Devil's Brood (15 page)

D
INNER,
normally scheduled at noon, had been shifted to a later hour as part of the Lenten abstinence and was not served until after Vespers had rung. It turned out to be a pleasant surprise for Henry’s household knights and the castle garrison, who’d been anticipating gloom and bleak silence. Instead, the meal that evening was informal, enjoyable, and raucous in the absence of women. Hal was in high spirits, and had the men laughing uproariously over his extravagant account of what he called the Saga of the Royal Tooth. He claimed that Chinon’s barber, hearing of his malady, had stalked him relentlessly all afternoon, urging him to have the tooth extracted.

“He vowed that he need not use the pincers if I was skittish about them, that there were other ways. Only these ‘other ways’ made the pincers sound better and better. One method was to coat the ailing tooth with the ashes of earthworms. Another was to mix up a powder of ants and their eggs and blow it through a quill onto the tooth. Or smear on a concoction of newts and fen beetles. When I questioned where he’d find newts or ant eggs, he assured me that all the necessary ingredients were at hand. By then I realized that he and Master Gervase, the apothecary, were partners in crime, and I began to fear the worst!”

Chinon’s castellan, blinking back tears of mirth, offered to send to the nearest city, Tours or Angers, to find a surgeon who made his living by pulling teeth. Hal hastily made the sign of the cross, as if to ward off evil. “Jesu forfend, Sir Robert! My new friend, the barber, told me more than any man would want to know about their methods. He described a ‘popular procedure’ in which they cauterize the skin behind the victim’s ear, then heat henbane and leek seeds over hot coals and have him inhale the smoke through a funnel. Since I know henbane is a poison, I assume the next step in the process would be to hide my body afterward!”

Several knights chimed in with horror stories of their own, but Hal was not ready to yield center stage, and it occurred to his amused father that he’d have made a fine minstrel or player. Adroitly recapturing control of the conversation, Hal launched into the next chapter of his narrative: his meeting with Master Gervase, the apothecary.

“He said they think pain is caused by worms breeding in the tooth. That reassured me greatly, of course. He explained that the worms could be driven out by lighting a candle made of mutton fat and burning it as close to the ailing tooth as I could endure. Meanwhile, he’d hold a basin of cold water under my jaw and the worms would seek to escape the heat and fall into the water. I considered it, but then I started to wonder how we could be sure that the worms could not swim,” Hal said, with such tongue-in-cheek seriousness that the hall erupted into hilarity again.

When the laughter subsided, Hamelin provided more fuel for the fire by asking Hal what treatment he’d finally settled upon. Hal grimaced and shook his head ruefully. “By that point, Uncle, I’d begun to fear that the only choice open to me was to drown the worms—and my sorrows—in drink. But when he saw that his sale was in danger, Master Gervase offered a few recommendations more tolerable than ant eggs or powdered newts. At first he suggested that I rub the oil of the box tree on the afflicted tooth, and I was tempted. But then he let slip that this remedy also cured piles, which I found right curious. Did I really want to put a potion meant for the arse into my mouth?”

With an actor’s innate sense of timing, Hal paused for the audience to react and was not disappointed. “Seeing that I was not keen on the box tree oil, Master Gervase advised me to rub the tooth and gum with betony or cloves—which was what my lord father had suggested hours ago!” Slanting a facetious glance toward Henry, he said, “So if you ever tire of governing, my liege, you can always earn a living as an apothecary.”

This time his sally was met with cautious silence, his audience waiting to see how Henry would react, for under the circumstances, that could have been a harmless jest or a barbed gibe. It was only after Henry smiled that the other men felt free to laugh, and he realized that some of their merriment was due to sheer relief that father and son seemed to have made peace.

Hal continued to amuse with his comic commentary, expressing his doubts about the draught that the apothecary had eventually prescribed to ease his pain and help him sleep, a blend of henbane, black poppy, and bryony root, for they were all poisons. He wondered, too, why the martyred maiden Apollonia was the patron saint for toothaches when she’d had all of her own teeth cruelly extracted by her pagan tormentors. Wasn’t that, he mused, rather like picking a virgin as the patron saint for whores or a miser as the patron saint for spendthrifts?

Henry enjoyed watching Hal’s performance; it had been a long time since he’d seen his son so lighthearted, so carefree. This meal was in such stark contrast to the tense, unpalatable dinners they’d endured since leaving Limoges that he found himself savoring the bland Lenten fare, even eating a few mouthfuls of salted herring, a despised dish that rarely appeared on a royal table. Chinon’s cooks had offered up a particularly mediocre menu, confident that Henry was not likely to notice. The final course was a soupy pudding made with almond milk and dried figs. But before the men could push away from the tables, Hal rose and banged on his wine cup with a knife to attract attention.

“I want to end dinner with a salute to my lord father,” he announced, and on cue, a servant entered with a flagon and two silver wine cups. Reaching for one, Hal handed the other to Henry. Puzzled, he followed his son’s lead and leaned over so Hal could ceremoniously clink their cups together. Taking a swallow, he looked at Hal in surprise, for the vessels were filled with hippocras, a costly spiced wine that was served only upon special occasions even by the wealthy and highborn.

Looking pleased with himself, Hal lifted his cup high. “You may not all know that this is a special day…my lord father the king’s birthday. I would have you drink to his health and good fortune!”

The men raised their own cups and the hall resounded with cries of “To the king!” Glancing back at Henry with a sly grin, Hal signaled for silence. “I am grateful to my uncle, the Earl of Surrey, for reminding me, as this is not a birthday to go unmarked. It is not every day, after all, that a man reaches the venerable age of fifty.”

Henry inhaled the wine he’d been about to swallow and began to cough. Again the audience quieted, watching Henry to see if he was amused or annoyed by his son’s jape. Getting his breath back, he laughed, and the men burst into applause and cheers, so grateful were they that the rift between their lord and his son was on the mend. None wanted to be forced to choose between them, for how could a man weigh the present against the future?

Rising, Henry lifted his cup as Hal had done. “Let’s drink now to my son, who has every attribute of kingship except the ability to count.” Midst the laughter, his gaze came to rest affectionately upon his beaming brother. Hamelin had given him a birthday gift more valuable than gold, silver, or myrrh: a new beginning.

H
ENRY DID NOT LINGER
long in the great hall, for his hours in the saddle had caught up with him, and he felt unusually tired. After joking with Willem that his son’s jest had been on target, for tonight he felt far closer to fifty than forty, he withdrew to his bedchamber in the keep. Hal had already retired, losing much of his earlier animation once his tooth began to pain him again, and when Henry entered the chamber, his son was sound asleep, an empty vial of the apothecary’s draught in the floor rushes by his bed. Henry’s squires were awaiting him, yawning behind their hands as they drowsily assisted him to undress. Glancing from their drooping eyelids to the flagon of night wine on a nearby table, Henry smiled, guessing that Hal had shared it liberally with them. None had ever faulted his son’s generosity. It was his good heart that had gotten him into trouble; he was too trusting, a troubling flaw in a king. He would have to be taught the lessons Henry had learned at an early age.

T
HE BEDCHAMBER WAS LIT
only by the flickering flames of the dying hearth and there was no sound but the even breathing of Hal’s father and his squires. It was difficult to lie still, to wait. Too much was at stake, though, for impatience, and Hal did not fling back the bedcovers until he was sure that the other occupants of the chamber were asleep. He was fully dressed, save for his boots, and he hastily pulled them on, fastened his belt, and slid his sword into its leather scabbard, as silently as a ghost. He held his breath as he raised the door latch, stifling a triumphant laugh when none of them stirred as he slipped out into the stairwell.

His father preferred to sleep in the keep rather than in the royal apartments he’d built along the south wall. Emerging into the bailey, Hal stood motionless for a moment, his eyes searching the darkness, but he could detect no lights, no signs of life. A few men might still be awake in the great hall, though, and he quickened his pace until he’d gotten past it. Ahead of him lay the gatehouse, flanked on each side by stone towers. There he found the guards, sharing a flask and throwing dice.

They sprang to their feet in alarm as he entered, for gambling during sentry duty could bring the wrath of the castellan down upon them. But their dismay lessened once they recognized Hal, as he was not known to be a disciplinarian.

“How may we serve you, my lord?”

Hal had a good memory for faces, and he’d been at Chinon often enough in the past to become acquainted with the garrison. He called them by their given names now, a familiarity that he knew they’d find flattering. “Giles, Daniel, and Mauger, is it not? I could not sleep.” He pointed at his jaw, knowing that even if they’d not been in the great hall during dinner, they’d have heard by now of his afternoon encounter with the barber and apothecary. “It seems that not even poppy and bryony root are strong enough to vanquish a toothache. I was wandering about the bailey like a lost soul, and then I saw the light from the gatehouse window.”

Giles was their spokesman and he said expansively, “We would be honored to keep you company, my liege. Alas, we lack those comforts that a king has every right to expect.” With a wave of his hand, he took in the barren, dimly lit guard chamber. “We’ve not even a stool to offer you, and the only wine we have tastes like verjuice.”

“If you can take my mind off this wretched toothache, Giles, that will matter more to me than all the luxuries of Constantinople. As for the wine…” With a grin, Hal reached under his mantle and produced a wineskin. “Now,” he said, glancing down at the dice, “what game are we playing? Hazard or raffle?”

The hour that followed was one the guards would never forget. They could scarcely believe that they were gambling with the young king, sharing his wineskin and bantering with him as if he were one of their own. Hal lost more than he won and joked that he had worse luck than a cuckolded husband. He asked them about their families and their bedmates, for they were too young to afford wives, and told them stories of hunts and tournaments, giving them glimpses of a world that was as fascinating to them as it was foreign. And when Mauger complained of his father’s strict ways and heavy-handed discipline, Hal offered him sympathy and the knowing smile of one who’d walked in Mauger’s shoes. They were sorry, therefore, when he stretched and got to his feet, for they were not yet ready to return to reality.

“I’ve kept you from your duties long enough,” he said, wincing as he gingerly touched his sore jaw. “You are good lads, the lot of you. Seek me out on the morrow and I’ll find a way to show my appreciation.”

They thanked him profusely, dazzled by visions of silver coin and fine wine and a king’s favor, and assured him that it had been their pleasure to be of service. Hal smiled, tossed his wineskin to Mauger, and took a step toward the door before pausing. “There is something else you could do for me,” he said, and they vowed that he need only name it.

“I’ll not be able to sleep tonight. It is not just this accursed tooth. In truth, I’ve an itch that only a woman can scratch.”

They grinned, for that was an itch they well knew, and suggested that any maid servant in the castle would be honored to swive him. “I suppose so,” he said, with becoming modesty. “But I have a particular lass in mind, one who lives down in the village, the young widow of the blacksmith.” Lowering his voice, he winked. “I am depending upon your discretion, for she’d not like to have her name bandied about the garrison. But I can assure you that no man sharing her bed will have any thoughts to spare for teeth!”

They were quiet, looking at him in consternation, and Hal hid a smile, for he read their faces and their minds as easily as a monk could read his Psalter. They wanted to please him, were eager to be part of this benign conspiracy, knowing they could dine out on this story for the rest of their lives. They’d heard the whispers of his disgrace, the rumors that he and his father were feuding. But he’d certainly seemed to be on good terms with the king during dinner. And he was famed for his generosity, not one to forget a favor.

It was Giles who found the solution. “We can lower the drawbridge for you, my lord. But you’ll have to go on foot.” Hoping he’d come up with a compromise that accommodated the young king whilst protecting themselves, he waited anxiously to see if it was acceptable to Hal.

To his great relief, Hal laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Why would I need a horse? Her house is but a stone’s throw from the bottom of the hill.” And it was as easy as that to escape from his father’s formidable castle at Chinon.

T
HE NIGHT WAS COLD,
but the day’s clouds had been swept from the sky by a brisk west wind and the darkness was lit by stars beyond counting. Hal supposed he should be nervous, yet all he felt was excitement. It had been hard to wait calmly as the guards manned the chains and winches, first raising the iron portcullis and then lowering the drawbridge, for the noise seemed loud enough to awaken the dead. But no one came out to investigate, and Hal was soon standing on the causeway, waving jauntily at his unwitting accomplices. He hoped they’d not pay too high a price for their misplaced trust. But to his father’s credit, he did not make scapegoats of those who could not defend themselves. No, his anger would not be turned upon the hapless guards. There would be one person he’d blame, and only one.