Chapter 15
In the tent of the King
"Well it is certainly wonderful to receive news from my brother." King Richard poured more wine into the cup of his visitor. What had possessed his brother to send a personal messenger to update him on the state of his kingdom? Did John really think that he didn't trust him? Sometimes King Richard forgot that his brother was a grown man, more than capable to run England during his absence; and thought of him as the snot nosed little brother who had followed him around the gardens when their father had been king. Smiling, Richard remembered young John following about clutched his ragged doll and lisping 'Rishard wait for me!' Shaking his head he returned to the present.
"Well, Your Highness, he felt like it was his responsibility to let you know Sir Edward of Knighton Hall had been deposed as Sheriff. Failure to collect taxes is a serious offense sir. He also wanted for you to approve his new appointee."
Richard couldn't fathom what the messenger was telling him. What was the young man's name again? William? Luke? Gus? Did it really matter? What on Earth had possessed Edward to not collect the taxes? It wasn't like Richard had raised them in his absence. They were old childhood friends; Edward had been one of his closest confidants when they were young. It had been many years since they had seen each other but still why would Edward betray him?
"Alright, I will tentatively approve his choice – temporarily. When I return home I will personally look into this matter and talk to Sir Edward myself. Then when I am satisfied about the situation I will determine who is to be Sheriff of Nottinghamshire. Tell Prince John to relieve Sir Edward and send him home to Knighton Hall. Nothing else is to be done until I have returned home next year."
"Next year, your Majesty? Do you think we will have secured our victory so easily over the infidels?" The mystery man buried his face in his wine. This was an unsettling situation to be sure. King Richard to be home within a year? That simply would not do.
"No, we will never crush the Saracens. It is impossible to do. They surround Jerusalem on every side. Even if we would destroy Salahadin's army we would need settlers to come here and colonize. Our people would not be willing to leave England and even if they were most could not survive and make a living in such a harsh climate as this. Our best hope is to broker a peace agreement with Salahadin. He will give us free and untaxed access to Jerusalem and it's holy sites. He has agreed to allow the churches that are here to remain and Masses to be said on Sundays. He has even agreed to send soldiers to protect the pilgrims travel routes. When he returns from Medina I expect we will agree to peace."
"Your Highness, it sounds like a Saracen trick. Hand us almost everything we want to just get rid of us? What would prevent him from massacring the priests and pilgrims as soon as you have returned to England?"
"Look, you are not a military man. Salahadin and I are. We know that war would drag on for all time if we do not make and keep a good peace now. Besides the man has given me one of his harem girls as a peace offering! What man would send one of his women to a King he intends to war upon? It would be a senseless loss. I had hoped he would give me one of his brides that he is displeased with but this young woman is even more beautiful and unattached which makes her a wonderful substitute. I have promised to take her to London with me when we return."
"I'm sure his Holiness the Pope will be thrilled that you have failed to follow his mandate and in return for your eternal soul you have been given a courtesan by the infidels. I don't think he will be the slightest bit disappointed about your decision Your Highness." The man returned sarcastically.
"I think you should remember that you are talking to Your King. As far as the Pope is concerned if he doesn't like the peace I've brokered – let him and his brethren come here to make war against Salahadin. I will sit in London and observe as he has done from Rome with me. I'll sip my wine and wait for the messengers to come telling me that Salahadin has captured his holiness. You want to know what would happen then?"
"Well 20 years ago when Salahadin recaptured Jerusalem he captured it's king, stripped him to nothing but a loincloth and paraded him strapped backwards on the back of a donkey. He then had the nerve to put a sign around his neck with the same message written on both sides – the front in English and the back in Arabic. Do you know what that sign read? No? It read "Behold here is an animal with two" Richard cut off. "Never mind what the sign said. I am too old to be paraded before my troops looking like a fool. If we continue to war against Salahadin it's very likely where I'll end up before he beheads me. Which he did in the public square like a common felon to the last King who refused his peace, might I add!"
"No if the Pope wants to go to war let him bring warrior monks to do it. If peace is brokered England will be returning home! Now leave my tent I am tired and wish to rest."
The dark young man bowed before the King and left silently. Richard sat back in his throne and noticed that his hands were shaking. What had possessed him to lose his temper with the man? His father had always told him that a King must always be in control – he had lost control with this man and one day it could come back to haunt him. Taking a deep drink of his wine King Richard closed his eyes. He was sick of war. He wanted to go back to London and return to ruling his people. His thoughts wandered to the things he missed from home – hot baths, grass, rain, meat pies. Oh meat pies! What Richard wouldn't do to return home and walk in the market at London during the fair; disguised as a peasant, drinking ale and eating meat pies while eying the serving girls. Whatever the Pope said, Richard was ready to return home.