Magna Carta Page 3

  Mollified I nodded, “What did you learn?” I noticed that Edward and Fótr were now paying close attention.

  “Robert Fitzwalter is stirring up the barons again.”

  That could affect us. One of his distant cousins was Sir Hugh Fitzwaller. Sir Ralph had married his daughter.

  “He is always stirring up trouble.”

  “Aye lord but this time, on the orders of the King He sent his half-brother William Longespée, the Earl of Salisbury. he was summoned to the tower. Fitzwalter has fled to Normandy where he raised the standard of rebellion there.”

  “And the King?”

  “On his way back from Ireland.”

  I nodded, “Then it seems our peaceful life is about to end.”

  The table had gone quiet and my wife said, “Why? The Baron has fled.”

  “He has many friends in England. They will see this as more evidence of the tyranny of King John.” I saw my wife’s hand go to her mouth.

  Aunt Ruth said, “If my nephew cannot speak openly in these walls then it is a sad day. Besides when a King acts as a tyrant it is up to all good men to say so!”

  Chapter 2

  Border bandit

  My son accepted the fact that he had almost two years to wait to become a squire. It had been the hunt which had shown him his limitations rather than my wife’s words. He had seen how hard it was to kill an animal. Had it not been threatening my life I am not even sure that he would have stabbed it with as much force as he mustered. With that problem temporarily solved I was able to concentrate on the running of my manor. I made sure that I regularly visited York to speak with the Archbishop, Geoffrey. I had helped him on more than one occasion and he trusted me. Since Philip of Poitou’s death, I had been the lord he could rely upon to keep a watch on the Palatinate. I was no fool; I knew that he wished the new Bishop to be one of his priests. The men who ruled the church sought power just as much as kings and barons. I also helped to ensure that the roads leading to the north were guarded. He and the High Sheriff did not get along. As he was King John’s half-brother, the Archbishop was a friend in case I needed a counsellor with the King’s ear. Like all of the clergy in England he was suffering because of the interdict and his excommunication. Money was in short supply.

  I was visiting York with Petr, Alfred and four of my men at arms. It was November. I could buy gifts for my wife and Aunt Ruth. We had had a good year and my coffers were full. One advantage of my friendship with the Archbishop was the accommodation he offered us. We stayed in his palace. I had not warned him of my impending arrival but his captain of the guard admitted me to his hall directly we arrived. His steward, who was also a priest took Petr, Alfred and myself to our chamber. The men at arms would be housed in the guard room. They did not mind. They could enjoy the pleasures of the Saddle Inn. The whores there were clean and the prices reasonable. There had been much competition to accompany me on this trip to York.

  “His Grace has some business to deal with. I am sorry for the delay lord but I have no doubt that he will have you dine with him. Until then please use any of the chapels or cloisters for contemplation.”

  He did not know me. I could not sit and contemplate. When we had changed I led Petr and Alfred to walk through the narrow streets close by the cathedral. Known as the Shambles they were a warren of little streets and alleys. I would not wish either my son or squire to venture there alone but my surcoat was known and it would take a brave man to risk the wrath of the Earl of Cleveland. The two of them were both intrigued and terrified in equal measure by what they saw as we walked from the cathedral to the river. I was recognised by men who had fought alongside me and others knew my story. The hero of Arsuf was a song sung by troubadours throughout the length and breadth of England. Most of them were an exaggeration. I had learned long ago that no matter what I said they preferred the heroic version of the troubadour.

  I used the walk as an opportunity to look at the stalls which sold goods I could not buy in Stockton. I would return in daylight, for the short days meant that dusk was upon us. The goods on sale were also the poorer ones. The better buys were to be had early in the day. You came at this time to buy a bargain. If you wanted quality then you came in the morning. I wanted quality. There was an inn by the river. It was not the Saddle. That was in the Shambles. This one had a view over the river and was frequented by those with Viking blood. I chose it because I thought it might help Petr think of the land of his mother’s birth. They also served fine beer. The Vikings brewed the best ale. All of my men said so. I think my men at arms might have chosen this inn but for the fact that they knew that it might lead to fights and a Viking fight ended in death more often than not.

  Alfred took it all in with wide eyes. He was drinking strong beer. I knew his mother would not approve but Petr and I could watch him. He was fascinated by the tattoos some of the warriors had on their faces. Most had plaited beards and moustaches. I saw one with bones in the ends. It may have been animal bones but it impressed Alfred. As we headed back, through the dark and chilly streets he asked Petr, “Why did your father leave your mother’s homeland, Petr?”

  “He followed your father. He was not born in Sweden but my mother was. She loved her homeland but she said it is a cold place. The knights there are poorer than the knights here. My parents are content here.” He smiled, “In Sweden I would not have the chance to become a knight.”

  “Are you a Viking?”

  Waving his arm around the men he laughed, “At best half-Viking. My father is big enough to have been a Viking hero. These are not real Vikings; at least not most of them. A real Viking spends most of his time at sea. He seeks adventure. My mother told me of men who sailed beyond the western seas.”

  “Did they not fall off the end of the world?”

  “Who knows? They never returned but if you found a land beyond the Western Sea why would you return? I know that there are men who sailed further west than Miklagård is to the east and they found a land there without a single person. The world is wider than we know, Alfred.”

  The Archbishop sent word to us, when we arrived back at his palace, that he would dine with us but it would be just a small affair. His servant said that there would be fewer than twelve people in attendance there. That was unusual.

  I saw that he had reserved a seat next to him. On the other side of me was a man who was obviously neither warrior nor priest. He had the corpulent look of a merchant. As we entered I said, “Petr, watch Alfred. It seems we will not be seated together.”

  “Aye lord.”

  Petr knew how to drink little and to keep his eyes and ears open. He would ensure that Alfred did the same.

  “Sir Thomas, this is an unexpected pleasure.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “Let us dispense with these titles. I am Geoffrey and you are Thomas. We are, after all old friends.”

  I immediately became suspicious. He was being effusively friendly. We were not old friends. I had done him some favours and he knew I was a bastion to the north that was as far as it went. He wanted something from me. I would drink sparingly.

  He waved over his steward, “You may begin to serve now. We are all here.”

  I said, “I am sorry you waited for us. We were not told of a time.”

  He shook his head, “This is my fault. When I heard that you were here I altered our dining arrangements. The men around this table were specially selected.”

  The word conspiracy flashed across my mind. I recognised a couple of the men at the table. The Chancellor of York was there as was his Dean, the leading canon and the captain of his guards. The merchant and the man next to him I did not recognise. When we had been in the town I had heard rumours of a rift between King John and his half-brother. I had dismissed them as idle gossip. Perhaps they were not just rumours. My visit to York suddenly seemed like a bad idea.

  The conversation centred on the food. The Archbishop of York kept a good table. He had been Chancellor of England under h
is father, King Henry, and a good Chancellor knew how to accrue coin. The Archbishop was rich. We had just finished the roast pike when the Archbishop broached the subject which was the reason for the small gathering.

  “How remiss of me. I have failed to introduce you to the guest seated next to you. Sir Thomas, Earl of Cleveland, this is Godfrey of Beverley.”

  I turned. The merchant looked older than me but, on closer inspection, I could see that he was not. The fat had hidden his age. The man smiled at me. His hands were adorned with rings and, around his neck hung a seal of office. I did not recognise it. He smiled, “This is an honour, Earl. We have all heard of your exploits; even in Beverley.”

  I hated having to make conversation with those I did not know. I had grown up in a world of war. It had only been for a brief time in La Flèche and since I had come to Stockton that my wife had forced me to speak to those who were not warriors. I was uncomfortable and did not enjoy it. At least in my castle my wife would arrange the seats so that I could speak with other knights.

  “And what is it that you do, Godfrey of Beverley?”

  “I trade in sheep and horses.” He held up his seal. “King John has graciously given me the right to trade with Flanders and the Baltic.” He turned to the man next to him. He was an older man. He was older than I was. He had the gnarled hands of a farmer. He was in direct contrast to the merchant and they made an incongruous pair. “This is my elder brother, Ranulf. He has a farm at Matfen, north of the Roman wall.”

  I suddenly became intrigued. There was a tale here. Why did the two brothers live so far from each other? What was Ranulf of Matfen doing in York?

  The Archbishop spoke, “Godfrey came, with his brother, to speak to me several days ago. As I am due to return to Normandy in a day or so this has proved inconvenient for me. I believe that you were sent here by God.”

  I had been intrigued and now I was confused. What had this to do with me? “Sent by God?”

  Ranulf spoke. I was aware that the conversation in the room had died. I now saw the reason for the intimate gathering. The Archbishop could trust all of the people in the room. “My lord, I came to the Archbishop for I need help.” His voice was distinctly from the north. He sounded different from his brother. “A month since, when I was at the market in Hexham selling some sheep, my farm was raided by Scots from across the border. There is a lord in Hawick.” He shook his head. “He is no lord! He is a bandit that the King of Scotland sanctions. Alexander of Hawick is an evil and venal man. He took my wife and two daughters, Sarah and Maud. He murdered my men and took their families too. He sent a demand for ransom. He knows that my brother is rich.”

  Godfrey spread his jewelled hands. “And I would pay the ransom but my coin is all tied up at the moment. Come January and I will have the coin which the Scot demands.” He shook his head, “I have no children. My wife died. Sarah and Maud are the nearest I will ever have to my own children. Believe me, Sir Thomas, if I had the gold then I would pay it.”

  I was still confused. This had nothing to do with me. “What about the Sheriff of Newcastle?” I did not like the man and he had tried to have me killed but he was the law in that part of the land.

  The Archbishop shook his head, “Ranulf appealed to him but he said that as they were across the border he would not risk the peace,”

  I felt myself becoming angry, “That man did little to help us win the peace that we won. It is the Scots who have broken the peace by raiding across the border!”

  The Archbishop smiled, “See, Godfrey, I told you that Sir Thomas had been sent by God.”

  “What have I got to do with this?”

  “Thomas, the world knows you to be a true knight. You do the right thing even if it means exile. You do not bow the knee to tyrants and you do not allow the innocent to suffer at the hands of evil men. You tried to save Prince Arthur and his sister. It was not you who failed them it was others. We would have you go across the border and bring back the three women and the rest of the captives.”

  I was stunned. I looked down the table and saw my son and squire’s faces. Their expressions were those of pride and not shock. “Let the Scot know that you cannot pay yet.”

  Ranulf said, “Lord, I did that. He said he did not believe us. He said that we were delaying. He sent the head of one of the boys he had taken as proof that he meant what he said. If the ransom is not paid by the second week of December then he will give my daughters to his men to be used.”

  There was a pause to allow that to sink in and then Godfrey said, “And the ransom would be higher. I cannot allow my nieces to suffer. Sir Thomas the money means nothing! I will pay the ransom to you if you can fetch back my brother’s family.”

  I shook my head, “If I took the ransom then that would make me no better than this Alexander of Hawick.” I turned to the Archbishop, “Geoffrey, York is rich. Use the money from the See. Godfrey will pay it back in January.”

  “I would that I could but York is not as rich as you might think. King John has taxed us harshly this year and I am leaving for Normandy at the end of the week. I fear, my lord, that if you do not rescue them then two young women and countless others will have their lives ruined.”

  I pushed away the beef. It tasted sour in my mouth. They were taking advantage of me. I knew that. Despite what the Archbishop had said I knew that he could have found the money from somewhere. I looked over to Alfred. My wife had almost been abducted. I had been sent to rescue her and that had turned out well. I had failed to save Prince Arthur and his sister was now incarcerated in one of King John’s castles. Perhaps the Archbishop was right. Perhaps I had been sent here by God. I saw Petr looking at me. His mother’s people believed in three spirits who determined men’s fate. They spun and they wove. I did not believe it but this seemed to me to be fated.

  I turned to Ranulf. The Archbishop and Godfrey of Beverley were immaterial. “Ranulf, how old are your daughters?”

  He beamed, “You will save them?”

  I shook my head, “Answer my questions for I am not yet decided.”

  “Sarah is twelve and Maud is sixteen. Maud would have been wed already but the man to whom she was promised died in the battle against King William of Scotland.”

  That was another reason I would accept the task. One of the men who had fought for me had died. Maud’s life had almost been ruined. If I sat and did nothing I could not sleep at night. Had I not come to York I would have been blissfully unaware of their plight. This was like the box of Pandora. It had been opened. The carrot was out of the ground.

  “And this Alexander of Hawick, does he have a castle?”

  “He has a fortified hall with a tower. The men he has are all bandits. They raid both sides of the border. The land between the wall and Scotland is a wasteland. Will you help me, lord?”

  I looked around at the expectant faces. I did not want to do this but I knew that I had to. Being a knight had responsibilities and this was one of them. “I will, Ranulf, but I will need you to come with me. I know not the land and your family do not know me.”

  “Lord, I am no coward. This is my family. Without them I am nothing and my life is nothing.” He glanced at his brother, “You need not fear for me. I know how to use a sword.”

  Smiles replaced the looks of apprehension. The Archbishop put his hand on mine, “You will not regret this, Thomas.”

  “I hope not for I have lost enough men already. They are as valuable to me as your coin is to you, Geoffrey.”

  The Archbishop lowered his voice, “Do not think badly of me, Thomas. I have a document written for you. It may help should you incur the King’s wrath.” He saw the look on my face and he smiled, “Sometimes doing the right thing is the wrong thing to do. Let us say that what little I can do I will. The document will be ready for you when you leave.” I did not understand his enigmatic epigram. It did not matter. I had a quest.

  I was aware that my shopping expedition would have to wait. We would have to ride back to Stockton
on the morrow. Godfrey spent the rest of the meal saying how he would repay me. I saw, in Ranulf’s eyes that he knew the real reason I was doing this and it had naught to do with gold or silver.

  Eventually I asked, “How much is this ransom?”

  “A thousand pounds of silver.”

  My mouth must have dropped open for I saw the Archbishop smile. “But King John only asked for ten thousand pounds of gold in reparations from King William.”

  Ranulf nodded, “The Scots have been doing this along the border since the war ended. It has never been as much as this but others have had family members ransomed for five hundred pounds of silver. However, this is the furthest south they have ventured.” He shook his head, “I should have taken my family with me then I would not have lost them nor the eight men who died defending them.”

  “No, brother, it is my fault.” Godfrey of Beverley turned to me. “I visited a year since. I confess that I took servants and fine horses. All saw how rich I was. I was vain and I have been punished by God. I told all of my riches. I was boasting.”

  “And thus, are sins punished.” The Archbishop had the last word.

  When we retired to our quarters it was Alfred who was full of questions. Petr silenced him. “Alfred your father has much to ponder. He has to decide which men to take and how he can safely extract the three women and more from a tower. It will not be easy.”

  He was right. I could not simply turn up with my retinue and demand their return. Alexander of Hawick would hold up in his tower. I needed to devise some means of luring the lord from his tower and hall. Only then could I risk attacking. The sixty miles from York to Stockton would be the time to rigorously question Ranulf. We needed to strike sooner rather than later. This bandit would be warier the closer it came to the second week of December. I needed to get home and leave immediately. I had a night and a day to plan this raid.

  We were up early. This was a church and the priests had been up since the middle of the night, praying. The Archbishop and his chancellor were waiting for me in the refectory. Before I had even eaten the Archbishop handed me two parchments. “This first is the document I promised you last night. It grants you the revenue from the lands around Northallerton.” I looked up at him. He nodded, “It may help you to protect the Baron there. I know his affiliations and family ties. Besides the coin will help when King John sends his tax men. In addition, it is a buffer to your lands from the south.” He handed me the other piece of parchment. “This one is my written orders to cross the border and rescue the hostages. I do not think the King would worry about this but you have other enemies, do you not? The Sheriff’s hands will be tied by this parchment.” The Chancellor handed him a purse. “I cannot pay the ransom but I can give you this. It is a hundred crowns. I would not have you risk your horses and men without recompense.”