“Christ knows, that fisherman must have been desperate or short-sighted!” William guffawed. “He was beaten off by Longchamp’s servants, but then some women tried to speak to him and when he couldn’t answer their questions because he spoke no English, they pulled off his hood and the game was up.” William knuckled his eyes and strove for sobriety, but after relating such a farce it was difficult. “They turned on him then, spitting on him and stoning him with shingle from the beach. He was rescued by a couple of serjeants in the town, but locked in a cellar since they couldn’t trust him not to escape. He’s been released and sent on his way now that his castles are in our hands, but he has been made a complete laughing stock and of his own doing. It is no more than he justly deserves, but I cannot help feeling sorry for him.”
Isabelle didn’t feel compassion for the odious William Longchamp; only relief that he was no longer an imminent threat. “And what about Prince John?” she asked. “I suppose he is like a dog with two tails now?”
William cut a chunk of cheese. “Yes,” he said wryly. “The Prince is indeed delighted with the way matters have turned in his favour. He has been acknowledged Richard’s heir and the chief thorn in his side has been ridiculed and thrown out of England. Not that he has a free rein. We’ll be watching him. Richard is still the King, and John ignores that at his peril.” He twitched his shoulders. “Still, at least for now there is peace.” He finished his cider and wiped his mouth. “There’s good news for my brother too. He’s been appointed sheriff of Sussex to replace the loss of his position at York.”
“Is that a good thing?” Isabelle asked. She settled herself more comfortably against the feather bolsters and stifled a yawn.
“Better for him than York was. It’s closer to his heartlands and the office better suits his talents. He’s pleased, and I’m pleased for him.”
She knew that it was the closest he would come to saying that his brother’s capabilities were limited. “So am I.” She couldn’t prevent the next yawn. Her eyelids were beginning to feel like lead weights.
Immediately contrite, he leaned forward to kiss her and rose to his feet. “I’ve tired you out,” he said. “I’ll return later.”
She gave him a sleepy smile. “Not too much later,” she said. “I need to sleep, but I’d rather talk, and I know you’ll have to leave soon.”
“Not for a few days at least,” he said. “I’m in safe harbour and a captain doesn’t put out to chancy seas again without repairing his ship.”
Thirty-nine
Westminster, London, December 1192
Queen Eleanor bit her lip in agitation and, hugging her ermine-lined cloak around her body, moved to warm her hands at one of several braziers heating the room. The weather had turned bitterly cold and even at midday, hoar frost rimed doors and lintels. Water butts and horse troughs were solid ice and the outside air was like a knife in the lungs. Many of the barons and magnates were gathered in the great Rufus Hall, but the Queen had retired to her apartments early, bringing only a select few guests with her, William and Isabelle among them.
“Another crusader ship has put in to port without news of Richard,” Eleanor muttered to William as he joined her at the brazier. “I am beginning to worry for him.”
“There is still time yet, madam,” William said.
Her reproachful look told him that she judged him guilty of mouthing platitudes. “There should have been word or sight by now. We know he sailed from Acre in October and that his galley came safely into Brindisi, but we have heard nothing since. How long did it take you to travel back from Jerusalem, William?”
He twitched his shoulders. “Less than two months, but that is not a time carved in stone for all men.”
“Richard would not dally. He knows the trouble that Philip of France will cause in his absence and he also knows that there are matters in England to resolve.” She shivered and washed her hands together. “Yesterday my youngest son told me that I should prepare myself to hear that Richard is dead…but I won’t. I refuse to do that.” She swallowed, the tendons in her throat taut with strain. “He is the child of my heart. I would know if he were dead. John would usurp his place in an instant. I know that he’s stuffing his castles to the rafters. I know that word has gone out to his castellans to prepare for him to become a king…” Her eyes narrowed. “I have given my full consent to John being Richard’s heir, but that is all—his heir, and until I know for certain that Richard is dead, I will not countenance any attempt by John to take the crown.” She studied William. “We have been friends through thick and thin.”
“Yes, madam,” William said gently. “And I have known your sons since they were infants and children.”
She smiled bleakly. “And watched them grow into men and squander the promise…”
He gave a wordless shrug that was open to interpretation.
“I have relied on you in the past, and you know how much you owe me.” Her tawny glance flickered to Isabelle who was talking to Walter of Coutances. “Your lands, your wife.”
William drew himself up. “My loyalty is not dependent on gifts and largesse,” he said stiffly.
Eleanor quickly laid her hand on his sleeve. “Of course not. I never meant to imply that it was and I am sorry if I have offended you. Worry makes my tongue clumsy. Even though your brother is John’s man and you are John’s vassal for your Leinster lands, I do not doubt your fidelity…and I truly mean that…It is just that it would comfort an old woman to hear you say that come hell or high water you will stand up for Richard.” Her fingers gripped. Looking down at them he saw how the shanks of her rings were loose on her bones and how her skin was mottled. If Richard was dead, he thought, it would kill her, but while she yet believed he lived, the fire in her was like a hot coal.
He gave her a knowing look. “Not that old, madam,” he said, “but I would not deny you comfort. You have my word. Come hell or high water, I will stand up for Richard while he lives—as I stood for King Henry your husband and for the Young King your son.” Before all the company he placed his hands in hers and knelt to her like a vassal to a feudal lord.
Eleanor’s eyes grew moist. She stooped, kissed William on either cheek, then lightly on the mouth and raised him to his feet. “The point is made and taken,” she said. “You are right. I am not, after all, that old.”
A frozen silver-blue dusk was falling over the city as William and Isabelle returned to their riverside lodging, both in pensive mood following the gathering in the Queen’s chamber. If news of Richard did not come soon, there were going to be changes and shifts in the power at court. They had to be prepared to acknowledge Prince John as King, but it would not be an easy transition.
“My lord, my lady, you have a visitor,” his usher said as he bowed William and Isabelle into the main room. William raised his brow. There was never a time when he didn’t have visitors, but for his usher to mention the detail, it had to be personal. And then his gaze lit on his brother’s former mistress and her daughter who were warming themselves by the hearth. They had but recently arrived, for they still wore their cloaks and their faces were red from the cold. Alais was talking animatedly to a man sitting beside her, and he was smiling and paying her close attention. Seeing William enter, she laid her hand lightly on the man’s sleeve, then, leaving him, hurried over, drawing her daughter with her.
“Alais,” William said with genuine pleasure, kissing her on either cheek, and then Sybilla, who was slender as a young deer with glossy dark braids and wide eyes of clear grey-green. “Holy Mother, you’ve grown up!”
“Almost ten years old,” Alais said with a smile that was affectionate and a little sad. “She’ll be a woman all too soon.”
“Mama!” Sybilla wrinkled her nose.
