The Autumn Throne (6 page)

‘Who
knows what your father would and would not do,’ Alienor said with contempt, ‘although taking Alais to wife would not seem like wisdom.’

Richard’s expression was edged with defiance. ‘I certainly have no intention of wedding her. There are heiresses who would better suit my needs. Rather a wife from lands bordering Aquitaine than a French mouse.’

‘I agree. It was never my desire to see any of my sons betrothed or wedded to France,’ Alienor said with distaste. ‘For Harry it is too late, and Marguerite may suit his needs if we are being practical, but I vowed when your father forced you to make your pledge to Alais, you would never be bound by that oath if I could help it.’

‘It will not happen.’ Richard’s jaw was set with determination. ‘For now my father will procrastinate because it keeps the power in his own hands.’ He sent her a look from under his brows in which she read anxiety, even though he was trying to be hard-headed. ‘There is the de Clifford girl too. You do not think he would take her to wife?’

Her smile was caustic. ‘It is a moot point since he is bound to me until one of us dies, but again, I doubt such a thing of him. Taking a girl of the lower nobility for a mistress is one thing, but making her his wife quite another. No, he wants this annulment in order to cut off the roots of my power, and remove me from all areas of influence. Retiring me to Amesbury is more convenient for him than keeping me locked up at Sarum – more civilised he would say. What use am I when he has loyal sons to do his bidding?’

Richard scowled. ‘He should not treat you like this.’

‘That has never stopped him. It is the way things are – for now.’ She tapped the chess board with her forefinger. ‘Strategy.’ She made sure he took her point. ‘Do not waste your time, but bide it.’

Clad in a simple shift of filmy Cambray linen, Rosamund de Clifford sat in Henry’s bed, plaiting her silky hair into a single
long braid. A ring of pearl and gold that had once belonged to Henry’s mother gleamed on her heart finger and she was humming softly to herself as she worked.

The braid ended in a thick tassel at her waistline and she placed her hand just below it and smiled, thinking of the new life growing inside her. Henry’s child, a prince of royal blood, conceived at the Christmas gathering, on the very anniversary of Jesus’s birth. She had been Henry’s mistress for almost ten years, but this was only the second time she had conceived. The first had ended in a miscarriage before she had quickened, but this time she had reached her fourth month and her belly was showing the first gentle swell of fruitfulness. Come the autumn, she would present Henry with his new heir and by then, hopefully, she would be his queen.

He said she was his wife in all but name, and had given her his mother’s ring in token of that bond. When she was younger she had been satisfied, but now she wanted more. It was not enough to be at Henry’s side at court and in his chamber at night because without the sanction of the Church she was just another concubine; it wasn’t the same as being a wife. His queen had that title and privilege, although she did not deserve it for what she had done to him, urging his sons to rebel and dishonouring his name. Alienor was barren now too, dried up with years and redundant, whereas she was ripe with child and could give Henry everything he needed. It would be best for everyone if Alienor agreed to an annulment and ended her days as a nun.

She heard voices outside – Henry bidding his squires goodnight – and she quickly tidied away her toilet items and straightened the covers. Henry entered the room and immediately her heart sank, for his lips were set in a tight line, and he was limping, favouring the foot with the sore toenail.

She hurried to take his cloak and bring him a drink. ‘You look troubled, sire,’ she said softly. ‘Come, let me rub your feet.’

Henry grunted and sat down heavily before the fire while
she pulled off his boots and socks. His right big toe was puffy red around the nail bed.

‘You should summon the physician, sire.’

‘Tomorrow will suffice.’ He took a single swallow of wine before setting it aside. ‘Tonight I do not care to be examined and prodded and made sorer than I am already.’

Rosamund took his good foot in her hand and began to gently massage it. ‘Have you spoken to the Queen?’

‘For what good it did,’ he growled. ‘She refuses to consider an annulment. I knew she would.’

Rosamund swallowed disappointment. She had thought so too because refusal was all Alienor had left, but she had hoped. ‘I am sorry, sire.’

Henry rubbed his brow. ‘I did not expect her to consent on the first asking, but a few more months at Sarum might make her see matters more clearly.’

Glancing up, Rosamund saw the flinty look in his eyes, the one he always got when Alienor was the subject of their conversations. She wanted to ask him how long it would be before the annulment was achieved, but knew better than to press him while he was impatient and in pain. However, she did not have ‘a few more months’ if this child was to be born legitimate.

‘As you say, sire,’ she said softly. ‘I will pray for a successful outcome.’ She looked at him with loving anxiety. ‘I want to give you what she cannot and openly in the sight of God. I want to help you and have the lawful right to be at your side. I hate to see you tired and sore like this.’

He slanted her an enigmatic look that she could not read, even though she studied hard to know his soul. ‘You are queen of my heart.’ He pulled her into his lap. ‘No one cares for me as you do. Do not fret, all will be well.’

He did not say he would marry her; he did not say she would wear a crown.

He loosened the ties round the neck of her chemise and pulled it down so that he could bury his face in her warm, white
cleavage. Rosamund put her arms around him, pressed her cheek against his thinning hair, and sent up a fervent plea for God to answer her prayers.

Alienor watched Joanna at play with Marguerite’s fluffy dog, her gown swirling about her legs and her face alight with laughter as she threw a leather ball for him to chase. She was tall and well grown but not yet showing the physical changes of womanhood; however she possessed the self-assurance of a young lady who knew her worth.

Isabel entered the chamber and after a hesitation crossed to Alienor’s side and curtseyed. ‘You asked for me, madam?’ she said stiffly.

‘Indeed I did.’ Alienor gestured Isabel to sit beside her on the cushioned bench.

It was three days since the women had parted company in strained circumstances. Alienor was not sorry for what she had said, but in hindsight, she had let her irritation overrule her diplomacy. She had so few people she could turn to, and Isabel was a true friend, even if she was infuriating. Isabel wanted everything to be perfect. If there was a crack in the table, she would cover it with a decorative napkin or candlestick and pretend it wasn’t there; but it was her nature, as was her kindness and staunch devotion.

‘We misunderstood each other a few days ago,’ Alienor said. ‘I want to tell you that I do sincerely value your friendship, and your counsel.’

Isabel smoothed her gown over her knees and did not reply, although her chin trembled.

Alienor
handed her a knotted skein of embroidery wools. ‘See if you can unpick this for me. You have a delicate touch and my patience is exhausted – as you well know.’

Isabel took the wool and began to pluck at it with delicate movements. Alienor hoped she had snarled up the thread sufficiently to keep Isabel occupied while the atmosphere settled.

‘Has Hamelin told you about the envoys from Sicily arriving to discuss Joanna’s marriage?’

‘Yes, he has.’ Isabel’s careful teasing found an end on the thread.

‘You are to accompany her there if the negotiations go well, I hear.’

Isabel gave her a wary glance.

‘I am glad about it … truly. Joanna loves and trusts you, and I know you will ease her journey into a new life.’

Isabel’s taut expression softened and ready tears glinted in her eyes. ‘I promise to hoard every memory like a jewel and tell you everything when I return. I will bring you silks from the workshops in Palermo. Henry will not dare confiscate a gift from me and Hamelin.’

Alienor gave a rueful smile, recognising that Isabel too was mending broken bridges, and probably feeling guilty that she was adventuring to Sicily whereas Alienor’s horizons were little more than prison walls. Even had Alienor been free, she would still have had to wave farewell to Joanna from a quayside. A queen bore daughters and lost them before they were properly women. ‘I would like that.’

Isabel picked carefully at the tangle in the middle of the skein. ‘Does Joanna know yet?’

Alienor shook her head. ‘Only what is in the air. Henry is going to speak to her today.’ And then her life would change. She gazed at her daughter in the last hours of her childhood.

‘She is a lovely young lady,’ Isabel murmured. ‘She laughs and is giddy like all girls at times, but she has a noble heart and the will to do the right thing.’

Alienor
forbore to comment. Isabel was talking in platitudes again. All that she said was true, but Joanna would need steel to survive, although not so much that it broke her will.

Isabel returned the knotted threads to her. ‘I have done what I can, but that section in the middle will never come free unless you cut it out.’

‘Like a heart,’ Alienor said, and looked round as Henry arrived on his way to the hunt, his tread swift and business-like. Ignoring Alienor, save for a single hard glance, he sat down before the fire and commanded Joanna to come before him.

She did so with lowered eyes, her earlier high spirits subdued into wariness because her father was the King and unpredictable.

‘Sire.’ She spread her skirts in a curtsey.

Hamelin, who had come to stand at Henry’s right-hand side, gave her a reassuring smile and the twitch of an eyelid that might just have been a wink. Noting the gesture, Alienor felt grateful to Hamelin for that support.

‘Daughter,’ Henry said after a heavy silence and rubbed his fingertips back and forth across his whiskers. ‘I want to talk to you about a matter of alliance.’

Joanna eyed him warily. ‘Yes, Papa.’

He beckoned her closer and took her hand, clasping it between his hard weathered ones. ‘You are to wed William, King of Sicily, should negotiations with his envoys prove satisfactory. He is my ally and good friend, and you will be well settled with him.’

Joanna visibly swallowed. ‘Thank you, sire,’ she whispered. Alienor could see the wide, almost fearful look in her eyes, and was utterly proud of her daughter when she pulled the right answer from somewhere deep within. ‘I am honoured.’

‘Good.’ Henry squeezed her hand, released it, and stood up. ‘Your mother and the Countess de Warenne will tell you what you need to know.’ Satisfied that he had fulfilled his part of the business as far as informing her went, he left the chamber, already talking to his attendants about which spears they should
bring with them on the hunt. Hamelin followed him with a brief glance over his shoulder for the women.

Joanna looked at Alienor and Isabel, still clearly stunned by the speed and enormity of what had just happened.

‘Sicily is beautiful,’ Alienor said. ‘A little like Aquitaine. I shall be sorry to part from you, but your father is right, it is a good match.’

‘You will have fine gowns and clothes,’ Isabel said in a kindly voice, ‘and a court and ladies all of your own. It will seem strange at first, but we will help you prepare, and I shall be accompanying you – that is already decided.’

Joanna nodded, and some of the light returned to her eyes.

Alienor sent Isabel a grateful look that helped to further mend the bond between them. In this at least they were united. ‘You have a while yet. You will not go to Sicily before the summer’s end. As your aunt Isabel says, there is much to do. Come.’ Alienor drew her daughter to the window seat and sat her down. ‘I will tell you what I know of Sicily and what I remember, and you can ask me anything you want. I do not know your husband-to-be, but his father welcomed me when I was on my way home from Jerusalem, and I believe you will settle there well.’

Joanna nodded and straightened her spine, sitting erect as if testing the weight of a crown and new responsibilities. ‘Yes, Mama,’ she said dutifully.

‘Even if distance parts us there will still be letters and messengers; and you shall have your own household and people you know.’ She squeezed Joanna’s hand more gently than Henry had done. ‘You are bound on this course and you must do your duty to the best of your ability. That is part of being a queen. I know you understand this in your heart.’

‘Yes, Mama,’ Joanna said again, biting her lip.

Alienor kissed her with compassion but did not draw out the moment because maintaining regal dignity in difficult circumstances was another part of being a queen and something Joanna had to learn.

*  *  *

Alienor
walked in Winchester Castle’s garden, enjoying the fresh spring morning. Bees trundled industriously from flower to flower on trees laden with apple blossom thick as snow and the air was scented with delicate perfume. At least Henry had not denied her the pleasure of this place even if he was watching her closely and giving her no opportunity to speak to anyone of influence. He continued to press home the detail that he controlled the chess board and her only way out was to agree to the annulment. Yesterday at dinner he had disparaged her by seating her down the table away from him while he conducted a conversation with a Winchester gold merchant. The times she was not invisible, he was marking her as of no consequence, and it would only worsen.