The Autumn Throne (47 page)

Tears spilled silently down Alienor’s cheeks as Blois’ voice continued, soft but clearly enunciated and eloquent. In the gentle spring dusk, rain whispered past the open shutters.

‘Father, why do you delay so long, so negligently, indeed so cruelly to free my son, or do you not dare? Bind the souls of those who hold my son in prison and set him free. Give my son back to me, if you are a man of God and not a man of blood.

‘Legates have now been promised to us three times but have not been sent. If my son were prospering, they would swiftly come, because they
would expect rich benefits from the public profit of the kingdom. The wolf broods over the prey and the mute dogs do not wish to bark. You compel me to despair who alone after God is my hope. The highest pontiff suppresses the sword of Peter which he has replaced in its sheath and his silence is taken for consent.’

Alienor nodded her approval as Blois reached the end of the last tablet. ‘I trust you to see that this is written in fair copy and to add or remove such as you need to bestow the necessary power.’

‘Madam, it is very powerful already,’ he said with a gleam in his eyes, ‘but I shall do what I can to add a final burnish.’ With quiet efficiency he gathered his equipment together, bowed and left.

Wrung out, but satisfied, Alienor retired to bed, but she could not settle because her mind kept returning to Richard. She thought of him in his prison cell, and remembered the days when she was walled up at Sarum. A pattern was repeating itself and there had to be an end to it. She ought to be doing something now. Sleep was a waste of time while Richard was a captive. Closing her eyes she reached out to him across the miles, knowing he was there. Even when people had told her he was dead, she had never believed them because she could still feel his heartbeat within her. Once she had carried that beating heart inside her body and sustained it with her own life blood, and she would give that blood for him now, every last drop.

John knelt to his mother and set his lips to the ruby ring on her right hand. He had just formally given into her keeping
the keys of the castles of Windsor and Wallingford and acknowledged a truce between himself and the justiciars so that the ransom could be collected without strife.

Alienor stooped to give him the kiss of peace, the gesture cool and political. She still loved him because he was her son, but after his most recent behaviour she was hurt and wary. However, since they needed his cooperation while the ransom was being raised, and he had to provide a share from his own estates, she was prepared to conciliate.

‘I am glad we are reconciled. Perhaps now you will accept that Richard will be returning and is capable of governing through messengers. The business of the realm can go forward as usual.’

John inclined his head. ‘Of course, Mama. But you understand my concern. It is true what you say, but without Richard, the country is still vulnerable.’

He was turning matters around as usual, but in the interests of fostering the fragile peace, she said nothing. ‘Yes, and the sooner he is home, the better. We need your help to raise the ransom.’

‘Whatever I can do, Mama.’

He spoke too suavely for her liking.

‘You know that the Emperor demands hostages from us?’

‘I certainly hope you are not suggesting I go!’ He smiled to make a joke of his remark, but his eyes were hard.

She shook her head in exasperation. ‘I have no time for your levity, although it would serve you right if I said I was. However, you can send your son.’

The smile dropped from John’s face. ‘What do you mean, my son?’

‘Richard, what other one is there? He has your brother’s name and he is ten years old and that means old enough to bear himself well and weather the journey. Your nephews Otto, Wilhelm and Lothar are going, and so is your half-brother William. The clerks are already preparing the list.’

‘And if I refuse to let him go?’

‘You do
not have that choice. It will do much to mend the rift between you and Richard if you send your boy. If the ransom is paid swiftly, he will not be long from home.’

A muscle ticked in John’s cheek. He made no answer but his anger and consternation were obvious.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘when something you deem precious is put at risk or removed from your reach, it hurts, doesn’t it? Learn from this, John. You have greatness in you, do not ruin it.’

He narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. She left him to think on the matter, and hoped that he would indeed learn, because there was always hope.

Richard’s hauberk glinted like a snakeskin in the rays shafting down from Westminster Abbey’s stained glass windows, the riveted rings glowing with the light of God. William Marshal had made a magnificent job of refurbishing the armour. The mail shirt gleamed without a trace of rust and had been coated with a light sheen of oil. Underneath a gambeson of quilted linen, packed out with fleece, gave the impression of the bulk of the King’s body. A small tear in the links remained in the heart area and a few more damaged rings splayed the right shoulder. The sweat-stained coif had been left in its original condition. The rust had been burnished from the helm, but the dints left in situ. A shield bearing Richard’s device of three golden leopards on a blood-red background hung on a stand beside the hauberk. The shield was new because Richard’s original had been lost on the journey, but William had had one made and added a few nicks and scrapes so that to the onlooker it seemed as though it had seen hard service on the battlefield. A well-worn leather sword belt girded the hauberk and the scabbarded sword pommel bore the symbol of a pelican shedding its blood for its young in representation of Christ shedding His blood for mankind. Another stand was draped with Richard’s cloak, a white linen cross stitched over the breast.

‘This is your uncle’s armour,’ Alienor told John’s ten-year-old son Richard who stood at her side. He was a good-natured
child, intelligent, and eager to please. He reminded her strongly of Harry when he had been that age, but in a more subdued way. Certainly he was nothing like John. ‘It is a poor thing to stand in lieu of the King, but it has its own power and it will greatly help to restore him to us.’

The boy gazed at it with awe and admiration. ‘The King is a great man, Grandmère.’

‘Yes, he is.’

Two other youths stood with Richard, admiring the armour – Henry’s bastard son William FitzRoy, thirteen years old, and her grandsons Otto, Wilhelm and Lothar. The boys were in London preparing to accompany her to Germany as hostages in exchange for Richard’s release, and the older ones were viewing the task as an adventure. They were men going out into the world to do their duty.

The first instalments of the ransom payment were almost complete. Another consignment had just arrived and would be re-counted and weighed before being locked away under Alienor’s seal. Clerks from the treasury were busy at the counting tables, watched closely by the German officials Heinrich had sent to observe the proceedings. Not a single penny or item of treasure escaped their eagle eyes and all had to be precisely weighed and measured. Alienor forced herself to be civil to these men because it was better to make allies than enemies, and they were only doing what Heinrich had instructed them to do.

Hamelin had been helping to collect and coordinate the sums involved and stood beside one of the German officials, watching as another barrel containing a hundred marks of silver went under the seal. Hamelin’s once sandy-gold hair was thin and grey and the years had weathered deep lines into cheeks and brow, although his eyes still shone with life, and he remained healthy and vigorous. He was busy and satisfied in his role of supervising the treasure collection, and Alienor was grateful to delegate it to his charge.

The barrel sealed and the table clear for a moment, he
joined her. ‘We have almost half the ransom.’ He lightly tousled his grandson’s hair and then gestured to the armour. ‘This will make a difference to the contribution.’

‘I hope so,’ Alienor said. ‘Halfway still means half to go and I hope to be on my way to Germany before Epiphany.’

‘You will be,’ Hamelin reassured her. ‘The funds arrive at a steady trickle day by day.’

‘Yes, but I have hopes for a river.’

Alienor looked round as a courier arrived and knelt to her, proffering a letter bearing Richard’s seal. Her heart quickened. Excusing herself, she retired to her chamber and summoned a scribe to read what was written. There were several pages. Saluting her as his ‘sweet mother’ and begging her to make haste so that he might be set free in order to deal with matters at home. He did not mention the depredations of Philippe of France; he did not have to.

One of the parchment sheets was a song he had written to while away the hours of captivity, and he asked that she make it known beyond the chamber and sung throughout the land. Alienor ordered her scribe to make copies and summoned her musicians to sing it for her here and now.

The words were an emotive cry from the heart of a prisoner, lamenting that his friends and faithful followers had forgotten him, and exhorting them to come to his aid. Read aloud by a scribe the song struck Alienor to the heart, but now, hearing the plangent tune brought to life with lute and voice, she was devastated and sobs tore through her body. When her women moved to comfort her, she waved them away. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Let my tears fall, and let others hear this song so that it may move them to pity and anger too. Let it be sung in every town and castle and cathedral from the borders of Scotland to the Pyrenees. Let all hear it and respond to the cry.’

In his chamber at Marlborough, John was taking a bath. Eyes half closed, he drowsed in the warm tub, the scent of rose
water rising from the steam. The relaxation, the sheer luxury never failed to set his world to right and help him to think.

Belle stood near the fire, patting her hair dry between two warmed towels. She had made her escape from her ailing husband and come to him in a fashion supposedly clandestine, but in reality everyone knew and just pretended they did not see. John suspected she would like to be with him all the time, but his philosophy was why have an apple from just one tree when there was an entire orchard of fruit waiting to be plucked and tasted? Still, he was enjoying her company for now. She had shared the tub with him and they had had pleasure of each other.

The window was open and from the courtyard came the sound of someone singing a mournful lament.

‘That accursed song,’ John growled. ‘Does no one know anything else?’

She looked over her shoulder at him, amused, still gently patting her hair. ‘I think it is very beautiful. Do you not like it?’

He grunted and swished the hot water over his chest and shoulders.

‘Or are you jealous?’ she purred. ‘Even in prison, Richard is still garnering all the attention and displaying his vast talents.’

‘The justiciars might be dragging his armour around England raising money,’ John scoffed, ‘but there’s still no man inside it. It’s a hollow fantasy.’

She sang the tune to herself:
‘I have many friends but their gifts are poor. They show me no honour if for want of a ransom I am held prisoner here for two more winters.’

‘It will be much longer than that. For Christ’s sake shut the window.’

‘My father says not.’ She sauntered over to the window and in her own time did as he asked.

‘Your father’s an old fool. He says a lot of things but he’s not always right, is he?’

‘Neither are you.’

John eyed
her darkly. ‘You are one to speak.’

Belle picked a handful of cherries from a silver bowl and bit into one. ‘But if Richard returns, what then will you do?’

He shrugged. ‘Nothing that I am prepared to discuss with you. Make yourself useful and put in more hot water.’

She fetched the jug from the hearth and topped up his bath until he held up his hand. Steam rose around him as if he were in a cooking pot. She handed him a fresh cup of wine.

‘I worry for you,’ she said on a softer note and touched the damp hair curling at his nape. ‘I know it is a foolish thing to do, because anyone who holds out their hand to a wolf deserves to be bitten, but I cannot help what I feel.’

He grabbed her hand and closed his teeth on her index finger, hard enough to make her yelp and try to draw back, but he gripped her fast. ‘Very foolish indeed, because you know I will only bring you pain.’ He released her. ‘You should go. I will see you later in the hall.’

She withdrew, rubbing her hand, and with a toss of her head retired behind the bed hangings to dress.

John closed his eyes, wishing her gone. He did not want to think about Richard, he wanted to have a moment away from doing so, but like a rotten tooth it was a constant pain that he had to keep touching. He could be a far better king than his brother if given the opportunity. All Richard had to do was die in prison and everything would resolve itself.

Belle emerged again wearing a gown of forest-green linen and fastening her wimple. Although he was impatient for her to be gone, he still enjoyed watching the way she secured the fabric, pins twinkling in her fingers.