Shadows and Strongholds (68 page)

Joscelin joined them. His expression was strained and now that he was not wearing his cloak, Hawise was frightened to see how thin he was. His court tunic of purple wool hung on his body and his seal ring of thick gold was loose on his middle linger. It was as if without her mother, and without Ludlow, he was diminished.

A fanfare of trumpets announced the arrival of the King. Brunin struggled down on one knee and beside him heard Joscelin hiss with pain as he too was hampered by his wounds. Despite the gravity of the moment, Brunin found himself grinning with dark humour.

The King seated himself on a throne on the dais, magnates and bishops to either side of him. Henry was wearing a formal tunic in the same shade of purple as the cushion padding the seat of the throne and a pleated undergarment of wine-red silk. The colours clashed with his fox-red hair, and the brooch at his throat was lopsided, but even at the best of times Brunin knew that Henry cared little for the formality of appearance—unlike his chancellor. Thomas Becket was resplendent in a gown of red silk, stiff with gemstones and embroidery. His expression was stiff too, as if he had been curling his lip at a stink beneath his nose and his face had frozen.

There were other marcher barons among the gathering, some allies, some not, but mostly men who were neutral in the contention between de Lacy and de Dinan. It was not the only argument over which Henry had to make judgement, and since the court was waiting to move on, the King was disposed to be swift. He dealt with a couple of land disputes and the matter of awarding custody of the juvenile heir of a recently deceased baron to a guardian, and then he addressed himself to the business of Ludlow, commanding Joscelin and Gilbert de Lacy to approach the foot of the dais.

Henry leaned his elbow on his raised knee and propped his hand on his chin. 'Ludlow,' he said. The grey eyes flickered between Joscelin and Gilbert de Lacy. Both men had known Henry when he was a stripling youth with an army of rag-tag mercenaries at his back, striving to win a kingdom, striving for something he saw plainly as his yet held by another man. Now he was a king and, despite the clashing hues of his garments, despite the skewed brooch and the way he sat on the throne like an artisan, there was still no mistaking his charisma and authority.

'I have heard all the arguments, all the reasons why and why not. Time and again I have heard them and been reminded by your warring.' He glanced briefly at the men gathered around him. 'Some here have counselled me to punish you both, and keep Ludlow in my own hands, and I admit I have given that notion more than passing consideration.' He paused to add weight to his words and let their implication settle upon the men.

Beside him., Brunin felt Hawise's breathing quicken and saw her bite her lip. This was it. The moment when all was won or lost. Gold or dust. He took her hand in his and felt her fear, as icy as his own. In the heat of battle he could be as steady and indifferent as granite, but that was not how he felt now: for this was a different sort of battle… and there was nothing he could do for Joscelin.

'However' Henry stroked his beard—'I suspect in so doing I would be cutting off my nose to spite my face.'

There was another long pause. Brunin surmised that Henry was rather enjoying the drama of the moment and the exercising of his royal power.

'You both have a claim on Ludlow. Lord Gilbert through his father, who had the castle taken out of his hands for fomenting rebellion in the time of my great-uncle, King William Rufus, Lord Joscelin through his wife Sybilla Talbot, who is of de Lacy blood through her mother.' Henry looked between the two men and raised his voice to encompass the barons standing around the throne. 'I call upon all present to bear witness. It is my ruling that Gilbert de Lacy be given full seisin of the castle of Ludlow in perpetuity, to be held of him and his heirs by me and my heirs.'

Joscelin stood as rigid as an effigy. For a moment de Lacy was frozen too, and then a beatific smile broke over his face as well it might, for the King's words were a vindication of all the long years of struggle. Brunin bowed his head and stared at the floor. He could feel the rage and disappointment shimmering inside him like a heat haze on a summer day.

'No,' he heard Hawise whisper. 'Dear Jesu, no. He cannot do this to us.'

He had done it at Whittington, Brunin thought, but that was nothing. A mere pinprick compared to an open sword wound.

'Nevertheless,' Henry said into the silence of shock and joy created by his decision, Joscelin de Dinan and Sybilla Talbot are due compensation for their loyalty to my mother and myself during the long years of the war. Therefore I give to them in perpetuity our manor of Lambourn and its appurtenances, worth in total seventy-six pounds a year.'

It was in all senses of the word a kingly gift and, even if it was not Ludlow and had no castle, was almost a fitting exchange. But still, the initial humiliation and swallowing of pride came hard, as did the acknowledgement of defeat. Joscelin bowed his head. So did de Lacy, but raised it again, his gaze incandescent with triumph and joy.

There was little more to do after that but for the men to make their oaths to Henry for their lands, to put their hands between his and receive the kiss of peace. And then to give the kiss of peace to each other. All eyes were upon them and for an instant the tension was as tight as a drawn bowstring. Joscelin hesitated. So did de Lacy. Brunin's hand went to his sword hilt for reassurance, and found no comfort. No man was permitted into the King's presence with a blade at his hip.

Gilbert de Lacy held out his hand to Joscelin. 'It is over,' he said. 'If I cannot call you friend, then at least let us no longer be enemies.'

There was grace in the words and Joscelin responded to them with a stiff nod and slowly raised his hand to clasp de Lacy's. The men leaned towards each other and performed the ritual of the kiss of peace. It was a brief salutation and they parted quickly, but a look passed between them, compounded of all the volatile emotions that had dogged their struggle down the years. Perhaps the best that could be salvaged was a grudging respect.

The audience broke up on the heels of the decision, for the King desired to be on his way to Woodstock and the outriders had already set out to secure grazing for the horses and lodging for those who were accompanying the royal household. Gilbert de Lacy left too, to secure his confirmed inheritance and retrieve it from royal custody. Joscelin remained where he was, staring numbly at the empty throne. An attendant had removed the purple cloth from the seat and carried the fabric out of the hall to one of the baggage carts. Men eyed him sidelong and avoided him with embarrassment and uncertainty in their faces. The world swirled and moved around him in a bright array of courtly colour and left him both at its centre and on its periphery.

Slowly he became aware of a presence beside him and looked up, expecting to see Brunin and Hawise. He both dreaded and desired their sympathy and comfort, knowing he was not ready to face them. But it wasn't them, it was Sybilla, which was infinitely more satisfying and infinitely worse.

Her garments were mud-spattered and she was grey with fatigue, but her eyes were burning as they had burned in his dream. He tried to meet them, yet, unable to sustain the contact, turned his head aside. 'I am glad you were not here when Henry gave Ludlow to Gilbert de Lacy,' he said. 'I could not have borne it.' His voice cracked. 'Indeed I am not sure that I can bear it now'

He did not look at her because he feared what he would see. Anger, rejection, disappointment, anguish? In the early days of their marriage, when she was still mourning her first husband and hostile with grief, he had sworn to her that he would hold Ludlow. He had set out to prove that he was as good as the man she had lost—perhaps better—and he had failed.

'Henry did not wait for me,' she said. 'I thought he might have done me that courtesy at least.'

'It would have changed nothing, and at least you were spared.' Joscelin clenched his fists.
And at least I was spared your presence as he stripped my pride
.

'Perhaps I did not want to be spared.'

'No,' he said bleakly, 'but how often do we get what we want? He has given us a rich manor out of his own estate in compensation.'

'Yes, Lambourn. I saw Hawise outside with Brunin and they told me.'

'But it isn't Ludlow.'

'No, it isn't.'

Her voice was pitched low and he wondered if he imagined the note of bitterness. Probably not. 'I know it meant everything to you… I have failed…' The only way to leave was to face her and it took all of his courage. Two attendants brushed by them, their faces studiously blank, but Joscelin could almost see their ears stretched like trumpets. The men picked up and removed the throne, leaving indentations in the new green rushes.

Sybilla barred Joscelin's way. Her eyes were swimming with tears and new lines of care tracked her face. Although she stood erect and proud, Joscelin could see the price she was paying. His heart turned over as strongly as it had done the first time he laid eyes on her: standing in Ludlow's bailey; a small daughter under either wing, and her head high as he rode through the gates to take the castle, and her, in King Stephen's name.

'I do not deny that Ludlow means much to me,' she said tremulously. 'How could it not when I have loved and lived and laughed and mourned there since being a new bride. But you are wrong: it is not everything, and if you think that, then I too have failed.'

He shook his head 'No, beloved, no… you have never…' He could not continue.

'Oh, I have, and we both know it.' She moved closer and raised her hand to touch his face. 'There are times when we have ridden the storms of each other's differences and resentments. You have trodden paths on which you would never have set foot were it not for my urging.' She broke off and searched his face. 'But you need to know that I would follow you barefoot in my shift and still be the proudest woman in England.'

The declaration closed Joscelin's throat. He turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand, tasting salt and the grit of hard travelling.

'Let us go to Lambourn,' she said. 'Let us cease striving and sit in the sun for a while at least. Ludlow was my pride, but I still have my soul… and the greater part of my heart. In the end, it is not the stones that matter, but the people who dwell within them. I do not want to end my days like the lady Mellette—an embittered old woman locked up in a barren fortress of her own making.'

Joscelin shook his head and managed a tentative smile.

She gave him a questioning look. 'What?'

'A moment ago I was on my knees and looking into darkness,' he said in a fractured voice. 'And now, out of nothing, you give my pride and esteem back to me… but you are wrong.'

She eyed him askance. 'Why?'

'I would not have you follow me, but walk at my side.'

They kissed like young lovers and it was a sweet and poignant moment that gave a brightening of hope to defeat.

'Oh, in Christ's sweet name, there isn't going to be a wedding!' Ernalt snarled at Marion. 'The court's going to Woodstock and we are bound for Ludlow.' Temper flashed in his eyes. There were dung stains on his tunic where he had been thrown down by the usher's bodyguards and he was spoiling for a fight.

Marion bit her lip. 'But you said—'

'Whatever I said was to keep you quiet, like a nurse giving a babe a honey sucket.'

She stared at him with stricken eyes. 'Then when are we to be married?'

'Haven't you understood yet?' he said, taking pleasure in the expression that his cruelty put on her face. 'You're a tasty morsel when you're not whining, but men do not marry their morsels.' He turned his back on her and strode off towards the sward where the de Lacy tents were pitched.

Marion stared after him, her world dissolving. The woman Griselde had warned her but she had preferred to pay no heed. She could appeal to Lord Gilbert, but she doubted she would reap much cooperation from that quarter. He had been prepared to use her to gain his ends, but the fact that she had been willing: to betray her own people meant that he viewed her with suspicion and would rather not accept her as a legitimate part of his household.

She had nowhere to go, no one to take her part unless… Weeping, she turned towards the castle.

Since the court was leaving the city, there was suddenly a glut of accommodation far better than the ramshackle hovel where Brunin and Hawise had spent the previous night. Unlike Henry, they had no plans to move on until the morrow at least, and thus transferred themselves to the castle's great hall. Leaving Hawise talking to her parents and his grandmother seated at a bench on the dais, imagining herself a great lady at court, Brunin went with the knights to bring Jester and the other horses from the outbuildings at the rear of their former dwelling. He was returning to the castle when Marion stepped out across his path and he had to clutch the bridle close to the headstall to prevent the horse from barging her with its shoulder. She had ever been foolish like that. About as much sense as a headless chicken when it came to being around horses… and men, he thought grimly. 'Go on,'

he said to the knight following immediately behind him and handed over Jester's reins. 'I'll join you in a moment.'

With a ferocious scowl at Marion, the knight clicked his tongue to Jester and continued on his way. The grooms ignored her, omitting to bow, and the Serjeant bringing up the rear spat in the dust at her feet and growled a curse under his breath. Marion's expression filled with distress.

'What did you expect?' Brunin said with curt hostility. 'What you have done is unforgivable, except by God. You always wanted to bring men to their knees. Well, you have your wish. Are you pleased?'

She looked at him through shimmering eyes. 'I never meant it to happen like this…'

'Well, it has, and it's too late to undo any of it,' he said, his tone growing savage in order to negate the pity stirring inside him. 'You have made your bed, so now go and lie in it.'

She started to cry and, as the tears spilled over her lashes and ran down her face, she pressed her hands to her belly. 'I can't,' she sobbed. 'He wants me for his whore, not his wife, and I am carrying his child.'