Robert de Bellême Part Three: The Capture of Guillaume by Jennie Hart

The Capture of Guillaume

Characters

Robert de Bellême: built Bridgnorth Chateau and owns many castles in France

Guillaume de Ponthieu: son of Robert de Bellême

Agnes de Ponthieu : mother of Guillaume and wife of Robert

Comte Stephen Henry de Blois

Comtesse Adela de Blois

Josephine: the nursemaid

Raoul and Josse: Robert de Bellême’s henchmen

 

Guillaume awoke from a thrilling dream of knights and robbers to desperate sounds of choking and a last gasp for breath. He still felt the tenderness of Josephine, who had cradled him through the night, but was puzzled by a warm wet splash on his hair and cheek. His tallow candle had died long ago leaving its usual rancid smell, but a new light from a lantern hovered over him, illuminating the figure of a tall heavy man.

Guillaume was terrified. He touched his face to wipe away the trickle, then stared at his fingers; they were daubed with red blood. The nurse had always shared Guillaume’s bed, keeping him safe, but now she lay inert beside him, her gashed neck and nightgown drenched with the bright liquid. He wailed in terror and screamed for his maman, but another man stepped from the shadows, holding a bloodied knife. He dropped the weapon and lifted Guillaume from Josephine’s limp arms. He clasped his stinking hand over the child’s mouth.

Guillaume would remember this forever. These burly men were Robert de Bellême’s henchmen but the boy knew nothing of the plot to return him to the Bridgnorth Chateau. His father, Robert had been seething with anger at Agnes’s escape with his young son. His rage upset the household and no one dare go near him. If they did they were likely to be whipped. Two years passed before Robert heard from his spies that Agnes and Guillaume were in hiding in the Chateau de Blois, home of Stephen-Henry, Comte de Blois and the Comtesse Adela, his wife and  Agnes’s dear friend.  Meanwhile in the Chateau de Blois, the break-in had gone awry

‘What a crazy thing to do,’ whispered the man called Raoul. ‘You’ve killed the nurse. She could have minded the boy. What a foul mess. Now what do we do?’

‘Get away quick, fast,’ replied the other man, Josse. He had meant to only frighten the woman, not murder her but she had stared with wild brown eyes and he had had to silence her. ‘Shut up or we’ll set the dogs barking.’

‘Hush the kid up Josse or he’ll start squealing.’

Guillaume struggled as Josse, while still gagging him with one hand, stripped a woven cover from the bed and wrapped it around him. He took a dirty cloth from his jerkin and deftly bound the child’s mouth. He made a feeble attempt to calm him.

‘Keep quiet lad, we’re not going to hurt you; we’re going for a ride and it’s cold out there.’

Josse carried the panicking boy over his shoulder, while Raoul led the way down a wide wooden staircase followed by more narrow, steeply descending steps leading to a cellar door which they had unexpectedly found unbolted. It was first light but no one stirred.

Robert de Bellême was proud of the horses bred on his stud farm near the Welsh border, a genetic mix of Welsh and Spanish blood. Josse and Raoul’s two mounts were Robert’s stock and had been bred for endurance. They had been strong enough for the long trek to the Loire Valley. Now they impatiently stamped their hooves and had already cropped short any vegetation within their reach. Josse lifted Guillaume on to the first steed, swinging himself up behind him and gripping him tight. Raoul mounted the second and they galloped off down the Chateau mound, north towards Ballon.

Guillaume, fidgeted inside the blanket and managed to free one arm. He pulled at the gag and was surprised when his captor unwound it, allowing him to take gulps of fresh air. He had been traumatised at the sight of Josephine, but he tried to control his fear, just as his school master had taught him. If they were going to kill him, they would have done it by now. Guillaume was eight years old and his master was training him to first be a page and then a knight. It was no fun getting hurt, but rough games with his friend Stephen had made him tough.  Already he’d had a true adventure escaping from England with his mother and nurse. He’d been glad to leave. He didn’t like his father; he was a frightening man and a bully. He often used to slap him across the head and Guillaume once saw him beat his mother, Agnes severely.

Once outside the province of Blois, De Bellême’s men rode on. At dusk they made a camp in a woodland clearing and ate chunks of bread and cheese which they shared with Guillaume. They settled for the night, Josse holding him tight while they slept. When both men were snoring, Guillaume took the chance to work his body loose and slip from under the limbs of his captor. He remembered the direction in which they had come along the woodland’s edge. Moonlight filtered through the tall, forbidding trees, illuminating the horses’ that were padding around and snuffling. His youthful training as a knight, had begun with horsemanship, and although young, he was tall for his age and had soon mastered the skill of mounting. Guillaume loosened one of the horses and putting his foot in the low-hanging stirrup, climbed into the saddle and urged the animal to move. He was too scared to care where he was going and clung to the horse’s mane.

Comtesse Adela had found Agnes distraught and weeping over the empty space where her child should have been, alongside the murdered Josephine. Adela had alerted her husband, the Comte, recently returned from his first crusade. He had come home in disgrace after abandoning his comrades at the siege of Antioch but would return soon to prove his worth. The Comte had been angry that a door should be left open. He was in a fury too at the ruthless methods of these foul men. He despised Robert de Bellême, a cruel tyrant. His servants had heard in the tavern that De Bellême’s men were around, questioning locals about the child’s whereabouts. For the sake of Guillaume’s mother, Agnes, a loyal friend to his wife Adela, he would get Guillaume back.

Dark skies were replaced by paler ones and Stephen Henry, Comte de Blois and two reliable knights, were on the kidnappers’ trail. He was sure the murderers would have taken the well-worn route north. Routes south were difficult and highly dangerous. He knew one of De Bellême’s chateaux lay north of Blois at Ballon and guessed that this was their destination.

 As dusk fell, the Comte spotted a riderless horse. His chief knight rode into its path and grabbed its hanging reins and led it alongside his own. They trotted amongst scrubby undergrowth, moving slowly and listening intently. Soon they heard a sob and whimper and found Guillaume confused and struggling to walk. He mumbled that he had fallen from his horse. With great care, the Comte lifted him onto his own sturdy mare and together the group returned to Blois.

Guillaume struggled to remember what had happened; he had hit his head when he fell and remembered his leg bending at an agonising angle; a far worse pain, than when his father used to slap him. How lucky he was to be going back to his mother and his friend Stephen. He still didn’t know who the terrible men were who had killed Josephine and taken him away in the night.

He wondered if they would come again. He knew he and his mother were going to return soon to Ponthieu. Would he be safer there?

Would he ever feel safe again?