The Lion of Justice - Plaidy Jean (список книг txt) 📗

Robert had never needed a great deal of encouragement to do that and in this case the Count had a beautiful daughter, Sibyl, whom Robert found enchanting. They rode together; they talked together, and he told her of Normandy and his childhood there, of his great father who had never understood him and who had refused to recognize that he was a man so that he had perforce on more than one occasion taken up arms against him.

Sibyl was sympathetic.

And so the golden days passed. There was time to enjoy the Italian sun and the company of Sibyl before he recaptured Normandy.

* * * * *

In his prison in the White Tower, Ranulf Flambard was getting restive. He was not ill-treated; he had wine with his food every day; the jailers were his friends; and it had become clear to him that the King was uncertain how to treat him.

That Henry was shrewd, he had always known, and he believed Henry had some notion that he might make use of him at some time. Therefore the King was holding him a prisoner, but a well-treated one.

Ranulf had friends outside. He preserved the two shillings he received each day and determined to spend it wisely. The wine was a necessity for he had plans for that, but he would spend on nothing else save bribes to those whom he believed he could trust.

News was brought in to him. Robert of Normandy was on his way home. That was important. If he could get to Normandy he might offer his services to Robert. He would have offered them to Henry but Henry had imprisoned him. He knew Henry’s reasons. It was to placate the people. Henry had disliked him when he had made jibes at him in Rufus’s company, but Henry was too wise to waste time on personal vengeance, and was also shrewd enough to know a clever man when he saw one. But he, Ranulf, was unpopular in England. His work for Rufus had made him so. He would do better in Normandy so to Robert he would go.

Robert would be more amenable than Henry. Robert was easy-going; he needed a man like Ranulf. Henry was stronger. He would govern alone. Certainly Robert was his man.

Therefore his first task was to get to Normandy—but before he did that he had to escape from the White Tower.

There was only one way out as far as he could see. Through the window by means of a rope.

How get the rope?

It was not impossible. How wise he had been to feign a greater love of wine than he really had!

He asked that his brewer might come to see him as he wished to order some wine.

This was all right, said the guard, for orders had been that the prisoner was to have his two shillings a day to provide him with comforts.

The brewer was respectful. Ranulf had met him before when he ordered wine. They discussed the quality of the brews he had sent and Flambard not only astonished the man with his knowledge but amused him by his wit—that very wit which had pleased King Rufus and been one of the reasons why he had held a high place in his affairs.

It was a risk, but he took it.

‘I am confined here.’ he said. ‘A man of my abilities! And to tell you the truth, my good friend, I know not the reason why, for I have committed no crime.’

The brewer was delighted to be called the good friend of such a cultured man. Ranulf watched the effect.

‘I see you are a man of intelligence. You will not be influenced by the views of the rabble. You are a man who will make up his own mind. Therefore you are a man to whom I can talk.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I get precious little opportunity of doing so in this place, I assure you, my friend.’

The brewer said that it was a sin that men should be imprisoned for breaking no laws and for a cultivated man—and he was wise enough to know one when he saw one—it was doubly irksome.

‘I carried out the laws, but not on my own behalf, my friend. I did it for the King. I was his servant. I did for him what you would do for any of your customers.’

The brewer nodded sagely.

‘I am no ordinary prisoner. Although my property is in the hands of those who took it from me, I hope to regain it one day and when I do I shall remember my friends. But I am here, and while I am here I can do nothing.’

‘Where would your lordship go if you escaped from here?’

Ranulf pretended to hesitate. Then he said earnestly:

‘I see that you are a man of wit and courage. Forgive me for hesitating. So much is at stake.’

Flattered out of all good sense, the brewer said: ‘You may trust me, my lord sir.’

‘I know it. I would go to Normandy.’

‘How would you do that?’

‘If I could get out from this place, if a horse was waiting for me, if a boat was waiting to take me over the water...then I could get to Normandy.’

‘How could this be, my lord?’

‘I have friends. I shall regain everything one day and I shall never forget those who help me.’

The brewer’s cupidity showed in his eyes. The oaf is considering what he will gain, thought Ranulf.

He was right. The brewer was considering. He was easily prevailed upon to take messages to Ranulf’s friends outside.

It was in this manner that he learned that the Duke of Normandy was dallying in Italy. He seemed to be so taken with the daughter of Count Geoffrey that he could not tear himself away from her. The months were passing and instead of returning to Normandy he remained in Italy.

Yes, Robert was the one for him. He could govern Robert as he had not been able to govern Rufus even.

The brewer had played his part well and it had come to the vital stages of Ranulf’s plan. It was surprising how so much depended on this poor tradesman.

There were two casks of wine sent into him. He looked into one. This contained rich red wine; he looked into the other. Good man! Inside it curled round and round was a thick rope.

* * * * *

He said to his guards: ‘I have a new cask of wine. You must come and sample it.’

They were nothing loath. In fact there was little they enjoyed as much as an hour or so in the company of this unusual prisoner.

He could amuse them with his stories of the late King’s Court. What a place it had been by his account! He would mince round the cell describing the manners and customs of the King’s friends until he had them helpless with laughter. And he always had a supply of good wine too. Very often they left his cell a little tipsy.

‘Welcome, welcome!’ he cried.

He looked round. There were three men to be taken care of: his own special guard whose duty it was never to leave him unobserved for more than a minute or two at a time; the keeper of the door of that part of the White Tower in which they were; and another whose duty it was to prowl round every hour for inspection.

‘Well, my friends, what think you of this brew?’

‘Excellent. Excellent.’

‘Better than the last?’

‘Well, my lord, I couldn’t rightly say as to that.’

‘Drink up then and put it to the test.’

They could not agree on it, by good fortune, so he kept them testing and drinking so that they lost count of the amount they had taken.

He then began to amuse them once more with stories of the Court, never forgetting to fill and refill their glasses.

The keeper of the outer door was the first to succumb; he slumped from his stool and lay on the floor in a stupor.

This unfortunately seemed to sober the others.

‘We should drink no more, sir. Look at him.’

‘He could never hold his wine. He is something of a low fellow who has never learned the gentlemanly trick. Now you two are different. I have always known that. You could hold your drink with the rest of us. I’ll warrant you can stand up to it as well as I can.’

They had not been aware, the simple fools, that while they had been engaged in the testing, he had drunk nothing. Flattery was the weapon to use against these people. They could not resist it.

He knew that it would not be long before he had reduced those two to the state of stupor which had overtaken their fellow guard.