by Speer, Flora
“That question needs no answer, Sire,” she said, and saw his eyebrows go up in surprise.
“A virtuous wife, by God.” William leaned toward her, his lips twisting with malicious humor. “Will you be so pure at Adderbury, I wonder? No doubt. There is no one there to tempt you, and you will soon be too fat for anyone to want you, even your adoring husband.”
Isabel felt the blood drain out of her face. She could not believe what she had just heard. She was not certain, not having had time to think about it, whether the insult to her virtue or the threat of exile was worse.
“What do you mean, Sire?”
“Get you to Adderbury, lady, and stay there until you are sent for. Leave tomorrow morning.”
“And Sir Lionel? Is he to go too?”
“Certainly not. I need him. More than you do. You’ve already used him.” William turned his back on her and headed for the banquet table.
Isabel sent a look of appeal toward Lionel, but he gave her the tiniest shake of his head before following the king. Lady Aloise, clutching old Sir Stephen’s arm, would not look at her. The other courtiers made a wide circle around their banished member, pretending she did not exist, as if her disgrace was contagious.
“What a peculiar court, where a loyal wife is punished by a jealous ruler for doing her marital duty,” said a soft voice at her elbow. Walter fitz Alan’s dark eyes looked down into hers. “I would help you if I could, my lady. Will you accept my escort to Adderbury?”
“No, I will not,” Isabel snapped. “I’ll use my husband’s men.”
“Isabel, I’m sorry.” That was Guy, his kind, youthful face filled with distress for her.
“Think nothing of it,” Isabel said in a brittle voice quite unlike her own. “This court grows wearisome, and it is better for me to retire to a more restful place where I can bear my child in peace. I don’t mind at all.”
“I think you do,” Walter said.
“I know you do,” Guy cut in. “I’ve watched you, Isabel. You enjoy all the display and the elaborate ceremonies and the chance to wear beautiful clothes. I don’t think you want to go at all.”
“Be quiet, Guy,” Walter admonished.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Isabel said.
“Why must I be punished?” Isabel raged. “How could the king do this to me? To me?”
Around her, the servants worked frantically, Agnes folding clothes and linens, Joan packing them into baskets and wooden chests while footmen collected the filled containers and carried them out to load on baggage carts for the journey to Adderbury.
“William is jealous of you. He thinks I care too much for you. Besides,” Lionel said with infuriating logic, “only yesterday you were begging me to take you away from court.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” she declared.
“I thought you would. Ah, Isabel, I wish you had not let this happen.”
“I would remind you, my lord, that my pregnancy is not my fault alone, though I am the one who is paying for it.”
“I am sorry you must go. I have no one else to whom I can talk so freely or trust so entirely.”
A manservant carried away the last of Isabel’s belongings. Agnes handed Isabel her traveling cloak and then she and Joan went out, leaving husband and wife alone.
“Will I be permitted to return once the child is born?”
“I don’t know. Isabel, I have letters here for the seneschal and the chaplain at Adderbury. I told my secretary to write that you may have whatever you desire. They are to obey you as if your orders were mine.”
“Thank you.” She took the letters. “Will you come for the birth?”
“I dare not.” Lionel shook his head. “It would only enrage William.”
“He’s mad.” Tears stood in Isabel’s eyes. “Mad and dangerous. He will destroy you. And all of us.” The sweep of her hand included all the court that lay beyond her chamber door.
“He is the king. I have given him my oath.”
“And your honor.”
“It’s too late to regret that now.”
And then, for the first time in their odd and unhappy marriage, Lionel of Adderbury put his arms around his wife, and held her with something approaching tenderness, his cheek resting on her golden hair, not drawing back when her arms crept around his waist. They stood thus for only a few heartbeats before he patted her lightly on the shoulder and dropped his arms.
“Go now,” he said, and she went out of the room and left him standing there, alone.
Chapter 9
Lady Isabel’s son was born on the twentieth of June, 1092. She sent a messenger to her husband at once, but having had no reply after two weeks, she went ahead with the baptism without him.
“The baby will be called Thomas,” she told the chaplain.
“A good Christian name,” Father Herbert approved, beaming at her.
The priest was a short stocky man with lackluster brown hair and brown eyes. He was none too bright, usually unwashed, and overly superstitious, all attributes that would once have disqualified him as a friend or confidant. But he was from her native Brittany, could read and write a little, and came close to total adoration of Isabel. She needed him. She was desperately lonely.
Adderbury was far from the main roads and seldom had visitors. She could talk to Agnes, Joan, Father Herbert, or Roger the seneschal, a bulky, honest widower of few words, who went in awe of her.
Isabel used Father Herbert to write letters to Lionel, letters that were seldom answered. It took Lionel six weeks to respond to Isabel’s announcement of Thomas’s birth, and he took no notice at all of her repeated pleas to be allowed to return to court. Lionel never came to Adderbury himself. He had the seneschal transact all his business and ride to court occasionally to deliver rents to his lord, but Isabel was never allowed to go with him.
She had at first loved her son, delighting in the golden-haired, blue-eyed baby. She had envisioned a triumphal return to court, her beautiful child in her arms, herself restored to her rightful place as wife of the king’s favorite. As months passed and she was forced to remain at Adderbury, she grew resentful of the little boy who was the cause of her disgrace.
“At any other court I would be honored for producing an heir,” she grumbled to Father Herbert. “It’s so unfair. I’ve lost everything just for doing a wife’s duty.”
“Do not regret the court. You are well out of that wicked place,” Father Herbert responded. “Ah, my lady, the rumors I have heard. William Rufus is undoubtedly the worst king this land has ever had. A drunken sodomite who grows more depraved with each day that passes. Even the Saxons were preferable to him. It is shameful, shameful. And the taxes, dear Heaven, the taxes, and even imposed on the church.” Father Herbert cast his eyes upward to heaven, as if expecting immediate help in dealing with England’s unworthy king.
“I used to have gowns of embroidered silk,” Isabel mused, “fur-lined cloaks and gold-shot veils so sheer they were like clouds. Now, my lord has reduced my allowance so that I am forced to go about in rough wool, and I am cold all winter in this drafty mound of a building.”
“Heaven will send a great punishment upon the king for the unspeakable things he has done,” the priest intoned piously. “There will be a thorough cleansing one day.”
“And the jewels,” Isabel said, her eyes shining at the memory. “Long, heavy gold chains set with amethysts and rubies and pearls. I do love pearls, don’t you?”
“This wretched state of affairs cannot long continue,” Father Herbert assured her.
But it did continue. Heaven, it seemed, was looking elsewhere. Isabel remained at Adderbury because she had no choice, and watched her son grow into boyhood. She found it more and more difficult to feel anything but irritation for him. She blamed herself and she blamed his father, and she wished the night when he was conceived had never happened.
Thomas was a sweet-natured, loving child, who worshiped his beautiful mother and followed her
about, clinging to her skirts, which only increased her annoyance at him. Whenever she could, she turned him over to Agnes, who lavished on him all the affection Isabel could not.
Her release came after five and a half long years of exile. King William’s first invasion of Wales, in 1095, had been most unsuccessful. In the summer of 1097, he tried once more, determined to conquer that recalcitrant country at last. After several bloody battles and the loss of a great many men, he was driven back to England again, but this time he managed to hold on to several pieces of territory along the wild, heavily forested border. He ordered strong castles built to help in holding the newly annexed land. In honor of one who had ridden into Wales with him, his dear friend, Lionel fitz Lionel, was created Baron of Afoncaer.
In the autumn, with the season for military campaigns over, Isabel was ordered to court for his formal investiture. Lionel sent a length of green silk so Joan could make her a gown.
“You should have sent a sketch of the latest styles,” Isabel pouted when she met Lionel in the banqueting hall at Westminster on the day of her arrival there. “Just look how all the other ladies are dressed. I am completely out of fashion.”
“You are fortunate to be here at all,” Lionel told her coldly. “Don’t complain or you will be sent away again.”
“You are a stranger to me,” she said sadly. She had sensed immediately that the odd, trusting dependency they had once known was gone, eroded by their long separation. Lionel’s appearance was much changed in the years since she had last seen him. No longer the tall, handsome young knight, he was quite heavy now, and his face was bloated and red. She thought that was from too much strong drink. The goblet in his right hand was emptied as quickly as it could be refilled by the servant hovering at his elbow. His speech was coarse, his manner toward her insulting. When he left her to sit by the king, who had made a point of ignoring Isabel, she heaved a deep sigh.
“You do not seem pleased to have returned to us, my lady,” said a silky voice at her left side. Isabel looked up into a dark face she remembered all too well.
“Sir Walter.” She greeted him cautiously, not allowing her fingers to rest in his for too long, though she warmed to the admiration in his eyes. It had been years since anyone had looked at her like that. How she longed for a little harmless flirtation, to make her feel like a female again. “I hear you fared exceedingly well in Wales, Sir Walter.”
“Booty,” he said, dismissing with a shrug the collection of gold and silver ornaments he was rumored to have taken from the members of a wealthy Welsh family in return for their lives. “Your husband, however, is well repaid for his loyalty to the king. I congratulate you on becoming Lady of Afoncaer.”
“A mere barony is not as much as Lionel wanted, or expected,” she said. Thinking how foolish she had been to let the unguarded words slip out, she left Walter. She felt his eyes on her all the way across the room. Seeing Guy, she stopped to greet her brother-in-law. He was now almost six feet tall. His blue eyes were clear and sparkling under thick, golden-brown brows.
“How you have grown,” Isabel said, giving him a sisterly kiss on one cheek. “You are a man.”
“I’ll be knighted right after the Christmas feasts,” he told her. “Brian, too. He is Walter’s other squire and my best friend. Several of us will be knighted on the same day. I hope you will be here for the ceremony.”
“If the king lets me, I’ll stay.”
“Lionel won’t be here.” Guy’s eyes, troubled now, rested on his brother. “I worry about him, Isabel. He is sunk so deep in vice and greed he’s almost totally lost, yet I still love him. I am glad you have come back. You will help him, I know. Once he has Afoncaer repaired well enough for you and Thomas to join him there, you’ll set him right again. I know you will. While you were here and had some influence on him, he was still a man, but now…” Guy broke off, shaking his head.
Isabel had not heard the last part of Guy’s speech.
“Wales?” she said. “Oh, no, I’m not going there. I am at court now, and here I will remain. I’ll find a way to convince the king of that.”
Lionel had other ideas.
“Of course you will go with me,” he said the next day, when they were at last alone together. “I will need a chatelaine to manage my household, and that is your duty. Also, I don’t want to leave you or Thomas alone in this pesthole of a court. You may go to Wales with me next week, or you may both return to Adderbury. Make your choice.”
Isabel decided to try diplomacy.
“I would like to remain at court until Guy is knighted. He should have some family member present for such an important ceremony. Let me stay until mid January, my lord. Please.” He owed her that much, she thought, after her long confinement in the country. She needed the gay entertainment, the brilliant feasts. She had missed so much for Thomas’s sake, that annoying little boy upon whom all her servants, and now even Lionel and Guy, so doted. Isabel wanted to forget Thomas. She wanted new gowns and music and laughter. She was twenty-one and she felt as though she had just come out of prison. “I can look after your interests here, as I used to do,” she urged.
“I suppose you may stay,” Lionel said grudgingly. “Perhaps you can help me again.”
“What is it, my lord? You know you can trust me.” That was not entirely true, not any longer. Isabel was now most concerned with her own wishes and desires, but any excuse would do if only Lionel would not send her back to the country.
“I don’t trust anyone at court these days,” Lionel told her. “It’s because of Ralph Flambard. He stands so high in the king’s favor it is rumored William is considering making him Bishop of Durham. While I – I who have been at William’s side since before he became king – I am pensioned off with a plot of land in Wales and am told to go there and build a stone fortress!”
“I have heard Afoncaer includes vast lands, my lord, and that your secure position there will help to balance the power of the marcher lords to William’s advantage. You will be doing him an immense service and he will surely be grateful.” She had hoped to soothe him, but Lionel only became more angry.
“It’s Flambard’s doing. He wants me away from court. For all I have been to William over the years I should have had more lands and greater wealth given me. And I should have been made an earl, not just a baron. That oversight is most certainly because of Flambard!”
Isabel, recalling that Lionel had once confidently hoped to become the equal of the great marcher lords, realized her husband’s fortunes must have fallen considerably. Before she could ask for more details, Lionel burst out with new complaints.
“William used to seek me out. Now I must wait to be admitted to his presence. Everyone is laughing at me. Well,” Lionel went on, “I know what to do. I will go to Wales and build his damned castle and seize as much land from the Welsh as I possibly can to add to what I already hold. And while I’m at it, I’ll squeeze every penny and every piece of grain I can out of my villeins at Afoncaer. Then I’ll come back to court with all the wealth and power I can muster, and I’ll destroy Ralph Flambard, and then William will turn to me once more. After that, you’ll see me made earl soon enough, and I’ll control William again, too.”
“My lord, have a care, I beg you.” Isabel felt she did not know this bitter, angry man at all. She could find no trace of human kindness or compassion left in him. “You have changed so much,” she whispered.
“Aye, I had to, to survive. So will you if you stay at court long. Everyone exposed to William’s venom must change. Even the young.” Lionel took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “I have made arrangements for Thomas.”
“Thomas?” In spite of her dislike of the boy, she felt a chill. “What are you going to do with my son?”
“I don’t want him to become a page here at court, and be subject to William’s influence. I have spoken to Prince Henry. In a year and a half, when Thomas is seven, Henry will accept the boy into his household as a page.”
“I am pleased, my lord. Unlike his older brother, Prince Henry is a decent and honorable man. He will keep Thomas safe. I thank you for your care for Thomas.”
“He is my son, too. My heir.”
“Yes,” Isabel lowered her eyes. “Prince Henry is heir to the throne of England. Thomas will be conveniently placed, should Henry become king.”
“I have thought of that.”
“I knew you had, my lord.”
For just an instant there was a flash of humor and of the old trust and understanding between them, before Lionel went off to see the king. Two days later he left for Wales, without taking private leave of his wife.
Chapter 10
Walter fitz Alan was pursuing Isabel with calculated determination. She had enjoyed his attentions at first. It was flattering, after her isolation at Adderbury, to have so handsome a man appear at her side each mid-day when she entered the king’s banquet hall, as though he had been waiting for her alone. He would sit beside her at mealtimes, offering her the very best morsels the carvers served up and making certain her wine cup was never empty.
He was scrupulously polite, not repeating the too-warm speeches that so disturbed her when she had first known him. They were never alone together, but every place she was, there he appeared also. It was not long before others began to remark on Walter’s interest, and then Isabel became concerned. She felt she had to maintain her unblemished reputation, not only for her own sake but for her son’s as well, and, yes, because of a last, faint trace of loyalty to Lionel.
The other women teased her, as they had once tormented her about being childless, with sly, double-edged comments and knowing looks. When she fled the room, they gathered together and their unkind laughter echoed after her.
She was blameless. They had no right to treat her so, she told herself. They were mean, spiteful, vicious. And now she did not even have Aloise to talk to. Sir Stephen, insisting that he wanted to die at his own home, had taken his wife and sons and re-crossed the Narrow Seas to Dol.