The Winter Crown (41 page)

Arriving in Poitiers, mired from the road, he went directly to the church of Saint-Hilaire and stood before Patrick of Salisbury’s grave, his fists clenched and his mouth a straight, thin line.

‘He was one of my most able commanders,’ he said to Alienor. ‘His loss is a sore blow, God rest his soul, and God rot his murderers in hell.’

‘Amen to that,’ Alienor murmured. She saw the exhaustion in his face, the lines of care that had not been there before, and was almost sorry for him.

‘I cannot stay in person to deal with the matter,’ he said with impatience. ‘I do not have the time. Brittany is in turmoil, and I do not trust Louis to keep this truce. I can spare no more than a few days to sort out this mess.’

It was all in danger of getting away from him, but she could tell he would rather face all the demons of hell than admit to it. He was still determined to exert complete control. ‘Then a few days will have to do.’

He scowled and bit at a ragged thumbnail. ‘I thought sending you into the duchy would quell their rebellious tendencies. I did not expect to have to come here and deal with matters again so soon.’

She raised her brows. ‘I hope you are not blaming me.’

‘No,’ he said tersely, ‘but your subjects are quarrelsome and difficult to rule.’

His tone of voice suggested that he thought her no different to them. ‘It did not prevent you from marrying me,’ she said. ‘Indeed, you were eager for the match as I recall.’

‘Perhaps I was too young to know what I was getting into.’

‘Perhaps I should have thought better of it before it was too late.’

They glared at each other. Then Henry turned without a word and left the church. Alienor sighed, lit a candle and knelt to pray.

‘I am going to appoint William de Tancarville governor in Patrick’s place,’ Henry announced. ‘He is experienced in border warfare and will hold the Lusignans to the point.’ He lifted his goblet and drank. Washed and changed, he was pacing his chamber at the top of the Maubergeonne Tower and making plans.

Alienor’s lips tightened but she inclined her head. De Tancarville was another who believed the world revolved around his demands; nevertheless, he was courtly and courteous, a patron of young knights with chivalric notions.

‘I need to find someone to take his place in Normandy, but that’s less of a problem than dealing with your barons.’

Alienor absorbed the jibe without comment. Her barons had always been wilful and disinclined to accept a strong rule, be it from man or woman, a fact Henry had known when he married her. ‘Patrick’s nephew, William Marshal,’ she said. ‘He survived the ambush and the Lusignans are demanding a ransom of thirty marks for his return. I told the Countess of Salisbury I would pay the sum.’

The corner of Henry’s mouth rose in a mocking half-smile. ‘Another of your projects?’

She smoothed her sleeve. ‘I believe him worth cultivating. Both his loyalty and fighting abilities are proven.’

‘You could do worse,’ he said, ‘although it remains to be seen if thirty marks is a bargain or not. His father was staunch but inclined to go his own way about it, and his older brother serves me well enough.’ Henry refreshed his cup and after a moment changed the subject. ‘This truce I am negotiating with the French,’ he said. ‘One of the terms we have agreed is a betrothal between Richard and Louis’s daughter Alais.’

Alienor’s stomach lurched downwards. She stared at him in horror. ‘Is one son not enough for you?’ she demanded. ‘How could you? I will not agree to this, ever!’

Henry heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘We discussed all this before when Harry was betrothed. The match will secure our borders and bring peace. We won’t have to worry about French hostility any more or whom Louis might select to marry the girl. The daughters you bore him are wed into the Blois family and we need to counteract that. It will be good for the boys. Two brothers married to two sisters – it will keep our own family ties strong.’

The notion of having Louis’s daughter as a future Duchess of Aquitaine sickened Alienor. Even in her Poitevan heartland he was dictating to her. Richard would never wed Alais. So steely was her resolve in that moment that it immediately settled her down. ‘As you wish,’ she said, and had the satisfaction of seeing Henry look taken aback. Clearly he had been prepared for a fight. His eyes narrowed in suspicion and when she returned his look blandly, he pointed his finger at her. ‘I warn you not to cross me,’ he said. ‘I will be watching.’

Richard’s deep blue gaze widened with shock and then filled with anger and disgust. ‘Betrothed to Alais of France? The younger sister of my brother’s wife? She’s a nothing; I won’t do it. I don’t want to be betrothed to anyone.’

Alienor had summoned Richard to her chamber to give him the news. He stood in front of her, his chin jutting with mutiny. He was vibrant and beautiful and her heart ached. ‘Your father deems it necessary for peace with France; I cannot go against his decision to make this betrothal, but you are too young to wed.’

‘So was my brother but it still happened to him,’ Richard spat.

‘It will not happen to you,’ Alienor said fiercely. ‘I promise that on the bones of our ancestors. You may have to suffer a betrothal, but it will not lead to a wedding, I swear on my soul.’

Richard fell silent while he digested her words. Then he said, ‘When I am Duke of Aquitaine, I shall do as I please and wed whom I choose.’ He sent her a forceful look. ‘No one shall stop me.’

Alienor’s heart brimmed with love, pride and sadness at his ferocious intensity. Marriage was always a matter of choice – a political one. Begetting this man-child was one of the rare blessings of her match with Henry, and she would not allow Richard’s father to tarnish that brightness. ‘Indeed,’ she said. ‘You will always be a player, never one of the pieces.’

The August sun beat down upon Poitiers, drawing the blue from the sky until it was a burning white. House timbers were almost too hot to touch and the dazzle on harness fittings was blinding to those inadvertently caught out. Lizards basked, soaking up the heat. Dogs sprawled in the shade under carts, and people retreated to the depths of their dwellings to await the lessening of the sun’s intensity.

Within the ducal palace, protected by the insulation of thick stone walls, Alienor was holding court, Richard at her side, a golden coronet binding his red-gold hair.

Negotiations were still continuing with the French, as was sporadic warfare, and Henry was in Normandy dealing with the situation. William de Tancarville had been working to control the Poitevan rebels and had seen off the threat posed by the Lusignan faction – for the time being at least. Alienor was not optimistic that their ambitious, warlike tendencies would remain quelled for long, but all was relatively quiet for the moment.

The next petitioner summoned to the dais by the ushers was Patrick of Salisbury’s recently ransomed nephew, William Marshal, who had returned to Poitiers two days ago, his captors having been paid the requisite thirty marks.

Alienor had sent the young man new clothes from her livery cupboards, and he was dressed in a fresh shirt of soft linen, a rust-red tunic and close-fitting blue chausses. He walked up the hall, the slight check in his step a sign that he was still recovering from the leg injury he had received during the skirmish that had killed his uncle. He knelt without difficulty, however, and bowed his head. She noted with approval that he had taken care with his appearance beyond the clothes. His neatly trimmed brown hair, his clean-shaven jaw and an astringent aroma of herbs suggested time spent in a bath and the services of a barber. Closer up, she noted the dark shadows under his eyes, and he was thinner than before his ordeal, but he still possessed that vital, resilient spark.

‘Come, sit by me.’ With a sweep of her sleeve she indicated a stool at her left-hand side, lower than her chair, but still a place of privilege. ‘Now we have you returned to us, we must consider your future.’

‘Madam.’ He did as she bade him, managing to fold himself into the position with grace despite the length of his limbs.

‘I know you have nothing to your name,’ she said gently.

She saw the flicker of trepidation swiftly concealed and knew its reason. A knight who had nothing could easily become nothing. And more than trepidation, she recognised his pain at having to admit he was beholden for his freedom. ‘Madam, that is true, saving my honour.’

Alienor acknowledged his reply with a smile. ‘Well, your honour is worth the highest ransom in itself and I intend to help you make your way in the world. You will need equipment if you are to serve and protect me as courageously as you served your valiant uncle.’

William said nothing, but his jaw was taut.

‘I now stand in his place and take on the responsibility of seeing to your welfare and equipping you. You have become mine.’

‘Madam, it is a great honour and privilege you set before me – one I can never repay.’

‘The debt is mine,’ she replied. ‘And you can repay it best by serving me well. I had your spare destrier cared for during your absence, and I gift you with a replacement stallion for the one you lost, as well as a palfrey and sumpter. They are waiting for you in my stable.’

Sudden tears swam in his eyes, and he swallowed. ‘Forgive me, madam. I am overwhelmed by your kindness. I never thought to be offered such things.’

‘I would be foolish not to bestow them on you and bind you to my service,’ she said with a shake of her head and a smile. ‘It is not all kindness, William.’ His genuine response moved her and reinforced her opinion of him. The court was full of dissembling and sycophancy and the power play of young men striving to climb fortune’s wheel by stepping on their companions. William had an easy way; he instinctively knew the right thing to say at the right time, but his tears and the ragged edge to his voice were proof to her of much greater depth.

‘You must be measured for your new hauberk,’ she said, ‘and order what you desire from my armourers in the way of weapons and accoutrements. See my chancellor and he will issue you the necessary writs.’ She reached down to the side of her chair and produced a leather pouch, fat with coins. ‘This is for your immediate expenses. From this moment forth you are a waged knight of my household.’ Having given him the purse, she waited until he had composed himself, and then she took his hands between hers and gave him the kiss of peace on his smooth, shaven cheek. Rosemary, she thought. And pine. ‘We will talk later.’

He bowed from her presence and she watched him leave with warmth in her heart and a smile on her lips. For the outlay of a modest sum of money and some pieces of good equipment, she had just attached to her entourage a young man of high calibre and talent, and she was well satisfied with her bargain.

She turned to Richard. ‘Mark the men you believe will be useful to you,’ she said. ‘Treat them well and they will repay you a hundredfold.’

He gave her an innocent look. ‘Like Papa treated Thomas Becket?’

‘You reap what you sow,’ she replied. ‘I think you understand.’

‘Yes, Mama. Only give power to men you trust, and always make sure you have more than they do.’

Alienor smiled. ‘Just so,’ she said.

Wrapped in a sable-lined cloak, Alienor looked out from her window in the Maubergeonne Tower on a bitter winter’s morning with frost silvering the roofs and covering the ground like gritty loaf sugar. In the grey dawn William Marshal was blowing on his hands as he supervised the assembly of a pack train of sumpter horses and servants. He wore his own heavy winter cloak – a gift from her at Christmas – and a fur-edged cap pulled well down over his ears.

Alienor had witnessed a change in him since his return from captivity. The arrogance of young knighthood had developed into something more mature and serious, although he still had that heart-melting smile and that gleam in his eyes. She was giving him great responsibility by trusting him to take Richard to his father at Montmirail where a conference was to be held with the French, aimed at securing future peace and stability for all.

She watched him go to his new destrier, stroke its face, and blow his breath in its nostrils. Beausire was a powerful dark bay, by far the best in her stable. Many knights above William in seniority did not own a warhorse of this quality. He had cost Alienor more than William’s ransom, but she had wanted him to have the best.

The stallion nosed William, seeking a titbit, and he produced a piece of bread on the flat of his hand. Observing the pride on the young knight’s face as he took a moment with his horse, Alienor smiled with the pleasure of knowing they were both hers. As if sensing her scrutiny, William raised his head and glanced towards her window. He patted the stallion’s neck, spoke briefly to his squire, and set off towards the tower.

Alienor withdrew from the embrasure and went to sit before the fire at her tapestry frame. The pair of dozing gazehounds raised their heads and thumped their tails on the floor. Not wanting to encourage them to climb in her lap she ignored them. Moments later, her chamberlain ushered William into her presence.

‘Madam,’ William said, and knelt, immediately becoming the dogs’ victim as they greeted him with enthusiastic licks and wags. Laughing at his plight, Alienor bade him rise and join her on the bench. He fondled the dogs, speaking their names and rubbing their ears while they pushed at him and swiped him with their tongues, demanding affection.

‘Is everything ready?’ she asked.

‘Yes, madam, all is prepared.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I have a new appreciation of my father’s skills after organising all this.’

‘I did not know him well, but enough to recognise him as a resourceful man.’

‘Indeed he was, madam – he had to be.’

Alienor had heard the story of how William had nearly been hanged as a child when taken hostage for his father’s pledge of faith to King Stephen. John FitzGilbert had broken that faith because of his more binding promise of allegiance to Henry and the Angevin cause, and only King Stephen’s soft heart had kept William from the gallows. William must know a great deal about the cost of loyalty and she suspected it had given him a deeper strength on which to draw. ‘I am entrusting you with the care of my son,’ she said. ‘To protect him on the road and to deliver him whole to his father.’