More Kings' Toads

By John Bottrill

Henry II had mistress problems. Most kings did, but the queens were just supposed to accept things. Eleanor of Aquitaine didn't – she was a problem herself. To avoid having the Fair Rosamund poisoned, Henry did a deal with one of the Boterels for some land. He hid her there in a secret love nest, reputably surrounded by an impenetrable maze.
The king had his son crowned to ensure the succession. At the coronation, various members of the family, swapped stories about Black Virgins and Jesus in Britain. One of them was George Washington's ancestor. Another of them is celebrated in a poem by his lover, a French princess. Yet another was sent to Paris as ambassador with Thomas Becket to arrange a truce. Worst off was Conan, who had recently lost the Earldom of Richmond and the Duchy of Brittany to the king. They all discussed the founding of the Templars, their involvement with the Order of Sion, and the split between them at the Cutting of the Elm. Becket was murdered soon after.
The death of Becket upset the whole of Europe, especially the Order of Sion. Eleanor of Aquitaine organised one conspiracy too many and was imprisoned. Sir William Boterel's wife visited her - they hated each other on sight. From prison, Eleanor could do little about Richard the Lionheart's intimate relationships with two other kings. It wasn't that he particularly liked kings; he just liked men. But he'd need an heir when he succeeded to the throne, so Eleanor arranged a sexual subterfuge. There was a son, though never acknowledged. Richard never liked England and spent his time in France and on crusade. Captured and imprisoned by the Holy Roman Emperor, he was located by one of his young minstrels.
Some of the Boterels suffered under the murderous King John but recovered under Henry III, even getting Camelot - lands once belonging to King Arthur. Edward I restored order, supported by the Boterels. But his son's intimate relationships with his favourites caused a civil war. Their executions were nasty: the king's murder was even nastier. The Boterels got up to mischief themselves, but at least the family got Richmond and Brittany back.
There was trouble in France too. The French king's destruction of the Templars meant a redistribution of their lands, but their great treasure was squirreled away to the New World. Edward II flaunted his male lovers, and had an unpleasant end. Edward III's reign saw the start of the Hundred Years' War. For years, the weather was terrible. That and the Black Death produced a labour shortage, leading to widespread social change. Boterel after Boterel fell in battle in France, England and Portugal. As a result,the Cornish branch of the family died out and with it the title, though other branches continued to flourish, and still do.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Bottrill
• Release date: Oct 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9780992980108

John Bottrill

John Bottrill , Galicia, SpainA retired academic psychologist, I've been living in comfort in Northern Spain - a region like the Lake District, but with good weather for 17 years. This place has magic - it's the nicest place I've ever lived. Personally, I'd happily live and eventually die here. But family reasons necessitate a return to UK.The house is stone-built 1691 with some land and lots of space for guests who come to find out more about the area, or just to think about a new life in Northern Spain. You can see the house at smallholdinginparadise.blogspot.com.es - it's paradise!You can read a book about the early Boterel family, which came to UK with William the Conquerer and were the ancestors of President George Washington, at www.bottrillfamilyhistory.com or http://bottrillfamilyhistory.blogspot.com.es. For an unusual children's book or Embarrassing Palmistry you might try http;//www.contactenglish.eu. That site also has a Scottish romance, unusual in that it deals with the machinations of the Priory of Sion, pros and cons of moving to France, a story about Heaven and unusual information about the Knights Templar.You can equally well access them at www.Smashwords.com.

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About the author

John Bottrill Ph.D. is a former professor - author of learned papers in Psychology and several books – Romance, France, Palmistry, Children’s stories. Apart from writing and genealogical research, he enjoys renovating houses, furniture and paintings. He currently lives in Spain with his partner and a naughty cat, called Porage.

This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. That said, the historical events and principal characters are real.

Information about living in Spain can be found at http://smallholdinginparadise.blogspot.com.es.

And a list of his books can be found at https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/contactenglish

Historical information about the Boterel family (the original spelling!) can be found at www.bottrillfamilyhistory.com

and http://bottrillfamilyhistory.blogspot.com.es/

Published by John Bottrill

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed without permission, except for brief passages for review purposes.

© 2013 Copyright John Bottrill

Smashwords edition

Sequel to ‘The King’s toads’

ISBN 978-0-9929801-0-8

MORE KINGS' TOADS

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1 The Boterels and Henry II 1154

Chapter 2 Lands in England and Brittany

Chapter 3 Beaten by the Church

Chapter 4 King Henry and ‘The Eaglets’

Chapter 5 The Cutting of the Elm 1188

Chapter 6 Richard the Lionheart

Chapter 7 The Boterels and King John

Chapter 8 Relations with Henry III

Chapter 9 The Scottish Templars

Chapter 10 Royal favourites

Chapter 11 A king murdered

Chapter 12 The Boterels in Brittany

Chapter 13 The loss of the title 1462

Chapter I

The Boterels and Henry II 1154

No one was anything but relieved to sit down for the banquet on 14.7.1154. The coronation ceremony had been the most magnificent ever seen in England and had gone on longer. Despite the prohibition, several knights had been seen surreptitiously pissing behind the pillars in the nave of the Abbey of Westminster.

A feeling of general relief pervaded the court – the civil war was at last over, and perhaps prosperity could now return. Westminster Hall, built some sixty years before, had been decked out for a festive occasion. But, despite the sheer height of the roof, the rushlights and tallow candles fought a losing battle with the smoke from the central fires and the gloom of a shortening December afternoon. A breeze wafted through the unglazed windows, further troubling already stinging eyes.

The tables were laid out in the usual rectangle, but with side tables against the walls and laden with ewers of wine from Gascony and fresh napkins for wiping greasy fingers. And what magnificent tables –draped with fine linen and garlanded with ivy. The High Table even had chairs instead of benches.

The Palace of Whitehall had been built beyond walls of the city of London by Edward the Confessor in order to keep the government safe from interference by mobs from London. In view of the fire which had consumed half the city in the first year of Stephen’s reign 1135, it had been a wise move.

The king himself was far from the brightest star in the firmament. When Henry had arrived at the abbey, he was wearing the same short French cloak that he had on now. Peter Boterel, son of Geoffrey Boterel II, nudged William Boterel I, lord of Boscastle in Cornwall.

What does he think he looks like?

William glanced at the king then back at his cousin. He always looks a bit scruffy. They call him ‘Curtmantle’. He wore something like that at the wedding two years ago. You weren’t there, were you?

Put in his place, Peter mumbled something, then tried again. You know him well, then?

"Not that well. I think you’re getting confused with my father. He’s not here – sixty nine, you know. He was close to the previous King Henry, and married Alice Corbet, the king’s grandfather's mistress in 1110, and was well rewarded for taking her away from court. The king gave us the manor of Worthevale, the richest manor in Cornwall.

We have mainly sheep – it’s pasture land, but we also breed rounceys or pack-horses – there are so few roads that hardy ponies are essential, and we can’t keep up with the demand. And Reginald de Dunstanville, Earl of Cornwall, who’s my cousin, Alice’s uncle and the king’s son up there on the High Table, gave Penhaele and Widemouth for the marriage, and Crackington and Bidum."

Unable to match this with his humbler inheritance at Nettlestead, Suffolk, Peter took a moment to think of a put-down. Ho, there – more ale! Lazy lot – you can’t trust Saxons, can you? And they spread rumours. Reginald is what - twenty years your senior? Very generous……,if he’s only a half-brother. I have got that right, haven’t I? Only, people say……. A freezing glare stopped him from going on.

If you’re fishing for something on the rumour about my parentage that my mother was already with child, I’d shut up, if I were you – before I smash your silly face.

Peter dropped his gaze, deciding to be discreet. Sorry – I don’t know how that came out. You’re right, of course – just rumour. You were telling me about the king….

William took a swig at his own horn and calmed down enough to cover the gaffe and repair the family damage. I don’t know a great deal, although father and I have been at court since King Stephen died. Like you, I only met the new king last year when we were all together defending Wallingford during the war supporting the Empress. You were there, your brother, William Boterel, was there as Constable of Wallingford, and my father and I, of course. The king’s three years younger than my son, but he knows how to win a battle. I couldn’t keep up with his energy. Thank God he arrived to lift the siege. We all got drunk afterwards –I’m sure you remember. (William Boterel at Wallingford is also mentioned in Elizabeth Chadwick’s book ‘Lady of the English’).

He leaned forward and continued, enjoying the thrust - Pity your brother wasn’t actually invited today, though I see he’s here anyway. Peter squirmed - his brother, William, had disgraced himself by plundering an abbey, and had been excommunicated, so was non persona grata.

A smug William of Boscastle took a draught from his drinking horn. "Where was I? Oh,

yes – we were talking about the king. I imagine you’ve heard how he gets his own way – staring at you, shouting, or a freezing silence. It’s all

true. But he’ll make a good king. He has presence, even if he is short and bow-legged. I can see how Eleanor of Aquitaine jumped at the chance of marrying him. She’s rather a bellibone!"

Peter threw a long, cool look at the Queen. And I can see how he jumped at the chance of marrying her and her lands. She must have regretted having to leave Aquitaine and the troubadours and her ‘Courts of Love’. She’s older than he is, isn’t she?

Eleven years, I think. But she looks well in her new wimple – gauze, isn’t it called – from Gaza? She’s a good catch – after all she owns more land than he does. And she learnt the game as Queen of France – at least until she and Louis fell out.

William recoiled as his companion leant forward and whispered in his ear. And she’s been the rounds, I hear.

Dangerous talk – William muttered sotto voce, If you mean the king’s own father and then her uncle, yes I’ve heard the rumours too. No wonder there’s a bit of tension at the High Table.

Already drunk, Peter pawed at William’s tunic. Heard the joke, have you? What’s the difference between Eleanor and the plague?

I don’t know - what?

Not everyone’s had the plague! A loud guffaw brought disapproving glances from across the table, and William quickly turned the other way to Conan, just a year older, his father’s cousin and Duke of Brittany.

***

It’s a good turnout. I see all the Empress’s supporters are here.

Yes, they do seem to be. William agreed. And she’s here herself to savour her triumph. She fought hard enough to secure her son’s accession, having failed to get it herself. She still runs things when she can. The Queen bites her lips and keeps quiet.

But who’s that on the other side of the Queen?

The Templar? I don’t know him – the Prior of England, I think. Rumour has it that the king hopes to get some money from him.

I didn’t know there was a Prior in England.

"Hughes de Payens had to leave someone in charge of his sudden good fortune in England. The Order of the Poor Knights of Christ and the Temple of Solomon has grown so fast since they were officially founded twenty six years ago in 1128. You wouldn’t remember – you’re what – 36 now? Anyway, that’s when King Baldwin II of Jerusalem gave them the Temple Mount. de Payens then had to go round canvassing for support for the new order and came to old King Henry I in Normandy.

He did well out of that, and went on to Scotland and was given their Scottish seat at Balantrodoch, and they’ve never looked back. Of course they had already existed in 1111 – when they were searching beneath the old Temple of Solomon, you know, but that’s supposed to be a secret."

Did they find anything?

This time it was William’s turn to be discreet, in view of his grandfather’s involvement with the Tablet of Solomon and the Order of Sion. No one knows much, but in 1127 the nine knights scurried back to Bernard of Clairvaux at Seborga, whence they’d actually come, with several chests of something. Since then, everyone’s fallen over themselves to donate land or money or their sons to the Templars, and also to the Order of the Holy Sepulchre.

Are they here too?

William peered around into the gloom. No, I don’t think so. A most mysterious group, that – founded about the same time, but with no ostensible purpose – surprising, since they have more cardinals than any other organisation. Best not to ask!

Well, what’s the purpose of the Templars then? And what do they know that makes them so powerful?

Apart from their military skills? They’re supposed to be protecting pilgrims to Jerusalem, but they are apparently more interested in setting up a system to enable you to draw money from Templar preceptories as you travel abroad. You deposit a sum in your local preceptory, and then you get a writ that you can draw against as you go. It’s a good idea. And they mint their own money – the coins bear an image of two knights riding the same horse - Hugues de Payens and Godfrey de Saint-Omer. It’s supposed to show how poor they are.

Poor horse!

"Oh, I don’t think they actually do it – the beast would collapse. But what are you doing here, Conan?

Oh, I have to be here as Earl of Richmond. I should be Duke of Brittany too and have the whole of my father’s inheritance. But my uncle, Hoël, has taken it and won’t give it up, and there’s trouble in Nantes. So I’m also here to ask the king for military aid.Yes, I’d heard about that. Do you think you’ll get it?

No doubt of it. For one thing, a coronation is always a good time to ask for things. For another, I supported Henry when he was Count of Anjou, and I know he wants to extend his influence in Brittany.

Nantes is in Brittany, isn't it? Doesn’t my father’s cousin, Akaris fitz-Bardolph, have a castle there? I can see him and his son, Bondo, further down the table.

Le Lorou Botereau, it’s called. Don’t worry, I’ll soon sort things out. Conversation stopped while dishes of the next course were served. Fresh ale came, of course, and more bread – not the hard rye bread found in taverns, but a softer, lighter-brown dough. Everyone wiped his wooden plate busily. No manchets of bread to eat off here – it was a royal banquet, after all. There was pickled peacock, a pie of minced sparrows and figs, and a posset of apples that had survived storage, cooked with pepper. And that was just the first course.

***

A drunken Peter speared a fig with his knife, put it in his mouth, and then licked the juice from his fingers. He had his own spoon in his boots as usual, but couldn’t think where it could be. Across the table, a man stared at this distasteful breach of manners, and a belligerent Peter demanded, Who the hell are you?

We don’t know each other. I’m Jean de Gisors - on an embassy to the king. Struggling and failing to grasp what was being said, Peter gave up and slumped forward onto the table. An embarrassed William rolled his eyes at the other man.

Gisors…… Gisors – Normandy in’t it? Don’t know it myself. An ambassador, eh – from Louis?

No, actually I’m from the Order of Sion. He watched closely to see if the bait were taken, knowing that William in turn knew something of his masters.

The young knight still had most of his wits about him, and anyway had been brought up not to display his emotions. Sion! Why now, why here? He strove to recall all his grandfather had told him about his involvement. This couldn’t be coincidence – no point therefore in professing ignorance.

Sion? Ye-es, I’ve heard of it.

A horn threw its contents over the table, cutting off Jean’s follow up. The culprit, on Jean’s right, smeared the ale and food off the table –Sorry. A couple of hall dogs pushed their way between packed legs, risking a kick, discovered the peacock and slunk away shocked.

Steady on, William! An embarrassed William of Boscastle clutched the culprit’s arm and looked at Jean. My cousin, William of Wallingford – he’s had a rough time lately – shouldn’t really be here – he’s excommunicate.

This sounded interesting, and Jean bit back a pithy rebuke. No problem – it could happen to anyone. Perhaps we could finish our conversation later. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone excommunicate before. How interesting!

Yes, well, you wouldn’t, would you? After all, we’re all forbidden to talk to him. The young knight groped for a way to deflect the interest from the family shame.

***

During the civil war between the pretender, Empress Matilda, and King Stephen, her cousin, Brien fitz-Count, was lord of Wallingford. He had made his cousin, William Boterel, son of Geoffrey Boterel II, Constable of Wallingford 1150-1157, aided by his brother, Peter Boterel. A prudent Abbot of Abingdon gave the young hothead a bribe not to pillage abbey lands.

He took the money but, after a drunken dinner, raided them anyway. Still high in the favour of Matilda’s son, the new king Henry, Williams’s subsequent excommunication had made little difference to his lifestyle or his conscience. But his past and even his present conduct could be embarrassing. Fortunately, the problem was solved by the culprit himself. Don’t worry – I’m not staying around long. I’m off to Folkingham to see my aunt Maud of Lincoln in a couple of days. It’s near Boston, one of Alan Rufus’ old manors and now a thriving port.

Jean racked his brains. Yes, I’ve heard of it - wool and salt, isn’t it? Does lots of trade with Ypres. Everyone does well out of it, except for the cats, of course.

Cat – what cats? William disliked cats as much as anyone.

Oh, it’s a local custom. Wool is stored in winter in the Cloth Hall. Mice and rats would infest it, if it weren’t for the cats. Anyway in Spring, when the wool is auctioned, the cats are thrown off the belfry as evil influences.

I’m not sure what I’ll do after that, William of Wallingford ignored him. Maybe London – my uncle, Alan of Richmond, had lands there. I’m not sure who has them now.

The old man next to him rather fancied him, and jumped at this opportunity. I’m off to London soon. Why don’t you come and stay with me instead, and then I’ll take you down to my new manor in Hampshire.

Hampshire? Jean pricked up his ears. Who are you? I don’t think we’ve ever met.

It was the direct look that caused the old man to feel he’d been rumbled. This man needed squashing so, at his most frigid, he proceeded to squash. My name’s Hamo – probably the senior member of the family here. I’m cousin to William I of Boscastle, the son of Nicholas, cousin to Geoffrey Boterel II and Alan Niger II, sons of Stephen of Brittany, and 1st cousin once removed to Rivallon, Peter and William here, the sons of Geoffrey Boterel II, and of Reginald, Conan, and Brien, the sons of Alan Niger II. He paused for breath

Jean thought quickly, then squashed back. Oh, I’ve heard of you – you’re that bastard of Alan Niger I and that nun, Gunnhilda. You must be nearly seventy. I doubt that you and my neighbour here would have much in common.

Sixty one and still going strong, retorted Hamo. I’m here to receive the manor of Hurstbourne in Hampshire. It’s not much – thanks to Hervey fitz-Bardolph, my cousin, the Forester of Arkengarthdale, I’ve lived quietly at Bigart Forest there since 1137, and kept out of the war. I didn’t do much for the new king, so I suppose I don’t deserve much."

Yes, I know Hurstbourne – it’s not far from my manor of Titchfield, and I’ve asked for more land down there at Buckland, near Portsmouth. Perhaps we’ll meet up. They exchanged frigid smiles.

***

By this time, Peter had perked up. A quick trip outside for a piss had cleared his head - a piss in the pouring rain does wonders. He now he returned to the fray. Yes, but we still don’t know who you are. What’s this Order of Sion business?

Jean considered. I’m a friend of Thomas Becket, the king’s friend…..no? You don’t know him? We’re both members of the Order of Sion….no? You don’t know of that either? It’s been at Stenay in the Low Countries since 1070, and before that in Catania. Five of the original Templars were members. When King Louis returned to France from the Second Crusade in 1149, he brought with him ninety five new members and installed sixty-two of them in the greater priory of Saint Samson at Orléans in 1152. Seven of them immediately became Templars.

Why? I mean why the ninety five, and why Templars?

"Oh, that’s not all. He also installed two groups of twenty six in the lesser priory of the Mount of Sion at St. Jean le Blanc nearby. You see, with all the refortification of Paris, the king had borrowed money everywhere – from the Templars especially. Since both Orders have the same head he owed us a favour.

"I can’t imagine what interest the king