‘What a beauty,’ William said admiringly.
John flashed him a smile. ‘This is Neddy,’ he said.
William raised his brows. ‘Neddy?’
John’s grin became sardonic. ‘Usually men give their horses the most glorious and warlike names, but I chose to be different.’
William flushed, for the first would have been his instinct. He thought it a little demeaning to give such a fine horse a common name; however, he held his peace.
‘He’s from a line bred from a Spanish mare given to my mother’s grandsire by Empress Matilda. They’re always greys. I have had him since he was foaled. By the time he is ten he will be almost white.’
William examined the horse, patting its neck, running his hands down its shoulders and checking its legs. He was aware of John de Warenne assessing him closely too. They had formed a rapport last night in the hall but it was still fragile. Aliza thought him naive, but he was not entirely wet behind the ears. He gave people the benefit of the doubt, but he could stand up for himself if they proved to be false. He suspected that John’s overtures were coming from a direction of self-interest at the moment. The King had signalled his intention of lavishing his new kin with favour, so it behoved the future Earl of Surrey to extend a friendly hand. Whatever the motive, however, William instinctively liked John de Warenne and was prepared to see where events took them.
John gave him the bridle. ‘Here, see what you think of him.’
‘You are not riding him yourself ?’ William asked, surprised.
John smiled and shook his head. ‘I can ride Ned any time, and you are the guest. I have a good second horse.’ He signalled to the groom who brought forward a glossy liver-chestnut with a wide stripe from brow to muzzle. ‘This is Blaze.’ John slapped the horse’s neck.
William tried not to look too impressed, although both animals were magnificent, and he and John de Warenne were of a similar age. Clearly his companion shared his enthusiasm and had the resources to indulge his passion.
‘England is a fine land for horse flesh,’ John said. ‘The grazing is good and there are no difficult extremes of weather.’
William took the reins and swung across the grey’s back. Neddy stood still, ears flickering. He rubbed his neck and told him how fine he was.
‘I will keep you company the best that I can, but I may not be able to stay with you,’ John mounted and gathered the reins. ‘Neddy knows the Woodstock circuit well and will take you of his own accord. Let him have his head and he’ll bring you safely back.’
The grey tossed his head as if in agreement and pawed the ground, eager to be off.
William noted John’s amused, slightly superior expression, and his mettle rose to the challenge, although he reminded himself that he was a guest on a borrowed animal and needed to exert courtesy.
They trotted through the open gate into the park, the morning mist shredding away before them. The grey moved smoothly and William appreciated the coordination and power of his muscles and the instant response to his guidance. He urged him to a gentle trot and used leg commands to weave him one way and then the other, to prance and sidestep.
They arrived at an open grassy area, and William gave the courser his head. The grey struck out in a ground-devouring gallop that remained as fluid as water even as the speed increased until William felt as though he was flying. He could hear the chestnut thundering up behind, but Neddy stretched further and kept ahead by several lengths. As the field ran out and they approached a hazel coppice, William reined him down and turned him side on, so exhilarated he wanted to whoop aloud.
‘What a magnificent horse!’ he declared as John pulled up beside him.
John’s eyes were bright with pleasure, but his face wore an expression of respectful reassessment. He had not expected the King’s half-brother to be so good – a natural horseman, unlike the King, who was average at best. ‘You ride very well yourself.’
William flushed at the compliment. ‘We were all put on horses the moment we were out of swaddling,’ he said, ‘but I suppose you were too.’
John inclined his head. ‘While still in the womb,’ he responded with sardonic humour.
For a while the young men rode companionably side by side, deepening their acquaintance, regaling each other with tales of their backgrounds, William’s in the Limousin and John’s in Norfolk and Surrey.
‘I suppose you will live in the royal household most of the time,’ John said as they rode through the coppice, winding through the lopped trees and following the meander of a stream. ‘Even if the King finds you lands, he will want your presence and support.’
‘I suppose so,’ William answered.
‘The King will be glad to have his family around him. The Queen has hers – her uncles and sister. I think the King feels threadbare of supporters at times.’
William detected a slight edge in John’s tone. ‘Is the Queen not his ally?’
‘Of course she is, but her relatives are only the King’s kin through marriage, not blood. You are a link to his past through your mother. You preserve that bond for him now that she has gone to God,’ John said shrewdly. ‘You stand in her stead.’
‘Yes, if you put it in those terms,’ William replied. ‘He has invited us to court, and to make our homes in England, but we have no means of support lest it be from his hand and none of us knows yet what he will provide. He has not said.’
‘No, but it will be a bargain that benefits both sides,’ John said with cynicism beyond his years. ‘The King will give you a wealthy marriage to provide you with funds.’
