sickness struck him—the followers and fawning hangers-on who ever flock about him—and he now has nothing left.”
Sir Henry’s brow creased into a quick frown. “That is iniquitous. But you say Richard pursued him. I presume he would have caught up with him once the old man fell sick, if not before. Did he then do nothing to stop this theft you describe?”
“I doubt he was aware of it, Father. Richard had other matters on his mind, and I gather he was ruthless in prosecuting them.”
“Other matters … such as what?”
“It surprises me that you would even have to ask.
The Vexin, first and foremost. Facing death, Henry did what he would never do in life. He named Richard heir to England, officially. That was three days ago, on the third of July, according to what I heard last night. At the same time and by the same report, he decreed that his wife, Eleanor, be freed from her prison in the tower at Winchester in England, where he has kept her these last sixteen years. And he formally relinquished any claim he might have held to the Vexin, agreeing to hand over the Princess Alais to Philip Augustus and Richard, so that Richard can marry her and settle the matter of the Vexin dowry—and with it, the entire issue of the English/French agreement to the Holy War—once and for all.”
Sir Henry sat silent for long moments before he murmured, “The old man must be sick indeed, to have given up so much … and Richard must have pressed him hard.”
“Aye, Father, and he pressed even harder than that. Henry was forced to surrender castles and estates that he has owned all his life, and to cede territories to Richard that were never in dispute. They say that Richard left him nothing at the end, not even dignity. I also heard that, after he had conceded everything Richard demanded of him, the King prayed aloud that he might be allowed to live until he could achieve a fitting revenge on his ungrateful son, but died immediately thereafter, denied even that satisfaction by a God whom he flouted too many times. I can’t swear to the truth of that, though. His death, I mean. Others present disputed that. Bear in mind I am only reporting second hand.” Andre’s tone assumed a note of bitterness. “Yet I heard, too, that Richard began weeping and praying for his father’s soul a few hours before the old man died, starting the moment he had wrung everything he wanted from him.”
“Who would have told you such a thing?” The frown on Sir Henry’s face had deepened to a scowl of disgust. “Who would dare speak such words? Whoever he may have been, he was no friend of Richard Plantagenet.” Andre made no attempt to reply, and his father went on. “You said you were in the Temple commandery in Tours, did you not? And it was there you heard such things talked about openly, among strangers? I find that hard to credit. Among the knights themselves, in their own quarters, yes, I could accept that they might discuss such things in privacy. But you are no Templar, and thus to have heard such tales, you must have been among the public crowds.”
“No, Father, not quite.” Andre shrugged his shoulders very gently, managing to deprecate his own importance with that gesture. “I was privileged to be in the company of a pair of Temple Knights whom I have come to know well these past few months. They work closely at all times with de Sable, acting as couriers between him, Duke Richard, and the King of France on behalf of the Order. It was as their guest that I was able to overhear so much.”
“Aye, but even so, Andre, unless drastic changes have recently been made, personal friendships have no standing in such things, not when it comes to oaths and secrecy. You are not of the Order. You do not belong, and you must therefore be treated—and mistrusted— accordingly. But I mislike the entire smell of this, the disloyalty involved in even speaking of such things.”
Andre’s brow wrinkled. “Disloyalty? How may that be, Father? We are discussing the Knights of the Temple. Their sole loyalty is to the Pope himself. No temporal ruler, be he emperor, king, or duke, has any claim upon their loyalty.”
“I am aware of that, Andre, as aware as I am of the fact that you are not yet one of them … unless there is something you have not told me about your present situation? Are you informing me that you have already been raised to the ranks of the elect?”
His father’s tone, raised in mock interrogation, was skeptical, and Andre was far from being surprised, but he had long since learned to accept that there were things about himself and his life that he could never reveal to his father, things they could never discuss. He waved one hand and shook his head before standing up and walking to the great iron brazier in the hearth, where he set his wine cup on the mantel before squatting down to throw fresh fuel from the piled logs on one side of the fireplace onto the dying fire, thereby gaining himself some time to shake off and conceal the guilt that always affected him at such times, even after years of living with the knowledge that his secret had nothing to do with his filial love and respect for his father. But his silence did not go unnoticed, for his father now asked, somewhat peremptorily, “What are you dreaming about down there?”
Andre rose to his feet fluidly. “The Templars,” he said casually, lying without effort, as always, when it came to safeguarding the secrets of the brotherhood. “I was watching the flames licking the wood, and thinking that we won’t see much wood in Outremer. Not firewood, anyway. The people there burn camel dung, I’m told. That reminds me of a tale I once heard about a Templar sergeant whose primary duty, for several years, was to have his men gather up all the dung they could find in the streets of Jerusalem, for fuel.”
“That sounds like a worthwhile way to serve one’s God …”
Andre ignored his father’s sarcasm. “Apparently Hugh de Payens thought so, for he was the man who assigned the duty.”
“Hugh de Payens? Was he not—?”
“The first Master of the Temple, the Founder of the Order. Aye, Father, that was he.”
“Hmm.” Henry contemplated his son. “You think you really will join them, Andre, vows and all?”
A fleeting grin from his son reassured Sir Henry greatly.
“Oh, I think not, sir,” Andre drawled. “It’s an idea that flits through my mind from time to time, nothing more. I will fight as one of their force in Outremer, that is a promise given, but I doubt I will take the formal, binding vows.”
“Then why are you so involved with them, with this de Sable fellow?”
“I’m not.” Andre’s eyes had widened as his father asked the question. “Not involved with the knights, I mean. With de Sable, yes, but he is not a Templar, not yet. We are both working for Richard. Working hard, too.”
“Doing what?”
Andre’s face quirked into a smile. “Well, Sir Robert is organizing what may become the largest fleet of ships ever launched, whereas I am training men to use the new crossbow, the arbalest.”
“What’s new about a crossbow? This … what did you call it?”
“An arbalest, sir. It’s the latest, most up-to-date development of the weapon. As you know, I’ve loved the crossbow ever since I was strong enough to load one, and of course Richard himself has, too. Well, he and I started talking after he and Sir Robert came here that day, and he wanted to know about the shot I made—how I gauged it, aimed it, that sort of thing—when I killed the priest, that de Blois slug. One word led to another and the upshot of it was that he charged me with the task of putting training in place for new levies of crossbowmen immediately. Not to train arbalesters, you understand, but to train other men as teachers, and to place particular emphasis on training with the new arbalest. He is very keen on it, and I can see why.”
“Have you spent much time with him since you left home?”
“With Richard?” Andre shook his head. “No, barely any time at all. A half hour here and there, and perhaps three hours the day he set me to the training task, for he wanted to be sure I understood what he required of me. Apart from that, I have seen him only five times since then, all of them from a distance as he rode by.”
“Good. That may be fortunate. Trust me, as your father, Andre. Be careful of Richard. Should you start spending more time close to him, you will find there are aspects of his character that will probably offend you. I’ll say no more than that, for you are old, smart, and ugly enough now to see such things for yourself and draw your own conclusions, but if you do find yourself growing disgusted at any time, in God’s name keep your displeasure shielded from his eyes. Richard mislikes being disapproved of, almost as much as being crossed. He resented it as a boy and I doubt he has grown out of that.” Henry watched his son’s face darken with curiosity, but waved an extended finger in dismissal of the topic. “Tell me, then, why the enthusiasm for this new arbalest device? What is so different about it, compared with any other crossbow?”
