‘I’d like to throw one in your face.’ The Archbishop rose and left.
Henry strolled to the door and beckoned Hamelin. ‘Join me in the bath.’
The water had been prepared while the hunters cooled down with an evening drink. The brothers sank into the liquid warmth together, dog tired. In a drowsy voice Henry said, ‘Brother, I have a most important undertaking for you, but one I believe you’ll enjoy.’
The merlin waited. The King seemed to have lost his train of thought. ‘I observe you have been protective towards the Countess of Surrey, as is honourable, especially since it was your schooling that led to her downfall …’ His chin rested on his chest but he glanced up a moment to gauge the effect on Hamelin. A cloud of misery enveloped the merlin.
‘I would exchange my life for William’s any day.’
Henry reared out of the water. ‘Excellent! You’re about to.’
Hamelin gasped. ‘Henry, I can’t! I’ve not …’
The King laughed. ‘Look between your thighs, brother.’
A smile flitted across Hamelin’s lips. ‘When did this mad idea occur to you?’
‘While I was entertaining Bec. I thought: The swine secretly congratulates himself for denying me Isabel’s dowry. I thought: ‘I have another brother. There’s no question of consanguinity with him.’ When we’ve dressed, we’ll ride to her manor, where you will request her hand in marriage while I, benign as an uncle, look on.’
Hamelin pushed his wet hair off his forehead. ‘On the day she first arrived in Normandy, I was unable to help noticing how lovely she is, although she shuddered at the sound of my voice.’
‘She’s got over that, sweetheart.’ They leaped out of the bath and hit each other with towels.
One morning a week later, Hamelin Plantagenet had the swatch of white hair over his left eye cut short so that both the green and the brown were visible. His beard and nails were trimmed. His palms and the soles of his feet had been pumiced until their skin was almost a baby’s. His hair was combed with scented oil and woven in a thick plait. He wore a linen robe embroidered with the leopards rampant guardant of Anjou. A fresh sprig of broom decorated his velvet hat. He wore jewelled gold rings on every finger, beneath riding gloves. The King and a handful of knights, including the two Richards, were witnesses to the marriage, held in the Countess’s private chapel. The Richards were so overjoyed they galloped from the wedding breakfast and were not seen again for a week.
Isabel was a shy bride, but on their wedding night the new Earl of Surrey, now the second-richest man in England, strode naked into her bedchamber, scooped her up and together they flew out a window into the starry autumn sky. When she awoke with the sun, she was alone. She wondered if the unimaginable bliss she had felt in her husband’s arms had been a dream, but on the pillow beside her head were long black hairs. Hamelin did not return from hunting until dusk, when once again they flew.
Next morning, as he bathed, she mused: I adored William. But he was a boy. Hamelin is my age. He’s suffered. He lost his first love, half his sight and almost his life in battle. I’ll never tire of him. As she got to know him better, the lady of Warenne confided shyly, ‘When you met me at the dock in Rouen, I thought, “My husband!” I was so embarrassed to discover my mistake, I wanted to sail back to England.’
‘Heaven spoke to you.’ His bass-drum voice was a caress, as was his every glance and touch.
‘Why won’t you stay the night with me?’
Hamelin pointed to his blind eye. ‘I have other duties besides those of husband.’ He gasped. ‘Curse my ugly tongue. Not duty, my love. Sublime joy to be your spouse. Tonight, however, I must stay with the King.’
Autumn was turning towards winter. When the sun set, the lodge became a cold, penumbral space in which every object lost its colour and life. The work of the realm did not cease while the monarch was hunting. Each day post riders delivered letters from justiciars, stewards and barons that Henry had to read before he slept. He and his brother were alone inside the lodge, while outside, huntsmen and churls bled, gutted and skinned the game, the hounds surging around them, snapping at each other, vying to be first to gobble entrails.
Half a dozen new letters were piled on the table, their seals unbroken. Hamelin closed his eyes. Tremors ran through him. Henry waited.
After a few moments his brother’s eyes opened. ‘Why are we sitting in the dark?’ he asked.
Henry shouted, ‘Lights!’ Churls entered with torches they set in sconces. They shuttered the windows and lit braziers. When they left, the King demanded, ‘What did your friends just tell you?’
‘Bec grows desperate.’
News of Hamelin’s marriage to the Countess of Surrey had reached Canterbury earlier that day. At first the Archbishop refused to believe it, but once he was convinced, he flew into a storm. ‘How dare he degrade the noble lady of Warenne by marrying her off to a bastard!’ He summoned the scholars. ‘What rights do I have to protect ladies from unions that degrade their status?’ he demanded.
‘None, Your Grace.’
‘So His Highness could marry the lady of Warenne to a swineherd and there’s nothing I could do to prevent it?’
‘No.’
The Archbishop fell to his knees. ‘Virgin Mother,’ he cried loudly, clasping his back.
‘The kidney stone pains him,’ Herbert whispered. ‘Prepare a hot compress.’
Hamelin had seen all this in a vision. ‘My marriage frightens him. He declares it trickery to get Isabel’s gold, but his heart cries that you’ve outwitted him.’
Henry said nothing for a moment, then smashed his fist on the table. ‘I must outwit all of them! The whole nest of vipers.’ He had broken the seals on some of the letters and flung one across the table. ‘Look at this: York’s Archdeacon and a rural dean took a large bribe to withdraw a charge of adultery against the wife of a burgess. York insists neither man can be tried for extortion because both have benefit of clergy. A clerk in Worchester murdered a man in order to rape his wife. Bec has hidden him in a bishop’s prison so my sheriffs can’t arrest him. And on it goes. The Church exploits what it defines as sin as the means to increase its wealth. It has taken to itself the right to hear land cases. That I find infuriating, as do many barons.’
‘And so?’
‘I can do nothing before the Christmas court. After Epiphany, I’ll summon an assize at which I’ll require the presence of all higher clergy, magnates, major barons and royal officials. Everything must be clarified: the rights of the Crown and the rights of the Church. They must be observed by both lay and clergy. Without my law’s protection against lust for gold and flesh, we return to anarchy. I’m going to hammer into their heads the concept that English law is paramount.’
‘Paramount?’ Hamelin smiled softly. ‘A king is also subject to the law?’
‘I make it, idiot! Slowly, carefully, from considering the circumstances of crime after crime, my justiciars and sheriffs build it up.’
They sat in silence. Hamelin said, ‘You didn’t answer the question.’
Henry flicked his hand at the air. ‘Because it was ridiculous.’
‘Time will tell. Meanwhile, brother, what if the prelates at your assize prove recalcitrant? What if Bec is recalcitrant?’
Henry grinned. ‘I have in reserve the deposition from Richer de l’Aigle that Richard so elegantly acquired during the Archbishop’s coronation. The Eagle is a scoundrel, but he’s not a fool. He’s anxious to avoid the possibility of a charge of treason. He’s sworn that Bec’s ambition is to depose me. Becket’s initial idea was that he could raise a rebellion among disaffected English barons, but since my great blunder in promoting him, he schemes to use the Pope to push me from the throne – like Alexander’s predecessor Gregory.’
‘Alexander knows that Gregory’s life ended in ignominy.’
Henry smiled. ‘Bec’s knowledge of church history stretches no further than what his scholars tell him. It’s unlikely they’ve confided t
he misery of the mighty Gregory’s final days.’ Hamelin was frowning. ‘What is it, Bullfrog?’
‘I thought I saw lightning,’ the merlin said.
Henry walked outside into the deepening twilight. The sky was clear and stars had begun their sparkle display.
When her husband told her where they were to hold their Christmas court that year, Eleanor said, ‘Cousin, I believe you go too far in insulting Bec. The castle of Berkhamsted that you confiscated from him was his greatest pride. He spent a fortune—’
He cut her off. ‘That fortune was stolen from the English treasury. But you’re correct, my dear. It’s gorgeous. It’s capacious. It’s luxurious. It has an abundance of pure spring water. It’s the perfect place for our court. It’s most convenient for many barons. I want them around me at Christmas. They’ll be doing much of the fighting in Wales next year.’ He raised her chin with a finger. ‘You remain unconvinced?’
‘Husband, I fear you’ll be viewed as vindictive towards the Archbishop.’
‘You don’t consider his thwarting of my every law and request vindictive? I gave him a boon. He repays me with malice.’
It’s useless to argue, Eleanor thought. ‘I’ll ensure we hold the most glorious Christmas court that England has seen.’
She was as good as her word. Henry ordered the royal plate from the treasury in Winchester to be transported to Berkhamsted so that guests dined off gold. For twelve nights people danced until dawn. Magnates joined in singing competitions. Hamelin silenced two hundred courtiers with a composition he played on the viol. Women from Andalusia wearing bells on their ankles pranced along the trestles after dessert had been eaten. A pure white horse with a long carved horn attached to its forehead trotted into the hall, halted in front of the monarchs and bowed. ‘A divine apparition! A blessing from God!’ people cried.
By the morning of Epiphany, both the Queen and the Countess of Surrey knew they were with child. ‘I feared I could never conceive again,’ Isabel wept into Eleanor’s neck.
In Canterbury, the Archbishop held a great Christmas court himself. Taking the advice of a friend, by day he invited the poor, both men and women, to dine in his palace. They travelled from as far as London. Oblates and young priests served them food the like of which they had never tasted: little portions of roast pork and chicken, fine bread, soup made from the bones of oxen. At the end of each meal a spoonful of honey was poured onto their tongues, ‘So the sweetness of this season stays with you, my children,’ Becket announced. At night he entertained clergy in dignified celebrations at which men with the finest voices read a verse or two from the gospels describing Christ’s birth. At prayer times throughout the night all left the palace to file through the wall between it and the cathedral, where the chanting of psalms was of greater piety than anyone could recall.
The friend who had advised Becket to welcome the indigent at his first Christmas as Archbishop was John of Salisbury, a man in intellect and erudition arguably the equal of Bishop Gilbert Foliot. He was vivacious and humorous, a short, physically unattractive person, a moth to the flame of elegance, grandeur, beauty and wit with which Thomas singed the hearts of many young men in Paris when he and John were students there. For John, it proved a lifelong devotion. He had rejoiced in Thomas’s promotion to Chancellor; been overjoyed to witness his elevation to Archbishop.
Becket showed each of his scholars the King’s summons for an assize at Clarendon. Most scoffed. John waited until they were alone in the prelate’s bedchamber. ‘I may be mistaken, Tom, but if I were you I would prepare to leave Canterbury.’
‘I considered that some time ago, when the Beast was rampaging, but fortunately rejected the idea. Look how things stand now. I’ve never been more popular. You must have heard how the faithful praise and love me. Henry is impotent. He can’t depose me.’
‘He can give you a hard shove.’
‘How? I’ve defended the Church. Indeed, I am her champion. It’s widely recognised.’
‘His sword is sharp, Tom. He believes you betrayed his trust. He may be able to prove to the satisfaction of men at the assize that you have betrayed him. In which case, what I’m about to advise you may prove catastrophic.’
Becket nodded sulkily. ‘Continue.’
‘You and the Archbishop of Rheims enjoy an amicable relationship. I can take a message from you to him.’
‘Rheims is King Louis’ younger brother.’
‘My point. Better you ask refuge from a brother prelate …’
‘When can you leave?’
‘Today. Immediately.’
‘Wait. I’ll write.’
‘I’d prefer you didn’t,’ John said, but the Archbishop ignored him.
He rang a small bell. When a priest opened the door he ordered, ‘Send me our best scribe.’
A snub-nosed boy appeared soon afterwards carrying a wax tablet on which to take dictation. Beside him was a monk.
‘What do you want, Brother Albold?’ Becket asked.
‘The quality of vellum you require, Your Grace.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
At Berkhamsted, the weather during the Christmas court was clement, light showers of rain in the early morning and evening, and once a flurry of snow so lovely guests exclaimed that its flakes were the wings of angels blessing the sacred birth.
As the weak winter sun reached its zenith on 6 January, while most guests were just waking up, Henry sauntered a few metres along the corridor from his own apartment to Hamelin’s bedchamber. The Countess’s scent lingered, but her husband was alone, dressed, one foot in a pail of hot water while a servant trimmed the toenails of the other with a small knife. Fire danced in a corner, making the air so warm, Hamelin’s cheeks were red.
Henry shrugged out of the robe over his gown and tossed it onto the untidy bed. The two men chatted about the success of the celebration: whose dress had been most impressive, which of the entertainments had won most accolades, who had flirted with whom, who had danced most gracefully, how the unicorn had kept its horn in place when it kneeled before the monarchs. ‘The mare was nervous. I reassured her she could keep it on her forehead if she stayed calm. Did you notice the little kick with her hind legs when she stood from her bow? That was her self-congratulation.’
‘And yours?’ Hamelin rumbled.
‘I’m to become a father again. My Queen is delightful. She’s decided, I believe, to compete with your Countess in wifely charm.’
His brother grinned.
‘I know that look! You blush! Speak, swine.’
The Earl studied his elegant white foot. Henry cuffed his ear. Staring at his toes Hamelin murmured, ‘Now that I’m married to Isabel, Alaw returns. She joins us.’
‘Hilarious! I must tell Eleanor.’
Hamelin leaped up, knocking over his foot bath. ‘You must not!’ He stared at the King, who suddenly winced.
‘All right. I give my word. Stop doing that.’ The sharp pain in his temples vanished and Henry began to laugh. ‘Three of you! I love it. Does your Countess know?’
‘Of course not,’ the merlin rumbled.
‘I’m glad you look sheepish. You’re worse than our papa. He at least bedded his wives separately.’
Henry strolled out, smiling amiably, thinking: I have much with which to be content. After a year back in England his long-nurtured plans were in bud or already fruiting. The baronage was loyal, his courts worked efficiently, his taxation system under the new Chancellor, Geoffrey Riddel, ran smoothly, his children were healthy, the Welsh rebellion would be defeated before the end of summer. It only remained to clarify the rights of the Crown and those of the Church, soon to be determined at Clarendon. When I take the army to Wales, I may see that magical child again, Henry thought. He whistled as he sauntered the corridor.
Of all her English residences, it was in Clarendon that Eleanor had expressed most exquisitely her taste for beautiful things. Her apartment on its upper storey had a hall and a chapel. On the ground floor were thr
ee chambers, two of them forty feet in length, and a capacious wardrobe that led to latrines in an adjacent building that she had constructed in stone. The hall and chambers astonished visitors with their glazed windows, some of grisaille, some in jewel-coloured glass. Beneath them, in place of stone floors covered in rushes, decorated tiles in shades of gold, grey and warm pink flagged the chambers, their colours repeated in darker and lighter hues in furnishings and paintings on the walls. The most impressive feature was a fireplace Eleanor had ordered to be constructed in red marble, with double columns on either side and an overmantel of the same richly coloured stone, into which were carved representations of the zodiac.
Among the wonders of her chapel were the glass windows beside its altar that could be opened and closed with an invention adapted from weaponry, metal hinges. One window depicted the Virgin and Child, Eleanor kneeling before them. She had the walls of the chapel painted with scenes from the life of the scholar and virgin martyr, St Katherine.
This glorious apartment was only a small part of the huge rectangular building, which surrounded a central courtyard and was itself enclosed by terraced gardens. Clarendon had been the first castle seized by Henry’s great-grandfather after his victory at Hastings. ‘It holds a special place in my heart,’ the King explained to anyone who asked why he had chosen it for the great assize.
Before the final week of January, the mighty of England assembled there to decide on the future governance of the kingdom: all bishops (except two who were ill), ten earls, the royal justiciars, scores of barons (including Richer de l’Aigle) and a host of scribes and servants. Some bishops stayed in the palace, but the Archbishop and his retinue took up residence in an abbey nearby. Henry had a message hand-delivered to him. Kindly meet me tonight after supper in the castle chapel.
‘He thinks he can order me around as if I were his Chancellor. I won’t go.’ Already the Archbishop of Rheims, the Count of Soissons and King Louis had sent messages through John of Salisbury, offering Thomas refuge should he need it. He was in a buoyant mood. ‘The mantle of my office shines, more impregnable than any armour made of iron.’
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