Chapter 11: In the King's Chambers

It was King Henry who marched down to the gatehouse of the chateau at the head of a force of several loyal guards who had formerly been locked up by Gervaise. With us are the four proud Squires of Breton in borrowed tabards bearing the two lions of King Henry’s coat of arms, Father Andrew, the Bishop of Rouen in his clerical robes, the newly knighted Sir Hugh Smith, Sir William Archer of Bartonshire, and myself, Sir Robert Archer of Oaklea, all accompany our King, dragging along the sorry Gervaise in wrist and ankle shackles behind us, the arrows still festooned in his wounded appendage and shoulder, in agony after he was roughly levered off King Henry’s throne, once the ducal seat of his grandfather and father.

Lady Elinor was on the roof of the Chateau behind us, armed with a longbow and above a hundred full sized arrows she found in the chateau’s limited armoury. I was sure that even in the gloom, she had already beaded claims on the first half-dozen darts among those that abused us just those few short hours ago in Caen.

“Hail loyal subjects,” the King bellows as he approaches the still arguing groups of leaderless men-at-arms, “for those who I count still loyal among ye, ye will be the only ones who will live to see the morrow beyond the first light fingers of dawn. So, declare yeselves now! Those who are for the Crown of the Conqueror’s son — that’s me, you dolts — stand ye to my right. Those of ye who wish free Normans to live under the yoke of Louis le Gros the King of the Franks, or my useless nephew William Clito, too afraid of his own shadow to venture out of the Ile de France in the daylight, or this snivelling wretch behind me who was once my nephew, Gervaise De La Warre the Count of Picardy, stand ye to my left. And if you look for your traitorous Chevalier, Raoul du Caen, he was fed to the crows earlier today, beaten in full armoured combat with my newest knight here, Sir Hugh Smith, who killed the mounted and charging Chevalier with a single horseshoe.”

As he waves to his new diminutive knight, Sir Hugh pushes up his face plate to grin at them all with menace, then lightly taps two horseshoes together, which brings a hushed silence to all assembled, as their imaginations run through the possible scenarios leading to the end of their Chevalier.

Almost as a man, the thirty to forty armed men drop their weapons and shuffle themselves over to the right side of the King. None moved over to the left, where suddenly there erupted a crop of arrows in the grass, finally set in a semi-circle taking, and I counted from start to finish, less than thirty seconds, a rate of nearly twenty to the minute. Very impressive exhibition of archery by one special Lady archer.

“Wise men,” King Henry shouts to all, “Now, find accommodation in the village, which you will yourselves pay generously for, or else ride home to Caen and bury your old Chevalier and await a new one that I will promote from within the ranks of my Black Knights. And some of you sort out dry baffins sufficient to burn this wretch at dawn before you go, or I’ll chase every one of you to the death for sport. There are nine more rebel bodies waiting by the last path from the forest to the south west. You dozen men at the end there, take torches, find the bodies and drag them back here to feed to the fire, I want to see naught of them on the morrow but a pile of ash. And if any of you see any of my servants in the village, while buying those baffins, tell them that their Rex is at home at last and hungrily awaiting his damned supper! Dismissed!”

We march back to the chateau, all of us, including King Henry, grinning like monkeys. Our King is a large, bold, brave knight who never ceases to amaze those who swear to follow his rightful fealty.

I take the opportunity to slap the newest “Black Knight” on his back, which forces Hugh’s face plate to snap shut. It would have felt good not being the newest Black Knight any more, if I didn’t know that King Henry only said he had knighted my friend in jest to unsettle the rebellion. As for the back-slap and face plate snapping shut, my older fellow knights once did that to me when I was first time a knight!

Hugh and I, and all four of the Breton Squires help us gather our horses from la rue de chateau and bring them through the now almost deserted gatehouse, where just two posted guards salute us smartly and direct us to the stables.

After seeing to the horses as ordinary squires do, in comradely spirit, properly introducing themselves, Squires Alain, Gilbert, Giles and Jaimes, in order of age from 20 down to 17. They had all lost their Knights in battle on behalf of Normandy with Breton against the Napolitans and been abandoned by their Breton battle commander. They were grateful to the Lady Elinor, as one of her Breton stewards had drawn their plight to her attention and she had adopted them just a few weeks ago. They now feel that, having been involved in this adventure and a positive result, that they may end up once more squired to worthy Knights and become Knights in their turn.

They had all heard of my father, the story of Alwen and Will Archer were sung by troubadours in every court and tavern, and they had all heard the tales of the Lady Archer, daughter of the King and her archer paramour who saved the King with two arrows in the heart of his would-be assassin at the same time! Now they are delighted to fully understand that the two archers, who they saw with their own eyes, defeat two of the King’s warships, one of which they sank with just a handful of arrows between them, were the very same couple who saved the King’s life once again today. All four agreed, whether they became Knights or not, they had such a wealth of stories stored up that they would never have to buy an ale or goblet of wine in an inn for the rest of their lives!

Then Hugh opens his big mouth, while we were still brushing down horses by flickering rushlight in the stables, “Did you ever hear the story of the archer who shot a rapist in the buttocks and made four wounds with just the one arrow?”

“Aye!” they all cry, each saying something along the lines that hardly a night goes by in any hall without it being mentioned by one raconteur or another, with several versions doing the rounds of the halls of manored knights.

Hugh simply stands back and points his open palms to me.

“No,” Gilbert gasps, “Many rumours say it happened to Gervaise the Short, but none are sure where, when or who or even if...”

“It’s true!” Hugh insists. “I was there with Henry, a dear friend who died at Gervaise’s hands only days after the event, and the Lady Elinor was the girl that the traitor Gervaise was attempting to rape. It was nigh on four years ago in the forest of Bere in the Midland Heart of England. We didn’t want to kill Gervaise or his men, poor Henry was most insistent on that point, so we tried to frighten the Count’s men with arrows sent astray, but Rob here thought the instruction ‘not killing’ left him enough latitude to cure the Count’s ardour with four pinpricks in the fleshy orbs of his arse!”

They laugh, before Hugh adds, “ ... and now in the hall here, our Archer Robin, and the Lady Elinor have shot him again with two piercing wounds through arm and shoulder, so he has four wounds once more for his trouble!”

We are a happy laughing, nay, giggling band as we ascend the steps to the chateau, the horses now clean, fed and watered, comfortable with clean straw. As soon as we enter the entrance hall, checked over by two guards, one new and one who was in the chateau when we arrived.

“Can you direct me to the rooms where my father Sir William Archer is billeted?” I ask of the man-at-arms, that Elinor had addressed as Charles.

“Certainly, Sir Robert,” Charles replies, and I cringe as I am certain I will never get used to the title, “up the stairs, to your right, third door along; Father Andrew, you and Sir Hugh here are billeted together the next door along. His Majesty’s l’Intendent thought you’d be happiest together, L’écuyers Breton are in the room beyond yours. However, you Sir Robert, His Majesty left his precise instruction that you were to be directed to his chambers as soon as you returned from the stables.”

He snaps a finger and a man servant instantly appears at his elbow. They exchange a few whispered words in Norman French too quick for me to follow, and the servant indicates that I follow him and he moves off at a smart lick and I rush to follow. At the top of the stairs I turn left while my friends turn right.

“Ah, Sir Robert,” King Henry greets me as another servant guarding the door announces me and ushers me into an office room, part of the King’s apartments. He is standing by the fire warming his royal backside. He has changed aready for his late dinner and stands there in his finery, while I am sweaty, having dealt with the horses and realise I have been living in the same clothes for three days now. Sitting around the fire in comfortable chairs are the Queen Adeliza, who Elinor always calls Adele, sitting next to where the King stands, smiling sweetly on me, as I know from previous meetings that she is indeed a very sweet and beautiful young woman. I bow low to her highness, my respect honest and true. Next to her is Margrett the Lady Pitstone, looking surprisingly well and smiling sweetly upon me, I bow to her too and return her smile with a delighted one of my own, a woman I have grown to revere. I presume the next lady is Elinor’s recently widowed half-sister Matilda, granddaughter of St Margaret of Scotland and therefore also a cousin of Elinor as well. I have never met the Empress before. She is haughty, which detracts otherwise from her beauty somehow, she holds her face as if I am a bad smell under her nose, which makes me even more conscious that I do indeed smell bad. The last lady sitting is Rebecca a dark-haired beauty who adds her gracious and understanding smile to make me feel less uncomfortable in their presence.

Finally, standing up on the opposite side of the fire is Elinor, who, when our eyes meet, rolls her eyes skyward at me at my grubby attire and then deflects her criticism with one of her glorious smiles.

I know she is saying in her head, ‘even though the King insisted immediate attendance, why did you not have the common sense to insist on washing and changing first, you country oaf?’

“My apologies, your Majesties, Ladies, I have come direct from mucking out the stables, ready for the comfort of our faithful mounts, and was told to come to your chambers immediately I returned.”

“Of course,” booms King Henry, speaking slowly and clearly for my benefit, “I left instructions you were to come immediately, you will have plenty of time to wash and change before supper. Now, down to business. Your friends the squires of Breton will be adopted by me and incorporated into my 150 strong Order of Black Knights, Sir Robert, so their days of mucking out stables will one day be over as they eventually take on new squires themselves. Now, leave us room to talk frankly as man and king, ladies, and I will see you all at supper.”

The ladies who were sitting, rose and proceed to leave the room, Matilda at the head of them as if she couldn’t leave fast enough. Lady Margrett took both my hands in her delicate ones as she stopped in front of me.

“Robin, I now hear that you have more adventures to add to your expanding annals. May you have many more and I live long enough to enjoy the pleasure of hearing them retold over and over.”

“My Lady. Are you all aright? Gervaise said he had treated you ill, and you had a relapse and were still poorly?”

“No, the despised ‘Giles’ is not the only actor to be convincing in our family, I feigned my frailty so that Adele and Maudie could be released from his odious company to care for me in a distant chamber. I was more value to him alive than dead, earlier today, and would be at least until the Royal Court were convinced of the legality of my English Common Law marriage to Henry and therefore the legality of ‘Giles’’ claim to act as Ducal and Queen’s Consort to our daughter.”

Naturally I have heard of the different wedding types before, as my parents were married first under this law of Friedelehe. It is a marriage of convenience practised under Anglo-Saxon Law, where no property rights are exchanged. But, however convenient the partnership of this ‘half-marriage’ may be, the resulting children are regarded in law as wholly legitimate, even if the partners have other legal marriages extant. Instead of a dowry, a morgangabe, in Lady Margrett’s case the Cornflower Jewel, can be given. Such a Friedelehe marriage can be conveyed into a Montehe, a dowered marriage which even more protects the woman’s legal position, and the legitimacy of her children, by the giving of bridewealth. The Emperor Charlemagne is the most famous product of a Friedelehe, and he became King of the Franks and the first of the Holy Roman Emperors. Elinor has never been a full part of the Royal Household, so has never been referred to as a princess. King Henry has kept her safe from court intrigue, but if anything happened to the childless Matilda, if she was accepted as Queen, Elinor, as second in line to the throne becomes a larger pawn in the game of kingship. I can see, as can us all, that Gervaise planned to murder the Empress Matilda as soon as King Henry was dead and Elinor accepted by the Royal Court and Bishop as a legal princess.

“Well, I for one am very pleased that you are feeling and looking so well,” I say to Lady Margrett.

“Thank you, my dear Robin, I will look forward to seeing you in the hall shortly.”

Rebecca silently embraced me too, as she left the room, feeling words were unnecessary. She was like an Aunt to me, a dear friend of my sister and adopted mother. I had known Rebecca since I was but a child, as she and her father Jacob made many visits to our humble inn in Oaklea, investing in wells, watermills, brewhouses and improved roads, all monies coming from my father’s longbow trading and archery tournament wins, eventually making the Manor of Oaklea a valuable and profitable enterprise, and the major part of my heritage.

Queen Adele also embraces me, despite my appearance, and gently kisses both my cheeks as she holds my head in her hands, saying in French, “Thank you, Robin, for once more saving my dear husband’s life.” Then she departs through a different door, presumably to chambers deeper into the King’s apartments.

Lastly Elinor stands before me, smiling, but wrinkling her nose. “Your Mother has sorted out some change of clothes for you, but you need to wash yourself very thoroughly first, you smell of horse and a little worse.” She holds my head in both hands too, but kisses me briefly on the mouth, before running off giggling after Margaret and Matilda, leaving behind her a lingering smell of lavender soap.

“Sit down, son,” King Henry says in his Norman French, “you look about ready to fall down.”

I look at the embroidered chair cushions and reply in my halting French. “I stand, if you mind not, Sire, my clothes not clean.”

“Fair enough, I will not keep you long. Now, is your friend Hugh all right with the charade of playing a ‘knight’ earlier?”

“Aye,” I grin, “he was as pleased as punch even if it was all pretend.”

“Well, Hugh is not fit to be knighted yet, unlike you when I first offered it unto you. Your father had taken time to train you a little in battle and weaponry. But, I will see that Hugh is fully squired and knighted in time, with a small manor at the end of his service that he can call his own in time. I propose to appoint him my Royal Smith, to accompany my court with a mobile forge and anvil, to maintain the shoeing of my Knights’ horses. During idle moments my Knights can train him to use sword and lance, just as squires are taught, and at night he will learn how to entertain, dance, play and run a local manor, including its finances and manorial court. After five years, during which he can also train his replacement shoesmith, I will knight him properly and release him to his own chosen manor. How do you think that proposal will sound to him?”

“I think he will be honoured and it will do much to promote him, Sire.” I grin. “There is a maid who has turned down his entreaties oft times, but a chance of five years spent at the Royal Court, with the excitement of travel, may just tip the balance in his favour.”

“Of course, a man must have a wife, and a knight managing a manor doubly needs a wife sensible to play her part. Is this maiden sensible?”

“She is both sensible and sociable, a sweet friend to all, but not too close a friend to be in any way ... inappropriate. She is a maiden still, and I have known her all my life and love her too, as a dear and true friend.”

“Good. And you have no thoughts of this maiden being yours if she has declined your friend so offhandedly?”

“Nay, Sire, Hugh is my best friend and he has longed for her almost as long as we have been friends. I have no interest in Mary Elizabeth other than as a childhood friend.”

He peers at me with those intelligent eyes that seek the truth and, when he thinks he’s found it, he nods and continues. “Now, what to do with you, my boy? Knights are part of my household, and I continuously cycle through my Order of Black Knights, so I always have a dozen or more with me at court and many more at times of war. Well, I admit they save my hide all the time, but you and my daughter seem to save my life even when you are supposed to be an ocean away from any danger I might face. What am I to do with the pair of you?”

“I confess, Sire, I know not, nor do I know what to suggest, except...”

“Except what?”

“Except that perhaps this time you might allow Elinor the freedom to chose her own next husband. Your choice before was left wanting, I think.”

“Left wanting? Aye, I was as duped, by his silver tongue and charming airs, as we all were. You know that he conveniently died of his wounds but just an hour ago, don’t you?”

“No, Sire, but I know that if you had bound his wounds and let him go, he would come back and weaken you. Rebellion leaders must be punished, while the weaker ones who were clearly forced to follow can be allowed to keep their freedom but pay for their liberty through some loss of power and wealth by fines or allowing them less income by providing higher levies of men at arms required for your summer Army.”

“Aye, all of those and more are appropriate for the lesser guilty.”

At this point Rebecca knocks on the door and returns to the chamber and curtsies to the King. “Are you ready for me, Sire?”

“Aye, Rebecca, we are about to get to the point now, please sit.” Henry says, before laughing, “Our knighted stable lad has deemed the state of his apparel unsuitable for the comfort of the royal chairs.”

She looks me up and down, smiling, “True, but then he has the wit and strength of character to stand up for himself in the presence even of Your Majesty.”

“Aye, he is his own man, a true Archer, I ken. I cannot take offence at plain speaking of the truth, if those covers are spoiled it is I that will have to face Adele’s wrath! Could do with a hundred more of you, my boy, so ‘tis time you took a leaf from your father’s scrolls and settle down to make me a tribe of new Archer knights, England will need them long after we old guardians are gone from this ungodly Earth.”

“I dare say I will marry one day,” I smile as I recall the delight of playing with my baby nephew and niece, “I miss Will and Alwen’s babies and know that one day I would be proud to have babies to call my own.”

“You can afford a family, Robin, easily.” Rebecca says, smiling, unrolling a scroll in her hands and tilting it towards the light of a candle to read, “this is a list of your assets bought by your winnings and their annual income, which can be liquidated at appropriate times when most profitable, after harvests or at Lady Day when the rents are in. Your total wealth could buy a large manor with potential and provide a good brideprice too.”