Philip himself was dragged from the water, only moments away from drowning. The infantry scattered in all directions, many of them running headlong into the cavalry of Marshal and Mercadier, which cut them down in droves. They also detained over 100 of Philip’s knights as they tried to escape across open ground.
When the arithmetic was done later, it was calculated that the King had routed the French force with just 130 men, 30 knights and 4 conrois of cavalry. Most importantly of all, the knights killed in the skirmish, and those captured later, were the cream of King Philip’s army, a grievous loss.
Badly wounded by these losses and with winter about to bite, Philip asked for a truce until the turn of the year, when the two protagonists would meet to discuss a long-term peace agreement. Although this represented excellent news for the King’s cause, it did delay the departure Negu and I had planned, pushing it forward into 1199. That was not a disaster in itself, but I was rapidly approaching my fiftieth year. My bones were beginning to ache – especially when exposed to the cold winds that wrapped themselves around the Castle of the Rock, turning its eighteen-feet-thick walls into an ice house.
We spent the winter emptying the surrounding forests to pile their timbers on to our fires, but the heat produced by the hefty logs never seemed to extend beyond the air a few feet away from the hearth. At night, our bed warmers made very little difference, no matter how hot the embers we put into them. I thanked God that I had Negu’s body to comfort me – a source of heat that did not seem to need too much fuel to make it glow.
On 13 January 1199, in the depths of what was a particularly harsh winter, the two men who had been close friends for years and had embarked on the Third Great Crusade together, but who had since become mortal enemies, met once more. Such was the depth of their animosity, Philip remained on horseback, while the Lionheart stayed on board the galley that had brought him up the Seine. Ten yards apart, the two men shouted their terms at one another. Philip agreed to accept the position as it stood in September 1198; he thus conceded the Vexin, which the Lionheart had managed to wrestle from him. Most significantly, for Negu and myself, the peace agreement was extended for five years.
The Lionheart returned to the Castle of the Rock in triumph. He had restored the Plantagenet Empire to where it had been before he left for the Holy Land.
He was jubilant.
‘Ranulf, take your lady home with you; your work is done.’
34. Pierre Basil
Negu and I were close to leaving the Castle of the Rock, at the beginning of February 1199, when the Lionheart came to our chamber with a mix of fury and despair in his eyes.
‘The beautiful Yolanda has just got married! I had no idea, my mother told me that an agreement had been made. They must have deceived her. There has been a plot hatched here, I swear it; it is either Philip or his allies.’
Negu took the King’s arm and led him to a chair.
‘I’m so sorry, sire. Can we help?’
‘When are you leaving?’
‘We were going to leave next week.’
‘Come south with me. Mercadier is having some local problems in the Limousin. I can’t fight here, because of the truce. But I can find a battle or two down there. It will give me time to think about where I’m going to find a bride!’
We consoled the King for over an hour and sent for wine to ease the process. I then tried to persuade him to travel in the opposite direction.
‘Come home to England, my Lord. We’ll help you find an English rose, and she can produce sturdy sons for you to add more English blood to your noble pedigree.’
He smiled and looked at Negu.
‘What do you think? You’re a Basque; don’t you think we need some warmer blood in our lineage?’
Negu looked at me with a mischievous grin on her face.
‘Perhaps, sire. But in my experience, the English can be quite warm!’
At Negu’s teasing words, the King’s disposition became much sunnier.
‘When is England at its best?’
‘In June, my Lord.’
‘Then let’s have a concordat. You come with me to the Limousin until the spring, and I will come to your priory in June, where I will make your man the Earl of Lancaster and you can find me an English bride.’
Spending a few months in the Limousin with the noblest man in Europe was hardly an imposition – especially as my reward would be an earldom. If it came to pass, I would be the first Englishman to receive an earldom since the days of King Harold of Wessex, over 130 years before.
Negu, who had developed the same indomitable audacity as her mentor, Hildegard, linked her arm through the King’s.
‘We will keep company with you in the south; it will be a privilege. If you’re to wed a fair English rose, you had better have your fill of the dark maids of the south beforehand.’
We mustered a modest force and left for the south in the middle of March. Mercadier was at odds with the Counts of Angouleme and Limoges, both of whom were supporters of Philip of France, and was besieging the castle of Chalus-Chabrol. It was not far from Poitiers, and the King felt comfortable in the land of his youth.
When Mercadier showed the Lionheart the disposition of the castle and its tall tower, he issued his orders with typical speed and decisiveness.
‘Bring up the arbalests to keep the defenders’ heads down. The sappers need a solid canopy to work under, from where they can dig under the walls. Let’s make a start!’
Compared to the sort of challenge he had faced in the past, Chalus was like swatting a fly. There were no more than forty people within its walls, including women and children. Within two days, the King was fidgety with boredom.
On the evening of 26 March, we had eaten an early supper and the King was pacing the floor of his tent. We had eaten a roast of boar and the Lionheart had drunk more than his usual share of the rich Claret wine of Graves, his favourite. Not even the emollient charms of the local girls could calm his restless mood.
‘Sire, there are two very pretty young fillies outside the tent. Would you like me to bring them in?’
‘You can tell the girls to wait, Ranulf.’
He was still agitated and needed the joy he derived from combat much more than the delight he obtained from female flesh.
‘Ask my sergeant to bring my arbalest and some quivers of quarrels. Let’s see if I can pick off a few marksmen on their battlements.’
‘I will, my Lord, but I’ll also get your page to bring your maille.’
‘I don’t need armour. It’s almost dark; they won’t be able to see me, let alone hit me.’
Obduracy was one of the King’s hallmarks, and no amount of persuasion would convince him to wear his hauberk. Despite his obstinacy, I made sure his Sergeant-at-arms and two of his men brought their shields as protection, should any of the local arbalests manage to get a quarrel close to the Lionheart’s large frame.
He took a flask of wine with him. When we reached the walls of Chalus, he began to loose his quarrels at the battlements, even though there were no defenders to be seen. It was almost dark and the night air was beginning to chill us. So, reluctantly, the King gave up the futile exercise of trying to hit targets that would not present themselves.
‘Let’s go back; it’s getting cold. I think I might warm myself with one of your young ladies. I hope they will be an easier target for my trusty quarrel.’
The Lionheart handed his arbalest to his sergeant and turned to walk back to his tent. As he did so, a thin but strident voice cried from the battlements above us.
‘
Other than the cry, none of us saw or heard anything in the gloom. But as the King turned to see where the
