The Winter Crown (2 page)

Henry’s half-sister Emma handed Alienor a cup of wine, her hazel eyes shining. ‘I shall remember this all my life.’

Until Alienor’s marriage to Henry two years ago, Emma had dwelt at the abbey of Fontevraud in the hall for lay women. She and her brother Hamelin were Henry’s illegitimate half-siblings, and both had places in the household.

‘We all shall,’ Alienor said, and kissed her. She was fond of Emma, valuing both her gentle company and her embroidery skills.

Henry arrived, his energy still bubbling like a cauldron over a hot fire. He had exchanged his coronation robes for a tunic of everyday wool and donned a favourite pair of boots that were worn to the shape of his feet.

‘You look as if you are ready to spit on your hands and begin work.’ Giving him a knowing look, Alienor eased carefully down in a chair before the hearth and arranged her gown in a full sweep around her feet.

‘I am.’ Henry went to fiddle with an ivory chess set arranged ready for play on a small bench near the window. ‘Unfortunately I am constrained by the sleeping habits of others. If I don’t let them rest they become as dull as blunt knives.’ He shifted the pieces about to create a scenario of checkmate.

‘Perhaps you should take the opportunity to sleep for a few hours too.’

‘What use is there in being dead to the world?’ Abandoning the board he sat on the bench facing her and purloined her goblet for a swallow of wine. ‘The Archbishop of Canterbury will attend me at first light. He has a candidate to put forward for the position of chancellor.’

Alienor raised her brows. The business of bargaining for favour and position was hard apace. She had already deduced from their brief exchanges before the coronation that Theobald of Canterbury was a wily one. His benign, myopic expression concealed the fact that the man himself was as strong as sword steel. He had defied King Stephen and prevented Stephen’s eldest son Eustace from being acknowledged heir to England, for which he had been exiled for a time. His stand had kept Henry’s cause afloat and favours were owed. Theobald’s reputation for gathering around him men of rare and keen intellect was renowned.

‘Thomas Becket, his archdeacon and protégé,’ Henry said. ‘London born, but educated in Paris and eager to demonstrate his skills as a fiscal genius.’

‘How old is he?’

‘Thirties, so not in his dotage like half of them. I have spoken to him in passing but have not garnered any particular impression yet.’

‘Theobald must have a reason for putting him forward.’ She retrieved her wine from him.

‘Naturally he does. He wants one of his own in my household because he thinks to influence the way I govern and promote the interests of the Church. And the man will have a keen brain, I am certain.’ He gave a taut smile. ‘But if I choose this Thomas Becket, he will have to change allegiance. I do not mind men in my service seeking advancement, but never at my expense.’

Hearing the edge in his voice, she gave him a searching look.

He stood up, restless as a dog in a strange place. ‘Loyalty is a virtue rarer than hens’ teeth. My mother told me to trust no one and she is right.’

‘Ah, but you trust her, do you not?’

He sent her an evaluating glance. ‘I trust her with my life, and I trust that she always has my best interests at heart, but I do not always trust her judgement.’

There was a small, difficult silence. Alienor did not ask if he trusted his wife’s judgement, because she suspected his reply would disappoint her.

The child kicked again and she stroked her womb. ‘Quiet, little one,’ she murmured and gave Henry a rueful smile. ‘He is like you – barely sleeps and is always restless, especially in church. I think he was running a race during the coronation!’

Henry chuckled. ‘Doubtless he was excited at the notion of being born the son of a king. What children we shall make between us.’ He came to crouch at her side and took her smooth hands in his calloused ones, bridging the gap that had briefly opened between them. He strengthened the repair by sitting on the floor at her feet like a squire, while he shared her wine and asked her opinion upon matters pertaining to the appointment of other court officials. It was mostly him talking while she listened, because these were English affairs, and concerned men she barely knew, but she was pleased to be asked and ventured opinions here and there. They agreed that Nigel, Bishop of Ely, a former royal treasurer, should be persuaded out of retirement and his expertise used to set the exchequer to rights and start revenues flowing again. Richard de Lucy, a former official of King Stephen, would take up a senior administrative role together with Robert Beaumont, Earl of Leicester.

‘It does not matter to me where men have sided in the past,’ Henry said. ‘It is their abilities I seek and their good service now. I said I trust no one, but I am willing to give men of backbone and intelligence a chance to prove their loyalty. Both de Lucy and Beaumont know where their best interests lie.’

Alienor gently ruffled his hair with her fingertips, loving the way firelight played over the red-gold waves. She must cultivate these men too. When Henry was absent from England, she would have to deal with them, and better as allies than enemies.

‘Stephen’s son I shall keep where I can see him,’ Henry continued. ‘Even though he has rescinded his claim to the crown, he may still prove a rallying point for dissent.’

Alienor cast her mind over the courtiers she had met in recent weeks. King Stephen’s surviving son, William de Boulogne, was a pleasant, unremarkable young man a couple of years younger than Henry. He walked with a limp from a broken leg and was hardly the stuff of which great leaders were made. The only threat, as Henry said, was from those who might use him as a spear on which to nail their banners. ‘That seems prudent,’ she agreed, her words ending on a stifled yawn. The long day was catching up with her; the fire was warm and the wine had gone pleasantly to her head.

Henry rose to his feet. ‘Time to bid you goodnight, my love.’

‘Are you not coming to bed for a while?’ she asked with a note of entreaty. She wanted to end this glorious day wrapped in his arms.

‘Later. I still have business to attend to.’ He kissed her tenderly on the mouth and briefly laid his palm over her womb. ‘You are everything a queen should be. I have never seen a woman look as beautiful and regal as you did today.’

His words softened her disappointment and filled her with a warm glow. She watched him go to the door, his tread still as buoyant as it had been that morning. On the threshold he turned and gave her a melting smile, and then he was gone in a draught of cold air.

After a moment Alienor summoned her ladies and prepared to retire for the night, regretful to be alone, but still with a deep contentment in her heart.

Henry’s squire tapped softly on the door of the rented house in Eastcheap, a short walk from the Tower. The bolt slid back and a maidservant quietly admitted the young man and his royal master before closing the door and kneeling.

Henry ignored her and fixed his gaze on the young woman who had dropped in a curtsey as he entered the room. Her head was bowed and all he could see was the heavy ripple of her ash-brown hair against the pale linen of her chemise. He went to her and lifted her chin on his forefinger so that he could look into her face.

‘My king,’ she said, and her full lips parted in a smile that stole his heart. ‘Henry.’

He raised her to her feet, crushed her against him, and kissed her passionately. She circled her arms about his neck and made a soft kitten sound. Feeling all the warm points of her body against his, he buried his face in her abundant hair, inhaling scents of new grass and sage. ‘Ah, Aelburgh.’ His voice caught. ‘You’re sweet as a meadow.’

She nuzzled his throat. ‘I did not think you would come to me tonight. I thought you would be too busy.’

‘Hah, I am busy, but I have time for this.’

‘Are you hungry? I have bread and wine.’

He shook his head and cupped her breast. ‘I have eaten a surfeit today. There is only one appetite I need to sate just now.’

Aelburgh gave a soft laugh and eased from his embrace. Taking a lamp from a trestle, she led Henry up the steep stairs to the sleeping loft.

The lamp was guttering by the time Henry reached for his clothes and prepared to leave.

‘You could stay.’ Aelburgh stroked his naked back with languid fingers.

He gave a regretful sigh. ‘I have too much business to attend to, my love. The Archbishop of Canterbury is visiting me in a few hours’ time, and it would not be fitting to greet him still warm from the bed of my mistress, no matter how enticing that bed may be.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘I will come again soon, I promise.’

‘The Queen looked very beautiful today,’ she said quietly.

‘She did indeed – but she is not you.’

Aelburgh sat up a little straighter and preened.

‘My love, you are a different part of my life.’ He tucked a tress of her hair behind her ear. ‘There are duties … and then there are pleasures, and you are surely of the second sort.’ Especially while Alienor was great with child and he could not bed her.

From a small curtained-off section beyond the bed came the soft wail of a child waking from slumber. Aelburgh donned her shift and disappeared behind the hanging, returning a moment later with a red-haired infant boy cuddled in her arms. ‘Hush, little man, hush now,’ she crooned. ‘See your papa is here.’

The child stared at Henry and his chin wobbled, but when Henry made a face at him he giggled and hid his face against his mother’s soft white neck, before turning to peep at Henry again out of round blue eyes. Henry was amused and delighted. There was nothing worse than a screaming child that kept on screaming.

‘I will provide for him,’ he said. ‘He is the son of a king and he will have everything he needs to make his way in the world.’

Fear flashed in Aelburgh’s eyes. ‘You will not take him from me? I could not bear that.’

‘Don’t be a foolish wench.’ Henry ducked around their son to kiss her again. ‘A child belongs with its mother in the early years.’ Of course, once intellect, reason and physical strength had progressed sufficiently for his son to be educated, then the maternal ties would be severed, but he was not going to say that now. ‘I must go.’ He tugged a strand of her hair, kissed his son and, on his way out, deposited a fat pouch of silver pennies on the table in the main room to join the silver piece she had caught outside the cathedral earlier.

The dark winter morning was nowhere near dawn and he thought he might doze in a chair for a couple of hours, and then prepare for the Archbishop’s visit. As he set out for the Tower, his thoughts were all on the business of government and Aelburgh was already pushed to the back of his mind.

Alienor considered the man whom Henry had just appointed Chancellor of England. Thomas Becket was tall and thin with a lantern jaw, strong nose, and keen grey eyes that even when focused on a particular matter missed nothing on the periphery.

‘You are to be congratulated, Master Thomas,’ she said.

He bowed with a small flourish. ‘I am grateful for the opportunity the King has given me, m-madam. I shall do my best to serve you both to the best of m-my ability.’ He spoke slowly, measuring the words. When she had first heard him, Alienor had thought it was a ploy to increase his gravitas, but now realised it was his way of controlling a speech impediment. Certainly his diplomatic skills must be sound, for the Archbishop credited him with a large part in persuading Rome not to acknowledge King Stephen’s son Eustace as heir to England.

‘Then we shall hope for great things, Master Thomas.’

‘Tell me what you require, and I shall do everything I can to bring it to fruition.’ He tucked his hands inside his furred sleeves, which were fuller than normal, serving to increase the space he occupied. She had taken note of the ornate brooch pinning his cloak and the gold rings adorning his manicured fingers. Master Becket had the eye and the taste for luxury but so did many at court. A man of station had to support his dignity by his external appearance – unless he was all-powerful like Henry and could do as he pleased. Nevertheless, it was an appetite to be watched.

‘I am sure we shall work well together. It will be an advantage to have someone in the household who is familiar with the diplomatic business of the realm.’

Becket dipped his head. ‘Indeed, m-madam. But there are always new skills to learn and I look forward to doing so.’ As he spoke, his voice deepened its cadence. He was hungry for this, she thought; eager to serve, but keen to exercise his new powers.

Henry arrived, bright-eyed and ebullient. ‘Are you ready for the hunt, my lord chancellor?’ He clapped an affable hand on Becket’s shoulder. ‘My grooms have found you a fast horse and you can borrow one of my hawks until you have time to fill your own mews.’

Becket bowed. ‘Sire, I am yours to command.’

‘Hah, come then, time to go!’ Henry swept his chancellor off, as enthusiastic as a child with a new playmate. The other men finished their drinks, swallowed last morsels of bread and were off too, eager for the chase, keen to make an impression on their new king. Alienor watched them leave, feeling envious of their masculine freedoms. Entering the later stages of pregnancy she was confined to narrow indoor pursuits. The men would talk the politics of the court interspersed with enthusiastic discussions about the sport. They would cement alliances, brag, show off, and vent their excess energy in vigorous exercise. Henry would learn more about Becket and the other lords upon whom his rule depended, and they would learn more about him – or as much as he wanted to show them.

Alienor’s duty while the men went hunting was to talk with their wives, daughters and wards, and establish her own network. Feminine wiles were often more effective than male bluster, and there were subtle ways of attaining one’s will that did not involve boasting contests and riding horses into the ground.

Among the gathering of ladies, Alienor took an instant liking to Isabel, Countess de Warenne, who was wife to Stephen’s son William de Boulogne. She was an attractive young woman with glossy brunette hair dressed in two thick braids that showed beneath the hem of her veil. Her eyes, warm brown flecked with gold, sparkled with humour and intelligence. She took Alienor’s small son under her wing and told him a simple story about a rabbit, which involved finger play and gentle tickles. Will squealed with laughter. ‘More!’ he demanded, bouncing. ‘More … Now!’