Free The Young Lion by Blanche d'Alpuget

the past.
    Douglas was on the wharf at Berwick and rushed at Henry as he stepped ashore. Behind him a troop of Highlanders uttered blood-curdlinghurrahs. ‘All the size of bears, but hairier,’ Henry said to Guillaume.
    ‘If I’m to be eaten, I’d prefer it to be a bear,’ his brother replied.
    Acting as interpreter was a child who reminded Guillaume of the page in Winchester whom he had seen kick the little dog, but that child was a southerner and this one came from Scotland. Towering over the boy was the magnate, Ranulf de Gernons, Earl of Chester. His broad, handsome face was enhanced rather than marred by a broken nose he had incurred on account of King Stephen. Having heaped upon Earl Ranulf castles and titles, Stephen had invited Ranulf to court one day and arrested him. He was held in irons until he agreed to relinquish his castles and honours. On release he rode to Carlisle to offer homage to King David of Scots.
    As they travelled west towards Carlisle the Earl explained to Henry their battle plan. They would attack on two fronts: while David struck south, Ranulf and his army would strike across the Pennines. Their causus belli would be Stephen’s recent defiance of the Pope. The Pope had approved Abbot Murdac as Archbishop of York, but under the sway of his brother, Stephen had refused.
    ‘So we fight not for ourselves, but for the Pope?’ Henry asked.
    The Earl looked aggrieved. ‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that.’
    This, Henry thought, is a battle of poor strategy. Men will fight only in rage against the enemy, or in euphoria for glory. ‘Tell me about Douglas,’ he said.
    ‘He’s commander of the Highlanders. It was they who stormed the castle of Carlisle. It’s thanks to them Scotland captured this part of England. How old do you think he is?’
    ‘Twenty-five?’
    Ranulf laughed. ‘He’s almost fifty.’
    ‘He trained with our regiment,’ Henry said. ‘I’ve never seen such skill in hand-to-hand fighting. And he sits well on a horse.’
    ‘Were he not a barbarian he’d make an exceptional knight.’ Ranulf spoke with an earl’s casual disregard for other ranks.
    Henry wanted to strike him. He waited for his temper to cool. ‘One night we rested our foreheads together and he sent pictures into my mind. I felt I was being trampled to death by a stag.’
    Ranulf reigned back his horse so hard it flattened its ears in temper. His expression was incredulous and for a moment he stared at Henry, breathless. He bent to whisper, ‘That’s magic they know in the Highlands. Merlins, we call them. The Highlanders have a name for them, but there’s no English or French word for it. They know about …’ he crossed himself.
    ‘About what?’
    ‘Things we don’t believe in.’ Still whispering he added, ‘King David will be very impressed to learn of this. Especially about the stag. It’s something …’ He made a quick, shaky movement with his fingers to show it was an issue too close to the boundaries of paganism to pursue.
    Guillaume rode up beside them. ‘Did you notice our interpreter?’ he asked Henry.
    ‘No.’
    ‘There’s something about him I don’t like,’ Guillaume continued, in Catalan.
    ‘What’s the background of our interpreter?’ Henry asked Ranulf.
    ‘Little James? He’s an orphan. Lady Walter kind-heartedly accepted him when a local priest pestered her to take him on as a page. I borrowed him because he speaks several languages. Lady Walter, well, you’re sure to meet her. Her father was a miller. She had an enormous dowry and married a knight, William Walter. He fought hard for Stephen, who rewarded him with a great deal of land. Some of it, unfortunately, mine.’
    Guillaume said, ‘I’m confused. Whose side are they on?’
    ‘I know, I know,’ Ranulf said. ‘We live in such confusing times. Edith and her husband abandoned Stephen because he did the wrong thing by them too. Stephen didn’t need the Walters, not once Earl Robert died and the Empress