Eventually, a truce was agreed for a year; trade would be resumed and prisoners exchanged. But there was not even a handshake to seal it. The two kings just rode away, without either of them ever acknowledging the other’s presence. Nevertheless, the pact was signed and the deed done.
Once again, the King had used his head rather than his muscle. He needed to refill his coffers, re-equip his army and rest his men. He also wanted to oversee my work during the completion of the Castle of the Rock.
While the Lionheart had been fighting the French, I had been fighting the hourglass and the sundial. My arithmetic improved dramatically as I used the master masons to help me calculate the rate of progress of the walls against the passing of the days. The arrival of the autumn of 1197 slowed things down, but I paid the stonecutters and the masons a daily bonus in bad weather to keep them working. Once we got the flow right from the quarry to the masons’ yard, and from there to the building platforms on the walls, the rate of daily progress became consistent.
I enjoyed the challenge, but as sleep became a luxury, fatigue became overwhelming. Even when I did fall asleep, my dreams – which were mainly nightmarish in content – involved the incessant rhythm of the mason’s mallet and endless miles of limestone walls that, more often than not, tumbled down on top of me.
By the middle of October, I had the Lionheart’s company at Les Andelys on a full-time basis once more. His energy was as relentless as usual.
‘You have done a remarkable job, Ranulf, and you’re on schedule. Do you have a firm completion date for me?’
‘I do, sire, the middle of January.’
‘Good, let’s say the Feast of the Epiphany.’
‘But, my Lord, that’s the sixth!’
‘I know, but it would be ideal to raise the Three Lions on the Castle of the Rock on such an auspicious day.’
In early December, I offered the men extra shifts. They were already earning small fortunes, but most of them grabbed with both hands the opportunity to earn even more. We took no rest, except for half a day on Christmas morning so that mass could be said.
By Tuesday 6 January 1198, we were ready.
It was like a coronation. Queen Eleanor came, and the Grand Quintet were there; most of the dignitaries from the Empire south of the Channel attended, as did several from England. Drums, horns and trumpets heralded the raising of the Lionheart’s standard, while the 6,000 men who had built the goliath, and the thousands more in the local area who had supported them, threw up a roar that rolled down the valley of the Seine and must have been heard in Paris.
Even though it was January, after some early-morning mist in the valley had cleared, the sky was deep blue and the sun shone brightly to welcome the King’s masterpiece. It was an astonishing sight; its limestone walls were almost pure white and its gleaming towers looked like giant sentinels, each with their pointed helmet of bright-red tiles.
The castle had been completed exactly to the King’s original plan. It was a brilliant piece of design that the senior mason later confessed to me he thought could never be built. Even though the interiors were bare, and there was no provision for cooking or sleeping, the King insisted on a feast for the dignitaries in the main hall of the keep. He also decided that he would spend the night on its floor, with only a large fire in the hearth and a simple palliasse to sleep on.
Later that evening, after eating well and consuming vast quantities of his favourite wine from Aquitaine, the King thanked me for everything I had achieved.
‘I have signed over a significant bonus for you at Winchester; you must build a house for yourself in England that is an appropriate reward for what you have done here.’
‘Thank you, sire. I have enjoyed the challenge. I had serious doubts when I began. But where there’s a will, there’s a way.’
‘You must be missing Negu and your northern shires.’
‘I am, my Lord. As it will take several months to finish the interiors, I had thought I would send for Negu so that she could stay until everything is completed.’
‘Excellent idea! I will organize an escort for her first thing in the morning.’
His expression then changed; he looked troubled.
‘Berengere is ill, in mind and body. She is frail and her mind wanders. I have spoken to my mother; we are going to take good care of her. But when I have Philip where I want him, hopefully at the end of this year, there will have to be a divorce. Mother has several candidates in mind, including Yolanda, the sister of Baldwin of Flanders. She is twenty-three, but is still intact, or so they say. Her father refused to let her marry until he found the right suitor, but now that he’s dead and the young count thinks the world of me, the time is right. I must have an heir soon, or we will be back where we were when my great-grandfather died, with dynastic war breaking out.’
‘What is she like?’
‘I spoke with her twice in Bruges, when I was with her brother. She has the body of a goddess and makes my sap rise just by being in the same room as her. She’ll give me a nursery of heirs, I’m sure of it.’
‘Is the match made?’
‘My mother assures me it is all but agreed.’
To my delight, Negu appeared at Les Andelys in April 1198, by which time I was, in effect, the Castellan of the Castle of the Rock.
The King would make frequent appearances in between military sorties and diplomatic excursions, but even when he was here, he would usually go hunting, leaving me to run the castle, complete with my own garrison.
So when I greeted Negu, it was as a lord of his own domain. It was a source of great amusement for her.
‘Well, my Lord, I am honoured to be admitted to your mighty “Castle on the Rock”; it is so big!’
She had a mischievous grin on her face and, as always, I enjoyed her playful teasing. It was good to see her again.
‘How is the priory?’
‘You will be pleased to know, it will be finished soon.’
‘Well, we can start building again. The King has given me a gratuity to build a new hall, just for the two of us.’
‘Oh, Ranulf, the King is so generous. Let’s make a start as soon as we’re back. In England everyone talks about him all the time. They say he’s like the Kings of England before the Conquest – brave and strong. They all love him. If only they knew what we know!’
‘Perhaps they do. People have strong instincts, and perhaps they sense his pedigree.’
‘How much longer do you have to stay?’
‘Probably until the autumn. Will you stay with me?’
‘And enjoy the delights of your huge edifice on the rock? Of course!’
The truce between the King and the French did not hold beyond the spring, and 1198 became another year of war, with the Lionheart inexorably wearing down the King of France. The climax came at the end of September when the King mustered a large force and crossed the River Epte at Dangu and began to encircle the French stronghold at Gisors.
Philip responded with an army of 300 knights and over 2,000 infantry. The French advance was seen by the Lionheart’s patrols and, with his usual gusto and even though the contingents of William Marshal and Mercadier were some distance away, he immediately led a cavalry charge into the heart of the French ranks.
Philip was caught by surprise; his cavalry was still coming on in a thin column. The vanguard of the Lionheart’s attack cut the column in two, causing panic. Unable to form up into a phalanx, the French crumbled under the weight of the Lionheart’s assault. Within minutes, Philip’s force took flight.
Three dozen French knights were drowned in the Epte when too many tried to cross a narrow bridge. King
