The Autumn Throne (36 page)

She took another sip of wine and looked round as her usher approached her and leaned down to murmur that John had arrived and was asking to see her.

‘This late?’ She gestured Amiria to cease rubbing and took her feet off the stool.

‘Shall I send him away, madam?’

Alienor inwardly sighed, although she did not permit her exasperation to show. She could already guess what this was about. ‘No, bid him enter. If it could wait until morning I am sure he would have done so.’

She dismissed Amiria, pushed her feet into a pair of soft sheepskin shoes, rose to her feet and faced the door.

John entered on a draught of cold air, his stride purposeful. ‘Mama.’ Kneeling at her feet he took a fold of her dress and kissed the heavy green damask.

She touched his hair and bade him rise. ‘What brings you to me so late at night, my son?’

‘I need to talk to you about Richard banning me from England,’ he said. ‘It is unfair.’

‘It is Richard’s decision to make. He has not left you destitute. You have funds.’

‘Hah, just as my father handed out “funds” and kept us tied to his rope,’ John sneered. ‘He doesn’t want me to help uphold his rule while he is away. He prefers to trust men who will bring everything to ruins. Longchamp shouldn’t be left as justiciar. That is obvious even to a blind man. Someone needs to watch him.’

Alienor said nothing because in part she agreed with him, even while she understood Richard’s reasoning. She was also wary of John’s motives in this.

He put his
hands together in a prayerful gesture. ‘Mama, you have influence with Richard. Will you speak to him? He will listen to you.’

‘Do you think so?’ She shook her head. ‘He may take my advice, but he is his own man.’

John lowered his hands and prowled over to the fire. This winter-born last son of hers had always had an affinity for flame and darkness. Practising for hell, some said. ‘You are my last resort, Mama. You know I would not ask you unless there was no other way.’

She raised her brows. She suspected that coming to his mother for succour did not sit well with the image of manhood he preferred for himself. ‘I do not know if that is a compliment or an insult, but I will take it as the first.’

He sat down on a stool before the fire and dug his hands through his hair. ‘I never thought he would do this to me – banish me from England.’

‘You are not banished – that is too harsh a word. Richard has given you revenues from your estates there and increased your standing.’

‘But it is all as nothing if I cannot go there,’ John retorted. ‘In order to gain those concessions I had to swear I would not set foot in England for three years. Is that right or just, Mama? I do not know what to do.’ His throat worked. ‘I want to help Richard but it seems to me that he will never acknowledge me as having anything of value to give him.’

Alienor bit her lip. She felt desperately sorry for her youngest son, even while she wondered how much he was trying to manipulate her. He might have abandoned Henry on his deathbed but what else could he have done? He had always been the closest of her children to his father and she did feel almost a little guilty for loving Richard more.

Sighing, she rested her hand on top of his head. ‘Richard may well not agree to do so, but for you I will speak to him.’

Immediately his expression brightened and the light returned
to his eyes. ‘Thank you, Mama!’ He took her hands, and kissed them.

‘Do not thank me yet; I may not succeed.’ She withdrew from his grasp and wagged a warning forefinger. ‘If I do this for you, I expect you in return to keep your word. If you do come to England, it must be for serious and peaceful purposes. I know your inclination to scheme and plot – I am not naive. You say you wish to help Richard, then make sure you do. Do not abuse my trust.’

He fixed her with a wide, melting gaze. ‘Mama, I swear I would never do that.’

‘There is no need to sell yourself with that stare,’ Alienor said with annoyed amusement. ‘Let your deeds be your bond, not your promises and cajolery. Heaven knows I had a surfeit of that from your father. Drink your wine and let me retire. It is late, and if I am to be about the matter of persuading Richard to change his mind, I need to sleep well and rise early.’

‘Of course, Mama.’ Contrite, eager to please, he set his goblet down, kissed her and left.

Shaking her head, Alienor sat down to finish her own wine, suspecting she had just allowed her heart to rule her head, something she had sworn never to do again.

Richard was busy examining a new sword, belt and scabbard when next day Alienor broached the subject of John’s banishment from England. He showed little interest in what she had to say, remaining engrossed in the brass fittings and tactile rose-coloured leather of his recent acquisition, and she had to be forceful.

‘Richard, leave that for a moment and listen to me.’

Puffing out an exaggerated breath, he laid the belt across his coffer and with laboured patience folded his arms. ‘You have my attention, Mama.’

Alienor gave him a hard look. Since becoming King and with his focus firmly on Outremer, reaching him was increasingly difficult. ‘Banishing John from England is going to cause
a rift between you if you do not allow him to have a role there while you are gone.’

Richard raised one eyebrow. ‘I have all the government I need firmly in hand, and I am not inclined to let John loose in England.’

‘You may think that is fine at the moment,’ Alienor countered, ‘but what of the future? What of when you return? What of ten years’ time? If you do not bring him into your sphere, you will create bad blood for certain, but if you encourage him he could be your staunchest supporter.’

‘Has he been getting at you?’ Richard enquired suspiciously. ‘Asking you to intercede on his behalf?’

Alienor drew herself up. ‘And have you, my son, been listening to all that Longchamp pours in your ears to the detriment of other voices? It is the role of a queen to intercede with the King on behalf of others. Yes there are risks, but you may be storing up trouble for yourself later by denying him now. You should give him the chance.’

Richard pursed his lips. ‘But rather when I am here.’

‘I believe you will be making a grave mistake if you do not in some form find the wherewithal to work together. It does not have to be close and intimate, but you should include him in your overall plan.’ She saw his scowl deepen and was exasperated. ‘He is my son as much as you are my son and I must support both your interests. See it for what it is – sound political advice for your good as well as his. Now you are men you must work together as men and put away childish things. You should be side by side, fighting the common foe. You will never know a similar relationship in your life. He is all you have left in terms of brotherhood and you should use him and appreciate him to the full and for your own good and for your mutual gain.’

Richard unfolded his arms. ‘Did you say all these things to him as well?’

‘In as many words. I am not taking sides and I can see your point clearly, but I understand his too and I am asking you to give him a little more leeway.’

‘Enough rope
to hang himself?’ Richard gave a twisted smile but Alienor could see he had thawed a little towards the idea. ‘I have already put the checks and balances in place for England, Mama. Everyone has their part. If I assigned something to John now it would destroy that balance and cause trouble. You know how much he likes to stir the brew – a bit of venomous seasoning here, a pinch of malice there. It is his nature.’

‘I would step in to make sure it does not happen. He has much to learn, and he is not ready to rule, but he needs to do so for when he returns to Ireland or takes up a deputy’s role once you are home.’ She opened her hands. ‘Even if he remains in Normandy, it will not prevent him from causing disruption. Better to content him in this and work together.’

Richard turned back to his sword belt but threw her a considering look. ‘So that is your counsel – to permit John access to England if he so desires?’ He pondered for a moment and then waved his hand in capitulation. ‘Very well, Mama. Because you ask it of me and because, as you say, he is my only remaining brother in full blood.’

‘Thank you,’ Alienor said with a mingling of relief and anxiety. ‘You have gladdened my heart.’

Richard looked wry. ‘Let us hope you are not creating a world of trouble for both of us.’

Alienor gave a short laugh. ‘By the very act of bearing sons I did that.’ To further mollify him, she showed an interest in the belt and scabbard that had been occupying so much of his attention.

‘It is for the sword of Arthur, for Caliburn.’

‘I see.’

Richard collected swords with the same zeal that certain of his bishops collected holy relics. He couldn’t resist them and had chests full of the things in his chamber. Several choice examples were always hung on his wall when he stayed anywhere for more than a night. He used only certain favourites in battle, but all were kept honed and ready, and all had names that invoked power. Joyeux Garde, Hauteclere,
Durendal, Caliburn. He was custodian of Juste, the sword of his great grandfather, the first Henry, and that blade in turn had belonged to William the Bastard, conqueror of England.

She admired the weapon he showed her, shining like silver fire. The hilt and pommel were inlaid with gold and garnets and the grip was of red cord bound with gold silk.

‘It has been refurbished of course, but the core is the one of legend, drawn from the stone.’

Some swords had an aura of great mystique and power. She had felt it in the blade of William the Bastard when Henry had owned it, but although this one was a thing of beauty, the magic was absent. She suspected Richard was trying to convince himself that it was an original artefact. Of course, on the political front, announcing his ownership would immediately put the Welsh and Bretons in their places.

‘Do you intend to take it with you to Outremer?’ she asked.

‘It will go in my baggage.’

Richard sheathed it as a messenger was brought to them by an usher.

‘Sire, madam.’ The man knelt and held out a letter. ‘There has been more rioting against the Jews including a massacre in York. All the bonds they held of debts have been piled up in the middle of the town and burned to ashes.’

Richard stood very still and contained, that stillness increasing until he was as rigid as a stone. The messenger crouched lower, bending his head, trying to make himself disappear. Alienor took the letter from him and flicked her fingers in dismissal.

Richard drew a shuddering breath. ‘They dare to do this to me,’ he said hoarsely. ‘By Christ who died on the cross I shall show them a King’s wrath. I left strict orders that my Jews were not to be harmed. If all those bonds are lost, how much income owing to me has been destroyed? I will have the ringleaders strung up by their entrails!’ Suddenly he was in motion, striding across the room, kicking over a stool,
shouting for someone to bring Longchamp to him and John FitzJohn, who was constable of York. ‘Do they think that because I am no longer in England my arm is not long enough? They were never more wrong!’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Send Longchamp back early. He can deal with the fiscal details and stamp out the fire.’

Alienor nodded curtly. Longchamp was no diplomat but he did have the wherewithal to deal with finances and sort out the difficulties caused by the destroyed bonds. It would have to do for now.

‘I cannot afford to become bogged down and distracted,’ he said impatiently. ‘Jerusalem cannot wait. Let others deal with the matter as I delegate. My will must be done in order that God’s will be done.’ He gave his mother a steady look, but it was one that sought reassurance too.

‘I understand,’ she said. ‘Do what you must.’

A muscle ticked in his jaw above the line of his coppery beard. ‘I am trying to leave my lands in a state of protected stability, but every time I seem to be making progress, I turn round and discover that another snake has reared its head. If I could put everything in a sack and hang it up out of reach of vermin until I return, I would be overjoyed.’

‘Even your mother?’ Alienor asked with a twitch of her lips.

He gave her a hard smile in reply. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I need someone to watch the sack and hit it every now and again.’ He made an exasperated sound, kissed her cheek and strode from the room in search of his chancellor.

Alienor walked over to where his hauberk was displayed on a purpose-made stand. It was the first thing anyone saw when they entered the room, the shining war-mesh of iron-dark mail, edged with brass rivets at the hem. At the foot of the stand was the leather sack in which it would be stored for transportation and it reminded her of what he had just said. The analogy was so apt concerning a sack of troubles, and
she gave the thing a small kick with the embroidered toe of her shoe.

Chinon’s castle bailey was crowded with onlookers, well-wishers, prelates and men of high secular authority. Baggage carts stood laden to the axles with barrels, chests and sacks. Burdened pack ponies champed in line. Soldiers awaited the command to move and the area sparkled in the June sunlight like a bulging fish net, for everyone wore their armour for this departure from Angevin territory to Vezelay on the first stage of the journey to win back Jerusalem. Once out of the town they would remove their arms for the rest of the ride, but for now, the parade was all.

Gazing from her chamber window at the great assembly, Alienor smoothed her gown of gold damask trimmed with silk of Tyrian purple. She wore her crown today over a headdress of fluted linen, and stood on ceremony, not only the Queen Mother but Queen-Regent too. Soon she would leave this chamber, enter the public space and don that mantle to the full, but in these final private moments she was intensely aware of the man at her side, her beautiful son, and she was brimming with pride and trepidation.

His mail shirt gleamed like dark water – thirty thousand interlocked iron rings, topped by a surcoat of scarlet silk embroidered in gold with the lion device of his dynasty and his nickname. A cloak of forest-green wool was pinned high on his right shoulder and his hair was fiery against the contrasting fabric. She could see Henry in him clearly, but she could see herself too, like a mirror reflecting back to all their ancestors.