As the food and wine began to work upon him, the colour returned to his complexion and the glassy look left his eyes. “Hubert Walter, Bishop of Salisbury, says that the ransom has been set, and he has confirmation that King Richard is very much alive.”
“How much?” Isabelle asked.
William devoured the last of the bread and drained his wine. “A King’s ransom,” he said with a deep sigh. “One hundred and fifty thousand marks, to be paid in three instalments.”
Her gaze widened in dismay. “Jesu! How is such a sum to be found?”
“God knows, and I hope that he tells me very soon because doing so is in the hands of the justiciars and unless we achieve it swiftly, John’s rebellion will renew itself and the country will descend into true civil war.” He ducked his head under the water, swilled his hair, and came back up. “We cannot fail. What makes it more urgent is that Prince John and Philip of France will do their utmost to thwart Richard’s release.” He began to wash himself, his action more lively now. “I suppose there’s the Cistercian wool clip, that’ll account for some of the funds, and the Church has gold and silver that can be loaned.” As he spoke his expression darkened.
“You are against the idea?”
“No, it has to be done, but it reminds me of my time in the Young King’s service. Back then we stripped the Church of relics too—it was to pay mercenaries, not redeem a king, but it still leaves me uneasy.” As he left the tub and tucked a towel around his waist and another across his shoulders, he sighed. “People will have to be taxed until they squeal. Individuals are to be asked to give as much as they can—with Richard’s promise that they’ll be rewarded for their fervour.”
Gently Isabelle patted him dry. “And how much of a reward do you desire from Richard?” she murmured.
William exhaled and took her in his arms. “I have enough,” he said, “and more than enough, but it is about keeping favour too. The Bishop of Salisbury hinted at a higher position in the Church for my younger brother—perhaps a bishopric. My loyalty, if it is unswerving and beyond the call of duty, will help to mitigate my older brother’s support of Prince John. Besides, I swore my loyalty to Richard and it holds unto death.”
Isabelle laid the palm of her hand swiftly to his lips. “Do not say that word,” she admonished.
“Which one?” he asked. “Loyalty?”
She made to push out of his arms, but he held her fast against his body. “One is bound to the other,” he murmured against her temple, “at least in my case it is. I cannot speak for Richard.” He wound his hand around her braid and kissed her softly. “If it please you more, then I will say that it is the code by which I live my life, and while I know that God is entitled to end that life whenever He chooses, I pray He will grant me the boon of letting me see my sons grow strong and tall first.”
Isabelle gave him another push, gentle this time, before swaying back into his embrace and silently tightening her arms around him.
John Marshal looked at the woman who had been his past and for whom his need still ached like a rotten tooth that he had never summoned enough courage to draw. And then he eyed the man standing beside her, dark-eyed, implacable, and quiet. Guillaume de Colleville was a minor Sussex landholder, a small fish for whom John could make life very difficult in his capacity as sheriff of that county.
“You want my blessing on your marriage?” John laughed sourly. “Christ, the last thing you want is a blessing from me!”
Reproach flickered in her eyes. The man’s fists tightened. John was tempted to order him seized and imprisoned. He had been squeamish about such things at first but with time it had grown easier.
“I need neither your blessing nor your consent,” Alais said, clasping her hands resolutely at her waist, “but I hope at least that you will wish me well. I came to tell you myself; it seemed the honourable thing to do…”
John swallowed against the sudden constriction in his throat. “Honourable!” He almost choked on the word and rounded on de Colleville. “She has told you her past?” John didn’t know whether to sneer, speak man to man, be fair and just, or lash out like a wounded animal.
Grooves of muscle tightened and relaxed in de Colleville’s cheeks as he fought his own battle. “All of it,” he replied with hard-won calm. “There are no secrets between us.”
“Then take her.” John gestured with his right hand as if throwing something away. “And may you derive more joy from her than I ever did.”
Alais stifled a wounded protest and her eyes filled with tears.
“What do you want me to say?” John snarled at her. “What is left to say? You said it all at our child’s graveside. If it was a sin to take you as my mistress, then I’ve paid a bloody price.” He struggled for composure. “Does my brother know?”
“He has agreed to stand witness at our wedding,” de Colleville said stonily.
John’s stomach heaved. “I suppose my children have no objection.”
“They are our children,” Alais replied, her voice shaking, but still with a core of steel. “And they welcome it…I too have paid a price.”
John swallowed. “I wish you well,” he managed to say hoarsely. “I truly do, but ask no more of me than that because I cannot give it. I am not that generous of spirit.”
They left soon after. In truth he had not expected them to stay. He folded his arms around his midriff, feeling as if someone had run a spear through him. Alais, Alais. It wasn’t the pangs of love; it wasn’t that he found it impossible to live without her. What did hurt was all the promise and sweetness of his once young life bleeding rapidly into sour old age. It was bitter regret and the knowledge that barren times lay ahead. It was the isolation and the betrayal. And that she had received from William the blessing he was not sufficiently generous himself to give.
“My lord?”
He looked up. His young wife’s voice was hesitant. She never called him “John” although he had given her permission to do so. “What?” he snapped, straightening up. A headache had begun to pound at his temples and his eyes were hot.
White-faced, she stood before him, clenching and unclenching her hands. Seventeen years old to his almost fifty, God help him. “The visitors have not stayed?” she asked.
