The King was quiet and preoccupied at dinner, and after everyone had eaten he took William and his brothers aside with John de Warenne, Richard de Clare and other young hopefuls involved in organising the tourney.
‘I know this will disappoint you all,’ he said, ‘but I have been thinking about the tourney, and I believe it is unwise to hold it just now. I agreed on the spur of the moment when you pushed me into a corner, but I have had time to consider, and Martinmas is an inauspicious day to hold such an event since it marks the start of the slaughter month. You are young men full of hot blood and I do not want to see that blood spilled for sport.’
William stared at Henry in growing astonishment and furious disappointment, unable to believe his half-brother was snatching this from under their noses. He had all the equipment, and had paid a pretty penny for it. ‘Sire, I pray you think again,’ he said.
Henry shook his head. ‘It was ill-judged to begin with. I should never have agreed.’
‘But we need the practice,’ Guy protested. ‘And William needs to boost his military experience. He is untried, yet you have given him lands in Wales for which he might have to fight at any time. How will he win the respect of the other Marcher lords if he has no experience in combat? We all need to practise.’
‘I would not forgive myself if any of you were injured. Tourneys all too easily turn to violence. The lances are shattered and then the swords come out.’ Henry turned to William and opened one hand in appeal. ‘You are young and impatient and ardent. I am only just coming to know you, and would never forgive myself if something happened. I need you, and I do not want to see you broken on the battlefield – nor any of my other good men.’
William wanted to spit with fury. All that training, all that time and energy and expense, for nothing.
‘Your men need to practise for war so that we may have peace,’ de Clare tried. ‘We need tourneys to show the youngsters how to go about their business – surely you see that, sire? Even in times of quiet we must train – indeed especially then.’
‘But this one has been organised in too much haste and on a day for blood-letting.’
‘So, you agree we can have one if we organise it on a better day?’
Henry drew back, grimacing.
‘How will I hold my head up in front of my peers?’ William demanded, furious tears glittering in his eyes. ‘You have made me a knight, but how am I to become one if I am not seen to become one? What is the point of having all this equipment if I cannot use it?’
Henry sighed with exasperation as if at the antics of a querulous toddler. ‘I shall consider the matter,’ he said, ‘but do not push me. The Martinmas tourney I forbid, and I will hear no more on the matter. I am the King and my word is final and you will heed what I say.’
He dismissed the others but bade William stay behind.
‘I know you are deeply disappointed, my boy, and I am sorry,’ he said, softening his tone.
‘But you have said you will consider the matter,’ William persisted. Although crestfallen, he had already decided to pursue the matter until Henry capitulated. Something worth having was often denied at the first hurdle, and giving up was a sign of weakness.
‘And so I shall,’ Henry said. ‘Do not be too downhearted. I have a gift in mind for you – the castle and estate at Hertford is but a day’s ride from Westminster. There is a fine hunting park attached and you shall have some of my deer to stock it. Hunting is also a good test of riding skill. My clerks are drawing up the details even now.’
‘Thank you, sire, that is generous,’ William replied with delight, although it also felt like distracting a thwarted child with sweetmeats. However, he did not want to appear ungracious or step over the line; such largesse might dry up, and he needed his half-brother’s goodwill to flow positively towards him. Henry could probably be brought to allow the tourney on another occasion, especially since there were many more disheartened, keen young men to appease. Indeed, softening the disappointment with gifts of land and hunting preserves was almost worth the disappointment. ‘Thank you, sire,’ he said again, this time with increased gratitude, and when Henry embraced him, William embraced him warmly in return.
‘Perhaps it is for the best,’ Joanna said, secretly relieved when she heard about the cancelled tourney. ‘I know how hard you have all worked, but Henry is the King and it is his right to decide.’ Hertford was a generous gift and would hopefully divert William’s focus.
‘It is a waste,’ William replied. ‘All that preparation for nothing.’ And then he shrugged as though shaking off a shower of rain. ‘He has not refused outright. He says he will think on it.’
Joanna grimaced. It was typical of Henry. He would kick the matter down the road, hoping it would quietly go away, but it would only lurk in the grass, waiting to rear its head again. The men would be bored during the winter months. They would hunt, of course, but there would be no campaigns, no warfare. They might see to their estates and mend their kit and manage family business, but the lure of the tourney was like a lantern gleaming in the winter dark. She was coming to know her husband just as much as she knew the King. William possessed such stubborn tenacity that once a notion or challenge entered his head it was impossible to shift.
15
Winchester, Hampshire, February 1248
Joanna and Aliza sat over their embroidery in the Queen’s apartments. The court had arrived in Winchester for the Feast of the Purification and for the annual discussion concerning the finances of the realm and intentions for the year ahead. Usually the King demanded money and the barons refused it except in return for promises and concessions and everything became very fraught. The women were excluded from the discussions, although there would be plenty of involvement afterwards in private.
Aliza sought among her silks for a new colour and said casually, ‘I am not certain, but I think I may be with child. I have not bled in two months and this morning I was sick.’
Joanna hugged her. ‘That is good news! I am so pleased for you and John.’
Aliza flushed. ‘I am not telling him yet lest it be a false alarm, but I think it is true. You are the first person to know.’
Joanna hugged her again, genuinely glad for Aliza, but a small surge of worry and even envy lodged in her heart. Her own flux had been late at Christmas and she had begun to think she might have an announcement to make, but it had proved a false hope when a fortnight later she had bled, and another flux had followed since then. It was not for want of attention from William and she was becoming anxious. ‘I promise to keep silent until you make an announcement,’ she said.
Aliza made a face. ‘My mother bore nine of us to my father, and before that five to King John. Year upon year upon year. It might be my duty and the will of God, but I have no desire to emulate her.’
Joanna shivered. She had no wish to emulate her mother either, who had died bearing her third child. Being fertile was an expectation, a duty and a reason for joy, but also a cause of fear and pain.
