XXII

 

 

GISBURNE SAW JOHN’S face fall as the doors of the Tower gatehouse yawned open.

Framed in the great stone arch were perhaps a dozen men. First came four armed guards bearing spears, and at their centre, a perpetually smiling, bearded man of middle age and generous girth – clearly a person of significance. He chuckled to himself as he approached, hands spread wide in the manner of a genial host welcoming a guest. His appearance was affable enough – his greying hair and beard were full and curly, and somewhat untamed – a look, Gisburne judged, that he had affected for rather too long, as if clinging to his youth. Once, it may have seemed romantic and unconventional, but now, despite his fine clothes and ostentatious Byzantine sword, it merely made him look unkempt and unwashed – like a tramp dressed up as a noble.

Behind him came two grooms, and beyond them, four mounted knights and one magnificent chestnut stallion. It was this beast – or rather the man leading him – that had so caught the Prince’s attention.

At first, Gisburne could not place him – but he looked again at John’s pained expression, and the fog cleared.

Walter de Coutances, Archbishop of Rouen, Constable of the Tower and justiciar of England in all but name. He had succeeded the detested Longchamp as Richard’s right hand in the kingdom, but the two could hardly have been more different. Longchamp had not even had the common sense to hide his weaknesses – the greed, the vanity, the cowardice. De Coutances, ambitious though he undoubtedly was, had none of these flaws. He was shrewd, pragmatic, hardworking and fearless. Even now, Gisburne could see that John feared him. It was de Coutances who had invested Richard Duke of Normandy, who had served as vice chancellor and who stood at the King’s side when his great army had journeyed upon its crusade. It was also de Coutances who Richard had dispatched back to England when he had heard of the feud between Longchamp and his brother – a feud behind which, the Lionheart had suspected, lay designs upon his throne.

It had been barely two months since John and de Coutances had last seen each other. Then, John had taken the biggest gamble of his life, and had lost. Believing his brother Richard would now never return from the Holy Land, he had announced him dead, struck an alliance with Philip of France and raised an army in England to secure the throne. De Coutances, however, ever loyal to the rightful king, stood firm against him, besieging Windsor Castle and scattering John’s rebels. The Prince had been forced to flee to France, his tail between his legs. The defeat, and the subsequent humiliation – compounded by the widespread belief that he had acted purely out of greed – were still raw.

The big, shaggy-bearded man was first to reach them. “My lord, my lord – welcome,” he said with a smile, and bowed low. “I am Sir William Fitz Thomas, Lieutenant of the Tower.”

“Ah,” said John. “The fabled Lieutenant.”

Fitz Thomas spread his hands wide again, this time in a gesture of apology. “Had we only known your plans...” John, however, was already not listening. De Coutances, who was leading his horse forward, had all his attention.

“My Lord Archbishop,” said John. He forced a smile, and inclined his head – enough to show respect without in any way implying subordination. “What a pleasant surprise.”

De Coutances nodded in acknowledgement. “I take it, then, that the Prince John who claims to be ill and remains mysteriously confined to his carriage is no prince at all?”

“No prince,” confirmed John. “And not ill.”

“Well, it will be a relief to all to know we do not have dysentery in our midst,” said de Coutances.

“I hear it’s all the rage in the Holy Land,” said John. De Coutances did not laugh. Fitz Thomas snorted uncertainly, and looked from one to the other.

“I had not expected to see you, Walter,” said John, “but it is good that you are here. Perhaps now sanity can be restored.” And he smiled his most gracious of smiles.

De Coutances did not respond in kind. “Had you not found it necessary to employ such an elaborate deception,” he said, “sanity would perhaps not have departed.”

Gisburne saw John’s muscles tense, heard his knuckles crack.

“The deception was necessary, my lord,” said Gisburne. “And entirely my idea.”

De Coutances’ eyes narrowed. “Gisburne, is it not?” Gisburne lowered his head in acknowledgement. De Coutances nodded. “These are... turbulent times.” He shot a glance at John. “It might have been better had you shared this information. But all is now resolved.”

“And no harm done,” added Fitz Thomas.

“Indeed,” said John.

“Well, I’ll not keep you. I depart forthwith to join Queen Eleanor in the north – to assist in her efforts to secure the freedom of the King. In my absence, Sir William Fitz Thomas, Lieutenant of the Tower, has full authority over all matters within these walls.”

John’s fingers once again clenched into fists.

“Under your guidance, of course,” added the Archbishop, as if it pained him to admit it.

The fingers relaxed.

With that, De Coutances gripped the pommel of the saddle, put his foot in the stirrup and hauled himself upon his mount. The other four riders formed around him.

“Oh – one thing,” called De Coutances from his horse. “Your guard of Norman cavalry...”

“Yes?” said John, as sweetly as he could manage.

“Clearly such a force could not be permitted within the walls of the Tower.”

John tried to hide his disappointment. “Well, never mind,” he said. “They won’t have gone far. I’ve not paid them yet.” And at that he smiled.

“I paid them,” said de Coutances, and John’s expression soured. “In the absence of a capable Prince, I drew the money myself from the crown and this morning saw them onto a ship bound for Normandy. I’m sure you understand we cannot have such formidable fighting men at a loose end in the capital.”

“Well...” said John, his expression pinched, his jaw clenched. “Thank you.”

“The money should be reimbursed as soon as you are able. The usual rates of interest apply until that time.” And he turned and walked his horse across the bridge, his guard around him.

“You came at just the right moment,” said Fitz Thomas, cheerily. “Another minute, and the Archbishop would have been gone!”

“How terrible that would have been,” said John with a thin smile. He turned to the receding figure of de Coutances. “Do please pass on my regards to my dear mother.”

“I will,” called de Coutances brusquely. He gave a brief nod, and was gone.

“Well, your retinue awaits, my lord,” said Fitz Thomas with a cheery smile, gesturing inside. “Your chamber is prepared, and I have brought good wine.”

“And I suppose I really should relieve my understudy, who has endured the discomfort of being Prince John quite long enough...”

“My deepest apologies again for the misunderstanding earlier,” said Fitz Thomas, shaking his head. He chuckled. “I will admit you threw us into quite some confusion.” The Lieutenant struck Gisburne as rather too keen to be liked, but his bumbling geniality seemed to work on the Prince.

“Quite understandable,” said John, his fury now completely forgotten. “On the whole, it is better to be cautious. As the Archbishop said: turbulent times.”

“Indeed! Indeed!” laughed Fitz Thomas.

“I hope the defences have improved in other areas,” said Gisburne.

Fitz Thomas’ laugh faltered. For a moment, as he looked at Gisburne, the mask of affability seemed to slip, and there was something in his expression akin to indignation. Then the smile returned. “You are familiar with our defences?” he said.

“Sir Guy gave them a thorough testing,” said John. “Back when Puintellus was Constable.”

“Really!” exclaimed Fitz Thomas. His voice was full of wonder, but his eyes, this time, showed a flicker of resentment. “Would that I had been there to see it. Will you be joining us, Sir Guy?”

“I fear not, Sir William,” said Gisburne. “I am required elsewhere...”

“Coward...” whispered John.

“Well, I must not keep you from your duties...”

Gisburne bowed his head. He had no desire to draw this meeting out either.

“Come, Sir William,” said John, glancing briefly back at Gisburne. “I shall tell you all about it...” And, leaving his horse to the groom, the Prince ushered Fitz Thomas between the guards and on through the great archway.

Gisburne turned from the Tower, heaved his aching bones into Nyght’s saddle, and rode alone to his rendezvous with Galfrid, the Tower’s great doors booming shut behind him.