To Defy a King (59 page)

Louis returned to the table and picked up the demands again, scanning them with narrowed dark eyes. 'Very well,' he said. 'If they agree to the cloak, I shall come and I shall yield.' He lifted his gaze and fixed it on Hugh. 'But if I pay this price, I expect something in return . . .'

At the Marshal manor of Caversham, Mahelt embraced her father and was dismayed by how tired he looked, at the new lines on his face and the evident limp from an old battle wound, but his smile was still there for her, and his embrace was like returning to a beloved place that was still home.

Her eyes filled and her father laughed at her foolishness. 'We have weathered some storms, have we not?' he said. 'No need for tears now.'

'I'm not crying,' she replied fiercely. 'Or only with joy at seeing everyone.

It has been too long.'

She went on to embrace her mother, her sisters, her brothers. All were here save for Richard who was in Normandy. Will was in good spirits, although walking with a stick after having his toes trodden on and three of them broken by his destrier two days since. He hugged Mahelt and greeted her with a semblance of his old arrogant smile, although tempered by sadness and experience. Like Longespee, he had returned to the fold soon after his father had become regent, and in the months since then had gradually mended the rift with his parents. John's death had made such healing possible, and the atmosphere today was comfortable, even while the scars were still tender to the touch.

Her father tousled Roger's hair after the latter had flourished him a most proper bow. 'Eight years old,' he said, 'and bidding fair to be a fine strong knight.' He did the same to Hugo and eyed his toddling, fair-haired little granddaughter with gentle amusement. He embraced Hugh with the kiss of peace, which both were at pains to emphasise. All as one, the family entered the hall and sat down to dine and put on a show of unity to the world.

Nothing was said over the food where all was talk of social matters and family - of catching up the years and weaving them into the fabric of now like so many dropped threads, although Mahelt knew that words could never convey the same texture as the living experience, and so much had been lost.

At the end of the meal William and Hugh went off to ride the manor grounds while Will took Roger and Hugo outside for a lesson in swordplay with him and their other uncles. The women retired to Isabelle's well-appointed chamber on the floor above the hall. Gazing out of the chamber window, Mahelt watched her father and her husband set off side by side, her father riding on his favourite chestnut and Hugh on Hebon. Their horses matched strides in the golden September light, and a pair of her father's gazehounds trotted at their heels.

As usual, Roger's dinner had gone straight to his feet and he was running around the yard shouting and twirling, much to the amusement of his Marshal uncles.

Mahelt set her hand to her belly, and became aware of her mother's scrutiny on her, much as she was watching the men.

'I know that gesture,' Isabelle said.

'It's only a thought at the moment,' Mahelt replied. 'Like this peace. It might come to naught, but I pray not.'

'I pray not too,' her mother said looking pensive, although she came to kiss Mahelt's cheek in pleasure at the news. 'Your father needs a respite. I have considered tying him up sometimes just to make him stop. He is past seventy years old and these burdens weigh on him.'

Mahelt gave her mother an anxious look. 'He is all right?'

'As far as I can tell.' Isabelle gave an exasperated wave of her hand. 'You know what he is like - refuses to yield an inch and pays no heed when I tell him to rest. Will takes what weight your father will allow him.'

'I am glad that all is well between you.'

Her mother's face clouded with memory for a moment; then she recovered herself and nodded. 'It was a difficult time for all,' she said, 'and a terrible one, but we have weathered it. Your brother is home and, as you can see, he's even begun to smile again sometimes.'

'Yes, I had noticed.' Mahelt leaned her elbows on the ledge. Will had found himself a stool to sit on and was directing operations with his walking stick, as if it were a marshal's rod of office. Roger was taking on Walter, Gilbert and Ancel all at once and she had to smile. A feeling of warmth swept over her. This was almost life as it had once been - and perhaps, God willing, a portent of things to come.

'How is your father by marriage?' her mother asked.

Mahelt screwed up her face and looked round. 'His eyesight is failing badly and his knees give him constant pain. Hugh has taken over all the active business of the earldom.' Her nose wrinkled further. 'He still likes to have his say, even if it is only that the sauce on his meat is too rich and the bread not soft enough.' She shrugged. 'This conflict has taken much out of him -

battered his pride - but it is my mother-in-law's death that has hit him the hardest, God rest her soul. He took her for granted and often thought her a nuisance, and now that it is too late he recognises her real value to him.'

'I am sorry to hear that.' Isabelle crossed herself. 'Ida was a dear, sweet lady.'

'I loved her,' Mahelt said with simple conviction.

'And are you content with Hugh these days?'

Mahelt bit her lip at her mother's perception. 'We have mended our differences - for now. I am learning how to rule the roost without seeming to

- as you do with my father.'

Her mother laughed ruefully. 'Oh, I get my way some of the time, but I do not make the mistake of pushing at doors that will never unlock. You have to know when to seize the advantage and when to yield.'

'My mother-in-law yielded every time, until she had no power of any kind left.' Mahelt raised her chin. 'I will not let that happen to me.'

'As long as you know when to give a little too,' Isabelle cautioned, sober now.

'That is what I am trying to do - but it isn't easy. I hope Hugh and my father can bring about this agreement. Hugh says that diplomacy is every bit as difficult as battle, and he's right.'

'Indeed he is,' her mother said with an eloquent look. 'On all counts.'

Hugh and his father-in-law rode along a bridle path leading from the manor into the park. The sun was a golden benediction, illuminating the turning leaves and adding a touch of gentle warmth to the day. The horses paced eagerly, as glad to be out as their riders.

'So what does Louis say?' William asked after a while.

Hugh watched the dogs sniff and lope. 'He says he will come to the Isle of Kingston and agree to the peace. He will wear his undertunic and braies as you desire, but only if he may cover them with his mantle and thus preserve his dignity.'

His father-in-law grunted with amusement. 'And he is a shy demoiselle,' he said.

'Would you not do the same in his position?' Hugh asked and noted William's use of 'demoiselle' to describe Louis. It meant not only a shy young girl, but was also a term for an untried young knight. That was far from the case, but he supposed that William's own long career gave him the right to use the word.

'I would do whatever I had to do, and if it involved exposing my underwear in public, then so be it.' William gave him a shrewd glance, filled with the weight of experience. 'I was an old man when they elected me to the regency and I have aged ten years since then. This conflict between English men, led by a French prince, should not be my life, but it is. I want peace so that I can settle husbands on my daughters and know the ones already married are in their homes and secure in their beds. I want to sit with my wife and enjoy the last rays of the evening sun.'

'Amen to that.' Hugh slapped Hebon's glossy neck. 'We all aspire to such things.'

They rode into a clearing and slackened the reins to let their mounts crop the grass. William said, 'I have reissued the great charter that was the source of so much difficulty for both sides. To do that, I have had to be pragmatic and bring myself to new ways of thinking - accept different ideas. Sometimes a robe that no longer fits has to be cast off and a new one donned. Louis understands this too because he is a statesman as well as a soldier. We must make compromises without compromising our honour.'

'As in wearing a cloak to cover the underwear?' Hugh said.

William's lips twitched. 'Louis can have his cloak. I will see that there is no objection.'

'Thank you, sire.' Hebon tore at the grass and the bit chains jingled. Hugh watched a cloud of midges dance before his eyes, rising and falling. He cleared his throat.

'There is more, isn't there?' William said. 'I know Louis.'

Hugh sighed. 'My lord says that if he is to return to France as soon as the treaty is agreed, he requires a payment of ten thousand marks in compensation for the damage he has suffered in England.'

His father-in-law's eyes widened briefly before the usual neutral expression fell into place. 'I see.'

'You would be free of him for that sum. He promises to speak to his father about restoring Anjou, and will see to it himself once he becomes king.'

'Louis is not a fool. I do not for one moment think he will honour such a vow. In his position, I wouldn't. It is the same as me saying I shall try to persuade the barons to allow him that money - it will never happen. Even if I agreed, I do not have those sorts of funds at my disposal. The country is nigh on bankrupt and you know it.'

Hugh felt the heat of the sun on the back of his neck as he drew in the reins.

Disputing with his father-in-law was not something he relished, but he knew he had to hold his ground. 'Sire, you have the spoils of the sea battle at Sandwich - French spoils. I know how much was on those ships you took.'

'Been adding it up, have you?' His father-in-law's tone was cooler now.

'It is part of my duty to my liege lord. Only a fool does not know what other men are worth.'

'Or the price he is prepared to pay?'

Hugh inclined his head. 'You have your lands in Normandy to consider and the goodwill of the French King is vital to your plans. No advantage will come of taking his son captive or digging in your heels.'

William looked Hugh up and down. 'You are your father's son,' he said. 'He has taught you well.'

'I take that as a compliment, sire.'

'As indeed you should. I have the greatest respect for your father and his abilities - not to mention his bloodstock. ' Having lightened the discussion by allusion to the horse he rode, he patted the chestnut's neck and added,

'The Earl of Chester will never agree to such a thing.'

'Not in a treaty, no, but in a private agreement . . . a pledge between men of honour.'

William clicked his tongue to his mount and heeled him onwards. 'So that is the golden border to this precious cloak of Louis's, and he would leave me perilously thread-bare. Are there other demands I should know about hiding inside the lining too?'

'No, sire, only those I have mentioned. My lord is finished with England. All that keeps him here are his pride and the obligation of duty. If they can be satisfied, he will depart and we can all turn to the matter of rebuilding this land. As soon as I am absolved of my oath to Louis, I shall serve the young king - and the regent - to the best of my ability. This I swear on my oath.'

'So the price of this peace is a cloak, ten thousand marks and a charter of liberties to embrace both sides - and if it is not agreed, we move to a different game of chess.'

'Yes, sire. One that nobody wins.'

His father-in-law looked thoughtful. They rode in silence for a while amid the first light showers of autumn leaves from the ash trees. He halted the horse again as they curved round to the banks of the river. Looking downstream, Hugh could make out the Earl's wharf and the barge drawn up there that would carry them down to London the next morning.

William watched the water for a while and sat very still, and Hugh sat with him, waiting, trying not to hold his breath, but staying within the calm of the moment. The sun cast gold coins on the water. Ten thousand twinkling spangles of light.

At length his father-in-law inhaled deeply. 'I told you,' he said, 'I am an old man. I have outlived all of King Henry's children, some who were no more than babes when I was knighted, but I shall not survive their heirs. The work I have done is for you and for my children to continue. For my sons. For Mahelt and her sisters. For their children. Let the Prince of France cover his nakedness with ten thousand marks, but, like his mantle, let it not be part of the written peace, because I fear that the Earl of Chester would not see it in the same way that I do.'

'Sire.' Hugh breathed out with relief.

The Marshal gave him a warm look that was almost father to son. 'Hugh, take that daughter of mine and ride home to Framlingham. Go and build your life and raise my grandchildren in peace to be the best they can. That is an order, and one that I will not negotiate.'

'Gladly, sire,' Hugh said and felt as if all the coins in the water were brightening and glowing in his solar plexus. 'More than gladly.'

48

Framlingham, Midsummer 1218

It was late but the sky still held a flare of dusky turquoise to the west over Edmundsbury. Hugh and Mahelt stood on Framlingham's battlements and watched the stars together. Below the wall walk, in chamber, tower room and bower, the castle occupants were finally settling down to sleep; save for the watchmen and the porter on the gate. Today they had celebrated Mahelt's churching, six weeks after giving birth to Ralph, their third son. He was dark-haired like her, but he was going to have Hugh's summer-blue eyes.

Her parents had come for the churching, as had several of her brothers and sisters. Hugh's siblings were all here too and the atmosphere was one of optimism. Even her father by marriage had taken an interest, holding his new grandson in his lap, saying that it would have been Ida's fondest wish to do this and, since she could not, he would do so in her memory.

Later, he and her father had held a long conversation concerning equine bloodstock. Both had gone down to the paddock to look at the mares and foals, her father limping from his old wound but still having to temper his pace to Earl Roger's slower gait and dimmer eyesight. Hearing the natural flow of their discussion, Mahelt had been pleased to see another fence mended and to hear talk not of war and policy, but of mutually satisfying everyday things.