“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you’d be with our young lord?”
Baldwin’s teeth flashed. “Someone had to escort the Young Queen to Sarum and I volunteered. Like you, I enjoy a change of air and it’s no onerous duty to be riding with a lady in the softness of spring.”
“No,” William agreed, but inwardly recoiled, remembering just such a spring day in Poitou, and the bloody battle that had changed everything.
“And this is Ancel?” Baldwin shook William’s brother by the hand. “You can tell that you’re both branches of the same tree. The women of the court won’t know what has hit them!”
Ancel flushed, prompting Baldwin to laugh. “A shy Marshal will certainly be a change for them,” he teased.
William took pity on his brother and diverted the subject. “The Queen is well?” he asked.
“Which one?” Baldwin sobered. “Eleanor is still as spry as a maid half her age, and twice as alluring. That’s another reason I agreed to make the journey; she’s better company than her husband. But Marguerite…” He hesitated and lowered his voice. “There was no child. It was a false hope.”
William’s gaze sharpened. “She miscarried?”
“I do not know. All that the Young King said was that she was not with child, and the mood he was in, no one was going to press him for details.”
A squire came to escort the brothers to Eleanor and Marguerite. Promising to talk to Baldwin later, William took Ancel by the sleeve and followed the youth to the Queen’s chamber. The door was open, suggesting that for the moment at least Eleanor was not confined to her room. The room itself was better furnished than his previous visit, the painted coffers restored to their places, embroideries brightening the walls, and the scented braziers Eleanor so loved gave the room a luxurious warmth that had been lacking before. Her day bed was made up with an embroidered silk coverlet and strewn with bolsters and cushions in all the rich deep shades he remembered from the years in Poitou. Marguerite sat on the edge of the bed, hemming a veil, and Eleanor was playing chess with one of her ladies. The other women attendants were mostly engaged in various pieces of needlecraft, although one was playing a harp and the delicate notes trembled in the air.
As the brothers knelt to the women, William thought that Marguerite looked wan and tired. Her eyes were over-bright and her smile forced. Eleanor was delighted and diverted by the visitors. “If I had known there was another Marshal so close to my prison and a fine chevalier, I would have been much comforted,” she said as Ancel bent the knee, his ears as red as embers.
“There is also my brother John, madam,” Ancel said, his nervousness drawing the words out of him like an accidental blot of ink on a piece of parchment. “Until recently I dwelt under his roof.”
The curve remained on Eleanor’s lips but lost some of its pleasure. “John Marshal is my husband’s man, although I am sure that he is as worthy as either of his brothers.” Her tone was neutral, but not the emotions behind it.
William would have kicked Ancel had he been able to do it without the women seeing. “Ancel is hoping to further his education,” he said smoothly. “Until now he has been little exposed to life beyond my brother’s manors.”
Eleanor’s smile softened, although her eyes held a disquieting gleam. “Then, Ancel Marshal, you have a lot to learn,” she said. “Listen to William and follow his advice. He knows how to make his way at court.” She turned to William. “If you are going to show him the world beyond his small window, make sure that he stays in it.” A desolate sheen filled her eyes. “Nothing burdens the soul more than the loss of freedom.”
The brothers dined with the women, the meal taken in the privacy of Eleanor’s chamber. William noticed that the fare had improved since his last visit too. Although it was Lent, there was pickled salmon and fresh shrimps, good wheaten bread to mop up the salty, piquant sauces, honey tart and almond custard. Ancel was nervous and talked more than he should, but Eleanor was endeared rather than irritated. “He reminds me a little of you when you were in your uncle of Salisbury’s service,” she teased William, pressing his arm. “You were never as talkative but your ears turned red just like that.”
“That was because I was often too innocent for the conversations, madam,” William responded with a straight face.
She tapped him lightly in reproof, but her eyes were laughing. “Does your brother sing too?”
William winced. “I would not malign my own flesh and blood, but Ancel has a voice like a rooster at dawn. He does play a hard game of chess though,” he said in mitigation. “You are an acknowledged expert, madam, but you would be hard pressed to beat him.”
She regarded Ancel with empathy. “I suppose we each have had little else to do of an evening but sharpen such skills. I will enjoy testing his mettle.”
Following the meal, Eleanor drew Ancel to sit in the window embrasure where the chessboard stood with its serried ranks of ivory and jet pieces. William grasped the opportunity to talk to Marguerite alone. She had been sitting on a bench close to a brazier, her sewing in her lap, but she had taken few stitches and was plainly uninterested in the project.
“You are well, madam?” he enquired.
She parted her lips to give him the standard reply, then changed her mind and shook her head. “No,” she said, looking down. “I am not well at all.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“But not surprised. I know when my maid holds up my hand mirror and I see my reflection that I look like a “walking corpse.”
“No, madam. You look like a creature from the land of faery—half made of shadows, but lovely nonetheless.”
She gave a laugh filled with pathos. “Oh, William, your courtesy never fails. I know I look like death warmed up. Did you know that I was with child when we sailed from Wissant?”
“There was a rumour, but I always treat court gossip with caution.”
“Then whispers must also have told you that I lost it?”
“I am sorry, madam. It must be a great grief to yourself and my lord.”
