The Autumn Throne (34 page)

John had arrived late the previous evening – indeed she had wondered if he was going to be in time for his own wedding – and there had been no opportunity to talk to him today because they had been hemmed around by ceremonies, rituals and other people.

‘Are you also here to breathe fresh air for a moment?’ she asked.

He gave her a half smile. ‘Just taking stock, Mama.’

‘Of what?’

He leaned against the crenel space between the merlons. ‘Of my life – of its direction.’ His cendal undertunic glimmered in the dusk like green fire. ‘There is much to think about.’

‘Now you are a married man?’

He slanted her an inscrutable look. ‘Now I am many things that I was not only a few months ago.’ He clasped his hands. A large emerald gleamed on his middle finger, reflecting the colour of the undertunic. ‘My father,’ he said. ‘They all think I betrayed him. I see the way they look at me when they think I am off my guard, but I am never off my guard. I know – I can’t not know.’

‘You made your decision,’ she said calmly. ‘I will not condemn you.’

‘But others do.’ His eyes were bitter. ‘But if I betrayed him, it was less than Richard did. My only mistake was leaving it until the end. I held firm for him for all that time … and
yet he never held firm for me or for any of us if it did not suit his policy.’

‘John …’ Pity welled in her but she swallowed it down, knowing he would not thank her.

‘Well, it did not suit mine to watch him take his last breath in front of me,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I knew there could be no other outcome. My only regret is the way he found out. Now Jeoffrey is ramming it down my throat that he is the only good son – the one who stayed. Hah – and where was he when the servants stripped my father’s body and ran off with his cups and silver? Where was the Marshal? He died without dignity, and because of that everyone blames me.’

‘They do not. You are seeing shadows where none exist.’ That wasn’t entirely true, but the shadows were less dark than he painted them. John had always been plagued by his insecurities; those shadows were inside him, not others. And perhaps he might give them full substance if he dwelt on them too hard.

‘I grieved for him,’ he said. ‘More than Richard did. No one has accused Richard of being the cause of his death.’

‘Nor should they,’ Alienor said curtly. ‘What happened was a long time in the making, and much of it your father’s own doing. Not yours, not Richard’s.’

John looked out into the distance. ‘Let them say what they will; I care not. I should tell you, Mama, while I am opening my heart, that I have another child, a girl to bear my name – Joanna.’

Alienor steeled herself. ‘And the mother?’

‘Clemence le Boteler.’

‘So she is of high birth again?’ More smoothing of ruffled feathers to be done. She was hardly surprised though. John could be utterly charming when he chose; it had only been a matter of time.

John shrugged. ‘I don’t bed with whores, that’s Richard’s domain.’ A sly look crossed his face. ‘Of course he won’t tell you about his own son, and with good reason.’

Alienor straightened
up, her stomach churning. ‘What do you mean “his own son”?’ Even though the darkness was encroaching, making expressions more difficult to interpret, she could see John was enjoying this. She also noted that he had managed to deflect the focus from his own behaviour.

‘A French whore came crying to Richard that she was with child and that it belonged to him. He gave her money to keep her and when the child was born he provided for a wet nurse and lodging.’ He pursed his lips. ‘He’s called the brat Philippe for the King of France, and do you know why?’

Alienor shook her head. ‘No, but I suspect you are going to tell me.’

‘Because rumour has it that Richard and Philippe were sharing a bed and the woman. For all anyone knows, the child is Philippe’s,’ John said with relish. ‘If Philippe had acknowledged it his, he might have named it Richard. I suppose they played dice to decide the paternity and, depending how you view it, Richard either won or lost.’

She wanted to slap him and disbelieve his words, but clearly he was well-informed. ‘This is Richard’s business.’ She strove not to show how much the news had disturbed her. ‘If he wishes to tell me then so be it, but otherwise I have no desire to hear tales. What of you and Clemence le Boteler?’

‘She is at Bec with the infant. I have provided for them out of my income and set all to rights. I acknowledge the sin is mine, but at least she is not my cousin and I have been discreet.’

‘And that is supposed to make it all right?’ Alienor snapped.

‘No, but I wanted to tell you rather than you find out of your own accord.’

‘Well that makes a change.’ And then she sighed. ‘I suppose I should be glad you have done so. May that openness continue. While Richard is gone, we must all cooperate and pull in the same direction.’

‘Indeed, Mama, I agree with all my heart.’ The unfathomable look was back on his face, as guileless as his smile.

After this
eventide, a new day star ascends and a new time of prosperity will come at sunrise. The age of gold returns, the world’s reform draws nigh.

Listening to the harp-accompanied chant in the Queen’s Hall at Westminster, Alienor’s heart soared. Although it was September, the room was decked with greenery and flowers, reminiscent of springtime. The white linen cloths draping the tables were a perfect setting for the gilded cups and platters, the salt dishes and silver boats pooled with colourful sauces of tawny cameline and golden jaunce, sprinkled with sandalwood.

On the last occasion Alienor had presided over a banquet in the Queen’s Hall she had been a young woman, most of her children unborn and her imprisonment at Sarum far in the future. Now she came again as Queen, and while she felt sadness for the lost years and time wasted, she was stirred up by triumph too. Before she had been the wife of the King; now she was the Queen Mother and the level of respect and power she commanded was beyond anything that had been hers in her young life.

A short while ago Richard had been crowned King of England in the cathedral church of Westminster Abbey. Baldwin, Archbishop of Canterbury, had anointed his head, chest and hands with holy oil, conferring on him the divine sanction of kingship. Richard had asserted his right by taking the crown from the altar with his own hands and presenting it to the Archbishop before mounting the throne, thus giving the moment a gesture of eloquent reciprocation that nevertheless conveyed the statement that the State came before the Church.

Sipping from
her gem-studded goblet, Alienor gazed round the hall. Overlaying the music, a social percussion of chatter filled the air between table and roof. Knives clattered against dishes and spoons scraped the sides of bowls. A great sturgeon had been presented at the high table surrounded by glistening pearls of roe, displayed on a wider bed of seaweed with oysters and whelks. A strong but not unpleasant smell of the fresh seashore wafted to Alienor’s nostrils. The diners were all women; following tradition the men’s feast was taking place separately in the great hall, built a hundred years ago by William Rufus, son of the Conqueror. It had been the same at Henry’s coronation and this was the second time she had presided over such a gathering. Some of the faces were the same albeit older, but many belonged to younger generations – women who had been small children or unborn the last time. How swiftly the years had passed and how few remained to achieve her goals; she wished that time would stand still in this golden moment of Richard’s triumph.

Sitting at her right hand was Alais of France, Richard’s betrothed, placed there out of necessity because her brother Philippe must remain convinced that Richard was going to wed her.

Alais was revelling in her new gown of green silk brocade trimmed with ermine, and her coronet of gold and pearls. With the wine flush on her cheeks she was pretty, and her smooth white hands were a perfect foil for the gold rings embellishing her fingers. Alienor had caught Alais studying her intently on several occasions during the feast and suspected she was eyeing up her chair and larger jewelled crown for size. The latter would be far too heavy for her to bear, Alienor thought with hidden scorn. She had no doubt Henry had bedded her. The whispers were too insidious – like smoke that crept from a fire even when it had been doused. She treated the young woman with cool formality and did not allow herself to feel sorry for Alais as Henry’s victim. Her own loyalty and service were all for Richard.

When the
formal feasting was over, Alienor mingled with the ladies who had not been in her immediate vicinity during the banquet. Isabel had travelled down from Conisbrough for the coronation and was resplendent in blue and gold, with a hemline and cuffs stylishly depicting the de Warenne chequers. A heart-shaped brooch twinkled, securing a pleat in her silk wimple.

‘I am sorry for Henry’s death, God rest his soul,’ Isabel said as they embraced, ‘but I am delighted for your release and for Richard, God grant him a long and fruitful reign, and success in all his undertakings. You must be so proud.’

‘I am indeed,’ Alienor replied. ‘And I wish Hamelin consolation in his grieving for Henry. It must be difficult for him.’

‘Naturally he mourns him,’ Isabel said sombrely. ‘Since he was the older by three years it reminds him of his own mortality, but he tries to be at peace with himself and to do God’s will as best he can.’

‘I have always respected Hamelin’s ability to sail a straight course in stormy seas,’ Alienor said. ‘I shall value his counsel when Richard has gone, and I hope you will both keep me company at court sometimes – and bring me gingerbread,’ she added to lighten the moment.

‘Of course!’ Isabel smiled for an instant and then bit her lip in a way Alienor remembered of old. ‘Our daughters are married and settled to good men, so all is well in that part.’ She glanced towards three young women who were talking in a group that included the newly wed Richenza and William Marshal’s young wife.

‘How is Belle?’

‘She is a good wife to Robert de Lacy.’ Isabel emphasised the ‘good’, and primly folded her hands, revealing that the wounds were still raw.

As if sensing their scrutiny, Belle raised her head and looked their way before dropping her gaze in what passed for deference.

‘I am sure she is,’ Alienor murmured courteously. ‘Our mutual grandson is a delight.’

Isabel’s expression
softened. ‘Truly he is. I hope he will visit me and Hamelin for a while in the spring or summer.’ She regarded her clasped hands. ‘It has been hard for Hamelin to accept, but he has come to terms with it better now. When Henry died, it made him reconsider the things that mattered. His first grandchild should not have been bastard-born, but he has come to love him dearly.’

‘I am glad of that,’ Alienor said. ‘You should know that John loves him in a way I have seldom seen him have affection for anyone.’

‘That is because he belongs to him,’ Isabel said shrewdly. ‘My daughter was a challenge and a means to an end, and that end was in proving his power over her and satisfying his lust. He did not think beyond that measure, but the moment there was a child – then it was different, because it belonged to him.’

Alienor opened her mouth to defend John, but thought better of it because Isabel was right and she did not want to begin another quarrel. Her friend had hardened, become less yielding, but at least she had learned to stand her ground instead of running off to weep and bemoan the way of the world. ‘Richard will never suffer for the circumstances of his birth. I know it has been difficult for Belle and her path is not what you would have wished for her, but she has an honourable marriage.’

‘Yes,’ Isabel answered. ‘We have all survived. I have retired from court life, and you have become what you were always meant to be.’

Alienor raised her brows but smiled. ‘And what is that?’

‘A woman with her hand on the reins.’ Isabel touched Alienor’s sleeve in a gesture of reconnection. ‘A country without a strong ruler at the helm is a country in jeopardy. I remember with dread the time of the anarchy when I was a young woman. We were frightened all the time, and sometimes that fear became terror; I never want to live through such again. When Richard goes to Jerusalem, I am not afraid, because I know you will
be here guiding us – and in that I put my greatest trust. We support you to the hilt, it goes without saying.’

Alienor’s eyes prickled. ‘We have had our differences, but I love you – you are my sister. I know you will hold firm for me even if—’

She stopped speaking at a sudden clamour from outside the hall doors – shouts and screams. The clash of weapons. Isabel met her gaze with fear-wide eyes and there were cries of consternation and alarm from the gathered women. Many of the older ones, like Isabel, remembered the strife between King Stephen and the Empress, and how moments of celebration like this could turn on the instant to wanton riot. Henry’s mother had been forced to flee Westminster on the eve of her own coronation when a mob had taken against her. Surely that wasn’t happening now? All had been joyful when Richard left the Abbey. The crowds had been cheering and lauding their red-haired Young King who was Christendom’s greatest champion. He was their Lionheart, and if passions were running high, they were supportive ones.