“But they don’t allow whores at court?”
He sat down at the trestle and rubbed his eyes, suddenly realising how tired he was. “Yes, they do permit whores at court, but I would not number you among those women. They belong to any man who has their price, even the courtesans.”
She poured wine into his cup, then took her own place at the trestle. “I used to think that I belonged to you, William,” she said softly, “but I’ve come to realise that I don’t, and that you will never belong to me.”
Made guilty by the tone of her voice and the expression in her eyes, William leaned towards her. “We can go riding together on the morrow,” he offered, wondering if he would be able to find the time, but trying to be conciliatory.
She shook her head. “It is too late…” She hesitated. “I have other plans for the morrow.”
William laid down his knife and abandoned the pretence that he was going to eat. “Other plans?”
Clara wasn’t touching the food either and he could see the tension in her throat. “You warned me when I came to your tent that night that I would be little better than a beggar, but I chose not to hear what you were telling me. I thought it would be enough, or that things would change…but of late I have grown weary of holding out my begging bowl for meagre crumbs.”
“I am sorry,” William said with contrition. “I know I have been neglectful…Matters are difficult at the moment.”
“And will likely not improve.” She drew a deep breath and raised her gaze to his. “I have met someone—a vintner from Le Mans. He’s a widower, visiting kin in Paris. He says that he will give me his time as well as his silver if I will marry him.”
William stared at her while the words circled his brain but declined to sink in. There was anger, but there was relief too, and not as much surprise as he had expected. Clara was like a cat: self-contained, self-sufficient, but needy for affection. He hadn’t been taking the time to give it and someone else had. “You have been busy behind my back,” he said.
Clara flushed. “Because that is all I ever see of you—your back. You return to me only when you need sleep or a woman.”
Her words stung him, for while they were true in a literal sense, they did not acknowledge the subtleties. “That is not fair,” he said reproachfully.
“You are right, it is not,” she replied, deliberately misunderstanding him. “Stephen is returning to Le Mans on the morrow and I am going with him.”
Stephen.William flinched, for giving the man a name put flesh on his bones. “Have you bedded with him?” His lip curled. “How do you know he won’t abandon you in the gutter?”
“All we have done is talk; indeed, we have talked more in a month than you and I have done in the last year. And even if matters do turn sour, I have enough put by to live on…” She faced him with defiance in her eyes, daring him to say that all she possessed had been given to her by him. William declined the challenge, knowing her likely retort that she had earned it on her back was more than he could bear.
“So what is this?” he asked instead, with derision born of hurt. “The last supper?” He gestured at the uneaten food. “Or perhaps the Feast of Fools?”
A tear spilled down her cheek and she swiped at it impatiently. “Even now…” she said. “Even now I thought there was a chance but…but there isn’t, is there?”
A loud banging on the house door prevented William from having to find a reply. They heard the squire open it and then the rumble of voices. With a feeling of relief, William left the table and going to the chamber door, opened it, forestalling the youth’s knock.
“Sir, you are summoned to court,” Eustace announced, his face expressionless.
“What, at this hour?” William narrowed his eyes. It was late and dark, but he knew the Young King’s habit of burning the candles into the small hours. “Did the messenger say what this was about?”
“No, sir.”
“Saddle my courser,” William told him with a terse nod. As Eustace’s footfalls receded down the stairs, William turned back into the room. “I have to go,” he said. “We’ll talk when I return.”
“When is that likely to be?” There was a weary edge to her voice.
“I don’t know.” He ran a distracted hand through his hair. “Hopefully just a few hours. You’ll wait, won’t you?”
“For just a few hours, yes.”
He kissed her mouth and she kissed him back, and as their lips parted, it felt like farewell.
Sixteen
“Sire?” William strode into his lord’s chamber, noting that most of the household knights were already present. Clutching a half-full goblet of wine, Henry was sitting upon his bed which had not yet been prepared for slumber. The hangings were tied back and the day cover of grey and cream wolfskins was still in place.
“My father has made me an offer, Marshal,” Henry said without preamble, “and I have to decide whether to accept or throw it in his teeth.”
William scrambled for his wits. He was tired but knew he would receive no consideration for that. “What does the offer entail, sire?”
