To Defy a King (34 page)

'It is always difficult,' Ida said a little sadly. She had accompanied Mahelt and Hugh to Salisbury, but the Earl had stayed with the King. 'There are so many demands made on our men and as wives we are often forgotten. Our children are our consolation - and our grandchildren.'

'Their households wouldn't run without us,' Mahelt said forthrightly. 'Who gives the orders to the stewards and chamberlains? Who cares for the welfare of the retainers and feeds and entertains their guests? Who bears their children? We are only taken for granted if we let it happen.'

Ida sighed and lifted little Roger on to her knee as he took a brief respite from his play. 'I used to think like that. I used to blame myself, and think it was my fault for not being a good enough wife. Sometimes I still do because I know I do not fulfil what the Earl wants of me.'

Mahelt bristled. 'From what I have seen, the Earl doesn't--'

'Hush, hush.' Ida held up her hand in warning. 'I will not have you speak against him. You are young and impatient and swift to judge.' Her lips set in a stubborn line. 'The Earl is what he is. We are both what time has wrought of us. Even if I laid the blame at his feet, what would it change? Sometimes we have no choice. A rock can only stand so long against the sea before it is rendered to sand, and in the same wise, the needs of a king and a country will always overrule the needs of a wife.' She cuddled her grandson and kissed his cheek. 'And to a woman, the needs of a child will always overrule the needs of a husband. That is the way of the world.' She paused and took a deep breath. 'In the end we all leave each other, do we not? In the end we all sleep alone.'

Mahelt looked away, not wanting to receive such wisdom. Ela said to Ida with concern, 'Would you like some more wine, my lady mother?'

Ida smiled and shook her head. 'I think from what I have just heard myself say and from the look on your faces that I have already drunk more than I should.'

Roger wriggled down off Ida's knee and dashed off again to join the men.

He pressed himself against Hugh's leg and Hugh absently tousled his son's hair and set a protective arm on his narrow shoulder. Glancing across at the women, he smiled at Mahelt and drooped his right eyelid in a half-wink.

Mahelt returned him a provocative look and reached for the flagon warming on the hearth. 'Perhaps Ela and I haven't,' she said.

The moment passed and Ida's mood lightened, but still, what she had said left its impression on Mahelt like a footprint in damp sand. That night she lay with Hugh in their curtained bed and made love to him fiercely while the winter wind rattled at the shutters. When it was over, she held him yet within her, craving the contact of their flesh as one, her ribs heaving as if she had been running for miles. Hugh tenderly pushed her hair away from her face, and then rolled over with her, curling his body around hers like a sheltering cave.

'Your mother's wrong,' Mahelt said as their breathing calmed and settled into a new mutual rhythm.

'What?' he mumbled sleepily against her ear.

She didn't answer him, but gripped his hand and secured his arm against her side as if gripping a shield.

In the morning when Mahelt woke, there was no sign of Hugh, but he had left a scrap of rolled parchment on the pillow, tied with a scarlet silk hair ribbon on which two lines of a poem were written in his swift, elegant hand.

Bele amie, si est de nus

Ne vus sanz mei, ne mei sanz vus.

Mahelt read the words with a tender smile.
'
Sweet love, so it is with us. No you without me, nor I without you.' She combed her rich, dark hair, plaited it with the red ribbon, and then covered it decently with her wimple so that no one would know.

There was no sign of Hugh in the hall, but she heard the sound of masculine voices and, following them outside, found her husband, her brothers, Longespee and a cluster of fascinated knights, soldiers and small boys inspecting Longespee's new trebuchet. The siege machine had obviously just arrived, to judge from the attendant carter and the craftsman carpenter.

The day was raw with cold but no one seemed to notice except her.

Longespee wanted to set up a target to try out his new toy's range and capabilities. Ralph went running to see to it, and performed a deliberate cartwheel on the way, making everyone laugh. Little Roger was perched on Hugh's shoulders, clapping his hands with glee. Mahelt watched for a moment thoughtfully; then she turned and went back inside, but only to fetch her warmest cloak.

When she returned, chin jutting and stride determined, Hugh eyed her with quizzical amusement. 'I thought you would still be warm abed,' he said with a suggestive arch of his brows and a languorous edge to his voice. He tumbled Roger to the ground and the little boy whizzed off to look at the round ammunition stones that the knights were piling beside the trebuchet.

'I thought the same of you when I woke up,' Mahelt retorted, 'but I was wrong.'

'I had to use the piss-pot, and so did Roger, and then Ralph came running like a dog with two tails to tell me the trebuchet had arrived, so I left you to sleep.'

Mahelt relaxed a little. 'Thank you for what you left in your stead.' She lifted her veil to show him a glimpse of the ribbon binding her braid. 'And the verse.'

'I meant what I wrote.'

'Despite abandoning me in favour of a siege machine,' she jested, not quite prepared to let him off the hook. Then she nodded at the trebuchet. 'What's this all about?'

Hugh's expression contorted. 'Ach, you know Longespee and his need to have the newest and best of everything. He's had this commissioned for Salisbury lest the French invade, and also to give his men target practice over the slack winter period.'

Mahelt cocked her head, considering. 'I am told my maternal grandmother was a fine shot with one - so the stories go.'

Hugh looked startled.

'It was in the war between the Empress and King Stephen. My grandmother Sybilla learned before her marriage. My grandsire Marshal apparently always boasted with pride that she was capable of manning one.' She extended one foot beyond the hem of her gown and examined the dainty toe of her shoe. 'Supposedly she was taught in this very courtyard because she lived here as a girl. I think I should follow her example.'

Hugh palmed his hand over his face. 'You know what my father would say about that.'

'Yes.' Their eyes met and a frisson ran through Mahelt, reminding her of the illicit moments of intimacy she and Hugh had been wont to snatch from under the Earl's nose in the days before they were permitted a bed.

Hugh lowered his hand and she knew that although his mouth was straight, inside he was laughing. 'Then you had better join us. Christmas is a time for family trad - ition, after all. I bow to your grandsire's wisdom and your grandmother's skills.'

'Amen.' Mahelt lifted her chin. 'They survived, did they not?'

Mahelt spent the rest of the morning enjoying herself outside with the trebuchet. The men got to do most of the loading and launching at the targets, for they were all big and eager and this was important business.

Nevertheless, Mahelt swiftly learned the basic skills of juggling counterweight versus missile weight versus position in order to have a chance of hitting the target, in this case a large straw shield set up in the bailey. The men enjoyed showing off their knowledge to her.

Mahelt was in her element. She was happiest when active, added to which the skills attained made her feel as if she were doing something to protect herself and her family. She was entering into Hugh's world and her father's, a world from which women were mostly excluded, just as men were excluded from the bower, and she was exhilarated. By the time they finished their practice and repaired indoors to hot wine and pastries, she was glowing and happy and felt almost as satisfied as she did after making love.

Ida and Ela were sitting by the fire and Ida was holding a piece of parchment. The seal tag attached was the equestrian seal of the Earl of Norfolk. As the trebuchet party trooped to the fire to drink and warm their hands, she rose and came over to Hugh and Mahelt.

'The Earl has sent news from court,' she said with troubled eyes. 'The King is coming to Framlingham.'

28

Framlingham, February 1213

Standing in the dairy, staring at the cheese wheels lined up in rows on the shelves, Mahelt seriously considered taking her mare from the stables and absconding. Bungay or Thetford or Ipswich. The nunnery at Colne.

Anywhere but here. The King was due in three days' time as he made his way southwards from his campaign to set the northern shires in order. She could think of nothing worse than entertaining the man who had done so much wrong to her family and committed, in her eyes, evil beyond redemption. She had already decided she would find excuses to stay in her chamber and keep out of his way, because she could not imagine being civil to him. Each time she mentally rehearsed interacting with John, she always found herself spitting in his face before sticking a knife in him and tossing him in the mere with stones tied to his ankles. She intended keeping her sons as far away from him as possible. She didn't even want him looking at her children. They would have to be present for the formal greeting in the bailey, but after that, they would be hustled out of sight.

Hugh and his father were in the park with the huntsmen marking game and checking the rides in case the King wished to hunt while he was their guest.

Neither Hugh nor his father were particularly sanguine about playing host to John, but the Earl had shrugged it off, saying there were some advantages.

There were men in the royal entourage with whom he could talk business, and it was proof of John's trust and the earldom's stability that he chose to pay a visit. Of course it might also be interpreted as a statement that John had his eye on them and wanted to assess their defences for himself.

Ida had been struggling to prepare for the visit. She was overwhelmed by the responsibility. Never before had royalty come to Framlingham. Once she would have coped with fortitude, but age and uncertain health had taken their toll. She wasn't sure where everything was, except for the textiles, of which she knew the location of every hanging, every bolster, and embroidered cloth. She worried and twittered about having the right sort of curtains in the guest chamber and agonised over whether the red cushions or the green should be used and if the King's bed should have two or three mattresses. Mahelt was anxious too. Even while hating John, she knew this was a grand occasion and it was necessary to make a good impression, but Ida was obviously not herself.

'Which cheeses?' Mahelt asked her now. 'Those on the top? They've been there the longest, so they'll have the strongest flavour.'

Ida nodded. 'They'll need to be checked for weevils though . . . I don't know how much the King and his household will eat. And what about the butter?

What if there aren't enough crocks . . .' She put a hand to her forehead and Mahelt noticed that she was shivering. It was always cold in the dairy. In the winter the dairy maids had permanently red noses and blue, chapped hands, even when they wore fingerless mittens. Ida was better outfitted for cold than the servants, for she was wearing a fur-lined gown and a hood over her wimple, but in the pallid February daylight, she looked peaky and drained.

'Go to your chamber, Mother,' Mahelt said, touching her shoulder. 'I shall see to the cheeses. We can always bring in more from the manor at Acle, and butter too if needs must. They always have a surplus and there's time.'

Ida shook her head. 'I cannot let you do all this yourself. There's still the wine to inspect.' She straightened up. 'Let me . . . let me check on that furthest cheese.'

Mahelt summoned a servant to fetch a stool and bring down the required wheel. Mahelt released it from its paste and linen binding and looked at the crumbly honey-gold result of what had been laid down in the late summer from cows grazed on the lush water meadows around the mere. Unsheathing her belt knife, she cut a sliver from the side. Not too small, because where was the point in having just one mouthful of something so delicious? 'No weevils,' she said, giving a nugget to Ida, and then, because she was feeling very generous, the servant.

Rich flavours of salt, cream, and summer greenery embraced her palate and she gave a pleasurable moan. 'Far too fine for the court,' she said. 'Let's give the King one of the others.'

Ida stared at the morsel of cheese between her forefinger and thumb. She swallowed convulsively and compressed her lips.

Mahelt licked her fingers. 'Mother?'

Ida made a mewling sound and dashed out of the dairy; doubling over, she was violently sick.

Mahelt stared at her in shock, and then whirled round to the servant. 'Put that cheese away and fetch help!' she commanded. 'The Countess is unwell.'

She stooped to Ida and put her arm around her shoulders. Ida's hands were icy, but her forehead was like a brazier.

'I'm all right,' Ida gasped between retches. 'It will pass.'

Mahelt said nothing because her mother-in-law was patently not all right.

People came running and Mahelt overrode Ida's gagging protests and had her borne to her chamber. Ida wasn't in time to reach the privy as her bowels voided themselves. She had to be stripped and washed, all the time shuddering as if her entire body was disintegrating.

'I'm sorry,' she wept wretchedly as she was helped into bed. 'I'll be all right in a while and as soon as I can, I'll help. I--' She was taken with another fit of retching and her maid hastily held a bronze bowl under her chin.

'Yes, Mother, of course you will,' Mahelt agreed, although to look at Ida, she doubted that 'soon' was likely. 'Just rest here awhile and I shall attend to matters until you are well enough.'

As the spasm subsided, Ida flopped back against the bolster and sent Mahelt a look compounded of gratitude and guilt. 'Thank you. I do not mean to be a burden.'

'You are not.' Mahelt gave Ida's hand a brief, hard squeeze. 'Never think that.' Leaving the room, Mahelt's perspective shifted. She had been deeply resenting John's imminent arrival and had been caught up in her own antipathy, but things had changed. She would not prepare Framlingham for John because he was not worth it. But she would prepare it to honour Ida. As this thought took root, it gave her strength. She felt her confidence growing: she could fulfil the role of chatelaine, and do it justice, as befitted her upbringing and her position.