To Defy a King (11 page)

The youth's cheeks brightened with embarrassment. 'I didn't think you were doing anything dishonourable in here.'

Mahelt gave her brother a glare filled with furious reproach.

'Of course not,' Hugh said, smoothing the path, knowing full well that Richard had indeed come to check on them for that purpose. 'But she is your sister and an agreement has been made that you desire to see honoured in every way.' He gestured to the door.

Chagrined, Richard extended his arm to Mahelt and she took it. Hugh inclined his head in courtesy and stepped back to follow at a short distance.

'I'm sorry,' Richard muttered from the side of his mouth. 'I just wanted to make sure you were all right.'

'You're a fool,' she hissed. 'Of course I am. Besides, it's a bit late to be worrying about the state of the Bigods' honour now, isn't it?'

'I'm going to miss you,' Richard said glumly. 'I never thought I'd say such a thing when we squabbled as children, but it's true. Who else is going to tell me what a dolt I am?'

Mahelt's precarious control threatened to desert her. 'Don't say anything else, Richard, in God's name do not! You will make me weep and I will not have my new family or our parents see me in tears. This is a joyful occasion!'

'Of course it is.' The enthusiasm in his voice rang like a knell.

'Then do not be such an idiot!' She gave him a swift, fierce hug and he returned the embrace full measure. 'I'm going to miss you too.' He was like a young bear and her ribs almost cracked under the pressure. I will not cry, she told herself. I will
never
cry.

A new dance had begun and Richard led her into the first set of steps, and then passed her to their father, and Mahelt fixed the smile to her lips, even though her heart was aching and all she wanted to do was latch on to the security of her childhood and not let go.

'Sweetheart,' her father said, and touched her face. 'I am proud of you.'

She made herself smile up at him, as if this was the happiest moment of her life, and hoped that he had not felt the dampness of her tears under his thumb. And he smiled back. She saw the warmth in his eyes and also the sadness. He wore his own face but with the courtier's mask over the top. She would be like him, and no one would know of her anxiety and grief.

Her father passed her gently on to Hugh.'Take care of her,' he said, his voice coming from deep in his chest.

'With my life,' Hugh answered and Mahelt felt her new husband mesh his fingers through hers and put his hand to her waist for the lift and leap. She went with him, light and lithe, and when he set her down, it was in a different place to where she had been before, not between her brother and her father, but between Hugh and his father, so that in changing places in the dance, she had also changed families.

11

Framlingham, February 1207

Mahelt looked out of her chamber window as she pinned a brooch at the throat of her dress. The February morning was mild and bright - a teasing forerunner of the spring that was still a month away. The first skinny white lambs were staggering beside their mothers and the evenings had started to lengthen.

She was slowly settling into her new life, but found many aspects awkward and strange. The Bigod household was very different to the Marshal one, and although everyone was kind to her, she missed being the centre of attention and the apple of her father's eye. She couldn't be the apple of Hugh's while they were not truly man and wife, nor could she get to know him properly as a partner when they were always chaperoned. He had ridden out two days ago to deal with affairs in Yorkshire, so for the moment she didn't have his company at all. She was wary of Hugh's father, who was not bound in affection to her; his attitude towards her was informed by duty and responsibility. He was protective, but he was strict about the niches people occupied in his household. His opinion was that if everyone knew their place, all would run smoothly, but if they deviated from their allotted roles, chaos would ensue.

Straightening her dress, Mahelt left her chamber and crossed the courtyard to the new hall and Countess Ida's solar, which overlooked the gardens and the mere. Ida sat at a frame weaving a length of braid. Her women were busy with other textile crafts and the shutters were open so that the morning light streamed in to illuminate the fabrics and enrich their colours. The sight reminded Mahelt of similar industry at home. This might almost have been her mother's chamber at Pembroke or Striguil. Such dedicated work was not particularly to Mahelt's taste, although she was competent. She preferred more energetic pursuits that yielded a swifter reward, although at least whilst engaged in weaving and embroidery she could learn the castle gossip and find out whom to cultivate and whom to avoid.

Going to Ida, Mahelt curtseyed. 'My lady mother,' she said. The address still sounded strange in her ears.

Ida kissed her cheek and pinched the edge of Mahelt's silk wimple between finger and thumb. 'This is lovely,' she said.

'It belonged to my grandmother, the Princess Aoife,' Mahelt replied. 'She wore it when she married my grandsire, Richard Strongbow.'

Ida nodded in approval. 'It is good to pass things on through the family.' She gestured to her work, which bore a repeating design of the red and yellow Bigod shield, embellished with gold thread. 'I am making a new belt for the Earl.'

'It is very beautiful.' Mahelt admired Ida's expertise, while hoping she would not be expected to create work to a similar standard.

Ida beamed with pleasure. 'I think so.' A waft of breeze blew through the window aperture and ruffled the wall hangings. Mahelt gave a yearning glance at the arch of light and sniffed the fresh air like a hound.

Ida followed the direction of her gaze. 'Come,' she said with sudden decision. 'I want you to see what lies beyond our walls. At this time of year, fine weather is a gift we should not waste. Besides, I wouldn't want you to think you were a prisoner here.'

Mahelt felt a moment of resonance deep inside as Ida used the word

'prisoner'. The thought of Will as the King's hostage, her parents far away in Ireland, and Hugh absent in Yorkshire gave her a queasy feeling of isolation. Walls were made for protection, but they could confine too. 'I would like that very much, Mother,' she replied.

'Bless you, child.' Ida hugged her. Instructing her women to continue with their work, she sent a messenger to the stables to order the horses saddled. A boy was despatched to tell the Earl she was taking Mahelt to show her the demesne and very soon the women were trotting under the portcullis and taking the path by the mere. They were both well wrapped in warm cloaks and they rode astride as if for hunting rather than using the platform side saddles that would have been correct in formal circumstances.

'It is a long time since I have done this,' Ida said wistfully. 'Indeed, too long.'

Mahelt gazed around, taking pleasure in being out on the demesne instead of just looking at it over the castle wall. 'I used to ride most days when I was at home . . . I mean before I was married.'

If Ida noticed the remark about 'home' and its correction, she gave no sign.

'With your mother?'

'Sometimes, but just as often with my brothers or my father. We'd inspect the demesne together. It was good to breathe the air and it stopped the horses from getting stale.'

A mischievous glint lit in Ida's eyes. 'We own the finest horses in England,'

she said. 'I wouldn't want them to go stale for want of regular exercise.'

Ida and Mahelt eased their mounts from trot to canter as they entered the park. Thickets, coppices and woodland provided cover for the deer, and were dappled with wide grass rides to aid the coursing of hares and create a diversity of habitats. Filled with delight, the women urged the horses to gallop. Mahelt revelled in the feeling of speed, in the wind streaming against her face and the surge of her mare along the ride, clods showering from beneath her hooves. Ida's cheeks were flushed and suddenly she laughed aloud, the sound high and clear, belonging to the ghost of a much younger woman.

At a brook, where the water ran as clear as brown glass, they dismounted to drink from their cupped hands. The hems of their gowns darkened from contact with the stream's edge and their knuckle joints reddened and ached from the pure coldness of the water. The escorting grooms hung back, exchanging glances with each other, causing Ida and Mahelt to giggle.

'Ah,' said Ida. 'We must return here in the summer with fishing lines and a picnic basket.'

Mahelt agreed fervently. Her fondest memories were of such days spent at her father's manors of Hamstead and Caversham when he was able to cull time from his duties.

Beyond the pale of the deer park, Ida showed her dark fields of rich arable land soon to be sown with spring wheat. The skies were wide and bare and seemed to stretch for ever, and Mahelt was awed in spite of herself. She was accustomed to the majesty of mountains and fierce coronal sunsets behind the Welsh hills, but this cool eastern light had its own regal splendour. The wide stretches of land and sky made her realise the power of the family into which she had married. They didn't have as many castles or knights' fees as her father, they didn't have a province in Ireland or estates in Normandy, but they did own vast tracts of fertile, productive farmland. They had coastal territories rich in fisheries, salt pans and commercial ports. Ida told her about the profits they made from the wheat they grew and how important it was to the demesne economy. She showed her the stud herd of mares, the fine destrier stallions, the cows, the pigs and the poultry. 'Not all your life will be spinning and weaving in the bower,' Ida said. 'There are matters of estate to see to as well.'

Her voice held a hard note that made Mahelt wonder if Ida was unhappy with her lot. She knew her mother-in-law had once been the old King's mistress and had dwelt at court. The life she led now was so different that it must have taken some adjustment.

When they returned to Framlingham, Mahelt discovered that a messenger had arrived from her father with letters for the Earl and one for herself. It was accompanied by an embroidered purse containing a coil of red silk hair ribbon, and a mark of silver. The gifts, however, were the sweetener to news that made Mahelt sit down abruptly on the hearth bench and put her hand across her mouth.

'What's wrong?' Ida was swiftly at her side.

Mahelt shook her head in distress. 'My brother Richard's been taken by the King as a hostage too - before they sailed for Ireland.' She lifted brimming, furious eyes to her mother-in-law. 'King John thinks my father is a traitor, but he's not, he's not!'

'Of course he's not!' Ida put her arms around Mahelt. 'Oh my dear, there has to be a mistake.'

Mahelt shivered with revulsion. 'Why does he do this? He has no right to take away my brothers. I hate him!'

'Hush now, hush now. It will be all right.' Ida looked round at her women and warned them by her expression to say nothing of this outside the bower.

She was appalled. It was disturbing but understandable that John had taken the eldest Marshal boy. Roger said the King was quite within his rights and that William Marshal had been sailing very close to the wind over the issue of his Norman lands. But to take the second lad too - that was beyond the pale. Obviously John didn't want the Marshals to go to Ireland, but Mahelt's father had ignored him and gone anyway. Where was it all going to end?

Dear God, there might even be repercussions for her own family; what if John demanded her sons too?

'No it won't,' Mahelt said through clenched teeth. 'It will never be all right!'

'Come,' Ida said. 'There is nothing you can do on your own, but if you ask God's help, surely He will listen.'

Mahelt allowed Ida to coax her to the chapel where only a few short weeks ago she had been married. She gazed at the painted pillars, the candles burning on the altar, the statue of the Virgin and Christ child smiling down with inane serenity. If God really was listening, she thought, He would strike John dead with a thunderbolt. But she also thought that God often needed the hand of man to bring His schemes to fruition, and perhaps it was true that God helped those who helped themselves.

'I heard about your brother; I am sorry,' Hugh said.

Mahelt shook her head and watched Tripes snuffle along the path in front of her. 'I don't know why the King acts like this towards my family. It's not just and it's not fair.' She rubbed her arms. The weather had turned cold again, but the sky was clear and wide. They were walking side by side in the pleasure garden under the castle's west wall. Hugh had returned from his duties that morning, three days after she had received the news about Richard being taken hostage.

'Your father is a powerful man,' Hugh said. 'The King wants him at court where he can keep an eye on him and take advantage of his advice and counsel. John is losing one of his most important men, perhaps for a long time. Your father was away from court much of last year too.'

'That's because he wasn't well,' Mahelt protested.

'Indeed, but John didn't know how truly ill he was. He probably construed it as avoidance. While your father is in Ireland, he will be serving his own interests above John's. The King is probably thinking of all the gifts and rewards he has given to him and deciding that he hasn't received good value in return, especially after the business of the French allegiance.'

Mahelt's eyes flashed. 'My father doesn't make hostages of the sons of his vassals when they go home to their estates. Neither does yours, so why should the King be different?'

'You are talking about two different things.' Hugh gave her a look that said he knew she was being deliberately obtuse because she did not like what was being pointed out to her. 'The stakes are not so high, for a start. One manor is not a province or a kingdom, and our fathers do not have the King's suspicious nature. Your father's departure to Ireland seems like a betrayal to John - a sign that he has no time for him. Your father is so powerful and popular that he could threaten the throne if he chose.' Hugh raised his hand as Mahelt prepared to do battle. 'I know he would not, but John sees it differently. He thinks your father has gone to Ireland to feather his own nest at royal expense.'