For the King’s Favor (30 page)

Hugh Nonant, Bishop of Coventry, gave a sardonic smile. “With respect, my lord, I think going back to Reading would be pointless. I believe we should follow the chancellor’s example and go to London to buy ourselves some winter clothes.” His comment drew snorts of laughter from those close enough to hear. “And then we might even catch up with the chancellor again and have this discussion he seems so keen to avoid.”

“He takes us all for fools,” John said with just the right note of aggrievement, “and leaves us standing here while he persuades the Londoners to shut their gates against us.”

“Have you ever tried to persuade a Londoner to do anything?” Roger said. “It’s easier to put a saddle on a wild boar. The Londoners will do what they think is best for them.”

“Then it behoves us to make sure that what they think is best is what we think is best too,” John replied with a sardonic grin, and reined his horse towards the city.

Friday Street, London, October 1191

Ida watched Hugh and some companions kick an inflated pig’s bladder round the yard of the Friday Street house, their excited yells ringing on the air. At almost nine years old, Hugh was lithe and wiry with a mop of golden curls and eyes the deep blue of a summer sea. His features still bore the softness of childhood, but he was reaching towards independence at a rate that frightened her. She knew she shouldn’t cling, and she took great pride in watching him run and catch, shout and throw, bursting with confident joy, but still, her heart ached because of the small ways in which she was having to let him go, and each hair-thin strand that was severed was another on the way to cutting the cord.

Roger was busy with affairs of government and although they were living under the same roof, she barely saw him, and the times she did, he was distant and preoccupied. The city had been filled with unrest ever since the chancellor had arrived at a tearing gallop and shut himself in the Tower with the justiciars hard on his tail. Some citizens wanted to uphold the chancellor’s rule, but others preferred to support John. Following several days of hard negotiation and frayed tempers, Longchamp had finally agreed to give in to the justiciars, but not to John. That was where Roger was today, overseeing the handing over of the Tower of London to de Coutances.

One of the other boys tackled Hugh for the pig’s bladder, but Hugh threw it hard and high and it landed in the gutter of the poultry shed roof. Hugh ran to fetch the thatch gaff to knock it down.

“Me, me!” cried Marie, her apricot braid snaking. “Let me do it, Hugh!” Laughing, he handed her the gaff and picked her up in his arms. Ida felt a flood of warmth for her son. Not many boys of his age would pander to their younger sisters—or not when playing with other boys—but Hugh had no such qualms. He was so at ease with himself and others.

She heard voices at the entrance to the yard and the clop of hooves as Roger returned from his mission. Hastening to greet him, Ida noticed that his hat was sitting low over his eyes—not a good sign. As he dismounted, Marie succeeded in dislodging the pig bladder from the roof ridge with a swipe that sent it flying. It struck Roger on the side of his head, knocking off his hat and breaking the peacock feather in the band.

There was a momentary silence. “I’m sorry, Papa,” Marie said, biting her lip.

Roger stooped, picked up his hat, and studied it for a moment. He turned the brim through his fingers and eyed the bent feather. “It doesn’t matter,” he said in a tight, quiet voice, and strode into the house.

Ida kissed Marie in reassurance, gestured that the children should continue their game, and hurried after her husband.

He was standing in the main room by the fire and he had put the hat down on a trestle. The broken feather was singeing in the flames.

“Is it bad news?”

“It depends what you mean by bad,” he replied as he watched the feather burn. “Longchamp has yielded the keys of the Tower to the justiciars, so that particular matter is dealt with. I am to take custody of Hereford Castle for the time being—which suits me well enough—and Longchamp is to be banished from England once his castles have been handed over.”

Ida had known and expected both these things. Indeed, she had been quietly packing in the background, aware that a move was probably imminent. “Then why so downcast?”

Heaving a sigh, he set his hand to her waist. “I am sick of wading in the mire. Longchamp didn’t yield gracefully and laid threats on us all even while putting the keys in the hands of de Coutances. He may have had his authority removed and his castles are to be handed over as soon as can be arranged, but it does not mean he is finished—far from it. Whatever he has done to others, his loyalty to the King is absolute, and Richard prizes that trait in men above most other things.” He rubbed his free hand over his face. “There will be repercussions from today and on both sides. John has seen his chief rival in power defeated and is strutting like a cockerel on a dunghill. I’m stuck in the middle…and that means still in the mire.”

From outside came the noise of the resumed ball game and Marie’s imperious voice shouting, “Me, me!”

Roger said, “Richard raised me to the earldom for a reason. It wasn’t done out of love or to finish business and right wrongs. Whatever other men do, I have to ride straight down the line. That’s my part in it.”

Pride in her man tightened Ida’s throat, but there was fear and resentment too. They had so little time to spend together and there was always so much to do. “Would that all others did the same,” she said.

“Amen to that, but unlikely.” He gave a hard sigh. “My duty now is to ride to Hereford and secure it on the orders of the justiciars—although officially I’ll be holding it by proxy for Longchamp.”

“I’ve started the packing,” Ida said. “When do we leave?”

“Well, not that anyone is suspicious of Longchamp, but I have said I will set out as soon as I’ve eaten. It’s four days’ ride to Hereford—three if we push the horses, but obviously that’s without the baggage carts. They will have to follow. I want you and the children to go to Framlingham and I’ll join you there when I can.”

Her heart sank. “Not to Hereford?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m going to find when I get there. If Longchamp’s castellan refuses to open the gates or hand over to me, I’ll have to besiege it. I don’t want you in the thick of it. At Framlingham you and the children will be well away from trouble and safe.”

Ida felt a surge of disappointment at the thought of being parted from him again. The masons and carpenters would be busy with the new towers and buildings. There would be no peace anywhere with the ringing of their hammers and chisels, the banging, the dust and noise. And while he was saved worrying about her and the children, she still had to worry about him, and from a distance.

Something must have shown in her face, for he cupped her cheek on the side of his hand and kissed her swiftly. “It won’t be for long, I promise. As soon as I can, I’ll appoint a trustworthy deputy, but first I need to see for myself.”

Ida managed a nod of understanding, but she felt bereft. At least, she thought, she would have time to stock up on fabrics and thread before she left for Norfolk, and while there, she could continue refurbishing the hall and bedchamber to her taste, but it was small recompense when there would only be her and the children to see it. Knowing that Roger was right about Hereford, she made a determined effort to shrug off the self-pity, but the disappointment remained.

Ipswich, March 1193

Roger stood with Alexander, the master of his quay, and watched the sailors taking down the mast of the ship tied at the wharf. The tide was in and the brackish water of the estuary chopped against the mooring posts. Rain spattered in the wind and the damp air carried the tang of the sea. It was almost sunset but the western horizon showed naught but bruised deep grey. In his hand Roger held a creased piece of parchment, and on his middle finger, placed there for safekeeping, was the heavy gold ring that had accompanied the letter.

“Bring the man,” he said.

Alexander turned and snapped his fingers to a serjeant, who strode off on his errand.

Roger pinched the bridge of his nose and suppressed a sigh. He was very tired, having arrived from Hereford late in the afternoon. Alexander’s news had brought Roger straight to the quay, his buttocks still numb from his saddle and the smell of hard-ridden horse clinging to his hose. There was no peace, no rest. If the information in this letter was any indication, the country stood on the verge of turmoil.

Returning from the crusade, Richard had taken the overland route and been captured in Austria by its Duke, with whom he had quarrelled during the crusade: Duke Leopold had handed Richard’s custody to Emperor Henry of Germany, who also had political reasons for keeping Richard prisoner. With his brother incarcerated, John was making his bid to become King and the justiciars, Queen Eleanor, and those who remained loyal to Richard were striving to prevent him. He looked at the ring, which was set with two rubies and a sapphire, and which he had seen the Count of Mortain wearing at Richard’s coronation. Ironic then that it was being used to try and topple Richard, and just the sort of jest that John would enjoy.

The serjeant returned with two companions, dragging between them a bruised and bloody fourth man, his hands tied before him with competent sailors’ knots.

“Captain says the fellow bought a passage in Saint-Omer,” Alexander said. “Searched his baggage when he was asleep and found the letter and the ring and thought you should see them.”

“That was well done.” Roger handed a pouch of silver to Alexander. “See that the captain is rewarded for his diligence.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Roger focused on the captive. A livid plum occupied his left eye socket and there was a spectacular split bisecting his lower lip.

“I don’t know anything!” he preempted Roger, speaking in a broad Flemish accent.

“Then explain how you came into possession of these?” Roger held up the letter and spread his hand to display the ring.

The man shook his head. “It is true I work as a messenger for the Count of Mortain, but I do not know what I carry. I was told to bring them with all haste to Windsor and take my orders from there…”

“You were expecting to travel further?”

The man swallowed and nodded, “But I wasn’t told where.”

“It seems you weren’t told a great deal,” Roger said coldly, wondering how much of the messenger’s fear and ignorance was a screen. They could always swing him to find out, or stake him in the harbour and let him think about it as the next full tide rolled in. Then again, the letter and the ring were proof enough that John was commanding his castellans to stuff their keeps with men and supplies and informing them that he was gathering an army of mercenaries across the North Sea at Wissant ready for invasion. Would he himself have told a messenger such things if the scheme were his? He pondered, his gaze fixed on the man like stone, his mind busy on the implications of what he had just read, not least that some of the dissidents mentioned in the letter were kin to men that he himself counted as allies.

Where there was one messenger, there were bound to be more. John wouldn’t entrust it all to the one, lest he be intercepted. The Queen and the justiciars would have to know immediately so that the coastline could be defended, and John’s castellans dealt with. They could contain and prevent this, but they would have to move fast.

“Take him and put him in gaol for now,” he said. “I may yet have more to ask him.” He turned towards his house as the last of the light faded to dark, and bade his chamberlain fetch his scribe, and two messengers of his own.

***

Feeling queasy with anticipation, Ida gazed around the bedchamber, reassuring herself that everything was ready.

A bathtub full of steaming water stood before the fire with fine white soap to hand. She had laid out fresh clothes for Roger, including a tunic on which she had been working for several weeks. A new embroidery of a picnic scene brightened the wall behind the bed and she had employed an artist to paint a matching scrollwork frieze above it. There was light and air, but balanced with colour and richness to make the atmosphere tranquil rather than cold. Intimacy was provided by the cheerful fire, Ida’s sewing basket, and the gaming board placed on a trestle close to a candle sconce, affording good light to anyone desiring to play. Ida was pleased with her efforts. Who would not want to spend time in this room? Who would want to leave it for the vagaries of the open road?

“Mama, they’re here!” Hugh dashed into the room, his face bright with excitement and flushed from standing on the blustery battlements while he watched for his father’s entourage.

Ida took charge of four-year-old William and had the nurse bring two-year-old Ralph. The girls went before her, hand in hand, and Hugh led the way, very much the man. Outside the hall, the towers continued to rise in a protective curtain wall that would eventually enclose the site. The dwellings of the masons clustered in the ward, making a little village of timber huts with thatch and shingle roofs, and the scale on which Roger was rebuilding meant that it was likely to be there for years to come. The dust got everywhere, and although Ida had become accustomed to the presence of the masons, she often longed for them not to be there and to have respite from the constant clamour of their industry The children loved it. Hugh was fascinated both by the business of the construction and by the masons themselves. He would often abscond to their hearths at night to listen to their stories and songs. Sometimes Marie would abscond with him and Ida would have to send an attendant to fetch them when it grew late and they had not returned.

A cavalcade of knights and squires, clerics, servants, and laden pack ponies began disgorging into the bailey. Ida’s gaze fixed on Roger astride his chestnut palfrey and her heart turned over. It had been so long since he had been home. Between administering Hereford, conducting affairs of state, and now taking the field against the King’s rebellious younger brother and organising the coastal defences, she had barely seen him since last autumn.

Roger dismounted and Ida curtseyed to him in formal greeting while the boys bowed and their daughters followed her example, giving each other little glances and giggling. Roger raised Ida to her feet and kissed her with equal formality on both cheeks. “You look well.”

“I am, my lord, and the better for seeing you.” Her tone was heartfelt.

His forced smile in response was not the greeting Ida longed for and her face fell.

Roger tousled Hugh’s fair hair. “I swear you’ve grown again, lad,” he said over-heartily.

“I’ve grown too,” Marie declared.

“So have I!” Marguerite was determined not to be left out.

“You’re all going to be giants then.” Roger raised his eyes to the battlements. “Coming along,” he said with a nod. “They’ll have that tower finished by midsummer.”

“You are going to be here at midsummer then?” Ida heard the querulous note in her own voice and hated it.

He twitched his shoulders. “I hope so, but it all depends on what happens.” He entered the hall and climbed the stairs to the bedchamber. Then he stopped and stared at the steaming bathtub, the beautiful decor, the food, and palmed one hand over his face.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “We’ve been hard pressed and the sight of home comforts is almost too much.”

Ida’s nurturing instincts overrode her disappointment. “Come, bathe and eat,” she urged. “You’ll feel better then.” She reached to his belt buckle and unlatched it and, for a moment, they stood intimately close. Her breathing quickened and her loins grew warm and sensitive. Dear God, six months was a drought.

Continuing to disrobe her husband, she checked his body and was relieved to see no marks of war upon it. His hands and wrists were clean, his face too, but his body was layered with the grime of long days in the saddle and the constant wearing of armour. He stepped into the tub and heaved a deep sigh. Ida placed a cushion at his back and had a stool brought to the bath side to use as a table for a cup of wine and a chicken pasty. In times past, they would have shared the tub and made a private time of the meal and the bathing, but with the bustle of servants and children in the room and the other demands of the moment such intimacy was impossible. Still, Ida took the opportunity to perform the task of bath maid and renew her acquaintance with his body. Beneath the ministrations of the soaped cloth, she felt him relax.

“Is it over?” she asked.

Roger screwed up his face. “I don’t know about that. A truce has been arranged to last until All Saints’ Day, but that’s in John’s favour because he was losing anyway. His fleet hasn’t sailed and the only mercenaries he’s been able to hire have been a few sweepings from Wales. Since we intercepted his messages in time, we’ve nipped that particular invasion scheme in the bud. He’s still insisting to everyone that Richard will never return from Germany and he should take the crown.”

Ida dipped the cloth and lathered more soap on to it and Roger bit into the pasty. Crumbs flaked into the bathwater, joining the scattering of herbs and dried petals. “Fortunately for us, we know now that even if a prisoner, Richard is in good health and spirits. John’s posturing and schemes will get him nowhere.”

“So what happens now?”

He chewed and swallowed. “We have to ransom the King. Everyone must pay a fourth of their income. Every knight’s fee is to be assessed at twenty shillings. All the treasure in the country—gold, silver, whatever can be found—is to be paid towards his release.”

“And how much is the ransom?” Ida refilled his cup then smoothed away the water droplets on his shoulders for the pleasure of touching him again.

“A hundred thousand marks is the sum that’s been mooted.”

Ida stared at him in shocked astonishment. “How is that going to be found? Richard almost beggared us to raise the money to go on crusade. What’s left?”

He finished the pasty and swilled his hands in the cooling water. “There are still some reserves and renewable resources such as the wool clip. While Richard lives, even in captivity, John can never be King. I am the custodian of these lands for my son. I will not see them wasted and ruined by war after all my efforts to regain and rebuild.”

“But twenty shillings on the knight’s fee…”

“A little short of a hundred and ninety marks to us. I have no doubt it will be rounded up to two hundred—and more will be expected in the way of plate and jewels and the like.” Heaving a sigh, he rose from the bath. “The Emperor of Germany is not a fool. He will have calculated how much England can afford to the last penny, but not beyond it.”

Once dressed, Roger went out to inspect the building work and talk to the masons. Leaving the children with her women, Ida accompanied him as he discussed his requirements with the master and how the timing would have to be revised owing to the need to raise the King’s ransom. Then they climbed to the top of the timber palisade wall overlooking the mere and the fields of new spring grass. Lambs gambolled beside their mothers, the latter clad in fine fleeces. Ida felt a twinge of resentment that they were already pledged to buy the King out of imprisonment.

Leaning against the timbers, Roger said, “I was here when they demolished all the defences at Framlingham and left naught but that old hall. It was my duty to witness it all being torn down, and I swore then that I would have the earldom restored to me, and everything not only rebuilt, but made magnificent.” He gave her a grim smile. “When you have nothing to lose it does not matter if you lose it. But when you have more, it does.”

Ida bit her lip, not wanting to think about it. Not now. It wasn’t fair. He was home and even though she knew he had duties and heavy responsibilities, there had to be moments of respite. There just
had
to be, or she would go mad. “Do you remember that first meeting of our courtship?” she asked. “The one in the orchard at Woodstock?”

He had been focusing on some point on the horizon, but now returned his attention to her. His frown remained but a half-smile curved his lips. “What of it?”

Ida touched his side. “I said you were neither old nor grey, but that you were in need of physic.”

“Like a sick tree,” he said wryly. “I remember it well.”

“I think perhaps you are in need of such again.” She reached up to stroke his hair. Freshly washed, it felt like soft feathers under her fingers. “I know that I am.” Lightly she touched the side of his face and, as he turned into her caress to kiss her palm, she whispered, “I have missed you.” Her throat suddenly aching, she clung to him. “Every day has seemed like a year.”

“Every day
has
been a year,” he said and gathered her in his arms.

***

Astride his destrier, Roger watched Hugh canter his mount across the paddock. A small, light spear couched under his arm, the boy rode towards the first of three stands from which was suspended a circlet fashioned from plaited osiers. Hugh had his horse well collected, his seat in the saddle was good, and his aim straight. He lanced the first circlet and continued down the run to collect the second and third, to the applause of the onlookers.

“He’s going to be as fine a jouster as his father,” commented Oliver Vaux with a grin as Hugh turned his mount at the end of the run and trotted back towards them.

Roger smiled with pride and didn’t contradict the knight, although he thought privately that Hugh was unlikely to spend time on the tourney circuits. The lad had aptitude if he cared to develop it, but Roger knew that, given the chance, Hugh would rather have his nose in a book, a treatise, or be busy with the masons. He was greatly interested in how the stones were cut and assembled, and fascinated by the production of the ornate and embellished ones. He had his mother’s eyes for symmetry, colour, and pattern. The warrior skills were necessary to his education, but to Hugh they were incidental, whereas his younger brothers were already charging around with their toy swords, intent on sweeping all before them.