To Defy a King (3 page)

William and Ralph arrived to be similarly greeted and for a while the conversation was all of the foul weather and the wolf hunt. More hot wine arrived, and platters of hot fried pastries. It was Lent so they were neither filled with cheese nor dusted with sugar and spices, but the tongue-scalding heat and the lard-fried crispness were still welcome to men who had been at hard exercise in freezing weather. Hugh's hands and feet began to throb back to life. Chilblains were another good reason not to leave the fire on a bitter February day. He pushed away the nose of a hungrily questing dog.

'How is my lady mother?'

His father wiped his lips on a napkin. 'Well enough, but longing for spring like all of us - and eager for news of you, of course.'

'As soon as the weather improves I'll ride down to Framlingham and see her.'

'It might be sooner than that.'

'Oh?' Hugh arched a questioning eyebrow.

The Earl glanced at his other sons. 'After dinner will do. I want to talk to you alone and uninterrupted.'

He would not be drawn and Hugh had no choice but to control his curiosity.

After a modest Lenten supper of fish stew and bread, Ralph disappeared to skin his wolves. William, too fastidious to join him, went to play dice with the knights, having been ordered to make himself scarce.

As he waited for his father to speak, Hugh was tense with anticipation.

Something momentous was afoot.

Standing with his back to the fire, the Earl cleared his throat. 'William Marshal has approached me and offered his eldest daughter Mahelt in marriage to you.'

The news came as no surprise but Hugh's stomach still sank. His father had been studying prospective brides for some time. The Marshal's daughter was one of several names on the list.

'I told him we would consider the proposal and I would give my answer when I had spoken with you.'

'She is not yet eleven years old.' Hugh's initial thought emerged as words, although he had only half meant to speak.

'She will grow swiftly and you are still young for marriage. I was beyond thirty when I wed your mother, and the Marshal almost twice your age when he took Isabelle of Leinster to wife. What matters is the honour and prestige of a tie with the Marshals, and the affinity the girl will bring.'

Hugh thought back to dancing with Mahelt Marshal at the Christmas feast in Canterbury. She was tall for her age and as lean as a gazehound. He remembered her hair in particular - shiny dark brown glinted with rich bronze. He had enjoyed her nimble, lively company, but she was a boisterous child, not a wife to wed and bed. Indeed, when he thought of the Marshal family, the Earl and Countess came to mind, not Mahelt. At court, he had been far more smitten by Countess Isabelle who, in her early thirties, was a strong and alluring woman.

'It bothers you, I can see.'

Hugh cupped his chin. 'There may not be many years separating girl from woman, but what if she should die in the meantime? Her dowry will no longer be secured to our estates and other offers will have passed us by.'

'That is a risk we take,' his father conceded, 'but Mahelt Marshal is not sickly; all of her brothers and sisters are as robust as destriers.' A gleam entered the older man's eyes. 'Good breeding stock.'

Hugh exhaled with sardonic amusement.

His father sobered. 'There will not be a better offer than this.'

Hugh knew his father's astute brain and reasoning abilities were what made the King value him as a judge and counsellor. He would have weighed the advantages and pitfalls of the match, and have answers for every point Hugh might raise. 'I bow to your will, sire,' he said. 'I know my duty to the family and my concerns are not objections.'

His father's lips curved in a half-smile. 'Nevertheless, your doubts are commendable. I am pleased to have raised a son who can think for himself.

The lord Marshal desires only a betrothal at this stage, and to leave the marriage until the girl is old enough for the full duties of a wife.'

'Is she to live with us?' Hugh's tone was bland, but he was secretly unsettled at the notion of having a child-wife to his name, even if she would be mostly under his mother's wing.

'Not until the marriage, which will not take place until she is of an age for successful child-bearing. The Earl of Pembroke suggests the betrothal itself take place at Caversham after Lent.'

'As you wish, sire,' Hugh said with relief that he was not imminently to be saddled with a bride.

His father held out his cup for Hugh to refill. 'Good then, it is settled, apart from negotiating the fine details of dowry and bride price. The King will have to give his permission, of course, but I foresee no trouble. We are in good favour with him and he values our support. I've taken the precaution of bringing a jewelled staff to present to him, and a copy of Aesop - given his enjoyment of gems and reading, they should put him in a good mood.'

'Is there any news from Normandy?' When last Hugh had attended court, King Philip of France had been making deep inroads into the province and not only the Bigod lands near Bayeux were threatened, but also the considerably larger holdings belonging to William Marshal.

His father shook his head. 'None that is good. As long as the castle at Gaillard holds out, Rouen is safe from the French, but there have been no gains on our part and when the campaigning season begins again . . .' He made a gesture that described without words how much of a predicament King John was in. Eastern Normandy had been overrun by the French and Anjou was lost. 'Queen Eleanor is four score years old and in poor health.

When she dies, there will be war in Poitou.' He looked sombre. 'I used to think she would be a part of the landscape for ever, but people are not as enduring as the stones.'

Hugh said nothing, for it was the way he thought of his parents - as immutable as rock - when the truth was that they were as vulnerable as trees in the forest.

'The King will raise an army to try and push Philip back, but whether or not he succeeds . . .' Roger gazed into the fire, his air one of grave sobriety. 'The minor Norman vassals will go over to Philip in order to keep their lands.

Why should they be loyal to a lord who, as far as they are concerned, has fled across the sea and left them to cope as best they may? John will lose all the small men, and it is the small men who uphold the great.'

Hugh gave his father a sharp look. 'What of our own estates? What of the stud?'

'I was going to talk to you about that. Time I think to bring the horses to England. Even if I must lose Corbon and Montfiquet, I am not gifting the King of France with my horses. Come the better weather, I want you to go and fetch them back to East Anglia.'

'And our people?'

'We will cross that bridge when we come to it.' His father folded his arms inside his furred mantle. 'Your great-grandfather came to England and fought on Hastings field because the Norman lands would not sustain him.

They are a useful addition, but hardly a patrimony.' He pursed his lips. 'It will go hard for the Marshal if we lose Normandy because he does have castles and estates of great value to think on. He stands to lose his second son's inheritance. The lad's rising thirteen years old and the Marshal needs to hold on until he can despatch him to Normandy in his own right and create separation that way.' He heaved a deep sigh. 'We all walk knife edges of one sort or another, but better to walk them in strong company. That way there is less chance of being eaten by wolves.' He raised his cup in toast. 'To your betrothal.'

'My betrothal,' Hugh responded wryly.

3

York, February 1204

John, King of England, rubbed an appreciative thumb over the carved ivory panels protecting the cover of the book in his hand. 'My magnates complain of their poverty, but they still have the wherewithal to gift me with items like this.' Opening a page, he pointed to an illuminated capital. 'Crushed lapis and gold,' he said. 'How much did that cost the Earl of Norfolk?'

'I do not know what is in his coffers, sire.' William Longespee, Earl of Salisbury, shook the dice in his fist and cast them on the gaming board.

'Do you not?' John's eyes held a sardonic gleam. 'You spend enough time in Bigod company. I thought you might have a notion.'

'The Earl keeps his coffers to himself, and it is not the kind of thing a guest asks.'

'But you are more than a guest, you are family too,' John said silkily.

Longespee silently cursed as the dice fetched up on the trestle as a two and a one. John's luck might be un - certain in other areas, but he had been winning at dice all night. The words, just spoken so pleasantly, were intended to sting. His royal half-brother was well aware of the tangled emotions Longespee harboured for his Bigod relatives, and exploited them without remorse. 'I am your family too, but I do not know the amount of silver stored in your strongbox.'

John laughed unkindly. 'You know that there is soon to be at least another mark of silver,' he said, indicating their game with his free hand. 'The pity is I always have to lend you more in order to win it back. Does the Earl of Norfolk bail you out when you visit your mother?'

Longespee flushed. 'We do not game.'

'No, I suppose not. Roger Bigod wouldn't take the risk.' John delicately turned the pages of the exquisite little book.

Longespee reached for his wine. It was a privilege to keep close company with John; to sit in the King's private apartments in the castle at York, drink the ruby Gascon wine and lose his silver in games of chance. But for the stain of bastardy, he would have been a prince himself. His mother had been a girl of fifteen when John's father, King Henry, had taken her for his mistress and got her with child. She had married Roger Bigod, Earl of Norfolk, when Longespee was an infant, and Longespee had been raised to manhood in the royal household. She had since told him how much she had grieved at being forced to part from him - that his father the King had given her no choice in the matter. She had gone on to bear her sanctioned husband a litter of legitimate but less exalted offspring, and raised them far from royal circles in Yorkshire and East Anglia. Longespee was contemptuous of his womb-mates and at the same time he envied them what they possessed and he didn't. He paid sporadic visits to their great fortress at Framlingham.

The experience was always a mingling of joy and pain and he was usually relieved to make his farewells - but reluctant too.

'So.' John carefully closed and latched the book - he had more respect for literature and the written word than he did for people. 'What do you think about this marriage contract between the Marshal's eldest girl and your half-brother? '

'It seems sound policy to me,' Longespee replied cautiously.

John ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. A sneer entered his voice

'Bigod ever has his eye to profit and advancement, but all done to the letter of the law, naturally.' He cocked a speculative eye. 'Your Ela was nine years old when you married, wasn't she?'

Longespee gave a cautious nod. 'Thereabouts.'

'Luscious sixteen now. How long did you wait?'

Longespee's complexion darkened. 'Long enough.'

'No belly on her yet, though.' John flashed a wolfish smile. 'Still, the trying keeps you busy, eh? You'll have plenty of advice to give your brother when his time comes.'

Longespee said nothing save by his rigid posture and expression. He hated it when John spoke of his private life in that tone of voice. That was the problem; John didn't see it as a personal matter, but Longespee did. He adored Ela and he was protective of her. Knowing what a predator John was, he seldom brought her to court. He was careful not to speak of her either, because he had observed how jealous John was of anything that came between him and those whom he considered his individual territory.

Longespee knew he was one of John's possessions and was not unduly bothered by it, because it gave him prestige and a place at the heart of the court. There was a price to pay, but then there always was. He strove to be honourable in his own life, and looked the other way when things happened that he could not control.

Smiling, John picked up the dice, shook them in his fist and cast a six and a five. 'Come now,' he said. 'Do not make that face at me; I did but jest. Good fortune to your Marshal and Bigod kin. They are most deserving of each other.' He managed to make it sound like an insult, which probably it was.

In the morning, the court prepared to go hunting, and Longespee made his way through the melee of dogs and horses in the stable yard to find and congratulate his half-brother on his forthcoming nuptials. He would rather have avoided Hugh, but one had to preserve the courtesies.

Longespee saw the glistening silver mare first, her harness arrayed in the red and gold Bigod colours, and his heart swelled with envy. His stepfather kept the best stable of horseflesh in England and Hugh, as the heir, naturally received first pick. The latter was deep in conversation with a groom and Longespee gave a contemptuous shake of his head. There were intermediaries to deal with servants. Drawing himself up, he adjusted his cloak and went forward. 'Brother,' he said, forcing the word out before it stuck in his throat. 'Well met. I hear congratulations are due.'

Hugh turned and smiled, although his sea-blue gaze was tepid. His hair gleamed like dull gold in the pallid winter sunlight. 'Thank you.' He looked dubious. 'I am still growing accustomed to the notion. How is Ela?'

'She is well.' Longespee replied stiltedly, remembering what John had said about advice and feeling awkward. 'Will your bride come to Framlingham?'

Hugh shook his head. 'Not immediately. I still have some bachelor years left to enjoy.'

'Make the most of them then - but you will take pleasure in a wife too, I think. Ela is a constant delight to me.' Formalities complete, Longespee moved around Hugh to examine the mare. 'Fast?' He checked her legs with knowing hands.

Hugh nodded and relaxed a little. 'Very. She'd beat any courser in this stable over a mile.'

'You reckon she could beat de Braose's black?' Longespee nodded in the direction of the entourage belonging to the lord of Bramber. A groom was tending a powerful Spanish stallion with arched neck and broad rump. The horse was fresh and sidling, eager to run.