Standard of Honour. Jack Whyte

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СКАЧАТЬ and his Holy Roman Empire, to say nothing of his unholy Roman armies. They could lose the papacy and all the world, were they to sit back and do nothing. And so, I represent the only hope they have of salvaging their Empire of Men’s Minds.”

      The Duke plucked at his lower lip and gazed at Henry through narrowed, unfocused eyes before continuing. “Clement is wooing me, seducing me into leading a Frankish host that will counterbalance Barbarossa’s presence in Outremer and keep the scales of power balanced in favor of the papacy. Our force will be no more than half the size of the German levies, for Barbarossa has almost three times the manpower available to him that we have, but Barbarossa is almost as old as my father, and I intend to use that age difference to my advantage. Our Franks will outfight and outperform his stolid German Goths and his Teutonic knights. And in return for providing that superiority, the Pope has offered me a guarantee—but nothing yet in writing, mind you—of the succession to England upon my father’s death.”

      St. Clair wrinkled his nose. “I see. And do you trust this pope, my lord?”

      “Trust him? Trust a pope? Do you think me mad, Henry?” Richard was grinning now. “What I trust, my friend, is my own ability to know, and to do, what is best for me and for my people. And so I have agreed to his request. I will command the army if he will aid me in the raising of it.

      “Philip will be involved in the expedition, of course—but he already is, since the original agreement at Gisors. Since then, of course, in August, he alienated my father forever by chopping down the old man’s favorite elm tree there, the so-called Gisors Elm, beneath which the King had signed so many treaties, including the one of which I speak. We came close to open war over that incident, and I was forced to side with Philip again, in order to protect my own holdings in France, where my liege loyalties are to him.

      “Imagine what an upheaval that caused—the threat of a new war among ourselves in Christendom when the major threat to the papacy lies in Outremer! There was panic in the Vatican, and a flurry of papal ambassadors appealing to all of us individually. Philip allowed himself to be persuaded back into the fold and has restated his commitment to the Holy War. With him, to the prosecution of it and hence to our advantage, he will bring the most powerful vassals in his kingdom: Philip the Count of Flanders and Henry of Champagne. For his sins, poor Henry is nephew to both Philip and myself—did you know that? My mother is his grandmother by her first marriage in France. And, for a certainty, Count Stephen of Sancerre will be there. But I will hold command. The new Pope Clement is sworn to that, albeit I am not yet King and Philip has been crowned for ten years now. He is an organizer, our Philip, an administrator without equal, but it is I who am the warrior. If my father lives long enough to see the army raised, he will make noises about wanting to lead it, but that will be a nonsense, as I have said, presented for the show of it.

      “Anyway, once the army is ready, we will set sail immediately for Palestine, and by the time we come home victorious, England will be mine beyond dispute, with the support and blessings of the Pope and all his court.”

      Richard stood up and braced an arm against the mantel, staring into the coals. St. Clair remained seated, frowning, his eyes following Richard and then shifting to where de Sablé sat watching, his face an inscrutable mask. Now he cleared his throat and spoke out.

      “A hundred thousand men, you said, my lord. Forgive me for asking, but…who will pay for that?” He hurried on before Richard could react. “I mean, I know you said your father was the one who made the commitment to the venture, at Gisors, and that is as it should be, but will he carry through with it now, since the events of August, knowing you will prosper thereby?”

      “Aye, he will.” Unfazed by the question, Richard spoke over his shoulder, not quite looking at St. Clair but speaking to him nonetheless. “He will, because he knows nothing and will learn nothing about my agreement with Clement. And before you ask me how I can be sure of that, the answer is that Clement needs my goodwill today far more than he will ever need my father’s. And to make doubly sure of that, I have made it clear to the Pope that I will have my own spies watching closely. Should I ever hear the smallest whisper of suspicion that the Holy Father might have been in contact with my profane father, I will resign from the army, quit the Holy Land immediately with all my men, and leave him to work out his own destiny, and that of Holy Mother Church, with Barbarossa and his Germans.”

      He thrust himself back from the fire and dragged his chair back to the table, where he leaned against the back of it, his forearms folded across its top. “As for the funding of the venture, I have told you the Church is willing to contribute gold under the terms of my recent agreement with Clement. And there are other sources of supply. That, too, was taken care of at Gisors. We initiated a new tax at that time, both in France and in our Plantagenet territories in England and elsewhere. It is called the Saladin Tax—a good name, don’t you think?” He plainly thought so; St. Clair could see that from the way the Duke almost smiled as he mentioned it. “I thought of it and named it. It will be most useful when I apply it fully in England. Each man in the realm, priests not excluded, will pay a three-year levy of one-tenth of all his income. Some people think it is too onerous, I am told, but that does not concern me. England is the richest jewel in the Plantagenet crown. It can well afford the price I demand of it in such a noble cause. And besides, I would sell London itself to raise this army, could I but find a buyer with sufficient wealth.” He thrust his lower lip out in a pout. “And a noble cause it is, Henry, apart from all the politics involved.”

      Having delivered that opinion, the Duke appeared to have reminded himself of his official persona, and he stepped gravely from behind his chair and seated himself before continuing. “This upstart infidel in Palestine, this Sultan dog who calls himself Saladin, has raised his foul head far enough above the sand to beg to be stamped on. He has taken Jerusalem and Acre back from us, although he will not keep them long, and his treachery has resulted in the defeat of the Christian armies in the Holy Land and the death of hundreds of our finest knights, including those of the Temple and the Hospital. Not to mention the loss of the True Cross discovered by the blessed Empress Helena six hundred years ago. For all of those transgressions he deserves to be struck down, and it is all in hand. We will be in Outremer by this time next year, and you will be by my side.”

      “I…see…” Henry had to fight hard to keep his voice and his face from betraying any vestige of the consternation and panic that was threatening to overwhelm him. He counted slowly to ten before continuing in a very calm voice, “In what capacity, my liege?”

      Richard frowned. He was clearly reaching the end of his limited patience. “Capacity? You’ll be my Master-at-Arms, of course. What other capacity would you expect?”

      “Master-at-Arms?” The unexpected declaration left St. Clair floundering.

      “Why not? You think yourself unfit?”

      “No,” Henry responded, stung by the tone in which the question had been uttered. “Not unfit, but perhaps no longer fitted, if you take my meaning. I am old now, my liege, too long removed from the field. This time next year I will be fifty, and I have not swung a sword in years. In truth, since my wife died I have not even sat astride a horse. There must be younger men at your command, more suited to this task you would have me attempt.”

      “Away with that old man nonsense! My father is fifty-nine and he was in the saddle, fighting me tooth and nail in Normandy, mere months ago. Besides, it’s not your muscles I require, Henry, it’s your brains, your skills and experience, your knowledge of men and warfare, and, above all else, your loyalty. I can trust you with absolute certainty, and there are few men about me of whom I can say that.”

      “But—”

      “No buts, man. Have you not heard a word I’ve said? The ruck of folk, both here and СКАЧАТЬ