22
Hertford Castle, November 1252
Iohan sat on the back of the pony William had purchased for him at Smithfield horse fair – a barrel-shaped little animal, pale chestnut in colour, with stumpy legs and a white snip on its nose. William had been putting Iohan on a horse since he could sit up, his sister too, but the time had come to progress – to hold the reins and control his own mount, even if closely observed.
‘Can I gallop?’ Iohan demanded.
Joanna rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, he is exactly like you!’
‘He is nothing like me. If he was, he’d be asking when he could learn to tourney!’ Grinning, William attached the pony to a lungeing rein. ‘Very soon,’ he said. ‘Just a few lessons for you and Ginger to get used to each other.’
He instructed Iohan to ride in slow circles to develop his balance and soon the little boy was letting go of the reins and fearlessly stretching out arms, while William called encouragement.
Observing father and son, pride warmed Joanna’s heart. Iohan was so good-natured, so fearless, and yet earnest and eager to do the right thing – already the man in waiting, even though he would not be three until after the Christmas feast.
Life at court, however, was uncomfortable. The incident at the Bishop of Ely’s manor had cooled relations considerably. As Joanna had feared, William and Aymer’s reputation had been badly damaged – Geoffrey’s too. The story ran that William and his party had wantonly broken into the Bishop’s house having trespassed on his land to hunt his deer. No mention was made of sheltering from the storm or of hospitality being shunned. Instead the tale had concentrated upon the boorish behaviour of the hunting party, the smashed cellar doors and the stolen wine. She suspected that the Bishop’s retainers had increased the devastation once the hunting party had left, and probably helped themselves to a jug or two before making a report. To add to the opprobrium, one of the dairy maids had run off and her mother seemed to think she had departed for a life of debauchery in London, encouraged by the Bishop Elect of Winchester.
William had profusely apologised to the Bishop of Ely and offered to replace the wine. The elderly clergyman had replied with the gentle reproach that he was sorry William and his guests had deemed it necessary to break into his cellars and create mayhem. He would have willingly given them access if only they had asked. His mild, understated rebuke had only worsened the situation. Henry had taken William, Aymer and Geoffrey to task, but the courtiers hostile to the Lusignans had viewed the rebuke as insufficient punishment and a sign of favouritism and weakness rather than saintly forbearance. The Queen was being decidedly chilly and Joanna had lost her place as one of her favoured ladies, although Alienor remained icily civil.
Then there was Simon de Montfort. He had returned to Gascony after his exoneration in the spring and had proceeded to hound and harass the Gascons, who had retaliated with bitter determination. Last month, Henry had finally paid Simon off with a severance agreement of seven thousand marks, which William said was utterly extortionate. Edward was to receive Gascony and Henry intended going there next summer to try and settle matters, with a truce in place until then. Henry’s relationship with de Montfort remained prickly, but the Queen had renewed her bond with Eleanor de Montfort and was treating her as her bosom friend. Joanna suspected that private discussions were going on between the women, aimed at bringing Henry and Simon closer, while detaching William and his brothers from royal influence.
The riding lesson over, William lifted Iohan up on to his shoulders. Iohan bounced up and down and clutched his hair.
‘Hah, if you ride like that you will exhaust your horse before you have set out!’ William declared.
They sat down before the fire to spiced wine and sweet wafers, with buttermilk for Iohan. William gave him the smallest sip from his cup and laughed as the child screwed up his face. ‘That will change, believe me,’ he said, and then glanced up as a messenger arrived with a parchment bearing Aymer’s seal.
Joanna’s heart plummeted, for she had had quite enough of Aymer for the time being. His letters usually meant trouble of some kind, as borne out by the messenger who was dusty, mud-spattered and stinking of hot horse.
‘I have ridden hard from London, sire, but darkness comes early. I’ve been two days on the road.’
William read what Aymer had written. ‘Tell him I will come as swiftly as possible.’ He tossed the messenger a coin. ‘Take a fresh horse from the stables and make sure to eat and drink before you turn around. You have a couple of hours of daylight left.’
‘What’s wrong now?’ Joanna demanded.
‘Boniface,’ William replied, grimacing as if the word itself was a slug. ‘I have to go to Aymer.’ He handed her the letter.
Joanna read swiftly. The prior of St Thomas’s hospital in Southwark had died and the right to elect a new prior belonged to Aymer because St Thomas’s was within the Bishop of Winchester’s jurisdiction. Aymer had carefully selected the priest he wanted for the office, but Boniface’s representative, Eustace de Lenn, had opposed Aymer’s choice, excommunicated Aymer’s man on the spot, and had him flung into Boniface’s gaol in Maidstone.
‘That is outrageous!’ Joanna gasped.
‘Indeed, it is,’ William said grimly as he picked up his cloak. ‘Aymer wants to discuss it with me and decide how to reply. I have to go to him. Boniface has overstepped the mark by a long way.’
‘Be careful. Boniface is a dangerous man to cross.’
‘That is part of the problem. He throws his power about and expects people to back down, but this is a step too far.’
William called for his palfrey and pack horse to be saddled.
Joanna folded her arms. ‘I hate you being involved in all this.’
‘Aymer is my brother. I would never abandon family.’ He gave her a sombre look. ‘I watched my father do it, and I swore I would never be like him. My word is my faith, and I will protect Aymer even as he would protect me. Do not worry, I will return as soon as I may.’
‘Of course, I am bound to worry. Do not get yourself excommunicated!’
‘Well, if that happens there will be hell to pay,’ William said darkly.
‘Do not jest!’ Joanna was appalled.
