A Place Beyond Courage (40 page)
‘I don’t know, but perhaps. I should have had my flux by now and I haven’t.’
‘Are you sick?’
She shook her head. ‘No, but my mother never was with any of us.’
John gave her a considering look. ‘Then while you are uncertain, it is not a sin.’ He glanced round as one of his knights entered the chamber in search of him, followed by the chaplain. ‘Still, it’s a moot point for the moment.’ He gave her a laconic half-smile. ‘Patrick said you were good breeding stock.’
Sybilla made a face at him. ‘I was an innocent virgin. He didn’t tell me what you were.’
He laughed softly.
The priest was almost upon them and Sybilla moderated the exchange before she caused the poor man embarrassment. ‘So, do I have your leave to go to Salisbury to buy what I need?’
‘As you wish.’ He kissed the back of her hand in formal fashion, placed another kiss on the tender inside of her wrist, and took his leave with a pointed glance at the trestle as he did so.
Sybilla swallowed a giggle and, touching the imprint of the second kiss, tried to give her attention to Father Geoffrey and a discussion about the distribution of alms at the castle gate.
30
Devizes, Wiltshire, Autumn 1144
Robert of Gloucester looked at John from eyes pouched with weariness - formed not just of the moment, but the result of the drag of a war that had been burning for five long years. ‘Ah God, I’m getting old and tired,’ he said.
John didn’t think it diplomatic to agree. He had been through his own darkness three years ago, but currently felt as if he were in the springtime of his life rather than the autumn . . . but then Sybilla had a lot to do with that. He only had to imagine her waiting in his bed, smiling at him, her rich hair spilling around her shoulders, and all was well with the world - even if outside his jurisdiction it patently wasn’t.
‘We have Normandy,’ he said, ‘and Normandy is the key. Without it, Stephen is cut off from support and resources.’
‘That means he is free to concentrate his efforts on England - pull back the mercenary companies he had over there and make fresh assaults on us here.’
John had seldom heard Robert sound so depressed. Perhaps it was the result of the rain slamming against the shutters and the damp day aggravating his joints. But then ever since his capture at Stockbridge he had been more reticent and circumspect. Although he had continued to fight, something had gone out of him on that day and his flame no longer burned with the same zeal. ‘Yes, he can concentrate his efforts here, but we can now harry him from Normandy and plan an invasion unhampered by his presence there.’
Robert gave a drained smile. ‘Ah, you are right, John. Pay no heed to me. I didn’t sleep well. My head is filled with wool when I need it to be clear. If we can only hang on a few years more, Henry will be ready for kingship. He’s eleven now - past halfway, and has brothers following close in his wake should it be necessary.’
‘Stephen has sons too,’ John pointed out.
‘They won’t be a match for Henry. I tell you, that boy is formidable.’
John received the impression Robert didn’t want to imagine the war continuing in the next generation. He didn’t either. Putting himself in jeopardy was one thing. Imagining Gilbert and Walter in the thick of some of the fighting he had seen froze his marrow. They would not survive. Robert’s own sons, of fighting age, were already deeply committed, Philip in particular. He had been at the forefront in the now notorious battle of Wilton and was currently involved in harrying the garrison at Oxford from the new keep of Faringdon of which he was constable.
John considered it interesting that Robert was thinking in terms of Henry rather than the Empress. Of late, there was a tacit understanding, even among the men most loyal to her, that she would not become Queen. No one dared speak such blasphemy aloud though. It was all clandestine.
Leaving Robert to his business, he set about his own duties, but was accosted by another lord - Stephen de Gai, Robert’s uncle. He was an accomplished warrior, taciturn, but courteous enough when he chose to speak. His first wife had died over a year ago, and his sons were grown.
‘My lord?’ John said politely.
De Gai studied him from beneath craggy silver brows ‘My nephew must have spoken to you at the time of your ... ah . . . annulment concerning my interest in your former wife.’
‘He mentioned it in passing.’ John eyed him slightly askance. ‘Forgive me; have you ever seen or spoken to Aline before?’
‘Not often, but on occasion, my lord. I have always thought her a charming, dutiful lady.’
‘Indeed, duty means much to her,’ John said, cultivating a bland expression.
‘Do you have objections?’
‘Why should I? She is no longer married to me and the Church has responsibility for her now.’
‘But you still have an interest through your sons.
I suppose it will matter to them who their mother remarries.’
‘I foresee no trouble in that area,’ John replied. ‘You are uncle to the Earl of Gloucester and that is a fine kinship bond that will stand them in good stead in the future. Were I to make any caveats, I would ask you if you were certain you desired this match?’
De Gai gave John a shrewd look. ‘I am not looking for a mettlesome young thing or for good bed sport and a bevy of heirs. I already have my children. Naturally, if sons and daughters should come of the match, I will be pleased to provide for them, but what I mainly desire is companionship at my hearth.’
John was torn between being thoroughly candid and holding back. Perhaps de Gai and Aline were ideally suited. Who was he to say? An older man would indulge her, and not expect of her what she could not perform.
‘Then I wish you well,’ he said, ‘but make sure she has women around her who are honest and competent in household matters. Aline was never one to bother about moths in the clothing chests or seasoning in the food. But if you want a wife who is dutiful, loyal and devout, she will serve you well.’
De Gai smiled. ‘I see your reservations, my lord. If I were a younger man, I might heed them, but at my age, my needs are different; nor am I the active warrior I used to be. I hazard she will be more settled with me than she ever was with you.’
John stiffened for an instant, but then the humour of the situation struck him and he swallowed a smile ‘I think she probably will,’ he said. ‘And I wish you well of your courtship.’
Aline had returned to Clyffe. Bishop Robert had deemed it better for her to dwell on her own lands where she had been born and raised than be held among strangers at Exeter. She had not protested, for it seemed a sensible move and, besides, she felt as helpless as a straw in the wind. She had neither the energy nor the will to fight what was set upon her.
She was still struggling to come to terms with the shocking detail that her marriage had been a lie - that it had never existed in the eyes of God. She still found it hard to believe even though she had seen the documents confirming she and John were related within the prohibited degree. She felt as if she had been punished and pulverised for a sin she was unaware of having committed until now, and it hurt. If she thought about it for too long, her stomach would begin to ache, the tears would come and she would make herself ill.
She hadn’t spoken to John - their last communication had been his letter concerning the annulment - but she had heard about his swift remarriage to Sybilla of Salisbury. During her less charitable moments, she thought of the girl as a brazen slut, but that was just the anger and hurt surfacing. Doubtless Sybilla had had no say in the matter and was as much a straw in the wind as herself. The notion of Sybilla sharing John’s life, however, when she had been shut out of it, was painful. Not that she had ever done much sharing with John. They had lived separate lives side by side. But she still missed the sight of him in her peripheral vision. Sometimes she thought it was her own fault she had lost him. She had admired his beauty and God had punished her shallowness by marring it for ever. She had loved him and been proud to be his wife, and now God had taken that too, leaving only the raw ache where her life had been torn out and discarded like old straw on a midden heap.
She was feeding grain to the pigeons outside the turreted loft beyond the stables when the visitors clopped into the ward. Her first instinct was to hide in the loft until they had gone, but someone was bound to come looking for her, and what excuse could she make? Besides, it might be word from John. The empty grain bowl clasped to her breast like a shield, she crept up the path to the stable yard.
Amid an entourage of servants and clerics, she saw the Bishop himself. Beside him, a big man wearing spurs and sword was dismounting from a chunky roan cob. His white hair and beard stood out against a face brown from the summer sun and his gaze was shrewd as he swept it around the stable yard and handed the reins to his squire. He looked vaguely familiar. Timidly, Aline went forward to greet them and knelt to kiss Bishop Robert’s ring. He had been a rock of support during the early days of the annulment and she was pleased to see him - if anxious at the same time.
He raised her to her feet and presented her to his companion. ‘Daughter, this is Stephen de Gai, uncle to the Earl of Gloucester.’
She curtseyed to him and gestured to the empty bowl. ‘Forgive me, I was feeding the pigeons.’
‘To make them plump for the table?’ de Gai asked with a smile.
She shook her head and looked down. ‘Not really. I like doing it. I don’t eat much meat. Will you come within?’ She made a flustered gesture in the direction of the hall, hoping the wine was up to scratch, knowing it probably wasn’t.
The Bishop didn’t say why he had come to Clyffe, but accepted her halting offer of dinner. He prayed with her and spoke comforting words, while de Gai wandered round the hall, looking in the corners, speaking to the servants, and accustoming himself to his surroundings. She saw him remove his swordbelt and lay it across the dais table. There was an echo of John in the movement and it tumbled her stomach. Belatedly she sent for water so the men could wash their hands and faces.
She thought once they had dined they would be on their way, but they displayed little inclination to leave. Aline began dreading that they might want to stay for the night, which would mean airing bed linen and stuffing mattresses and she didn’t know where to start. Plus she would have to provide them with another meal and that would take thinking about as well.
While the Bishop was busy talking to one of his clerks, de Gai drew Aline aside to a bench before the hearth. ‘My lady, you probably realise there is a purpose in our visit here to you, beyond the social.’
Aline gave a small, anxious nod. ‘Yes, but I cannot imagine what you want - unless it is Church business?’ She fiddled with her prayer beads.
‘In a way it is, since Bishop Robert is officially your guardian. My lady . . . I wish to make you an offer of marriage.’
Whatever Aline had been expecting, it wasn’t this and she gasped aloud.
‘I know it is sudden, but these are harsh times for an unmarried woman. If you are willing to accept my protection, I would be honoured.’
She felt the world start to wobble and lose its focus. She didn’t know what to say or do.
‘My wife died a year ago,’ said de Gai. ‘I would welcome a companion at my hearth. You are still young and it would be a pity to think your life is over for the sake of what has gone before. The Bishop has no objections and when I spoke to your former husband, he seemed pleased.’
She swallowed. ‘You . . . you have talked to John?’ A pang shot through her stomach and loins.
‘I saw him at court at Devizes. He spoke of your loyalty and duty.’
She bit her lip. The words were like thorns. ‘It was all in vain though,’ she said. ‘It didn’t stop him from casting me off, or our marriage being a sin against God.’
‘There are no ties of consanguinity between us,’ de Gai said gently. ‘And his loss will be my gain.’
Aline looked down and tried to think. What choice did she have? If she refused him, other suitors would come sniffing around. He seemed decent enough, and if he was the Bishop’s first choice, then she ought to take him. She had been lonely and frightened for a long time - even before the dissolution of her marriage to John. She didn’t have the courage to ride the whirlwind even while she admired its fierce, elemental beauty. Dear Virgin, what should she do? Her voice stuck in her throat. She couldn’t say yes, she couldn’t say no. She tugged on her prayer beads, willing an answer.
Maria Regina . . . salve . . . salve . . .
The string suddenly snapped in a shower of golden bees. Aline stared at the dangling mouse tail of waxed string in her hands, and then at the beads strewn far and wide, no longer in order but scattered, reflecting the chaos of her mind. One had landed in de Gai’s lap. He brushed it off on to the floor, his expression impassive.
Maria Regina . . . salve . . . salve . . .
The string suddenly snapped in a shower of golden bees. Aline stared at the dangling mouse tail of waxed string in her hands, and then at the beads strewn far and wide, no longer in order but scattered, reflecting the chaos of her mind. One had landed in de Gai’s lap. He brushed it off on to the floor, his expression impassive.
‘Leave them,’ he said when she reached to pick them up. ‘I will buy you new ones as a marriage gift.’ He held out his hand.
With trembling fingers, Aline slowly passed him the cord and the few remaining beads still strung on it. Her prayer, it seemed, had received a reply.
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