Aliza nodded. ‘I do not know whether to be delighted or worried that Simon de Montfort is returning to Gascony.’
The bear plunged back into the river, firmly attached to his harness.
‘Who knows what he will do there – or perhaps we know very well, and there will be no stopping him.’
Joanna grimaced. Only death would put a stop to Simon de Montfort. The man was born of the sword and relentless in both the defence and pursuit of his own ambition. Thank God he was returning to Gascony; at least she would not have to endure his intimidating presence at court.
‘What does William say about it?’
‘He is all for Henry visiting Gascony in person rather than debating it in court.’ Henry had voiced his intention of calling a truce to all military activity in the province and of appointing an overseer and visiting as soon as he could, but Joanna did not think it would be easy even if William was keen.
‘John said the same. He thinks the King will eventually buy de Montfort out. It is what de Montfort is hoping for – unless he gets killed of course.’
The women exchanged glances, neither voicing the hope behind the statement.
De Montfort had demanded leave to return to Gascony to consolidate his affairs while an overseer was sought. Henry had replied coldly that he should return to do as he would, and hoped he would receive the same just rewards as his father for his efforts. Since de Montfort’s father had died while besieging Toulouse, his skull crushed by a stone flung from a trebuchet, it was a damning farewell. De Montfort had declared that he would bring the King’s enemies to heel and have them grovel at his feet, and had departed forthwith. He had left his family behind, including his pregnant wife, so Joanna still had Eleanor de Montfort’s influence to counter, and the continued pressure of her lawyers for compensation from the Marshal estates. But Joanna was as determined as Eleanor. She would rather perish than see her inheritance go to the sons of Simon de Montfort.
They watched the bear catch several more fish and then returned to Westminster. With de Montfort gone, the atmosphere in the King’s great painted chamber had lightened. Henry himself was tetchy and out of sorts, but Joanna believed it would pass – like a heavy meal that had been inadvisably consumed, and now had to be evacuated.
As always when she visited the chamber she made a point of visiting the murals and touching Hope’s gilded shoe. Gazing into her far-seeing brown eyes, Joanna wished that her mortal self had such distant vision, and wisdom.
21
Hertford Castle, August 1252
Joanna drew rein, and patted her mare’s sweating neck. Griselle snorted and tossed her head, ears flickering. They had set out to hunt soon after dawn with their guests in a boisterous group of men and ladies, the affair as much a social occasion as a serious hunt. By early afternoon they had ridden far across the estate and were several miles from home. The men had galloped off in pursuit of a hart but it had escaped across a breached deer leap on to the property of their neighbour, the Bishop of Ely. The dogs had lost the scent and the men were gradually returning to where the women waited on the boundary between the lands.
The sky had been a dazzling blue when they set out but had darkened steadily to become ominous and bruised. Wind raced through the grass and trees like swift unseen cats while thunder rumbled too close for comfort.
‘We’re going to get wet,’ Aliza said.
Joanna grimaced, having no desire to be caught in a thunderstorm miles from home.
‘We will not reach Hertford in time,’ she told William as he circled his courser. ‘If we are not under shelter when those clouds break, we shall all be drenched. Some of the horses will bolt I am sure.’
He squinted at the angry sky. ‘I agree. Hatfield’s nearby – we’ll ride over and seek shelter there.’ He reined aside to announce their destination to the rest of the party, who were eager to detour to the Bishop of Ely’s manor.
Scattered drops of rain started to fall, fat and heavy, and the thunder drew nearer, riding in on dazzles of lightning. The group set out at a brisk pace towards Hatfield as the rain turned from single drops to a silver-grey curtain. The brisk trot became a canter, then a head-on gallop, with the men vying with each other to take the lead, especially William and his brothers Aymer and Geoffrey. Even Joanna flung caution to the wind and urged on Griselle, leaning over her neck to take Aliza’s bay as they hurtled through the gateway and into the Bishop’s courtyard, the elderly porter looking on in open-mouthed astonishment mingled with dismay.
Clouds of steam rose from the horses amid good-humoured jostling as everyone strove to get under the cover of eaves and overhangs. The manor was much smaller than the castle at Hertford and there was not enough room. The Bishop’s servants had come running out to investigate the commotion and stood overwhelmed by the sudden shock of their visitors’ arrival. William set about trying to organise them but they resembled a flock of disturbed poultry. Eventually he ordered his disgruntled squires to help out with the horses, and entered the hall. A couple of the Bishop’s serjeants, who had been left in charge of the manor, came forward, hitching their belts, expressions belligerent and officious. Joanna knew the type. Lacking the rank to have manors of their own, and seldom required for regular soldiery, they kept guard and performed mundane duties and grew slack and dull if not strictly supervised.
‘The Bishop is not in residence, sire,’ growled the foremost serjeant, folding his fists over his belt.
William raised his brows. ‘Your lord would take in his neighbours knowing they had been caught in a thunderstorm,’ he said. ‘If he was here, he would make us welcome without question, as would my own household to any stranger who came to my door in a rain storm.’
The men looked at each other and shuffled. ‘We’re not expecting guests,’ said the first one again.
Aymer shouldered forward to stand at William’s side. ‘I am the Bishop Elect of Winchester,’ he said curtly, stripping off his gloves. ‘We expect your hospitality – now. Surely, even without the Bishop’s presence you have food and drink in this place while we wait out the storm?’
The sound of the rain increased, drumming and rebounding on the oak roof shingles.
‘There is very little here in the Bishop’s absence,’ the serjeant said, eyes darting, but he stepped aside. ‘The servants will bring you what we have.’ He stabbed a forefinger at an elderly man and a spotty youth. ‘Bring refreshment, and quick about it.’
The old man and the boy shuffled off and the hunting party gathered around the meagre hearth, shaking out their wet garments while the thunderstorm rumbled and growled like a wild beast. The servants eventually returned bearing jugs and a motley collection of earthenware cups.
Geoffrey took one of the cups, tasted the liquid, spluttered, and sprayed it out on the floor. ‘God in heaven, what cat’s piss is this?’
Joanna could smell the sourness of the drink from where she stood. Others were spitting it out too. Aliza coughed and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth.
