acquiescent.
‘Do you fear for my soul, Father?’
‘Not yet, my Lord, there is plenty of time for redemption. It is more your temporal future that concerns me.’
‘So, you think I lack wisdom. And this nun is going to make me prudent?’
‘Not immediately, sire, but I hope she will inspire you.’
‘To do what?’
‘Wisdom is about making decisions, my Lord. Hildegard will guide you towards a path that will help you discover your destiny.’
‘So, she is a seer?’
‘She is old and clever, like Earl Harold. He said that you are destined to be a great leader and a great king, because of your heritage and because of the gifts you have been given. But you could lose your way. Ranulf and I are here to make sure that you don’t.’
‘I see. Does that mean that I am to do your bidding? Because if that’s what you’re saying, you can go back to England.’
‘No, sire, all that we ask is that you listen. Then you can make your own decisions.’
‘Very well, then, I have listened. We leave for Caen in two days. I’ll hear no more talk of the old nun until then.’
Father Alun did not appear to be disappointed. The first move in his gambit had prepared the ground well – by astutely playing to the Duke’s considerable ego – and I was intrigued to know how and when he would make his next move.
The Lionheart then turned to me.
‘Ranulf, the Captain of my personal conroi, Ademar, is almost forty years old, and I promised him that our campaign in Aquitaine would be his last. He wants to take his pension and retire. I envy him. He has a house by the sea at Les Sables d’Olonne, a young wife and a brood of children. He wants to enjoy them in peace and quiet – a privilege I suspect I will never have.’
‘But you will have others, my Lord—’
‘Now
‘I would be honoured, sire. But what of your men? I am an Englishman, and new to your service. Will they accept me?’
‘They will do as you and I tell them. You have made a good impression on all of us. Do you accept or not?’
‘I do, my Lord, with gratitude.’
‘Good, Ademar will leave us before we travel to Caen. You had better go and see him and prepare for the handover. He knows about my decision.’
I could hardly contain my excitement.
After the Duke had left the hall, to go to his chambers, I bounded to the door like an excited child, leaving Father Alun in my wake. Realizing I had forgotten my manners, I stopped and turned to say goodbye. With a broad grin on his face, he waved to me to go on.
I rushed to tell Negu and the men, and that night we all ate together in celebration.
Later, as Negu and I embraced one another in private, she whispered in my ear.
‘Well, I missed the man with the heart of a lion by a whisker… but I managed to snare his cub.’
I took her remark as a compliment – which, I am sure, was what she intended – but it did make me smile a little.
Ademar was gracious in the handover of his responsibilities. Two days later, we were riding north to Caen with me at the head of Duke Richard’s conroi of personal guards.
I had made Godric my sergeant-at-arms and integrated my Little Quintet into the column as the first two ranks.
It was a proud moment for all of us.
Negu rode with me. It felt very grand to be marching through the mighty Plantagenet Empire at the right hand of its most famous son.
I was unashamedly proud of what I had achieved.
8. Old Nun of Rupertsberg
When we reached King Henry’s palace at Caen, the warmth of spring was in the ground and the city was stirring from its winter hibernation. The markets had fresh vegetables, and people walked with a lighter step, without their heavy winter cloaks and boots.
The King’s castle at Caen had been built by Richard’s great-great-grandfather, William, Conqueror of the English, over a hundred years previously. It was created to be a symbol of his lordship of Normandy, just as his Great Tower in London had been built to emphasize his subjugation of the English. It was the biggest fortified place I had ever seen. Its walls were so thick, it was possible to move along them with a cart and a full team of horses. The bailey was the size of an English burgh and even though it was full of various buildings, there was still space in the middle to hold tournaments and accommodate large crowds of spectators. The tall rectangular exchequer building sat next to the donjon to its east. The numerous heavily armed guards, and the thick oak doors, were testament to the vast hoards of gold and silver locked inside.
There were immaculately turned-out men and horses everywhere. The stables, armouries, forges and storehouses were without blemish, and there was a pervasive air of discipline and organization everywhere. I was reminded of Westminster; I felt very much at home.
Negu, my men and I were accommodated in the garrison’s barracks, while Richard was taken to the royal apartments in the huge square donjon that towered over the bailey and served as the King’s royal palace.
Later that day, when the Lionheart went to supplicate himself before the patriarch of his pride, he asked Father Alun and me to accompany him.
When we entered the Great Hall, it was a wonder to behold, even bigger and more opulent than the King’s Great Hall at Westminster. The walls were covered with tapestries and hunting trophies while, at the end of the hall, silver dishes and candleholders glistened on the King’s high table. A fireplace large enough to roast an ox sat prominently in the middle of the wall, to our left, around which several ornate oak chairs were arranged for the King and those granted an audience with him.
While four houndsmen played dice against the wall, several lyam hounds, which King Henry liked to use as scent dogs when hunting, and a couple of very large Alaunt guard dogs sprawled in front of a roaring fire, hot enough to warm our faces several yards away. Servants and stewards scurried and skivvied, and members of the King’s elite personal guard, at least one of whom I recognized, stood to attention at every doorway and on either side of the massive fireplace.
The King’s regal chair sat at the end of a refectory table so long it seemed to merge into the horizon. Suspended above it, as a centrepiece on the wall, was the Baculus, the Norman war club of legend that had been carried to Normandy by Rollo the Viking, ancestor of all the Dukes of Normandy and Kings of England since the Conqueror. It was now only of symbolic importance, but old men of my grandfather’s generation said that King William had carried it into battle at Senlac Ridge and throughout his campaigns against the English Resistance. Some even said that the Conqueror had used the Baculus to strike down Hereward of Bourne at the end of the Siege of Ely.
Duke Richard looked ill at ease, and even more so when a commotion in the direction of the King’s private chambers announced his impending arrival. The stewards hurriedly checked that all was in order in the hall, the servants made themselves scarce, the dice players pocketed their gaming cubes and even the dogs pricked up their ears.
Just as the King – the progenitor of the Devil’s Brood – appeared, the Duke ushered us out and asked us to
