The Autumn Throne (24 page)

Alienor took her newborn grandson, fresh from his first bath, and cradling him tenderly in her arms brought him to her daughter. Matilda lay in bed, supported by pillows and bolsters, her face drained of colour and her eyes heavy with exhaustion. However a joyful smile lit her face as she held out her arms for the baby. He had not yet been swaddled and she counted his miniature fingers and toes and kissed his soft skin. Fine glints of red gold sparkled where the light caught the top of his head.

‘You have done well,’ Alienor said proudly. ‘What a beautiful child. I am so glad you came to Winchester for your confinement.’ She brushed tears from her eyes. After the heartache of losing Harry, and amid the continuing strife and troubles that set father against son and brother against brother, the miracle of this snuffling, squawking little scrap of life was a treasure beyond value.

‘I am glad too, Mama.’ Matilda kissed the baby again and returned him to Alienor. ‘Will you take him and show him to everyone?’

‘You could not stop me!’ Smiling, Alienor tucked the blanket around her new grandson to keep him warm and protected. Once returned to the confinement chamber he would be wrapped in swaddling to keep his limbs straight and true, but first he had to be shown and acknowledged. He was to be christened Wilhelm; his parents had agreed upon the name while he was still in the womb. ‘Rest. I will return in a short
while.’ Having kissed her daughter’s damp brow, she went out to show him to his waiting family.

Heinrich was elated to greet his son. Clearly used to handling small babies he cradled him in his arms with confidence, and pride. The other children crowded round to look at their new sibling. Richenza was fascinated, her brothers slightly less so and they soon returned to their play, but she stayed and put her finger in the baby’s hand and smiled as he tightened his grip around it.

Alienor liked Heinrich, although she had been cautious at first. He was not much younger than she was, but still hale and vigorous, as attested by the offspring he had sired, and by his ability to continue begetting them. He loved them dearly, and was plainly very fond of Matilda. Their household was busy and boisterous, filled with loud voices and laughter, and even if it was wearing at times, there was much to be said for that kind of treasure.

Henry arrived to inspect his new grandson, although did not offer to hold him. ‘A fine child,’ he opined, and tickled the baby under the chin, making him screw up his little face and mew. His air was preoccupied. With Richard still refusing to cooperate over the matter of Aquitaine, he had given John and Geoffrey free rein to invade Poitou and bring him to heel by force. However, it was proving to be unfruitful. The brothers had taken to raiding each other’s border lands in what amounted to no more than tit-for-tat squabbles and Henry’s ill-conceived instruction had stirred further bitterness into the brew. Having received news of yet another abortive, expensive skirmish that morning, his mood was as sour as a windfall apple.

Alienor said nothing to him about the situation. The results were evident; sooner or later he would have to accept that Richard would not budge over the matter of Aquitaine. Henry would have to find an alternative for John and mollify Geoffrey, who held Brittany and Richmond, in right of his wife, but had precious little from his parental inheritance.

She was about to return the baby to his mother when more
children trooped into the bower to greet the newcomer. One was Henry’s son by his former mistress Ida de Tosney, an engaging, fastidious little boy with his mother’s dark hair and melting brown eyes. Alienor did not blame the child for the circumstances of his birth; they were not his fault, and although only four years old, he had beautiful manners. His small companion had soft brown hair and blue eyes very like her own. He was barely more than a toddler but he had his first words and was already steady on his feet. John’s son born of Belle de Warenne was a sunny, uncomplicated little boy, his nature the complete opposite of his mercurial, dissatisfied father. Sit him down with a toy, tell him a story, cuddle him, and he was blissfully content. Belle had married the middle-aged Robert de Lacy last year, but Alienor knew nothing beyond that, nor did she particularly wish to.

Richard gave his new baby cousin a kiss on the cheek, and then for good measure kissed his four-year-old uncle too. His simple affection made Alienor smile and think that perhaps there was hope for future generations after all.

Matilda’s recuperation from Wilhelm’s birth was slow but steady and by the time she was churched in August she had almost recovered. She had new robes for the occasion and Heinrich gave her a belt sewn with pearls and sapphires.

Alienor’s apartments were in a state of constant activity, busy with ladies, children, dogs, and the coming and going of numerous servants. She had grown close to Matilda during their time together and it was delightful to have company and conversation in her life again. Her daughter was warm and merry and her presence lightened Alienor’s days, as did the children with their amusing antics. She was closely watched by Henry’s guards, but her bonds were looser, and if she did not think too hard, she could almost imagine she had a degree of freedom.

One September afternoon she was sitting with Matilda, watching over the baby and playing a finger counting game with her grandson Richard, when Henry hobbled into the
chamber, a fearsome scowl on his face. His limp was caused not by the old leg wound that so often pained him but by a sorely inflamed toenail. A piece of parchment was clenched in his fist.

‘Enough,’ he said abruptly. ‘This has to end.’

‘Two, fee, six!’ Richard cried triumphantly. ‘Seven, nine, ten!’

Alienor hugged him and signalled to his nurse, Agatha, to take charge of him. ‘What has to end?’

‘Richard.’ He shook the letter at her. ‘He has invaded Brittany. I tell you I will not stand for any more of his warmongering.’

‘As I recall, he did not start this fight. It was you who sent Geoffrey and John into Poitou with sanction to make war on him. What was he supposed to do? Open the door wide and invite them in with a bow? I agree with you that enough is enough. Arrange a truce and think again about the division of the inheritance.’

‘I will not have Richard flouting my will, do you hear me?’

‘Then treat him fairly. The sword has two edges. You should never have agreed to give John Aquitaine. Let him have Ireland as you originally planned.’

Henry leaned against a trestle to take the weight off his feet. ‘I have a nest full of eaglets, and they strive to tear me to pieces.’ His mouth twisted. ‘They would devour me to the last bloody morsel given the chance.’

‘You devour yourself,’ she retorted. ‘You turn on them and you pluck the feathers from their wings so they cannot fly the nest but have to fight you for their place.’

‘What are you going to do, Papa?’ Matilda hastily intervened between her parents to move the situation forward before it became entrenched.

He exhaled heavily. ‘Recall them. Let them come to me here and I will listen to what they have to say, and in their turn, they will listen to me – and then do my will.’

‘Do you truly believe that will happen?’ Alienor was astounded at his blindness. ‘You do not know your sons, any
of them, and yet they are so like you. Their will is a mirror of yours, and that is why they will not listen.’

‘I begot them.’ Henry’s eyes were bright with anger. ‘I own them. They do not own me, and therein lies the difference.’ He shot her a warning look. ‘You will support me in this, madam.’

Alienor inclined her head. ‘I will do all I can because I have no desire to see my sons destroy themselves fighting each other – look what happened to Harry. But I will not condone you giving Aquitaine to John. He is not my heir, and he is much too young.’

Henry’s jaw worked, but he said nothing and in his gaze, behind the anger, was something more – a spark of calculation that made Alienor wary.

‘For now, I will recall them,’ he said. ‘And then we shall see.’ He pushed himself off the trestle and limped off about his business.

‘He is planning something,’ Alienor said, narrow-eyed. ‘I do not know what, but I could almost see the ideas turning in his mind.’

Matilda gave an impatient shrug. ‘Papa is always planning something, and I cannot remember a time when my brothers were not fighting each other, and it was always over possessions.’

Alienor heaved a weary sigh. ‘What can I do? Even if I talk to them, I will never tell Richard to give up Aquitaine. He has been my chosen heir from the moment he left my womb and entered the world. Ah, I don’t know.’ She waved an exasperated hand. ‘God grant you have no such troubles with your own little ones.’

Now it was Matilda’s turn to sigh. ‘I pray that our petition to the Pope is successful and that eventually we can return to Saxony. I am happy to be here, Mama, and to have your succour, but I am Heinrich’s loyal wife and this is not where he belongs.’ She slid her mother an anxious look.

Alienor hugged her in reassurance. ‘Your father is doing everything in his power to mediate with the Pope and the
Emperor. He may not deal fairly with his own sons, but when matters are a step removed he sees more clearly, and he has considerable skill. He will succeed for you and Heinrich, I promise – and I do not make promises lightly, especially when your father is involved.’ A sudden, unexpected feeling of warmth stabbed her heart. Time and again when she thought all feelings but hate for Henry were dead, something would snag her like a thorn on the stem of a living rose and she would bleed anew.

Entering the chamber, John’s gaze was immediately drawn to the small boy sitting on Dame Agatha’s knee chattering happily to her as she cuddled him. John experienced an unfamiliar feeling of tenderness. A sense of possession was present too, but with a gentler awareness. And pride, because although his sisters had borne boys, he was the only one of his brothers to have sired a son. Geoffrey’s wife Constance had birthed a daughter earlier in the year, revealing to everyone that Geoffrey’s seed had not been strong enough to make a male child. But this little boy was living proof of his own superior virility.

Agatha hastily rose to curtsey. ‘Sire,’ she said, ‘I did not see you.’

John was pleased. He enjoyed walking quietly round the edges and going unnoticed until he was ready. For a time Agatha had been his own nurse and he had sought her out to care for his precious son. Gesturing her to sit, he crouched to tousle Richard’s sunny-brown hair. He was determined to be a good father, better than his own was to him. Despite the hand-wringing of others over the circumstances of his birth, John did not have an instant’s remorse or regret.

‘I am your papa,’ he said. ‘Can you say that word?’

The little boy nodded and swung his legs. ‘Papa,’ he repeated.

‘That’s right.’ As John scooped him up in his arms, his sense of possession intensified. He had created him, and Richard belonged to him as nothing and no one else did. The child didn’t cry or wriggle to get away, but eyed him fearlessly,
without subterfuge. ‘You are mine; I own you.’ The last words were said with a double meaning of acknowledgement, and possession. ‘I am well pleased with him,’ he told Agatha.

‘Indeed, sire,’ she replied fondly. ‘Everyone falls under the spell of his charm.’

‘Ah then, he takes after his father.’

There was a sound behind the door, a soft footfall of someone else who was acting in stealth, and John was suddenly alert. ‘Come forward,’ he commanded, angry and a little fearful that he was now the one being stalked and observed.

In a swirl of red skirts and a glint of gold embroidery, Belle stepped into the light. A tight-fitting court dress revealed the curves of her figure, but she wore the full linen veil of a married woman, and it framed a face where the softness of girlhood had been replaced by the taut bone structure of an adult woman – one who had learned some difficult lessons. The hand that lifted the hem of her gown above her gilded shoes was adorned by a wedding ring.

He stared at her and she stared back defiantly.

‘I will not ask what you are doing here.’ He tightened his arms around his son. ‘That much is obvious.’

‘Papa!’ Richard wriggled.

‘I would not expect you to. In truth, I only came to look because when you have been wounded beyond healing, you cannot ignore the pain.’ Belle’s tone was bitter and dark. ‘You took many things from me on that day and what you gave in return will burden me for the rest of my life.’

‘You may see him as and when you choose,’ John said. ‘I will not prevent you.’

She shook her head. ‘That would not be wise, because it would only deepen the wound. Last time I saw him was when I bid him farewell at Shaftesbury’s gates when he was still suckling from the wet nurse. Now I am looking at a little boy. Then it will be a bigger boy and then a man, and all the voids of the years in between. It is too much, I see that now.’ She walked to the door but on the threshold she turned. ‘I ought
to curse you for what you did to me, but you are the father of my child, and I would not do that to our son.’ She went out, closing the door behind her with dignity.