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.
The 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.
The 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.
At the bottom of the hill, he hesitated, then decided to head for the Grand-Carroi, the village crossroads. He could only hope he had not long to wait. What he would do if his wait were in vain, he refused to contemplate. The village street was deserted; even the dogs were asleep. Hal had just passed the silhouette of St Maurice’s church when figures stepped from the shadows into his path.
Hal felt no surprise as the moonlight revealed their identities: Peter Fitz Guy, Simon de Marisco, and, of course, William Marshal. These men were far more than members of his retinue; they were good friends, and he embraced them like brothers. Peter and Simon shared his jubilation, but Will was somber, his expression showing both resolve and recognition of the great risk they were taking. Hal knew the older man was conflicted, for unlike the others, he still saw Henry as his king, not his enemy. But his loyalty to his liege lord had proved stronger than his misgivings, and Hal was deeply touched by his steadfast devotion. Flinging his arm around Will’s shoulders, he hugged the knight again, and privately vowed that Will would be well rewarded for his staunch, unwavering allegiance.
“I knew you’d be here,” he exulted, “I knew it!”
Simon and Peter grinned and began to tell him of the troubles they’d had in their race to reach Chinon before the king, interrupting each other freely as they complained happily about taking lesser-known roads and getting little sleep and having to hide in the nearby woods as they kept the castle under surveillance. It was Will who cut their premature celebrating short, reminding them tersely that time was of the essence.
They knew he was right and followed him hastily back into the safety of the shadows, explaining to Hal that the others were waiting in a copse of trees on the edge of the village. “What about fresh mounts?” Hal wanted to know. “We’re going to need them, for we’ll not be able to spare our horses.”
“I sent a man ahead to Alencon,” Will said, “so they’ll be ready for us when we get there.”
That had been Hal’s main concern, for he knew how fast his father traveled under ordinary circumstances; in times of need, he’d shown an uncanny ability to put wings to his horse’s hooves. “Bless you, Will,” he exclaimed,
