The Wolf at the Door Read online

  Next day, he had sent his friend an emerald ring, though he could not bring himself to voice an apology. And, needless to say, they had never again played chess.

  Beyond a certain point, the king could no longer rein in his temper. But today he had good reason to try. He found it incredible that the bedridden cripple could lie there and announce that he owed nothing to England, and lecture him on the form and content of his summons, and demand reasons from a king. Well, the devil’s dung on that! Audemar would pledge allegiance, and he would ally himself with England, even if he was hauled behind the walls by his legs! By Christ’s wounds, he would… Oh, yes… Oh, yes…

  He waited, his head throbbing, his palm rubbed sore by the rings. Then, gradually, the blood drained from his face and he trusted himself to address the warlord.

  ‘Reasons, eh, Taillefer? Yes, why not, I’ll give you reasons. Your young porters can bring you up beside my chair, and we’ll take some wine and talk. Your own entourage may be seated, by seniority, alongside mine, or, if you prefer, together at one side of the table. As you wish.’ Once more in control of himself, he told the assembly, ‘Lord Audemar may be assured, we will not chew a fingernail against his will.’ He nodded at Peter de Vars and Alan d’Anville, and waited for them to lift the litter. They did so when Audemar said, ‘Very well. We’ll take one side of the table, without preference.’

  While John’s commanders made room for the Angoumois, servants appeared with glass goblets – a present from Germany – and stone bottles brought up from the riverside cellars of Chinon. The king resumed his place at the head of the table. He indicated that Audemar was to be served first. Then, when his own glass had been filled, he raised it in salute to the Iron-Cutter, and sprang his trap.

  * * *

  On the tree-filled plateau near Moncontour the ambush had gone as planned. The Lusignans had been surrounded, their escort cut down or disarmed, the twelve-year-old Isabelle there for the taking.

  From within one of the enclosed helmets a voice said, ‘Give her over, le Brun. You cannot defend her. Let her forward.’

  Hugh glanced at the girl, then at his grey-garbed assailants. He could not be sure which man had spoken. Perhaps that one, or the one to his right or left. Satan scar them, they were too well disguised. The same surcoats, the same mud-smeared shields, the ring of anonymous barrel-helms. And yet – there were differences, if one looked carefully enough, and he memorized them against the future. If he ever met a man with three shallow notches in the top of his shield, or with a moustache etched above the mouth-slit of his helmet, or with a flat-topped casque dented beside the left temple—

  ‘Give her over, le Brun.’ There was finality in the tone, and the circle contracted.

  Always the more impetuous of the two, Ralf of Exoudun cursed the ambushers as the issue of dripping demons and of rabbits, swollen by disease. It was well known that devils could mate with animals or, assuming the human forms of incubi and succubi, pass as mortals. Their offspring were hideously deformed; men with the body of a toad, women with bat’s wings that had to be bandaged down, lest they spread during the night. Everybody had glimpsed them, skulking in the shadows, or moving about the country under cover of mist or rain…

  It was not an age in which such an insult could be ignored, and the ambushers reached for their helmets. Their thrice-a-day rehearsals were forgotten and, if their spokesman had not snarled a warning they would have shed their masks and proved Ralf the liar he was. No demon had sired them, and the damned Exoudun would do well to acknowledge it!

  As soon as he had managed to restrain his men, the spokesman again demanded that Hugh surrender the heiress. ‘We will kill you both, Lusignans, if we must. We’ve been given the licence. Let the Lady Isabelle come forward, or we’ll dispatch you and take her anyway. You have no choice, and we’d as willingly kill you as let you go on tainting the air.

  Give her over, le Brun, or be finished with.’

  Hugh and Ralf exchanged an agonized glance, then turned away before Isabelle could catch their eye. They had their enemies, of course, who did not, and they could name fifty without drawing breath. But why would anyone wish to harm the heiress of Angoulême? Who, on God’s earth, had fifty masked enemies at the age of twelve?

  The brothers did not speak, though each privately decided that the girl was being taken for ransom. The ambushers were merely brigands, who had murdered unsuspecting knights and robbed them of their armour. Or perhaps they were, themselves, dishonoured knights, who found ransom more attractive than reward. Either way, Isabelle would be freed in a week or two, for a price.

  The spokesman told them to discard their belts and main-gauche daggers. ‘Now move apart.’ He nodded cumbersomely to the men beside him. ‘Escort the lady. If the Lusignans resist, cut them away.’

  The girl began to whimper. She crossed her arms in front of her face, as though to repel the devil. Then she sat still, a faithful, pathetic figure.

  His eyes on the attackers, Hugh said, ‘Don’t distress yourself, lady. They dare not harm you. You’ve been taken for ransom, that’s all. You will be returned to me within—’ He raised his voice to address the spokesman, whom he had identified by the nod. ‘What is your price, brigand? How long do you allow us to raise the money?’ He glared at the narrow eye-slits and punctured face-plate. ‘Well, pig? State your terms.’

  The man did not reply, but waggled the point of his sword in ominous warning. Then, as the brothers surrendered their belts and daggers, he told his companions to collect all the sound horses. It was unfortunate for those members of Hugh’s party who had been wounded. They would have to return on foot to Moncontour, or wait for a cart to be sent out from the castle.

  The Lusignans dismounted, and Ralf launched into another flow of invective. But this time the ambushers did not rise to the bait. Exoudun could believe what he liked; they knew they had not been spawned by devils. Nevertheless, they hoped that one day they could meet Ralf face-to-face, blade on blade, and prove it.

  As Isabelle was led forward, rigid in the saddle, her arms still crossed, the uninjured horses were divided out, one to a rider, and the withdrawal began. Hugh and Ralf stood together, a natural rallying point for their escort. The grass at the foot of the hill was flecked with blood and littered with the bodies of the dead and wounded. At a glance, five of the escort had been slain in the initial attack, a further five or six cut from the saddle. Most of the injured palfreys would have to be destroyed, and it was with this in mind that Hugh roared, ‘For pity’s sake! Leave one knife with us! Your killing may be over for the day, but ours is not.’

  The spokesman held his position, the last to withdraw. The heavy barrel-helm turned and he gazed at le Brun. ‘Horses are valuable,’ he said. ‘It is a pity they had to suffer. I would much rather it was you.’ Then he drew his own commonplace dagger, and sent it wheeling towards the edge of the forest. He did not want his act of mercy rewarded with a knife in the back.

  Members of the escort went off to search the undergrowth, while the brothers watched their assailants trot away among the trees. When they had gone, Ralf said, ‘Have you no idea who they—’ then stopped, because there were too many suspects. If brigands, it could be anyone. If known enemies, well, as they had decided earlier, there were fifty to choose from, without pausing for breath.

  * * *

  Once clear of the plateau, the ambushers picked up speed. The countryside was still thickly wooded, but there were paths and, for the last fifteen miles, a well-ridden track. Obedient to orders, the riders remained silent and anonymous, their leather gambesons slimy with the sweat that trickled from beneath their helmets. However, they were prepared to tolerate a few more hours discomfort, for they had fulfilled their mission and looked forward to the promised recompense. Each uninjured man would receive three marks apiece and attend a celebration banquet, to which he could bring his wife, mistress, or a whore from the town. Those who had been wounded, and there were three or four who had sustained super
ficial cuts, these would be given an extra coin and excused duty until their wounds had healed; generous compensation for such an everyday hazard.

  The heiress had stopped crying and resigned herself to her fate. She did not know who had abducted her, or why, only that the pleasant morning ride had ended in bloodshed, and that neither her future husband nor his ill-tempered brother had lifted a blade to save her. Perhaps, as le Brun had said, she was being taken for ransom, though she was no longer convinced that her abductors were mere brigands. Her greatest fear, at first, was that she would be raped and defiled, but that, too, seemed unlikely. The discipline of the riders was too strong. Brigands would never have kept silent after an ambush. And, if they had intended to ravish her, they would have done so by now, their lust emboldened by the darkness and secrecy of the forest. Nor, she realized, would common felons be riding three-by-three, without jostling or falling back. These men, these murderous thieves, were soldiers of a sort, albeit rancid ones.

  * * *

  Audemar’s late arrival at Chinon had upset John’s calculations; that and the old man’s arrogance. The king had originally intended to treat the warlord as a victim of circumstances, and appeal to him to reconsider his position. He would only exert pressure if the Iron-Cutter proved intransigent.

  But Audemar had not appeared until midday, and had been lain on his tilted bed like some Eastern potentate, critical of the summons and claiming to be aloof from the problems of England. Things had started badly and, as a result, John’s courtesy stopped with the offer of wine.

  The meeting was twice interrupted by an exchange of blows, the first as one of Audemar’s barons struck out at some granted insult from the other side of the table, the next because a courtier objected to the suggestion that King John would do better to give his allegiance to Taillefer. The scuffles had stopped short of sword-play, but the atmosphere remained tense.

  From time to time John glanced at the main door, and the visitors prepared to jump back from the table, suspicious that he had reinforcements crouched outside. Audemar’s two young watchdogs made ready to drag their master into a corner, where they could best protect him from attack. They had both refused the wine, for fear it was poisoned, and had remained silent and watchful at the head of the litter.

  Broken only by the two outbursts of violence, the discussion continued throughout the afternoon. Those barons who were loyal to the king applauded his views, whilst the visitors shrugged aside his offers and ignored his threats. The mass of the assembly said little, for their curiosity would only be satisfied by results. If John could gain Audemar’s allegiance, well and good. But so far the high-heeled king had made little impression on the warlord. He would have to do better than this if he was to earn the respect of Normandy and Anjou and the rest. A lot better, for at the moment all they could see was John Softsword, outwitted by a cripple on a couch.

  The light in the narrow windows had weakened when the king left his chair and spoke with someone at the door. Audemar’s men acknowledged that the caller was alone, though they did not share John’s brief smile of satisfaction as he returned to his seat.

  ‘So,’ he told them, ‘we’ve been around and around and agreed on nothing. I have stated my position and made my offers, and they’ve been rejected. However, I will outline the situation one last time, and you’d do well to listen.’ His voice was firm, and it was clear that whatever he had heard at the door had imbued him with fresh confidence. The assembly waited in silence, while Audemar beckoned to his watchdogs, who hauled him upright on the bed. Then the king said his piece.

  ‘Some four months ago,’ he reiterated, ‘my mother, the dowager Queen Eleanor, was held against her will in the castle of Lusignan, in Poitou. She was restricted there by that selfseeking troublemaker Hugh le Brun. And he, as ever, was abetted by the tragedy of Exoudun, his brother Ralf. Now, as I told you earlier – as you know without my telling you - my mother is not only Duchess of Aquitaine, but also Countess of La Marche. And, as again you’re aware, La Marche shares a common border with Lusignan, and it has long been Hugh’s desire to secure that fertile county for himself.

  ‘Well, messires, four months ago he achieved his desire. My mother was on her way back from a visit to La Marche, and was, of necessity, passing through Lusignan. Hugh invited her to stay the night at his castle, and she accepted. It was naive of her, perhaps, but let me remind you, my lords, Queen Eleanor is seventy-nine years old.’ He let his gaze slide from courtier to visitor, from the suzerains at the table to the guard sergeants who flanked the door. ‘I doubt if any of you know a woman who’s so advanced in age. Within her eightieth year, and no longer keeping pace with deceit. She grows weary and welcomes a fire and a warm bed. She does not expect to find the door barred in the morning, nor her servants locked away in some other part of the castle. But that’s how it was at Lusignan, thanks to le Brun.’

  The baron gazed at him, expressionless. Eleanor of Aquitaine was, indeed, the woman of her time. Once married to King Louis of France, she had divorced him, turned on her heel and married King Henry of England. She’d borne two children by King Louis, and then during her marriage to King Henry she had given birth to Richard, John and seven other offspring. She was everything Softsword claimed; still elegant and clear-eyed and armed with a coruscating wit. Yet the occupants of the Long Hall were surprised by this display of filial devotion, for the world knew that Eleanor despised him, regarding him as so much dust on Richard’s grave.

  The king leaned forward, not quite able to reach the table, then turned to Audemar and smiled an apology. ‘I’m carried away by personal— It’s just that I see her there, trapped in that place, too frail to hammer on the door. She will be eighty years old in a few months and—’

  ‘So you said,’ Audemar growled. ‘Almost eighty, and lagging behind deceit.’

  John nodded. ‘Yes, that’s so.’ Then he said yes again, and his smile shrivelled as he realized that the cripple did not think him sincere. Ah, well, Audemar, I’ve not yet reached the best part of the tale, the part none of you know…

  He sat back again, arranged his robes and decided how best to impart the news. ‘Yes,’ he repeated, ‘too frail to pound on the door, and held prisoner until she agreed to surrender La Marche. And now what, Taillefer? What to do now that my mother’s property is in the hands of the Lusignans? What position should we take, eh, you and I?’

  ‘I answered that question hours ago, and I’ve echoed it a dozen times since. I am not involved. Four simple words, my lord king. I am not involved. Neither in your quarrel with le Brun, nor in England’s conflict with France.’

  ‘You puzzle me,’ John said. ‘You refuse to give your allegiance and expect me to overlook what is an act of defiance, a direct challenge to the crown. Don’t you think your refusal arouses our suspicions? If you will not swear fealty to England, it might well be because you have already done so to Philip Augustus.’

  ‘Though I have not.’

  ‘Ah, we have your word for it, and are supposed to be satisfied.’

  ‘I cannot say what will satisfy you, lord king—’

  John nodded quickly and flapped a hand. ‘Very well, we’ll leave that for the moment. Let’s turn to your connection with Hugh le Brun. You are his neighbor—’

  ‘If you mean my domain lies south of his, yes, that’s true.’

  ‘I mean far more than that. I mean that you and— Well, I’ll put it another way. Le Brun is my sworn enemy, the creature who held Queen Eleanor against her will until, under duress, she relinquished La Marche. I shall recapture that county in time, and return it to my mother. But first, it was necessary to balance the scales. To take pebble for pebble, so to speak.’ Audemar realized what was coming. He heaved himself forward, threatening to topple from the bed. ‘What are you saying, Angevin? What are you saying?’

  ‘That I have repaid le Brun in kind. The only difference is one of relationship and age. He seized my mother, and now I, in turn, have taken his betrothed. Yo
u say you are not involved – your simple words – but what choice have you, when the bride-to-be is your daughter, Isabelle of Angoulême?’

  He allowed Audemar’s knights to steady him on the litter, and listened to the stir of astonishment among the barons. How attentive they were now. How eager to share the victory. How well-behaved.

  He pointed down at his visitor. ‘We know you, Taillefer! We know you have wrapped yourself in alliance with Hugh of Lusignan, terrified lest he follow his seizure of La Marche with that of Angoulême. And worse, we know you gave le Brun your only daughter as surety for your protection, then let your pretty porters carry you here so that you could brazen it out. Christ’s tears, Audemar, if you do not break with the Lusignans and side with me, I shall have your daughter walled up and turn Angoulême into a swamp!

  ‘You may be called Iron-Cutter, but you’ll be blunted if you go against me! Iam young, and slight, and an easy target for nicknames, but that makes me all the more dangerous. Don’t ever go for me, my Lord of Angoulême; I am a wolf in the forest, and I was raised among the shadows, how else would I have survived?

  ‘Look at the table. It’s ringed by influential men, intelligent men, yet not one of them anticipated my scheme. They see themselves as lions and bears and destriers, all fine, rampant beasts. But I have run around them, as I’ve run around you. Disavow your treaty with the Lusignans, and do it without. Otherwise, you never had a daughter, or a domain!’

  * * *

  Before he left Chinon, the old man swore fealty to the English crown, thus breaking his alliance with Lusignan and La Marche.

  Hugh and Ralf found the borders of Angoulême closed to them, and learned that Isabelle had been abducted on the orders of King John. They appealed to Audemar, who told them he was powerless to act. They appealed to John, who threw their letters on the fire and evicted their emissaries. Then, as a last resort, they rode north to Paris and appealed to the shrewd and chilly Philip Augustus, King of France.