‘You may not be a warrior with sword and shield, but you have your wits,’ Cecily continued. ‘I hope I have taught you well and your time at court has not been wasted. You can do many useful things with what has fallen to you – indeed it is a great opportunity. Few are given such privilege and you can do much good. Raise yourself to be worthy in God’s eyes. Do you understand me?’
Joanna struggled to meet Cecily’s gaze, which blazed with fierce passion, but she tried. ‘Yes, madam.’ She raised her chin to show that she had rallied.
‘I am glad to hear it. Your future is yet to be written, and if you are the clever young woman I know you to be, you shall have a part in the writing.’
Cecily’s homily ceased as Edward arrived holding a writhing cloth bag by its drawstrings.
‘I don’t want you to be sad,’ he said to Joanna, mischief dancing in his blue eyes, ‘so I have brought you a gift.’
Cecily regarded him with a raised brow while Joanna was wary. ‘That is most kind of you, sire.’ She eyed the bag askance, wondering what he was up to this time.
Smiling like a cherub, he unfastened the drawstrings and tipped out a spitting golden tabby kitten with four white mittens. ‘The groom was going to drown it,’ he said. ‘There have been too many born this spring already.’
Joanna stared at the little creature, now backed up against the embrasure wall, furiously lashing its fuzzy ginger tail. Its eyes were still blue, but it was not a new-born for its ears were unfurled and it was up on its toes. Her heart melted at the sight of the little creature which was very sweet even in the midst of its ire. Edward did not possess the tender sensibilities of his father; she knew he would quite happily assist the groom to be rid of surplus cats and see it as a practical and even interesting thing to do. Therefore, this was a genuine gift born of thoughtfulness, and if she refused the kitten, it would probably suffer the same fate as its siblings. Sausagez had died of old age in the winter and her heart was vulnerable and in sore need of comfort.
‘It is indeed a kind thought, my lord,’ she said, feeling tearful all over again. ‘I shall make him a collar and give him a name.’
Edward beamed with pleasure. ‘He’s called Weazel.’
Joanna lifted her brows at the name, which was a term for a foolish fellow, although it might also refer to the swift, supple little carnivores that preyed on rats and mice, the same as cats. ‘Why do you call him that?’
Edward shrugged. ‘Because the groom said he must be a “weazel” himself for letting me have him.’
Joanna cautiously reached to the kitten which had calmed from its original high dudgeon and was busy grooming its ruffled fur. ‘Weazel.’ She tested the name. It curtailed its ablutions and rubbed its head on her hand, a rumble vibrating from somewhere deep in its chest.
‘He likes you,’ Edward said. ‘I hope you like him because I will then have saved his life and made yours better.’
Joanna smiled at him. ‘Bless you, sire, for your kindness,’ she said, wondering what she was going to do with her sudden new responsibility.
Edward beamed at her and ran off to play with Henry of Almain, his good deed done and the kitten safely bestowed.
Weazel climbed into Joanna’s lap and continued to groom himself, stroking his rough pink tongue down his shoulders. Joanna looked helplessly at Cecily whose eyes were brimming with amusement. ‘I have no sage words for you on this,’ she said, ‘but you acted wisely in accepting the lord Edward’s gift. Things always happen for a reason.’
Joanna shook her head. ‘It will pounce on my needlework silks and run up the wall hangings.’ She tickled it under the chin.
‘It will catch mice and rats,’ Cecily said equably, ‘and it will take care of itself once it is grown. You only need to be its mother for a little while.’
The kitten curled up in a ball on Joanna’s knee and closed its eyes, still purring, and as it did so it took a little piece of her heart.
Standing on the deck of the ship, William watched the port of Royan become a collection of miniature buildings as the gap between the land and sea turned from a narrow blue hem to a wide border, and then to a rippling blue cloth. He had splashed and sailed in the waters of the Tarn and the Garonne all his life, but he had never been to sea, and the swelling tide under the hull seemed like the muscles of a great creature, filling him with exhilaration and fear. He licked his lips, tasting salt, and listened to the scream of the gulls harnessing the wind.
His brother Aymer joined him at the prow and clapped his shoulder. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it is done. I shall become a bishop and you will be a knight.’ Aymer’s eye corners crinkled as he smiled. Quick and intelligent, he had a love of secular things, but possessed a spiritual side too. He had yet to be ordained.
Eager to have the qualification of manhood that being knighted would convey, William returned the smile. His mind filled with images of fast horses and glittering armour, of knighthood and of proving himself among men.
‘Of course, some factions at our brother’s court won’t be overjoyed,’ Aymer said. ‘Henry has not invited us purely from the goodness of his heart, generous though he might be.’
The ship plunged into a trough and spray tossed over the strakes, making the brothers recoil. Aymer laughed. ‘Kissed by a mermaid,’ he said. ‘That has to be good fortune surely! He wants his family around him. His queen has promoted her uncles and protégés and Henry needs us to balance the scales. Just bear in mind that what he gives to us will be diverted from the hands of others, who will resent us.’
William frowned, for he had not given that aspect much consideration.
Aymer shrugged. ‘I am warning you in advance. No man goes into battle without his armour. Find your friends and cherish them, and be wary of your rivals. Others will be pressing the King for favour against our advantage, but if we stay loyal through thick and thin, he will protect us in our turn.’
‘Aymer, stop lecturing the lad and let him be.’ Guy, the oldest of the brothers, invited to England, joined them. His light-brown hair, in direct contrast to William’s, flopped forward over his forehead. A pilgrim’s cross was prominently stitched to his cloak symbolising the vow he had taken to campaign in the Holy Land – the expedition he was hoping their royal half-brother would help to fund. ‘Let us hope that charm of his will snare both our royal brother and a rich heiress.’ He too clapped William’s shoulder. ‘Geoffrey and I are counting on you and Aymer to keep everyone afloat – the Churchman and the courtier.’ He ducked as another surge of spray hissed over the strakes.
William cuffed his wet face. The expectations being heaped upon him were daunting. He glanced over at Geoffrey who was puking into a bucket and not weathering the crossing well – strange for someone so bold and sure on dry land. He too was seeking money from their royal brother – to further his interests in the Limousin, rather than settling permanently in England.
They were all on edge and reacting in their different ways. Aymer was concealing his worry by talking too much, Guy by lecturing the lecturer. Geoffrey would have been pacing the deck like a caged lion if he wasn’t so sick – and probably picking a fight. And William was stuck in his thoughts as they turned and turned like a wheel of fortune, buoyed and anxious, high and low and high again as they embarked on the biggest gamble of their lives.
