The Lion of Justice (15 page)

There were some who were uneasy, though. The servants had a way of looking over their shoulders as though they expected wild beasts to leap on to their backs. But it was nothing so tangible that they feared.

Henry heard them whispering together. ‘There are demons in the forest who come to life at night.'

‘The trees turn to monsters after dark; they dance wild dances and if any unwary soul should be wandering alone they would seize that one in their embrace and twist him this way and that in the dance of death; and in the morning there would be another warped and twisted tree in the forest.'

When riding through the forest it was no unusual sight to see the remains of a man hanging from a tree. He would be one of those ill-fated men who had thought to snatch something to feed himself and his family, as his forefathers had been wont to do before the Conqueror came. To steal the King's beasts was one of the greatest crimes in the country. Men were hung from the trees without trial and left there to feed the carrion crows or to rot in the winds and weather. Better such a fate, though, than to have one's eyes torn out or destroyed by glowing metal.

Men had suffered for the forest. The forest was a monster. Homes had been destroyed to create it for the sport of the Norman kings, and that was why it was generally believed that by night spirits walked abroad, and that the souls of men who had ‘lost their homes, their eyes or their lives would haunt the forest bent on vengeance.

It was in this forest that Richard, the fairest of the Conqueror's sons, had met his death. There were many who believed that that was the revenge of the dead on the man who had torn up their homes and made harsh rules for those who took what the forest had to offer.

So on such occasions when the King planned several days of hunting and occupied his lodges in the forest, this uneasiness always prevailed.

Linwood Lodge at this time was filled with the odour of roasting meat; there was laughter and merriment, for the King was in a good mood. He felt well, and younger than his
forty years. He always felt so during a hunting expedition.

The talk at table became ribald. The King always encouraged jokes against the churchmen; he had a special feud with them and, as he had often before declared, he had no fear of having to answer for his sins after death. He did not believe in such judgments, he said. No creator would like the weak men of the Church. He would favour a fighter and a good hunter. As for the churchmen, their sins were as plentiful as those of other men only they would not admit to them. They were puling hypocrites, all of them, and he never ceased to congratulate himself on getting rid of the arch-hypocrite Anselm.

Such talk in the lodge was listened to and applauded rather half-heartedly. It was all very well in the palaces of Winchester and Westminster. Here in the forest there was an air of foreboding. When night came it really did seem that the trees took on weird shapes; and the soughing of the wind in the branches could well be the moans of the dead calling for vengeance.

It may have been that even Rufus was aware of this, for during one night he awoke screaming for his attendants.

Ranulf was the first to reach him.

‘What ails you, lord?'

Rufus sat up on his straw, sweating profusely.

‘I know not. It was some evil thing that hovered over me. It was death, I think. It had an evil face. I felt it was suffocating me. Send for lights. I do not wish to be in darkness.'

Ranulf obeyed and others of Rufus's retinue came hurrying in.

‘Stay here,' said the King. You may pass the night in this chamber. I do not like this darkness. Let them bring candles. But stay here. Only then can I doze.'

‘Is it some sort of omen, think you?' asked one.

‘Bah,' retorted Ranulf. ‘It is a surfeit of venison.'

‘Think you so, my friend?' asked Rufus.

‘What else? Our presence will restore you, lord. You may sleep knowing we guard you and warn off evil spirits. Thus you will ensure a good day's hunting tomorrow.'

But in spite of the people and the lights, Rufus could not sleep. He remembered the profanities he had uttered at the
banqueting table; he remembered the blasphemies. He did not think they had been any worse than at other times but now he was in the forest . . . the enchanted forest, the cursed forest as some called it . . . the forest which had been made at the expense of great suffering and hardship to so many.

‘Nay, it was the venison,' he comforted himself. ‘I ate too heartily and drank too much. There's nothing wrong that a good day's hunting will not kill.'

The dawn came to outshine the candles. Everyone was relieved; and Rufus, laughing at his nightly fears, was in the best of spirits.

Breakfast was a lengthy meal because the party would not go into the forest until the early afternoon.

Rufus was hearty and full of good humour.

‘So my brother Deersfoot is with us. Is it true, Henry, that you are as fleet as a deer?'

‘Hardly that, brother. But I'm as fleet as most men.'

‘I rejoice. We might have been tempted to hunt
you.
You might not have cared for that.'

‘'Twould be a new experience,' replied Henry in high good humour.

‘Do not urge us to try it, brother. We might need but little persuasion.'

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of an armourer.

‘What have you there?' asked the King.

‘Six new arrows, my lord. I believe you will find them stronger and sharper than all others.'

‘Bring them to me, man.'

Rufus examined them. ‘'Tis true,' he declared. ‘They have a rare quality. Look you here, Tyrrell; you are the best shot I know. Tell me what you think of these.'

Sir Walter Tyrrell examined them.

‘It is indeed so, my lord. I rarely saw finer arrows.'

‘Reward the man who made them,' said the King. ‘Here, Tyrrell, you shall have two of them. I never knew a man better able to bring down a deer. You are a fine shot and worthy of the best.'

‘My lord is gracious,' said Tyrrell.

‘I shall be interested to know how you fare with them.'

‘I will tell you, my lord.'

There was a commotion without, which meant that there were new arrivals at the lodge.

‘What means this?' asked the King. ‘Go and see who comes.'

The page came back with the news that the Abbot of Gloucester was without, and with him a man who had the appearance of a hermit.

‘What want these holy men with me?' said Rufus with a grimace.

‘They are begging to be allowed to speak with you, lord.'

They stood before him and Rufus looked with distaste at the Abbot's robes and the tattered garments of the Holy Man.

‘I am soon leaving for the chase. I have little time to dally with men of your calling.'

‘Lord, we come to beg you not to go into the forest today.'

‘Where else should I find fine fat deer, pray tell me?'

‘I have a revelation,' said the Abbot. ‘A dream came to me that I should find you here and that I should come to tell you not to go into the forest this day. This Holy Man arrived at my Abbey yester-eve. He said to me: “The King is near by. He must be warned. I have had a vision.”'

‘What warning is this?'

‘It is that you must not go into the forest this day.'

Sir Walter Tyrrell was stroking the surface of the arrows which Rufus had given him. Rufus watched him. ‘Your fingers itch to use them, Tyrrell,' he said. ‘And these fellows would stop our sport.'

‘'Twould seem so, my lord.'

‘With talk of omens! Tell me what you saw in this dream?'

‘Some danger threatens, lord, and it comes from the forest.'

‘Is that all?'

‘That is all.'

‘And you, Holy Man?'

‘Lord, I beg you do not go into the forest this day.'

‘I thank you for your coming,' said the King. ‘You must be refreshed. Be seated.'

The Abbot and the Holy Man sat at the table and partook of food.

Rufus said, ‘You churchmen know well my pleasure in the chase and it is your belief that that which is pleasurable is sinful. You rejoice in making others as yourselves and you wish to deny me the chase because you know how I enjoy it.'

‘What does my lord wish?' asked Ranulf. ‘Shall you not ride into the forest this day?'

‘Not ride into the forest, Ranulf! Are you mad? Did I not come here to hunt?'

‘These warnings following your dream . . .'

‘A surfeit of venison, remember, Ranulf?'

‘It may have been, but the dream and the men . . .'

‘What think you, Tyrrell?'

‘It is for my lord to decide. Perhaps for today you would forgo the chase. Tomorrow would be a new day.'

‘Think you I would take heed of the churchmen, Tyrrell?'

‘Nay, I would not think it, my lord; but if you did that is your will and would be mine.'

‘Come, to the devil with their omens. It's time we set out.'

It was hot, that August afternoon, as the hunting party rode out from Linwood. The forest grew more beautiful every year. Rufus remembered it when the landscape had been scarred by the remains of cottages from which the owners had been turned out. Now these remains had become buried under gorse and bracken; only here and there was seen the pathetic remains of what had once been a humble and well-beloved home.

Rufus had been a little uneasy – made so rather by his own disturbing dream than the prophecies. It was rather strange that one incident should have followed on the other but, as Ranulf said, these wise men were always prophesying, in the hope that something they said would turn out to be true, and they become renowned for it.

But the excitement of the chase was overtaking him. Always it was thus. He remembered how he and his father had ridden out together. It was the only time his father was human – that and perhaps in his relationship with their mother.

Tyrrell was beside him. He liked riding with Tyrrell. There was a man of whom his father would have approved – the best hunter of the party!

‘Eager to try out your new arrows, Wat?' he asked.

‘Ay, my lord.'

‘We'll expect good results, friend Wat.'

‘You shall have them, my lord.'

‘Come . . .'

They galloped ahead.

Walter Tyrrell and the King had ridden so fast and so far that they had left the rest of the party.

‘Where are those laggards?' cried the King, laughing.

‘We've outridden them,' cried Tyrrell.

‘Look you,' cried the King. ‘What saw you then? A movement in the undergrowth?'

‘There's something there, my lord.'

‘A deer. Come.'

Rufus rode on ahead of Tyrrell.

It was like the dream again. He lay on the grass . . . the grass of his beloved forest, that which had been called the New Forest because it had been made by his father. The grass was green. It should have been blood-red, some rebellious subjects had said. It was a beautiful forest; it had grown to its grandeur through the sufferings of people. Homes had been destroyed to make it; men had suffered torture and death for unlawfully trespassing in it. It had been the Conqueror's Forest and now it was the Red King's Forest.

The trees were taking on strange shapes. Was he in the forest or on his bed? Was this another dream such as that which had disturbed his night?

‘A surfeit of venison . . .' He could hear Ranulf's mocking voice.

His friend Robert seemed to be there, dancing round his chamber, throwing the long serpent's tail he had attached to his doublet around in a most amusing way. The elongated tips of his shoes danced like snakes.

He was very cold and there was a pain in his chest. There was something wet and warm on his chin.

‘Where am I?' he wanted to shout; and it seemed to him that laughing voices answered, ‘In the forest, Rufus. The forest you and your father created from the blood of men.'

There was something heavy on his chest. What had
happened? He could not remember. He thought he was in his bedchamber.

Yes, he had been riding with Tyrrell. They had those special fine arrows.

The deer was fleet. They had followed it. Clearly it had thought to escape them and had run into the ruins of a building which had been destroyed to make way for the forest. And then . . . he could not remember.

He was cold . . . very, very cold, and growing colder. He tried to call Ranulf . . . Wat Tyrrell.

No one came, and the darkness was overtaking him.

Rufus, the King, no longer knew that he was cold and that there was an oppressive weight on his chest, that his own blood was choking him. He lay inert on the cold, damp earth.

Henry, riding with Henry Beaumont, was surrounded by a group of hunters.

In the distance the bracken moved.

‘A wild boar?' cried Henry.

‘Nay, Prince,' said Beaumont. ‘A fine plump deer, methinks.'

‘Then after him,' replied Henry.

There was the deer poised for flight and Henry was about to shoot his arrow when the strings of his cross bow snapped suddenly.

‘A thousand curses,' he muttered.

‘'Twill need to be repaired,' said Beaumont.

‘Alas, yes,' answered Henry. ‘Ride on with the others and I'll go to yon forester's hut. The man will mend it for me. When he has done so I shall join the hunt. It should not take long.'

The afternoon was hot and his disappointment was keen. He wondered whether his friends had succeeded with the deer. He rode over to the forester's hut and, dismounting, tied his horse to a nearby tree.

He went into the hut where the forester's wife was baking. She told him that her husband was in the woods close by.

‘Go and bring him to me at once,' said Henry. ‘The string of my bow has broken.'

The woman, flustered by the obvious nobility of the Prince, hurried out and as she was some time away, Henry left the cottage in search of her.