The Autumn Throne (64 page)

‘I want to come with you,’ Richard said.

John looked him up and down, then nodded brusquely. ‘You’re in no fit state, but I won’t stop you. Find yourself a fresh horse and get something to eat. You’ll have to keep up. There’ll be no room for stragglers.’

Arthur and his troops broke down the gates and entered the town just before noon of the following day. The women had been listening to the whump of the trebuchets hurling boulders and flaming missiles into the town. They had been seeing and smelling smoke all morning, but now they heard shouts, cheering, and the clash of battle. With the town taken, only the wall ringing the keep and the keep itself lay between Alienor and capture. How close was help? Too far away if she searched her heart, but she tried to remain focused and deal with what was immediately before her and not what might be.

In short order siege ladders shot up in several places around
the outer walls and Arthur’s knights and serjeants launched a concentrated assault that Mirebeau’s tiny garrison and Alienor’s small entourage had no chance of resisting. Despite a valiant effort, the defenders were forced to fall back to the keep while the archers on the battlements tried to pin down the attackers and keep their own men covered. The last man reached the postern door and then it was barred and barricaded.

‘Help me up.’ Alienor gestured to Richenza and struggled to rise from her chair.

‘Grandmère, you cannot go back down, it is not safe!’ Richenza protested.

‘Tush, it is safe enough for now,’ Alienor responded. ‘They will regroup before they attack again and they know we will make them pay dearly so there is bound to be another round of parley. There are wounded men below and they shall know that I care about their welfare.’

With Richenza’s support she gained her feet and made her way stiffly to the door and then slowly, with great care, down the twisting stairs to the chamber two storeys below where the soldiers were assembled. An older knight had suffered a broken arm, another a deep gash from a sword. There were cuts and bruises aplenty, but as yet no deaths. Alienor spoke to the wounded, giving them brisk encouragement and comforting words, but in a matter-of-fact way. It was a soldier’s lot and being wounded in the course of duty was an accepted hazard. She helped to hand out food and wine and doled out reassurances that relief would arrive. The latter she declared in a firm voice that held absolute conviction, because while she believed, so would they.

Pons de Mirebeau urged her to return to her chamber, but Alienor refused. ‘I will go when it is necessary, sire. I shall at least eat and drink with the men, and tackling all those stairs is a tiresome business.’

‘Even so, madam, perhaps you should think about—’ He broke off and turned as a guard arrived to announce that the messenger had returned and desired another parley.

‘Admit
him,’ Alienor commanded. ‘Let us indulge in a little more banter, shall we?’

When the messenger was shown into the hall, she stood regally in its centre, surrounded by her knights, just a single opening giving access to her presence.

‘So,’ she said when he came and knelt to her, ‘what message does your lord have for me this time, messire? Has he changed his mind about my offer of a banquet?’ She kept him on his knees.

He raised hard blue eyes to hers, and when he spoke he made certain that everyone could hear. ‘My lord the Count of Brittany desires that you surrender the castle to him immediately. It is clear that you will be taken sooner or later. If your garrison resists, then they will be hanged to a man, but if you surrender now, then my lord guarantees clemency to all.’

Alienor met him gaze for gaze. ‘So now we come to the crux of the matter. My grandson declares that he is not my opponent but he damages my property and would slaughter my people as if they were no more than animals. Tell him that I thank him for his generosity and that my son will repay him tenfold when he arrives. My advice to you, my lord, is to save yourself while you still have time.’

A muscle ticked in his cheek but he persisted. ‘Madam, I beg you to reconsider. You cannot win this.’

‘Indeed not,’ she agreed, ‘because there are no winners in this sorry state of affairs. We are all losers; we are all diminished.’ She allowed the moment to draw out. Her instinct was to spit in his face and say she would rather die than yield, but that might bring on an assault straight away and she had gone as far as she dared. She allowed herself to slump a little. ‘I need time to consider because it is no small thing you ask of me. At least let me have until tomorrow dawn to decide.’

The messenger hesitated. ‘Madam, why drag it out that long? Let me speak bluntly and say that help is not coming. Better to yield now for the good of all.’

‘But not for the good of my pride and dignity. Tomorrow
at dawn I will open the doors, and that is my last word.’ At last she bade him stand.

The messenger bowed. ‘So be it, madam, I shall convey your words to my lord and return with his answer.’

He walked swiftly from the room as though expecting to receive a blade in the back. When he had gone, Alienor looked at the men surrounding her, and took in their varied expressions – shock, surprise, and speculation. One or two even looked grimly amused. ‘Of course we’re not going to yield at dawn,’ Alienor said, ‘but if he accepts our terms then we have bought ourselves more time.’ She swept her gaze around them. So few, even if they were the best, and she knew what she was asking of them. ‘I thank you all for your good service and loyalty, but if any of you wish to depart, I grant you leave. But go now, because these doors will not open again until the fight is over one way or the other.’

There was a momentary hesitation, but only for the time it took for the men to process the words into thought, and then in a rustle of garments and jangle of armour they knelt to her almost as one, and she had her answer.

‘Thank you.’ Two tears rolled down her face, but she did not wipe them away. ‘Thank you. May God reward you, even if it happens that I am unable, and may God be with us all now.’

Alienor retired again to her chamber, her joints throbbing from all the stair climbing; she’d had to pause on the narrow stair wedges to gain her breath and keep her balance. By the time she crossed the threshold she was dizzy and near to collapse.

Above her head she could hear the guards in the roof chamber that led out on to the battlements, and below, in the stairwell, the sound of barricades being dragged into place – mangers filled with stones, upended tables. The soap was poured down the stairs, making them more slick and slippery than flagstones on a frosty day. This, then, was to be Arthur’s banquet.

The chamber door was locked and barred. Richenza kilted
up her skirts like a peasant girl and helped to drag a coffer across it, and then filled that coffer with stones brought in earlier before the bailey fell. They had barrels of water and food. And there were three knights and an archer in the room with her who would fight to the death to protect her.

Blackness washed over her and she stumbled. Fortunately she was close to the bed and she landed half against it before slipping to the floor. Richenza was swiftly at her side but Alienor thrust her off. ‘I am all right,’ she said crossly. ‘Do not dare to burn feathers under my nose or I shall never speak to you again!’

‘Grandmère, you must rest.’ Richenza’s eyes were full of concern. ‘Come, lie down and be comfortable for a moment.’

She grudgingly allowed Richenza to help her fully onto the bed and endured the plumping of pillars and bolsters at her back.

‘What you have done, I could not do, Grandmère.’

‘Tush, of course you could if you had to. It is not so difficult and you are young while my strength is not what it was.’ Alienor closed her eyes. ‘I never thought that the end of my days would find me besieged in a tower by my own grandson – although I have been locked in towers of various kinds often enough. I lived in a great one in Paris when I was first married.’

Her mind drifted as she dozed. She was looking out over Paris on a warm morning in early autumn and her lustrous tresses were the colour of dark honey. Louis was lying on the bed, gazing at her with adoration. Those were the days when he had thought her beautiful and they had been innocent and in love – before the world invaded and changed everything.

And then another husband, a red-haired, vital young lion. Her long legs were wrapped around his waist as he rocked into her, and the sun was cascading through the windows over their gleaming naked bodies. They were creating life and she felt vital and filled with vibrant joy. It was long, long ago, but she could see the sunlight sparkling on their sweat and taste him as if the moment was now in this room.

The
scene changed abruptly. She was kneeling beside Richard in his tent, looking at his terrible wound, and his lips were moving even though he was dead and he was telling her that it didn’t matter. That all flesh was corruption anyway.

She jerked awake with a gasp as the dull blow of a trebuchet missile shivered against their walls, followed by a muffled cheer.

Richenza flew to her side, her eyes wide with fear. ‘They agreed a truce until the morning. Why are they attacking us?’

Alienor pushed herself up against the pillows. Everyone waited, breath held, but the silence continued, heightening the tension, until at last it dissipated as nothing else happened.

‘Their messenger returned while you were asleep and agreed to the truce,’ Richenza said. ‘I do not understand, Grandmère.’

‘They are doing it to make a point and cow us into submission on the morrow. They are telling us they can strike as they choose and we cannot stop them. Pay no heed.’ She thought, seeing Richenza’s white face, that it was easier said than done. The waiting was the hardest part. They were like flies trapped in a spider’s web, waiting for a bird to come and eat the spider. She wished William Marshal was here; he always knew how to pass the time and had a fount of stories and anecdotes to lift the spirits and make everyone laugh. ‘Come, play chess with me,’ she said. ‘It may not take our mind off what is happening, but it is something on which to focus.’

The long night passed. Alienor played chess and merels with Richenza and talked in a desultory fashion. There were no more trebuchet shots, but if they listened at the shutters they could hear the men in the camp and there seemed to be a lot of laughter and even carousing. Eventually she persuaded Richenza to come and lie down at her side on the bed, and stroked her granddaughter’s thick red hair with a tender, gnarled hand until Richenza fell asleep. But there was no sleep for her: she lay in vigil, waiting for the dawn, and behind her eyes the memories ran like a thread to the heart of a labyrinth.

*  *  *

Richard
was almost dead in the saddle. His muscles kept going into spasm and his thighs were chafed raw. His father had set a ferocious pace and was moving almost as fast with his army of mercenaries as Richard had done alone to bring the news. Halfway there they had been joined by the baron William des Roches who had promised to help them capture Arthur on the condition that he had a say in dealing with him once he was in custody, and his father had readily agreed because it swelled their numbers and assured them of victory.

They had ridden all night, pausing briefly to water their horses, feed themselves and stretch their legs. No camp had been made and the troops had just sat on the ground to eat their rations. Back on the road, Richard had tied himself into the saddle to stay astride. They were jolting along too fast for him to fall asleep, but he was not sure if he could physically remain on his horse for much longer.

In the grey light heralding dawn they were less than two miles from Mirebeau. The soldiers halted to check their arms and weapons, securing helms, adjusting shield straps and scabbards. Richard’s mouth was parched and he reached to the leather water bottle on his saddle. His gut was churning with the nausea of exhaustion mingled with apprehension and excitement.

‘You have done well.’ His father, clad in his mail shirt, had joined him, speaking man to man. ‘I am proud of you.’

‘Thank you, sire, but it was my duty.’ Heat burned Richard’s face at the compliment and he tried to sit up a little straighter.

‘Many know their duty, but they do not perform it,’ his father said with a twist of his lips.

A returning scout arrived and dismounted almost before he had drawn rein to make his report. ‘Sire, the town is taken and half burned down. The gates are broken and no one has yet shored up the gap. They’re wide open to us – they have no notion we are here.’ He flashed chipped teeth in a broad grin. ‘They’re breaking their fast round their fires – roast pigeon from the nearest loft if I am not mistaken.’

John
returned the scout’s grin wolfishly, tossed him a coin and turned his horse. ‘It would be rude indeed not to join them at their feast. I am ravenous and I am sure I can persuade my beloved nephew to provide us with hospitality.’

Towards dawn Alienor left the bed to visit the privy. Task accomplished, she went to the window where one of the knights had been watching throughout the night. The light was greying towards dawn but the sun was still below the horizon. Spirals of smoke were rising from the revived campfires of the besiegers, and their cheerful voices carried up to the window together with a scent of roasting meat.

‘Everything was quiet last night after that single stone from their stone thrower, madam,’ the knight, Guillaume of Poitiers, said, ‘but they will come once they have enough light.’

‘Let them. We are strong enough to beat them back at least once or twice. They will seek out our weak spots to pummel and soften us first.’

Guillaume gave a taut smile. ‘You know much about siege craft, madam.’

‘I benefited from listening when my husband and sons were either talking of warfare or waging it, which was most of the time.’ It was ironic, she thought, that the greatest of them had died at a petty siege of a castle not much greater than Mirebeau.

A thin band of light began to glow in the east, like a box opening to show a gleam of treasure. Alienor wondered if this was the last dawn she would ever see. Many of the knights would be thinking the same thing as they knelt before the priest to be shriven. God pray she was not sending them to their deaths.