‘That I might lose my temper!’ Henry shouted. ‘Get out!’
The pair backed away. Hamelin was already standing, stretching his limbs, bending forward to touch his toes, backwards to grasp his calves. Henry jumped off the bed to lunge at him. Shoving and grunting, they wrestled, the King yelling with laughter when he managed to upend his brother and pin him to the floor. Hamelin went limp. A moment later he rolled from under Henry, surged up and pushed him face-down into the bearskin rug. With a long bare foot he stamped on the back of Henry’s neck.
‘I’m choking! Let me go!’ When he stood, Henry was smiling. ‘Not even my best knights wrestle with me properly. Only you, darling.’ His kissed his brother’s cheeks, then abruptly his expression changed. ‘I’ve got to tell William.’
‘I already have.’
‘When?’
‘I sent him a dream. He’s probably with her already.’
The guards outside the Queen’s apartment dithered when the Viscount arrived and demanded entrance. He ran a hand through his long yellow hair, frowning and agitated.
‘The Countess was unwell last night, my lord. She sent her ladies away. Only her maids and a couple of herbalists stayed with her. Our orders are that she needs peace and quiet.’
‘Open the door.’ William’s voice was husky with anger.
The bed stood at the far end of the room, near the fireplace, its coals beneath their blanket of ash still pulsing red and grey, as if they were living beings that breathed. All that was visible of Isabel was a wax-pale face on a pillow. At the foot of the bed her maid lay curled under a fur rug. A beautiful smell filled the chamber.
William turned back to the guards. ‘Did she eat during the night?’
‘No, lord. She drank apple juice and light ale. She needed ice for a fever.’
‘A fever!’ He shoved the guards aside and closed the door softly.
‘What will Her Highness say?’ the men asked each other.
‘He’s family. She can’t punish us for letting him in.’
William tiptoed to the bed and kneeled down. He felt under the fur counterpane for Isabel’s hand. It was limp but warm. Surreptitiously he counted her pulse. It seemed fast, as if her body were fighting off illness. The dream he’d had in the early hours of the morning came back in broken fragments. He realised suddenly that it had been about fragments. A rounded jug of precious white marble had smashed in pieces, spreading red wine across a floor painted with Virgin lilies. The next moment the jug reassembled itself and turned into Isabel. But a different Isabel. What is different about her? William asked himself.
The answer almost felled him. He dropped his arms and forehead onto the mattress and wept. ‘Gone!’ he whispered. ‘Our baby has gone.’ As he said the words, he felt his heart tear open and begin to bleed.
His sobs woke Hilde, who slid off her narrow platform to kneel beside him.
‘My lord, it couldn’t be helped,’ she whispered.
‘Where is it?’ he murmured.
‘We had to burn it. And the sheets and her bed gown.’
He nodded dumbly. ‘Did she …?’
‘Yes, she did suffer, my lord.’
He heaved himself to his feet, removed his shoes and slipped under the fur rug until he lay a fraction away from Isabel. ‘So pale, my angel. Your face is so pale.’
Hilde whispered, ‘Lord, she must rest all day today. Please don’t disturb her.’
He turned bloodshot eyes to glare at the maid. ‘I’m giving her strength from my body.’
The maid nodded. ‘May I leave for a little while, lord?’
‘Yes. Go away.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Isabel drifted into consciousness murmuring, ‘Thirsty,’ not realising it was William who held the cup to her lips. Towards noon she opened her eyes. ‘My love. Please forgive me. I couldn’t …’
‘Hush, darling.’
He carried her to the latrine and back to bed. As darkness fell and candles lit the chamber, she woke fully. Neither spoke. Their soft gazes bathed each other. Hands stroked faces.
‘My goddess,’ William murmured. The light has gone from your eyes.
He’ll detest me when he discovers what I did. Isabel smiled as her fingers lingered on his cheeks. ‘Willi – how long since you were shaved?’
She finds me objectionable. Her love drained out with the blood she lost. ‘Sorry.’ He snuffled her neck. ‘Did it … Are you …?’
‘I’m all right now.’ She lay quietly for a while. ‘Now that you’re with me.’ Neither of us speaks truth. Without truth, what is love?
He spent all that day and night with her, and the day and night that followed, carrying her to the latrine, holding bowls of beef broth and vials of cordial that Hilde fed her with a spoon, supporting her elbow as she walked slowly round and round the chamber. On the third morning, bells rang out the Angelus prayer as the eastern sky reddened for a cloudless day, and William smiled. ‘My peach has returned. Your cheeks are golden pink again.’
I’m a murderess. She took a long, deep breath. ‘Willi, how long since you’ve bathed?’
She won’t even look in my eyes. ‘I’ve lost track.’
‘Please, off you go. I too—’
Hilde cut in. ‘My lady, you may not yet take a bath. I’ll wash you with cloths.’
Isabel blew William a kiss as he left her, his gold hair limp and greasy, the clothes he had worn for four days dishevelled and rank. Hamelin was waiting outside the chamber.
‘Henry wants to talk.’
The King paced the small, elegant room he used as a space to escape from his courtiers. The chessboard with malachite pieces was set up, a game half played with Richard, now seated in a corner constructing another word puzzle.
When his brothers entered, Henry growled, ‘You may stay, Lout.’
He poured three cups of wine. ‘Willi, you and Isabel have suffered a double tragedy,’ he began. Momentarily he could say no more. ‘But you must put it behind you. Today you’re to return to your official duties. I’ve appointed Richard your man. He’ll accompany you. Isabel is no longer your fiancée. She will return to England.’
‘Did she say she’s no longer my fiancée?’
‘It’s over between you, brother. Your marriage is forbidden. She’s lost your baby. There’s no point …’
‘You promised us you’d go in person to persuade the Pope!’
‘That was when she was with child! I have to return to England. Bec’s making more trouble. I’ll sail with Isabel to Dover and Hamelin will escort her back to her demesne.’
William leaped up and threw his wine on the floor. ‘If Becket weren’t clergy, I’d challenge him to battle, to the death,’ he shouted.
Henry’s voice was low and furious. ‘If he weren’t clergy, he couldn’t have done what he has.’
William wasn’t listening. He shook with sobs. ‘Isabel doesn’t love me any more. I lost control of myself and sired a bastard on her. Now it’s dead she despises me.’
‘She despises herself, you fool!’ Henry shouted. He turned away to hide his face. ‘Willi, you have your whole life ahead of you. I’ll find you the most beautiful girl in Europe for your wife.’
His younger brother dashed water from his eyes. ‘What am I to you, Henry? A chess piece you move around on your board?’
The monarch stood. ‘You’re not in your right mind. Go and bathe and be barbered. The Seneschal of Normandy cannot look like a—’
‘A what!’
‘Some mercenary knight. We three …’ he glanced at Hamelin, ‘are the only adult Plantagenet males still alive. You’re to appear authoritative and splendid when you ride down to town.’
‘Fine words coming from you, brother. If you weren’t well mounted and surrounded with guards, you’d be mistaken for a villein.’
‘I am King. I dress as I please.’
‘I’ll never forgive you. You promoted Bec to a power he’s used to ruin my life and Isabel’s. It was you
, Henry. Everyone warned you. Everyone knew that that spider detested you. But mighty King Henry thought, I can control him. He’s no more than a piece of shit on my boot. Now that piece of shit has wrecked my life and the life of the only woman I’ll ever love.’
‘You talk like a self-pitying churl. Go and have a bath.’
Henry jerked his head at Hamelin, signalling him to stay, but the merlin ignored him and followed William to the royal bath chamber.
The monarch sat down, bent forward and banged his forehead on his desk. ‘You see what Bec’s done?’ he moaned. ‘I suspect that even he did not imagine the extent of his injury to me. What I told Willi is the truth: I may have to stay in England for at least two years to sort out this contretemps with the Church. Isabel will be thirty-three by then. I need William married to sire heirs.’
Richard said quietly, ‘Bec has broken my Lord William’s heart.’
Henry leaped to his feet and upended the chessboard. He snatched a fallen knight and slammed it to the stone floor, where the malachite shattered. ‘Don’t ever say that again, Lout! Never use those cursed words about my brother.’
Your father died of a broken heart, Richard thought. William told me.
While William was in England, Henry had appointed an English household for him against the day when his brother might become regent, or even, in the event of disaster, England’s next king. Chief among the household was a knight from Somerset of the de Brito family, originally Normans but now English aristocrats, and fluent in several of the native languages. His Christian name was Richard. Aged twenty-five, he was six years older than the Viscount, black-browed, plain, strong, fierce and agile in battle, jealous of his pre-eminence in William’s entourage.
Henry ordered his own Richard to greet de Brito and the rest of the Viscount’s followers on their arrival in Rouen, where he had resumed his duties as seneschal. ‘Willi needs to learn more English than he did on the pillow with Isabel.’
Richard of Bath took an honour guard of knights to welcome the new household. His namesake rode down the gangplank. Richard walked his horse forward.
‘And you are?’ Brito asked in finely toned English.
Richard smiled. ‘Sir, we share a Christian name and a master we both love. I’m Richard, knighted by the King, whom I’ve served since the day of his coronation.’
Brito’s eye shifted to the sword at Richard’s hip. ‘Fine weapon, that,’ he muttered. Despite his initial unfriendliness, he could not but be charmed by the elegance of the young royal knight. They trotted side by side through the town.
‘Our master has suffered a shocking blow,’ Richard of Bath explained. ‘The Archbishop forbade his marriage to the Countess of Surrey, which caused her to fall grievously ill. Their engagement is broken and she will return to England with the King. He has ordered me to keep close watch on our master, especially out riding and during dangerous military exercises with the regiment. He fears his brother may do something reckless.’ He turned to give Brito a look of apprehension. ‘Sir, will you assist me?’
‘Of course.’ Brito’s tone was gruff. He had heard all about Richard. They say he acts so well he should had been on the stage, he recalled.
‘Our first challenge is tomorrow morning, when William farewells his erstwhile fiancée.’
The monarchs rode on either side of Isabel. William rode behind her, knee to knee with Hamelin. It was a cool, grey morning with little breeze. When the royal party arrived at the docks, they were surprised to see the Empress already waiting for them. She wore a grey fox cloak, but no tiara, only a simple crocheted hair covering. Her mount was a grey mare, caparisoned without heraldry. William broke away and cantered towards her. She flung her arms around his neck. Henry, whose eyesight was as keen as a predator’s, saw tears streaming down her cheeks. He felt his heart jerk within him.
William bent to bury his face against Matilda’s neck. ‘You knew, Mama, you knew,’ he whispered between sobs.
‘The Scottish merlin told me in a vision. Hush, darling child.’ Eleanor hung back, Hamelin beside her, while Henry and the Countess trotted forward. Matilda’s penetrating gaze rested on Isabel’s face. ‘You have entered our hearts. You will always be a member of our family,’ she said.
The Countess bowed her head. ‘Would that I could be,’ she murmured.
Henry muttered, ‘Thank you for the honour you show Isabel, Mother. She has been injured beyond imagining.’
‘Thanks to you,’ Matilda snapped.
The grieving women kissed goodbye. Matilda cast a searching glance at her favourite son, then turned her horse and trotted away, followed by the nuns who had escorted her.
The Esnecca moved softly up and down at the wharf. Henry looked at the river. ‘It’s ebbing fast. We should hasten.’ William was helping Isabel to dismount. The King shouted at his knights, ‘Surround them, you stupid villans!’
The knights quickly formed a circle around the Viscount and the Countess, hiding them from the curiosity of the crowd. William clutched her to his chest, his misery like a trance. Her head drooped. She would not lift it for his lips to touch hers, although his hand under her chin encouraged her to. At last she whispered, ‘I love you. I’ll always love you.’
The Seneschal of Normandy filled his huge lungs and stood tall. Tears flooded his eyes, but he smiled. ‘Knowing you still love me, I can live happy the rest of my life.’
The two Richards exchanged glances. ‘I feared worse,’ the younger one said. ‘I feared the lady could lose her composure and our master would become wild with grief.’
‘She comes from fine stock,’ Brito said. ‘She’s a lady to make any man proud.’
The knights stepped their horses back. The monarchs were already riding along the gangplank. Hamelin gestured to Isabel to precede him and they too embarked. All four stood at the stern of the ship to wave goodbye to the crowd that had gathered. The drumbeats began. The rowers sang, the oars dipped in unison, while the red sails hung limp from lack of breeze. William stared, his body a statue. He refused to move until the Esnecca was out of sight.
‘He looks older,’ townspeople observed.
‘Even more handsome. As beautiful as our Old Duke.’
There was court that day and the next, and on the third afternoon a banquet at which both magnates and merchants were guests. William announced that the Duke would be away in England for a while, adding, ‘Unfortunately, my friends, you’ll have to put up with me.’ The applause was loud. In the few months he had been Seneschal, he had already won many hearts. As the tallest man in the banquet hall, he inspired his vassals with pride and the confidence that, in the event of a surprise attack from Louis, he would lead them into battle with the same fearlessness as Henry. Although, they agreed, without his brother’s cunning. You met such wiliness only once in a hundred years.
When the banquet finished, William summoned the two Richards. ‘You’re both my men, but also my friends. I want you to befriend each other.’ From his belt he drew the lapis-inlaid dagger that had won Normandy. ‘I require a vow.’
The two men kneeled and placed the tips of their fingers on the blade.
‘Say after me, “We swear a sacred oath we will be as brothers. That in carrying out our duties to Viscount William we will cooperate. That we’ll help and support each other.”’
They made the vow.
‘Now embrace,’ William ordered.
How soft his smile; he truly loves our master, the older Richard thought. ‘Brother,’ he murmured. When they left the chamber, he said, ‘I never thought I’d call you that.’
‘I’m a bastard.’
Brito nodded. ‘You can’t help that. But there’s much worse, I hear.’
Richard grinned. ‘I lost count of my sins years ago. What’ll we do now? The palace brothel is open. Let’s become more familiar, see a bit of each other’s arse and balls while we gallop some fillies.’
‘We’re not allowed to lie with those girls. They’re reserved for His Hig
hness and important guests.’
‘Who’s going to tell? I know ’em all. They love a frolic with men their own age. Are you good at it?’
‘I heard you’re a mischief.’ Brito’s eye glinted. Richard grabbed his shoulders and kissed his mouth.
William spent another day presiding over the ducal court. His guardians brought forward plaintiffs and instructed them how to behave. Since the evening they had spent together, a slender but strong bond had grown between the two Richards. Both kept a sharp eye out for weapons, worn or concealed. Brito grabbed a man by the scruff and threw him down the steps because he entered the hall with an axe head inside his jerkin.
William’s presence was for show, the real work being done by a justiciar, two sheriffs and verbal instructions from Henry, particularly concerning the rights of tenants when landowners tried to seize back property before a lease on it expired. When the justiciar and sheriffs reached a decision, they scribbled a note to William, who announced it to the court.
‘He’s as good as the Duke in protecting us little people,’ men told each other.
When it was time to rise for dinner, the day was already fading. William ate with his men in the palace’s private dining hall. At the end of the meal he said, ‘Let’s ride to town.’ Ten knights stood. The Viscount looked irritable. ‘I don’t need a huge escort. Just the Richards.’
‘I’ve never seen him frown before,’ Richard whispered. ‘He used to be sunshine all day.’
At his house in the town, William banged on the door.
‘My lord!’ His old nurse, now his housekeeper, grabbed his hand to raise it to her lips. ‘My lord, you’re cold.’
‘I’d like a hot bath.’
Richard muttered to Brito, ‘We shouldn’t have come here. It’s brought back memories of happy days. He knew such joy in these chambers.’
Their liege went wandering through the house, pausing to touch a tapestry, the carving on a chair, a ewer for small ale.
‘Can we follow him?’ Brito whispered.
The Lions' Torment Page 26