The Autumn Throne (19 page)

Alienor laughed as she watched a litter of four kittens tussling in a garden flower bed. The boldest was a golden tabby with a snowy chest and paws. He wriggled his little rump, hunched his shoulders and then pounced on two of his plain tabby siblings. The fourth kitten, mostly black with a white blaze on its forehead, crouched, waiting its moment. Their mother, a green-eyed beauty with a mottled coat of blended agate, washed herself in the warm spring sunshine.

‘There you have my four sons,’ Alienor said over her shoulder to Belbel who was making fond sounds in their direction. ‘Richard, Harry, Geoffrey and John. I don’t need to tell you which is which.’

‘Indeed not, madam,’ she said. ‘And I will not make a comment about their lady mother.’

Alienor chuckled. ‘Indeed, for then you would be guilty of impertinence. Perhaps it would be good to change places with her just for a moment – although I doubt she would consider the exchange a fair bargain.’ The cat looked up and fixed the women with her exotic eyes. ‘See, she understands what I say to her.’

‘You should bring her into the bower,’ Belbel suggested.

Alienor shook her head regretfully. ‘The dogs would chase her and she would scratch the bedding and sharpen her claws on the chairs. Let her have her freedom.’

‘So you would not want a kitten when it was weaned?’ Belbel
looked longingly at the tussling bundles of fur. ‘Not even Richard?’

Alienor laughed again. ‘Having either cat or man confined to my bower would create far too much trouble.’ Her expression sobered. Her sons created far too much trouble as it was. She had written to Harry about the situation with William Marshal and received no reply beyond a fond but formal message that told her nothing of the state of his mind. Such news as she had received was either vetted by Henry, or gleaned from scraps obtained by her women or by discreet bribery of servants and merchants. She had learned from her alternative sources that William Marshal’s appeal for justice had been ignored. He had been banished from court, whereupon he had gone on pilgrimage to pray at the shrine of the Three Kings in Cologne and seek divine intervention. Other high-ranking barons and princes had been vying for his services ever since, although he had not accepted any of the offers, saying that his loyalty to his lord remained staunch. Alienor suspected that the loyalty was to her as much as to Harry. That Henry and her son could think for one moment that William was having an affair with Marguerite was preposterous. William did not have a dishonourable bone in his body, and Marguerite was hardly the kind of young woman to drive an experienced courtier like William so wild with lust that he lost his reason.

She had heard that at Christmas in Caen, Henry had tried to make Richard and Geoffrey swear allegiance to Harry to try and assuage the latter’s growing disaffection, but it had only worsened the situation. Geoffrey had agreed to swear, but Richard had refused, declaring that his allegiance for Aquitaine was to the King of France, not his brother. Harry had accused Richard of fortifying the castle of Clairvaux which lay in his territory and outside Aquitaine. The quarrel had escalated, although as far as she knew a reconciliation had finally been patched together. Richard had yielded Clairvaux to his father and sworn loyalty to him, but the foundations were built on sand. Her sons fought like those
kittens, but with deadlier intent. She had no doubt that young Philippe of France was egging them on too because the more they quarrelled the stronger his own position became.

Belbel was still eyeing the kittens with longing.

‘A cat will scratch the fine cloth you are sewing and tangle your embroidery silks,’ Alienor warned.

‘You are right, madam, but they are so pretty and a delight to watch.’

‘That does not mean you should turn your enjoyment into a rod for your own back. I—’ She looked up as she heard male voices at the garden gate, the tones brusque and filled with business. The mother cat ceased washing and slunk away into the cover of a myrtle bush, and the kittens, already alert to danger, tumbled after her.

Robert Maudit advanced down the path, walking briskly and accompanied by three guards. Seeing the hard set of his mouth, Alienor clasped her cloak together at the throat.

‘Madam, you must prepare to leave,’ he said. ‘The King requires you to return to Sarum immediately.’

Alienor gazed at him in shock. There had been no sign of this on the horizon. She was comfortable at Winchester and the thought of returning to that windy hill-top palace filled her with dread. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Why does the King require this?’

‘I cannot say, madam, but I must see his command fulfilled.’

‘He must have a reason.’

Maudit said nothing, his lips compressed.

‘I am not prepared. I have all my baggage to pack.’

‘That will be sent on. Horses are being made ready for you and your ladies. Madam, if you please.’ He gestured to the path.

‘And if I do not please?’ She looked at the knights beyond him.

‘Madam, I pray you, come with us,’ Maudit reiterated. ‘It is necessary.’

She composed her expression to one of regal hauteur. She had fought such orders on occasion, but always to a futile and painful outcome. In Antioch when she had refused to go with
Louis and told him she intended divorcing him, he had sent his henchmen to abduct her by force in the middle of the night. And Henry was no better. She knew what men were capable of doing. Head high, she swept past Maudit to the garden entrance. She had done nothing save counsel her sons to have a care in all they did, listen to good advice, and be cordial to each other. Her conscience was clear. Obviously something bad had happened, something she was not allowed to know, but she would find out one way or another.

Belbel entered Alienor’s chamber, the basket over her arm domed with pink-gilled field mushrooms. ‘Look what I found in the market,’ she boasted with the fierce delight of a hunter returning from a successful foray. ‘Aren’t they fine? Freshly picked this morning and still with the dew on them.’

Alienor admired the produce. Being a prisoner taught one the art of appreciating small pleasures. Taking an interest was a part of avoiding the black cavern of despair. ‘I thought you went to buy needles.’

‘I did.’ Belbel patted the pouch at her belt. ‘But I saw these and they were too fine to ignore.’ She handed the basket to a servant with instructions to take the mushrooms to the kitchen and, having firmly closed the door, returned to her mistress.

‘And did you also find any fish worth frying?’ Alienor enquired.

‘Madam, I did, but I am not sure you are going to find them to your taste.’ Belbel drew a deep breath. ‘The King has arrested and imprisoned the Earls of Leicester and Gloucester and is putting a close watch on anyone in England he considers may strike against him.’

‘Why should he do that?’ Alienor’s heart quickened. Henry had gradually been relaxing his grip, but this spoke of a fresh crisis.

‘Madam, the Young King and the Count of Brittany have turned upon their father and the Count of Poitou. The King’s men have been attacked and an attempt has been made on
the King’s life. An arrow was shot at him while he was under a flag of truce and it pierced his cloak.’

Alienor shook her head. Harry’s disaffection had been bound to spill over again and there was nothing she could do incarcerated here. ‘Go on, I take it there is more.’

‘It is said that the King intends having the rebels excommunicated, even to the point of bringing down the wrath of the Church on his own sons.’

Alienor gazed at Belbel in dismay verging on despair. She understood Harry’s frustration and anger, but to drag Geoffrey into the fray and to attack Richard was petulance. ‘Truly,’ she said, ‘how can grown men brawl like children?’

‘I am sorry, madam, I wish I had gleaned better news for you.’

Alienor made a weary gesture of negation. ‘Better to know.’

‘I heard also that the Young King has sent his wife to France. Supposedly it is to keep her safe, but there are rumours about her and the Young King’s Marshal.’

‘That is no more than wicked gossip,’ Alienor snapped. ‘If William Marshal was with my son he might have prevented this from happening, or at least have dissuaded him from the worst of his follies.’ She was so frustrated at being shut up in Sarum without influence. All she could do was write letters of exhortation and pray for a truce, but she suspected from past experience that neither would be effective.

Two weeks later on another foray into the market place, Belbel encountered a royal pack train collecting treasure from the recently built stronghold tower and learned from a serjeant that Harry had pardoned William Marshal and recalled him from exile. The situation had not improved. Harry remained focused on rebellion and was now raiding and burning in the Limousin. Alienor wondered if half a prayer answered was better than none. Perhaps William would be able to draw the rein on the runaway horse, but she suspected Harry had recalled him for his military prowess rather than to receive wider advice.

Alienor
dined that day on fish stew, a favourite of hers, enhanced with the subtle flavour and rich golden hue of saffron, the juices mopped up with plentiful fresh white bread. And then hippocras and sugared fruit. At least Henry was not keeping her in penury, and to assuage the hollow feeling inside she ate until she was bloated – and then immediately felt regretful.

Her discomfort lingered and eventually she went for a walk around the castle grounds to aid her digestion. The summer heat had bruised the sky to a pink and purple dusk. Swifts swooped and dived through the breathless air, hunting on the wing, their cries as keen as silver needles. Alienor’s stomach churned, refusing to settle, and she wondered if the fish had been bad. She asked Belbel to return to the chamber and prepare a tisane of mint leaves, and, accompanied by Amiria, went to say her evening prayers.

The chapel of St Nicholas was quiet and dark except for a lamp over the altar and a few candles burning in niches. It was blessedly cooler than outside for which she was grateful as she crossed herself and bent her head to pray. Her stomach was churning and her mind empty of thought, as if there was a gap between her and God. She prayed for guidance and asked the Almighty to keep her sons safe whatever their folly, but her entreaties stayed solidly within her. She felt too listless and weighed down to reach out.

Beside her, Amiria whispered her own prayers, hands clasped, head raised to the vaulted ceiling with its ribs arching like the spine of an animal. Alienor looked up too, and then back down, feeling nauseous. She closed her eyes to see if it would help and her vision immediately filled with an image of Harry, but as if painted in an illuminated manuscript. Gold leaf gleamed and the colours bore the richness and depth of the most expensive pigments. He sat enthroned with gilded leopards either side, an orb in his cupped right hand and a sceptre gripped in his left. He wore a crown, set with gemstones and pearls, the gold glinting with light. Above his head blazed a second coronet, so bright that it dazzled her, and that brightness
expanded across her vision in a flash of white brilliance that made her cry out and open her eyes. For a moment she was blind, and she reached out in panic.

‘Madam!’ Amiria took her arm, her voice filled with alarm.

Alienor’s eyesight returned, but it was murky and zig-zagged by flashing, lurid colours. Her stomach heaved and she clapped her hand to her mouth. Making a tremendous effort not to defile the chapel, she staggered to the door and hunched over, vomiting. A vile headache was tightening around her skull like a crown of molten iron. Amiria cried for help and a servant came running.

As the worst of Alienor’s spasms subsided, they helped her to her chamber and laid her down on her bed. Belbel brought a cool cloth to press over her brow. Alienor still felt nauseous, but purged and light-headed. ‘When I was in the chapel, I saw Harry,’ she told Belbel as she slowly sipped the mint tisane to cleanse her mouth. ‘On a throne with an orb and sceptre in his hands.’

‘That is surely a good thing, madam,’ Belbel said. ‘And he is in your thoughts and prayers, so he must be on your mind.’

‘Perhaps.’ The impression left by her vision was of something portentous and exalted, but disturbing too. Did it mean Harry was going to succeed in his endeavours this time, and if he did, what did that mean for Richard? Why had she seen Harry and not Richard?

She lay down and the maids closed the curtains. The headache continued to pound at her temples and random flashes of light darted before her eyes so that it was almost like suffering a thunderstorm inside her skull. Eventually she slept, and she had neither dreams nor visions. When she woke several hours later the headache had retreated to a dull pain, but her thoughts were made of fleece and she had to perform every action with sluggish deliberation.

Alienor recovered slowly from her bout of illness. The very notion of fish stew made her feel sick and for several days the
only nourishment she took was light broth, but gradually she started to feel cleansed and normal. The vision of Harry she had experienced continued to worry her and she wrote to him, telling him what she had seen and exhorting him to consider his actions carefully.