwin of Harbottle, squire to the constable, Sir Turstin. I’m on my way to find Lord Eustace de Vesci to tell him that we are being attacked.’ The youth swallowed nervously as the two serjeants kept their swords at his throat. He was quite worried that a sudden movement by one of their rounceys could accidently open his windpipe.

  The monk waved the serjeants away impatiently. ‘Can’t you see the badge of Lord Richard de Cuille on his gambeson. This lad is no highway robber.’ He turned back to Edwin.

  ‘You must understand that we can’t be too careful in these troubled times. I am the Sub-Prior of Lindisfarne and we are on our way to Durham.’ Although the monk hadn’t said so, Edwin surmised that such a sizable party were probably escorting the annual tribute from Lindisfarne to the mother house at Durham Abbey.

  ‘Who is attacking Harbottle?’ A knight had ridden forward and motioned the serjeants to take their place back with the three packhorses that presumably carried the bags of coin intended for Durham.

  ‘Gilbert d’Umfraville,’ replied Edwin before he noticed the knight’s surcoat with its gold cinquefoil on a field of red with small gold crosses. He groaned; it was the device of the d’Umfraville family.

  ~#~

  Edward de Cuille was having his own problems. The man sitting next to him in the great hall of Berwick Castle was Sir John Beauilly, husband of Margaret de Cuille, Waldo’s twin sister. Beauilly had arrived at Berwick Castle at noon, just as Edward’s family and senior members of the garrison were about to sit down for dinner, so he had been invited to join them and given the place of honour on Edward’s right. The castle’s constable sat on Edward’s left and Lady Blanche, Edward’s wife, sat on Beauilly’s other side.

  ‘You are a long way from home, Sir John,’ Edward began politely. ‘Do you have business in Scotland?’

  ‘Indeed I do, my lord. I am here on behalf of my wife.’ Edward raised an enquiring eyebrow.

  ‘Margaret de Cuille, your wife’s niece,’ John said impatiently when it was obvious that Edward had no idea who the man’s wife was.

  There was a sharp intake of breath from Blanche at this statement. ‘You are mistaken, sir. Margaret and I are not related; or, if we are, it is only very distantly.’

  ‘Nonsense, my lady. You know very well that Margaret was Guy FitzRichard’s granddaughter, born to Guy’s daughter, Marjorie, just as you are his daughter by Emma de Bully.’

  ‘I would ask you to use a less intemperate tone when speaking to my wife, sir.’ Edward had come to the conclusion that the knight sitting next to him was both uncouth and a bully. ‘As my wife says, you are mistaken. Margaret of Edale was indeed my late father-in-law’s first wife but she was abducted and raped by Gilbert of Stockesbridge during the period known as the Anarchy. He was the father of Marjorie and hence the grandfather of your wife Margaret, not Guy.’

  ‘What! Are you trying to say that my wife’s mother was a bastard?’ A crafty look crept over Sir John’s face. ‘You are making this up to deny my legitimate claim to half of Guy’s estate through right of my wife.’

  ‘I assure you that Lord Guy swore an affidavit, witnessed by Sir Edmund of Winchester, to this effect and lodged it with the Lord Chamberlain in Edinburgh. I am sorry that this has come as something of a shock to you, but I understand that Guy wanted to spare Lady Marjorie’s feelings, so she doesn’t know.’

  ‘The old cow is dead now, so she won’t care one way or the other,’ John said brutally. ‘My wife and Waldo are her heirs and, with Waldo away on crusade and unlikely to return, I am entitled to what’s rightfully hers – and that’s half your estate, my lord.’ This last was said with a sneer.

  Edward had gone red with rage. ‘You are wasting your time; now get out before I have my men flog you out of here.’

  When John Beauilly had stormed out of the castle with his confused men hurriedly trailing is his wake, cramming food into their mouths, Edward sat down and took several deep breaths. ‘The nerve of the man,’ he muttered.

  ‘He can’t do anything, can he?’ Blanche put her hand on her husband’s arm.

  ‘By God, I hope not! That affidavit of your father’s had better be watertight. I’ll kill that man before I let him have a square foot of my barony of Craigmor.’

  ~#~

  As the d’Umfraville knight went for his sword the sub-prior reached up and stayed his hand.

  ‘No, my son. You are here to guard the prince-bishop’s revenues, not pursue a family feud.’

  The knight thought for a moment. ‘In that case, brother, he should take his case to the sheriff, who is also now co-regent. As we are going to Durham it would be better f
or the young man to come with us; much safer for him than travelling alone.’ He gave Edwin a triumphant grin.

  Edwin’s heart sank. It would take this slow moving group at least four days to cover the sixty miles to Durham, especially as the other six monks were on foot.

  ‘I’ll be fine on my own thank you, Sir Knight. In any case my instructions are to find Lord Eustace first.’

  ‘He no longer has jurisdiction; King Richard made Bishop Hugh de Puiset Sheriff of Northumberland in his place two years ago. What are you trying to do, start a minor war?’ the knight retorted.

  ‘Gilbert d’Umfraville has already done that!’ Edwin replied angrily.

  ‘Enough!’ the sub-prior interjected. ‘What Sir Thomas says makes sense, even if he is Lord Gilbert’s brother. You will come with us to Durham where you can lay your complaint before the prince-bishop. I agree that stirring up the county any more than it has been by this dispute will do no-one any good.’

  And with that Edwin had to be content. He just prayed that Hugh de Puiset would act quickly once he knew what was going on.

  ~#~

  Alan FitzWalter, High Steward of Scotland, had landed at Berwick several weeks before John Beauilly’s brief visit to the castle. He was glad to be back from the Holy Land and still had nightmares about King Richard’s cold-blooded execution of the Moslem garrison of Acre. After welcoming him back, Edward turned to his second son. David had grown several inches in the two years he had been away and he had a much more confident air about him. At just fifteen he was beginning to look like the man he would become: tall, broad shouldered and, if he was not exactly handsome, then he had a strong jaw and a determined look in his eye.