‘I swear you grow in front of our eyes!’ the Bishop said. He stood on tiptoe to kiss William’s cheeks. ‘To think you used to sit on my knee.’
‘Your Grace, something …?’
‘Yes, something. I think we should go to the palace to discuss it.’
William dropped his forehead in his hands as he listened to the prelate. ‘Becket has written to all bishops on both sides of the Narrow Sea, telling them that the marriage between you and the Countess of Surrey is forbidden by His Holiness.’ His cheeks turned the colour of whey. ‘Your Archbishop suspected that His Highness would ignore the ban and go ahead with your marriage regardless.’
‘Has any bishop told the Countess of Surrey?’ the Viscount whispered.
‘Not yet, dear boy. I ordered my brothers’ silence. It is you or our dear Henry who must tell her.’
Henry and Eleanor arrived a fortnight later, both equipped with gifts for the marriage celebration. On the voyage they had discussed the intransigence of the Archbishop. ‘If the forged letters are insufficient?’ Eleanor asked.
‘I’ll appeal in person to Alexander,’ the King declared. ‘I’ll let him understand that a year ago I could have taken Paris, but refrained out of respect for him. At that time his refuge was the Île-de-France.’
‘Henry, you cannot take the Holy Father prisoner!’
‘Can’t I, cousin?’ He fumed in silence. Suddenly he decided to tell her. ‘Isabel is with child to William.’
‘I feared it! How long?’
‘About ten weeks. Maybe twelve. They must be married.’
When the monarchs, William and Isabel were gathered in Eleanor’s apartment, Henry looked around at the guards, the ladies-in-waiting, maids and churls. ‘Out!’ he ordered. By now he knew Becket had outwitted him by informing all his bishops of the marriage ban.
He took Isabel by the elbow to lead her to a couch. ‘I wanted to see you married this week, but we suffer a delay.’ William began to weep. ‘Willi, it’s nothing. I’ll persuade Alexander to overturn Bec’s vile decision.’
Eleanor and Isabel retained their composure. The Countess nodded to the Queen. Both women rose and withdrew to a far corner. The Queen said, ‘William can hide you in Anjou until your time comes.’
‘I’ll not give birth to a bastard.’
Eleanor closed her eyes. ‘The Plantagenet family is full of bastards. William can adopt the child …’ Her voice failed as she saw the expression on the face of the Countess. ‘This ban is spite against Henry. And me. Bec’s goal is to weaken our house.’
‘There are no bastards in my family. I’ll not dishonour its name.’ Isabel’s long, heavy-lidded eyes locked onto Eleanor’s. ‘I shall take the herb of grace.’
The Queen’s hands flew to her own lower belly. ‘Isabel! It’s always fatal for the child, but often for the mother too.’
‘If so, it is God’s will.’ The Countess bowed her head. ‘I accept death as punishment for breaking my vow.’
‘No. No. No. Isabel, we must be able to think of a way for you and William and your child …’
‘From the change in my beloved’s behaviour since his return from England, from his greater-than-imaginable tenderness, I knew our marriage had been banned. I’ve had time to consider deeply. I shall take the herb of grace.’
‘But where will we get it? Who will administer it safely? Queens don’t know these things.’
‘Sometimes servants do.’
Eleanor left her and strolled back to the men. ‘Henry, please summon Orianne and Hilde.’
The women arrived looking frightened. ‘Go to your ladies,’ the King growled.
‘Here. Have cushions,’ Eleanor said. The maids seated themselves on the floor. The Queen glanced at the Countess. ‘Orianne, we have a problem that we hope you or Hilde may be able to solve. We need to find the herb of grace and someone who can administer it without danger to a lady friend of ours.’
Orianne looked at Hilde. ‘The midwife who delivered Prince Richard, my lady, is from my village in the north. After his birth – he was a very big baby, you remember – I spent much time talking to her.’
‘She was the best midwife I’ve ever had. She made the birth extraordinarily easy and painless. But go on, Buttercup.’
The white eyelashes lowered. Orianne’s face was bright red. ‘Um …’ Eleanor reached down and slapped her. ‘Speak!’
‘She’s back on this side of the Narrow Sea. She, her mother and her grandmother. All are midwives and clever with herbs. Her great-grandmother began their work during the First Crusade. Her knowledge was passed on, right down to the midwife who delivered Prince Richard in England. Then an English priest discovered they could make babies disappear and declared them witches. In dead of night they sailed to Barfleur.’
‘Where are they now?’
Orianne and Hilde looked at each other. ‘We think they’re not far away,’ Hilde murmured.
The Countess blushed. ‘Hilde, did you seek her out?’
‘I wash your most intimate garments, my lady,’ mumbled the maid.
Eleanor held up a small hand. ‘Enough! You’ve done well, Hilde. How long before they can arrive?’
Hilde swallowed. ‘Would tonight be soon enough?’
Isabel turned to Eleanor. ‘May I stay …?’
‘Of course! You’ll remain as my guest here in the palace.’ The Queen paled as she spoke. ‘None of us will ever speak of this. The King must not know. William must not know. When the Countess feels unwell and miscarries, we’ll blame the shock of her marriage ban.’
The women seated on the floor nodded. Orianne murmured, ‘Please don’t eat anything more today, my lady. You may drink apple juice or small ale, but take no food. And you should have a hot bath as soon as night falls.’
The Queen returned to the other end of the chamber, where Henry paced about and William moped. ‘Isabel is weak from the shock of this vicious ban,’ she announced. ‘She has no desire for food. She’ll go to bed early and try to have a good night’s rest. Both maids will stay with her until she feels strong again.’
Henry’s eyes were hard as he looked at his wife. ‘Good. Willi, I believe the females need to be alone.’ The Viscount nodded, his young face as witless as a calf struck on the head before slaughter.
The Countess lingered at the other end of the chamber, in conversation with the maids. She rose as William approached. He fell to his knees and buried his face against her belly. ‘Our baby is in there,’ he whispered.
‘My darling, don’t be distressed. Your tears pain my heart, which already pains so deeply.’ She closed her eyes and crossed herself. ‘Please – return to the King. He’s impatient.’
William stood, and in full sight of the maids took her in his arms and kissed her deeply. ‘Goodbye, light of my life.’
She managed to give him a little wave as he looked back at her.
Sir Richard, who had been ordered to wait outside, moved to stand behind his master and with furtive gentleness took hold of one of his hands. ‘How is your lady?’ he whispered.
‘The shock has sickened her. She’ll remain with the Queen until she feels better. After that, we’ll take her to Anjou.’
Henry butted in. ‘All her estates in England are in order. Her reeves are trustworthy. Her constable is a knight of excellent repute. Isabel may travel on pilgrimage to shrines in France for a year without fear of squandering or embezzlement of her property.’
For the first time that day, William smiled. ‘Pilgrimage! Of course! She’s often said she’d like to travel as far as Compostela.’
‘May I accompany you, my lord?’
William bent to kiss the top of Richard’s head. He did not see the flush of pleasure that suffused the Lout’s cheeks.
‘Such a long journey will give me time to twist Alexander’s feeble arm,’ Henry said. ‘If he resists, I’ll break it.’ His tone was satisfied.
The problem is not fixed, Highness, Richard thought. I know Bec better t
han you.
As soon as it was dark, the maids set out, riding donkeys. Eleanor ordered the ladies-in-waiting to leave because the Countess needed total quiet and rest. She told her guards, ‘The lady of Warenne is unwell. Our maids will return with one or two women skilled in healing. They may be poorly dressed, but you’re to show them respect.’
Orianne and Hilde returned as the bells in the town tolled compline. The midwives – mother and daughter – rode beside them on donkeys with laden panniers, all four women carrying torches to light their way through the misty dark. As they trotted slowly, the older woman told Orianne they would need ice.
‘Ice?’
‘Yes, girl, ice.’ Her accent was so thick, only Orianne understood her. She knew she could find ice in an underground cave beside the castle’s kitchen, a place used for storing perishable food.
At the door to the Queen’s apartment, the guards stepped aside. A huge fire burned in the bedchamber. Isabel lay on top of the bed, the Queen beside her, holding her hand as they prayed for mercy and forgiveness, asking the Virgin to intercede with God.
At Orianne’s knock, Eleanor rose. ‘You’ll forgive me, dear sister, if I leave you for a little while?’
‘Of course. How will you get out unobserved?’
‘That piece of furniture over there.’ She walked to a tall wooden cupboard, opened its door and vanished.
‘Come in,’ the Countess called.
The midwives kneeled at her bedside to vow to Almighty God, His Son and the Holy Spirit that what they did they would never divulge, ‘Lest we all be struck dead by Your mighty hand.’ The older of the pair stood and her manner became brisk. ‘Maids, bring warm water, many towels, and ice. Wrap the ice in linen.’
Orianne passed the guards a second time, carrying a dripping bundle. ‘I bring ice to cool the lady’s fever,’ she panted.
The younger midwife took a chisel and a small hammer from her pack of belongings to break the ice into pieces. She ripped the linen with a knife and wrapped each piece tightly, moving all as far from the warmth of the fire as she could. Her mother, meanwhile, held a small stoppered flask over which she murmured an incantation.
Isabel closed her eyes.
‘My lady, are you ready?’
‘Do I drink something?’ the Countess asked.
‘Drink! That’s the mistake fools make. Now, lady, please spread your arms wide on the bed and adopt the same position with your legs.’ Her daughter pressed pieces of ice into Isabel’s open palms.
Outside the apartment, the guards suddenly jumped. ‘What was that?’ they asked. A few moments later, the Queen appeared.
‘Remain at your station,’ she ordered. ‘The Countess has a painful boil.’
Inside the chamber, the midwives chorused, ‘Hold the ice hard, my lady. Feel the cold fire of the ice. It takes the pain away.’ The mother said, ‘Put some on her forehead. And her chest and in her mouth.’
Isabel’s screams subsided to whimpering. She tried to say, ‘Please forgive me, Virgin Mother,’ but her tongue would not obey. Like her body, it writhed. Tears ran from the outer corners of her eyes into her ears.
The elder midwife withdrew the straw through which she had blown a drop of rue. She sealed the small flask tightly and turned to the maids. ‘You two, rub her hands and arms with ice. Me and my girl will massage the womb.’
The four women settled to their tasks in silence, the midwives pressing the heels of their hands against Isabel’s belly in rhythmic pulses. Nothing happened. Their patient clenched her teeth, her breath coming in sobbing gasps. ‘It’s a tough one,’ the mother muttered. ‘Absolutely stuck, and feels big. How far gone is she, did you say?’
‘I believe eight weeks,’ Orianne answered. She raised her white eyebrows at Hilde, who nodded.
‘Could be nine.’
‘More like ten, from the feel of it,’ the midwife grumbled.
Hilde whispered to Orianne, ‘It may be twelve.’
The younger midwife understood. She glared. ‘We don’t do twelve! We told you that. Nothing over nine. If the blood doesn’t begin soon, we’re leaving. It’s your mess to clean up.’
‘Hush,’ Orianne whispered. ‘The lady may hear you.’ She murmured in Isabel’s ear, ‘My lady, soon blood will flow and after that you’ll begin to feel much better,’ but the spasms of fire that racked the Countess made her deaf.
In her own chamber, Eleanor paced back and forth fingering an emerald rosary. Once or twice she lay down in her clothes and dozed, her mind in too great a turmoil for sleep. She tried to pray but could not. As a mother, I too shall suffer for this, she thought. Becket’s doing! May he burn in hell.
At midnight, the secret door in the wooden cupboard between the two chambers suddenly opened and Orianne stumbled into the bedchamber, sobbing uncontrollably.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Queen embraced her maid. ‘She’s dead?’
Orianne gasped, ‘She lives, Highness,’ and collapsed.
Eleanor raised her from the floor and, leading her by the hand, stepped through the secret doorway. On the other side, she grabbed inside her sleeve for a handkerchief. The fire blazed with smoke that reeked like the fires on a battlefield, the nauseating odour of burning meat mixed with cloth, blood and horsehair. Beneath a fur rug Isabel lay on an uncovered mattress, her limbs as abandoned of life as a slain warrior’s. The Queen ran across the chamber to press her fingers against the slender silken neck. A pulse beat steadily. She pressed her ear against Isabel’s heart. Its double thump was regular. Outside, the bell for vigils rang.
‘We must get rid of this stink,’ she said. ‘Put more logs on the fire.’ She jumped at a knock on the door. ‘Who is it?’
A voice rumbled, ‘It is I, sister.’
Momentarily, Eleanor’s eyes flew around the room. The midwives were gone. Only Hilde cringed weeping in a corner. ‘Come in, Hamelin.’
He closed the door behind him and strode towards the logs piled beside the fireplace. When he had set four huge ones onto the flames, he studied the outer edges of the fire where wood had burned down to coals. Reaching into a pocket, he drew out a handful of granules that he dribbled onto the hot wood. They swelled, became translucent and burst. The sublime fragrance of frankincense wafted into the room and the stench of burning blood and cloth began to change.
Hamelin kept watching the fire. He pulled another handful of incense from a pocket and tossed it on the coals. Not once did he glance at Isabel. He stood and opened two windows. On the side of the palace where a night wind blew, cold, clean air swept into the room, chilling faces and hands as it gathered the blood stink and carried it out through the opposite window. The chamber grew cool and fragrant. Hamelin closed both windows. He nodded to the Queen and walked out.
Eleanor crossed herself. ‘Orianne and Hilde, put new sheets and blankets on the bed. Be very gentle. Did the women leave any instructions?’
‘They gave her herbs to make her sleep. They’ve left cordials she is to drink for the next two weeks, for which we had to pay extra. She should rest tomorrow, they said, but after that she should get out of bed and walk around. She’s to drink bone broth and eat venison to build her strength.’
Orianne saw the queries in her mistress’s face. ‘She lost blood, but not too much, they said. They massaged her one way to make it happen. Then they massaged a different way until she stopped bleeding. Colour should return to her face in three days.’
‘And?’ Eleanor whispered.
‘They think it was a boy.’ She glanced at the fire.
‘You stay with Hilde, Orianne. Wake me if there’s any problem.’
Eleanor swayed on her feet. She kissed Isabel’s forehead, then returned to her own chamber, pulled off her shoes and, still fully dressed, fell on her bed and slept.
Hamelin returned to the King’s apartment, where he saw the monarch’s sleep was fitful. He undressed, lowered one of Henry’s nightgowns over his head and slipped into bed beside him. From be
low them in the town came the toll of matins bells.
‘How is she?’ his brother slurred.
‘No longer with child.’
Henry sat up abruptly. ‘She miscarried!’ He heaved a sigh. ‘I hate to say this, but it’s for the best. William will be devastated, but even he will understand.’ He grimaced. ‘I’d better tell him.’
‘Not yet,’ Hamelin said. The King wanted to ask questions, but the merlin turned on his side and made a loud snoring noise.
The brothers woke as the bells of terce rang. Outside, it was a bright, cold day. The King pulled a rope that alerted his guards he required service. A milking maid and the royal physician entered. The physician perched on the bed to count the King’s pulses.
‘Like it fast or slow this morning, Highness?’ the milker asked. She’d been in his service seven years, and although neither pretty nor playful, her palms were exquisite. Her name was Mainsblanches.
‘Slow,’ he grumbled. ‘I slept badly.’ He turned to poke his brother in the ribs. Hamelin stretched luxuriously. His eye slid to his brother’s crotch.
In Angevin he rumbled, ‘Still pathetic.’
Henry punched his shoulder. ‘Twice the size of yours! That is, if you’ve still got one. I wager it’s shrivelled to the dimensions of an earthworm.’
The physician cleared his throat. ‘Highness, please do not excite yourself with conversation. It disturbs your pulse.’
Henry grunted, lay back and enjoyed his milking. With closed eyes he murmured, ‘I think I need another one.’
The physician nodded. ‘Your humours have been much disturbed these past few days, sire.’
‘I’ve been as calm as a pond. Everyone remarked on my regal forbearance.’
‘Yes, sire. What your face shows to the world is not necessarily what your pulses tell me. A second milking is in order.’ When the milker had finished, he added, ‘I detect heat in your liver, Highness. Please be aware—’
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