William watched the toddler struggle out of his mother’s arms and, squealing with joy, make a beeline for her pet mouser. The sleek tabby cat sprang from floor to sideboard and, curling its paws into its chest, regarded the infant disdainfully out of slanting golden eyes, the tip of its tail twitching. The squeals became less delighted. The infant reached upwards, fat fists opening and closing. “Cat,” he shouted. “Cat, cat, cat!”
“He has our father’s determination and the temper of the King,” John Marshal said smiling with paternal pride.
William grinned. “You mean he bites the floor rushes when he is denied?”
“As near as makes no difference.” John eyed William. “I never believed those tales about King Henry doing that. I’ve seen him in some rages this past year, but never rolling on the floor.”
“Neither have I, but if true, he would do it for the effect it had on the witnesses, not because he was suffering from a fit of uncontrollable fury.”
“Cat!” The toddler’s scream was ear-splitting. Flushed with chagrin, Alais hastened to distract her son with a morsel of honeycomb but he was having none of it and continued to yell. William stooped to seize a fistful of his nephew’s smock and swung him aloft. The infant stared at him in astonishment, pink mouth frozen open and the wail locked in his throat.
“If you are going to be my squire in years to come, you’ll have to learn the meaning of courtesy,” William informed his nephew, “and that some things are out of bounds, no matter how much you scream.”
“You didn’t teach your other pupil very well, did you?” John said acidly. “The tantrum he threw was beyond belief.”
William swung his nephew up on to his shoulders and wrapped his hands around the chubby feet, which were encased in soft, sheepskin slippers. “I agree the Young King threw a tantrum, but it wasn’t beyond belief and in part he was justified. Crowning him was like giving him a chest full of treasure and then telling him that he couldn’t open it and have any of the contents.”
John was unimpressed. “Yes, and what would he have done with those contents? We’ve heard about his extravagances. It is said that were he given all the revenues of Normandy, he’d find ways to spend them in a week.”
“You shouldn’t listen to every piece of gossip you hear.” William swept the child down from his shoulders and swung him gently just off the floor. The baby laughed, exposing two rows of perfect white milk teeth. “He’s a fine, sturdy lad,” William said to Alais to change the subject.
She reddened with pleasure and smiled back. Childbirth had ripened her curves. A wimple respectably covered her chestnut braids and although she wore no wedding ring, several others adorned her fingers, including one set with a fine ruby. “He is a handful,” she said, “a proper boy, into every sort of scrape and not yet two summers old.” Her voice glowed with pride. She touched William’s arm. “Whatever his father says, you will make a fine tutor for him when he’s old enough to be a squire, nor will it harm him to have an uncle well placed at court.”
John coughed. “I do not call being tutor to a fickle young spendthrift and protégé of an imprisoned queen being well placed,” he said disagreeably.
“But things change.” Alais squeezed her lover’s arm. “Don’t be so crabby. William’s not here for long and you are brothers.”
“That’s no recommendation for harmony,” John growled but, at her glare, added, “I am pleased to see him, but that doesn’t stop us having our differences, and I can still be concerned for the future.”
William shrugged. “Plan for it by all means, but don’t let it trouble your sleep.”
“You say that after what happened last year?” John’s voice filled with scorn. “England, Normandy and Anjou in flames, not to mention Poitou. The King and his sons at each other’s throats and the Earl of Leicester landing an army of Flemings in Norfolk? Christ, you might want to dance in the mouth of hell, but I want to live to see my son grow up. I had to stop Ancel from riding off to join the Young King’s party,” he added darkly. “He was in his hot blood and ready to cross the sea and seek you out. I told him you’d not thank him and that finding a place in a lord’s mesnie isn’t just a matter of riding up and offering one’s sword. I managed to command his loyalty, but he doesn’t like me for it. He’s at Wexcombe with Mother, letting the dust settle.”
William felt sympathy, for both John and for Ancel: one having to give orders; the other forced to obey them; and neither benefiting. “I would take Ancel if I could, but I cannot afford to at the moment.” William plucked at his rich tunic. “I may look prosperous to you, but I am beholden to my lord for the clothes I wear, the horse I ride, and the food in my mouth. However fine my equipment, when it comes to the crux, I am still a hearth knight.”
“But an exalted one.”
William twitched his shoulders, acknowledging the fact while making little of it.
Unable to contain their restlessness indoors, the brothers went out of the castle and walked around the walls where they had played as children. Today, other small boys were engaged in a boisterous game of chase in the May sunshine, their laughter adding a layer to the echo of memory. William remembered mock sword fights on the sward: what it felt like to win; what it felt like to lose.
“So in truth, and ignoring the rumours,” John said, “what sort of king will Prince Henry make? You are his tutor. What do you know of him?”
William gnawed his thumbnail and considered. “He is not like his father,” he said slowly, “except perhaps he has the same determination to get his own way. If money trickles through his hands like water down a drain, it is indeed because he enjoys spending it and being generous to those in his service. He believes it increases his standing to be seen to have an open door and to scatter largesse as if silver were of no more account than ears of wheat.”
John’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Well, that accords with the rumours,” he said.
William paused to look up at the high, narrow windows. There was a gallery at the top of the tower and someone had hung several shirts over the rail to dry. “He is still growing. You can argue that his father was a man before he was sixteen years old, but he matured early and from necessity. My lord is clever and sharp; he knows how to make people love him. The rest will come.”
“Despite that remark about being the greater king because he is the son of a king, not the son of a count?”
William sighed. Henry’s “witticism” seemed set to endure. Everyone had heard of it and he was growing sick of fending off adverse comments. “He was younger then and drunk on wine and excitement. He has more control these days. I do not know why he gets the reputation for being the one who’s too clever with his words. Geoffrey is just as bad and Richard’s tongue is so sharp he can make men bleed.”
“But Richard is Duke of Aquitaine and unlikely to be our king,” John said. “He’s little known in England and Normandy—just another royal whelp…”
“…and Eleanor’s favourite,” William reminded his brother, but John was not persuaded.
“She is locked away in Salisbury and, as matters stand, unlikely to be given her freedom for a long time.”
