Alais dipped a curtsey to Isabelle, who greeted her as William had done with kisses on the cheek, but there was a certain reserve between the women. Owing to the ambivalent circumstances of her position in the Marshal family, Alais was awkward with Isabelle. Being more familiar with Aline, John Marshal’s young wife, Isabelle’s attitude towards Alais was cool and restrained.
“What brings you to London?” William asked once he had brought Alais and Sybilla to the private chamber and seen them furnished with hot wine and a platter of date pastries.
“My son brings me,” said Alais with a smiling glance towards William’s squires. “I did not think you would mind me paying a visit, and I have a gift for him to celebrate the season. I’m also here to visit the markets. As you say, Sybilla is growing and she needs to be clothed.” She flushed and lowered her voice. “John has sent us money and bid us use it as we require.”
“You do know that if you lack for anything you can come to me,” William said quietly.
Alais accepted the offer with a dignified tilt of her head. “I know that, and thank you, but you are already doing enough in raising my son to knighthood, and truly, there is nothing we need. John is generous…perhaps more generous than I deserve.”
“Or perhaps not generous enough. Do not set yourself at naught,” William said, and received a poignant, grateful smile in response. “Have you seen him of late?”
She studied her hands. “He came to Hamstead after Michaelmas with money for us…I think he regards us as part of his accounting much of the time, and I think he has regrets—as I do. But you cannot dwell in the past, can you?” She raised her chin bravely. “He’s at Marlborough for the Christmas season with his wife—and caught up in matters concerning Prince John, so I understand.” She gave William a curious look. “There have been rumours about King Richard…that he is missing.”
William felt Isabelle stiffen at his side. “Rumours are all they are,” Isabelle said with a bland smile. “He is expected any day and the Queen has every confidence in his return.”
“Of course…I didn’t mean to imply otherwise,” Alais said, reddening. “It’s just that I overheard the talk in the cloth market.”
“There is always talk in the cloth market, most of it not worth a wisp of latrine hay,” Isabelle said. Although she had not intended it, her words made Alais appear like a foolish chattering housewife. William tactfully eased the awkward moment by leaving Alais and Sybilla alone with his nephew who was the reason for their visit, and returned with Isabelle to the noisy hall to give them some private moments.
“Who was that knight talking to you?” Isabelle nudged William. They were lying in bed, the curtains drawn closed, secluding them from the other sleepers in the room. They had recently made muffled, surreptitious love and she had been drifting into slumber when the memory caught her and pulled her back to the shore of consciousness.
“A lot of knights talked to me tonight,” he mumbled.
“The one with the dark curly hair. He was sitting at the fire with Alais and Sybilla and he was with them when we arrived back from the palace.”
“Guillaume de Colleville. His second cousin Thomas is in my retinue.” He yawned and turned over, dragging the bedclothes with him. Isabelle promptly dragged her portion back.
“Is he in search of a position?”
“No, he has lands in his own right,” William replied in a sleep-blurred voice. “Just claiming a night’s hospitality on his way to other business.”
“Does he have a wife?”
“Not that I know of…and probably sleeps the better for it,” he growled.
Isabelle took the hint and fell silent. She curled herself against William’s spine. The warmth of the bed and the heat from his body gradually lulled her back into drowsiness but she had plenty of food for thought.
Forty
Caversham, Berkshire, February 1193
“He’s alive, he’s been found!”
On her knees, Isabelle looked up from the chest of cloth she had been sorting through as William strode into the room waving a piece of parchment bearing Queen Eleanor’s seal. “Who?” she asked, her tone vague for her mind was still half occupied with mental tallies of how many bolts of linen they had and how many they were going to need for summer garments.
“King Richard! He’s been found, praise God!” There was relief and agitation in William’s tone as he swept his youngest son into his arms and swung him round, making him squeal. “What is not so good is that he’s in the dungeon of Emperor Henry of Germany who has no cause to love him.”
“He’s what?” Isabelle stared at him.
“He was captured crossing the lands of Leopold of Austria, who’s no friend to Richard and sold him on to the Emperor.”
“But surely his captors’ souls will be imperilled if they interfere with a crusader?” Isabelle rose to her feet and stifled a sneeze caused by fabric filaments.
“Silver buys absolution,” William said with distaste. “Even if the Emperor doesn’t love Richard, he has an affinity for money. I warrant that he’ll allow Richard to go for a consideration.”
Isabelle looked disgusted.
“At least we know that he’s alive.” William set his son down on the floor and went to the clothing chest next to the one his wife had been sorting through. He threw back the lid, stared at the contents, and absently massaged his thigh over the area of the lance scar from his youth.
