The Autumn Throne (16 page)

Belle did look up then, and Isabel saw the jolt of alarm cross her face.

‘Yes,’ she said grimly. ‘You have destroyed more than your own life and honour. You have broken everything.’

Isabel buried herself in the final arrangements for court, although she knew that Hamelin might be the only one going now. Still, the bundles, chests and coffers were all neatly arranged near the door ready to go onto the packhorses, because such activity could be controlled and she would have done violence if she had not had an occupation for her hands. When Hamelin returned an hour later, she sent out the servants, Adela and Matilda, leaving only herself and Belle.

She poured him wine and knelt to remove his boots and replace them with another pair of soft kidskin. He sighed with pleasure, lifted his cup and then stopped as he saw her face.

Isabel said stiffly, ‘Your daughter has something to tell you that is best not heard by others, although I fear already the gossip must be rife.’

Hamelin put down his cup and turned to Belle. She had been sitting silently on the bed, but now she rose and stood with her hands clasped in front of her. She drew a deep breath and jutted her chin.

‘I am with child, Papa.’

Isabel watched the shock slam through her husband; saw
the arrested breath before he forced air into his lungs and turned to her, seeking explanation and reassurances that she could not give.

‘I am sorry,’ Isabel said, tears spilling down her face, ‘but it is true: Belle is with child. I did not want to believe her, but I am afraid I must. All she tells me is that it was her cousin John who did this work and that it was with her consent.’

Hamelin looked at his daughter, standing before him, trembling but defiant. ‘You whore!’ His voice was thick with fury as he stood up and struck her across the face.

The crack of the blow made Isabel cry out in distress. Belle uttered no sound but dropped onto the bed and put her hand to her cheek.

‘How dare you put this family’s reputation in the gutter!’ Hamelin roared. ‘What cause have we ever given you to do such a deed? All you have ever wanted you have had and more, and yet you set it at naught and repay us in this whorish coin! I account you good for nothing but the Church. You must go and beg forgiveness of God, for you will not have it from me. You must shrive for your soul, my girl. Go and make your confession to God. And I will have satisfaction from John in this too and see what his cause is and why he should do such a thing to betray our trust and the honour we placed in him within our own household.’

‘Papa …’ Belle whispered as her father’s tirade pierced the shield she had raised to protect herself. She reached out to him but Hamelin turned his back on her.

‘Take her to the church, madam, and let her confess on her knees,’ he snarled at Isabel. ‘I do not want to see her; I do not want to talk about this.’ Pivoting on his heel, he stormed from the room.

‘Come,’ said Isabel tersely, ‘you must do as he says.’

‘John loves me.’ Belle’s voice, although it quivered, still held defiance. ‘And I love him.’

Isabel was appalled and very tempted to slap her daughter too. ‘Neither you nor John know the first thing about love, or
about respect and duty, because if you did you would not have committed such dishonour for a moment of lust. You have ruined us all. You will come now, and you will seek forgiveness and think upon what you have done, and then we will decide what we are going to do with you.’

Henry looked up from the letters he had been studying as Hamelin was announced into his presence. His ushers had told him that his half-brother had arrived in Winchester earlier that afternoon, but he had not necessarily expected to see him today. Hamelin had clearly availed himself of a flagon since that information because his cheeks were flushed and he was swaying on his feet. The sight of him the worse for drink was enough to make Henry put down his work and stare.

A bitter early November wind blew rain against the shutters, and the youth who tended the hearth took the bellows to the fire to work up the flames.

‘What is it, brother?’ Henry asked with jovial curiosity. ‘Have you come to keep me company tonight?’

Hamelin approached the trestle where Henry was working and rested his knuckles on the wood. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I have come to seek justice from you on a matter that concerns your son John.’

Henry raised his brows, wondering what his scoundrel youngest son had done now. Since he was close friends with Hamelin’s boy, Henry suspected that the youths had had some kind of quarrel that had gone badly for Hamelin’s heir. ‘Indeed?’ He gestured Hamelin to sit.

Hamelin hesitated, but then slumped onto the bench opposite Henry and palmed his face. ‘John came to Lewes in the summer,’ he said. ‘He and my daughter … they …’ He swallowed hard. ‘Belle is with child.’

Henry had to bite his cheek to stop an inappropriate guffaw. Somehow he succeeded in keeping a straight face and gazed at his brother with concerned sympathy. ‘You are sure of this?’

‘As sure as my daughter’s belly is swelling, and I have no
reason to doubt what she tells me. The child is John’s.’ Hamelin grimaced. ‘I took him into my household and treated him more like a son than a nephew, and now he betrays the sacred bond of family …’

Hamelin’s throat worked and Henry pushed his own cup of watered wine towards him.

‘Indeed, I agree, it is a shocking thing, but young men …’ Henry opened his hands. ‘We have to be realistic; these things happen.’

‘Not to me, not to mine.’ Hamelin’s eyes flashed. ‘This is a disgrace, one I will never live down.’

Henry studied his half-brother. Bastard-born of a court whore, Hamelin was overly sensitive on the matter of family honour, occasionally to the point where a perverse facet of Henry wanted to see him fall flat on his face – and now it had happened, spectacularly. He suppressed the quip that they would now be joint grandparents. ‘It is unfortunate, I grant you, but you must put it in perspective. It happens to many. It is raw at the moment, but it will fade in time.’ He gestured airily. ‘Belle’s reputation won’t be too damaged by this. It will be over and done with in a year or two and no one will know the difference. Besides, it may even have benefits. A prospective husband will know that your girl is capable of bearing children, and the link with me as the child’s grandsire will be an asset not a liability.’

Hamelin’s gaze was dark with anger and misery. ‘But I will know the difference, and whatever you say it still does not prevent it from being a dishonour.’

Henry shrugged. ‘You should not work yourself into such a fury.’ He leaned back in his seat. ‘I will see matters put to right. The child will be well provided for if you do not wish to take it in.’

‘And John?’ Hamelin demanded belligerently. ‘What of John in all this?’

Henry rubbed his chin. ‘I will see that John is punished and that he does penance. I am as much a father in this as
you are. It is not a situation I condone. All I say is that we should deal with it practically.’

Hamelin’s cheek muscles clenched. ‘See that you do.’ Shoving himself to his feet, he staggered from the room, flinging the door wide open and leaving it ajar.

‘Oh God.’ Henry rubbed his chin but there was a glimmer of sardonic amusement in his eyes. He could understand why Hamelin was so chagrined, but still … He had had his first woman when he was fourteen – although she had not been his cousin – so he understood the drive and the temptation. He would have words with the lad, but he could not help feel a secret touch of pride.

Striding through the palace, Hamelin felt bitter rage that it should have come to this. He had had to live with the burden of being illegitimate all of his life, even if he was the son of a count and the brother of a king. He had not wanted that for his children. He had wanted something pristine and beautiful, and to have this visited upon him was the worst irony God could concoct. The wound went deep and he had seen from Henry’s manner he would do little to staunch it. The conciliatory words, the promises, meant nothing; they never did.

Arriving in the stable yard, calling for his horse, he stumbled to a halt because John was there, talking to several cronies. The young men had recently returned from a ride and were gathered together laughing in their fine array. All Hamelin saw was a snide youth who had everything and who was intolerable because of the way he chose to behave.

John looked up, saw Hamelin advancing on him and stiffened.

Fit to burst, his heart hammering in his chest, Hamelin seized John by the throat of his tunic and butted him up against the wall. ‘What do you mean by entering my household like a wolf in sheep’s clothing?’ He brought his knee up into John’s groin, doubling him over. Wrenching him to the ground he kicked him, and felt satisfaction as his boot connected with John’s ribs. He kicked him in the groin again, and John choked.

The
gathered youths watched in shock, but an older man who had been talking to a groom stepped forward – John FitzJohn, Henry’s Marshal. ‘Sire, you should not,’ he said.

‘Stay out of this,’ Hamelin snarled. ‘I ought to kill him for what he has done.’ He launched his foot into John’s ribs again. ‘He should have had respect and decency thrashed into him long ago.’

FitzJohn hesitated a moment longer, but when Hamelin put in another kick he intervened and seized Hamelin’s arm. ‘Sire, you will indeed kill him; stop, I beg you. He is your nephew, your kin.’

The words sickened Hamelin but had the effect of checking his madness. He shook the Marshal off and stood back, panting. John was doubled over, holding his stomach, and wheezing.

‘You know what this is about,’ Hamelin said harshly. ‘Do not pretend you do not, and do not think to hide behind your father. You shall make reparation for this, I swear.’

Turning away, Hamelin shouldered through the men and made for the stables. His dun palfrey greeted him with pricked ears and a questing whiskery muzzle, but Hamelin had no treat for the horse. Taking a fistful of dark mane, he pressed his face against the warm golden neck fighting tears, wondering how it had come to this.

Henry found his youngest son playing chess in a window embrasure with one of the youths from his entourage. John FitzJohn had visited Henry a short while ago and told him about the altercation at the stables. Henry had not been surprised, and had even thought that in some ways it was a good thing because it would drain some of the rage from Hamelin while sending John a warning about the consequences of rash behaviour.

As Henry crossed the room towards the embrasure, John looked up, his gaze filled with wariness and a tinge of alarm. He was hunched over the chess board but plainly trying his best to behave as if nothing was wrong.

Henry waved a dismissal to John’s opponent and waited
until the youth had scuttled away. Then he punched John playfully on the arm, knowing how much it was going to hurt. ‘I hear you have been up to no good, my lad, and I want to know from your own lips what has been happening.’

He watched John struggle to hide his pain at the blow before fixing him with an innocent stare. ‘Sire, if it is about the chess set, I can explain.’

Henry raised his brows. ‘I am sure you can.’

‘I know it belongs to Jeoffrey, but I promise to put it back in his chamber when I have finished playing.’

Henry flicked a glance at the board and pieces. It was indeed the property of his oldest bastard son Jeoffrey and had once belonged to Henry’s mother. As such it was a treasured possession and John was treading dangerous ground here also. ‘See that you do, but this is not about these gaming pieces as well you know.’

John lowered his gaze and said nothing. Shy as a maiden some might think, but Henry knew better.

‘Come, my boy. Your cousin is a pretty girl; just what have you been doing?’

John slowly raised his head. ‘I did not mean to,’ he said, wide-eyed, ‘but she led me on. She wanted me to.’

Henry sat down opposite John and regarded him over his folded arms. He was indeed swiftly maturing into manhood, something which he had not really noticed until now. His bones were lengthening and new adult angles had started to develop, as well as fledgling fuzz across his upper lip and upon his chin. And obviously his organs of procreation were sufficiently advanced to sire a child.

‘Indeed, it may have happened like that; I have always thought your cousin less innocent than her parents would have her. But you are no lamb led astray.’ Henry unfolded his arms and leaned forward to move a piece on the chess board. ‘Do not let it happen again. Hamelin is my brother and your uncle. He is staunch in his support and the last thing you should do is defecate on his doorstep. I say this crudely to make it plain. By
all means have your sport, but not at home, and not where others end up having to clean up your mess. Do I make myself plain?’

‘Yes, Papa.’

Henry eyed him narrowly. He did not for one minute believe John’s look of sincere and injured innocence, but the lad was intelligent enough to understand what was at stake. ‘I hope I do. For now you must make reparations. Go and confess your sin to your chaplain who will advise you on your penance – and I must counsel him not to be easy on you because the court will be watching.’

John nodded and refrained from commenting that his father had done no such thing when he got Ida de Tosney pregnant and she had only been Belle’s age. His youngest half-brother William FitzRoy was toddling around the nursery at the moment and Ida had been married off to Roger Bigod.

Henry stroked his beard. ‘Since your uncle and aunt are often at court, and you share your lessons with their son, you must treat with them too. I cannot speak for how you deal with Will, but for your uncle and aunt you must have the right attitude. Keep your distance for now, but when you are in their company, be serious and know your place. That doesn’t mean you have to grovel. The girl has to take her share of the blame. You are very young to have fathered a child but now you must learn the responsibilities of a father. It is your child and you have a duty to raise it. Do you understand me? Be a man.’

‘Yes, sire,’ John said, and looked as if he had been given real food for thought rather than something to be lightly dismissed or mocked. There was also triumph in the set of his lips. He had been expecting far worse than he had received. Reaching across the board he kissed the sapphire ring on his father’s right hand.