Aymer had travelled to Paris from Rome where the papal court had officially recognised him as Bishop of Winchester, and he too was eager to return to England and begin administering his diocese even if some clerics still opposed his appointment. He was here to renew his acquaintance with Edward, and secure his support.
Joanna thought Aymer looked unwell. Despite the cold weather, he was sweating and clammy.
‘You will be the first of us to return and set foot on English soil,’ William said to him. ‘Home by Christmas.’
‘I shall tread a path for you to follow,’ Aymer answered with a strained smile.
‘Or find a way round,’ Joanna said. ‘That might be wiser.’
‘Yes,’ he said, looking wry.
Edward entered the room to a fanfare of trumpets. He had changed his travelling robes for a tunic of scarlet wool embroidered with the golden lions of England, and wore a golden circlet on his head. The King and Queen of France were announced, resplendent in gowns of blue and gold heraldry, trimmed with luxuriant furs. Queen Marguerite had the look of her sister Alienor in the set of her mouth and her determined chin. William made a deep obeisance to both her and Louis, and withdrew to the background. The Queen acknowledged him with a dip of her head. For Joanna she had a smile and a glint of warmth in her eyes.
‘I hear certain rumours that you have the ability to spin wool into gold,’ she said mischievously. ‘Would that we all possessed such talent.’
Joanna’s cheeks grew warm as she rose from her curtsey. ‘Only at necessity, madam,’ she said. ‘I am a loyal subject of King Henry and Queen Alienor.’
Marguerite smiled at her again, and moved on. Aymer she ignored.
The company sat down to dine. Close-woven white cloths covered the tables, and the silver-gilt serving dishes gleamed in the candle light. Rare, expensive glass goblets twirled with drizzles of sapphire-blue glass stood at each place.
Edward set out to be charming and dynamic and paid particular attention to his aunt Marguerite, who swiftly fell under his spell. He steered the conversation away from political and fiscal matters, keeping the tone light and pleasant. Between courses jugglers, tumblers and musicians entertained the diners. Joanna cautiously relaxed and began to enjoy the gathering. William was drinking in moderation and behaving with punctilious decorum. She kept a side eye on Aymer, who had been very quiet and eaten virtually nothing, which gave her cause for concern.
John de Warenne leaned across to him. ‘Will you bring Emma back to England?’ he enquired.
Aymer shook his head and pressed his napkin to his lips. ‘She’s not with me any more. She took a fancy to a visiting legate from Florence and she is with him now. Always had an eye to the highest roll of the dice that girl.’ He spoke without rancour. ‘There are always more fish in the sea. What about you?’
‘Me?’ John blinked at him.
‘Have you considered marrying again? You only have the one boy. You need more than that to secure your heritage.’
John shook his head. ‘I shall never remarry,’ he said with quiet vehemence. ‘Nor take a mistress. I could never replace pure gold with anything less.’
Joanna’s eyes smarted with tears. Aymer clumsily reached across to pat John’s back. And then he withdrew and gasped in pain.
Joanna touched his arm. ‘Aymer?’
‘Just wind,’ he said, trying to shrug. ‘Had it a few days. It stopped but then returned and it will not shift. I’m sure a sea crossing will get rid of it one way or another!’ He tried to smile at her, but it became a contortion, and he suddenly hunched over and retched into his napkin.
‘Forgive me, my brother is unwell,’ William said, and swiftly helped Aymer away from the table. Guy and John hurried to assist, and between them they half carried Aymer to a bench in the adjoining chamber. He folded over, groaning in agony, struggling to draw breath. In consternation, Edward summoned his physician. Aymer’s pain had taken him beyond the ability to speak, and he could only gasp like a fish. The physician arrived at the run, black robes flapping, and crouched beside him. He examined him with swift competence and his lips tightened. Aymer would not straighten up, and when William tried to make him, he screamed like a snared rabbit. The physician managed to make him swallow a dose of syrup of poppy and arranged for him to be borne to his lodging at the nearby Priory of St Genevieve.
As a litter arrived to carry him, William took the physician to one side.
‘What is wrong with him?’ he demanded.
‘I cannot say for sure, my lord,’ the physician replied, ‘but from the symptoms I have had occasion to view in others, it is a serious affliction of the stomach that comes on suddenly. It flares up and desists. Sometimes, with rest, it will go of its own accord, but when it is severe like this over several days …’ He hesitated, but the look in his eyes said everything his words did not.
‘We should stay with him,’ William said, ‘and keep vigil.’
‘I think that would be wise, sire.’
William turned to Joanna, who had been listening and squeezed his hand in sympathy. ‘Go with him. I will have the servants escort me to our lodging, and I will set everyone to praying for him.’
He returned the squeeze and fetched Aymer’s bishop’s cloak, the one especially made for his full appointment to the See of Winchester, its edges shimmering with gold braid. William laid it gently over Aymer’s body. His brother was quieter now as the poppy began to work on his pain, but he was still grey and clammy and groaning through parted lips, and William knew he was looking at a dying man.
When William returned to Joanna at dawn, she hurried to his side.
He looked at her and shook his head. ‘He is gone,’ he said. ‘At the hour of first matins. They had to give him more poppy for the pain …’ He sat down heavily on the bench near the fire and pinched the top of his nose between forefinger and thumb. ‘I cannot believe it.’
