The Young Lion (8 page)

‘I’m in love with Lady Walter,’ Henry whispered to Guillaume.

His brother stared at him. ‘You’ve gone mad! She’s a lascivious harlot. She offered to take us both at once. You up the front, me up the dirt track. Or vice versa.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ Henry muttered. ‘You’re jealous.’

Both coloured with anger. If only his mother had, just once, shown love to him, Guillaume thought.

‘I’m jealous? Henry, while you were wrestling the giant turd, I lay with a different woman every day.
I’m jealous
?’

‘Let’s drop it,’ Henry muttered.

When they arrived at the hunting lodge, musicians were playing and people were dancing on the grass. The wind had dropped earlier and the afternoon sunshine was warm enough to stand outdoors to flirt and chatter. The gorgeous heiress flashed her eyes at Henry.

‘I,’ Guillaume announced tartly, ‘am going to the music chamber to play the lute and sing.’

Sir William greeted them at the door. In much better French than his wife he asked Henry, ‘Do you recognise the building at all?’ The trees and shrubbery that surrounded the lodge were well groomed, like their owner. ‘I believe your mother brought you here when you were eight or nine years old, when she was, ah … monarch. Edith and I have tried to reconstruct it as close to the original as we could.’

Henry thought the reconstruction was hideous. It missed the point and the grand, virile spirit of Norman architecture. ‘From memory, the old one was less highly decorated.’

‘You’re right!’ William Walter replied. ‘But ladies love decoration, do they not? Ah, my pet, will you take Sir Henry to see the relic now?’

Edith had changed from the blue velvet gown she had worn to the tournament. She was now dressed in a more tightly cut garment of red-gold brocade, similar to the colour of her hair. ‘Now?’ she asked. She seemed nonplussed. ‘But we haven’t even offered him a cup of wine.’

‘I’d better stick with cider,’ Henry said.

The host snapped his fingers at a servant carrying a tray with cups of drink. ‘Why don’t you two go now, before the singing contest gets going?’

‘As you wish, my dear,’ she replied.

The lodge was a large central building with two separate wings, one of them for the music chamber and a small dining hall; the other wing, on the opposite side, the family quarters. The wings were connected to the central building, the hall for entertaining, by roofed walkways. The kitchen was in yet another building, as was the bathing chamber. Henry remembered the bath chamber well because Matilda had forbidden him to enter it. When he had climbed through the window he had been amazed to see the decorations of his great-uncle, King William Rufus. The walls were carved with erect penises. They must have amused the Lion because it was he, the servants confided to young Henry, who had added breasts and female pudenda. He’d had one whole wall carved as an engorged vagina, and beneath it the legend,
Genesis
. There was a large tub in the centre of the chamber. Benches wide enough for couples to lie side by side surrounded it.

Edith ushered him through the throng in the central building. ‘I’d love to see the bathing chamber,’ Henry said. She flashed him a sly look.

‘I thought I’d show both you and Guillaume later this evening. I’m the only person with a key. Meanwhile, I’ll take you to the family quarters where I keep the relic well hidden.’

Lovely hips, Henry thought. He sauntered behind her along the covered walkway. Suddenly he wondered aloud, ‘Where’s James?’

‘He’s a difficult boy, I must say,’ she answered. ‘He comes and goes like the wind. But my husband has ordered him to enter the singing competition. The winner will be either James or your adorable brother.’

Henry was still furious with Guillaume for speaking so indecently of Lady Walter. He moved closer to the enticing hips. As if by accident he ran one hand lightly across her right buttock. ‘Forgive me,’ he murmured.

She stopped, turned and smiled. ‘I want more,’ she said in French. This time her speech was correct. He was thinking, she’ll be the oldest woman I’ve ever had. The idea increased his excitement. They reached the door of the private quarters. Inside there would be a bed. I can fondle her and tell her I love her, and persuade her to promise that it’ll be just me tonight. I don’t want Guillaume touching her.

He was fascinated by her small breasts, pinned high on her chest like a young girl’s. And her womanly hips.

Far away in the music chamber, the singers loosened their throats and musicians tuned their instruments. Two girls sang first, a charming song about springtime. Sir Walter, who had taken the role of master of ceremonies, said, ‘Lord Guillaume, please honour us with your singing.’

Guillaume stepped into the centre of the chamber in which about forty people were already gathered, but as the word went out that he was about to sing, many came running from outdoors.

‘We’ll wait a moment,’ Sir William announced.

Every woman at the festivity had run inside to hear Guillaume. He looked around for Douglas, whom he spotted standing near a door, and James, who was to sing next.

Guillaume announced his first song would be from his mother’s native land and he would sing in her tongue, Catalan. It was a dramatic piece that concluded with wild stamping on the stone floor, his arms raised as he twisted and turned his elegant body. The heiresses shrieked. Some burst into tears. His next piece was soft, in French, a song of lovers’ yearning. The room sighed. Ladies dabbed their eyes; some turned dove-soft faces to their husbands. Before he began his third song, Guillaume glanced at James. ‘This is in honour of our interpreter, James, who has
been so helpful to my brother and me,’ he said. The child looked startled. Sir William translated into English. The guests turned to stare at James. Guillaume gave a dramatic opening chord and then, raising his exquisite voice, he sang the melody that James had sung to the villeins who had flocked to the wharf more than a year earlier, bringing shouts of derision at him and Henry. He’d made some words to fit the melody: ‘There once was a boy called James, called James …’ They were unpoetic, but they were not intended to be. The melody itself, probably well known in southern England, was lively and amusing and as Guillaume sang he stared at James, whose pale cheeks turned red. It
is
you, you little swine. His smile at James was a wolf ’s. Sir William seized the boy by the arm and dragged him forward so both he and Guillaume were applauded.

‘Now, James, your turn,’ the host ordered.

His clear voice, so silvery it was like shining water, rose in song. The audience was transfixed. Guillaume discreetly moved towards the doorway where Douglas, who now knew a few words of French, was stationed. ‘Where’s Henry?’ Guillaume whispered. Douglas’s huge chest filled with in-drawn breath. Hard against his ear Guillaume whispered, pointing at James, ‘Eustace!’ Together they backed out of the chamber, then dashed along the walkway to the main hall.

‘Where’s Henry?’ Guillaume asked the first person he met. The man shrugged. ‘Where’s Henry?’ he persisted. The hall was crowded, mostly with men. Henry was not among them.

In the sleeping chamber, Henry was removing his clothes. As soon as he had entered, Edith had turned to him and kissed his mouth. ‘I can’t wait until tonight,’ she’d whispered in English.
The chamber was large, but almost entirely occupied with a sleeping platform that could accommodate up to ten people. Three windows in one wall gave a view of distant, misty hills. She locked the door. ‘We’re safe for a few minutes …’ She seized his hand, rubbed it down her breasts to her crotch. ‘Undress! Undress!’ she said. ‘I’ll raise my gown.’ It was easier for her than for him because she had only to lift the hem of her robe. But Henry was encumbered with the riding cloak he had not had time to remove, his sword, and beneath his tunic, Douglas’s axe. He wore the axe against his right thigh. His tunic just covered it and his dagger. He undid the riding cloak and threw it on the sleeping platform.

When she saw what he wore beneath it Lady Walter gasped. ‘You have come into our house as if …’ Besides the dagger and the axe, Henry wore the Lion’s sword.

Suddenly he felt there was something disagreeable about the chamber. Its air smelled foul. His ardour began to fade. He seized Lady Walter’s hand and rubbed her palm over his penis to revive it but she pulled away from him violently. ‘No!’ she said loudly. ‘No! I don’t want to! You’ve come here ready for war, not love.
Let me go!
’ She was screaming.

In a flash the closet door burst open and five Saxons armed with short swords positioned themselves to take Henry. Edith rushed, cowering, to a corner of the room. It was a difficult fighting space with the large sleeping platform in the way. Henry drew his sword but in his left hand he had the axe. The Saxons’ attention fixed on the sword since it was far longer than theirs. The axe took off one head. Then a second. Edith began a sobbing scream. The other three Saxons manoeuvred themselves to make a dash at him, their commander slightly in front. Henry ran straight at him with such ferocity the other two hesitated. His sword drove through the man’s belly and he had to stamp on him
to pull it out. At that moment a screech like nothing he had heard before came from the corner of the room. It was Edith. She had a small dagger in her hand and she rushed, not at the Saxons, but at Henry. He leaped back, dropped his weapons, grabbed Lady Walter and flung her horizontally at the two men. The blow from her body only unbalanced them, but as she fell to the ground they all heard her backbone break. Henry snatched up his sword and axe. The Saxons were confused: the lady was dead, or soon would be – and they’d be in trouble for that. Their commander was dead too. They stared at Henry and saw what only men in warfare see: the ecstasy of battle in his eyes. They backed off a little, then a sixth companion stepped from the closet. He was the fair-haired rider whom Henry had first unhorsed in the tournament, the tallest man of all, kept in reserve in case something went wrong.

‘At him, boys!’ he yelled.

The door to the bedchamber crashed open from the force of Douglas’s shoulder. He leaped straight at the tall man with his weapon and the Saxon’s head splattered like an egg flung against a wall.

Henry and Guillaume took down the other two Saxons with their swords. But although they were all injured, probably mortally, not all were dead.

Douglas slashed the remaining heads off each body with one clean blow. The floor of the chamber was awash with blood. The walls dripped.

‘Quick! There may be more in the closet,’ Henry said. But the closet was empty except for some waste the Saxons had left. They had been hiding there most of the day.

Guillaume said, ‘James is Eustace’s page.’

Douglas gestured at the three windows and the trio vaulted through them and ran to the back of the family quarters where the Saxons’ horses were tethered.

Outside, servants who had heard the screaming of Lady Walter had come running. A cook was staring up at a tree.

‘Who speaks French?’ Henry demanded.

‘I do,’ a woman whispered.

‘Your lady is inside. Go to her. And someone fetch a priest. Be quick. She dies.’

Douglas had followed the cook’s gaze. He gave a bellow of rage. Hiding up the tree was the boy they knew as James. The Highlander shouted something in Gaelic.

Slowly, James climbed down the tree. For a moment he looked as if he would try to run, but Douglas grabbed him as he neared the ground and tipped him upside down. A number of unusual implements fell from his clothing. There was a small folded dagger, a blade in a wooden cover and, encased in leather, a very long needle that, thrust through an eye, an ear, the throat, even between ribs, could kill as effectively as a sword. Douglas returned James to his feet and another Highlander stood behind the child and held him by the throat while Douglas carefully felt through his clothing and discovered another hidden item – two iron balls, the size of quail eggs, on a piece of stinking string.

‘What in hell is he?’ Henry asked.

‘Remember how he kicked the little dog?’ Guillaume said.

Henry nodded.

When Douglas was satisfied he had disarmed the child, he called one of his men. They shoved the boy inside an oat sack, tied it and tossed him onto the back of a horse.

‘Did you count the Saxon horses?’ Henry asked.

Guillaume nodded. ‘The two extra were for our corpses.’

Douglas sent five of his men to arrest Sir William. They must have done so deftly because inside the main hall and the music chamber the singing and dancing and flirting continued.

Douglas left at a gallop to warn the King.

It took Henry and Guillaume and a Highlander almost an hour to heave the six dead Saxons out through the windows and secure their bodies on the horses. Some fitted better in front of the saddle, some behind. The severed heads they threw into oat sacks, although the one Douglas had flung against the wall was now only bits and pieces of bone and hair. They gathered a few fragments as evidence.

When the priest arrived, the brothers accompanied him inside and knelt as he administered extreme unction to Lady Walter. ‘I never thought I’d kill a woman,’ Henry mumbled to Guillaume, who wrapped an arm around him and pointed to her dagger. She died before the last rites were complete.

They paused to converse with the priest in Latin. ‘God will forgive you. You acted in self-defence,’ the priest said to Henry. ‘People in these parts believed she was a witch. They said she could step in and out of a fire. Or turn herself into a hen. Pagan nonsense, of course, but,’ his expression was bitter, ‘that’s the world in which we live.’

A light rain began to fall, welcome to the brothers since it washed some of the gore from their faces and hands.

As twilight approached, they arrived at the castle of Carlisle.

When Henry and Guillaume entered the audience chamber they saw grey tufts of King David’s hair on the floor. His scalp bled in places. The ecstasy of his rage was so intense Henry wondered if he would drop dead from it.

First he had an account from Douglas, then from the Anjevins. Another Saxon had been captured in the grounds of the castle and was brought before David. He confessed that their orders were to say that they heard a lady scream so they killed a man to save her honour.

‘That man?’ David asked, pointing at Henry.

‘We were told he had a Viking appearance.’

Earl Ranulf paced the chamber, shaking his head and weeping.

The six Saxon corpses were laid out on the floor, their heads in a separate pile. Edith’s body was on a rug, holy oil still glistening on her white forehead. James lay at a distance from her, his wrists bound behind his back.

‘She vowed to me! The evil vixen!’ David raged. ‘It was she who told me Stephen and Eustace were bent on the elimination of Henry! Vixen! Hell’s vixen!’

Two other Highlanders marched Sir William into the chamber. Scribes sat ready to take his statement. Three justiciars were seated at a separate bench.

In the shadows in a corner of the hall, a man whose face was hidden by a mask, stood waiting. He wore a black tunic, heavy boots and short black leather gloves. His nostrils and a red thread of mouth were all that was visible. Henry and Guillaume both noticed his unusually thick wrists, out of proportion to his height. One did not often see these men – although every king, every duke and earl, even some of the lower baronage had them in their employ.

‘When did you and that hellish woman hatch this plot?’ David demanded of Sir William.

He stared at the corpse of his wife, pointing at her with a trembling finger.

‘He’s shat himself,’ Guillaume muttered.

‘And who is this vile boy from your household? The interpreter you offered me?’ Ranulf asked.

James’s nose was bleeding but he was as defiant as ever. He scrambled to his feet and answered for himself. ‘My name is Aelbad. I serve Prince Eustace.’

The King grasped the arms of his throne. ‘And what is it you do for the Prince?’ he shouted.

‘I’m his code-breaker,’ the boy answered with icy pride. His eyes flashed glances of contempt for all around him. His expression said, Fools! I’m cleverer than every one of you.

David rose, as if to strike him, but instead sank to his knees and beat the flagstones with the sides of his fists. ‘Help me! Help me!’ he prayed. ‘I thrust this viper on my kinsman. I’m a sinful, foolish man!’

His crown slipped sideways on his bleeding head. He snatched it off and threw it on the ground.

‘He lusted for the woman,’ Henry whispered.

‘I noticed,’ Guillaume replied.

The feeling in the audience chamber was so oppressive they discreetly moved outside. It was raining hard and the concourse was slippery. Douglas steered them to cover beneath a balcony.

‘That child’s a demon. He tricked us all.’

‘Well, not me,’ Guillaume said. ‘I heard him singing on our journey from Berwick. I thought, can there be two voices as pure as his?’

‘His talent is rare,’ Henry muttered. ‘He knows eight or ten languages. He has a genius.’

They waited, enjoying the rain on their faces after the foetid stench indoors.

About an hour later when they returned, the King had re-crowned himself and was seated on the throne, one hand caressing the neck of a carved unicorn. Earl Ranulf sat on a footstool and held his other hand. I judged you meanly, Henry thought. You’re a pure-hearted man of honour. I’ll fight beside you as a brother.

The corpses had been removed and most of the blood washed from the floor. Sir William lay prostrate some yards distant from the King, irons on his ankles and wrists. Someone had placed rushes and a square of canvas over the lower part of his body to reduce the smell.

‘Eustace promised him an earldom, and that Winchester could secure preferment for his son in the Church. But it was the earldom he really wanted. She wanted,’ David said. ‘The justiciars decree that for his treason he can be burned. But because you were his intended victim Henry, you may decide.’

‘Ransom,’ Henry said.

Sour gratification spread across David’s features. In Latin, a language Walter did not understand, the King said, ‘Eustace will arrest him when he returns to English territory.’ He sighed. ‘There’s still the problem of the child.’ He addressed the boy, who stared back at him, unblinking.

‘Aelbad, you’re young, you have a rare gift and all our gifts come from God. I am a merciful king. Swear homage to me and become my code-breaker.’

‘I’ll not dishonour my vow to Prince Eustace,’ the boy answered.