Lion Heart (32 page)
‘Probably as well as can be expected at my age. Look, I have two things I want to tell you. One is that I have found another box of papers collected by my grandfather, and there is one manuscript, which seems to be in ancient French. It was in the old tack room. I thought you might want to look at it. Would you be interested?’
‘I would love to see it.’
‘I can’t make head or tail of it, but there is something about “
croiz
”, spelled c-r-o-i-z, which must mean “cross”. There is also the word “
yglise
”, that would be “
église
” in French, I would imagine.’
I try to hide my excitement.
‘Do you have a copy of it?’
‘Ah, I am ahead of you. I do. Can you come round to my London house to have a look at it? I don’t want to take the risk of sending it to you.’
‘Understood.’
‘Right, come round for supper. I have a pie from the Ginger Pig and some good claret, which goes well with it. Seven thirty. I also have something else to ask you, but we will save that for later. My secretary will email you the address. Venetia is in Argentina, so it will be just the two of us.’
There is something wonderfully cheering about Huntingdon; he has an unstoppable good humour, as though his life has been a long succession of treats. Which it probably has. My dictionary tells me that a tack room is ‘a store for bridles, saddles and harness, usually in the stable block’.
Richard’s movements after his release are covered in some detail. From 1194 to 1196 he waged war almost without pause. Although he had humiliated Philip and taken a number of his castles, there was still a threat from the north-east: the heavily fortified castles on the Seine, in the area known as the Vexin, were still in Philip’s hands. Crucially, these castles commanded the routes to Dieppe and Rouen. Philip’s tactic now was to encourage and finance rebellion in the south to divert Richard from the Vexin. But by 1196, although it was clear that Richard had secured almost all his territories, the Vexin was the key to successs, and it was still in Philip’s hands, so that he was in effect winning the war for the north-east of Normandy.
Richard decided that he would secure his position for ever by building an enormous castle on the Seine; he appropriated the Manor of Andely from his ally, the Bishop of Rouen, who was furious; he had been a hostage held by the Emperor to guarantee payment of Richard’s ransom. But nothing would stop Richard: with the labour of thousands of men, he built Château Gaillard, the best fortified castle in Europe, in just two years. The Castle of the Rock
– Castrum de Roka
– was protected by the river and was set on a ninety metre-high promontory, with a stockade across the river. He spent an unheard-of sum of money, greater than the expenditure on all the castles of England at that time. It was an astonishing feat, driven by Richard’s determination to make his Normandy safe. He supervised all the work and he brought his knowledge of siege machines to bear, so eliminating ‘dead angles’, sections of the walls vulnerable to attack because they were out of sight from the battlements; the castle was encircled by a curvilinear wall. He also commissioned fast, shallow-draft boats which could bring supplies up quickly and safely. Richard had learned in the field that supplies and reserves win battles.
The great English chronicler, William of Newburgh (Newbury), reports:
At that place, while this great undertaking was in progress, a wonderful event is related to have happened. For, as some not ignoble persons – who assert that they were present themselves aver – in the month of May, a little before the solemnities of the Lord’s Ascension, as the King drew near, and urged on the work (for he came frequently to point out and hurry its completion, and took great pleasure in beholding its advancement), suddenly a shower of rain mixed with blood fell, to the astonishment of all the bystanders who were present with the King, as they observed drops of real blood upon their garments, and feared that so unusual an occurrence might portend evil: but the King was not dismayed at this, nor did he relax in promoting the work in which he took so great delight, that (unless I am mistaken), if even an angel from heaven had persuaded him to desist, he would have pronounced anathema against him.
William of Newburgh was always alert to supernatural intervention; his account brings us closer to Richard the obsessive, the compulsively active, the insatiably belligerent. It is significant that Richard seemed able to dismiss this portent lightly, in a time when omens were taken very seriously.
Richard was happy at Gaillard. He said, ‘Behold how fair is this daughter of mine.’ He built himself a palace on the Isle of Andely beneath the castle. Gaillard had the great advantage of keeping Philip at bay. His Castle of Gisors was only seven miles away, and Philip was keenly aware that Richard had blocked his attempts to reach Rouen. From his throne room within the castle, Richard carried on vigorously with the administration of his kingdom; many charters and writs were issued, made law with his seal of two lions. (The third lion was adopted three years later.) So it was that Château Gaillard on the Seine became the King of England’s favourite residence. Château Gaillard was intended to be the expression of all that he had achieved and an advertisement of his dominance. It was designed to last for ever. To this day its ruined walls and towers with their machicolations – protruding battlements from which rocks could be launched directly downwards – are overwhelming in their scale.
Huntingdon’s London house is in a small terrace just off the river not far from the Tate Gallery. He comes to the door himself. He seems, even for such an equable man, to be in an exceptionally cheerful mood. Perhaps the Countess’s absence is the reason. He gives me a martini and then we sit down to the promised game pie and sprouts, and a bottle of red wine.
‘Do you like game pie?’
‘I love it.’
I say this hoping in some way to inflate my credentials:
Look, here’s a chap who eats grouse and venison and woodcock. He’s not just some vegetarian wonk
.
‘We have bread-and-butter pudding for afters. Venetia likes with-it food,’ he says rather wistfully. ‘When she’s away, I relapse, I am afraid. Mind you, we do both like a good curry.’
After dinner he takes me into the small study and produces a thick, padded manila envelope.
‘This is the manuscript that I thought might interest you. I have had a copy made for you to take away. It looks to me like a map, but you will know, or find out, I am sure.’
Very carefully he slips out the manuscript.
‘Look,’ he says, ‘this is my grandfather’s, the Robin Hood fanatic’s, handwriting. It tells you where he bought the manuscript in 1908. And this is a copy for you.’
It is just one sheet with about five lines on it, some unreadable.
‘What do you make of it?’ Huntingdon asks.
‘If it’s a forgery, it’s a very good one. I think it is right for the period, and I think it uses carbon ink, which fades, and is used in everyday correspondence, rather than for illuminated addresses, like the addresses to Saladin in the Bodleian that I was shown. It needs X-raying and some other tests, but I will come back to you when I have what’s readable translated. Is that all right with you?’
I try to feign academic detachment. It seems to be the outlines of a simple map.
‘Absolutely fine. You can take the copy away with you, of course, but please, don’t show it to dealers or experts. In my time I have popped quite a few family heirlooms, and my experience is that the dealers are all posh crooks, either trying to buy your heritage cheaply or trying to inflate the value for their commission. And the experts always think that whatever you show them would be better off inside a museum, looked after by them. They don’t really believe in individuals holding on to important objects or rare manuscripts or master pictures.
‘Now, Richard, I said I had a proposition to make to you. Would you like to do a trial stint as a researcher for me? I have a number of speeches to deliver on Europe over the summer, which I would like you to research, and possibly you could make policy suggestions. You would have access to the Lords and to the parliamentary archives and so on. You strike me as a chap with a very good mind, well above my level, I can assure you. How do you feel about Europe?’
‘Ambivalent.’
‘That will do. We draw the line at Europhiles with mad eyes staring out towards a future European super-state. Can you consider it?’
‘I’m looking forward to it already.’
‘Good boy. It’s not frightfully well paid, but for someone like you it should be interesting. I will pay you £30,000 a year and your initial contract will be for six months, to see how you get on. Something tells me you are going to be a great find. Now, how about some bread-and-butter pudding? I even have custard.’
‘I would love to give it a try. The job I mean. And the bread-and-butter pudding. But I have to tell you, I have never had a proper job.’
‘Sometimes I think working in organisations deadens the mind. Everyone begins to sound the same. First thinking is what we need. I’ll get my parliamentary secretary to sort it all out. She’s a wonderful woman; couldn’t live without her. Her name is Elaine, by the way. Can I give her your number?’
‘Of course.’
When I get home to Kensington, nodded in by the doorman, I spend the next hour or so writing out, word by word, the faded and indistinct words from the photocopy. I come across a few words I recognise, ‘
yglise
’, for ‘church’ as Huntingdon said, is one of them, and ‘
tesaur
’ is another. Parts of the original manuscript were obviously scuffed and the ink has faded. There are many words I am unfamiliar with. It might never have been sent to the intended recipient – perhaps Hubert Walter – or it could have been a copy that remained in the baggage of Henry of Huntingdon.
One word puzzles me particularly: it looks as though it might be a person’s name: ‘Chasluç’. I have the strong intuition that I am getting closer to the hiding place of the True Cross. Now I need to discover who ‘Chasluç’ was.
33
Dearest Noor
,
I am very sorry it has taken me so long to reply. I should have written sooner, but I have been – as usual – deep in research and writing and also I have been offered a proper job working in the House of Lords as a researcher. I start in a few weeks. It’s all slightly eccentric.
I can’t bear to think of you suffering so much. Please tell me how the operation went. At the moment I am staying in Haneen’s new apartment which I think I mentioned to you. Has she told you about it? I am sure she has. From the balcony I can see Hyde Park, a bit of it anyway, and in the distance I can often see the Household Cavalry taking their horses out for exercise. Sometimes they go out in their full ceremonial outfits to escort dignitaries. It’s magnificent, but I can’t help wondering what the point is of riding around London dressed up for a cavalry charge.
Yesterday I was handed a piece of parchment, with some words in Old French. It looks like it is a map, and I have a feeling this will provide the link I have been looking for to where Richard’s knights, who were escorting the True Cross from the Holy Land, left it. Trust me, before you denounce me as a fantasist, the evidence is mounting up.
Darling Noor, I am living in the belief that we will meet again soon. It keeps me going. At the same time I feel helpless, but every day I try to send you my love in some way, and I hope it arrives safely in the land of the moose. It’s the secular version of prayer.
Get better, my dearest sister, and think of Jerusalem when you are feeling low. I do.
Richie xxx
34
1198. Richard the
Lionheart, King of England, Duke of Normandy, is winning the battle with Philip Augustus, King of France. He routs Philip’s forces outside his own Castle of Gisors. Richard is so eager to get at Philip that a chronicler writes:
He looked like a starving lion who had caught sight of his prey
. In the scramble to retire into the castle, Philip falls, humiliatingly, into the river. Richard loves to tell the story of how Philip had a dunking before being hauled out of the water half drowned. By the autumn of the year, Philip seeks a truce; he is prepared to make concessions. In truth he has no option. In November a short truce is agreed.
Richard takes his fast boats up the Seine to meet Philip. For some unexplained reason – perhaps because Philip is nervous in the presence of the ferocious, red-haired Richard – he remains seated on his horse. They agree to separate meetings with the papal legate, Peter of Capua, as mediator. He is renowned for his sonorous and emollient speeches, dressed up in the kind of sanctimonious humility that Richard detests.
At the first meeting with Peter of Capua, at Château Gaillard, Richard refuses to compromise: all his lands must be restored. Peter argues that while war continues the Kingdom of Jerusalem will remain in danger; his master, Pope Innocent, is particularly keen to launch another Crusade. Richard is angry. He stands up and advances on the legate.
‘Let me remind you, if it had not been for Philip’s malice, which forced me to return, I would have been able to recover the whole of Outremer. And later, when I was falsely imprisoned, he conspired to keep me there so that he could steal my lands. It is wrong to make peace or a long truce while my enemy still holds lands and castles taken unjustly and illegally.’