Shield of Three Lions (29 page)

Finally the covenant had been read, the benediction said and we all trailed into the sunlight.

“Enoch, you go see the sights without me. Sir Gilbert has told me that I must alter my garb to the king’s specifications.”

He left without argument and I ran all the way to a well I’d spotted from our window where a clump of willows grew. Using my father’s dagger, I cut off several stems of varying girths, went quickly to the scribner’s and begged a sheet of parchment, then ran back to my room where I tossed the stems on the floor to sort according to size.

My plan was to make myself a prick.

Before I could proceed with the cutting of willow and parchment, however, I had to create a design which would fit snugly on my parts so that I could piss through it and fool anyone who watched. The problem rose when I tried to discover exactly whence my water dropped for I was amazed to find that I was a stranger to my own crotch. Did it flow from a sensitive piece of skin on my front? Or from the hole somewhat deeper that I could feel but not see? Or my anus? Promising myself to scrub well afterward, there was nothing to do but explore. After a few puddlings, I knew my source and it couldn’t have been more difficult in terms of design. I would have to form an organ the span of a hand and a half with a wide slantwise opening against my body tapering to the tiniest hole at the tip. No one willow sufficed, so I set about whittling and joining till I worked up a sweat in the effort. Then none of the pieces was sufficiently flexible and I must choose between forever drooping downward or lifting upward. Knotting my thought, it seemed to me that ’twould be more convincing if it turned up so that I could arch my stream. I had to drink wine till I was toty to refill my bladder for trials, but finally ’twas done: adequate but unconvincing, e’en to my prejudiced eyes. Never had man nor beast been plumbed with such a skinny long pipe, but ’twould have to do.

I was able to compensate somewhat with the parchment which I oiled to make waterproof. I anchored the willow in a broad double pad and cushioned it gradually to shape like a member and began to
feel pride in my work. Now I stitched the whole into the quilted money belt which I fit inside my thighs so it wouldn’t bulge. This went smoothly and soon the whole creation was in place.

Now there remained only the short tunic with its gonnes where I could slip my hands to hold my “prick” without exposing it, my baggy pants, and ’twas done. Quickly I bathed, threw away my old garments and dressed. The prick pushed against the tunic like a tent-peg, but after a few futile attempts to make it lie flat, I decided it didn’t matter. From what I’d seen of men, a prick which was too long and erect would not be a handicap.

BY THE TIME I RAN UP THE CURVING steps to the king’s quarters the next afternoon, I was as carefully groomed as a French fop from my scented curls to my polished boots. Both Sir Gilbert and Sir Eduard awaited me and although Sir Gilbert took in my new appearance his manner was still waspish.

“Why are you late?”

“You’re not late, Lord Alex,” Sir Eduard interjected smoothly. “It’s just that Sir Gilbert came especially to show you what to do.”

Sir Gilbert pointed to a magenta-and-rose brocade robe stretched across the bed. “They must be put just so. These have been tested for freshness for the king is fastidious about cloth next to his person. Here is a basket for the robes he removes; put it under the table till later. The water has been poured into his basin, the soap—so—and the towel. You should have done this yourself.”

Soon after, he took his leave while Sir Eduard remained to instruct me about the wine.

“Tonight you will use the gold goblets—placed here—the finest Jews’ work, and keep the wine cool. You see how I’ve submerged the flask in cool water? If the guests are late, you may have to freshen the water.”

He then pointed from the window to the well in the garden hid by my clump of willows.

“How many guests will there be?”

“We’re told three, though one never knows. I’ve put out five goblets which should suffice.”

I counted the goblets, a woodly thing to do.

“Most important is to serve according to rank. Do you understand?”

“The king first …”

He nodded, smiled and was gone.

Left to my nervous solitude, I gazed through open windows at a glorious sunset, somewhat marred in its effect by my compulsion to test the water. Three times I descended the steps and sloshed up with the heavy pail to keep the wine temperature perfect. The sky had deepened to a crystalline aqua with Venus again suspended like a sapphire. Suddenly I heard footsteps and voices. I shifted the goblets around, then put them on a round tray, but the tray was uneven so they didn’t stand upright, and I took them off again.

The king shouted, “If King Philip wants to quit the Crusade, let him!”

Did that mean we weren’t going to crusade after all? I strained to hear an answer, but the king strode in and I bowed and flourished.

“… tenting with a crocodile.” King Richard waved his hand at me.

Mercadier, Algais, Louvart—the king’s mercenary captains—Ambroise and the king, five people exactly. I poured a heavy jeweled goblet full to the brim, then couldn’t carry it so full, tried to pour a little wine back into the flask and spilled it into the water, glanced around furtively to be sure no one had noticed. Now the goblet was wet. I wiped it on my new tunic and carried it carefully to the king.
Benedicite.

Now I poured a second goblet and looked around helplessly. Who was next of rank? Ambroise nodded subtly at Mercadier.

The captain took the drink and said, “If he stays in France, Philip will march through the Vexin straight to Normandy. The Vexin territory is essential for your defense.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” The king’s face was contorted with fury. “And despite Philip’s claims, the Vexin is legally mine, a part of Princess Alais’s dowry.”

The flasks were not very large, so I put a second one to cool in the water, emptied the dregs of the first to make my third goblet.
Deus juva me
, the king was finished with his already. I must work faster. I took the royal cup, poured the third for Louvart and managed to carry two at once. I was getting better.

Except that the king had just taken off his crown and cape. I rushed to his side, getting there just in time. But where should I put them? As I stood, bewildered, Ambroise smoothly poured two more goblets of wine, one for himself, one for Algais, and smiled at me.

“His popper in his pouch would wither if you spat on it,” the troubadour said dryly.

Did he mean my popper? It took all my will not to touch my new prick.

Then Richard answered, “Except that it’s a long spit from Jerusalem.”

I let out my breath in relief; they were still speaking of King Philip.

Then I lost all interest in their argument, for the king began to undress.

Horrified, I watched him unlace his long over-robe and let it drop at his feet. ’Twas not so much that I didn’t know by now the anatomy of a male (better than a female as I’d recently discovered), but the king! He wore a sorcot, underpants and braies same as everyone else, yet I stood hypnotized as one by one he discarded each piece while his diatribe against the French king continued unabated.

I felt a slight shove. “Pick them up, Alex,” Ambroise whispered, smiling, and I turned violent red for I’d been gazing on the king’s parts which were as huge as the rest of him.

I scurried to scoop the clothing into a basket, then reached for the magenta robe. By now the king’s milk-white body was bent over the basin where he scrubbed himself thoroughly and I stumbled over a trailing braie as I saw that his backside was covered with hard red whelks. Riding sores? I stood on tiptoe as he leaned down to slip into his fresh robe.

“—won’t fight if I know the scoundrel, but will be on hand to collect the spoils,” he said as his head came through. “Damn his greedy soul! He’ll suck me to a husk.”

And I let out a long breath of relief: the king was dressed.

I took the basket from under the table and stuffed the dirty robes into it. But I dared not put the basket back where it would be in full sight. I looked around for a likely spot and saw only one. Casually I dumped the robes back onto the floor close to the bed; then, pretending to straighten the cover, I kicked the offending garments under the bed. I stood, pleased with myself.

“Wait till Messina,” Mercadier advised, “where you’ll sap his will. Then you can deal with him as you like.”

“Hush.” Richard held up a warning hand. “I believe my guests arrive.” He raised his voice in what was obviously mock rage. “How dare de Sabloil translate my orders to his own liking? I wrote the command and meant it to be taken literally: sailors who take knives to one another must be tied together and cast overboard. Send a runner and see that ’tis done, Captain Louvart.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The three captains brushed close by the men who were entering, causing gracious apologies on both sides though the Archbishop of Canterbury held the same derisive expression at the company that he’d turned toward me at Chinon. I was most awed by his companion, Ranulf de Glanville, the author of England’s book of common law which Malcolm had oft praised. Then I realized I’d seen him briefly before at Westminster, a slight man with a strong nose and chin and dark intelligent eyes. His nephew, Hubert Walter, showed a family resemblance but hadn’t as yet developed as much authority in his face.

However, ’twas the king’s face that made me forget my duty, for ’twas a reversal of the gruff, caustic soldier he’d been with the captains. Now he was again the lambent painted saint, glowing, courteous, almost unctuous. Zizka himself could not have changed so rapidly.

A nudge from Ambroise brought me out of my reverie; he nodded and frowned toward the dirty bath water.
Benedicite.
I must empty it of course. I picked up the basin and again looked around. Certainly this couldn’t go under the bed. I considered the open window and dismissed it as too obvious. But if not there, where? There was only one possible place: I poured it into the wine water.

“My lords, welcome to our cramped quarters. Please take your ease and forget cold ceremony Alex, the wine, please.”

I jumped guiltily, fearful of the reprimand which might come later because of my laxity. Aye, ’twas easy to be king and snap your fingers, but I had no goblets! All had been used. Quickly I gathered the glasses and wondered if I dared serve from dirty cups, but no, one was the king’s; he’d never forgive me. Now sweating, I looked to Ambroise but he was addressing Ranulf: “I say the king is not a bit too harsh.” And I submerged the glasses into the wine water.

Then almost swooned! ’Twas floating with dirty suds from the king’s own parts! What should I do? I turned my back, quickly dried them on my tunic which was getting quite damp by now.

Ambroise came close. “I’ll help you serve. The archbishop after the king.”

I smiled at him weakly, more grateful than he knew.

“A loyal subject should obey his king without question,” Ranulf said, and took his wine.

Not so easy to do, I thought grimly.

Richard’s eye sparked dangerously. “Except methinks when it applied to my late father. Becket dared disobey.”

What did that mean? Then I had a brilliant thought: King Henry had made Ranulf Queen Eleanor’s jailer—and he should have disobeyed. How I hoped the king would test me later so I could share this insight, with proper modesty of course.

“Vengeance for Eleanor is understandable but not good politics,” Ranulf was saying and I’d missed something. I hoped it wasn’t important.

“Alex, are you serving cakes tonight?”The king again!

“Yes, Your Highness. At once, My Liege.” I blushed and stammered and fought tears. Would he tell that horrible Sir Gilbert?

There was a short silence as I refilled the cups and arranged the cakes on a platter. Then Hubert Walter changed the subject to the division of spoils. Here the issue was how to define the enemy, whether the Crusaders fought the Saracens only, or whether their mission included heretics. To my surprise, the archbishop considered anyone who wasn’t a Roman Catholic a heretic. I knew that the
Crusaders had been invited to Jerusalem by the bishops of the Greek Orthodox and Byzantine Churches, which I’d always thought were Christian. However, since I still couldn’t tell one order from the other in the Church, I had no call to have an opinion. Then I was vindicated by Ranulf

“I’m shocked! Are we going to destroy our sister Greek Church? Prey on it as the Infidel?”

“’Tis not my order,” Archbishop Baldwin protested, “but comes from Pope Clement himself. There are former Crusaders in the Holy Land who have become corrupted by marriage to the Infidel, many of them accidie or pagan by now. Then certain Byzantine Christians choose to give aid to the Saracens.”

“One can almost see why,” Glanville commented dryly.

King Richard was amused by the interchange. “Well, Glanville, you’re learning the difference between civil and canon law I believe. In England it is illegal to attack the rich; in God’s domain it is legal to attack the rich, provided one proves heresy later.”

“’Tis a most cynical view, My Lord. I’m surprised you go forward if you believe so.”

“There are as many reasons to crusade as there are men to do it. The Church exports troublesome aggressors and beggars in exchange for wealth and power. I go for the simplest of reasons: for the glory of God.”

“So do we all, so do we all,” rasped the archbishop. “The king is a tease, Glanville, and means only half what he says.”

By this time Glanville was openly staring at King Richard as if he saw him for the first time. I would have given much to read his mind.

Baldwin was now impatient to be gone and in a short time the interview was finished, much to my relief, for the wine was getting low and I knew not where the supply was kept. By the time the door was closed, I, too, was ready to depart.

The king caught my arm. “Not so fast, page. We are not done with you yet. ’Tis protocol to wait till you’re dismissed.”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” I mumbled. The hot evening and my own nerves made me to sweat profusely, for I couldn’t recall what Sir Gilbert had said I should do after the conference. I soon saw. King
Richard lifted off his crown, unlaced his cape and tunic, held forth his arms to be disrobed.