To Defy a King (2 page)

'Your parents are seeking you, young mistress,' he said, wrinkling his nose.

'God's eyes, what have you been doing?'

'Nothing.' She gave him an imperious look to cloak her guilt. 'Defending the castle.'

Godfrey said nothing, but his gaze was eloquent.

'What do they want?' Facing both parents at once was generally reserved for serious misdemeanours. Her mother had eyes in the back of her head, but surely she couldn't know about the grease-throwing yet and Mahelt couldn't think of anything else she had done recently to warrant such a command.

'I do not know, young mistress. Your lady mother just said to fetch you.'

Decidedly on her guard, Mahelt followed him to the solar, pausing on the way to sluice her hands in the trough and wipe them on a net of hay tied to the stable wall.

Her mother and father were sitting before the hearth in their private chamber, and she saw a glance flicker between them as she entered. She could sense an atmosphere, but it wasn't angry. Gilbert and Walter, her two younger brothers, were playing a dice game on the floor and a nurse was attending to her little sisters, Belle aged four, and two-year-old Sybire.

Her mother patted the bench and Mahelt came to sit in the space her parents had made for her between them. The fire embraced her with warmth. The hangings were drawn across the window shutters and the mellow glow from numerous beeswax candles made the room feel cosy and welcoming. Her mother smelled wonderfully of roses and the arm she slipped around Mahelt to cuddle her was tender and maternal. Mahelt decided her brothers were welcome to their silly game. Parental attention was better, especially if she wasn't in trouble. She thought it odd that her father was holding her floppy cloth doll in his big hands and looking at it in a pensive manner. Seeing her watching him, he put it down and smiled, but his eyes were serious.

'You remember a few weeks ago, the Christmas court at Canterbury?' he asked.

She nodded. 'Yes, Papa.' It had been lovely - all the feasting and dancing and celebration. She had felt so grown up, being allowed to mingle with the adults. She had been wary of King John because she knew her mother disliked him, but she thought the jewels he wore around his neck were magnificent. Sapphires and rubies, so her cousin Ela had said, all the way from Sarandib.

'You remember Hugh Bigod?'

'Yes, Papa.' The heat from the fire was suddenly hot on her face. She picked up her doll and began fussing with it herself. Hugh was grown up, but he had partnered her in a circle dance, clasping her hand and winding her through the chain. Later he had organised games of hoodman blind and hunt the slipper for the younger ones, joining in himself with great enthusiasm. He had a rich singing voice and a smile that made her stomach flutter, although she didn't know why. One day he would be Earl of Norfolk, just as one day Will would be Earl of Pembroke.

'Hugh's parents are seeking a suitable wife for him,' her father said. 'Your mother and I believe it would be good for Marshal and Bigod to unite in a marriage alliance.'

Mahelt blinked. She felt the doll's soft dress under her fingers, the heat from the fire, her mother's arm around her. She looked at her father. If the law allowed it, if it were possible under God's heaven, she would marry him.

She knew she was expected to make a great match to benefit her family. It was her duty and she was proud to do it, but she hadn't imagined the time to come like this - out of an ordinary day when a moment since she had been play-fighting with her brothers. Her stomach was suddenly hollow.

'It will only be a betrothal for the moment,' her mother reassured her.

'Nothing will change until you are older, but your father must make the offer now.'

Mahelt's relief that she was not to be married off on the instant was immediately replaced by curiosity. 'Why must you make the offer now, Papa?'

Giving her a grave look, he spoke as one adult to another. 'Because, Matty, I want to secure an alliance with the Earl of Norfolk. He is powerful and honourable and his estates are prosperous. He knows the laws of the land better than anyone, and his son is a fine young man. You will be safe and cared for, and that matters to me. If we do not make the offer now, the Earl may not wait. There are other families with whom he could match Hugh to great advantage. This is the best choice for you.'

Mahelt tightened her grip on her doll - because she was thinking, not because she was upset. Will was betrothed to Alais de Bethune, who was five years old. Mahelt's cousin Ela, Countess of Salisbury, had married William Longespee when she was only ten. Mahelt was almost eleven now, nearly two years older. 'I like Hugh Bigod,' she said, swinging her legs. She liked Countess Ida too, who had given her a brooch at Christmas, enamelled with red and blue flowers. Hugh's father, Earl Roger of Norfolk, always wore magnificent hats.

'Then I am glad,' her father said, 'and very proud of you. I shall make the offer and we'll see what happens.'

His approval made Mahelt feel warm and tingly. He hugged her and she abandoned her doll to squeeze him as hard as she could in return. He pretended to choke at the force of her grip, then made a different sound in his throat and drew away, grimacing. 'Child, what have you been doing?

What is that smell?'

Mahelt tried to look nonchalant. 'It's just the salve Tom the kennel-keeper uses on the hounds when they're injured.'

He raised his brows. 'And why would it be on you?'

She squirmed. 'Will said I had to defend the castle against attack because he wouldn't let me be a knight and ride Equus.' Her eyes flashed. 'He said I had to be French too, and then he got cross and rode off because he didn't win.' She concealed a momentary quiver as she remembered him saying that she had actually lost. It wasn't true.

'And the salve?'

Mahelt set her jaw. 'There was nothing else to throw. I wasn't going to yield, because they'd have taken me prisoner and held me for ransom.'

Her father looked away and rubbed his hand across his face. When he turned back, his expression was severe. 'You do know that Tom will have to make more salve now, and for that he will have to wait on the next pig-killing for the lard. He'll have to find the herbs too.'

Mahelt fiddled with the end of her braid. 'I'm sorry, Papa; I'll help him.' It would be fun, she thought, all that mixing and stirring. Better than sewing in the bower.

He looked wry. 'It is probably fortunate that there will be a gap between your betrothal and your marriage.'

'I wouldn't throw things at my husband,' she reassured him.

'I am relieved to hear it,' he replied in a slightly strangled voice. 'Go now and wash your hands properly and we'll toast some bread on the fire.'

Mahelt jumped from the bench and hastened to do his bidding, relieved to have escaped so lightly. Besides, she was ravenous.

'She is still so young.' William Marshal muttered to his wife later as they glanced at their sleeping daughter on their way to bed. Illuminated in the small pool of candlelight, her rich brown hair shone with ruddy glints and she was fiercely clutching her doll to her heart.

Isabelle drew him away into their bedchamber before the light could disturb Mahelt's slumber. 'You had to make a decision, and it was the right one.'

He sat on the edge of their bed and rubbed his face. 'Roger Bigod is a friend, but he will look to his own best interests first - as I would in his position.'

'Of course he will,' Isabelle agreed as she placed the candle in a niche, 'but I suspect this offer will gladden his heart and be no second choice.'

'I should think not!' William bridled. 'Mahelt is a prize worthy of the highest in the land.'

Isabelle set a soothing hand to the back of his neck. 'Indeed she is, and you could not have done better for her than Hugh Bigod.' She leaned round to kiss him, recognising his wistful sense of loss. Their other girls were still infants. Mahelt had been seven when her next sister had arrived, thus for a long time she had been William's only daughter. She was so like him. She had his prodigious energy and wholeheartedness and the same powerful sense of honour and duty, although, it had to be said, not his patience and tact. She knew her place in the world. As the Earl of Pembroke's beloved eldest daughter, it was an exalted one. Much as she loved her daughter, Isabelle knew that Hugh Bigod was going to have his hands full.

'Norfolk and Yorkshire are far away from danger too,' William said, although his gaze was troubled.

Isabelle gnawed her lip. Their relationship with King John was uneasy. The latter neither liked nor trusted William. The feelings were mutual, but an oath of loyalty was binding, and John had given them the Earldom of Pembroke in exchange for that oath. William's strength had always been his absolute fidelity, but he served a man who put no trust in men's honour and had little of that virtue himself. Normandy was in turmoil and unrest seethed under a superficially calm surface. East Anglia, though, was a haven distant from trouble and its earl was a cautious man who kept a firm grip on his estates.

William shook his head. 'Ten years ago, I carried her to her christening still with the marks of birth upon her body. It seems no more distant than yesterday, and now here I am arranging her marriage. Time is like riding a horse at full gallop that will not answer to your rein.'

'The horse might not answer to your rein, but at least by planning ahead, you are less likely to lose your seat in the saddle.'

William gave an amused grunt and, having removed his tunic, lay on their bed, his hands pillowed behind his head. 'I am glad you said "less likely", my love.' He watched her remove her veil and unpin her hair to let the heavy golden braids tumble down. 'God knows there are sufficient obstacles in the road to unseat the canniest rider. I'll have the scribes write to the Bigods tomorrow, and then we shall see.'

2

Settrington, Yorkshire, February 1204

Hugh Bigod dismounted to examine the wolf he had just killed, and wiped his spear in the tawny winter grass. Silver-grey fur ruffled in the wind. Her fangs were bared in a bloody snarl and even in death her amber eyes were baleful. She would have bred pups this year, but her swollen belly was not the result of fecundity, but of having gorged on the heavily pregnant ewe she and her mate had brought down the previous day. Wolves were a constant problem at lambing time, slinking round the sheepfolds, grey as twilight, waiting their moment. The shepherds and their dogs kept close watch, but they could not be everywhere at once and even when the flocks were brought in close to the homestead, there were still casualties.

Pellets of icy rain drove slantwise into his face and he turned his head away from the wind. Although his fingers were encased in mittens, his hands were numb. It was a frozen, hungry time of year, the dregs of winter hanging on even though the dawns arrived earlier and the light was slower to leave the sky at night.

'I can have a wolfskin rug for my bedside now,' said his thirteen-year-old brother Ralph, a gleam in his dark grey eyes.

Hugh smiled. 'With a sheepskin the other side for balance, and to remind you why we hunt wolves in the first place.'

'I don't know why you want a wolf pelt anywhere near you, they stink,' said William. At almost fifteen, he was the closest of the brothers in age to Hugh.

'Not if they're properly tanned and aired,' Ralph argued.

William shook his head. 'The only good place for a wolf is a midden pit.'

Accustomed to their verbal sparring, Hugh took little notice. It meant nothing. They squabbled cheerfully among themselves - sometimes even came to blows - but the rancour never lasted and they were always united against a common foe.

Hugh remounted Arrow. The mare was so named because of her ability to fly into a fast gallop from a standing start. She could outrun any wolf and she was his pride and joy. Gathering the reins, he studied the sleet-laden clouds scudding in from the east coast while he waited for Ralph to swing the bloodied corpses across the pack pony's saddle. The wind was as vicious as the bite of a wild animal. It was a day when any sane man would remain by his hearth, and only venture outside to empty his bowels - or deal with wolves.

He had been lord of Settrington for five years, ever since his father had granted him ten knights' fees of his own following King John's coronation.

He had been sixteen then, old enough for responsibility under supervision, and he had cut his teeth on these Yorkshire estates, preparing for the day when he would inherit vast tracts of fertile land and coastal villages in East Anglia including the castle at Framlingham with its thirteen great towers.

His father was still hale and fit, but one day, Hugh would be Earl of Norfolk, and his knights' fees would amount to more than 160.

He paused by the shepherds' hut to give the herders the good news about the wolves, and then rode down to the manor. As the afternoon settled towards dusk, the horses churned their way through the icy mud of the track, bitter air clouding from their nostrils and steaming from their hides. Lantern-light gleamed through the cracks in the shutters of the manor house and grooms were waiting to greet the hunting party and take their mounts.

'Sire, your lord father is here,' the head groom told Hugh as he dismounted.

Hugh had already noticed the extra horses in the stables and the increased number of servants. He had been expecting his father because King John and the court were at York, and Settrington was only twenty miles away. Hugh nodded to the groom, stripped off his mittens and, blowing into his cupped hands, entered the manor house. His waiting chamberlain presented him with a cup of hot, spiced wine, which Hugh took with gratitude. His father was sitting before the hearth, legs crossed at the ankle, sipping from a cup of his own, but when he saw Hugh, he stood up.

'Sire.' Hugh knelt on one knee and bowed his head.

'Son,' Roger Bigod replied, pride in his voice. He raised Hugh to his feet and kissed him on either cheek. Hugh felt the solidity of his father's body beneath the fur-lined mantle as they embraced. He was as hard and sturdy as a pollarded tree.