Warlord(147)

I took a sip of wine and smiled reassuringly at my cousin, who was still badly shaken. But I was thinking that Robin had, indeed, been rather clever. He had revenged himself on his enemies the Templars; and he had drawn me even further into his tight circle. It occurred to me that, after Robin’s massive fraud, there was no way that I could join that band of holy warriors now, even if I had wanted to. But then there was Roland: Robin had saved my cousin from a horrible fate, and it had cost him dearly. Would I have stolen from the Templars to save Roland? Yes, the truth was that I would. In that terrible moment when Mercadier ordered his blinding, I would have done almost anything to save him. And so I could not reproach Robin for his crime. I did not even find myself surprised by his actions. That was my master, my friend: a cunning thief, an outlaw still in his heart of hearts, and a truly generous lord.


King Philip called for a truce again that autumn, and Richard, perhaps surprisingly, agreed to it. Before we had had time to bring our full strength against Gisors, news came in that a large company of French knights was loose in Normandy to the south of the Seine, burning and pillaging manors to the south and west of Château-Gaillard. They had penetrated as far as Évreux, we heard, and burned the town to the ground. And Richard was obliged to send many of his best men south to push them out of his lands. We also retaliated to the wanton destruction of Évreux with an attack in the north: Mercadier raided Abbeville during a trade fair there and slaughtered hundreds of unarmed merchants from all the lands of northern Europe, very few of whom were enemies of King Richard. Both the French and we, by this time, were quite regularly blinding our prisoners; and I made a silent vow to myself that I would not allow my person to be captured – I would rather die in battle, I told myself, than live the life of a helpless blind beggar. Such is youth: today I know that life, almost any life, even that of a despised blind man, is better than death.

So when Philip asked for a truce, Richard agreed. The cruel fighting that bloody year had thinned the ranks of his knights, and the King needed time to recruit more. Also, the completion of the fortifications of Château-Gaillard meant that the swarming workmen were now at liberty to begin work repairing and improving the other castles that Richard had taken that summer. But a period of peace was urgently needed to allow the necessary work to be done.

Richard had demanded possession of Gisors as part of the truce negotiations, but Philip had sensibly refused to surrender the key to the border. However, our sovereign did make other significant gains as part of the new accord. As the King said to me, shortly before Christmas that year: ‘King Philip has given up almost everything in Normandy, except Gisors, and next year, Alan, we shall take that too.’

I recalled that he had said something similar the year before, but held my tongue. Our position had improved a good deal since then: on the border we held Dangu, Courcelles, Boury and Sérifontaine; we had recovered large stretches of lands to the north of Gisors, west of the River Epte, and the broad fields of grain north of the Avre were ours once again: even poor ruined Clermontsur-Andelle was back in our hands, although I had not attempted to return there and rebuild the manor, and I had not troubled to ask Richard to confirm me in its possession. Maybe this time, I thought to myself, maybe this time King Richard was right, perhaps next year we would hold our Christmas feast in the great keep of Gisors, and this long war would truly be over.

On a freezing January morning, the two Kings met to discuss the truce in quite extraordinary circumstances. Philip, protesting that he did not trust Richard not to attack his person, insisted that Richard remain on one of our trading galleys in the middle of the Seine for the meeting, which took place a few miles to the south of Château-Gaillard. Meanwhile, Philip and his knights remained a-horse on the bank of the river, able, should their trembling terror of our lionhearted king overwhelm them, to rush away at a moment’s notice. It was an insult, we all agreed; King Richard had always rigorously observed the codes of honour in war, and he was not a man to break his sacred word. Nonetheless, despite this grave affront, a solemn truce was agreed for five years – although I don’t think a man present believed it would last for even half that time.

We celebrated yet another cessation of hostilities with a lavish dinner in the big round audience room in the keep of Château-Gaillard – a great number of the King’s senior knights and barons were there – and, naturally, when we had eaten and drunk to repletion, the talk turned to the war. ‘How should we pass our time during this irksome truce?’ That was the question on every man’s lips.