The Scarlet Lion (40 page)

   "My lady, the King is sighted," Jean announced, standing in her chamber doorway. "Are you ready to go down?" He was resplendent in his court robes of scarlet wool, decorated with his wife's exquisite embroidery. His slender fingers were adorned with rings and a cross studded with rubies gleamed around his neck.

   Isabelle made a face. "If I must be," she said, and gently ushered Gilbert before her. A swift gesture brought together the rest of her household: the other children, their nurses, her women, and attendants. Like barnyard poultry, she thought with a flash of humour rapidly subdued because the imagery of hens before a fox was too close to the bone. Reaching Jean, she laid her hand briefly on his sleeve. "I am sorry. You have endured a great deal at our expense."

   Jean looked down at her hand and his complexion reddened. "No, my lady. What I have endured has been at the King's will. I am glad to stand hostage for my lord's word, and so are the others who have been asked…except for David de la Roche," he added with a curl of his lip, "but everyone knows what he is and no man will sit with him at table or speak with him."

   Her household in tow, Isabelle descended to the bailey to greet the King. For once, the weather was fine; the sun beat down with the strength of a clenched fist and the sky was almost white around its glare.

   First came the heralds and outriders, caparisoned in red and gold, then the knights of the mesnie in full panoply, their horses barded in the royal colours. William's knights in their particoloured green and yellow were led by Mallard, proudly carrying William's banner, silk streamers fluttering, and close beside them rippled the colours of Aumale, followed by the blazons of six more earls and their immediate retinues. The main army of seven thousand remained outside the walls, billeted in houses in the town, or camped on open ground nearby.

   Resplendent in a robe of silk damask, John rode a highstepping palfrey the colour of fresh cream, its harness and trappings of red leather. William's blue-roan paced a length behind, and William's manner was one of professional deference.

   Isabelle knelt and bowed her head, making sure with a surreptitious glance that everyone else was doing the same. For William's sake and their children's, she would do it, but had she possessed a free rein and no constraints, she would have stood erect and spat in John's face for what he had done and all that he was.

   A squire assisted John to dismount. Handing him the reins, he paced forward to his kneeling subjects and extended a jewelled hand to Isabelle, drawing her to her feet.

   "Welcome to Kilkenny, sire," she said and was pleased to hear the courteous modulation of her own voice.

   John looked her slowly up and down before considering the children, his expression so benign that Isabelle had to suppress the urge to fling herself in front of them and protect them from his gaze. "A fine brood you have given your lord," he said pleasantly, "and yet another one to add, I am told." He nodded towards Joanna, who was wailing fractiously in the arms of the wet nurse.

   "Indeed, sire, but I sadly miss my two eldest sons. They were boys when last I saw them, and by now they must surely be men." Still she kept her voice on an even keel.

   "Almost, but not quite. Do not take my word for it, Countess. See for yourself." He turned, raising his arm, and beckoned to two tall young men at the back of the entourage. "William, Richard, greet your lady mother."

   Shock tore through Isabelle so hard that she gasped. She swallowed and swallowed again, her eyes filling as Will came to make his obeisance to her. The gangling youth of her memory was gone and in his place stood a young adult, deep-brown hair curling at his nape, his jaw edged with closely shaven stubble. Although not yet a knight, he had been permitted the dignity of wearing a sword. Richard, being younger, wore no such accoutrement, but the sight of him, copper-bearded, broad, and muscular, sent such a pang of pride and loss through her that she could not speak.

   Will's once open, eager expression was closed and wary even as he smiled. Richard gave her the grin she remembered so well, but even his eyes held shadows that had not been there before. Dear Jesu, what had been done to them? Knowing that John was watching and absorbing, she managed to hold herself together as she stooped to kiss both sons in the formal manner and raise them up. Richard, perceptive of her need, released the tension by going to embrace his brothers and sisters, including the two infants born while he and Will had been hostages. "Hair to match her face," he said, looking at his bawling tiny sister and running his hand through his own ruddy mop.

   Isabelle laughed tremulously. "It's your grandsire's de Clare blood."

   "All the more reason to be proud. He never gave up, no matter the odds. With the same from our father, we're doubly blessed."

   Isabelle blinked hard. "Oh, my sons," she whispered. It was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do, but she straightened her spine, raised her chin, and set about being a good hostess to a man she hated.

                             *** "So, what do you truly think of life at court?" Isabelle asked Will that evening in the private chamber. John had retired to his apartments with his retinue. The feast in the hall had ended, apart from the presence of a few desultory gluttons still picking at the subtleties and candied fruits. William was deep in conversation with Jean D'Earley and the other men who had offered to be hostages for his loyalty. Richard was playing chess with Gilbert and being soundly beaten and Isabelle was measuring Will for new garments. They were to be two days at Kilkenny and if she and her women were quick, the young men could have new shirts and hose to take with them.

   Will glanced around to make sure that no one was within hearing, and the way he did it made Isabelle wince. Such suspicion, such carefulness had not been a part of his boyhood nature but was a learned response. "I've taught myself to live with it," he said with a shrug.

   "And the King? What is he like from day to day?"

   Will hesitated. Measuring him from neck to waist Isabelle felt the tension stiffen his body. "He can be kind and generous," he said carefully, "and he has a sense of humour that makes you laugh even when you know you shouldn't. He loves his children…"

   Isabelle rolled her eyes.

   "Truly, Mother, he does, both those born to the Queen and his bastards. He loves his brother the Earl of Salisbury too. But his moods are fickle and he trusts no one. He wants others to love him and he tries to make them do it, but he's watching them all the time."

   She moved round to face him and caught the bleak misery in his expression that he hadn't been swift enough to conceal.

   "He surrounds himself with mercenaries and paid men who will do what he commands and agree with him whatever he says or does," Will said, dropping his gaze.

   Anxiety entered her voice. "He has not harmed you or Richard?"

   Will shook his head. "He would not dare. Our father's name and reputation protects us and the Earls of Salisbury and Norfolk have their eye on our welfare." Will extended his arm at her gesture so that she could measure him from armpit to wrist. "He's testing my father. He tries people until they break, and when they do, he says that he was right from the beginning—that people are false and untrustworthy."

   Isabelle wondered pensively what would happen if she put to the test the loyalty that William owed to her and that which he reserved for the King, then pushed the thought away as she would a trencher of unpalatable food.

   "John will not stop until he has Maude de Braose at his mercy," Will said as if he had caught a trace of her thoughts. "I've served on night duty sometimes, so has Richard, and you see and hear things you'd rather not." Grimacing, he glanced across the room to the quietly conversing men. "I hope my father lives for a long time yet. God help me, Mother, I could not give my oath to such a man."

   His words filled Isabelle's marrow with ice. The notion of a world without William…the notion of a twenty-year-old carrying the responsibility of this earldom on his shoulders terrified her. Will might be on the cusp of knighthood, might almost be a grown man, but he had no real experience as an adult save along the slime trail of the court and from what she had seen, it had already warped him out of true. He didn't have William's grasp and vision…not yet.

   "God help us all," she snapped, then folded her lips together as, having lost his game of chess against Gilbert, a disgruntled but amused Richard sauntered over to be measured for his own new clothes.

Thirty

CARRICKFERGUS CASTLE, ANTRIM, JULY 1210

The great de Lacy stronghold of Carrickfergus, fierce symbol of Norman authority, stood on a promontory thrusting out into the Irish Sea, three of its sides protected by the deep waters of Belfast Lough.

   The sunset was staining the sky in hues of blood and fire as John's vast army drew up on its landward side and began pitching camp. William dismounted from his palfrey and handed the reins to his groom. It had been a hot day and both he and the horse were perspiring heavily. William wiped his brow on his cuff and gratefully took the cup that his squire knelt to offer him. Nearby the carts bearing the siege machines were rumbling into camp, supervised by their crews. Tents were sprouting in all shapes and sizes like autumn fungi. William's lips twitched as he saw a Welsh archer plant his banner outside his own modest canvas cover in the form of a pair of braies on a broom pole. Pedants such as the Earl of Winchester would have blustered with fury at the sight of a common oaf mocking nobility, but William was highly amused. Or perhaps he was taking refuge in crude humour because it was a comfort. He didn't want to be here, but to keep his own family and lands intact, he had at least to go through the motions. At dawn those siege machines would be assembled. At dawn the heralds would ride to the keep and demand the surrender of all within, including Hugh de Lacy and his brother's de Braose in-laws. He didn't want to think about it.

   The royal tent was going up in a flurry of crimson and gold. William hoped he wouldn't be summoned to dine there tonight but knew it was more than likely. He was a senior commander and John would require his insights into how they were going to set about taking Carrickfergus in the shortest possible time. Crack the nut; extract the meat. William swallowed the wine and turned abruptly to where the green and yellow canvas of his own tent was being thrown over its frame. He wasn't sure what banner he should fly outside the pavilion. Perhaps the Marshal lion facing the other way in blindness.

   As he expected, John sent a lad through the red-streaked dusk to summon him to the royal table. William considered sending the lad back with the message that he was sick, but knew John would see straight through such an excuse. William would have to be on his deathbed not to answer a summons. Morosely, he donned a clean shirt and tunic, fastened the gilded belt of the Earl of Pembroke at his hips, and went to do his duty.

   John was in belligerent high spirits, William noted. Thus far the Irish Norman lords had scattered before him or hastened to bow at his feet and as always, when given the upper hand, John liked to hold a whip in it. "They'll be quaking in their boots tonight," he said with pleasure in his eyes. "But by the time I have finished with them, they will have no boots to call their own. I want the trebuchets in place before first light and the archers ready."

   "Sire, perhaps they will be willing to talk terms," said Baldwin de Béthune, who was present at the head of a Flemish contingent and the knights of Aumale. "De Lacy's brother surrendered to you after all."

   John shrugged. "It's a possibility, but Hugh de Lacy is more stiff-necked than his brother and he is the one succouring that viper and her get." He flicked a jaundiced glance towards William to show that he hadn't forgotten how William too had given his aid to the de Braoses. "He won't crack that easily, but breaking him will be the sweeter for it."

   "Still," William said, "it will be a good thing if you can take the keep without inflicting too much damage on its fabric. If you and de Lacy can come to terms—"

   "Do not tell me how to manage my affairs, Marshal," John snapped. "Yes, you are here to advise me, but when I want your words of wisdom, I will ask for them. I have seen the way you 'come to terms' with people, including Philip of France. Even if I have to take that keep apart stone by stone, I will have Hugh de Lacy and the de Braoses on their knees at my feet. You succoured them, Marshal. I could have had you on your knees too. Think on that."

   William took the words although they were like a blow to the face. He had received similar treatment on several occasions now and he was becoming inured.

   "Ah, leave me," John said with a wave of his hand in impatient dismissal. "You've nothing to say that I want to hear and your presence raises my hackles. I will see you under the walls at first light."

   William rose and bowed and left, each part of his leavetaking imbued with deliberation and power, rather than retreat at having been dismissed. Once outside, William breathed out hard then drew a deep breath of clean, grass-scented air. It would pass, he told himself. All he had to do was live through it and continue to steer his ship through the ever-narrowing channel between the rocks. There was light on the other side; he had to believe there was.

***

Carrickfergus remained silent. No heralds emerged to treat or negotiate. The walls held their secrets and remained tightclosed and barren. John ordered up the trebuchet teams to begin their assault while other crews assembled the siege ladders and brought forward the wicker shield protection for the archers. William eyed the ladders and shifted his shoulders to ease the weight of his mail shirt.

   "I won't be taking my chance on one of those again," he said to Jean D'Earley, who was standing at his side. "Those days are gone."

   Jean curved a dry smile. "Far be it from me to call you a liar, my lord, but I do not believe you."