The Winter Crown (43 page)

Alienor bristled at his tone, which managed to suggest that it was her fault it had happened the first time. ‘Surely not if you have mopped up the rebels,’ she said sweetly. ‘Besides, I will have William Marshal for protection.’

‘Ah, the dashing young knight.’ Henry took a chicken leg and bit into the roasted golden skin. ‘I was impressed by him at Montmirail,’ he said around a mouthful of meat. ‘You made a good bargain when you ransomed him.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Mostly I am a good judge of men.’ A pity that judgement had deserted her when she married Henry.

He grunted, leaving her to interpret the sound as she would, and when he had finished eating, left the bath and stood impatiently while the servants dressed him in a soft shirt and loose robe. He picked up the copy of the
Chanson de Roland
that lay on the coffer. ‘Warlike reading,’ he said.

‘Richard’s studying it. He was very keen to know that Roland’s sword and the Oliphant horn are relics of Aquitaine.’ She looked wry. ‘He also has a burning desire to go and fight Saracens like both his great-grandsires did.’

Henry turned a few pages before putting the book down. ‘Well, that is a noble undertaking, but one he may yet grow out of.’ He went to pour himself a cup of wine. ‘Becket is still being obdurate,’ he said after a moment. ‘I had more letters yesterday. He is holding out because he thinks I cannot crown Harry without him, but no law of God says I must have the coronation performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury.’

‘But you still need a papal dispensation. You do not want anyone to declare Harry’s coronation invalid.’

Henry gave an impatient shrug. ‘I have a second archbishop in that of York. Pont L’Évêque will be willing even if Becket isn’t. And I have my dispensation – Pope Alexander granted it to me years ago in return for my favour.’

Alienor did not think that that Pope had intended the dispensation to be used in such circumstances, but still, as a document in the hand it was valuable leverage. ‘What about Marguerite? Is she to be crowned too?’

Henry stroked his chin. ‘That remains to be seen. Louis is desperate for his daughter to be made a queen, but he will want the Archbishop of Canterbury to perform the ceremony to make it binding. So he will put pressure on Thomas to reconcile with me too.’

‘You think Thomas will capitulate?’

Henry exhaled with irritation. ‘God knows. Behind my back he excommunicates my bishops and threatens an interdict. He says he will obey me in all things saving his oath to the Church. Well and good. I say in that case I am willing to have him back in all things saving the kiss of peace.’

Alienor knew that no kiss of peace meant Henry would not guarantee Becket’s safety in England, and that he would still shun him. It was like watching two stags run against each other and lock horns, both seeking the advantage and neither able to gain one.

He began his customary pacing. ‘I have been thinking about the children,’ he said as he turned, ‘the younger ones.’

Alienor was immediately suspicious. Henry’s policies concerning their offspring were usually destined to give him power and take it from her. ‘Indeed?’

‘Since there has been so much unrest, and since they both require an education, I am sending them to Fontevraud for a while. John might have a career in the Church depending on what happens and it will suit his needs whether he does or not.’ A nostalgic look softened the usual sharpness in his eyes. ‘I often stayed there as a child when my parents were otherwise occupied. You would not have to make arrangements during your progress, and be constantly worried for them.’

Alienor eyed him. It might also mean he did not want her influencing them too much. Nevertheless, she could see the advantages and she too loved Fontevraud. ‘I think it a good notion,’ she said after a pause. ‘I shall write to the Abbess.’

‘Good.’ He wandered around the chamber touching this and that while silence lengthened between them. What was there to say? They had no reason to sleep together because there were no children to beget. All business they needed to discuss had been dealt with.

Eventually Henry left the room and went to join his cronies. Alienor watched the laundress gather up his travel-stained linens and take them away to be washed. A lingering aroma of acrid male sweat permeated the atmosphere; a smell that at one time had made her almost queasy with desire. Now with a different queasiness she desperately needed to be out of the room. Having ordered her women to burn incense to purify the air, she took her cloak and went for a walk, Marchisa accompanying her.

Passing through the hall, she saw that her three eldest sons had joined their father and his entourage and were revelling in the hard masculine company: puffing out their chests and pretending to be men. Henry’s arm was across Harry’s shoulder but he was talking to all of them. He glanced briefly at Alienor but his attention was for his sons, and she might have been no more than a cat crossing his path. He would take them all, she thought bitterly. Pretending she had not noticed, she entered the tower on the other side and climbed to the battlements where she could gaze out over all of Poitiers, shining in the spring sun. The sight gave her sustenance and calmed her turmoil. Henry would be gone on the morrow.

She was still recovering her breath from the climb when Hamelin joined her. He had been among the men downstairs, but had obviously seen and followed her.

‘Your new hall has grown apace since last I was here,’ he said, nodding at the timber scaffolding caging the building works.

‘We have made a good start,’ she agreed, ‘especially now the fine weather is here. I cannot wait to hold a great summer banquet and hear the troubadours sing their
lais
.’

‘Indeed, that would be an experience to savour,’ he said. ‘I intend building a new keep on my Yorkshire estates when I return to England.’

‘And will you hold banquets with troubadours?’ she teased.

Smiling he leaned against the stonework. ‘Not in the way of Poitiers, but fitting, I hope.’

Alienor was gently amused. Hamelin had a preference for plain food, albeit of fine quality. Give him a perfectly baked loaf, a hunk of cheese from cows grazed on lush pastures and a decent wine, and he was supremely content. No spices or food in decorated disguise for him. Banquets were a symbol of status, endured rather than hosted for personal pleasure. ‘I trust Isabel is well?’

He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘That is why I followed you,’ he said, ‘to speak on her behalf. She is with child again, and was very sick when she crossed from England. She is resting at Colombiers; it is peaceful there and it would cheer her greatly to see you.’

‘Of course I shall visit, and as soon as I am able. She is dear to me both as a sister and a friend.’ The sickness of early pregnancy could be vile. Hamelin was often overprotective of his wife, who looked fragile but in reality was as strong as an ox. She gave him a mock-frown. ‘We have barely spoken since you married her and took her away.’

He grinned. ‘I will not apologise to you for that.’

‘I would not expect you to.’ Impulsively she kissed his cheek. ‘I am pleased for you both. Such closeness in a match is rare indeed.’

‘I know my good fortune and thank God for it.’

The air between them filled with the tension of unspoken words, bridled because neither wanted to be compromised.

Alienor turned once more to the glittering view spread below the walls of her tower. ‘Indeed,’ she said. ‘Count your blessings.’

Next day Henry departed with a baggage train of laden pack ponies. The knights rode side by side, row upon row in glittering harness, followed by serjeants in leather jackets and quilted tunics. Richard, Harry and Geoffrey joined the troop and rode with the army for a few miles, escorted by William Marshal. As the dust settled behind the last horse, Alienor breathed a sigh of relief, but felt bereft too, because it seemed she was always the one left standing in the dust.

It was a glorious summer day steeped in sunshine. Furry bees burrowed among the roses and lavender, collecting bulging trousers of golden pollen. Isabel sat with Alienor in the castle’s pleasance while the children played around them. Isabel’s eldest daughter and namesake, Belle, had just turned four years old, a beautiful little girl, her hair dark like Isabel’s but rippled with amber lights. She and Alie were deeply absorbed in a game with their dolls.

Under the eye of their nurses, Belle’s younger brother Will and his cousin John were building a tower from wooden blocks. Isabel’s new baby, another girl, christened Adela for her grandmother, slept in her cradle in the shade of a fig tree, watched over by a nurse. She had arrived a fortnight early and Alienor had not been present for the birth, but had ridden into Colombiers to find her new niece already thriving in the world.

‘I am sorry Hamelin will not see her for a while yet,’ Isabel said, ‘and he will be sorry too, because he dotes on the children. I have never seen such a fond father.’

Alienor raised her eyebrows. ‘Doting on small children is not usually a masculine trait, especially when those children are daughters.’

‘They are his haven from his duties. He comes to us to be cleansed and to find himself again.’

‘Like washing your hands after a day spent grubbing in mire,’ Alienor said neutrally.

Isabel bit her lip. ‘I did not mean it like that. There are fewer burdens on him. He can sit the children on his knee and watch me sew and fall asleep if he wants to. At court he has to be on his guard all the time. He is the King’s brother and men are always seeking things from him. He shields the King too, and that takes its toll.’

‘Henry won’t notice or thank him,’ Alienor said. ‘Henry takes it all as his due.’

‘Hamelin renders it as his duty, because that is his purpose. He does not begrudge that, but every man needs a haven, somewhere he can retreat and find peace.’

‘Henry would rather hunt his horses into the ground and ride other women than come home to his family,’ Alienor said and then looked away. ‘He may do as he chooses; it no longer matters to me.’

Isabel gave her a searching look. ‘I do not believe that is true, because if it did not, you would not look so grim.’

‘You are foolish,’ Alienor snapped.

‘Am I? It seems to me that it matters a great deal.’

Alienor was horrified to feel tears prickle her eyes. ‘It only matters where it applies to issues of land and inheritance,’ she said brusquely.

‘But surely, too, in what is due to you as yourself? I speak as your friend – and as your sister-by-marriage.’

Alienor dropped her gaze. Isabel was indeed a true friend, who would not seek favours of her and exploit their bond, but she did not trust her to keep quiet with Hamelin. While she and Henry had numerous secrets and angry grudges boiling between them, Isabel and Hamelin had none. Isabel shared everything with him and, sooner or later, whatever she said would get back to Henry, because Hamelin’s first loyalty was to his brother.

‘I know you do, and I thank you for your care,’ she said. ‘Henry is what he is, and nothing will change him. I thought when we first married that he could be moulded. He was a very young man and I did not know him, but I realise what a vain hope it was. And when you realise your hopes are in vain, of course you care – but it also means it does not matter, because you will never have what you want.’

‘Oh Alienor.’

‘I warned you not to pity me,’ she said, her voice developing a ragged edge. ‘I have my own path to tread and I have my children.’

‘But you are taking them to Fontevraud?’

‘Only John and Joanna and only for a little while. They will be safe there while I go on progress with Richard and then to Normandy. Of course I shall visit them, but this is a practical solution. And Alie will stay with me too.’

Isabel could not imagine doing that with any of her children, but she and Alienor had different responsibilities and attitudes. At least John and Joanna would have each other.

‘I need to move freely without constant worry and heartache,’ Alienor said. ‘John’s future may lie with the Church, and this will be a good time to discover if he has a vocation. And Joanna … well, a mother should not become too attached to her daughters. Parting with Matilda was a great grief to me, and it will be the same when Alie goes to her marriage.’ Her voice caught. ‘Negotiations are already afoot with Castile and it will not be long.’

‘You are putting on a brave face,’ Isabel said. ‘I could not do that.’

Alienor made no reply. Isabel would have to if the right dynastic marriage came along and Hamelin chose to send their girls away. ‘They say that a woman’s daughters are hers for life, and perhaps that is true for some, when they can live close to each other and visit often, but a queen must send hers into the world and it is the sons who sustain her and become her glory.’ She glanced at Richard, who was playing with some other youths, watched over by William Marshal. They were engrossed in a game in which they had to try and touch their opponent while avoiding being touched themselves and Richard was like lightning. So quick, so physically intuitive.

Servants arrived with a tray of small, crumbly pastries and wine that had been cooling in the castle well. The baby woke and began to fret. Isabel lifted her from the cradle, opened her gown and put her to suckle.

‘Don’t you have a wet nurse?’ Alienor was astonished.

Isabel shook her head. ‘I would rather feed them myself. I know what goes into them is of me, and it nurtures them. Why would I have milk in my breasts and not use it for the purpose intended?’

‘What does Hamelin say?’

‘He thinks it good that a child should suckle the milk of its mother’s nobility.’

‘But it means you are at the beck and call of a nursing child all hours of the day, and a woman who is giving suck is not supposed to lie with a man.’

Isabel blushed, but held her ground. ‘That is the lore, but you are not telling me everyone obeys it? Besides, there are other ways and Hamelin is in the field with Henry. By the time he returns, Adela will be weaning on to goat’s milk.’