‘ A lord has one obligation
Greater than love itself
Which is to reward most generously
The knight who serves him well…’
We sat in silence for a moment and then my King said: ‘Well, Blondel, you have served me well — I cannot deny that. You served me well in the German lands, and at Nottingham, and at Verneuil, too — and the Marshal tells me that you were the first man over the wall at Milly. Tell me truly, have I been a generous lord to you?’
I did not hesitate for a moment. ‘Yes, sire,’ I said.
‘Your master, my lord of Locksley, does not seem to think I am a generous lord. He complains that the lands I have given him are in French hands, and says that he will never live to enjoy them. What say you?’
I thought about Clermont-sur-Andelle, now destroyed. ‘We all live by the fortunes of war, sire, and the will of God. I think He does not mean me to enjoy Clermont.’
‘That is a good answer, Blondel,’ said my King, and he laughed. ‘When this war is over you shall have more and better lands to compensate you for Clermont — or if you choose, I shall give you the necessary silver to repair the ravages done to it.’
I bowed my head. ‘That is most generous, sire,’ I said. And I meant it. But the King was still speaking: ‘Robert of Locksley, however, does not feel that I have been open-handed. Now that the truce has been signed, he has requested that I allow him to leave my side and go off on some sort of treasure hunt — I do not fully grasp the details, but it seems he wishes to go to the Duke of Burgundy’s lands in pursuit of some fantastical object of miraculous provenance and exceedingly great value. And I am not minded to refuse him.’
The Grail, I thought, with no little shock. Robin is seeking the Grail. But the King was still in mid-flow. ‘Locksley too has served me well and I must grant him this request. However, it does mean that I cannot spare you. I cannot have all my knights departing before the ink is dry on the treaty. Some must remain to garrison the castles or, truce or no truce, Philip will be beating down all the doors in Normandy. I know that you had wished to return to England to marry your sweetheart — a commendable desire, I am sure; my mother the Queen has met the lady concerned and tells me that she is a most beauteous, mild and charming creature’ — not when her anger is roused, I thought privately, but said nothing — ‘and I understand that she is an orphan, and a ward of the Countess of Locksley. Therefore, I propose that, with your agreement, when we have pushed Philip out of these lands, I should give the lady in marriage to you — with a suitable dowry, of course, of, say, a hundred pounds in silver!’
The King searched my face, and I could see that he was enjoying the look of surprise and joy he saw on it. A hundred pounds in silver — it was a great fortune, without a doubt; I could rebuild Clermont, if I wished, or purchase a far bigger, richer manor in England. But there was more.
‘I want you here at Chateau-Gaillard,’ said the King, ‘holding the place for me as the Constable. I shall be coming and going, but you will have the responsibility in the next few months for my fair castle on the rock. Will you do that for me, Blondel?’
I would be the Constable of the greatest castle in Normandy, a position of vast honour and responsibility — and all that the King desired in exchange was that I postpone my wedding for a while. I bowed once again, and said: ‘You are truly a most generous lord.’
I found Robin in his chamber in the north tower reading from a leather-bound book, seated at a table piled high with parchments and scrolls. I knocked and entered and Robin barely glanced up from his book but waved a hand vaguely at a tray on a sideboard with a flagon of wine on it and several cups. I poured myself a drink and one for Robin too and waited patiently while he finished the page he was reading.
‘What did he offer you?’ my lord said, laying down the book. I was slightly taken aback by Robin’s bluntness.
‘A hundred pounds in silver and the post of Constable of this castle.’
‘Constable, that’s good. Did he say when he would give you the silver?’
‘He offered to give Goody to me in marriage — and to let me have the money as a dowry. When we have retaken all Normandy, he will personally bless our union.’
Robin grinned. ‘That’s our Richard. He would always rather promise money to be paid at some future date than hand over the cash here and now. But well done, Alan!’
I said nothing for a few moments. Then: ‘So you are going to Burgundy?’
‘Yes, I’m going to see this fellow’ — he tapped the book in front of him — ‘Robert de Boron, a knight who serves the Seigneur de Montfaucon. Reuben knows him, apparently — our friend has excellent connections down there — and has arranged a meeting in Avignon, which is close by.’
‘What’s the book about?’
‘It’s about Joseph of Arimathea, that blessed man who entombed the crucified body of Our Saviour Jesus Christ.’
I gave Robin a look, and he stared straight back at me, his expression grave and humble. I knew that look: Robin was trying to appear sincere. I could not help myself: I laughed. Robin joined me, chuckling and shaking his head.
‘You know why I’m going,’ he said, ‘don’t you?’
‘You want the Grail.’
He nodded.
‘In God’s name, why?’
‘I can’t fully explain. I’ve been thinking about it almost constantly since you first mentioned it to me. I could tell you that it is the most fabulous treasure in the world, an object worth a county at least, and that’s why I want it. I could say that I long to possess the vessel that Christ drank from and which held his sacred blood — but I think you would laugh at me again. I could say that owning it would make me the most powerful man in Christendom; and that taking it away from a gang of renegade Templars would give me enormous satisfaction. I could say that I have had enough of Richard’s endless petty wars and I need a new and better task to fulfil me. And all of that would be partially true. But the honest answer is, I want it, I want it with all my heart — and I will have it.’ Robin’s eyes were shining with a passion I’d not seen in years.
‘You realize that it is probably just an old bowl?’
‘That may well be. Still, I must have it.’
‘So what are your plans?’
‘I’m heading south — tomorrow, actually. I am going to Avignon to meet this Robert de Boron. He writes with authority on the Grail, and I am sure he must know more than he has written. After that, I will go on to stay with Reuben in Montpellier, then through the county of Toulouse towards the Pyrenees. I’m not sure where the trail will lead. We will see what I can discover. The scraps of evidence that I have managed to gather’ — he waved a hand at the piles of parchment on the table — ‘all seem to indicate that the legends began down there. And the Master was originally from those parts, too, if I recall rightly.’
‘You make it sound like a pilgrimage,’ I said.
‘And perhaps it is,’ said Robin.
‘So you leave tomorrow?’
‘Yes, I’m taking Little John with me, and twenty men as a body-guard — but the rest I’m leaving with you. Can you manage them? I gather there was some… difficulty at Milly.’
I frowned. The Locksley men’s hesitation in that escalade was still a sore memory.
‘I’ll manage,’ I said gruffly.
‘May I give you a piece of advice? Don’t try to get them to like you. Keep them busy. Ride them hard. If any man challenges your authority, flog him half to death. If he challenges you a second time — hang him.’
I nodded again, but did not meet his eye. I still felt a little weak-kneed at the thought of hanging a man out of hand, the way my poor father had been hanged.
‘You’ll be fine. There is one thing I am worried about…’ Robin trailed off and I looked up at him, meeting his silver eyes with a touch of anxiety.
‘I am worried that you might die…’ said my lord.
‘What?’
‘I’m concerned that, with a long truce declared, you might well die — of boredom.’
And we laughed.
We had laughed together at Robin’s jest and yet, as is so often the case with drolleries, there was some
