Three days later, William stood before the dark marble tomb in Worcester Cathedral and gazed on the effigy of Henry’s father King John in the majesty of a scarlet robe with a gem-set neckline of sapphire, emerald and ruby glass. John’s hair lay in wavy ripples to the level of his beard and his eyes were open, staring into eternity. His white gloves were gilded on the backs and so were his spurs. Either side of his head sat protective images of St Oswald and St Wulfstan. From everything William had heard, King John had not been particularly religious, but prudence said a man should store up insurance in heaven and invoke protection in the afterlife.
Henry joined him. ‘I have been looking for you,’ he said.
‘I was paying my respects to your father,’ William replied.
He glanced at his half-brother. Although still gaunt and pale, Henry’s shoulder wound was healing well and he had recovered a little of himself. His hands still trembled and he was skeletal under his robes, but he had been able to go through the day and sit in council, although Edward was doing most of the organising.
Henry touched the side of the tomb. ‘It resembles him a little,’ he said. ‘I remember him wearing those scarlet robes on great occasions, and that jewelled collar. Your wife’s grandsire once told me that if ever I should grow up to be like him, then he wished me an early grave.’
William raised his brows. Henry had spoken of the incident on another occasion, many years ago, and clearly the Marshal’s words had cut deeply.
‘I tried not to be,’ Henry said wearily, ‘but my barons still rebelled against me and hated me as they did him. If you are a king, some things are cast in stone.’
‘Not everyone rebelled,’ William said. ‘And many love you.’
Henry grimaced. ‘All I have ever wanted is peace, but it seems that so many men prefer war as a means to an end.’
‘But there is hope,’ William said. ‘I was thinking of your great chamber and how it is being restored and made new, even if it will never be the same. Things can be made better than they were.’
Henry nodded, and his eyes were wet. He embraced William affectionately, then drew away. ‘I came to tell you that some prisoners have arrived, including your wife’s half-brother, Guillaume de Munchensy. If you want custody while we negotiate his ransom and reparations, he is yours.’
William puffed out his cheeks. He had no desire to see his brother-by-marriage, but he had a duty towards him, and there was the matter of Swanscombe. ‘Thank you, sire, I will attend to the matter.’ What a pity Guillaume had not died in battle, he thought. The way he had turned to de Montfort and scorned his family was an insult hard to forgive.
Filled with distaste, William returned to his lodging and sent for the young man. In the meantime, he had James bring a flagon of wine and a platter of crisply fried pastries – he might as well be comfortable while he dealt with the youth.
Guillaume arrived, escorted between two of William’s knights. His clothes were creased but decent; the dagger sheath at his belt was empty. An angry scratch swiped his face from temple to jaw and the look he shot at William held bitter hostility, and also fear.
William directed him to a bench and, dismissing everyone, poured wine. ‘I am not going to gloat,’ he said, ‘nor am I going to dwell on past harms and insults because it does no good beyond satisfying an appetite for vengeance, and for now I am staying my hand.’
‘What are you going to do with me?’
‘That is not my decision, although as a favour because you are kin I have influence to mitigate some of the consequences. I can plead your case and say that you were young and easily swayed, that you have seen the error of your ways and deeply repent supporting Simon de Montfort. Whether either would be true is another matter.’
Guillaume thrust out his bottom lip and scowled.
William sighed. ‘I am trying to help you for your sister’s sake. Not for your own or mine, but for Joanna’s.’
‘She would not care if I died,’ Guillaume said roughly.
‘You are wrong, which shows how little you know of her. She may have no love for you, but she has never sought to do you ill even if you have been less discriminating with her. For my wife, it is a matter of duty to you, and to God. Certainly, I would not care if you died, but I will not actively seek your demise. If you have survived thus far, it must be for a reason.’
Guillaume shrugged. ‘Let us get on with it then.’
William took a drink, feigning indifference. ‘You are to be released on bail into the custody of your mother for the time being. I shall be administering your lands while matters go forward and England is restored to full and proper rule. You shall have an income on which to live – dependent on me. Once that has been settled and you have proved trustworthy, you shall receive a full pardon from the King and be restored to your inheritance. Until you have proved your loyalty and worthiness you will not be permitted the use of your estates. However, you will not be a prisoner and your mother will go surety for you.’
Guillaume regarded him with loathing. ‘Am I supposed to thank you for this?’
William shrugged. ‘Do as you wish. It matters not to me.’ His irritation increased. ‘I have no need of or requirement for your gratitude. If you are nothing to me, then you become an irrelevance. If I objected to your attitude, it would imply that it mattered enough for me to care, and I no longer do. I would say, though, that if you wish to have your lands returned, you should be more amenable, since I am your road to the mercy of the King and the lord Edward – as is your sister. I leave it to your common sense to decide which road you will take.’
Guillaume’s jaw worked. He picked up his cup and took a drink.
William helped himself to a pastry. ‘It is your future.’
Guillaume cleared his throat. ‘You give me no choice,’ he said, scowling. ‘It is not palatable, but it seems I must eat what is upon my trencher.’
‘Now you understand.’
Guillaume put down his cup and stood up. William looked at him, for although very different from Joanna, something in the set of his shoulders when facing a challenge reminded him of his wife.
