The Winter Crown (28 page)

Henry shrugged. ‘It will do no harm to promote the tale and discomfort the Archbishop, although I suspect the real cause of Brito’s woe is that his hope of carving his own comfortable little niche from the de Warenne estates has been dashed. He will have to take his chance elsewhere, as will the rest of them.’ He waved his hand in dismissal. ‘Leave me. I will talk with you later when I have had time to reflect and prepare a letter for my mother.’

Hamelin saw the chaplain out and returned to Henry. ‘I am sorry,’ he said.

‘You were never fond of him.’

‘But we were born of the same father and he was my – our brother. We shared the bond of kinship, and for that I regret his passing.’

A muscle worked in Henry’s jaw. How easily death happened; how suddenly life was taken away. He couldn’t trust anyone not to leave him and that caused him to feel sick. He looked at Hamelin, who returned his stare, and then crossed the space between them and embraced him, hands folding around his shoulders in a firm hug.

Henry was frozen with surprise, and shackled by his inability to deal with grief. But some shard of emotion pierced his restraint and for an instant he dared to open himself and grip Hamelin tight and close in return. Abruptly he drew away before the chasm in his defences became any wider. He sniffed once and took a deep breath. ‘I may have some more news for you later,’ he said gruffly, ‘but I need to think on it first, and I want to be alone for a while.’

Hamelin gave Henry a long look, but did not question him. Swallowing down his own emotion, he bowed, and then, adjusting his cloak to settle himself, went to the door.

Henry watched him leave. One moment on this side of the arch and in full view, the next lost from sight. That’s how easy it was.

Alienor glanced at Henry who was sitting by the fire in her chamber. He had not attempted to move, and she had made preparations for him to stay the night. Everything was quiet and soft so as not to disturb him. The children had been warned to be on their best behaviour, and even Richard had been subdued for once. The nurses had taken them off to bed and she and Henry were alone save for two dozing hounds. She came to rest her hand lightly on his shoulder. She no longer believed that their marriage was a haven against the world, but she wanted to offer him comfort.

‘I have heard the rumours,’ she said, ‘that he pined away because he was denied the de Warenne lands, but I do not believe them.’

‘Neither do I,’ Henry said, grimacing. ‘My brother was of stronger mettle than that.’

‘I am relieved to hear you say so.’

‘Why, because it will make you feel less guilty?’

‘Because it is a foolish argument. In some ways it is fortunate that the marriage did not take place – Isabel would have been widowed scarcely before becoming a wife.’

Henry raised his brows. ‘I dread to think what you would consider unfortunate,’ he said. ‘Outside this chamber, I want to let the rumour spread that my brother died of a broken heart.’

She looked at him in surprise ‘Why?’

‘Because Thomas Becket denied him, and men will blame him. Even if they do not think it now, they will come to do so, and that suits my purpose.’

It was a clever ploy; he would do whatever he must to win.

‘At least my brother is proving useful for once,’ he said.

She recoiled at the flippancy of the remark, but then she saw the tension in his jaw and the tightness around his eyes, and realised he was struggling. She suspected he had a raging headache, but knew if she suggested he call for his physician, he would snarl at her to mind her own business.

‘Still,’ he said, ‘I now know what to do about the marriage of Isabel de Warenne.’ He rose to his feet and paced the chamber, dissipating his emotion.

Alarm jolted through her, but her expression remained impassive. ‘Whom did you have in mind?’

He sent her a fierce look. ‘After Lent, she will wed Hamelin; I will brook no argument.’

Alienor was fleetingly disappointed because she would have preferred someone of her own affinity, but it was a decent choice and a fair one. She noted that once again Henry had succeeded in snubbing Becket; his choice meant that the de Warenne lands would still come under royal influence. ‘I will give you no argument on that score,’ she said. ‘I think it a fine idea.’

‘Well, that at least deserves praise and celebration,’ Henry said with an ironic twist to his lips.

‘I am always amenable to reasonable suggestions,’ Alienor retorted. ‘Perhaps you do not make them often enough. I shall tell her on the morrow.’

‘And she will do as she is bidden. I will not have her hiding behind your skirts this time.’

‘I think you will find her compliant,’ Alienor said. ‘It is late, sire, will you come to bed?’

He walked back across the room and set his hands around her waist. ‘It is a long time since you asked me that.’

‘It is a long time since you have been in my chamber at night.’ She reached to his belt buckle. ‘Perhaps we should both make the most of such a rare opportunity.’

The next morning after mass, Alienor drew Isabel to the embrasure seat in her chamber for a quiet word.

‘I am sorry about the King’s brother,’ Isabel said. ‘I have prayed for him, and I hope he is with God in heaven now. I did not want to be his wife, and I disagreed with him on many occasions, but I did not wish this end for him.’ She bit her lip. ‘I know what people are saying about his death – I have heard the rumours.’

‘Foolish gossip,’ Alienor said briskly. ‘I could imagine nothing less likely than him pining away. He didn’t have that kind of nature.’ She took Isabel’s hand. ‘Listen to me. The King has chosen another man to be your husband, and this time I think you will approve.’

Isabel’s eyes filled with trepidation and Alienor shook her head and smiled. ‘Do not be alarmed. Henry has his other brother Hamelin in mind for you.’

Isabel covered her mouth with her hand.

‘I know it is sudden, but it is a good match. You have known Hamelin for many years, and I have never seen you ill at ease with him. He has Henry’s favour; he is dependable – and handsome into the bargain,’ Alienor added with a smile.

Isabel took a deep breath. ‘It is all so unexpected. A moment ago I was praying for the welfare of William FitzEmpress’s soul, and now you say the King desires me to wed his remaining brother.’

‘He does, and he will not be gainsaid,’ Alienor warned, steel entering her tone. ‘It is a good offer, and I advise you to take it.’

Isabel bit her lip. ‘I have never allowed myself to look at the Vicomte of Touraine in that way; I have to adjust, but I do not think it will be difficult.’ Her lips curved in a tremulous smile. ‘If it be the King’s will, I shall obey with a glad and joyous heart.’

Alienor kissed her. ‘You would be a sheep if you said otherwise,’ she said with a relieved laugh. ‘Hamelin may not be a prince by birth, but he is certainly a prince among men. And an honoured one too, to have you to wife.’

Isabel blushed. ‘I hope he thinks so,’ she said. ‘I will be sorry to leave you, madam.’

‘And I shall miss you,’ Alienor replied, ‘but you will visit often and we still have some time together because the wedding will not take place before Easter. We have time to plan your nuptials and you and Hamelin can better acquaint yourselves before you share a bed.’ Her eyes sparkled mischievously and Isabel’s flush deepened, travelling all the way from her throat to her forehead.

‘I have long thought of you as a sister,’ Alienor added, ‘and now we shall be sisters-by-marriage – and that pleases me most of all.’

Isabel accepted Hamelin’s help to dismount from her black palfrey and walked with him a little way until they came to a wooden bridge, hunching over the River Wandle with a watermill beyond. The spring sun was almost warm, but it had rained recently and the water rushed under the arch at tumbling silver speed. Hawthorn leaves had begun to show the tips of pale green buds, and yellow celandine flowers starred the upper reaches of the riverbanks.

Hamelin leaned on the bridge to watch the racing water and she was intensely aware of him at her side, as if they stood together in an illuminated reality that separated them from all but their immediate surroundings.

Yesterday the announcement had gone out that they would marry, but since it was Lent and the court was in mourning for William FitzEmpress, the celebration had been muted and the toasts formal and serious. Nevertheless, she and Hamelin had become the centre of attention and there had been no time to talk alone until he suggested going out for this ride and leaving London several miles behind. Isabel had almost declined because the last time she had gone riding with a suitor, the enterprise had ended in disaster, and that suitor was now untimely dead. Although she had agreed to Hamelin’s request, she was unsettled and on edge.

Hamelin clasped his hands loosely together. ‘I brought you here so we could talk without being overheard,’ he said.

‘That is an excellent idea,’ she said with a tense smile. It was also proof that he had been thinking ahead.

He fixed her with a steady gaze. His eyes were hazel in the sunlight: a blend of pale amber and grey like fine shingle. ‘We are to marry, and I want us to be able to talk openly and honestly. I see a lack of it elsewhere at court. The truth is as difficult to find as a fleck of gold in six feet of mud, and I do not want that to be the way of our match.’

Isabel’s feelings tumbled at the same speed as the water. She returned his gaze with candour, because he had used the words ‘openly’ and ‘honestly’, but it was a hard thing to do; she did not know him well, and did not want to appear improper. ‘Neither do I, my lord.’

‘I want you to know that although this match has been agreed for political purposes at the King’s behest, I enter it willingly and with a whole heart. I will put no other above you and you will be my wife in love and honour for the rest of my life.’

It was as if he had plucked a resounding note on her heartstrings and for a moment Isabel almost reeled. It was the stuff of romantic dreams. These were words that young girls imagined handsome young knights saying to them in courtship, but they were not the coin of everyday life. Did she take them for kindness, for falsehood … or for truth? The latter was like daring to stare into the sun. She was thirty-two years old, and Hamelin similar; they had both weathered the storms of life and were not naive.

His stare had that same intensity of focus as his royal brother’s but rather than fierce it was patient. ‘What do you say?’

Isabel shook her head. ‘I do not know what to say. Whatever my words they will not be adequate.’

He set his hand over hers and smiled. ‘I am the only one to hear them. I truly mean what I say about openness and honesty; never doubt that.’

She inhaled deeply. ‘Then, in honesty, I will endeavour to content you and honour you through the blessed times and those of hardship too – and come to you with a whole heart.’ Her face was burning, and she had to look down.

‘Then we have an agreement and all is well.’ He put his arm and his cloak around her, drawing her against him, and the symbolic strength of his protection filled Isabel with a delicate but growing happiness, like a bubble of light in her hands.

‘You are beautiful,’ Alienor told Isabel as they prepared to leave the Queen’s chamber at Westminster and parade to the abbey for Isabel’s marriage to Hamelin.

Isabel smiled shyly at the compliment and adjusted her embroidered gold belt. The wedding gown of blue silk, damascened with gold, clung to her body before flaring at the hips. Her brunette hair, woven in two thick plaits, was secured in a net of gold thread, forming a base on which to pin a silk veil and a coronet set with sapphires. ‘Do you think Hamelin will like it?’

‘I think that you will take his breath away,’ Alienor replied. ‘He is not a fool; he knows his good fortune.’

‘This is a new beginning,’ Isabel said, ‘and I have you to thank for it.’

‘You can best repay me by living your life with Hamelin to the full,’ Alienor said. ‘Do not waste a single moment.’

‘I don’t intend to.’ Isabel stooped to accept a posy of spring flowers from little Matilda, recently picked in the palace garden. ‘Bless you,’ she said, kissing her cheek.

Alienor’s other children had gathered in the chamber, waiting the moment to go to the marriage. For once Richard, Harry and Geoffrey were behaving themselves; handsome royal princes of nine, rising seven, and rising six. They were strong, long-limbed and sturdy for their ages and made Alienor deeply proud. Their sister Alie at two and a half had just begun to wear proper little dresses. Her hair was a mass of smoky-brown waves and she had the striking green-blue eyes of her grandsire Geoffrey le Bel, Count of Anjou. She was a dainty child, fine-boned and delicate in all her movements, but her will was as fierce as fire and, despite her fragile looks, she was robust.

‘Are you ready?’ Alienor adjusted the clasp on Isabel’s cloak of soft red wool.

‘Almost.’ Firming her lips, Isabel removed, after some tugging, her first wedding ring and handed it to her maid to put in her jewel casket. ‘Yes,’ she said, raising her chin. ‘Now I am.’

Isabel looked round the comfortable chamber at Westminster Palace where she and Hamelin were to spend their wedding night before setting out for Acre in Norfolk next day.

The women had removed her beautiful blue wedding gown and underdress, and all she wore now was a white chemise of delicate linen chansil. Alienor, who had been helping her disrobe, playing the part of lady’s maid to honour the bride, started to unpin the headdress, but Isabel stopped her.

‘That is my new husband’s privilege,’ she said, pink-cheeked. ‘My lord has never seen my hair unbound. I do not come as a virgin to our marriage bed – but it will be the first time he sees my hair loose, and the first time we sleep in the same bed, and that is as sacred as virginity.’

Her words humbled Alienor and almost brought tears to her eyes, because she remembered her wedding night with Henry when she had experienced those kinds of feelings for a mate, and gloried in the protection and strength of a virile man lying at her side. Sometimes she still caught glimmers of that emotion, but these days they were like motes in a sunbeam, briefly glittering and then gone. ‘Indeed, you are right,’ she said softly.