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Authors: Elizabeth Chadwick

Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Romance, #General

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BOOK: The Winter Crown
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She withheld the comment that he could have been had he wished. ‘I am sorry too. Your children have missed you, and there are matters for your attention. Your men refuse to obey my orders and there is disruption in Brittany and Northern Poitou. They probably thought they could rebel because you were looking the other way.’

‘I am here now and I shall deal with everything,’ Henry said, his voice level, but irritation in the set of his shoulders. He rubbed his leg and grimaced.

‘Just a few more years and Richard will be old enough to be my sword hand in Aquitaine, and then I shall not need to ask.’

Henry’s expression tightened, but he let the remark pass. ‘I may have been occupied in England, but I have been considering policies in the wider field,’ he said shortly. ‘Brittany can be solved by bringing Conan to heel and making a marriage alliance.’

‘A marriage alliance?’ She eyed him warily.

‘Duke Conan has a daughter, Constance. If we match her with Geoffrey, he can govern Brittany when he comes of age. That will provide him with lands and bring Brittany into our sphere.’

The proposal made sense and Alienor gave a guarded nod. She would have to know more about it first, but on the surface had no cause to cavil.

Henry grunted with bleak amusement. ‘It seems we have an accord for once.’

She inclined her head. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, refusing to be too impressed.

Henry greeted the other children, presenting them with gifts he had brought from England. Geoffrey gave him a serious look when told he was going to be Count of Brittany. ‘Thank you, sire,’ he said, holding the beautiful ivory writing tablet Henry had presented to him, carved with lions, their eyes set with chips of ruby.

‘Always the quiet one,’ Henry said. ‘What is happening inside that head of yours? I shall expect great things of your rule, Geoffrey the Thinker.’ He ruffled his son’s hair and was rewarded with a considering smile.

Richard was not to be cozened by the hunting horn and baldric that Henry gave him, and was sullen and sulky, barely muttering his thanks, so that eventually Henry lost patience and dismissed him from his sight.

‘I dislike the boy’s attitude,’ Henry said to Alienor when they were alone together. ‘You have been indulging him.’

‘He was angry when you did not come to Angers for Christmas,’ she replied. ‘He had been expecting you.’

‘Then he will have to grow up and understand his role in the world,’ Henry retorted. ‘He is a king’s son, not a spoiled child.’

‘Indeed, but that King has not been here to set an example.’ And even when he had been present in Richard’s life, that example was not always to the good. Yes, she had indulged Richard, but she had not spoiled him. Henry was only reaping what he had sown.

‘You know my reasons for that, madam. It could not be helped.’ He rubbed his leg again and winced.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. My horse kicked me, the contrary nag.’

Henry’s horses were always kicking him. He was not gentle with them and they tended to lash out.

‘Let me see.’ She half expected him to push her away and tell her not to fuss, but he unfastened one leg of his hose and rolled it down to expose a livid hoof-shaped bruise on his thigh. Alienor gasped. She could see where the nails studs from the shoe had macerated the flesh. ‘You should have a physician tend to this!’

Henry waved her away. ‘He can look at it in the morning. I’ve taken worse. Rub some salve into it and stop fussing!’

Alienor shook her head, but did as he bade; there was no point in arguing. ‘You are a fool,’ she said as she hunted out a pot of marigold salve and began gently rubbing it into the affected area. ‘You should get rid of a horse like that.’

‘Perhaps I shall,’ he said. ‘But the beast has its uses.’ He took her hand and drew it higher up his leg. ‘I will have him know who the rider is before I am done.’

They went to bed for the first time since Joanna had been conceived. Alienor blew out the candles, because the dark was a kindly cloak concealing the ravages wrought by time, and without sight the other senses were heightened. Henry’s own body was no longer that of a lithe and limber youth, but of a solid, mature male, broad, stocky and powerful. They had to be careful because of his injured leg; Alienor had to play the greater part, which was much to her taste. ‘What were you saying about being the rider?’ she laughed breathlessly, as at last she climbed off him and lay down at his side.

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘but it was of my will as much as yours. I gave you permission to play that part; you would not have done it without.’

‘And I played to win.’

He gave a huff of amusement. ‘I’ll grant you the victory this time.’

She felt him gathering to leave, and put her hand on his arm. ‘Will you stay? Please?’

He hesitated, then gestured assent and lay back on the bed. ‘As you will.’

She suspected he was too sore to argue. She did not want him to stay because of desire, or to comfort her slumber, but because in the morning their children and the courtiers would find them in the same bed, and it would bolster her position and power as queen. But as she settled against him, she received the impression that even though he was present in body, his mind had gone far from her, closed off and unreachable.

Next morning there was a commotion at the forge. Richard had taken an unfinished sword blade from the armourer’s supplies, had heated it in the fire until the tip was a glowing red, and had gone charging about with it, swiping it in the air and declaiming that he was the knight of the firebrand. He had attacked Harry in earnest, singeing his brother’s fine new cloak, and the armourer had thrown a piss bucket over him to put a stop to his wild outburst.

Henry was furious; it was no way for a prince or indeed any man to behave. Richard said nothing, and stoically accepted the thrashing Henry administered.

‘That boy is a reckless fool,’ Henry roared at Alienor. ‘How is he going to rule Aquitaine if he cannot rule himself?’

‘What boy is not wild at times?’ Alienor rushed to defend her cub. ‘It is passing strange that his behaviour is always angry and unpredictable when you are here.’

‘Meaning?’ Henry snapped.

‘Meaning I indulge him less than you have neglected him. He will do very well for Aquitaine when the time comes.’

Henry narrowed his eyes. ‘That remains to be seen, madam.’

However, that afternoon, Henry took it upon himself to spend time in weapons training with his sons, showing Richard, Harry and Geoffrey various tricks and moves. Alienor watched him with the boys. For Henry it was all about control and supremacy. He kept correcting their stances and grips, as if they had not been receiving lessons in weapon play since they were small. Each blow that Henry struck in demonstration was forceful and dominant. He was never going to relinquish power to any of them. He might give them titles and plan their futures on the map of his empire, but they would all remain his subordinates, and since Henry had been such a young man when he begot his heirs, their flowering would only clash with his prime.

30
Winchester, August 1166

Alienor had been trying to sew, but had to pause and press her hand to her womb as the child within her sent out a frantic flurry of kicks and punches. Her reunion with Henry at Easter had resulted in another pregnancy. Since the child was due at Christmas, she had to stay in England until after the birth. That it was the role of a queen to provide heirs, and that she had actively encouraged Henry to her bed at Angers, did not prevent her from feeling like a trapped animal. It was unfair that a man could sow his seed and then go about his business unencumbered.

She had quickened a few weeks ago, but this new babe was never still and she was exhausted. The others had all been busy infants in the womb, but this one kept up a constant pummelling. A couple of times she had thought she might miscarry; her womb had cramped, and there had been a few spots of blood, but the danger had passed and the pregnancy had continued.

Henry was still in Brittany dealing with matters and she had to stay near the port of Southampton, ready to send Geoffrey across the sea to his father the moment he was summoned. He was to be betrothed to Conan of Brittany’s daughter Constance and made heir to the province. They were all so many chess pieces on Henry’s board, although Geoffrey was delighted by the arrangement because it would increase his standing and assure him lands of his own when he was older.

An attendant approached and murmured that the Countess de Warenne had arrived.

Alienor immediately brightened. ‘Admit her, and bring wafers and sweet wine,’ she commanded.

Isabel was shown into the chamber and knelt to Alienor, who hastened to kiss her and raise her to her feet. ‘It is so wonderful to see you!’ She noticed with a quick sweep of her friend’s figure that Isabel too was with child. A nurse had followed her into the room, a chubby baby in her arms.

‘And this is little Isabel?’

‘Yes, this is Belle.’ Isabel took the baby from the nurse and kissed her cheek. ‘Hamelin dotes on her.’

‘She looks like you. And another on the way, I see. When are you due?’

‘The end of November. And you?’

‘Christmas,’ Alienor said flatly. ‘I shall be in Oxford, and Henry in Poitiers.’

The wine and wafers arrived as well as a platter of almond paste balls wrapped around a date stuffing. Alienor had the refreshments carried to the window embrasure overlooking the gardens and the women sat down to gossip in the breeze from the open shutters.

‘Oh, I have missed these!’ Isabel popped an almond ball in her mouth and closed her eyes to savour the taste. ‘My cook has the recipe, but they are still not as good as yours.’

‘But in all other ways you are content; it shines out of you.’

Isabel smiled. ‘Indeed I am. I have to pinch myself sometimes to know I am not dreaming.’

‘I am pleased for you.’ Alienor was wistful, even slightly envious. ‘Such a bond is rare and precious.’

Isabel looked down and fussed with her sleeve. Alienor immediately recognised the signs. ‘So, if all is right in your world,’ she said, ‘what is troubling you?’

Isabel folded the cuff over and then turned it back. ‘I am unsure about broaching this with you – perhaps you already know. But if not, you should.’

Alienor’s stomach sank. ‘Know about what?’

Isabel raised her head, and her brown eyes were full of chagrin. ‘Hamelin … Hamelin says the King has a new mistress.’

Alienor shrugged, relieved but weary and a little puzzled that Isabel should think this news of any import. ‘What of it? I know he is unfaithful; he has the urges of a tom cat.’

‘It is more than that,’ Isabel replied. ‘I would not have spoken if this was one of his usual paramours, but she has been with him for over a year and he dotes on her. Hamelin says he is making plans to build her a manor at Woodstock.’ Isabel returned to pleating her sleeve. ‘I am sorry to be the one to tell you.’

Alienor shivered. She thought of the other mistress who had been more than a passing fancy and had given him a son. Aelburgh. The name was still branded on her mind. ‘Who is she?’

‘Rosamund, daughter of Walter de Clifford. He took up with her during the Welsh campaign last year. Her family are marcher lords and she is no more than sixteen years old.’

Alienor put her hand to her mouth and gave a dry heave.

Isabel set her arm around her. ‘I am sorry, I am sorry! I knew this would hurt you, but you had to know, because everyone else does and it’s not right.’

Alienor swallowed and gripped Isabel’s arm until she regained control. ‘It does not surprise me,’ she said bitterly. ‘A house at Woodstock, you say?’ She gave a cynical laugh. ‘I suppose it is fitting. He keeps his menagerie there, just as his grandsire used to do.’

‘Hamelin says it is outside the complex – at Everswell.’ Isabel brought her a cup of sweetened wine.

Alienor held the goblet between her hands and took a slow sip. ‘He once told me he was going to build a pleasure garden there … little did I think. Thank you for having the courage to tell me – I take it as a mark of our trust and friendship.’ She straightened her spine. ‘I am the Queen, and the mother of his heirs, and I will have his respect for that. Let him be the laughing stock.’ She gave Isabel a fierce look. ‘I will not see pity in anyone’s eyes.’

‘No,’ Isabel said hastily, ‘I am indignant on your behalf, never pitying.’

Alienor did not believe her; Isabel had too soft a heart. ‘Henry treads his own path these days, and I tread mine,’ she said wearily. ‘Once this child is born and the arrangements for Matilda’s marriage finalised, I shall return to Aquitaine and raise Richard to govern it.’ She gave Isabel a wry half-smile. ‘I have become adept at biding my time. Henry has never known how to do that – he has never had the patience. Indeed,’ she added with a curl of her lip, ‘he has never had to have the patience.’

Their talk turned to the continuing difficulties with Thomas Becket, who had retaliated for the exile of his relatives by excommunicating the men Henry had sent to expel them, and laying more people under interdict, including the justiciar.

‘Do you believe there will ever be a reconciliation?’ Isabel asked.

Alienor shook her head. ‘Fences will be difficult to mend, that is certain. And of course my first husband is joyfully stirring up trouble. It is a complete tangle and I am sick of it.’ She sighed and placed her hand on her belly as the baby began kicking and pummelling again.

Alienor sat at dinner with Harry who was visiting her en route to join his father for Christmas in Poitiers. He was full of the adventure of the journey. At almost twelve years old, he considered himself very much the man, and a king in waiting. Watching his dexterity as he carved slices from the haunch of venison and placed them on her trencher, succulent with juices, Alienor was immensely proud. ‘You are going to be taller than your father.’ Strong, long-limbed sons of her womb who towered over Henry were satisfying images with which to feed her mind.

Harry preened. ‘I will be a better king than he is.’

‘You still have much to learn,’ she cautioned. ‘Have a care how you talk to him. Watch, and listen and learn. It does not mean you should behave in the same ways, but observe how he treats people and how they respond to him. Watch how he deals with situations and think about what you would do in the same circumstances. Everything you learn will serve you in good stead later.’

BOOK: The Winter Crown
10.84Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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