The Winter Crown (44 page)

Alienor marvelled at Isabel. She had never suckled any of hers, not even Richard; there had always been a wet nurse waiting on hand to take the child so that Alienor would be ready to conceive again the moment she had been churched. Watching the baby nuzzling Isabel’s milk-heavy breast, seeing the tenderness in Isabel’s expression as the child began to nurse, Alienor felt a pang of regret.

Isabel changed the subject. ‘You certainly got a bargain when you paid the ransom and bought the service of that young knight.’

Alienor glanced round. The game had turned to wrestling. William was adroitly avoiding Richard’s assault and teaching him how to twist out of a particular hold. ‘He is a valued part of the household,’ she said. ‘I sometimes receive the impression he is marking his time. He could perform his duties with one hand tied behind his back. When I give him permission to attend a tourney he never returns empty-handed.’ She smiled at Isabel. ‘Strange to think your mother is his aunt by marriage.’

‘He could have been in my and Hamelin’s entourage,’ Isabel said with a mischievous twinkle.

Alienor wagged her finger. ‘He is mine,’ she warned, laughing. ‘No matter how much you bid, you are not having him back.’

‘That valuable?’

‘Let us say a sound investment that will gain value with time.’

Isabel deftly transferred the baby to her other breast. ‘Have you heard any more about Richard going to France?’

Alienor bristled. ‘Henry may have made that covenant with Louis but I will not have the heir to Aquitaine raised at the French court whatever he says!’

‘I did not think so,’ Isabel replied. ‘But knowing Henry, I wondered what choice you have.’

Alienor firmed her lips and watched the children at play. Isabel’s little daughter was trying to interest John and her brother in playing a ball game. John grasped the ball of soft leather strips and, with a shout, threw it in the flowerbed. ‘Henry may believe I must do his will, but Richard stays here,’ she said with quiet conviction. ‘I know this as I know my heart beats in my body. You would have to wrench it from my chest before I would allow such a thing to happen.’

On a cold day on the cusp of spring, bleak but with glimmers of a brighter light behind the clouds, Henry prepared to return to England. He hadn’t set foot there for four years, but preparations to crown Harry were afoot, and there were pressing matters of government with which to deal. Forty ships stood ready to transport the court to England, although Harry would not follow his father until the summer.

Alienor had ridden north to Caen at Henry’s summons. He had intimated in his letter to her that he needed her help, and her curiosity was piqued because for him to admit that, he must be in a tight corner.

When Alienor arrived with her entourage, the great donjon at Caen Castle was bustling with retainers about the business of packing for the move, and as usual gave the impression of chaos, although there was an underlying semblance of organisation if one looked more closely. Richard gazed around, sniffing the air like a hound in a strange but interesting place.

Alienor prepared to dismount and William Marshal was immediately at her stirrup. She paid him little heed for her attention was all on the two youths advancing across the bailey. Harry had grown again and walked with an assured confidence that was almost a swagger. He was nearly fifteen years old, a similar age to his father when the latter had crossed to England on his first impromptu battle campaign.

At his side, his bastard half-brother Jeoffrey wore a quilted tunic, a dagger slung low at his left hip. He had already cultivated a beard, albeit sparse and downy.

Both young men knelt to her. She gestured them to rise and embraced Harry. Jeoffrey lowered his gaze and took a step back.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘My young king-in-waiting.’

Harry puffed out his chest. ‘Not for much longer, Mama.’

‘Indeed not.’

Harry embraced Richard, who had dismounted in his own time. ‘Papa’s bought me a new horse – a stallion,’ Harry said, his countenance bright with pleasure, and a little smug. ‘Do you want to see him?’

Richard’s expression was torn between enthusiasm and envy. Not wanting to appear impressed or eager, he shrugged. ‘If you want.’

Alienor watched her sons and their bastard half-brother head off in the direction of the stables.

‘Go with them,’ she said to William Marshal. ‘Keep an eye.’

‘Madam.’ William bowed and departed.

Alienor followed an usher to the chamber prepared for her. Braziers had been lit but had yet to take the chill from the day and the wind direction was creating a cold draught on the tower stairs. Her bed and some of her baggage had arrived yesterday, but had yet to be arranged, and although the room was ready for use in a basic form, it was not particularly welcoming. She huddled into the warmth of her cloak and went to gaze out of the window. Charcoal-coloured clouds scudded across a paler grey sky, populated by a few wind-tossed seagulls. From a distance she saw Henry advancing on her, immediately recognisable by his short cloak and his brisk stride. A woman crossed his path and he paused to speak to her. Her gown was the colour of speedwells and her hair was covered by a full wimple of white linen. Alienor’s eyesight was not as sharp as it had been and she could not be sure, but she thought he touched her face. The woman moved on with a swift glance over her shoulder at the tower. She clambered into a waiting litter, and was borne out of the castle gates. Alienor narrowed her eyes. Turning from the window, she instructed her women to fasten the shutters and light more candles.

Moments later Henry breezed into the chamber and with a swift command bade everyone rise from their obeisance. ‘I am glad you are here,’ he said to Alienor without preamble. ‘We have been looking out for you these past two days.’ He came to her, gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and moved away.

‘We made the best pace we could.’ She wondered why, if he had been looking out for her for the past two days, he had not removed his mistress from the vicinity before now. If he was glad to see her, it was for political not personal reasons. ‘I did not want to ride the horses to exhaustion.’

Servants arrived with small pastries and a flagon of spiced wine. Alienor took her cup and went to stand before a brazier to absorb the heat. She had become accustomed to sunshine and warmer climes in Poitiers. This February morning in Normandy made her bones ache. ‘When do you sail?’

‘Early next week if the wind holds. I shall leave Harry in your care, and also his wife.’ His gaze lit on a box of books and he stooped to investigate the titles.

‘Is she here?’ Alienor tried to keep the distaste from her voice.

‘Not yet, but she will be arriving soon; I want you to care for her among your women while she and Harry grow accustomed to each other.’

‘Have you decided what to do about crowning her with Harry?’

Henry picked up a book and turned a couple of pages. ‘I have a mind to crown Harry without Marguerite. She is but twelve years old; it will be more appropriate to make her queen when she is older and ready to assume all the duties entailed.’

‘Louis will not be pleased.’

He let out an impatient breath. ‘I can deal with Louis, but he does not have to know yet. Better to leave the choice open and prepare for a double coronation even if there won’t be one.’ He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Let the girl have some new gowns out of it. It is not as if she is never going to be queen.’

Alienor nodded with satisfaction. She was content with such a state of affairs because it meant she remained sole Queen of England and could bring better influence to bear on her daughter-in-law. ‘I take it Thomas Becket will not be performing the ceremony?’

Henry looked at her as if she had given him vinegar to drink. ‘I have no need of him when I have a dispensation to have Harry crowned by whomsoever I choose.’

‘I heard he has excommunicated the bishops designated to crown Harry and that he intends putting England under interdict.’

‘Hah! What he intends and what happens are two different things.’ Henry closed the book and, picking up his wine, came to stand at the brazier. ‘That is why I have need of your diplomacy and skill.’

‘Indeed?’ Alienor’s smile was acerbic. ‘That is a novelty. Your usual view is that I am an interfering woman who should keep to her sewing and innocuous pleasant chat with envoys and bishops.’

Henry scowled at first, but then his gaze warmed with reluctant humour. ‘That is true, if I am being honest.’

‘Are you?’ She gave him a hard look. The harsh winter weather had roughened his cheeks and his eyes were bloodshot from standing too close to smoky fires and spending too many nights straining to work in dim candlelight. There was barely a glimpse in him of the limber smooth-skinned youth she had married. But then she too had aged and lost her optimism.

‘It is your duty to support me and our heirs.’

She sipped her wine and watched the smoke twirl up from the coals. Had his mother still been alive, he would have used her to govern Normandy; he had summoned her from Poitiers because he had no other choice. He was right about the duty she owed, but his decisions were all about his schemes and plans and not paths she would have chosen. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Becket will try to prevent Harry’s coronation. He wants to force me to let him keep that blasted “saving God’s dignity” oath, which I will never do. He will attempt to serve notice of interdict the instant my feet touch English soil. I want you to prevent any cleric with orders from Becket from crossing the sea. Until that notice makes landfall, no clergy in England are bound to obey it. If I can stop him and the Pope from interfering, our son will be anointed king, and their quiver will be short of arrows indeed.’

‘They will claim it is not legal in the eyes of God,’ Alienor warned.

‘It will be no more than squawking of old women,’ Henry said contemptuously.

Alienor inclined her head. ‘As you wish. I will have the ports watched and have my knights detain anyone who might prove a threat.’

‘The Bishop of Worcester in particular, so my informants tell me.’ He raised a cautionary forefinger. ‘Treat anyone you capture with diplomacy, and do not tell them I have ordered their detention.’

Alienor curled her lip. He was placing her in the role of queen as intermediary and peacekeeper, but making her his scapegoat into the bargain. ‘So you draw me here to do your underhand work and take the blame.’

‘You are here to share the work of ensuring that our son is crowned,’ he snapped.

‘I shall do it,’ she said regally, ‘not for you, but for Harry and his future.’

‘Good, then it is settled.’

‘And Richard shall be made Count of Poitou in my name the moment he reaches his fifteenth year day.’

He gave a dismissive wave. ‘Of course.’

Alienor was not yet finished. ‘Concerning Richard, since we are speaking of the future of our sons: I want him to stay with me and finish his education in Poitou. I will not have him being sent to court in Paris at this stage.’

‘By all means. There is plenty of time for that; Louis can wait awhile.’

Alienor was not fooled. He was only agreeing because it suited him for now.

He rose to leave and picked up the book he had put down. ‘I’ll borrow this; I’ve been wanting to read it.’

After he had gone on a flurry of cold air, Alienor ate a small tart from the platter and mulled over what had been said. Despite her irritation with him, she was buoyed up by the challenge of the task he had set, and it brought a smile to her lips.

On the training ground used by the knights, and watched by his parents, Harry was trying out the horse that his father had given him to mark his fifteenth year day. The stallion was a chaser, a bright golden chestnut with a metallic sheen to its coat and a white marking in the shape of a lightning zigzag on its rump. Harry had called it Flambur, meaning ‘glittering’, and the horse lived up to his name, as did his harness, the leather stamped with gold and decorated with pendants that jingled with each high-stepping movement.

William Marshal was tutoring Harry in horsemanship among a small group of other youths, and Harry, aware of his audience, was showing off. Grinning, he urged Flambur into a fast canter, and tried to execute a tight turn, but he had not allowed himself sufficient room for manoeuvre. The stallion slipped to his haunches and twisted. Harry lost his seat in the saddle and was unceremoniously dumped in the dirt. Other than being winded, he was unhurt, save his pride, and he struggled to his feet, brushing soil from his fine clothes while Flambur bucked and cantered round the field, shying from everyone who tried to catch him, reins and stirrups flapping.

William Marshal reined his horse around and trotted up to Harry. ‘Quickly, sire.’ He reached down and with his strength and Harry’s leverage pulled the youth astride his horse’s rump. Flawlessly executing the same tight turn that Harry had just failed to accomplish, he cantered after the loose chestnut and, riding up alongside him, grabbed the bridle while shouting to Harry to leap over into the empty saddle.

His face taut with determination, no grin now, Harry scrambled and jumped. The manoeuvre, albeit clumsy, still achieved the desired result, while William gripped Flambur’s bridle until the lad was secure and could control the horse himself. They reached the end of the training ground and Harry drew rein and trotted back, flushed and exhilarated, while William praised him and slapped his back.

‘And that,’ said Alienor to Henry, ‘is a fall coming before pride.’ Her heart warmed towards William, who had turned the moment around for Harry, and at the same time demonstrated a rescue technique for battle and tourney situations.

‘The young Marshal is good with the squires,’ Henry remarked.

‘They look up to him; he is a skilled teacher,’ she said. ‘Harry might not sit still to listen to a tutor, but he takes notice of William because he absorbs the lesson without it being a chore.’

Henry rubbed his jaw. ‘When Harry is crowned, he will need a larger household. Appointing the Marshal to a position in his retinue is worth considering, I think.’