Lords of the White Castle (21 page)
'I did not mean—' she began, but, as she started to speak, he let out his breath on a long sigh and answered her.
'The news was a setback, yes,' he said. 'And the Prince has retired to his chamber to consider its implications. Also he is leaving at first light, so he needs to rest.' He looked at her sombrely over his cup and she received the impression that he was measuring her character, delving beneath the physical surface and the shallows of wedding-night anxiety to the underlying backbone.
'The messenger brought a letter from King Philip of France, telling John to bewarethat the "Devil is loosed".'
Maude wound a tendril of hair around her forefinger. 'Does he mean that King Richard has been freed?'
'Not quite. But the terms of his ransom have been agreed and he will be released as soon as a substantial instalment has been paid.'
'Is that bad news for you too?' she enquired with a frown.
Theobald finished his wine in several long swallows. 'For better or worse I am John's man. I hold lands by his will, and he has entrusted me with the security of this keep because it is within the heartland of my northern holdings.' He spoke with a wry mouth as if the words tasted bitter on his tongue. 'But I am Richard's man too, for he is the King, and he has the ultimate authority.'
'Then you are torn both ways.'
He nodded. 'Whatever I do, I cannot win. If I hold out for John, I am guilty of treason. If I yield to Richard, I am guilty of betraying John's trust. Our wedding was not the reason he came to Lancaster, but the excuse. He wants to bind me more tightly to his cause, to make me renew my oath to him. I was supposed to do it on the morrow in the great hall, but I had to take it tonight, because at dawn he will be gone. 'Theobald lifted his cup again, stared at the dregs, then rose to replenish it. i knelt and put my hands between his and swore him fealty, which means that I will defend this place come hell or high water… but come Richard….' He swung round and rubbed his hand over his face. 'Not only torn both ways, but torn apart. Murdered honour is never a pretty sight.'
Maude hugged her knees and watched him, wishing she could offer comfort or wisdom, and possessing neither. Wishing too that she had not been presumptuous and asked the question in the first place. 'Can't John be persuaded to yield to Richard?'
Theobald returned to the bed and eased in beside her. She moved slightly, as if making room for him, but also preserving the distance between them.
'There is that hope,' he said, 'but while Richard remains imprisoned, John will scheme to strengthen his own position. He will try and delay the ransom and likely even offer payment to Emperor Henry to keep Richard under lock and key. He will do all in his power to keep the power that he has.'
'And yet you serve him?'
The note of censure in her voice caught him on the raw, for he turned on her a look that was fierce and defensive. 'Yes, knowing him for what he is, I still serve him. He lies, he cheats, he is petulant, lecherous, and would not know the meaning of honour if it walked up to him and hit him over the head. But that is only the dark side of the coin. He has a fine mind beneath the mire; and when he is not engaged in a self-destructive war with Coeur de Lion's shadow, he is perhaps the most able statesman amongst all of Henry's sons.' He paused to draw a slightly ragged breath.
Maude accepted his defence but could not prevent an instinctive shiver of distaste when she thought of the way John had mauled her at the wedding ceremony.
'There is no one else,' her new husband said wearily. 'Arthur of Brittany is a child and he has never set foot on English soil, whereas John knows England and likes it well.' He rotated his cup and gave a snort of grim humour. 'I cannot believe that I am sitting here on my wedding night talking affairs of state with a sixteen-year-old girl.'
Maude felt a rush of panic. If he stopped talking then he would snuff the night candle and they would set about the bloody act of consummation. 'But I am interested,' she said, wondering how much longer she could postpone the inevitable. 'I want to learn these things. The more I understand, the more I will be able to help you.'
'You, help me?' He smiled, but the grimness remained. Carefully he set his cup aside and turned to her. 'How could you do that?'
'If I know things, then I won't speak out of turn in my ignorance.'
'Some would say that knowledge is dangerous.' He took a coil of her hair and twined it around his fingers, admiring the shine in the candlelight.
'So is ignorance, my lord.' She bit her lower lip, wondering if she had gone too far, but Theobald did not seem annoyed. His breathing had quickened and there was a heavy look in his eyes, but it was not anger.
'Well then,' he said softly, and wound the coil of hair tighter, bringing her towards him. 'If you desire to learn, I suppose I must teach you.' His other hand lightly cupped her jaw. 'My knowledge and your ignorance.' Theobald's breathing shook and he gave a tremulous laugh. 'Lord, girl, there lies danger indeed.'
CHAPTER 11
The pleasure of riding through the cool of the early morning birdsong was only small compensation for the heat that would later stew the men inside their armour. At least, Fulke thought, being grateful for small mercies, they should reach Lancaster before the full burn of the sun's midsummer rays hit them. The last few days had been a purgatory of sweat-chafed skin and permanent thirst as he took his troop northwards under cloudless skies. The country lay quiet but uneasy beneath the rule of Queen Eleanor and her Justiciars, and wise men took the precaution of travelling in their mail, despite the discomfort.
Having successfully delivered the letters from the German court to Hubert Walter, Fulke and Jean were travelling to Lancaster, this time with missives from Hubert to Theobald, together with the Archbishop's wedding gifts for the couple. On the return journey, Fulke was to bring his mother safe to Alberbury, then return to his brothers in Normandy.
'I wonder what Maude le Vavasour looks like now,' Jean mused. He had opted for folly and wore a bright red tunic which would have been horrendously garish had not his dark colouring suited it so well. His lute was slung on a leather baldric across his back and his dark curls were crowned with a dashing red hat sporting a peacock's tail feather. He was a minstrel today and overflowing with the joys of summer.
Fulke shrugged and studied the road. It had been empty for some time, but now he could see a puff of dust ahead. 'I had not thought,' he said with only half his attention.
'Mark me, with those eyes and that hair, she'll be a rare beauty by now.'
Fulke grunted. His mind filled with the image of a little girl, striking rather than pretty and full of volatile contrariness as she held his brother's ball to ransom. He remembered her wilful curiosity as she peeked at Richard's coronation banquet, and then thought of her standing beside Theobald Walter in the abbey, her expression glassy with fear and her spine rigid as she sought the courage not to run. By turns, he had been amused, irritated and pitying. To imagine her as a beautiful young woman was so incongruous as to be beyond him.
The cloud of dust was greater now, and the pace it was travelling suggested a horseback troop of some size. Fulke drew rein and signalled his own small conroi to pull aside into the dusty verge.
The first horseman into view was a knight riding a pied stallion and bearing a spear crowned with a rippling red and gold banner. The Angevin lions snarled in appliquéd silk across the background and the knight's surcoat was red and gold too. Then came more knights, similarly accoutred and riding at a rapid, mile-eating trot. In their midst, astride a Spanish stallion, was Prince John, his expression furious. On seeing Fulke and his troop, the fury became thunder. He jerked on the reins, sawing his horse to an abrupt halt that almost caused a collision amongst the knights at his back.
'Your Highness.' Fulke inclined his head in grudging obeisance.
'Off your horses and kneel to me!' John ground out. 'I will have proper respect.'
For a long moment Fulke stared at John, making it clear what he thought of the command. Behind him, not one of his men moved.
'I said off your horses, you gutter sweepings, and kneel!' John's voice was a hoarse whisper.
Without taking his gaze from the Prince, Fulke swung from the saddle and bent his knee. At a brief gesture, his men dismounted too, but it was clear that it was at Fulke's command, not John's.
The Prince glared, almost steaming with rage. 'One day your insolence will destroy you.'
Fulke raised his head. 'Were you the anointed King of England and my sovereign, I would have knelt immediately, Your Highness. As it is, you claim that which is not yours.'
John made a choking sound. His horse sidled, its hide twitching, and then began to buck and plunge. Girard de Malfee quickly reached to grab the reins and steady the beast.
John drew a breath through his teeth. 'I will show you what I can and cannot claim,' he hissed. 'If I give you your life, FitzWarin, it is only so that you will learn to rue this day.' Jabbing his spurs into the grey's flanks, he surged forwards, causing de Malfee to lose his grip.
The royal troop clattered on its way and Fulke slowly stood up. His legs were suddenly weak and he had to grip his mount's bridle.
'Well,' said Jean de Rampaigne,' there is not much difference between you and your brother William after all. You both go stamping roughshod over ground where angels fear to tread. What are you going to do when John wears the crown of England?'
'If and when, I will kneel to him because it is his right.' Fulke scowled at Jean. 'You did not have to follow me. You could have knelt of your own accord.'
'Then I suppose I must be at least as foolhardy as you,' Jean said and remounted. Waiting for Fulke to swing into the saddle, he studied the settling cloud of dust. 'It looks as if the news of Richard's release has reached him.'
'I scarcely believe that he is rushing south to organise a ransom,' Fulke said grimly. 'Hinder it, mayhap.' He slapped the reins on the chestnut's neck.
Maude turned over, thrust her hand beneath the soft feather pillow and courted the deep slumber that moments ago had been hers. Stealthy sounds intruded on her vague consciousness and although she kept her eyes closed, they grew louder and the dark peace of sleep receded.
A hand touched her bare shoulder; the palm, the fingers were warm, broad and masculine. 'Good morrow, my lady wife. Your women are here to tend you.'
She raised her lids to find Theobald leaning over her. He was dressed and, beyond the haven of the bed curtains, it was full, glorious morning. 'Good morrow, my lord.' Her voice emerged on a dry croak and her mouth tasted of stale wine. A headache thumped behind her lids and a sensation of raw discomfort twinged within the cleft between her thighs. 'What hour is it?'
'Nigh on terce,' Theobald said. There was a slightly anxious expression in his eyes. 'I left you to sleep as long as I could, but the guests are all assembled in the hall. Are you well?'
Maude wanted to cover her head with the bolster and groan at him to go away. 'Yes, my lord.' She struggled upright. The light hurt her eyes and made her squint.
