‘Where’s your white mouse dog?’ he shouted to the Chancellor. ‘You said he doesn’t make a sound. Hamelin heard him howling piteously.’
‘He was upset that I was leaving him.’
‘What’s his name again?’
‘Leo.’
‘Leo! You hear that, men? My English Chancellor has a dog the size of a mouse that he wears in a bag and calls Leo!’ He improvised a song: ‘Leo the mouse, enjoyed a cloth house and courted a beautiful lady …’
They sang as they cantered, then galloped, baritone voices rising and falling while their horses surged beneath them with the power of waves in a gale. Becket, in fine tenor voice, added lyrical inventions.
From far above, the Chancellor of Germany looked out, puzzled. Their spy in Bonsmoulins had reported that the English Chancellor hated the King and had plotted for days with the Baron about how to take vengeance on Henry. But there they were, King and Chancellor, singing together. Rainald squinted to make sure of what he believed he saw: Henry slapping Becket on the back. It must have been the wine talking, he decided. Or they had spoken in English and the churl misunderstood. A terrifying thought struck him: is the chancellor a traitor to his liege lord? ‘As treacherous as Lucifer?’ he murmured in Latin. The shock was so great he felt dizzy.
‘The Empress may tell me more,’ he muttered to Lothar. ‘The English Chancellor knows no German, so even if he sits beside us throughout my audience, she and I can speak openly. If she’s willing.’
Lothar flushed. ‘Your Grace, I didn’t mention it before, but I took the liberty of bringing a lock of hair from her first husband. Of course, she may have one already, but she left in such a hurry after the funeral—’
Rainald interjected, ‘With all our jewels and treasures!’
‘—it’s possible she was more concerned to reach England than to remove a keepsake from the body of the Emperor. God rest his soul.’ He handed over a square of folded white linen. Inside lay a curl of light brown hair, the same colour as his own, tied with black silk thread.
After breakfast, a large escort of Norman and imperial knights accompanied the two Chancellors to call on Matilda. En route the ambassador confided to Becket that he would present the Empress with a lock of hair from her husband, but on arrival a nun announced that the Empress was spending the day in prayer and they would have to return at another time.
Thomas said, ‘Excellency, the Empress is a lady of deep and tender feelings but too dignified to show them except to her nearest kin. May I suggest that I give the lock to her on your behalf? By tomorrow she will be in control of her emotions and eager to talk about old times. Perhaps, even …’ He glanced at the sky. ‘Oh, look at that falcon! Have you ever seen …?’
Rainald did not bother to look. He shouted, ‘Lothar!’
Becket pocketed the silk-wrapped gift. As soon as the envoy’s group left, he returned to the house of retreat, where he made a courtesy call on the Abbess.
‘Is there anything I or His Highness could provide that would make the Empress’s life here more comfortable? She is too proud a lady to ask herself, but her sons and I worry there may be objects she left behind in the palace that now she misses.’
The Abbess’s fingers flicked over her beads as she listened, head bent, face unmoving. Abruptly she looked up with a smile. ‘Stay here, and I’ll ask her.’ She returned quickly. ‘You may call on her.’
Matilda reclined in her grey satin chair as he entered. He fell to his knees.
‘Dear boy, what a pleasure. I’m so happy you’ve returned to court. I was sure your tiff with Henry could not last because he holds you so dear in his heart.’
Becket blushed. ‘E-E-Empress …’
He was nervous, she observed. What trick would it be?
‘He desperately needs your help, Great Lady.’
‘Henry has a tongue in his head.’
‘But in his awe for you, it ties itself in a knot. As does m-m-mine.’ They both smiled. ‘Barbarossa threatens us with war, attacking through Aquitaine.’
‘I warned His Highness weeks ago.’
‘Indeed. But now the German ambassador is here and despite all our efforts – including the promise of one of your granddaughters to a future son of Barbarossa – the Emperor is not satisfied. He demands return of a precious stone …’
Her hands flew up. ‘That piece of rubbish! I wish I’d never …’ His luminous eyes dwelled on her. ‘I’ve lost it, Tom. I suspect a certain person stole it.’
‘Someone in the vicinity?’
She sighed. ‘I fear it would take years of hunting through treasuries in palaces, cathedrals and shrines before it could be found. It may have broken. Emeralds are unusually fragile.’
The Chancellor nodded and kissed her hand. He had remained kneeling at her feet, but now stood and reached behind him, pulling a shoulder bag that he’d slung at his back to his chest. Out of it peeked the face of a tiny white dog with a round forehead and large, child-like eyes.
‘Gorgeous!’ Matilda exclaimed.
‘Would you like him?’ Becket withdrew Leo from his bag and carefully placed him on the Empress’s lap. The dog turned to look up at her with the adoring expression of a nun gazing on an image of the Saviour. As he licked her hand, the Great Lady made a noise Becket had never heard from her before: she giggled.
‘You once gave me a beautiful monkey,’ she said. Her voice was husky. ‘I loved that creature. But Henry hated it.’ The monkey had ripped up and eaten some battle plans. ‘One day he cut it in two and threw its poor little body over a parapet.’ Matilda had not spoken to her son for a week.
The Chancellor made a quick decision. ‘He deeply regrets that. This morning he asked me to offer you Leo. Will you accept, Highness? It’s clear he already adores you.’
The Empress was fascinated at having her finger chewed. For minutes they sat without speaking to each other, only to the lapdog.
‘Don’t bite!’ Becket scolded.
‘He would never bite, would you? Leo darling, wag your tail for me again.’
At length she sighed, picked up the small, hot body and handed it back to the Chancellor. ‘Alas, we’re forbidden to keep pets as they distract us from our devotions. I agreed to the condition when I moved here.’ It was information he already had from the Abbess.
‘Always honourable,’ Becket murmured. He withdrew the ambassador’s gift from a pocket. ‘Barbarossa wishes to show you his better nature, Empress.’
She undid the wrapping, nodding and smiling to herself, then lifted the lock of hair to her nose to sniff. ‘This, Tom, was cut from some man’s head yesterday. Smell it!’
He took a long sniff. It smelled of oil and perspiration.
The Empress, whose teeth were still as fine and strong as her children’s, pressed her lips together in a smile. ‘You can tell that clever toad Rainald I’m overcome with joy to have a lock of my dear dead husband’s hair. Come back the day after tomorrow. I’d like to make a tour of the political horizon with him.’
After calling in at Rouen, Becket galloped for Bonsmoulins. Once settled by the fire, he announced, ‘Richer, I can’t go through with it. Henry loves me. He treats me with respect, as in the old days. I cannot …’
‘He’s bewitched you. I knew he would.’
‘I’ll write again to Herbie and tell him …’
The Eagle leaned back, grinning. ‘A man who plots treason, Tom, may retract, but only to reduce his punishment. You’re daring, but daring and courage are different. Unlike Henry, you’re not a man of courage.’ He laughed. The lapdog, hearing his old master’s voice, popped his head out of Becket’s shoulder bag, panting with excitement. Inside the bag his tail flailed against the velvet. ‘He suits you.’
‘I’m returning him.’
‘I don’t want him back. He cost my wife a fortune. She tired of him when he peed on a silk gown.’
‘He was probably nervous.’
‘He was. Like you. A quaking royal servant pretend
ing to be a lion. You encounter a real lion and you roll over, submissive as a puppy.’
‘I hate you!’ Becket shouted as he left.
‘Bewitched!’ Richer shouted after him. ‘You’ll never ascend the throne of a bishop, let alone the Archbishop’s. You’ll remain a dog, licking the King’s heel!’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Henry had not needed to be warned that the Countess would want to arrive unannounced. The next morning, when the Esnecca was due to berth, he sent William on an errand.
The docks were cleared of smaller craft to make way. The royal ship swept forward on an incoming tide, her red sails filled with a westerly breeze, rowers dipping their white-tipped oars in time to a drumbeat. Sailors bellowed, ‘We bring the Queen! England’s Queen! We bring the Duchess of Normandy!’
Eleanor stood in the prow, a gold headscarf streaming behind her. At her back stood an equally tall, slender woman dressed in black, her face hidden by a veil she clutched with both hands to keep it from flying away. The dock was thick with people, the King standing foremost. He had dressed carefully in dark blue, a colour his wife said suited him. He wore a small sapphire-studded crown to mark the ceremony of her arrival.
‘It’s time we had another child,’ he told Hamelin, who gave a wry smile.
In honour of his sister-in-law, the merlin had his hair plaited and piled on top of his head beneath a green velvet hat. Somehow he had conjured a sprig of yellow broom that he stuck in its band.
‘A child to replace the one you propose to give to Germany?’ he answered Henry. ‘I dreamed of a gale and a female sea monster last night. She clasped an infant girl to her.’
‘Meaning?’ his brother asked irritably.
‘Your wife is furious that you’ve promised her daughter to Germany without consulting her.’
‘I wrote of Rainald’s arrival, telling her I might have to make some gesture.’
‘You didn’t mention it could be a human sacrifice, from her own womb. Good luck in the bedchamber. Imbecile.’
In front of hundreds of eyes the monarchs’ greeting was of touching affection. Rouen’s dockland roared with excitement as they kissed. Henry himself held the stirrup of the horse he had caparisoned in the heraldic colours of Aquitaine, a yellow lion passant poking out a blue tongue and blue claws.
Hamelin bowed to the black-clad lady. ‘May I have the honour of holding your stirrup?’
She nodded.
‘I am the King’s half-brother, Hamelin.’
The Countess glanced quickly at him and shuddered. Hamelin felt as if she had slapped his face. Never before in his life had a woman found him repulsive. His cheeks reddened.
When they rode off, Becket manoeuvred his steed to weave between the knights surrounding the monarchs and their guest until he was beside Hamelin. ‘Who’s that woman?’
‘A pilgrim.’
‘A lady of very high rank, it seems.’
‘An abbess, I believe.’
‘Which abbey?’
‘Bec, I don’t know, and if I did, I may not tell you.’
‘Lying bastard,’ the Chancellor muttered. Suddenly he flinched. His hand flew to the side of his head. Hamelin raised a long, dark eyebrow.
‘That tongue of yours, Bec. Do you recall what the Bible says about the human tongue?’
Becket gritted his teeth. ‘I don’t.’
‘It warns that though small, it may be filled with evil. Guard your tongue, Chancellor. Kings forgive, but they do not forget.’
The pain eased. ‘Don’t call me Bec. It’s disrespectful. When His Highness does it, it’s affectionate, but you …’ He gagged. The pain felt like a vice clamped and tightened on his forehead. ‘You’ve injured me. I think I’m going to vomit.’
Hamelin glanced at the bag containing the little dog. ‘What I observe, Bec, is that you’ve been in a mental tumult since you returned to court. And I ask myself: why? What do you fear? What do you want?’
He gave his horse a kick and rode up behind the Countess of Surrey.
‘My lady, I hope your crossing was not rough. We have a splendid banquet planned. The King wants you to be in good appetite.’
‘I cannot attend! I agreed to come to Normandy only to—’
‘We’ll accommodate your wishes.’ My heart trembles. Guides, what honour have you left me? Half blind, croaking, unable to fight with a sword, a monster among men, a revulsion to women. I should have died in Eulowe Forest. He turned to look again at Isabel, noting beneath her veil an exquisite profile.
The Queen invited Isabel de Warenne to share her apartment on the ground floor of the palace. It was next to the King’s, slightly smaller but more elegantly appointed and without weaponry on its walls. Instead there were tapestries and musical instruments. There was a bathing chamber with a bath large enough for two, and a separate latrine, also for two. Dangerous miasmas were dispelled by an ingenious system of drainage, plus shrubs and ‘foul herbs’, which were burned as soon as they seeded.
‘There’ll be four of us in the apartment: you, me and our personal maids. No men.’
‘You’ll not be inviting His Highness?’
‘He’s promised one of our daughters to some unborn German. Even if it is to avoid a war, Isabel, he should have consulted me.’
The Countess was resting in her chamber when Hamelin came to warn the Queen how skittish Isabel was about the banquet. They spoke in her mother tongue, langue d’oc. Eleanor said, ‘I’ll hide her in the musicians’ gallery.’
Eleanor’s maid, Orianne, was unpacking clothes. The Queen beckoned her. ‘Buttercup, her ladyship’s maid is as silly as a sheep. You are to show her the way to the musicians’ gallery, up that hidden flight of stairs. Point out a spot where her mistress can sit unobserved. You may have to lead the maid two or three times before she masters the route.’
‘We’re dining in the small banquet hall?’
‘Correct. It’s a family gathering with a handful of horrible guests.’ Under her breath she added, ‘Not my mother-in-law, thank God.’
Hamelin lay stretched out on the Queen’s couch. ‘Bec has done well in the negotiations. So far.’
‘Bec! My skin crawls. Unfortunately, I need to talk to him. But not here. Not in my bedchamber.’
‘The antechamber of the chapel royal?’
Eleanor sent a page. Becket swan-glided into the room, but it was empty. He waited what he judged to be almost an hour. ‘This is typical,’ he confided to Leo. ‘Summoned urgently, then kept waiting. I have a thousand responsibilities …’
At that moment, the Queen arrived. She glanced at the velvet bag he wore slung across one shoulder and turned to the lady-in-waiting who accompanied her. ‘England’s Chancellor has unusual tastes.’ Her tone was droll. ‘But to business: Bec, you’re to have a wooden dance floor built for the banquet this evening.’
‘Highness, how big?’
‘Large enough for a couple who dance well. The carpenters will have time to make it if you run to them now and exercise your famous persuasive powers. It’s to be in place by the time the company sits to eat at twilight.’ She glanced at Leo, and was gone.
The banquet of welcome was held in one of the upper chambers of the palace, where the air was warmer. A small dance floor was laid over its flagstones. Above the heads of the thirty guests a platform extended into space, enclosing the musicians behind a carved wooden grille. The Countess, with a delicate black veil hiding her face, was seated there. Eleanor had instructed the troubadour that at her signal he was to launch into a song of celebration. She and Henry waited together in a corridor outside until the guests had taken their places.
‘I’ve seated Bec on your left hand, wife. He’s to feel I cherish him for his excellence with the German. Now I have him leashed and under my thumb again, I intend to put him to work against the criminality of England’s clergy. But there’s a more urgent task. While you’re beside him, use your charm to spark his enthusiasm for another diplomatic mission to Louis.’
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‘When?’
‘As soon as I can get rid of the German.’
‘Henry, we need to talk.’
He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘We shall. Did I mention you’re looking more than usually beautiful? What colour exactly is your gown?’
‘Violet.’
‘Of course. To match your eyes.’
The corner of her lip curled. ‘Husband, don’t bother. Not tonight. Not tomorrow night either.’ She jumped when he slapped her backside.
As custom dictated, they were the last to enter. Guests rose to their feet, including William, whom Henry had seated second from his right, next to the ambassador. Beyond Becket he had placed a Norman magnate whom he suspected of evading taxes. Eleanor began her attack on the Chancellor without delay.
‘It was thanks to your brilliant diplomacy with King Louis that his house and ours are joined by the engagement of his little daughter to our Crown Prince. But the misfortune of Toulouse that neither you nor I, dear Thomas, could ever have foreseen has caused an appalling family rift.’ She paused to look meaningfully at him. ‘Unhappily, the savagery with which you put down resistance in Quercy following our failure in Toulouse has caused hard feelings in Paris. Louis chooses to blame Henry. You and I know that it was your decision, and yours alone, to massacre all those people.’
Becket looked into his lap. He found the power of her eyes different from but equally as intimidating as the King’s.
Abruptly she smiled. Her voice warmed. ‘As soon as he’s old enough, we’ll be sending our precious first son to be raised in your household.’
Becket exhaled audibly. ‘I-I-I feared, Highness, that when I left to stay at Bonsmoulins some weeks ago, the honour of raising the Crown Prince would be removed from me.’
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