The Autumn Throne (17 page)

Henry’s lips twitched, but his gaze was hard. ‘I mean it.’

‘So do I, sire,’ John replied. ‘I promise to take my responsibilities seriously.’

‘I will make sure you do. Indeed, everyone will be watching.’

John’s
eyes flickered at that and Henry clapped his hand to his shoulder in father-to-son rapport, but also by way of warning.

Alienor arrived in Winchester on a murky afternoon in late November with dusk already falling over the city. Her chamber had been prepared and she was glad to go straight there and warm herself at the fire while her servants brought in her baggage which was more plentiful than of yore. Under Belbel’s skilled direction, several new gowns had been cut and sewn, some with luxurious fur linings for the winter season, and she had ridden to Winchester proudly and in full view this time. The crushing sense of impotence was still there but at least now she had leave to ride out; she had more servants and books to read, and did not have to resort to biting her nails and pacing her chamber end to end in a restless rhythm for hours on end.

She was informed that the King was busy with other matters but would visit on the morrow, to which she raised a knowing eyebrow. ‘Other matters’ were usually either of state or women, and always excluded her. However, Ingelram her chamberlain announced that the Countess of Salisbury was already here and requesting an audience. Alienor’s spirits immediately lightened. ‘Bring her at once,’ she commanded, ‘and bid her not stand on ceremony.’

As Isabel entered the room, Alienor hastened to embrace her and was immediately shocked at how thin she had become. Isabel had shed weight like a tree shedding its leaves in autumn to leave only stark branches. Her cheeks were gaunt and dark shadows haunted her eyes.

‘It is good to see you.’ Alienor drew Isabel to the fire, ‘but
you look tired. What has Hamelin been doing to you?’ She spoke with a smile so that Isabel could treat the words as a jest if she wished, and was appalled when her friend’s eyes filled with tears.

‘Nothing,’ Isabel said. ‘But it is so difficult between us just now. I …’ She put her face in her hand and struggled for composure.

Alienor curved a comforting arm around Isabel’s shoulders. ‘Come, come, what is wrong?’

‘I am overburdened and do not want to add to your woes,’ Isabel sniffed, ‘but I have no choice because it concerns you and you will hear soon enough. The gossip is already rife.’

Alienor was suddenly wary. ‘What do you mean it concerns me?’

‘It’s Belle.’ Isabel’s voice cracked. ‘She’s with child.’

‘Belle?’ Alienor was taken aback. Isabel was a protective mother and she could not imagine her letting a fox into her coop, although she had sometimes wondered about the girl. ‘Do you know the father?’

Isabel swallowed. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s John.’

‘John who?’

Isabel bit her lip. ‘Your son John. He visited Lewes in the summer on his way to Canterbury and she … they …’ She waved her hand to serve for the rest. ‘And numerous times after that while they were travelling with the court.’

Alienor stared at Isabel in open-mouthed shock. ‘Dear God. He is not yet fifteen. Did he …’ She could not finish.

‘It was not rape. They both colluded in the deed – it was lust. I had no notion, no idea. I trusted her, and I trusted too much.’

‘I am so sorry.’ Alienor clenched her fists, feeling powerless. This was what happened when a ship only had one oar. What sort of example had John learned from his father who consorted with the young women he was supposed to be protecting? She sat down beside Isabel on the hearth bench, feeling wretched. ‘When you look at them as babies in the cradle, you never
know what they are going to become, but you always hope for the best.’

‘What could you have done from Sarum? Do not take it upon yourself.’

Alienor gave a bitter laugh. ‘No more than you take the blame upon your own shoulders.’

Isabel shrugged forlornly.

‘I suppose Hamelin has taken it hard.’

‘It has broken his heart,’ Isabel said, wiping her eyes. ‘He does not want to see Belle. He has sent her to the convent at Shaftesbury – his sister is abbess – and I shall join her there after Christmas to await her confinement. The baby is due in the spring.’ She hesitated and then told Alienor what Hamelin had done to John. ‘If he had to be in the same room just now, he would kill him, but they will have to come to terms.’

‘Indeed yes.’ Alienor thought how awkward it would be. Only time would heal the rift, and a long time at that. ‘If anything positive is to come from this mess, let it be that we are sisters by marriage and we shall share the gift of a grandchild.’ She embraced Isabel again and the women clung together for a moment before each withdrew to sit in silence with her thoughts.

‘Isabel told me about John and her daughter,’ Alienor told Henry. He had been hunting, but had spared time to change his tunic and boots, although a beaded scratch on his cheek gave evidence of his impetuosity in the chase, and she could still smell his sweat. His limp was barely noticeable today and the vigorous way he was pacing the room reminded her of the early days of their marriage.

‘Young fool,’ Henry growled, pausing by the brazier. ‘All youths sow their wild oats, but not on their own doorsteps. I have ordered him to do penance and warned him to be more careful. It’s distasteful and an embarrassment.’

‘It is a pity no one noticed until it was too late. Surely there were indications?’

‘I
am his father, not his keeper,’ Henry snapped. He sat down by the fire and used a poker to dig out new red flames from the half-burned logs. ‘Her parents should have been watching her too if they didn’t want her belly to swell. Where were they? John says she led him on, and I can believe it. It’s in the blood. Hamelin’s mother was a whore after all.’

‘I hope you did not say that to Hamelin.’

‘Credit me with a little sense. He is my brother and I need his support. As it is, he is bruised and barely speaking to me. He thinks I should have clapped John in irons and had him flogged. He will get over it.’ Henry gave a dismissive wave and rested the poker at the side of the fire. ‘Worse things happen. Someone will be glad to take the girl in marriage. She’s well connected and proven to be fertile. The child, if it lives, will prove useful either for the Church or administration. There are always places for well-born bastards.’

‘As you have often proved yourself. I hear you have Ida de Tosney’s little boy in the nursery at Woodstock? Do you try out all your wards before you marry them off?’

Even in the dull firelight she could tell that Henry’s face had darkened. ‘Your tongue, madam, could slice stones.’

‘What should I say? What kind of example does it set to your son when he sees how you behave at court? He will either follow you down, or hate you. Before the de Tosney girl there was Rosamund, and she died in childbirth did she not?’

Henry seized the poker again and rammed it into the heart of the fire. Alienor watched him, and although her stomach lurched, her expression remained impassive. There was bitter entertainment in goading him, but it was desolate too.

‘You are one to talk of examples to set to children.’ He watched the end of the poker glow red. ‘What have they learned from you save perfidy and rebellion?’

‘I did not teach them that. They had far more instructive examples to follow.’

He threw the poker down and rose to pace the room once more. ‘Ah, I am sick of this.’

‘So
am I.’ Her voice was flat with pain. ‘But that makes no difference. We can go neither forward nor back. We are in limbo. I did not set out to defy you. I married you in good faith, and see what it has brought us.’

She stared into the flames rising out of the log where he had stabbed the poker into its heart. ‘You sent me chests of cloth and fur in the summer,’ she continued. ‘You sent me a maid to fashion fine garments and keep me company. You gave me a palfrey and a red leather saddle to set upon her back. Why did you do that? I hardly think it is because you have a troubled conscience, or that you are guilty of compassion. What is your own lack, sire, that you should be generous to me after all you claim I have done? What do you want from me?’

For an instant she thought he was going to leave, crash from the room as he usually did and give instructions that she was to be taken straight back to Sarum. However, he paused at the embrasure, hands gripping his belt. ‘I want a truce,’ he said. ‘Even the bitterest enemies withdraw from their battles in the winter season.’

‘A truce?’

‘We are never going to resolve our differences, but if we agree on that, then perhaps we can be civil when we do meet. But I am beginning to think it is not possible.’

‘And if not, you will strip me of your goodwill and send me back to Sarum?’

‘You will cut off your nose to spite your own face?’ he retorted. ‘The decision is yours.’

Alienor had heard those words before, but a truce was easier to swallow than the notion of a convent. In the past she had indeed cut off her nose to spite her face. Were golden fetters better than ones of rusting iron? Perhaps it was time to find out, and a truce might lead further down a road to freedom. Heaving a sigh, she lifted her hand in weary acquiescence. ‘Very well. Sit for a moment if that is possible, and send for some fresh wine that isn’t vinegar, and we shall see about the matter of a truce.’

Henry
hesitated and then went to the door. She heard him issue gruff orders to his squire and her mouth curved with a humourless smile. Knowing the state of Henry’s cellar, obtaining decent wine was perhaps even more problematical than a cessation of hostilities.

Returning, Henry complimented her on her gown and she thanked him for sending her Belbel.

‘I thought you would enjoy her company.’

‘I did wonder if you had set her upon me as a spy, but I am sure you would be more subtle than that in your choice. Is that the tunic she made for you? She is good at hiding a multitude of sins.’ When he looked at her sharply, she smiled and gestured to her dress. ‘I have a figure again, something I thought never to possess after bearing so many children.’

One of Henry’s squires arrived with wine and a platter of small fried pastries drizzled with honey and sprinkled with chopped almonds.

‘Now you are indeed making your point,’ Alienor said with a wry laugh. ‘If this is a truce, I will adhere to it.’

She took a pastry and bit into the hot, crisp shell with greedy delight. Yet with guilt too because sweetmeats and fine clothes were no substitute for her liberty, and once again he was showing her what he could give and what he could take away.

‘So,’ she said when she had swallowed. ‘Speaking of children, I hear that Geoffrey’s marriage to Constance has been satisfactorily concluded.’

Henry nodded. ‘At Rennes. That is the matter of Brittany settled and I expect him to govern well.’

Alienor heard the reservation in his tone. ‘But?’ She wondered if it was because he found it difficult to hand control to his son.

Henry shrugged. ‘I can never tell what Geoffrey is thinking. He smiles and agrees with me, but I receive the impression he is paying lip service while playing his own game … and just what that game is, only he knows. I know where I stand
with Harry, with Richard, and even John despite his escapades. I know I can grab them by the scruff and haul them back, but with Geoffrey there is nothing to get hold of.’

Again it boiled down to trust, and trust was something Henry did not have, and which he never received either. ‘But he has proved himself competent and steady.’

‘Thus far,’ he acknowledged grudgingly. ‘But I need him to answer to me even when he rules in his own right. I am still his overlord.’

‘You have to let him make his own path.’

Two deep furrows appeared between Henry’s brows. ‘He is like Harry – he has too many romantic notions of what being a ruler means, but he does not wear such notions openly for the world to see, and he is always ready to add subtle seasoning to any brew of trouble his brothers concoct.’ He took one of the pastries and ate it with vigorous rotations of his jaw.

And Henry’s refusal to allow his sons control was the reason there was a brew in the first place. ‘Shall I see any of our sons at the Christmas feast, or do they all have business elsewhere?’ she asked.

Henry swallowed. ‘They are busy helping Philippe of France deal with his rebellious Blois vassals. The less influence that faction has over the boy the better. After that they will keep the Christmas feast in their own domains, except for John.’

Alienor almost grimaced. A Christmas spent with Henry and John seemed like more of an endurance test than a joyful occasion.

‘I wish I could see all of our sons.’

‘Indeed that can be arranged in the future,’ Henry agreed blandly. ‘Write to them for now, send them gifts, and they will do the same for you.’

And Henry would vet all of her letters.

‘This truce of yours, does it mean I may remain here when you leave?’

Henry reached for another pastry. ‘If you choose to,’ he said impassively.