The Scarlet Lion (54 page)

   The next few seconds were filled with the sound of wheezing and choking, but when he had ceased to splutter, he sat up straight and looked at her reproachfully. "That was uncalled for," he croaked.

   "I beg to differ." Isabelle removed shoes and wimple and climbed on to the bed beside him. "It'll warm your humours and help to balance them." She nestled up against him.

   William set his arm around her shoulders and stroked her hair. "It's bad, Isabelle," he said softly.

   "I know…"

   He was silent for a long time, and then he said, "I suppose it is always darkest before dawn. If I take it on trust that this is the blackest moment, then at least I can watch the horizon for the light and not lose my faith."

Forty

GLOUCESTER, MARCH 1217

William tipped the contents of the leather pouch on to the trestle. Isabelle stared at the gems, which glistened like giant coloured droplets of rain. There were several sapphires ranging in hue from the summer sky at midnight to dark ocean blue. Rubies, spinels, topazes, and emeralds flashed beside them, some simple stones, others set in rings, brooches, and crosses. There were even some incredibly rare faceted stones—an amethyst with an intense core of purple light and a pale green jewel that glittered like shards of splintered glass. The gems had arrived from the royal treasury at Corfe together with bolts of silk brocade and cloth of gold. This wealth was the final reserve of the royal family and William was using it to pay the castle garrisons and the troops in the field. The apartments at Corfe had been stripped to the bone. Queen Ysabel had protested furiously until warned in no uncertain terms that either she sacrificed her wardrobe or her son's chances of being King.

   Belle and Sybire peered over Isabelle's shoulder, drawn to the siren song of the treasure trove.

   "They're for the garrison at Dover," William said drily.

   Isabelle gave her daughters a swift look. Their father didn't know about the attempted ear-piercing. There had been a female conspiracy of silence on that issue. Sybire sported a faint white scar from the incident and the earrings of Byzantine gold had gone to pay the wages of the troops.

   Isabelle picked up a ring set with a ruby the size of a blacksmith's thumbnail and red as blood. The object was powerful, but far from attractive. Belle wrinkled her nose in distaste.

   "Covetous, my love?" William asked with a smile.

   Isabelle shuddered. "Not of this. The only thing I covet is time alone with my husband, and I know it's a treasure I'm unlikely to receive."

   "You have me for a night and a day."

   She made a face. "I suppose a piece of bread is better than none at all."

   "That's what I keep telling the men."

   The girls and their smaller sisters had turned their attention to the fabric. Isabelle let them admire and touch while they could. Even if they made marriages of the highest order wealth like this was unlikely to be theirs and on the morrow it was going south with William and his troops.

   Isabelle linked her arm around William's in a gesture of affectionate support and he responded with a distracted smile. She could tell his mind was already miles away, wrestling with the details of the coming campaign.

   "The south is vulnerable while Prince Louis is in France raising more support," he said, biting his thumbnail. "I know he'll return and mayhap with a vengeance, but if we can regain some of the ground, he'll have to waste his new supplies on fighting for what he's lost instead of pushing on to fresh territory. If we don't launch a counterattack now, we never will."

   "You have to do it," Isabelle agreed vigorously, not showing the fear she felt for him.

   In the weeks following his appointment to the regency, Henry had returned to his mother and siblings at Corfe. William had immediately set to work, sending out promises of safe conduct to all who wished to come and talk to him about changing their allegiance. He had offered amnesties and favourable terms for rebels returning to the fold and had reissued the great charter of Runnymede in amended form. Thus far his efforts had yielded a desultory trickle, but no one of significance had been moved to join the young King's cause. Nevertheless, against the odds, William was managing to keep the troops paid, armed, and in the field. Even after nigh on thirty years of marriage, Isabelle found space to be astounded at her husband's abilities and his sheer, stubborn determination to find a way. Following that single, private show of doubt and despair, he had rallied and set out to go down with the ship. Five months later, storm-tossed, battered, sails ragged, they were still afloat and that in itself was a testament to the calibre of the man at the steerboard.

   At the chamber door, William's usher cleared his throat. "Sire, my lady…the Earl of Salisbury is here to see you."

   Isabelle turned; so did William.

   "Marshal…" Longespée had been waiting on the usher's announcement and now he moved past him into the room.

   Isabelle hastened to greet him, her hand outstretched, delight on her face. "My lord, this is indeed a welcome surprise."

   Longespée gave a shadowed smile. "Welcome to you, and certainly a surprise to me," he said, but kissed her warmly on either cheek before going to William. The men clasped each other hard. Isabelle hastened to plump the cushions on the bench near the hearth, and had Belle bring wine. "Pray," she murmured sidelong to her daughter, "as if your life depended on it."

   The Earl took his seat, flipped his fine emerald-green cloak out of the way, and accepted the cup Belle gracefully presented to him. "You have beautiful daughters, Marshal," he said. Belle lowered her lashes and looked suitably demure.

   "They take after their mother," William replied, sitting beside Longespée.

"Not betrothed yet?"

"Given the circumstances, no."

   "Ah." Longespée sipped the wine and fiddled with his cloak again.

   "I am pleased to see you—you know you are always welcome in my house. Have you come alone?"

   Longespée looked pensive. "If you are asking whether I have brought other barons with me, the answer is no. My decision to come to you is mine alone. If you are asking if I have brought troops, then yes; if you want them, they are yours."

   "I take it you have left Louis?"

   "I was reluctant to join him in the first place," Longespée said sombrely. "I always had my reservations about Louis…but then I had my reservations about my brother too, and cause to leave him." He looked towards Isabelle. "You've heard the story about him and Ela?"

   She nodded. "Several versions."

   "He frightened her badly. She irritated him, you see, and you know how cruel he could be. He thought she took my attention away from him and he didn't like that either…but he didn't lie with her. That part at least is untrue."

   "So you left him because of Ela?" Isabelle asked with a woman's curiosity.

   Longespée frowned. "That was part of it, Lady Isabelle, but it was the other things. God knows Maude de Braose had much in common with a viper, but the way she ended her life…" His mouth twisted and he looked down at his wine. When he raised his head again, his gaze was bleak. "I saw my brother say and do things that no decent man could stomach, but I loved him despite all. Even if his soul was twisted, it hurt me to desert him, but I couldn't stay. When Louis threatened to invade my lands I didn't resist him, but now my brother is dead and I have no quarrel with his son." Drawing a deep breath, he turned to William. "If we can agree terms, I offer my support to our young King, my nephew."

   "You won't find me difficult." William's smile was thin. "I do not have so many allies that I can afford to turn men away and, in truth, I welcome you with open arms as a friend, as well as an ally."

   "I have never counted you my enemy, Marshal, even when we have been on opposite sides. I don't know how many more will come to you, though. It will depend upon how soon Louis returns from France, and what resources he brings."

   "And how determined we are in his absence," William said.

   "Yes, that too," Longespée agreed. "I will not shirk whatever's to be done. I am here to build my nephew's future, not see it destroyed."

                             *** A week later, William and Longespée were riding along the coast road near Shoreham, on their way to lay siege to the French-held castle at Farnham, when the scouts brought news that another troop was advancing towards them at a rapid trot from the direction of the Downs.

   "It's your son, my lord, the Young Marshal," said the soldier, looking uneasy.

   The news sent a spark of optimism through William's core. He had been hoping for a long time and sometimes it had been very hard to keep faith. Of course, there were no guarantees even now.

   "Ah," said Longespée with the glimmer of a smile. "I thought he might come to treat with you now Louis has gone home."

   "He hasn't been fighting for Louis since Worcester," William said sharply.

   "But neither has he come back to you. He's been staying clear, hasn't he? He's a good young soldier—well taught. Besides, it's in his blood. We could use his help."

   William drew rein and tried not to let his tension show. "We'll wait. No point in riding further."

   Longespée eyed him shrewdly. "You're not going to dismount, I take it?"

   "No," William said, tight-lipped. "He may be my son, my own flesh and blood, but I won't yield him the advantage."

   "As you wish. You don't mind if I do?" Longespée leaped from the saddle and walked to the beach. His boots crunched on the pebbles and shingle and the fresh sea breeze made his magnificent green cloak billow around his body like a frenzied lover.

   Moments later, banners approached from the landward side, silks snapping in the wind. The scarlet lion of Marshal rippled across its field of green and gold and beside it, in symbolic tribute, the blue and gold diagonals of Béthune. Sensing William's anxiety, Aethel sidled and pranced. William increased his grip on the reins until his knuckles showed white.

   When the distance had closed to twenty yards, his son halted his troop. Harness creaked and jingled. The soft shush of wave over shingle was an incongruous backdrop to the strained atmosphere enveloping the road. William nudged Aethel and rode forward. Will did the same so that father and son met between their lines.

   William was shocked at the changes wrought in his son since the previous summer. Gone was the youth and even the young man. The dark gaze was heavy and quiet—Isabelle's, but lacking her brightness and zest. Unable to pierce its surface, William was unnerved. "God save you," he said and had to clear the emotion from his throat. Holy Christ, he wanted to hug his son, but dared not. For the sake of all that was at stake, he had to be cautious.

   "And you, my father." Will inclined his head. His mouth remained tight and unsmiling. The wind ruffled his dark-brown hair. There was a long silence of stares, punctuated only by the tossing and champing of their horses, the gust of the wind and the crash of wave on shore. Usually eloquent and confident, William was floundering for words. He cleared his throat again. "I assume you are here to commit yourself to King Henry's cause?"

   Will raised an eyebrow. "Your assumption is premature. It depends on what you have to offer."

   William stared at his son in astonishment and a touch of affront. "You want me to give you something?"

   Will shrugged. "If I join you it will weaken the French. The rift between us was much to their advantage. I have troops I am willing to put at your disposal, so I ask again: what do you have to make it worth my while?"

   Nonplussed, but trying to look impassive, William folded his hands on the pommel of his saddle and stared at his son until the dark gaze finally dropped. "What do you want?" he asked brusquely. "What do you expect me to offer?"

   Will's expression turned bleak. "I cannot have what I want, you know that. Tell me what you are willing to give and I will tell you if it is enough."

   Inwardly William grimaced. This was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated. There was a steely quality in Will now. He had come to bargain as an equal, not a son and a supplicant. "You could go to Lancaster," William said, thinking that sending Will north would keep him out of the main fight.

   "No, not Lancaster," Will said shortly. "I would only be kicking my heels up there."

   "Huntingdon then."

   Will's shrug of response was casual, but William noticed the way his eyes narrowed. De Forz was after Huntingdon too. It went unsaid, but both men knew the reason why it might appeal. "And Marlborough," Will added after a moment's deliberation. "I want Marlborough; it's ours by right."

"And Louis wouldn't give it to you, would he?"

   "I didn't leave him because of Marlborough, and I'm not returning to you for that purpose." Restrained anger flared in Will's eyes. "I want fair compensation, but I am no mercenary. If I am joining the young King's party it is because John is dead and it is time to move on." His nostrils flared. "Also I intend keeping William de Forz where I can see him. I still don't understand why he had to have Rockingham and Bytham."

   "They were bargained for his offering the support of Aumale," William said. "I made the decision as the regent, not from personal choice. We need his men. Besides, I will not condemn a man without proof. For whatever he is responsible, God will bring him to book."

   Will said nothing, but the set of his body and the look in his eyes were more eloquent than words.

   "So," William said, urging a conclusion, "you will fight for King Henry on the understanding that Huntingdon is yours, and Marlborough if you can take it." He kneed his horse closer and held out his hand.

   Will hesitated, then gave a stiff nod. "Agreed," he said. They clasped hands formally but did not embrace. That might or might not come later, William thought, deciding on restraint. For now their skittish mounts gave them good excuse not to fall upon each other's neck. He hoped it was at least the beginning of the end of their estrangement, but what lay in front of them now was new territory, like a sea-scoured shore after a long night of storm. Seeing them clasp, Longespée turned from wandering the beach and walked back to them, a broad smile fixing from ear to ear.