Caging the Lyon Page 9

  The reivers tried to escape their pursuers by driving the flock of sheep back down at them and cantering up to the crest. Hugh and his men ignored the sheep - they could be rounded up later - and charged after the fleeing Scots. Unfortunately they were too close to the border and a dozen of them escaped. There were four who lagged behind their colleagues and these were overtaken and killed by the serjeants who wielded a weapon known as a horseman’s axe. This had a haft two and half feet long topped by a single bladed axe head with a long spike protruding from both the top of the haft and from opposite the axe blade. It could be used as a chopping weapon or the top spike could be thrust into an opponent or else the spike opposite the axe head could be brought down to pierce helmet and skull, killing instantly.

  One of the Scots carried a spear and managed to jink his garron to one side so that the serjeant chasing him mistimed his blow and the spike was driven into the horse’s rump instead of its rider’s head. The injured garron squealed in pain and rolled on its side, throwing its rider clear. The Scot jumped to his feet and retrieved his spear. The serjeant had ridden on after other prey so that Hugh’s squire found himself facing the dismounted man. He was riding just ahead of Hugh, where he had no place to be. He should have been following his master but the excitement of the chase had got to him.

  When the Scot drew back his arm and threw his spear at the squire the latter whooped in relief as he ducked to avoid it. The reiver turned to run but the squire leant down and thrust his dagger into the man’s neck as he passed him. He pulled his horse to a halt and jumped down to retrieve his dagger and to make sure his quarry was dead. It was then that he became aware of Lord Hugh lying on the ground several yards away with the spear sticking out of his chest. The throw that had been intended for him had hit his master instead. Hugh hadn’t seen it coming until his squire ducked and by then it was too late.

  Alice was distraught when the messenger arrived at Otterburn Castle to tell her the grim news. She had fallen for Hugh when she was a young girl and had never stopped loving him. It seemed so unfair too: Hugh had only been baron of the Cheviot and Redesdale for three months before he was killed. Now the title and the estate passed to his nineteen year old son, Richard.

  PART TWO – THE LION RAMPANT

  1170 TO 1174 AD

  Chapter Four – Trouble in the Family 1170 – 1173 AD

  Henry Plantagenet felt beset on all sides. Ever since he made his lord chancellor and one-time friend, Thomas Beckett, archbishop of Canterbury he had been in dispute with him over the relative powers of justice over clerics of the king and the Church. Furthermore Henry had also wanted to crown his young son, similarly called Henry, as junior king in the summer of 1170 but Beckett had refused. Henry had gone ahead anyhow and had him crowned by the archbishop of York. And now, just because he had muttered aloud about Beckett being a nuisance that he wished someone would rid him of, four of his household knights had taken it upon themselves to try and arrest Beckett in his own cathedral. When he refused to be detained and roundly cursed the four men they had hacked him to death on the steps of the altar.

  The remainder of Christian Europe was horrified and Louis of France, always in dispute with Henry because of the king of England’s rule over about half of Louis’s realm, took the opportunity to get an interdict placed on all Henry’s possessions. Consequently a ban was placed on all religious sacraments: no-one could get married or buried, no new priests or bishops could be ordained nor could mass be celebrated. Although the interdict might be ignored in practice, it did considerable damage to Henry’s reputation.

  Henry had grown into something of a despot as he grew older and kept all power in his own hands. Consequently he fell out with his wife, Eleanor, over who ruled Aquitaine and with his sons. Henry the Young King, in particular, was unhappy that his father gave him no real power as supposed joint ruler after his coronation.

  William Marshal, the one-time page of Guy FitzRichard when he was constable of Peverel Castle, had made a name for himself in recent years on the tournament circuit and had amassed some wealth through the ransoms of knights he had defeated in the lists or in the melee. Henry Plantagenet had been impressed with Marshal and he became one of Queen Eleanor’s favourites. Consequently Marshal had been appointed as military tutor to Henry the Young King.

  ‘God’s blood, Marshal, why did he have me crowned if he intended to treat me as a child? He keeps me so short of money so I can’t even pay my own mesnie and consults me about nothing.’

  Marshal thought privately that, at fifteen, Henry was still a child but one of William’s enduring traits was loyalty.

  ‘Perhaps you could apply to your lady mother for funds, sire,’ he suggested.

  Queen Eleanor has become estranged from her husband in 1167 and now lived in Potiers, where she held a separate royal court to that of her husband. However, Henry kept control of her money too. Originally Patrick, earl of Salisbury and William’s uncle, had acted as her protector and looked after her treasury on behalf of the king. When the earl had been killed by the Lusignans in a skirmish in 1168 Henry had appointed William to manage Eleanor’s income. However the Young King didn’t know this, nor did Eleanor want him to know. He was something of a spendthrift and she was almost as careful with her money as was her husband.

  ‘Yes, good idea.’ Henry brightened up at the thought. Although he wasn’t his mother’s favourite - that was his thirteen year-old brother Richard - Henry felt that there was a good chance that she would help. ‘Will you go and see her for me?’

  William smiled. ‘Of course, sire.’

  Although Eleanor was twice the age of the twenty three year old knight there had been rumours of an affair between the two last year. The truth was that Eleanor enjoyed flirting with the handsome William Marshal and admired his prowess as a warrior. However, she had more innate sense than to allow their relationship to grow into more than that. On his part William found the queen an attractive woman but he was well aware that his meteoric rise from household knight in the mesnie of the Sire de Tankerville to royal favourite and mentor to Henry’s eldest son had aroused the jealousy of many. They would be only too happy to whisper scandal in the king’s ear if he put a foot wrong.

  ‘William, how lovely to see you again. It’s been too long.’ The queen got up to greet Marshal and crossed to where he was kneeling, raised him to his feet and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘You too, your highness,’ he smiled at her. ‘Unfortunately the tournament circuit comes to Potiers all too rarely.’

  ‘If only I could afford to host a tournament every day I could keep you by my side for ever.’ They held eye contact for a moment longer than was wise. ‘But that is not why you have come to see me, is it? Let me guess. My improvident son has run out of money again and you want my permission to lend him some more; not that I will ever see a sou of it back again.’

  ‘Without money he cannot afford to keep his mesnie and would have to withdraw from the tournament circuit. Given the antipathy he feels towards the king, I worry what mischief he might get himself into if he were not otherwise occupied,’ William explained.

  ‘Umm. You make it sound almost tempting to refuse to help. I would not be averse to seeing the two Henrys at each other’s throats,’ she mused.

  ‘Your highness I beg you. I am the Young King’s sworn liege man and I would rather not be forced to become a traitor to King Henry.’ William was genuinely horrified at the prospect. The one thing he prized above life itself was his honour. To make him chose between the lord to whom he had sworn fealty and his king would be torture for him.

  Eleanor laughed. ‘Relax William. You are too careful of your honour to survive in this corrupt world. Someday it will get you into real trouble.’ She thought for a moment. ‘You may lend my son another thousand livres, but make him understand that this is the last time that I shall bail him out.’

  ‘Your highness is most generous.’

  ‘Too generous perhaps. The next time you
can lend him the money yourself. From what I hear you are worth nearly as much as I am.’ She looked at him speculatively.

  ‘If only that were so, my lady. As usual, gossip always exaggerates the truth.’ William kept his true wealth a secret, as he did the fact that the Young King owed him nearly as much as he did his mother.

  ~#~

  At the age of twenty four Richard had been baron of the Cheviot and Redesdale for nearly five years. He had ceased to be Robert de Muschamp’s squire as soon as his father had been killed and Robert had knighted him before they left Wooler to attend Hugh’s funeral at Otterburn in 1166. At the time Robert’s daughter, Claire, was twelve and was changing from a gawky young girl into a rather pretty young woman. Richard had always set his face against their betrothal, merely because it had been arranged by their fathers, but he was now beginning to regret his intransigence. Part of her attraction was the disdain she continued to treat him with, ever since she found out that he had spurned her. After the funeral Robert sought Richard out.

  ‘You know how sorry I am about Hugh’s death, Richard,’ he began. ‘We had been close friends for a long time. It must be doubly hard for you to lose both your grandfather and your father within a few months. If there is anything I can do for you, you only have to ask.’

  ‘Robert, I am most grateful to you and know how sincere your offer is. Not like some, d’Umfraville and de Roos included, who have come here mouthing solicitous platitudes when I know how much they loathe my family’ he said with some bitterness. ‘William de Vesci is also a good friend. He nodded towards the lord of Alnwick who was comforting his sister Alice, Hugh’s widow.

  ‘What will your mother do now?’

  ‘She hasn’t had much time to think about her future but she is content to remain at Otterburn as my chatelaine until I marry. Then I think she will probably move to Harbottle to help Uncle John. She needs to feel useful, I think. The one thing she doesn’t want to do is to retire to a convent.’ He could have bitten his tongue as that was exactly what Robert’s mother, Margaret de Cuille, had done.

  To his relief Robert laughed. ‘No, Lady Alice is too spirited to be happy with the contemplative life; though it suits my mother well enough. Unfortunately she is not in the best of health. That’s not surprising seeing she is now sixty six.’ He paused then changed the subject. ‘I don’t suppose that you have thought about a squire yet, but you will need one.’

  ‘Yes, I guess so.’ Richard was surprised at the change of topic. ‘Why, do you have anyone in mind?'

  ‘I had hoped that you might take my younger son, Jocelyn, but he is still a bit young at thirteen. What about Walter?’ The boy was the son of Robert’s constable at Wooler who Richard knew well and liked. He was now fourteen and it was time he was placed as a squire.

  ‘Walter will do very well, thank you Robert. I’ll ride over and see his father next week.’ He paused. ‘I like Jocelyn too. I would be happy to take him as my second squire if you can’t find a better offer for him next year.’

  ‘There is nothing the boy would like better.’ Robert smiled. ‘He rather hero worships you, you know.’

  ‘That’s agreed then.’ Richard hesitated and Robert turned to leave him when the younger man blurted out. ‘What about Claire?’

  ‘Claire?’ Robert was bemused. ‘What about her? You probably don’t know yet but she has just been betrothed to Sir Roger de Vesci, William’s nephew.’

  ‘Oh!’ Richard uttered involuntarily, feeling as if he had been kicked in the stomach by a destrier. ‘Oh, I’m pleased for her. Is she happy?’

  ‘No, it is an arranged marriage so she is bitterly resentful but an alliance with the most powerful family in Northumberland is not be sneezed at.’ He looked at the crestfallen face of his former squire. ‘I’m sorry Richard but you had your chance, you know. There is nothing I would have liked more.’ He laid a comforting hand on Richard’s arm then left him.

  After a few minutes Robert went and found Claire. ‘I hear that you are to be congratulated on your betrothal, Claire.’ He began.

  The girl sniffed derisively. ‘I don’t think congratulate is the right word; commiserate would be more appropriate. Perhaps I should have married you, you would have been better than limping Ralph.’ She referred to the fact that her betrothed had a leg that had mended badly after being broken in a riding accident.

  ‘Claire, that’s not very charitable.’ Robert was surprised. It wasn’t like her to deride the afflicted.

  ‘No, well. I don’t feel very charitable at the moment.’ She looked at him through lowered lashes that made his heart beat faster. ‘I wish now that we had been betrothed all those years ago.’

  ‘Better the devil, you know, eh?’

  Her shoulders slumped. ‘I know it’s my own fault for pretending that I didn’t care for you after it became obvious that your feelings towards me had changed, but the truth is I think I’m a little bit in love with you.’

  ‘Oh, Claire.’ Richard groaned. ‘Why tell me now, when it is too late. It’s just grinding the knife in the wound.’

  He left her and almost ran up to the top of the keep where he could be alone, apart for the solitary sentry who had the sense to fade into the shadows and pretend he wasn’t there. He was sunk in misery and self-pity when he heard an exuberant voice calling him.

  ‘Richard, this is where you are.’ Jocelyn ran up to him. ‘My father has just told me that I am to become your squire next year. Isn’t it great.’ The boy was so happy that he almost lifted Richard out of his despair. He looked at him carefully. He had seen him around practically every day at Wooler but he hadn’t paid him that much attention. Jocelyn was tall for his age and would have been handsome if it wasn’t for a mouth that was a little too large. He face was framed by shoulder length brown hair which he kept clean and brushed, unlike many boys whose hair was a matted nest for lice and other unpleasant insects. Then Richard noticed with a start that he had the same eyes as his sister. He returned Richard’s scrutiny with a look that spoke of honesty and lack of guile.

  ‘Yes, Jocelyn, it’s wonderful news. I’m so glad you are happy.’ He tried to smile but his face crumpled.

  ‘Richard, what’s wrong.’ The boy was all concern.

  ‘Nothing. And you must call me my lord now, especially if you are to be my squire.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course, I forgot. Sorry. And I’m really sorry about your father too. What rotten luck. What happened to the squire?’

  ‘He blames himself for what happened, though it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t feel he could stay on and be my squire so he has gone back to his father.’

  ‘Oh, I see. So Walter will take his place. I’m glad. I like him.’

  Richard realised then just how young Jocelyn was. He just hoped that he would grow up a bit in the next year or he would find the rough and tumble of life as a squire quite hard.

  In fact Jocelyn had settled in well when he arrived in the summer of 1167. He had matured considerably in the interim but he hadn’t lost his air of boyish innocence and enthusiasm. Then in 1168, just before Claire was due to get married, came the news that Ralph de Vesci had been killed whilst out hunting. He had fallen from his horse, which had then stove in his skull with a hoof. As William de Vesci muttered at his nephew’s funeral: ‘he never was any bloody good on a horse.’

  Richard and Claire were married a year later.

  ~#~

  William, king of Scots, arrived at Berwick in April 1173 for a meeting with his younger brother, David, earl of Huntingdon. David had been granted the earldom after William became king; it having been part of William’s inheritance from his father, Henry, earl of Northumberland. William brought the ever faithful Walter FitzAlan, now sixty seven but showing little signs of old age, Hervey de Keith, the marishal and Waltheof, who became earl of Dunbar when his father, Gospatric, died in 1166. Walthof had brought his twenty one year old son, Patrick, once at page at Berwick but now a knight. Guy FitzRichard was also invited to attend th
e council.

  Prince David had been sent as an emissary of Queen Eleanor and Henry, the Young King. Henry and his brothers Geoffrey, duke of Brittany, and Richard, duke of Aquitaine, had finally tired of their father’s control over them and had decided to do something about it. It was common knowledge that William had never become reconciled to the loss of Northumberland after Henry Plantagenet had seized the earldom from him in 1157. The three royal brothers intended to use this to their advantage.

  ‘So what does young Henry propose?’ William asked David.

  ‘Henry and his brothers, aided by Queen Eleanor, intend to rise in revolt against their father and seize Normandy, Brittany and Aquitaine so that they can take control of the duchies of which they are titular rulers.’

  ‘So what do they expect me to do about it?’

  ‘They offer you Northumberland in exchange for your help. The princes ask that you invade the county to distract the English nobles and prevent those that are loyal to Henry Plantagenet from aiding him on the continent. To be blunt, I don’t think any of them care very much about England; their attention is totally focused on their domains in France.’

  ‘Mmm. What is their plan?’ William wanted to know.

  ‘They have enlisted the support of Louis of France and many of their own barons. They will rise in revolt this summer and seize the main fortresses in their duchies whilst Louis invades Normandy to capture Rouen. Various earls in England, such as Chester, Norfolk and Leicester will also join the revolt.’

  ‘Sire, I strongly caution against becoming involved in this adventure,’ Waltheof broke in. ‘These are petulant children in a strop because their father won’t let them have the toys they want. Once he has dealt with them firmly and spanked their bottoms you will be isolated and Scotland will pay the price, especially my lands in Lothian.’