The Greatest Knight (19 page)

“You could try being less extravagant and do more to watch your back,” John retorted. “I’m the King’s Marshal and head of our family, but I would be hard pressed to dress myself like a prince of the realm. What must the King think when he sees a landless knight robed in ermine and purple?”

William folded his arms defensively. “I don’t wear ermine and purple.”

“Near enough. Look at you now. That’s best Flemish twill and at least twice dyed to judge from the depth of colour, and the embroidery won’t have been cheap.”

William plucked his tunic. “It’s Clara’s. She’s skilled.”

“Yes, but how much does a yard of gold thread cost? I grant that your winter cloak’s only lined with sheepskin, but it’s trimmed with sable.”

William drew himself up. “I don’t see why you’re so bothered about my clothes.”

“You don’t want to see,” John replied with laboured patience. “William, you’re a rich man, and your wealth comes from the purse of your master, who cannot keep its strings closed. You know how little store the King sets by outward show. The sight of you clad like a magnate must sour his digestion. At least wear something sober and plain when you’re in his presence.”

Alais gave a slight shake of her head and laid her hand on her lover’s sleeve, warning him that he was pushing too hard.

“I dress myself out of my own coin, not my lord’s.” William’s tone was gritty with anger. “The only gifts of clothes I receive from him are the usual ones at Michaelmas and Christmas. The rest I earn myself on the tourney field.”

“I didn’t…”

“When I was de Tancarville’s knight I had to sell my cloak to make ends meet. I swore that I would never be in that position again, and I’ve worked at what I do best to keep that oath. Yes, I accept largesse from my lord, but I earn my keep; I’m no squanderer of his coin.” William swallowed and made a conscious effort to relax his clenched fists. He knew that when he had time to think at leisure rather than reacting to the moment, he would find much of what John was saying to him made sense.

“Then you should make it clear to the King, for he thinks that the money from his son’s coffers is all draining into yours. His health’s been poor and his temper as sour as verjuice since he lost Rosamund de Clifford.”

“I will not go justifying my expenditure to ward off petty gossip,” William said curtly. “Either the King knows my nature by now or he doesn’t. If he hadn’t trusted me, he would never have appointed me to the Young King’s household in the first place.”

“That was Queen Eleanor’s doing. He sees you as much her man as you are the Young King’s or his—and that’s true, isn’t it?” John spread his hands. “All I am saying is that you have made enemies as well as friends and you would be foolish not to heed what is being said about you.”

William paced to the end of the room and stared at the intricate stitchwork on the wall hanging. “The Young King is only staying with his father until Easter,” he said. “In truth I will be glad to return to Normandy and follow the tourneys. At least there I can meet my opponents helm to helm instead of fighting a murk of words.”

“You cannot do that for ever,” John said.

“No, but it suffices for now.” William turned to face his brother’s anxiety and censure. “I can look after myself,” he said. “I’ve survived the mêlée of court intrigue thus far.”

“You’ve been lucky,” John muttered darkly.

The conversation was curtailed by the arrival of Ancel who had been absent on administrative duties in Wantage. “It’s good to see you!” The young man strode up to William and embraced him with vigour. “We keep hearing of your tourney wins across the Narrow Sea, don’t we, John?”

Expression pained, John made a non-committal sound. Oblivious, Ancel continued: “Was it true that your helmet got stuck and you had to have a blacksmith prise it off?”

William chuckled. “Yes, that’s true. And when he did, I found a squire and two knights belonging to the Count of Champagne waiting to present me with a fresh pike!”

“I wish I could have been there! Is it also true about you and that herald of Philip of Flanders?”

“That depends,” William said cautiously.

“That he made up a song on the tourney field with the chorus ‘Marshal, give me a horse’ and that you jumped on your stallion, knocked some poor competitor off his destrier, and brought the horse to the herald.”

“Yes, I’m afraid that’s true as well.” William rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to be embarrassed.

Ancel looked at William with shining eyes. “Do you think there’d be room for me in the Young King’s mesnie?”

John spluttered. William continued to rub the back of his neck. “As it happens, there might be,” he said thoughtfully. “One of the Normans has recently come into an inheritance and left the mesnie, so we’re a knight short.” He looked at Ancel, whose tail would have been wagging his rump off had he been a dog. “Don’t hope too hard,” he warned. “You’ll need to earn your place. It’ll be on merit alone and there will be fierce competition. Even if you are my brother, I cannot afford to carry dead weight.”

“You haven’t seen me fight. I’ll earn my place and more.” Ancel’s complexion was flushed and his breathing swift.

John heaved a sigh and threw up his hands. “I will say no more. There’s no point in shouting at the deaf.” He turned to Ancel. “I knew you’d go. You’ve been like a fledged swallow clinging to the eaves for far too long. But don’t blame me if you fly too close to the sun and singe your wings.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll look after him.” William gave his youngest brother a friendly cuff.

“That doesn’t reassure me,” John growled.

“I thought you were going to say no more?”

“I’m not. Just don’t provoke me. One of us needs the sense he was born with.”

“And the other two already have it.” William ducked as Ancel responded to the cuff by launching at him and for a moment they indulged in a bout of play-wrestling that left John shaking his head in despair and exasperation. However, despite the provocation, he managed to keep his mouth shut, even when his son ran into the room, stared at his uncles in astonishment, and then joined in with a howl of glee. Alais began laughing. John looked at her, then at the brawl. “You are all mad,” he said.

***

William returned to court by way of Salisbury and Queen Eleanor. Ancel was incandescent with excitement as they rode over the bridge and into the courtyard. William kept a straight face but inside he was chuckling, for Ancel, at six and twenty, was behaving like a green squire in his first year of service. At that age, William had already seen epic battle, had been a hostage, a courtier, and given charge of the military training of the heir to England and Normandy. “Remember to treat the Queen as if she is the most beautiful woman in the world, and you will not go far wrong,” William told his brother as they dismounted before the hall of whitewashed stone. He allowed himself a grin as the grooms took the horses away to the stables. “Don’t worry, the Queen is indeed one of the most beautiful women in the world. Age may have creased her loveliness, but it hasn’t withered it. You won’t have to lie.”

The brothers entered the great hall and William saw that as well as Eleanor’s usher and the watchful guards whose task it was to make sure that the Queen’s captivity remained just that, there were other servants whose faces were familiar. A swift enquiry brought forth the detail that, yes, the Young Queen was visiting her mother-by-marriage and she and Eleanor were closeted together in the royal apartments.

William was pleased. “Auspicious,” he said. “It is not every day that you get two queens for the price of one.” Ancel nervously plucked a lingering dog hair from his best tunic of dark red wool. “There is no need to fuss,” William said as he noticed the gesture. “They are both used to King Henry looking like a peasant. You’re presentable, and that’s enough.”

They waited in the hall while the usher sent a servant to inform the women of their arrival. William went among the men he knew, talking to them, picking up the new threads of court gossip. There was nothing about himself and no sign of an atmosphere, he was pleased to note. The act of leaving court to spend time with his family had obviously removed his own particular cooking pot from the fire—for the moment at least. He introduced Ancel to some of the men and then made his way over to Baldwin de Béthune.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you’d be with our young lord?”

Baldwin’s teeth flashed. “Someone had to escort the Young Queen to Sarum and I volunteered. Like you, I enjoy a change of air and it’s no onerous duty to be riding with a lady in the softness of spring.”

“No,” William agreed, but inwardly recoiled, remembering just such a spring day in Poitou, and the bloody battle that had changed everything.

“And this is Ancel?” Baldwin shook William’s brother by the hand. “You can tell that you’re both branches of the same tree. The women of the court won’t know what has hit them!”

Ancel flushed, prompting Baldwin to laugh. “A shy Marshal will certainly be a change for them,” he teased.

William took pity on his brother and diverted the subject. “The Queen is well?” he asked.

“Which one?” Baldwin sobered. “Eleanor is still as spry as a maid half her age, and twice as alluring. That’s another reason I agreed to make the journey; she’s better company than her husband. But Marguerite…” He hesitated and lowered his voice. “There was no child. It was a false hope.”

William’s gaze sharpened. “She miscarried?”

“I do not know. All that the Young King said was that she was not with child, and the mood he was in, no one was going to press him for details.”

A squire came to escort the brothers to Eleanor and Marguerite. Promising to talk to Baldwin later, William took Ancel by the sleeve and followed the youth to the Queen’s chamber. The door was open, suggesting that for the moment at least Eleanor was not confined to her room. The room itself was better furnished than his previous visit, the painted coffers restored to their places, embroideries brightening the walls, and the scented braziers Eleanor so loved gave the room a luxurious warmth that had been lacking before. Her day bed was made up with an embroidered silk coverlet and strewn with bolsters and cushions in all the rich deep shades he remembered from the years in Poitou. Marguerite sat on the edge of the bed, hemming a veil, and Eleanor was playing chess with one of her ladies. The other women attendants were mostly engaged in various pieces of needlecraft, although one was playing a harp and the delicate notes trembled in the air.

As the brothers knelt to the women, William thought that Marguerite looked wan and tired. Her eyes were over-bright and her smile forced. Eleanor was delighted and diverted by the visitors. “If I had known there was another Marshal so close to my prison and a fine chevalier, I would have been much comforted,” she said as Ancel bent the knee, his ears as red as embers.

“There is also my brother John, madam,” Ancel said, his nervousness drawing the words out of him like an accidental blot of ink on a piece of parchment. “Until recently I dwelt under his roof.”

The curve remained on Eleanor’s lips but lost some of its pleasure. “John Marshal is my husband’s man, although I am sure that he is as worthy as either of his brothers.” Her tone was neutral, but not the emotions behind it.

William would have kicked Ancel had he been able to do it without the women seeing. “Ancel is hoping to further his education,” he said smoothly. “Until now he has been little exposed to life beyond my brother’s manors.”

Eleanor’s smile softened, although her eyes held a disquieting gleam. “Then, Ancel Marshal, you have a lot to learn,” she said. “Listen to William and follow his advice. He knows how to make his way at court.” She turned to William. “If you are going to show him the world beyond his small window, make sure that he stays in it.” A desolate sheen filled her eyes. “Nothing burdens the soul more than the loss of freedom.”

***

The brothers dined with the women, the meal taken in the privacy of Eleanor’s chamber. William noticed that the fare had improved since his last visit too. Although it was Lent, there was pickled salmon and fresh shrimps, good wheaten bread to mop up the salty, piquant sauces, honey tart and almond custard. Ancel was nervous and talked more than he should, but Eleanor was endeared rather than irritated. “He reminds me a little of you when you were in your uncle of Salisbury’s service,” she teased William, pressing his arm. “You were never as talkative but your ears turned red just like that.”

“That was because I was often too innocent for the conversations, madam,” William responded with a straight face.

She tapped him lightly in reproof, but her eyes were laughing. “Does your brother sing too?”

William winced. “I would not malign my own flesh and blood, but Ancel has a voice like a rooster at dawn. He does play a hard game of chess though,” he said in mitigation. “You are an acknowledged expert, madam, but you would be hard pressed to beat him.”

She regarded Ancel with empathy. “I suppose we each have had little else to do of an evening but sharpen such skills. I will enjoy testing his mettle.”

Following the meal, Eleanor drew Ancel to sit in the window embrasure where the chessboard stood with its serried ranks of ivory and jet pieces. William grasped the opportunity to talk to Marguerite alone. She had been sitting on a bench close to a brazier, her sewing in her lap, but she had taken few stitches and was plainly uninterested in the project.