Later that night, more or less sober again, it occurred to Henry that Richard must be told they were leaving Windsor next morning. Summoned to the royal quarters, the Remembrancer stood staring at his feet.
‘You’re not grieving for that loathsome viper, are you?’
‘No, Sire. I’m frightened to travel with …’ he was not sure what to call Douglas. ‘… your friend from Scotland.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Because he knows I’m a murderer, Sire.’
‘I know you’re a murderer. You confessed when you swore the oath of loyalty to me.’
‘Yes, but …’ He was blushing. Henry waited, jigging a leg with impatience. ‘… but you love me, Sire. That is,’ his voice fell to a whisper. ‘I love you. Although there are only seven years between us, I love you as if you were my father.’
Henry gave a low lion grunt, stood up and walked towards Richard. ‘You love me as if I were your father,’ he said. ‘Did you love Prince Eustace as if he were your father?’ He grasped the youth by the throat so quickly he became paralysed with fright. ‘You scoundrel. You loved the Prince once – but you murdered him, didn’t you?’
Richard nodded. As he couldn’t speak Henry loosened his grip slightly. ‘But I love you differently,’ he whispered. ‘The Crown Prince was a violent quinny. He beat his wife.’
‘Any man who beats his wife I’d have de-knackered.’
‘Why don’t you make it a law, Sire?’
Henry gave his Remembrancer a good shake and let him go. ‘D’you think I could get the royal council to agree to such an idea? They’d fall off the bench laughing at me. But back to your problem. The person you should fear is not Douglas, who knows you are under my protection, but the Chancellor, who hates you for rejecting him.’
‘I heed you, Sire. Have you told him that it was I, not you, who—’
‘I’ve had no opportunity to do so. He’ll fly into such a rage that whatever castle or palace we’re staying in we’ll have to flee to escape his screaming.’ He looked the youth up and down. ‘There are times when I could murder you, Richard. Endangering me and Strongbow with a viper! If I were to tell either of the jusiticiars they’d both insist you lose an eye. I don’t know why I trust you.’ He paced back and forth, as restless as ever. ‘But I have an instinct to do so,’ he added.
‘You can trust me, Sire. One day, God willing, I’ll do something to prove your instinct is true.’
The King grunted again. His head was feeling sore. ‘My brother is alive and we’re going to bring him back to court. You’re to go to Guillaume’s apartment and fetch a couple of his favourite musical instruments. Have a page wrap them well for travelling. We’ll be taking sumpter horses. Spring is unpredictable, so equip yourself with clothes for all weather. We leave at dawn.’ He allowed the mastiffs to lie on the bed beside him and Douglas. Before sleeping he told them they were to behave in his absence and ‘guard the Queen’. They began to whimper and pant, working themselves towards howling. Douglas put his hands around each animal’s muzzle and stared into its eyes. Their agitation stopped and with loud sighs they wriggled down to the foot of the bed, flopped their heads on their paws and went to sleep.
When the royal party mounted in the cold, clean morning, the mastiffs’ howls were like ghosts shrieking into the dark.
As the pearly tenderness of dawn cleared from the sky Richard worked out that the three of them, plus four knights who rode behind with the sumpter horses, were heading north-west. The King’s joyousness at the thought of being reunited with Guillaume expressed itself in jests with his knights, bursts of song and sudden challenges for everyone to gallop.
Douglas paid the Remembrancer no attention apart from one threatening look. As they forded the Avon he burst into song, singing in the Gaelic of the far north, a language Richard understood only imperfectly, but soon picked up the tune and its chorus. Land of mists and purple islands, land of gallant stags and valorous men. He sang the chorus. Henry turned to smile at them, relieved that his Remembrancer and his Merlin seemed to have made peace. He did not understand when the Highlander, at the end of one song, remarked to Richard in low-land Gaelic, ‘I know all about you, arsehole, so don’t try to be smart. Just keep singing.’ They were riding into forest, in what could be the direction of the royal hunting lodge at Woodstock.
The party crossed the river at a shallow point, riding through marshy land where on their approach mallard by the hundreds fled to the sky, a dark rushing river above their heads. ‘Watch out for their nests!’ Henry shouted. Richard was astonished that some of the brooding ducks crouched low on their nests, wings spread to protect the eggs, their eyes closed, as if, by refusing to see danger, it would not see them. Richard always carried bread in his pockets and reined back to toss some to a duck. She pretended not to see it, then darted her neck from its cringe against her breast to gobble the food.
‘See?’ Henry said to Douglas. They were far enough ahead of the youth for him not to overhear their conversation. ‘He’s learning kindness. It began on our trip to Wales.’
‘You said he vomited a snake?’
‘The child told me.’
‘Did she tell you what kind?’
‘No.’
‘So I will. It was a female snake.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Think about it.’
‘Snakes lay eggs,’ Henry said slowly. ‘You’re suggesting, Douglas, she laid some inside young Richard before she left him.’
Douglas gave a curt nod.
Henry’s ebullience faded. ‘You fill me with gloom,’ he muttered. ‘I begin to believe I’ve erred as monarch. There’s Richard, who’s a murderer, and my Chancellor, who’s thieving from the Treasury and driving me mad with unwelcome physical attention. At times I want to punch his face, but dignity forbids it.’ He fell into silence. However great the crowd around him, a king is alone, he thought. All triumphs are his, but so are all mistakes. And always he – I – must try to stay one step ahead of my enemies. ‘You’re telling me that Richard, whatever his virtuous intentions now …’
Douglas was straight faced. ‘Lad, I’m just warning. The eggs may die inside him. Or they may hatch. It’s unknown. What’s certain is that every king in Europe envies you for your Chancellor and your Remembrancer. “Henry has brilliant men in his court,” they say. Let’s sing again.’ His boulder-sized chest inflated and he began to roar what sounded like a battle hymn. Henry realised with a jolt of dread what was happening. This is how we’re to find Guillaume. Douglas has no idea where he is. He’s singing to the forest people, to draw them out.
After about twenty minutes Henry saw among the trees ahead a bedraggled woman with some grubby children staring at them.
Douglas turned to Richard and said in Gaelic, ‘Ride up to her, vermin, and ask her in their language if she’s heard of the man who sings. I know you speak the outlaw tongue.’
As the youth rode towards her the woman wrapped her arms around her children and turned to flee. ‘Aunty, don’t run away. We’ll cause you no harm,’ he called. He dismounted.
Behind him the King, Douglas, the knights and sumpter horses came to a standstill. Henry’s heart thudded. Inside him a slender flame of anger for Douglas began to twist.
The Highlander felt it. ‘I’m sorry, Henry. I couldn’t tell you last night. You were too excited and …’ he shrugged. ‘I don’t see everything. I don’t understand everything. I’m shown fragments. I hear snatches of instructions. But I know this is the way we’ll find your brother.’
Henry was so upset he had to turn his face away. They were close enough to the woman to see she had her nose cut off in punishment for some crime. I hope she still has a tongue, he thought. He looked at her hands. The left was missing. She stole something.
Richard was saying, ‘Aunty, I’ll give you food for your children. Where is the man who sings?’
Wary eyes examined him. ‘What food?’ she demanded.
‘Cheese.’
She nodded.
He walked back to the sumpter horses. ‘Quick, give me some cheese.’ The knights scrabbled around among the provisions before heaving out a yellow wheel. ‘That’s too much. Cut it down to a palm’s width. We may need a lot more.’
When he handed her the lump of cheese she licked it and smiled. Surprisingly all her teeth were good. ‘He’s in the King’s hunting forest,’ she said.
‘Woodstock?’
‘Maybe.’
Richard’s tone changed. ‘Don’t play with me, Aunty. I’ll maim your children. Is he in Woodstock forest, or not?’
She nodded sullenly.
As Richard turned to look back at Henry she and her offspring sprinted into the trees.
The men spent the night in Oxford where Henry took the opportunity to see his new son, whom Eleanor had left in the care of the wet nurse, Hodierna. Hodierna brought the princeling to the King’s House, leaving her own son outside with a servant. ‘It’s too cold outside for your child. Bring him in,’ Henry ordered. The infants, both six months old, were now easily discernible. Richard was a baby giant. A mass of golden curls covered his head; his blue eyes flashed. As Henry bent over him he snatched at his father’s robe and dragged himself almost upright. In the baby’s face there was a sense of satisfaction with himself, but no pleasure. For his part, Henry thought, I adored little Geoffrey the moment I saw him born. I love Prince Henry and Princess Matilda. But I don’t warm to this child.
‘You’ve done well,’ he said to the nurse. ‘Does he show any signs of frailty?’
‘None, Sire. He’s exceptionally robust.’
‘And your boy?’ he asked gently. I didn’t believe Eleanor’s story about the father dying in an accident. There was something in the way her eyes moved that made me think she lied.
‘My boy, alas, is not so strong. But neither was his father.’
They were speaking English. Henry switched to Latin. ‘His name was?’
Off-guard Hodierna answered, ‘Gilbert, Sire.’
The King smiled encouragement. ‘Women who have spent many years in a convent have a certain refinement of manner and deportment, such as I discern in you, Hodierna. You were forced from your convent because this Gilbert got you with child?’
She blushed. ‘That is correct, Highness.’
‘And Gilbert. Does he support his son?’
‘No. I regret to say he has other children.’
‘He’s a churchman?’
She nodded.
‘God’s teeth! It’s still an Augean stables!’
Hodierna said nothing. She looked on the verge of tears. ‘Come,’ Henry said. He seated himself and motioned her to sit in his lap. ‘Let me watch you nurse him.’ He stroked her back and rested his other hand on his son who suckled greedily. ‘You still have enough milk for both boys?’
‘Lord Richard drinks me dry. I’ve a wet nurse for my own son. The Queen is very generous in her support.’
Henry continued to soothe her, but his mood darkened. Not only did he dislike his second heir, his wife had deliberately lied to him about the wet nurse. Why? he asked himself. Why does she so rarely deal honestly with me?
Douglas was watching his face. When Hodierna and the infants had left, Douglas jerked his chin at Richard to follow them out. As the door closed he said, ‘You’re angry with your wife.’
Henry nodded. ‘She lies to me. She lies to me because it gives her a sense of power.’
‘Unfortunately that’s correct.’
‘The question is: what can I do about it?’
‘I don’t think that’s the question, lad. I believe the question is: what will it mean in the future?’
Momentarily their eyes met. Henry said, ‘One of those infants did a shit and the other one vomited. I feel sick from the smell.’ He jumped from his chair and walked downstairs.
Four days later they arrived at Woodstock where many local barons had already gathered to greet the monarch. As soon as the royal party had installed itself, Richard came running to Henry’s quarters to ask permission to leave.
‘Where?’ the King demanded.
His Remembrancer was flustered. ‘I don’t know, Sire. The Highlander just ordered me to tell you we were leaving. He said I had to accompany him because I know the forest languages. I know some of them. He seems to think I know all of them.’
‘You may tell Douglas that I am not happy,’ Henry replied. ‘Not at all happy. This whole journey has been haphazard. I’m not an admirer of the haphazard. Tell him that.’
Richard’s face was pink with emotion. ‘Please don’t be angry with me, Sire. I’m trapped between you and—’
‘Just piss off,’ Henry said.
There was a banquet and the King was obliged to pretend he had come to his hunting lodge, now a wonder of elegance and comfort thanks to Becket, to hunt and to see the menagerie his Chancellor had enlarged. He moped as he looked at the lions, the leopards and lynxes padding back and forth, back and forth, behind bars. The only thing that amused him were the estritch birds, as tall as men on horseback, with fierce but permanently startled expressions. The male bird bowed to the female, waved his wings at her, moved his tail up and down and stomped on the sand with his camel feet. She wandered around their enclosure, jerking her head this way and that, ignoring him. ‘He’s trying to persuade her to mate, Sire,’ a man explained. They remind me of Becket, Henry thought.
By nightfall Douglas and Richard had not returned.
Henry spent three days hunting. Despite the excitement of a wealth of game they were three days of impatience and irritation. He distributed the meat to churches in the area. After dinner he received homage and when he could tolerate fawning and lies no more, he rode out with a knight to take food to the poor where, in hovels, he relaxed. The people stared at him as if he were a demi-god, but they did not attempt to lie. They kissed his hands, even his boots, and for the food he gave them they wept in gratitude. Five days after he had arrived at Woodstock a page brought him a note from Richard.
I beg your forgiveness, Sire, for my long absence.
When you are ready, I’m to take you to meet Lord Guillaume.
Douglas had warned Richard, ‘If you tell the King about the state of his brother, Aelbad, I’ll skin you alive.’ As he spoke he’d concentrated on the blade of a hunting knife he was sharpening against a stone.
Henry grabbed the page. ‘Where is he? Where’s the youth who gave you this?’
‘He’s bathing, Sire.’ Henry strode to the common bathhouse. Richard lay submerged full length in the bath, his hair floating around his head, only his nose above its surface. A flotsam of leaves, twigs, drowned ants and grime rode gently on top of the water.
‘Get up!’ Henry shouted. Richard sat, rubbing water from his eyes. ‘Where is he?’ the King demanded.
‘More than a day’s ride from here.’
‘What’s the name of the place?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘God’s feet! How are we to find it again.’
‘The forest women will take us. I’ve given them food.’
‘We leave as soon as you’re dressed.’
Richard swallowed and stared into the grimy water. ‘The women want to rest, eat and sleep. I’m afraid we can’t leave until they’re ready.’
Henry was so angry he bunched his fists. ‘The King of England is to wait upon the whims of outlaw women?’ he yelled.
‘Yes, Sire.’
Henry strode around the tub. ‘Where’s Douglas?’
‘He stayed with Lord Guillaume.’
‘You saw my brother yourself?’
Richard nodded.
‘So …?’
‘One would never know that his left eye is blind, Sire, except that it’s no longer brown. It’s dark green.’
Henry panted with frustration. ‘Richard, it’s seven months since Guillaume was injured. When last I saw him he was as white as marble and barely breathed. Is he now …’
‘His lungs are now excellent, Sire.’
Henry sat on the bench that surrounded the bathtub. He dropped his head into his hands. ‘There’s something you won’t say. I can feel it.’
Richard stared into the water. He was unable to meet the King’s glance. ‘He’s … he …’
‘What? He’s what?’
‘He’s a wonderful singer. He sings all the time. In many languages.’ Richard heard inside his head the sound of Douglas’s knife scraping against stone.
Henry moaned, ‘I should have put him out of his misery when we were in Wales.’
‘Sire, Lord Guillaume is not miserable. He’s full of joy.’
Henry felt the hair on his neck stand up. He’s an imbecile! When he was unconscious, I could have done it. But now he’s conscious again, and singing, it will feel like cutting out my own heart. But it must be I. No one else may touch my brother.
The forest women demanded two days rest, bags of flour, lengths of cloth and kitchen utensils before they would set out again. Henry thought he would go mad with frustration and spent the time hunting relentlessly, resting at dinnertime only for an hour, before setting off once more. Not only the knights, but the birds and dogs were haggard, the men marvelling to each other at their monarch’s stamina. After supper they fell side by side onto a sleeping platform, too tired to remove their own boots. Pages crept in when they were asleep, pulled off boots and hunting caps, and covered them with furs. In the kitchen, cooks complained at the number of knives and pots that were vanishing. The reeve discovered that a bolt of cotton and another of wool, both of them chosen by the Chancellor himself, had disappeared from a storeroom. The servants began whispering, ‘There are witches about. We could all be murdered while we sleep.’
Richard said, ‘Sire, the reeve is so frightened he may run away. He fears the Chancellor will accuse him of theft.’
‘Fetch him,’ Henry said.
The reeve grovelled. ‘Sire! I did not steal! I kept the storeroom locked. But the Lord Chancellor …’
Henry raised an eyebrow. Lord Chancellor? ‘My Remembrancer will write a note to the Chancellor explaining I was in need of the cloth and that no crime attaches to you. Richard!’ The youth was writing as fast as he could. ‘Here. I’ll seal it.’ He slashed HR in the wax. The reeve backed from the chamber, quaking.
Before dawn on the third morning Henry awoke to Richard stroking his hand. ‘Sire, we’re ready.’ He held a bowl of water for the King to rinse his face and mouth and some sweet herbs to chew. Outside the stables the knights were already mounted. With Richard leading them, they trotted into the trees after vague, untidy shapes; forest women on donkeys laden with their booty. As the day lightened Henry counted four of them.
‘There are five,’ Richard said. ‘The fifth one is the eldest. She rides ahead. The others all obey her.’
‘How old are they?’
‘Impossible to say. The youngest is my age or younger. But the others, I heard one say the leader is almost ninety.’
‘She’d remember the reign of The Conquerer.’
‘Probably, Sire. She does not want us to ride too close. We’re to leave a distance of twenty yards between their donkeys and our horses.’
Henry’s cheeks flamed. ‘She expects the King to take orders!’
‘Unhappily, Highness we have no alternative if we’re to find your brother.’
The crone conveyed her wishes to the younger women through a complex series of gestures. They, in turn, would utter a few words of command. One fact Richard had gathered was that she, and perhaps all the others, except the girl, were runaway slaves. Slavery had been forbidden by The Lion but, beyond the eyes and ears of the Crown, there were barons who still kept men and women in slavery on their estates.
The party travelled south-west. The forest women did not stop to eat but munched on things from their saddle bags as they rode. They only halted their monotonous trot to allow the donkeys to drink when they crossed a stream and the rest of the party to relieve themselves. As the day progressed they traversed low hills and valleys into a part of his realm Henry had not yet seen. It was sublime in its springtime beauty, but he became uneasy. He felt as if power were draining from his body. Never, not even after battle, had he experienced such languor. At first he attributed it to hunger plus the exertions of the past few days hunting. But Richard, too, he noted, seemed to fade, although both had eaten some dried venison and drunk small ale. At last he demanded, ‘What’s happening? You look frail. Why do I, the King, feel weak? Is this a land of sickness?’
‘We approach the place, Sire. At first it draws power. But when we arrive we’ll be completely revived. A healing spring flows from between rocks and the earth itself has a force that fills one’s body with strength. I experienced it when I first came here.’
The journey, however, dragged on. Henry said, ‘Were you mistaken when you said we were close. Or are you, too, Richard, part of this plot? I recall that hill. We saw it half an hour ago.’
‘I think it was a different hill, Sire. It’s easy to become disoriented here.’ The temperature was noticeably warmer.
It’s not a different hill, Henry thought, his face pink with anger.
Towards nightfall they stopped in a clearing near a small stream. Twilight was fleeting moment by moment. The day was over but the night was yet to come. The women lit a fire, the younger ones fetched water and cooking began. Henry and Richard stayed at a distance, lying on the ground to stretch their backs, allowing the horses to crop around their heads. Henry was too tired to give them extra feed, but Richard, unbidden, did so. When the King stood up he startled a horse who, backing away, trod on his foot. Henry yelled in pain. The youth rushed to him. ‘Remove my boot!’ Henry was thinking of his father, of how the clip from a hoof had poisoned his blood and killed him. ‘Is the skin broken?’
‘It’s hard to see.’
‘Fetch a stick with fire from the witches. If it’s bleeding …’
Richard ran back, a flaming faggot in his hand. ‘There’s no blood, Sire. But your toes look purple, and they’re swelling up. The women may have a salve.’
After a while two of the women approached through the dark. One had ointment, the other two bowls of steaming pottage. The ointment, rubbed into the King’s foot, relieved the throbbing. One woman and Richard held a long conversation that the youth translated to Henry as, ‘You need to rest your foot.’ The knights unrolled bedding and he was asleep as soon as he’d eaten. As he drifted off he was vaguely aware of arguing voices, one of them Richard’s.
During the night Henry needed to empty his bladder. He struggled out of the sleeping furs and almost knocked over a forest woman who leapt up and made to run off, but his reflexes were too quick for her. She fell to the ground, his hand clasped around her ankle.
Above them a full moon silvered the sky, its light casting black shadows. Henry pulled the forest woman towards him. He expected a disgusting odour from her, but she smelled as wholesome as an edible mushroom just plucked from the earth. He pushed her hair away from her face and stared into it, trying to discern her features by moonlight. Shadows distorted them, but not completely. ‘It’s you!’ he hissed. It was the same young woman, no more than fifteen, whom Foliot had brought into the clearing near Clifford Castle, the one who had poisoned him with smoke, and stolen Guillaume.
Their brief scuffle woke Richard, who had been sleeping curled behind the King. ‘I’ve got to piss. You hang onto her,’ Henry said. The girl was unusually strong, but so was Richard. He was uninhibited by royal manners. When she struggled to free herself he whacked her across side of the head and said something that made her sit quietly. On Henry’s return they were whispering together.
‘Sire, the old woman wants you to wait here another night.’
‘Why?’
‘They never give reasons.’
‘Does this young witch know where Guillaume is?’
Richard nodded.
‘Will she take us?’
‘She fears to disobey the old woman. They call her their queen.’
‘She’d better fear to disobey this young man who is the King.’
Richard translated for the forest girl. She made no demur. ‘Saddle the horses,’ Henry said.
‘Sire, we can walk. It’s only a mile to the sacred spring. Lord Guillaume and Douglas will be sleeping there.’
‘Idiot! Have you forgotten I can’t wear a boot. I can ride in bare feet. But not walk.’
Richard had a further conversation with the girl. ‘If you allow her to put her hands on your foot, she will heal it sufficiently for you to wear a small shoe. I’ll take a pair from the knights.’
Henry sat staring balefully at the girl as her hands hovered above his toes. Intense heat flowed from her palms. When he closed his eyes for a moment he saw blue light.
Richard returned with a pair of light shoes that were approximately Henry’s size. The swelling had abated although his foot was still tender.
‘Thanks,’ he growled at the girl. As a precaution he sliced a strip of leather from his riding cloak, knotted one end around her right wrist, the other around his belt. She watched as angrily as a cat about strike. ‘Tell her I’ll reward her whatever she asks if she takes us straight to my brother.’
The girl gave a sullen nod.
Henry limped. In less than an hour they heard the sound of singing. A voice of divine beauty, a celestial bell, soared into the night. The King quickened his pace. Ahead lay some trees and beyond them a clearing. As the three moved closer they heard the gurgling of water.
‘It’s the spring, Sire. We should all drink.’
Henry flicked his dagger across the leather thong that bound the girl and she leapt away like a deer escaping a wolf, ran to the spring, lowered to all fours and drank. Henry and Richard followed.
As the cool water flowed down the monarch’s throat he felt his body fill with power. He scooped it up in his hands, but after a few moments he too knelt pushing his face under water. The night was unusually balmy but the spring was freezing. Its invigorating effect was so strong he felt no pain from the cold. He waited for Richard to drink and wash himself.
‘Now, to Guillaume,’ he said.
Richard seized his hand. ‘Sire, please …’
‘What’s wrong?’
There was a strangled cry. Douglas had grabbed Richard from behind and was muttering in Gaelic.
Henry stared at him. The Highlander was on edge.
‘Thing is,’ he muttered, ‘your brother is not ready for you, lad.’
‘When will he be “ready”?’
‘Maybe another day. Another few days.’
‘I’m not waiting that long. Douglas, take me to Guillaume. Or bring him here to me.’
The Highlander and Richard conferred in Gaelic a few moments.
‘I’ll take you to him, lad. But don’t try to make him speak.’
Henry nodded and set off after the Highlander. They threaded their way through the stand of trees and saw beyond them scores of forest people circled in the moonlight. The King and Douglas were tall enough to see over their heads. In the middle stood a man singing. Moonlight shone on his head; he had no hair.
Henry lurched against Douglas. ‘What have they done to him!’
‘He’s changed.’
‘I don’t want to meet him!’ Henry exclaimed. In the warm silvery light he could make out a troubled expression on Douglas’s face. ‘He’s an imbecile, isn’t he?’
Douglas remained silent.
Abruptly Henry felt the cool breath of The Guardian. Without knowing what he would say, he asked, ‘Is my brother transforming into a Merlin?’
Moon and stars and the divine singing all disappeared.
When Henry regained consciousness he was seated on the ground between Douglas’s thighs, his torso resting on the Scotsman’s chest. Richard was shaking with sobs. ‘Sire, I did try to stop you. I tried to warn you.’
‘Get me more of that water,’ Henry croaked. The beautiful voice of his brother again filled the night.
After Henry had drunk, he shook himself and stood up. At that moment the singing stopped and the hairless man turned to look in his direction. He hesitated, as if something puzzled him, then slowly he began to walk towards the King. The crowd parted. Henry felt his mouth was stuffed with feathers.
In minutes they were face to face. ‘Guillaume?’ Henry whispered.
The stranger who stood before him had no hair, no eyebrows, no eyelashes. He shook his head. ‘My name is Hamelin.’
Henry dared not touch him. He kept glancing at the bald head which had an almost invisible fuzz of hair, like a baby’s. ‘Hamelin was my father’s squire, whom I murdered,’ Henry murmured. ‘I had to kill him to save Papa.’
The man replied, ‘All three were guilty – Papa, you and Guillaume. We all plotted it. Now the crime is gone. It’s cast into the Ocean of Forgetfulness.’
‘Why have you changed your name?’
Hamelin’s voice was so feeble Henry had to lean in towards him, but not so close that they would touch. ‘We both know some German, brother. Hamelin means “Little Home Lover”. I was given a choice. I could remain in the other world or return to my home on earth. I chose to come home to you, my heart.’ Water stood in his long dark eyes. ‘My left eye is blind,’ he added mildly, ‘but it still cries.’
Henry hesitated. ‘Guy … Hamelin, they told me you didn’t speak.’
‘Love unlocked my speaking tongue.’ He ran long, slender hands over his bald head and closed his eyelids. Douglas stepped forward as the semi-human swayed on his feet. The Scotsman bent, slid an arm under his knees and lifted him from the ground.
‘He can’t talk more, lad. He’s done well to have spoken so much already. He must rest now.’ Douglas carried Hamelin through the crowd of forest people who began vanishing among the trees. In the centre of the clearing he laid Hamelin on the ground. Henry sat down abruptly, dropped his head into his palms and howled like a dog.
Richard hung back, watching him, wincing for the torment of the King. After the spasm of grief abated Henry shook himself and stood up, looking around for his Remembrancer.
The youth approached gingerly. ‘Your brother finds it tiring to spend time in close contact with people who live all the time on earth, except when asleep. That’s why the forest people stay well away from him.’
‘Is it also why he needs to be close to the spring?’
Richard nodded. ‘It’s called Arthur’s Spring. In your grandfather’s time the nearby church was known as “heaven’s sanctuary on earth”. According to legend, all this is land where King Arthur lived. The forest people don’t want outsiders to find it.’
Henry muttered. ‘I thought those witches were leading us in circles.’
‘They were. They believe the Zodiac is inscribed in the landscape and the wise can read its meaning. Also they say King Arthur died here, although his grave can never be found, because he’s still alive, somewhere.’
The King became thoughtful. Inside his chest his heart felt the weight of a stone, but his mind was working again. ‘It would be of considerable use to me politically, Richard, if I were able to discover King Arthur’s remains. Thousands of my subjects believe in him as “the once and future king”. They imagine he’ll return and vanquish whoever is monarch of England and Brittany. If I could find a tomb with bones. And Queen Guinevere lying beside him …’ Their eyes met.
‘Priests and monks are most skilful in discovering relics from the burial places of saints, Sire.’
‘Quite so. However, the Church does not approve of King Arthur. He was a pagan king.’ He raised an eyebrow at Richard.
‘The Church calls him a Druid, Sire. Arthur had twelve knights of the Round Table. Jesus had twelve disciples. Arthur’s Lancelot was Judas Iscariot, I think. Guinevere was the Christian Magdalene.’ He paused. ‘Every child in England, or in these western parts at least, grew up with the stories of Arthur. And Jesus.’ Henry waited for Richard to say his father had explained it to him, but all he said was, ‘As I child I knew both stories. And I believed both were true.’
‘Both true? Both false? Or both meaning something else entirely, perhaps. I suggest you make inquiries from our forest beauties. They know every twig in this area and could point you to a likely spot for a grave.’
As the King spoke, his mind was elsewhere. If my brother is a Merlin, and returns to my court, what role will Douglas play? He turned to gaze towards the Highlander who, having lifted Hamelin from the clearing and carried him to a shelter beyond it, now sauntered back towards him.
‘Well, lad, your impatience has been satisfied, I hope.’ His voice was unfriendly.
‘I remain curious,’ Henry answered. ‘Am I to have the honour of two Merlins?’
Douglas shrugged. ‘Time will tell.’ He flashed a murderous glance at Richard.
Richard said hurriedly, ‘I believe, Sire, you and I should return to where we were sleeping. You need to lie down and rest your foot.’
The forest girl followed them at a distance, but when Henry found his nest of sleeping furs again she stepped forward and knelt to undo his shoe. Although his foot was not as painful as it had been, it was sore. Were he at home he would have spent a day or two in bed, his limb propped on pillows, with the royal physicians preparing hot and cold compresses for his toes. The girl continued to stare at him, kneeling on his bed furs. It was impossible to see her face well, but he felt a slinky, vixen heat come from her. He took her chin in his hand. ‘You want pleasure? Is that the reward you ask?’ She didn’t understand his language, but he knew he had read her correctly. He turned to Richard. ‘Piss off. Sleep with the knights.’ Richard scrambled up, grasping his bed rugs, and hurried away.
The girl felt as soft as a nestling. Mushroom-scented, pressed against his body, she was a mystery to him. He felt as tentative about her as he had when his father first took him to a countess ‘to begin your education’. He stroked her hair. It was twined like lengths of rope, disagreeable to touch. After a moment he stopped. ‘Let’s find out if pleasure is what you really want,’ he whispered into her ear, giving it a good, long lick. His tongue met the same unusual but pleasant taste of mushroom. She wore no undergarments. When he slid his hand between her thighs her intention was clear.
She made no sound at all; she barely seemed to breathe, but Henry found himself in a delirium, as mad with lust as a stag in rut.
He fell into a deep sleep. While he was unconscious she wriggled from beneath him, down to his foot, holding her hands over it. He dreamed he sat on the edge of a bath, dangling his toes in hot water.
The girl shoved him awake. ‘You want it again?’ he mumbled. She rubbed against him. When he slept again, she returned to his foot, and after holding it between her hands once more, with a nudge of her hips, she woke him and forced herself on him. By this stage the moon had set and the sky prickled with stars. ‘That’s enough, girl,’ Henry told her. He’d not counted, but it seemed they had coupled five or six times. With less than courtesy he tried to pull out of her. Her muscles grabbed him and he couldn’t move. ‘Let me go!’ he growled. She laughed the strange soft sound that had so enchanted Bishop Foliot when he came to her to ‘do penance’. She relaxed so Henry could withdraw from her then rolled away onto the dewy grass and vanished into the dark.
Henry slept until the sun was well risen, when Richard woke him. ‘Sire, your breakfast is ready.’ Their eyes met. The youth was smirking.
‘Yes, I did have an interesting night,’ Henry said. A broad grin spread across Richard’s face. ‘You lout! You’ve lain with her too!’
‘Only once.’
‘Once! That witch is not satisfied with once! After last night I doubt I’ll ever be able to sire another child.’
Richard lowered his gaze. ‘I meant on one occasion, Sire.’ When he looked up at Henry he could not keep a serious face.
The King, now he was awake, wanted to find a spot to urinate and empty his bowels. ‘What’s so amusing?’ he asked, irritably. I’m still upset by seeing Guillaume in that state. I should be grateful he’s alive.
‘She’s a relation of yours, Highness. A distant one. But related all the same.’
Henry reared out of the furs, muttering he needed to relieve himself. He spent a good time washing in the small stream, using the coarse sand of its banks to scrub his hands. Abruptly he realised his foot no longer hurt. When he looked at it there was no sign of either swelling or bruise. ‘The witch cured it,’ he said aloud. The encounter with Hamelin, a meeting he had anticipated with such joy, but which was so horrific, overwhelmed him. I need advice but there’s no one to whom I can turn.
He walked slowly back towards the campsite, hopeful the Guardian might come to him.
He didn’t.
The women presented more bowls of hot pottage for breakfast. The food smelled strongly of mushrooms. ‘Is this rubbish safe to eat?’ Henry demanded.
‘The mushrooms are from last autumn and have been dried. They’re as sustaining as venison and protect the body from many illnesses,’ Richard said.
Henry gingerly spooned pottage to his extended lips. ‘Now, son, I want an explanation about my “distant relation”.’
His Remembrancer pretended to be so occupied with eating he could not answer. Henry gave him a sharp jab in the ribs.
‘Foliot’s,’ Richard said.
‘God’s teeth, boy! Are you saying he ruts his own daughter?’ They were seated cross-legged on their sleeping rugs. Henry grabbed him by the throat.
‘His Grace is unaware.’
‘My God! I’ve been defiled. I’ve rutted with a girl who commits incest with her father.’ His face flamed with anger. ‘You should have prevented me!’ Richard ducked the palm that aimed for his ear.
‘You’re not easy to prevent from action, Sire.’ Richard’s voice and pale eyes were steady. ‘You’re wilful.’
‘You impudent bastard.’
‘I vowed to speak the truth.’
‘You insult me.’
‘The truth is frequently insulting. Especially to great men.’
Henry flung his pottage to the ground, leapt up and strode away towards the horses. As he moved among them, his temper cooled. Perhaps Gilbert doesn’t actually have intercourse with her, he thought . He’s unconscious while he’s undergoing his ‘penance’. It must be one of the others, and it’s his daughter who renders him unconscious, then conscious again.
He decided this must be the explanation. ‘What do you think?’ he asked a stallion, giving its whither a good scratch. The animal snuffled a grey velvet nose against him. After a while he returned to Richard who, with the knights, was picking up shards of his smashed bowl. ‘I want a new breakfast,’ Henry said. A knight ran off towards the women, who were already stamping out the cooking fire.
When he’d finished eating and again washed in the stream Henry walked up and down its bank, peering into water of such clarity it was invisible. He wanted to see fish. He felt so lonely and detached he asked aloud, ‘What now?’
He heard the Highlander’s almost silent tread only moments before Douglas fell into step beside him. ‘Well, lad,’ he said, ‘what you did last night was foolish. You could have stopped his heart from beating. There would have been no second chance.’
Henry nodded morosely. He had sensed, as they looked at each other, he could not embrace, not even lay the tip of a finger on his brother. Guillaume was still part-wraith from the poisons in his body.
‘He needs all spring and the first months of summer before he’ll be hardened enough to return to your court. Until then I’ll keep watch on him.’ Douglas gazed up at the pale spring sky.
Henry waited. He felt an unbearable weight inside his chest. ‘You’re leaving me!’ he blurted. ‘Douglas, you’re going to leave me, aren’t you?’
The Highlander nodded. ‘My King needs me.’
‘I am your King.’
‘No, lad. You’re my protégé. King David ordered me to care for you. His grandson, Malcolm, is my King.’
‘You’d leave me for that snot-nose! He dismissed you as commander of the Highland Regiment. You’d leave me for him?’
‘Honour demands it.’
‘What makes you imagine he wants you back?’
‘He doesn’t. But he will, when the sickness becomes unbearable.’ Douglas took a swig from his flask.
Henry saw deep sadness in his face. ‘What’s his problem?’ he asked in a kinder tone. ‘I treated the boy roughly. I don’t regret it, but neither do I wish him to come to harm.’
‘Harm has come to him, Henry. His body has a rare weakness that affects his bones. He spends days in agony, although he never speaks of it. Then he recovers and for months shows no sign of frailty. But the frailty is there. I can see it. In a few years those who live close to him will see it too. His jaw will deform. And his hands. And knees.’
‘When the frailty is discovered … he’ll be overthrown?’
Douglas said nothing.
‘Murdered?’
Douglas remained silent.
‘His brother!’ Henry shouted. ‘I hate that brat! If he usurps Malcolm’s throne, I’ll invade. I’ll conquer Scotland, Douglas. The Piglet will fall beneath my heel. I warned him I’d put him in irons. I will!’
‘It breaks my heart to hear you say that, Henry.’
‘My heart breaks to know you’ll abandon me.’ They stood still. ‘A King has no friends,’ Henry added.
The giant opened his arms to encircle him. He kissed the top of Henry’s head. ‘Neither does a Merlin.’
Henry handed the carefully wrapped musical instruments to Douglas and helped him mount his horse. He stood watching a long while as his old mentor rode back towards Guillaume’s sanctuary in the woods.