To Defy a King (36 page)

'I don't want him here either, but it is a necessary evil - a matter of policy,'

Hugh replied, his blue eyes quenched with shadows. He pulled her into his embrace and kissed her. 'Don't worry. I intend to keep our children well away from his sight and out of his mind. He'll be gone soon.' He touched the coronet with his fingertips. 'You look magnificent.' 'I need to,' she replied darkly.

Standing on the wall walk overlooking the mere, Mahelt watched the royal cavalcade approach the barbican. Banners flapped in the bitter winter wind as the horses, two by two, jingled along the path. Spears pointed at the sky and silver sparks glanced off their tips. John's mercenaries glittered in their mail shirts and scarlet surcoats. Mahelt breathed deeply and tried not to think how much this parade looked like an invading army rather than a visit by guests seeking hospitality on the road. She imagined how her parents would deal with the situation; she envisaged the calm expression on her father's face and made an effort to compose the same look on her own. She must don a mask and conceal herself behind a gracious facade.

The gates heaved open to admit the troop: the heralds first, in red and gold livery, blowing a fanfare on trumpets and horns. Then came an escort of household knights, again in the royal red and gold, with John well protected on all sides, and behind, a long train of mounted troops like a fat silver snake. Mahelt knelt in the courtyard with the rest of the Bigod household and bent her head. Her mouth was so dry, she could not have spat in John's face had she tried. She concentrated on the feel of the bailey floor under her knee, the sensation of individual bits of grit, and thought that each moment that elapsed was a moment closer to John leaving.

John greeted the Earl with the kiss of peace, then Hugh. Mahelt was next and, as he raised her to her feet, she steeled herself for the feel of his lips against her skin. It was closer than she had ever wanted to get to him. She half expected him to use his tongue in the deed, but he didn't. His eyes were filled with mocking amusement, as if he could read her thoughts. Mahelt was determined not to let him invade that particular sanctuary and solidified her expression until her smile was of stone.

'So you send out your young beauty to make the greeting.' John addressed Earl Roger with raised brows and a smile.

'The Countess is unwell, sire,' the Earl replied, 'but my daughter-in-law has made all ready and will do everything that is fitting to make you comfortable at Framlingham.'

'I am sorry to hear the Countess is ill,' John said. 'I have always enjoyed her company.' His voice was a smooth glide that could either be taken for courtliness or a very slick insult. 'She is not too sick, I hope.'

'Confined to her chamber, but recovering, sire.'

'Then I shall keep her in my prayers and hope she is soon well.'

Longespee, who was among the royal party, kissed Mahelt and as they walked towards the domestic lodgings said anxiously, 'What is wrong with my mother?'

'Sickness and a high fever, but she is improving. She will want to see you.'

Mahelt escorted John to the prepared guest chamber and showed his body servants where to stow his baggage. Although she knew everything was in order, she checked again that her own servants had done their jobs. There were sweet-smelling candles of beeswax in the sconces with bundles to spare in a wall cupboard, and clean olive oil burned in the hanging lamps.

She had put Ida's costly tapis rug across the back of the settle. Luxuriant fleeces from some of her own sheep covered a couple of stools and were placed either side of the bed. There was a chessboard and pieces by the window together with a harp, a lute and a psaltery should the King feel inclined to music. A flagon and matching cups stood on a small, napery-clad trestle. There were also several books for the King to read.

John picked up one of the latter and unfastened the clasp to flick through the pages. '
Ars Tactica
,' he said. 'It's a pity your father doesn't read. He'd enjoy this and learn a lot.'

Mahelt dug her fingernails into her palms, smiled sweetly and thought about escape. 'Would you like to rest awhile, sire?'

John glanced towards the bed. 'That depends on the company.' He looked her slowly up and down, as if his stare was a hand with busy fingers. Mahelt swallowed her gorge, relieved that she wasn't alone with him. Servants were carrying items of baggage into the chamber and various household officials were in the room. A mercenary gave her a sly smirk from the corner of his eyes. Hugh was talking to one of John's chamberlains just outside the door.

She could hear his voice and see the edge of his tunic and folded arm. 'If you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to.'

'Oh, don't go,' John entreated with a glint in his eyes. 'I have never spoken with the daughter of William Marshal before. His sons, often, but not his eldest girl. Stay and entertain me awhile . . .' He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. 'You have your father's eyes, but your mother's way of looking - did you know that? A fair and beautiful woman, your mother.'

'Sire, by your leave, with the Countess so ill, I have many extra duties. I crave your indulgence.' Her words emerged as a polite monotone and she felt them grate in the saying. How did her father manage to be civil to this man? She wanted to pick up the flagon and tip it over his head.

John's gaze was vulpine. 'My indulgence . . .' he mused, stroking his dark and silver beard. 'Very well then, I grant it. I like pleasing women, and they are keen to please me when they realise the rewards that may be reaped. We shall speak later.'

Mahelt curtseyed, thinking the only thing she was keen to do to John was tackle him with a gelding knife. Making a swift exit, she flashed Hugh a furious look as she swept from the chamber, then compressed her lips because what could she say? John's words had been suggestive, but he could easily claim she had misconstrued them, or that he had been teasing. If she made a fuss, there would be repercussions for herself and both her families.

What she had to do was ensure she was never alone with him and not give him a single opportunity to play his game of cat and mouse to its conclusion.

She marched into the kitchens, which were bustling with mad activity as the cooks and their assistants toiled to prepare a feast fit for a king - difficult at this time of year with so little fresh food and everything in short supply.

Over the last weeks by ingenuity, force of will and formidable organisation, Mahelt had succeeded in planning food and entertainment that would not disgrace the name of Bigod and Marshal, but just now she did not care if all John received was burned horse bread and sour ale. After a single cursory glance at the bubbling cauldrons of spicy beef stew, she stalked from the kitchens and headed for the musty darkness of the undercroft in order to have some peace for a moment and draw herself together.

Sitting on a barrel, swinging her legs and drinking mead straight from the costrel, she remembered Hugh hiding in here a few months ago, telling her about the hanging of the hostages. She thought about Maude de Braose and her son. She thought about Arthur of Brittany. She thought about her brothers. 'Rewards, indeed!' she spat, and swore she would not allow herself or her family to become victims of this man. After a final swallow of the mead, she forced the bung back into the hole. She had to keep her wits about her until John had departed. She stood up, smoothed her gown, adjusted the coronet, drawing strength from its symbolic power, and left the sanctuary of the undercroft for the dangers of the open castle.

The feast Mahelt had prepared occupied most of the short winter afternoon and continued into dusk and evening. As the hostess and in Ida's absence, she had to endure sitting at John's side and behave as if he were a thoroughly welcome guest. She pretended she was her mother and sent the real Mahelt away to the secret dark peace of the undercroft and a nice fat costrel of mead. Her smiles were gracious, she made polite conversation and acted with decorum and courtesy, behaviour which both acknowledged John and kept him at a distance. She watched time burn down the wicks of the numerous candles blazing in candelabra and sconce, and told herself that soon he would be gone from here - please God - and life could resume its usual course.

John set out to be a charming, affable guest. He talked horses and hunting with the Earl and Hugh, and cheerfully argued points of law with them. He was suave and urbane and well mannered. He praised Mahelt for the delicious beef and cumin dish her cooks had prepared and said that she should tell his own cook how it was made.

Sipping spiced morap wine at the end of the meal, John leaned back to give himself stomach room and smiled at Mahelt like a well-fed cat. 'I am sure you are pleased, Lady Bigod, that your father is returning to England in the spring as soon as the weather permits a sea crossing.'

'It is good news indeed, sire.' Mahelt's heart quickened; she sensed danger.

If John was being pleasant, there was bound to be an ulterior motive. 'I shall be glad to see my family again, and my new brother and sister.'

'Indeed, your parents have been well blessed with offspring,' John said. 'Let me see, there must be ten of you now. God grant I am as vigorous when I reach your father's mature years, even if my wife might not appreciate such energy.' There was the hint of a smirk in his tone; he'd said nothing that could be pinned down as an insult, but nevertheless managed to conjure an image of her father as an old goat. 'You come from strong stock, my lady.'

'I am proud to do so, sire.'

'I value the counsel and the support of my Marshal and Bigod vassals -

especially when they are so easy on the eye. Your good health, Lady Bigod.'

He toasted her; then he returned his attention to her father-in-law. Mahelt put down the cup with which she had answered him, her wine untouched.

The King's mercenaries and household knights were swilling their fill of Framlingham's wine, and the noise levels rose as the drink sank in the barrels. As small savouries, tarts and spices were served to finish the meal, several vassals and knights clamoured to be entertained by Roland le Pettour. The latter held his lands of the Bigods by dint of his ability to fart tunes through his braies, perform acrobatics and tell scurrilous and risque

stories involving nuns, monks and indefatigable privy members of stupendous proportions. Men in their cups generally found him hilarious.

Sometimes women did too, but Mahelt had witnessed his performances on several occasions and tonight she was not disposed to laughter. Before he could commence his opening barrage of notes, Mahelt begged leave to withdraw and make sure her mother-in-law was comfortable and well attended.

John was amused. 'You do not stay to listen to music and poetry?' he said.

'Sire, I leave such entertainments to more discerning tastes,' Mahelt replied, and made her escape.

When she arrived at Ida's chamber door, Longespee was just taking his leave, leaning over the bed to kiss his mother's cheek.

'It has been so good to see you, my son.' Ida's voice was animated and her eyes were bright. 'I am glad God has given me the opportunity.'

'Just rest and get better,' Longespee said.

'I am doing my best. I want to see your fame grow. My blessings to Ela and the children. Kiss them for me.'

Longespee said that he would and made way for Mahelt. 'Sister,' he said in acknowledgement.

She inclined her head. 'If you go to the hall now, you will be just in time for Roland le Pettour's repertoire.'

Longespee rubbed the back of his neck. 'Ah, it's reached that stage, has it?'

'Unfortunately so.'

He heaved a sigh, hitched his belt and, grimacing, left the room.

Ida gave Mahelt a guilty look as she readjusted her shawl. 'Has it been so terrible playing host to the King?'

'It is true I would rather beat myself with thistles.' Mahelt screwed up her face and, removing the coronet, wrapped it in its silk cloths and placed it reverently in its coffer. 'But I have managed to be civil thus far - we all have. She sat down on the coverlet. I'll be glad to see the tail of his horse tomorrow though.' She didn't add that she was afraid of the way John kept looking round the chamber as if assessing and tallying all they owned. She had hidden the children from him, but still she didn't feel safe.

Ida looked sad. 'John always resented those who came between him and his sire. His father loved him dearly, but it was never enough for him. When the need is so great, no matter how much love you pour into a bowl, it will never be full. Or sometimes it is damaged, and the love all runs out through the hole in the bottom. I . . .' She stopped and her eyes were suddenly swimming with tears. 'Ah, I am a foolish old woman.'

'No, Mother, you're not!' Mahelt declared vehemently. 'I wish I could pour out love as generously as you do.'

Ida blew her nose and laughed. 'It is kind of you to say so, but you flatter me too much.' She blinked hard and sniffed. 'My son tells me his ship will be finished by the end of the month and that he is to lead a campaign in Poitou this summer. He is one of the King's most trusted advisers.' Pride shone in her eyes and Mahelt thought that in a way it was a blessing Ida was so ill. If John had always disliked anyone coming between him and his father, he must have resented Ida when she was at court, and probably still did because of her emotional bond with Longespee.

Mahelt stayed with Ida a while longer, then set off to retire to her own chamber across the ward. Descending the outer stairs from Ida's room, she drew her fur-lined mantle more closely around her body and shivered. The sky was filled with ragged clouds patched with stars and she felt the light, cold spatter of sleet against her face.

'Ah, Lady Bigod, well met.'

She almost leaped out of her skin and stifled a scream as John appeared soft-footed out of the darkness from the direction of the latrine.

'Sire.' She curtseyed and straightened, thinking that this was not well met at all. From the direction of the hall she could hear roars of merriment and the sound of cups thumping on trestles. She prayed that someone else would come to use the privy.