The imperial impasse lasted through the lengthening days of spring and into the summer of 1183. At his father’s request, Richard campaigned far and wide as we put down revolts and saw off challengers to his father’s rule. The Duke was as ruthless in this campaign as he had been earlier in the year and earned a deserved reputation for wanton cruelty to add to his other more noble distinctions. He still had a regard for the innocent victims of conflict, but in dealing with enemies to his dukedom, or to the Plantagenet Empire, he was without mercy. The insult and betrayal he had suffered at Caen had left an open sore that would not go away.
Father Alun tried to calm the savage beast, but to no avail.
The dire circumstances of the Plantagenet family feud were only relieved by an unexpected event. Young Henry became short of funds and in the dead of night started making clandestine forays beyond Limoges to pillage local monasteries and churches. He stole plate, crosses and candlesticks to pay his mercenaries.
The locals said that a curse had been placed on him for his sins. Whatever the cause, a few days later he was struck by severe vomiting and diarrhoea, a condition that worsened rapidly. He was smuggled out of Limoges and taken south to the monks at Martel, three days’ ride from the city. The monks could do nothing and it was soon clear to his followers that he was dying. He was confessed and given the last rite of extreme unction. In penitence for his war against his father, he prostrated himself naked on the floor of the monastery’s chapel and begged for forgiveness. As he lay dying, he asked to be reconciled to his father, but the King, fearing a ruse, refused to see him. He died four days later, clasping a ring his father had sent him as a gesture of absolution. The King, heartbroken when he heard the news, said, ‘He cost me much, but I wish he had lived to cost me more.’
Although he had become his brother’s bitter enemy, the Lionheart was also saddened when he heard the news at our camp near Cahors. He dismissed the King’s messenger who had brought the news and left his tent to stand by the River Lot nearby.
I watched him as he stared across the wide, deep waters and into the hills of the domain he loved so much. He must have been reflecting that the future that so many had predicted for him had come to pass. With Young Henry’s sudden death, the Lionheart would be the next King of England and ruler of the mighty Plantagenet Empire.
When he returned to the tent, he asked me to take him to see Father Alun. He had a surprising question for him.
‘When you were introduced to me by Harold, Earl of Huntingdon, he said that he was returning to his estate in the Lot. Do you know where it is?’
‘I do, my Lord. It is not far from here, less than a day’s ride.’
‘Good, then let’s go. How old will he be now?’
‘In his mid-eighties, sire.’
‘Perhaps he’s still alive. If he is, I want to talk to him about England.’
‘But, sire, you know that when you cross the Lot to the east, you are in the domain of Raymond, Count of Toulouse?’
‘Of course! But he won’t mind if we pay our respects to one of his subjects.’
Two days later, as we rode along the banks of the Lot with its tall limestone crags looming over us, I had mixed feelings. I was pleased to think that we might meet Earl Harold again, but concerned that we were more likely only to find his grave.
St Cirq Lapopie was an enthralling place. With the river several hundred feet below, the Earl’s home stood on an outcrop of rock, facing north towards England. A small community of peasant houses nestled around his hall, and in the hinterland huge swathes of forest stretched as far as the eye could see. On the northern bank of the Lot, the terrain was much flatter and a wide expanse of vines, crops and livestock thrived. The sun shone and the air was sultry, refreshed by cool breezes from the river. As soon as I saw it, I realized why Earl Harold was so fond of it; it was a little enclave of Heaven on earth.
Everyone we passed seemed well fed and happy. Adults and children alike waved as we ascended the steep slope to the Earl’s hall; they were not in the slightest alarmed by a long column of armed men led by a duke.
As we approached, we were greeted by Gretchen and Ursula, the children of Eadmer, Earl Harold’s loyal companion throughout his many adventures. He had died several years earlier, but his children and grandchildren were a charming little brood of blue-eyed Anglo-Saxons deep in the forests of the Lot.
When we arrived in the courtyard, Harold’s steward was waiting for us. He bowed deeply to greet the Duke.
‘Welcome to St Cirq Lapopie, my Lord Duke. We are expecting you.’
‘How did you know we were coming, steward?’
‘We have carrier pigeons down in the valley. The Earl is devoted to them; they were very useful to him many years ago, when your grandmother stayed here, in my father’s time.’
The Lionheart looked shocked to hear that the Empress Matilda had visited St Cirq Lapopie. I turned to Father Alun, who just smiled knowingly.
Then, in his usual agile way, the Duke leapt from his horse.
‘Where is the old boy? I must tell him my news.’
‘Sire, he is waiting for you; he’s sitting over there, looking out over the river. But, my Lord, he’s very frail and soon we will need to get him back to his chamber.’
Father Alun and I followed the Duke as he went to sit next to the figure slumped in his chair at the edge of St Cirq Lapopie’s sheer cliffs. He was shaded from the sun by a wide canopy. Although it was very warm, he was wrapped in a heavy woollen blanket. He was, indeed, frail. He had lost a lot of weight since we saw him last, and his head was tilted to one side, resting on his right shoulder. His eyes were watery and bloodshot, and his face was pale and deeply creased by age. He was only a shadow of the man I had first met in Winchester.
His speech was a little slurred and his voice thin. It had lost the authority it once had, but it was still audible.
‘So, you have brought me some news.’
‘I have. You were right, I am the new heir apparent. Young Henry is dead.’
Not without some difficulty, the old Earl lifted his head slightly. He looked very sad.
‘I have heard about the squabbles within the family. Nothing changes in life, young Richard. I am sorry to hear that your brother is dead. I trust it was not by your hand?’
‘No, he died of the flux. Mind you, I would have been sorely tempted to end his days had I been given the chance.’
‘I see. It appears my good friends, Ranulf and Father Alun, have still not helped you acquire any wisdom.’
Earl Harold cast a glance in our direction before raising his voice as much as his years would allow. He tried to summon some anger in his tone.
‘Brothers do not kill brothers!’
‘They might if they had brothers like mine. Now I have another one to contend with. Little John is a man now, and my father has to find a domain for him.’
The Earl paused, to gather some breath.
‘But you will be King soon; then you will be the guardian of the Plantagenet dynasty. You must unite the family, not tear it apart.’
‘Yes, yes, but I’m not King yet. For now, that’s my father’s job.’
The Earl’s face softened and he attempted a smile, perhaps realizing that he had neither the time nor the tools to get involved in the affairs of the Plantagenets.
‘I am glad that you have come to see me, Richard. My days are almost at an end; knowing that you will soon be our King means that I can die in peace.’
‘Your steward told me that my grandmother visited here.’
‘She did, many times; she was very happy at St Cirq Lapopie.’
‘Will you tell me about you and her?’
‘She was beautiful and brave, the epitome of all that is good in both the Norman dynasty and that of England. I was honoured to know her, and privileged to spend so many happy times with her here. She loved England and the Empire and would be very proud to see you now – especially in this precious place. Father Alun
