Stewart Binns: Lionheart

‘My Lord, I withdrew – Father Alun will attest to that.’

‘I know, but you withdrew from a test that could not have been passed. More importantly, you stood up to a thug and put an end to a reign of terror carried out in my name. For that I am eternally grateful.’

‘Sire, given my recent experience, I’m afraid I am not able to accept the challenge until I know what it involves.’

‘Under the circumstances, that is reasonable. However, I will need some time to explain what the task is. Father Alun will help me with this, because he has a particular interest in ensuring that whoever carries this responsibility is the right man. Not only that, but should you choose to undertake the responsibility, he will be your companion and wise counsel for its duration.’

‘I understand, my Lord.’

‘You must also understand this: if, after hearing what the task involves, you choose not to accept the calling, you must never repeat any of the information you are given. Never. Not to anyone. Do you understand?’

‘I do, sire.’

‘Do you follow a code of knightly chivalry?’

‘I do, my Lord, the Mos Militum, the code of the English heroes during the Great Crusade.’

‘That is good to know. Then I need your solemn oath as a knight of the realm that what you hear from me and Father Alun will be known only by you.’

‘You have my word, Earl Harold.’

‘I have an estate at Bosham. I think you will enjoy the surroundings. Many years ago, the land was held by Godwin, Earl of Wessex, the father of King Harold. Godwin is buried in the chapel there, as is the little daughter of King Cnut, who was drowned in Bosham Creek. So you see, I have leased the manor for nostalgic reasons. I thought that the old kings of England would appreciate knowing that the home of the Godwins was back in English hands.’

I was impressed and captivated. The Earl was clearly a man of great repute within the Norman elite and yet he had leased the estate of Harold Godwinson, the Earl of Wessex and England’s last English king, just for nostalgia’s sake.

‘Father Alun and my men will stay with you until you are fit and well. When you are, come and join me in Bosham and we can talk about what I’m sure will be an adventure that will fascinate and excite you.’

‘Thank you, sire.’

Over the ensuing days, Father Alun refused to divulge anything he knew about what lay ahead, his own personal interest in it, or even anything about himself or his background. He was an engaging and knowledgeable conversationalist and helped Abbot Henry’s monks at Waverley during my recuperation. But any talk of the assignment that I was to be offered was strictly forbidden.

All Father Alun would say was that Earl Harold was a wise and kind man, and that he would tell me everything I needed to know when we got to Bosham.

By the time we reached Bosham in late October 1176, I was fit and well and eager to know what more lay beyond the tantalizing morsels of information I had been given so far.

Bosham reminded me of my home in Heysham. It sat on high ground, from where an ancient chapel looked out to the many rivers and creeks that led to the sea a few miles to the south. A small cluster of thatched cottages circled the old church which, like my father’s chapel, was built of stone and was said to be centuries old. Bosham was in the old Earldom of the South Saxons, not far from Chichester, an important burgh I had visited before, with its gleaming Norman cathedral and imposing castle. But Bosham was like the England of old – quiet and peaceful, with none of the pretentious scale of the new Norman burghs.

There seemed to be water everywhere, making the high ground of the village almost an island amidst the myriad creeks and mudflats. Numerous fishing boats were in the harbour and many more were pulled up on dry land all around us. Small boatyards were making and repairing vessels of assorted sizes, and there were the many buildings of the other artisans who thrived in a community that had lived cheek by jowl with the sea for centuries: chandlers, fishmongers, rope-makers, basket-makers, lightermen, watermen and trawl-makers. These were all trades I had known well as a boy.

The hall belonging to the manor sat behind the church, in its own enclosure about a hundred yards away. A modest hall, with a few smaller buildings nestling close beside it, it was far removed from a royal palace, but comfortable enough for a man of some stature.

The Earl of Huntingdon was certainly a man of stature. Despite his great age, he strode out to meet us when we arrived, offered a warm welcome and ushered us inside his hall, where food and wine had been prepared.

After the courtesies and the food had been dispensed with, the Earl cleared the hall and asked Father Alun and myself to join him by the fire.

‘I am delighted that you seem to have made a complete recovery, Sir Ranulf.’

‘Thank you, my Lord.’

‘I think it is time to describe what I would like you to do for me and – this is very important – for England. But first, let me repeat, I will now tell you things that must remain a confidence between the three of us. Do you concur?’

‘I do, my Lord. I gave you my word at Waverley Abbey. The oath of a knight does not need to be given twice.’

It was an impertinence to speak so bluntly to an earl of the realm, but I had come to suspect that the role I was going to be offered was not one for a man of timid demeanour.

‘Well said, Sir Ranulf, I am duly admonished.’

In standing my ground, I had made an important point.

The Earl smiled warmly.

‘First of all, let me briefly tell you about me. I am the grandson of the mighty Hereward of Bourne. My mother, Estrith, was one of his twin daughters. She was with him at the Siege of Ely and was reunited with him, many years later.’

I was in awe, my jaw dropped and my eyes opened wide.

‘So, he did survive Ely after all. Many people say he did, but there are so many stories. My Lord Earl, it is a privilege to meet a man descended from such a noble family. Did you meet Hereward?’

‘Yes, in a way. When I was a small child my mother and I stayed with him at his mountaintop home in the Peloponnese, in the empire of the Byzantines. But alas, I have no memory of it. When I was old enough, I attempted to make my own way in the world. It was not easy to live in the shadow of such an illustrious grandfather, but I used him as an inspiration rather than an obstacle. With more than my fair share of good fortune, I managed to make a modest mark of my own.

‘I was made Earl of Huntingdon by Henry Beauclerc, grandfather of the present King, and took personal command of the Empress Matilda’s forces during her struggles for the English throne against her cousin, Stephen of Blois. After the war, I became guardian to Empress Matilda’s children and acted as confidant to her firstborn, our liege King Henry, through the difficult days of his succession to King Stephen. Since Matilda’s death ten years ago, I have kept a close eye on the King, who – I hope – continues to regard me as a somewhat ancient but wise godfather.’

I felt myself gulp. I was in the presence of a remarkable man who had been at the centre of the affairs of England for the last thirty-five years. The Earl sensed that I was somewhat overawed. Like a caring father, he rested his hand on my shoulder and smiled at me sympathetically before resuming his story.

‘Although Matilda, known to those close to her as Maud, is no longer with us, her pedigree and that of England live on. Now I must come to the nub of the matter.’

I cast a glance at Father Alun and saw a smile forming on his face. I began to feel my heart beat faster; all I wanted to do was ask more and more questions. But I realized that I was only just at the beginning of what could be an astonishing journey for me, and so I forced myself to hold my tongue and listen.