The de Montfort Histories - The Dove and the Devil Read online

  In his short bed gown, Amaury shivered in the frosty air, completely unaware that his knees were beginning to turn blue as they felt the bite of the frost! It was almost the end of November, the first week in Advent. Although he had the holiday of Christ’s mass to look forward to in a matter of a few weeks, it all paled in comparison in the face of this... a real tournament. He had never been allowed to accompany his mother and father before because they said that tournaments were too dangerous for children to attend. And they were! Several riders and spectators had been injured and even killed in other tournaments. Amaury thought the danger was the best part. It promised to be the most exhilarating event of his life!

  For once, he would be able to see his beloved papa really perform. He knew he was a great soldier—everyone said so—but he had only seen his father in practice before this. There was sure to be a great crowd of knights, barons, counts and dukes here, all with exceptionally high opinions of their own skills. Some would surely deserve their reputations but others would clearly be disgraced before the day was out. Amaury felt certain that he could pick up some pointers—some good, some bad—which might serve him well one day. After all, he was the eldest son and would inherit his father’s estates in northern France, one day.

  He wriggled his toes and jumped from one foot to the other to restore some circulation. His feet were beginning to hurt, unshod as they were. He was torn between rushing in and dressing as quickly as possible so as to get outside again, and staying where he was because he had such a good view and didn’t want to miss anything. The decision was made for him when the door creaked open and his mother emerged.

  Alicia de Montfort looked startled when she saw her elder son. “What are you doing out here in this freezing weather with no clothes on?” she demanded.

  “I’m not cold, honestly, Maman.” His blue lips told a different tale.

  “How long have you been standing out here?” She took hold of his small body and wrapped her arms around it.

  “Maman, Maman! Look at the tents and the horses. There must be hundreds, thousands even!”

  She smiled to herself, thinking how like his father he was. Simon, her husband, could also be transported into just these paroxysms of delight when contemplating horses, armour or, indeed, anything to do with soldiering. “We must go inside immediately before you catch your death of cold. It wouldn’t do to miss any of the tournaments, would it?”

  Amaury fervently agreed with her and willingly allowed her to lead him indoors with the promise that if he dressed quickly and attended to the duties his father had assigned him, he could go outside and join the pages who were helping the squires ready the horses.

  “Why didn’t you wake me? Why didn’t you tell me you were going outside?” The young Guy de Montfort’s voice held a note of petulance that was near to tears. He had clearly just woken up!

  “Because you’re still a baby. Look, you’re nearly crying now!”

  “I am not.” Amaury’s younger brother stamped his foot. “I’m nearly as big as you.”

  Amaury looked at him “You’re too young to understand these matters. You’re only four.” He spoke scathingly from the great height of his eight and a half years. “And besides, you can’t help the pages yet, as I can.” He looked smug. “Papa says I may go away to England next year to my uncle of Leicester to begin my training.”

  Guy’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want you to go away,” he wailed.

  “We all have to go,” said Amaury, a bit more patiently now that he could see he had really upset his little brother. “How else do you think we can be trained?”

  “Boys, be quiet! Stop arguing and get ready.” The voice was peremptory and held a tone that hinted disobedience might not be an acceptable course to pursue. The bickering stopped immediately. They knew the quality of their mother’s temper, and experience had shown them it was not a good idea to test it!

  Simon de Montfort, Amaury and Guy’s father, stood in the field that had been given over to the tournament on Thibaut’s great estate. He would never have been able to afford such an entertainment on his own smaller estate at Montfort L’Amaury, but Thibaut was another matter. Grandson of a king, nephew to two other kings and brother to yet another, he was well able to afford to mount a spectacle such as would be seen here in the next few days. Apart from its obvious entertainment value, it was a good money-making venture. It would raise the status of the Count himself, bring in a great deal of money for his local tradesmen and keep the people of the estate and the nearby towns and villages happily entertained for several days. It would lift the spirits of even his lowliest retainers and set them up for the long, hard winter ahead.

  The performers would come from far and wide, as would some of the merchants. Pickpockets regarded tournaments as gifts from God. A man skilled in his trade could earn enough to keep a family for a sixmonth. The prostitutes were a problem, too. Invariably, they left behind them the unwelcome gift of the new disease, the English pox.

  In truth, the preparations had not been going on merely overnight, as Amaury had supposed. Indeed, the tournament had been set in motion a year ago when the first challenges were sent out to knights worthy enough to be invited. The knights would come from all over the north of France, parts of Germany and from the south of that part of France which was not really French—areas known as Occitania, Poitou and Aquitaine. It did not matter that both the Pope and the King forbade these events because of their danger. All men worthy of their salt wanted to cover themselves in glory and enhance their fighting reputations.

  Aumery was quite right in his judgement of his father’s skills. Simon had already gained enviable fame as a great fighter and worthy opponent, and many knights wished to best him in the lists. Numerous men had been given the opportunity and had failed, for Simon made a point of attending virtually every tournament of the year, no matter what the distance from his own estates. He loved the thrill of the melee, that great gathering of fighting men whose sole aim was to unhorse their opponents.

  It was a dangerous sport, hardly worthy of being called a sport, as the risks it carried were life threatening. Severe injury and even death were the competitors’ constant companions, but for all the risk, there was never a shortage of knights willing to prove their mettle. If the risks were high, so were the rewards. A man who unseated his opponent would win the opponent’s horse and armour. Countless young knights had outfitted themselves at no cost save that of demonstrating their prowess as fighters in the lists. But as Simon was wont to point out to his companions, there was more to a tournament than mere sport; it was truly a training ground for the skills that knights required in real battle. Many young fighters in the early Crusades had cause to thank the tournaments in which they had taken part, for saving their lives.

  Today, however, there would be no melee because that was considered somewhat old- fashioned. Jousting in the lists—where one man armed with a lance tested his skill on horseback against another similarly armed—was becoming the more popular sport. This was the part of the tournament most feared by Alicia and, indeed, by all the other wives, especially since they would be obliged to watch the entire spectacle from a raised dais immediately in front of the joust.

  Alicia had begged Simon to allow her to make some padding for underneath his hauberk, something most sensible other knights had adopted in order to add protection to their regular armour. Simon had not allowed her to do this. To him, it smacked of cowardice, of an expectation that he might not win. To Simon, failing to win was not an option. Simon always won—in competition and in battle—and he smiled to himself as he remembered the argument that had ensued. His will had prevailed, however, and she had conceded victory to his stubbornness. True, he did not win many battles with her; he could never resist her pleadings on most things. He loved her more than anyone or anything on earth. He had never understood why men felt it necessary to take a mistress or use a whore.

  Simon had arisen early and walked around the fi
eld crowded with the usual donkeys, bullocks, sheep, goats, pens of chickens and geese and all manner of humankind. What people saw as he moved about was a tall, very dark and handsome man who bore himself proudly. The very set of his shoulders indicated that he was not a person to be trifled with, and those who had done so had found it cost them dearly. He nodded to some of his acquaintances, many of whom would be taking part in the lists later that day. In the crowd were jugglers, musicians, sellers of ribbons and lace, and silk merchants hawking the beautiful silks the Crusaders had recently brought back from the east. The bearbaiting had not yet begun, but Simon knew that a great deal of money would change hands later on in the day as people laid bets on whether the dogs would win against the bear or the bear would survive to fight another day. In any event all the animals taking part would end the day with a vicious mauling!

  Pushing through the crowds that were growing larger by the minute, Simon eventually reached the part of the field near the lists that was reserved for knights of his rank and their armour, horses, grooms and the like. He cast a trained eye over the horseflesh, noting the prime condition. A knight would sooner starve or beat his children than see his horses mistreated—not that the knights themselves did the work! If not a poor mount was present amongst this gathering, it was on account of the expertise of the grooms and the pride of the squires, who lived only to see their lords shine in events such as these.

  He smiled, remembering the days not so many years ago when he had been in the same position as these young men. More than once he had remarked that he was certain some squires preferred to look after the war horses more than they did their lords. He had once stated this within earshot of young Amaury, who had looked scandalized.

  “I’d never do that, Papa,” he’d said with such conviction that both his parents had looked at him in surprise.

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Simon had replied indulgently. “But you should remember that it’s not necessarily a bad thing for a squire to take pride in the care of our horses. Our lives can depend on how our mounts are turned out. A good groom is as important as a good saddle and a strong arm.”

  “When I’m older I shall have the best grooms and squires in the whole of Normandy!” Amaury had boasted. “My horse will be the biggest and best in all our domains, even in all of France. Maybe even the world!” Even at the ripe old age of eight, clearly Amaury was beginning to understand what it would take as the elder de Montfort son to rule their estates in northern France.

  Simon felt a bump on his shoulder and turned sharply in irritation, fearing, as most people did, the attentions of a pickpocket. His face cleared as he saw that it was only his friend Geoffrey de Joinville, who had tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Geoffrey my friend, it’s good to see you, but why are you up and about so early? I’d have thought you’d still be abed with that beautiful wife of yours.” Simon grinned as he spoke. Geoffrey’s new wife was the latest beauty to join this elite gathering of the flowers of French knighthood.

  Geoffrey looked glum. “I’ve drawn one of the short straws so I am to ride this afternoon. I was just looking at the destriers Gauthier has brought with him. It’s him I’m to tilt against first.”

  “You’ve drawn Gauthier, have you?” Simon laughed. “A bit of family pride involved, is there?” (Gauthier was Geoffrey’s cousin.) “Well, being older he’s had a bit more practice than you, and there’s no doubt at all that he’s good, but then, my friend, so are you.” Geoffrey looked gratified by the unsolicited praise. “You will need to watch him carefully, that’s all. You know how strong his left arm is. I recall a few falls you took from him in the tilt yard. He used to knock you about quite a lot, didn’t he? Do you remember, he used to laugh at you? He’s no mean swordsman if he unhorses you, but he tires easily on account of his age. But what am I saying? You know this already! Just watch his left arm carefully; he is as strong with that as he is with his right. I have jousted with him before and he is beatable as long as he stays mounted. He’s never beaten me yet!” Simon pulled his beard reflectively. “His best horse is certainly inferior to yours and will wind quicker, so stay mounted at all costs and don’t give him a chance to fight on the ground.”

  Geoffrey looked relieved. He certainly felt more comfortable with a lance than with the great swords he would need if he were fighting on the ground. “Have you heard that Fulques de Neuilly is here?” he said.

  Simon grunted. “What does he want?”

  “Who knows?” Geoffrey looked pensive. “I heard that Thibaut invited him here specially, but for what I don’t know.” Simon looked sceptical. “I’ve heard that a large part of the money the old reprobate collected to help pay for the last Crusade went mysteriously astray and then he built himself a fine new palace. I ask you, where does a preacher get the money to do that?”

  “He’s well liked by His Holiness the Pope, so I suppose that’s all that matters,” Geoffrey said. “He arrived late last night direct from Rome, and has been closeted with Thibaut for several hours already.”

  “I understand he performs miracles.” Simon couldn’t help grinning. “Perhaps that’s how he managed to build a palace on a preacher’s stipend.”

  “He does spend a great deal of his time in Rome now,” Geoffrey said cynically. “There must be something afoot because he has been talking with Thibaut and that Marshall of his, Villehardouin, since prime this morning.”

  “I’d say it’s a good thing Thibaut is not to joust today. He’d be a first class target for one of us!”

  “He would not like being beaten here on his own ground, that’s a certainty,” Geoffrey said. “Still, I suppose we’ll know soon enough why the old goat is here. They say he comes directly from Rome, but surely he doesn’t intend to beg for more money after the last fiasco.”

  “Well, he’s surely won’t want to miss preaching to this crowd. There must be close to a thousand people here now, so heaven knows what it will be like this afternoon!” Simon surveyed the crowd. “You haven’t seen Walter about, have you?”

  Walter was Simon’s most trusted squire and Amaury’s greatest hero (after his father, of course)—a young man who ached to win his spurs on the field of battle. Related to the de Montmorency family, he was a distant cousin of Alicia’s. He had come as a young page to Simon’s estates and, in turn, had become the most useful of the several young noblemen who had arrived there to undergo training. Simon reckoned he would make an excellent knight when the time came.

  “I’ve asked him to organize Amaury’s first hauberk with the armourers. He chose the German to make it. From what I’ve heard of the man’s reputation, I think Walter’s choice was sound. We will present it to the boy tonight at dinner, but I want to be sure everything is in place so there will be no disappointment for him.”

  “How old is Amaury? Surely not old enough for a hauberk!” Geoffrey looked surprised. How quickly the years pass by!

  “Oh, he’s old enough, and I think he already has the makings of a good soldier. Didn’t I tell you we have decided he’s to go away? We think he’ll be delighted with the hauberk. It will soften the blow of his leaving, at least as far as he is concerned. I’m not so sure about Alicia’s reaction, though, when the time comes. She has agreed that he must go somewhere, and we have made up our minds that he will go to my uncle of Leicester within the next fortnight. She knows my aunt, the Countess of Leicester, so he won’t be going to complete strangers, which is a blessing. I had to do a great deal of persuading, I can tell you! She finally agreed when I pointed out that that her own brothers had come to my father’s court and we hadn’t treated them badly.”

  “It’s always hard when the firstborn leaves,” Geoffrey agreed. “My mother cried for days after I left, and what did I care? I was too taken up with all the new sights and sounds I was encountering along the way. I didn’t miss my mother at all, nor anyone else for that matter!”

  “Better tell that to Alicia,” Simon said. “She might find some comfort in it. I
can’t deny that I will miss him, too, but there is no one I would rather send him to than my uncle of Leicester. His methods of training are known to be the best in England, and also the fairest. Alicia would tear my head off if anything happened to the boy. I am well aware that some abuse goes on, if not amongst the pages and squires, then sometimes amongst the knights and the young pages. De Noyesville’s son was quite ruined after his encounter with one of de Mauvoisin’s knights. The child was never right again.”

  “I heard that story but I confess I didn’t give it much credence. You know what hotbeds of gossip castles can be.”

  “This wasn’t merely gossip, my friend; this was proven, and Jacques de Verneil was nearly degraded as a result.” Simon looked fierce as he spoke. “He was lucky to have had powerful friends to intercede for him. I would have felt no compunction about stripping him of his knighthood had it been my child he had interfered with!” Simon loved his children with a fierceness that was quite unprecedented amongst his noble friends, who marvelled at his ferocity on the battlefield and his tolerance at home.

  “Well,” said Geoffrey. “I suppose I had better go and make myself ready and see if that lazy scoundrel of a groom has followed my orders. I must say I’m not looking forward to meeting Gauthier this afternoon. He was always bigger and stronger than I, even when we were playing at jousting.” He turned to leave.

  “Good luck,” said Simon, giving him a friendly smack on the back. “But not better than mine, I hope. I want to win this tournament. Perhaps we’ll meet in the finals tomorrow!”