The Autumn Throne (43 page)

Hamelin recognised the injured man as a groom of John’s household who had recently been promoted to the post of messenger. He was in his late twenties and far too young to be facing death. ‘Bring the chaplain,’ he commanded. ‘Make haste.’ He turned to Haregrim. ‘Was he carrying any letters?’

‘No, sire, nothing. All he had was his purse and his knife.’

Hamelin frowned. It was odd that he bore no message – unless of course it was a verbal one. Crouching, he spoke in
the messenger’s ear. ‘You are sore wounded,’ he said. ‘We will care for your body and soul, but is there information you want me to pass to your lord? Where were you bound?’

The man’s features contorted and he coughed, spraying blood from his mouth. ‘I need to find the Count of Mortain,’ he gasped.

‘He is not here; he has gone to Howden, but I can send on your message.’

The messenger weakly shook his head. ‘For my lord’s ears alone.’

Hamelin’s jaws tightened. ‘Your loyalty commends you but you may tell me. Until yesterday he was a guest under my roof.’

‘It is a sacred trust. Cannot …’ He shuddered and his eyes rolled up in his head.

Father Hugh arrived in haste clutching the chrism box, his stole unevenly draped around his neck, and his hair sticking up around his tonsure. The gathering stepped aside to allow him to administer extreme unction. Moments later the young man died, clasping the cross Father Hugh had placed in his hands.

‘Search him properly,’ Hamelin commanded. ‘Be respectful, but do it. Check the lining of his cloak and tunic.’

Giving a brusque nod, Haregrim patted the dead man’s garments, checking for sewn-in pockets. He delicately searched inside the braies and leg bindings and also his shoes.

‘Nothing, sire.’

‘His hat,’ Hamelin gestured.

Haregrim picked it up and looked inside. ‘Lice,’ he said, grimacing. He felt the braid surrounding the edge of the cap and suddenly stopped. Unsheathing his knife, he used the tip to rip the stitching, and plucked out a thin strip of parchment curled around a ring set with a Roman intaglio. Hamelin narrowed his eyes. The strip of parchment was a code strip and the only way to read it was to wrap it around a dowel that had been created to decipher the words. Such things
could be broken, but it might take weeks of work, and there was no one here with sufficient experience or ability.

Turning on his heel he sought Belle, dragged her by the arm to his chamber and ordered the servants to leave.

‘Tell me,’ he said as the door closed. ‘What business does John have in France? Do not say you do not know because you will be lying. Mark me, if you do not tell me, I shall consider it treason.’

‘Why don’t you ask my brother?’ Belle pulled free and rubbed her arm. ‘He is in John’s entourage and a party to all he does.’

Hamelin gave her a hard look. ‘Your brother is not here, even though he soon will be, but in the meantime you will answer me or face the consequences. Again, what business does John have in France?’

Belle flashed him a resentful look, but her sense of self-preservation led her to reply, albeit that she almost spat the words. ‘Philippe of France has offered John his sister Alais in marriage and Richard’s lands if he will come to him and do homage for them. John is considering whether to accept the offer since Richard has made it clear he would rather name the child Arthur as his heir and let John fend for himself.’

Hamelin felt as if she had punched him in the stomach. He should have expected something like this, but again had been too trusting. ‘You would have kept this to yourself?’

‘I saw no reason to speak. My brother knows it too, and he has not told you.’

‘Do not use him as your excuse,’ he growled. ‘John has already ruined your life once, and he will do it again. Go now to your mother, and do not move from her chamber and the company of the women lest I see fit to confine you further than this – understood?’

‘Yes, my father.’ She swept him a deep curtsey which made him clench his teeth. In hindsight they should have found her a firmer husband than the elderly Robert de Lacy, but it only
brought the blame back to him and Isabel and he had neither the time nor the inclination to go down that road.

Swallowing his fury, he called for his scribe and messengers because letters needed to be sent in haste to the justiciars and to the Queen. Whatever happened, John could not be allowed to sail for France.

A freezing February dusk had fallen as a saddle-sore Alienor rode into Windsor. She had pushed the horses and herself hard to reach the castle in two days from Portsmouth. The crossing from Normandy had been appalling and on several occasions she had thought the ship was going to capsize and make them all food for the fishes. She had weathered the battering because she did not suffer from sickness, but Belbel and Amiria were still groggy and nauseous.

As she drew rein in the courtyard, William Marshal emerged from a doorway and stood at her stirrup to help her dismount, and she was very glad of his assistance, for her hips and thighs had set like stone.

‘Madam.’ He bowed. ‘I am glad to see you and sorry you have had to cross the sea in such difficult weather.’

His expression was serious and shadowed, but he retained his air of dependable strength.

‘I am sorry too, but needs must.’ She indicated her travel-spattered gown. ‘Is John here?’

William inclined his head. ‘Yes, madam, the Count of Mortain arrived a few hours ago.’

‘Good, then at least he is prepared to talk.’ She lowered her voice. ‘But should he take thought to leave without greeting his mother I want you to prevent him – with courtesy.’

‘It is already in hand, madam,’ he replied. ‘The Archbishop of Rouen issued the order the moment we received news from my lord de Warenne.’

‘Good,’ Alienor said with a brisk nod.

He escorted her to the chamber that had been prepared, matching his pace to hers but in such a way that it did not
seem as if he was deliberately slowing to make allowances for her stiffness, and his courtliness warmed her.

A fire glowed in the hearth, giving off welcome heat, and a clean linen cloth covered a platter of bread, cheese and cold meat. The bed was made up and piled with extra furs. As servants went round the room lighting candles and lamps and dealing with her baggage, she said to William, ‘I understand you have added to your family since last we spoke.’

He smiled. ‘Indeed, madam. My namesake will be two years old in the spring, and Richard was born in October. Not only the King’s name, but he has red hair too.’

Alienor congratulated him, but then sighed. ‘Sons,’ she said. ‘May yours make you proud and grow up not to give you sleepless nights, but I fear it is the way of the world.’

‘They already give me sleepless nights,’ he said ruefully.

‘But not as much now as they will when they are older. Still, you need not worry about that for a while. I shall write to your wife and send a gift for your son. I shall talk to you more in a little while.’

William bowed and withdrew. Alienor sighed again, relieving tension and feeling lighter for that moment of banter with William. Warming herself at the fire, she ate some of the bread and cheese and drank a cup of wine. Amiria was still suffering from sickness, but Belbel had recovered sufficiently to help Alienor dress in a gown from her baggage, a favourite one of plain dark red wool with embroidered gold bands around the top of the sleeves.

Rested and refreshed, Alienor bade Amiria go to bed and, taking Belbel with her and a squire with a lantern, made her way to John’s chamber.

Since he was not in the room, she made herself comfortable to wait. A chess set and gaming board stood in the embrasure, and there was a book seat, the lid raised to reveal several volumes, one with a jewelled clasp. A piece of parchment was curled on a coffer, writing scrawled on the shadowed underside. Knowing full well John would not leave anything important so exposed
unless by deliberate intent, she took a glance. It was a letter from his bastard son Richard, the writing unsteady and imperfect, but the heartfelt effort was obvious and there was an illustration of a characterful dappled horse in the margin that made her smile. Richard informed his father that he was studying hard and doing everything he was told. Alienor’s feelings towards John softened as she read the words. Clearly he was doing the right thing by his son and the child loved him. It was a great pity that brotherly love was not so easily come by.

Sitting down, she helped herself to a cup of wine and a piece of preserved pear from a dish of candied fruits – a sweetmeat she had never been able to resist.

She had drunk half the wine before the door finally opened and John entered. He stopped abruptly for an instant and then advanced into the room. ‘Mama, I did not know you had arrived.’

‘Indeed?’ Alienor raised her brows. ‘It is very remiss of no one to tell you.’

He knelt to her, and she kissed him and bade him rise. The shadowy light made a dark gleam of his eyes. His expression was wary – as well it might be. It was the first time she had seen him since setting out for Navarre eighteen months ago and the last childhood softness had been subsumed in the harder features of the grown man. She could almost feel the danger emanating from him, like sparks in a thunderstorm.

‘Shall I send for food?’ he asked.

‘I am not in need. I have had wine and sweetmeats to keep me company while I’ve been waiting.’

She resumed her seat and arranged the folds of her gown in a sweep of blood-red cloth. ‘Sit.’ She gestured him to the chair at her side. ‘I wish to speak with you as a mother to a son and since I have crossed the sea in midwinter to do so, it behoves you to listen and give me a full answer.’

He hesitated, but after a moment poured himself some wine and sat down. ‘What do you want to say, Mama? Whatever it is, I am not certain you will change my mind.’

‘I understand
why you might want to accept the offer Philippe of France has made to you. It is a great temptation, but you are mistaken if you believe he is doing it out of benevolence. His intention is to drive a wedge between you and Richard.’

John shrugged. ‘Richard has driven in a wedge of his own. What am I to think when I hear he has disinherited me in favour of an infant? What message does that convey beyond contempt for my position?’

‘That was expedience in a tight corner. When he returns he will reverse it, but not if you continue on this path. I cannot let you cross the Narrow Sea and go to Philippe.’

His lip curled with contempt. ‘So first I am not permitted to set foot in England and then I am not allowed out of it. You play me both ways, and then wonder why I take the game into my own hands. Without me, the Bishop of Ely and his grand conniving for power would have brought England to its knees.’

‘But he has been dealt with and replaced by the Archbishop of Rouen. You acted decisively in this and I am proud of you, but this other matter smacks not of high ideals but of grubby scheming. You know full well that Alais is soiled goods and yet you would make her your wife and bring her into our family?’

‘Yes I would,’ John answered in a hard voice. ‘Why not when I have to make my own way in the world?’

Alienor controlled the urge to slap him. In naming Arthur his heir, Richard had done more damage than he knew, and she would only compound it by raging. ‘You are born of my own body,’ she said in a softer tone. ‘I carried you in my womb for nine months even as I carried Richard. I love you dearly, but this discord cannot continue. You are all I have left in the world that I love. You and Richard must ride side by side instead of tilting against each other.’

‘Richard should remember that too,’ John said stiffly.

‘I know that, and he has received the same words from me. But for you,
it is not seemly that you should jostle in a foreign court for attention. You must put your self-interest aside and work for the common good. That is what it is to be a prince or a king. You may think you are weaving a fine braid by including the King of France in your design, but in truth you are weaving with a dagger that will cut the threads as it goes in and out.’

John said nothing.

‘As I love you, I take it that you love me, and for my sake I want you to put aside this intention of yours and seek a different path.’ She reached across and touched his knee in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Come, we can discuss this and see what benefits might accrue to you for your forbearance. Perhaps some new wardships and governmental duties.’

He shifted in his chair and she sensed an uncoiling within him and thought that she might have broken through. ‘I might be willing to negotiate,’ he said grudgingly. ‘But what Philippe offers is worth a great deal to me.’

Alienor bit her tongue on asking him if Philippe’s offer was worth more than his loyalty and integrity. Having castigated him she needed to soothe and repair. ‘It is now, but it would not turn out to be a bargain in the future.’

‘I will think on it,’ he said.

Alienor stood up. ‘I need your oath on this, my son.’

‘Then I give you my oath that I will think on it, Mama,’ he said, refusing to be moved. ‘But I cannot give it now, and I am not a child to be offered sops of comfort in the place of true value.’

She clasped her hands around his. ‘I know that. Promise me you will not suddenly ride out tonight and take ship for Normandy.’

His lips curved, but there was no humour in his eyes. ‘Yes, I promise,’ he said, and withdrew from her grasp.

Alienor recognised his attempt to control and manipulate the situation. ‘Then I shall see you tomorrow in council.’ She made to leave, but on her way, she turned. ‘I saw your letter.’

His gaze sharpened with suspicion. ‘What letter?’

‘From your
son … unless you have another?’

‘Ah.’ He went to pick up the piece of parchment from the coffer.

‘He clearly loves you and wants to please you, and I think you are fond of him.’ She spoke warmly, but still hinted how much he had to lose by going over to Philippe.

‘It is said there is truth in wine, and the same can be applied to small children. For the rest we live on lies – all of us.’