To Defy a King (27 page)

Hugh strolled among the tents of his men, ensured all was in order, dealt with problems and questions and finally went to check on the horses, because being amongst them always soothed him. Stars had begun to prick through the teal and purple sky of a long summer twilight and the air was still. The smell of horses was welcoming and pungent. The swish of their tails, their gusty breaths and the stamp of their hooves were comforting sounds he had known since the moment of his birth.

As he reached his horse lines, he saw a figure walking towards him through the last of the light and, with a sinking heart, recognised Longespee. The latter had a costrel slung over his shoulder and was humming to himself.

Somehow Hugh managed to greet him courteously.

Longespee smiled a reply and went up to Brunet to admire him again. The stallion shook himself, sending a sinuous ripple along his glossy hide.

'He's not for sale,' Hugh snapped, because his half-brother reminded him of a horse-coper examining likely goods at Smithfield beast market.

Longespee flashed a hard smile. 'I do not suppose you would care to wager him at dice either.'

'Even given your luck at gambling, no.'

The smile diminished, but Longespee shrugged off Hugh's remark and gestured to the costrel. 'Do you want to share a drink? It's decent wine.'

'You won't get me to drink into agreeing to part with him either,' Hugh said, only half in jest, but consented to sit at the tent fire with Longespee. The flames crackled softly, spitting now and then as juices from two roasting ducks missed the drip container set beneath the spit bar. Hugh fetched two horn cups from his pavilion and the brothers toasted each other. Hugh grudgingly admitted Longespee was right. The wine was smooth and rich, tasting of grapes rather than vinegar.

A second and third cup followed the first. The men ate one of the ducks, mopping up grease and juices with bread, and licking their fingers. The atmosphere mellowed. Comfortably full, Longespee lay down on the grass, boots pointed towards the fire; pillowing his head on his clasped hands, he looked at the sky which was now as dark as a black cat's fur.

'Ever think of your wife when you're on campaign?' he asked after a while.

Hugh's mouth was full of wine and he answered by making an affirmative sound in his throat.

'I always think upon what my Ela will be doing at this time,' Longespee mused. 'I imagine her taking off her jewellery and combing her hair - all thick and shiny like gold water. Then removing her gown and putting on her sleeping chemise and her bedrobe.' He gave a snort of reluctant laughter. 'I tell her she wears too much but my girl is modest - she doesn't even let me see her ankles if she can help it. But she will come and sit by the fire with me and we'll talk of our day, and then I'll know I am truly home.'

There was a sudden tightness in Hugh's throat. He thought of his hands running through Mahelt's cool, dark tresses, and of a room flooded with light. He wondered how he was going to be greeted when he returned home.

'I know what you mean.'

'We are very fortunate men, are we not?'

'Indeed,' Hugh replied woodenly.

Longespee settled himself into a more comfortable position. 'Ela told me as I left that she is with child.'

Ah, Hugh thought. So this was what all the camaraderie was about.

'Congratulations!' He toasted Longespee with genuine warmth. 'It is a fine thing to see one's heir in the cradle.'

Longespee's smile was proud and a little anxious. 'I have waited a long time for this news.'

Hugh's thought processes were wine-blurred but he was sufficiently aware to realise that without the drink Longespee would not have exposed himself so candidly. 'Now there will be no stopping you.'

'Hah, except for wars and diplomatic voyages and attendance at court.'

'Mayhap, but it gives your wife more recovery time - and absence to make the heart grow fonder.' Even to himself, his words sounded hollow and uncertain.

There was a long silence followed by a fuzzy snore because Longespee had fallen asleep, and Hugh found himself feeling an unexpected glow of affection for his half-brother. Eventually, Hugh rose from his campstool to go and take a piss. On the way back, he stopped again by his horse line.

Fondling Brunet's muzzle in the starlit darkness he thought about Mahelt . . .

and wondered if she felt as empty as he did.

The next evening, John sat in his chamber at Kilkenny watching his clerics assemble their writing equipment. The shutters were open to the balmy night air and assorted moths and lace-winged flies had been enticed within the room by the flicker of candlelight. An Irish harpist played softly in the background and John was toying with some small jet counters on a gaming board, although the most recent game had finished. A pile of silver coins by his elbow attested to his success. Longespee sat across from him, the sleeves of his undertunic pushed back to reveal the dark hair dusting his forearms.

'So.' John gave him a calculating look. 'We bring organisation to this benighted land. We pin down the vassals who have grown too powerful and who put their own interests before mine and we ensure the native Irish lords are our allies in this. We also make an example of de Braose.' His eyes glittered. 'We show my barons why they should remain loyal and obedient to their king.'

Longespee frowned at a dark grease stain on his pushed-back sleeve -

probably from the duck last night. His head was buzzing with tiredness and the effects of one too many cups of wine. He always felt alarmed when John began talking of making examples. 'Speaking of the Irish lords, sire, you told me to be on the lookout for likely warhorses as fitting gifts for the men you would coax to swear for you.'

John raised his eyebrows. 'I take it you have found one?'

'My brother Hugh Bigod has one with him that would do well. One of those red-brown Lombard types his father breeds. Finest I've seen in a while.'

'Has he indeed?'

'He won't be keen to part with it, but it's the best horse I've yet seen in any of the camps.'

John gave a feline smile. 'I am sure he could be persuaded,' he said smoothly. 'After all, he can soon obtain another one. It's not as if the Bigods are short of horseflesh. '

'No, sire,' Longespee said. There was a bad taste in his mouth and equal feelings of bright triumph and sordid guilt.

'Good. I shall speak with him. You have an excellent eye for horseflesh, so I'll trust to your word.'

Longespee left the room to seek his bed, stumbling slightly, his belly burning. His first loyalty was to John, who was not only his brother but his king. As John had said, Hugh would easily find a replacement mount. His father had the best stud herd in England. The native Irish lords prized their horses and it was more important to win their allegiance with magnificent gifts than it was to keep Hugh's friendship - which was always a rocky channel anyway.

Clad in shirt and hose, hair rumpled from sleep, Hugh was breaking his fast in the dawn when John arrived at the Bigod tents. The King was dressed and dapper, ready for the day's business. Hugh hastily swallowed his mouthful of bread and, brushing crumbs from his shirt, knelt and bowed, the men at his fire doing the same.

John gestured all to rise and resume their meal, then turned to Hugh. 'Bigod, I hear you have a fine warhorse in your string. I would see him.'

'Sire?' Hugh swallowed again, although there was nothing in his mouth.

'Obviously your ears are still asleep,' John said with pleasant scorn. He sauntered over to the horse lines and wandered down the row, looking at the animals picketed there with feed bags and pails. Eventually he stopped in front of Brunet. 'I can see my reflection in his coat,' he said. 'Longespee was right. A very fine animal indeed.' Extending a hand, he rubbed the stallion's chalk-white blaze, and then stood back to admire its conformation.

Hugh wondered with alarm what else Longespee has been saying. There was no sign of him among the King's hangers-on this morning. 'Indeed he is, sire.'

John rubbed his chin. 'I have need of a fitting gift to sweeten the King of Connacht. This horse is perfect for what I have in mind.'

Hugh was horrified. He couldn't refuse John, but the animal was worth a fortune, not just in monetary value but in terms of how much time had been spent in his training, not to mention his abilities at stud. He licked his lips.

'Sire, he is my first-string destrier.'

John nodded. 'Good, that is most fitting. A king should have the best. Don't make faces behind my back, Bigod. You will be able to obtain yourself another one easily enough. Ride your second string for now. There are bound to be horses taken as booty.' He waved his hand. 'I don't need the harness; I have better to suit. You'll have recompense when we arrive in Dublin.'

Tight-lipped, Hugh untied Brunet from the line and handed him to John's groom. The latter wore a smirk that Hugh was tempted to remove with a balled-up fist, but he controlled himself despite being so furious he felt sick.

Once the King had gone, Hugh strode off in search of Longespee, and found him at his pavilion, donning the padded tunic he wore under his mail shirt.

Hugh barged aside the squire who was helping him. Ralph, who had been sorting out equipment at the back of the pavilion, looked up in shock.

'You told him about my horse, didn't you!' Hugh snarled, kicking a stool out of the way. 'You couldn't leave alone. All that "brotherly" talk of wives and home at the camp fire. All that sharing wine and food and being a companion in arms. It meant nothing to do you, did it? It was just a means to an end!' He felt so angry and betrayed that the final words emerged as a sob.

Longespee flushed. 'The King needs to sweeten the Irish kings and bring them to heel through diplomacy - you know that.' His gaze darted over Hugh but would not fix in direct eye contact. 'Would you rather fight them as well as our own rebellious lords? A horse is a cheap price to pay for their allegiance.'

'Especially when it's not yours! What price your family blood?'

Longespee drew himself up. 'I am a king's son, not a Bigod,' he said icily.

'You'll be well recompensed; I'll see to it.' A look of exasperation crossed his features. 'Christ, man, it's only a horse!'

'Yes, I remember. You said that to me once before.' Hugh turned on his heel and strode from the pavilion before he resorted to violence. Once he relinquished his control, he knew he would not stop until his half-brother's face was a red pulp. He was very tempted to take Longespee's destrier from the horse line, but it was only of the same calibre as Hugh's second string and he didn't know the animal.

Ralph came panting after him. 'Hugh, wait! He had to do it!' he cried.

Hugh stopped and swung round. 'No, he didn't,' he snarled. 'He chose to do it, and that is a different thing entirely.'

'The King depends on him and trusts him. He feels obligated.'

'Look on the other side of the coin,' Hugh spat. 'He depends on the King to give him position and authority. He's in love with his own royal blood and, if he could, he would tear out the part of him that is not royal.'

'He is good to me,' Ralph said, lifting his head.

'Because you are his servant, you fool! Because you know your place in his world as a lowly Bigod. Cease to defer to him and it would be a different matter.'

'It is not like that.'

'No,' Hugh said curtly. 'And it's only a horse.'

Within the hour, King Cathal of Connacht and his war band arrived at the English camp. All of the Irish lords boasted magnificent bushy beards, some of them long enough to tuck under their belts. Their legs were bare and their garments were woven in muted shades of rust, green and blackberry that blended with the landscape. Here and there the rich yellow colour of saffron illuminated men of particular consequence who could afford to wear clothes dyed with a plant more expensive than gold.

King Cathal had a wide mouth, a short snub nose and quick, bright eyes, seamed at the corners, as if he either laughed a great deal, or spent time in shrewd perusal of those around him. He wore a long knife at his belt and he carried a rich sword and a decorated round shield. John greeted him graciously and treated him as a valued guest. Hugh had heard tales of how as a young man John had visited Ireland and soured relations between himself and the native lords by tugging on their beards while drunk, to see if they were real. It was one mistake from which he had obviously learned, for he was charm itself to King Cathal. But then he needed the Irish lords as his allies in order to act as a balance and counteract the power of his own vassals.

John presented the Irish king with Brunet, the stallion now caparisoned in a harness glittering with silver star-bursts on the breast-band. Jewels glowed on the pommel and cantle of the high war saddle. Hugh gritted his teeth as the small Irishman laid his hand to Brunet's cheek strap and spoke lovingly in his own language to the horse. He stroked the powerful arched neck and quarters and scratched Brunet under the jaw at precisely the place the horse loved to rub itself on the stable door. Then, to everyone's astonishment, he unbuckled the bridle, took off the saddle and bade one of his attendants fetch a rope halter.