by another and then a third, each carriage flanked by a pair of mounted knights flaunting the colors of their individual houses like peacocks. Three more vehicles followed the carriages, heavy, flat-bottomed wagons drawn by teams of mules and piled high with cargo, securely covered and strapped down, and a second formation of infantry, the same size as the first and preceded by another pair of knights and a sub-commander, brought up the rear. By the time the last men marched into view the leaders were nigh on a half mile down the hill.
Henry was intrigued, but not alarmed by the approaching party, for despite its strength it was clearly not a warlike group. The great road they were traveling had been built hundreds of years earlier by the Romans. It ran straight south and west towards Marseille, and, much like a river of stone, collected tributaries leading from all the cities of the northern half of France, from Brittany and Normandy, Artois, and Paris itself, the home of King Philip Augustus. These travelers were obviously wealthy and important, judging by the number of vehicles and the strength of their escort, and he found himself wondering who would need six score men-at-arms, with officers and no fewer than ten fully armed knights. A senior prelate with his staff, perhaps a cardinal or an archbishop, was his first thought, or perhaps the wife of a powerful baron or a duke, with her household.
He spurred his horse gently and angled it down the hillside to where he could come within hailing distance of the cavalcade, then reined in on the edge of a coppice, casually concealed within twenty paces of the road and surprised that no one had drawn attention to his approach. He was on his own land and in full chivalric armor, so he had no fear in presenting himself, but he had misgivings about not having been seen, for that meant the men leading the advance party were riding carelessly, and coming into their view too suddenly might provoke them into overreacting, out of guilt and surprise.
Moments later, the first of the two leading knights came into view, resplendent in black and yellow trappings, and Henry’s back straightened in astonishment before his face broke into a smile. He had not seen this man in years, but he had trained him as a youth and had promoted him to be his own adjutant, fifteen years earlier.
“Sir Francis!” he called out at the top of his voice. “What would you do now were I a squad of archers instead of but one watching old man?”
The effect of his shout was salutary, for the marching men behind the two knights crashed to a halt instantly and then, at a snapped command from their mounted officer, the first four ranks spread out across the roadway. Twelve of the men knelt as they aimed their swiftly loaded crossbows towards the sound of Henry’s voice, and twelve more behind them aimed over their heads. The leading knight, whose name Henry had shouted, must have been half asleep, for he pulled sharply on the reins and brought his horse rearing up on its hind legs, then spun it completely around, and by the time the animal’s front hooves returned to earth he had his bared blade in his hand. His companion had spun away, too, and now sat his horse with his spear couched, its butt firmly gripped beneath his armpit.
“Who goes there? Show yourself!”
“Happily, Francis, if you will tell your men not to slaughter me on sight.”
The knight called Francis frowned, but he raised his sword and waved down his men, bidding them hold, then called again to Henry to come out. Henry nudged his horse forward slowly and enjoyed the amazement that dawned in Francis de Neuville’s face as he recognized the man approaching him.
“Sir Henry? Sir Henry St. Clair? Is that you?”
“Of course it is. Did you think you me a specter, in broad daylight?”
Both men slipped down from their saddles and embraced in the middle of the road. “By all the saints in Heaven, well met, Sir Henry. How long has it been, ten years? What are you doing here, so far from anywhere?”
“Twelve years, Francis, and I am riding my boundaries. This is my home. My castle is close by, over the hill there.” He waved towards it, then indicated the motionless procession stretching back up the hill. “What are you doing nowadays, escorting churchmen?”
“Churchmen?” Sir Francis looked perplexed again. “Why would you think that? There are no churchmen here.” He glanced at the other knight who had been riding with him. “William, you’ve heard me talk about Sir Henry St. Clair who was Master-at-Arms to Aquitaine when I was a boy? Well, this is the man.” As Henry and Sir William exchanged nods, Sir Francis continued, “So you live nearby? I thought somehow you were in the north, towards Burgundy.”
They were interrupted by a clatter of hooves as a trio of men came spurring down the hill to find out the cause of the delay. One of them, a black-browed giant of a man mounted on an enormous horse, scowled ferociously at Henry before turning his displeasure on Francis de Neuville, demanding in a surly, ungracious voice to know why the entire column had been brought to a standstill.
De Neuville looked at his questioner and managed to give Henry the impression that he had responded with a very Gallic shrug, although he was fully armored. “I stopped to speak to an old friend,” he said. “And I have not yet finished greeting him. Move them on, if you wish. We will draw aside and I will catch up with you when I am ready.”
“You should have done that without waiting to be told.”
De Neuville’s right eyebrow quirked as he raised his eyes to look at the mounted questioner. “And how would you know that, Mandeville? I doubt if you have ever had a friend to stop for in your entire life.” He stepped to his horse and took its reins in his hand, then beckoned with his head to Henry. “Come, Henry, we can talk over there as they pass by.”
Neither man spoke until the column had begun to move again, the scowling knight riding ahead in de Neuville’s place while his companions returned to their positions. The marching column of soldiers trudged on, ignoring the two knights by the roadside, their eyes fixed in accustomed misery on the ground stretching endlessly ahead of them.
“Who was that fellow?” Henry spoke first, his eyes on the retreating form of the big knight.
“Mandeville. Sir Humphrey Mandeville. A jackass. He’s Norman English and a lout, like most of his ilk. Ignorant and lacking in the basics of civility. Born over there, of course. He hasn’t been here three months, but believes himself superior to all of us.”
“Is he
Sir Francis barked a laugh. “Not in
“I am now. Thriving, Francis. Who’s in the carriages?”
Sir Francis smiled, deprived of any need to answer, for the lead carriage had been drawing level with them as they spoke and now the leather curtains were pulled aside and an imperious voice called out over the noises of hooves and iron-tired wheels.
“Henry? Henry
“Great God in Heaven!” The words were out before he could check them, but they went unnoticed, since the apparition in the carriage was already leaning from the window, shouting to the driver to stop, so that once again the cavalcade came to a halt.
“Well, sir? Have you no greeting for me? Have you gone mute?”
“My lady … Forgive me, my lady. I was distraught. The sight of you blinded me … I had no idea … I thought you were in England.”
“Hah! In jail, you mean. Well, I was, for years. But now I am here, at home. Come now, salute me properly and ride with me. You and you, out. Find places in the other carriages. De Neuville, take Henry’s horse. You, sir, come and pay me your respects, as true knight to his liege, then tell me what you have been doing all these years since last we met.” As her two obedient women spilled hastily from the open door, clutching helplessly at their disarrayed clothes, Sir Henry St. Clair walked forward open mouthed, still grappling with the suddenness of coming face to face again with the woman who had once been the most powerful force in Christendom, Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine, former Queen of France and later of England. He climbed into the carriage obediently and sat silent, gazing at the woman across from him and caught up, as he had always been, in admiration of her forthrightness and the uncompromising, direct force she brought to every conversation.
“There now,” she said when he was seated. “That is much better, and you may close your mouth and collect yourself, Henry, for we have much to talk about and I require you to be alert and as intelligent as I recall you used to be … speaking of which, you look remarkably fine for an old man. You were much like my Henry in those days. And you look much the same today. Clean living, I dare say, for I doubt your leopard could have
