To Defy a King (6 page)

The chaplain had found the dog scavenging in one of the barns after a group of players had passed through, and it probably belonged to them. He was mangy and flea-ridden; his ribs stared through his coat like rake tines; but the vigorous wag of his tail and bright, beseeching eyes had stayed the priest's first inclination to fetch a guard and have the creature knocked on the head with a spear butt. Mahelt, grieving for a pet bird that had recently died, had seized on the stray and immediately given him her heart.

'He won't be able to run with the hunt or dig out foxes,' Will said.

'Not all dogs hunt.' She lifted him out of the tub, liberally wetting the front of her gown in so doing. 'He'll live in the bower and bark at strangers.'

The dog shook itself vigorously, spraying water droplets far and wide.

Somehow it stayed on its feet. Mahelt giggled, while Will leaped backwards, cursing. 'That's one part of your dowry the Bigods might think twice about accepting,' he said with disdain.

'Hugh likes dogs.' She gave him a superior look. 'Anyway, I'm not going to be married just yet.' Slightly over a year had passed since her betrothal and life had settled back into its usual rhythm. Mostly she forgot that she was betrothed at all. She was making items to go into her marriage chest, embroidered pillows, sheets and coverlets, fine table napery and the like, but while they were frequent reminders of her future, they were also part of an everyday background. She kept her ring in her coffer and only wore it on special days. Talk of her marriage was like a fairytale about someone else.

She kept Hugh Bigod in her prayers, but it was a routine thing to do. She did not know him well enough to have him colour her thoughts and had not seen him since the betrothal because he had either been about his father's business or following the court.

Will shook his head at her and the dog, but crouched and held out his hand to be sniffed and then licked. He produced a crust from his pouch that he had been saving for his horse. The tail wagged with enthusiasm, and the bread, although taken with the utmost politeness and delicacy, vanished in a gulp.

'Father Walter says we should call him Tripes.' Mahelt dropped a towel over the dog's back and rubbed him energetically. 'He says it's Latin for three legs.'

'And it's English for guts.' Will grinned. 'Tell you what, I'll make him a collar and leash out of Equus's tail hair. Would you like that?'

Mahelt cocked her head at him. 'So you think we should keep him too?'

He gave a nonchalant shrug. 'Of course not, but you'll do it anyway; I know how stubborn you are.'

Mahelt left off drying the dog to give him a fierce hug. There were times when she thought him unbearably arrogant, opinionated and so sure of his masculine prerogative that she wanted to throttle him. But there were times like this too, when he exposed his kinder side and made her laugh. Besides, he was her big brother and she loved him.

'I can't wait for Papa to come home so I can show him,' she said. 'Do you think you'll have time to make his collar by then?'

'Perhaps,' Will said. 'It depends what happens in Portsmouth.'

Mahelt shaded her eyes against the sun the better to see his expression.

'What do you mean?'

'The King wants to cross the Narrow Sea and invade Normandy. The barons don't want him to become involved in a campaign until he has an heir. A lot of them are saying too that it's no concern of theirs what happens outside of England. Our father thinks the army will not sail at all.'

Mahelt felt envious that her brother was a party to the political discussions that she, as a girl, was denied access to. Her brain was just as good as his -

probably more so, because she couldn't fight her way physically out of situations but had to rely on her wits. Her mother was always involved in discussions pertaining to their lands, but her mother was a countess in her own right and her father respected that and gave her due credit. A daughter, unfortunately, did not have the same privilege. 'Does Papa want to go?' she asked.

'He can't because of his oath to Philip of France. If he does, he'll be foresworn and lose Longueville and Orbec for certain.'

'Won't he be in trouble with King John if he doesn't go?'

Will picked up a stone and aimed it at a fern growing out of a crack in the mortar of the castle wall. 'Probably, but that's nothing new for anyone.

There's hardly a baron manages to keep the King's favour these days. He takes money from us and pays his mercenaries to do his bidding in our stead.

The Bigods are in favour, but that's because of William Longespee's influence, and because Roger of Norfolk doesn't put those hats of his on top of his battlements. ' He slung another stone hard after the first. 'Just think, in the way of kinship ties, John will almost be your brother by marriage.'

Mahelt sniffed. 'Yours too,' she retorted, 'because you are mine by blood.'

Will curled his lip at her, and then nodded at Tripes. 'Is he supposed to be doing that?'

Mahelt whipped round and shouted in dismay, for the dog had found a heap of fresh horse dung and was rolling in it with luxurious abandon.

'Looks like you're going to need some more water.' Will laughed. 'Are you still certain you want to keep him?'

At Portsmouth, Hugh sat under the awning of his father's striped pavilion and sheltered from the heat of the June sun. The tent had been set up to face the blue glitter of the sea. Around him the Bigod troops had begun striking camp. The cooking fire was being left to go out and men were folding up canvas and harnessing packhorses.

His father returned from the beach and flopped on to a stool. Hugh poured a cup of watered wine from the jug on the trestle and handed it to him. 'The King is still at it,' Roger said. 'If he hopes to embarrass us all into embarking with him, he will be disappointed.'

Hugh rubbed the sun-reddened back of his neck. 'I have told the men to strike camp.' For the last two days, the King had been trying to shame his barons into crossing the Narrow Sea by embarking himself and sailing up and down within view of those on the shore. Thus far the only men to join him had been his mercenaries and Longespee. Treading a delicate path, his father had declined to put his own men on ships, but had offered up the shield tax on his knights' fees so the King could buy mercenaries if he wished.

'Good.' From beneath the broad, shady brim of his straw hat, his father gazed at the shimmering vista of tents. 'I doubt we'll be here for much longer.'

'What will happen to the Marshal?' Yesterday the latter and King John had quarrelled in public over the Marshal's refusal to embark because he had sworn allegiance to Philip of France for his Norman lands.

His father swatted away a persistent wasp. 'If he is fortunate, then nothing.

He has too many friends for the King to isolate him and pick him off, but he might find it wise to lie low for a while. He has dared more than I would, but then he has more to lose.' He nodded towards the royal galley out on the water. 'Look, they're coming in.'

The King disembarked from the ship, followed by his household knights, mercenaries and some of the crew, and stalked off in the direction of the royal pavilion. William Longespee crunched across the shingle and arrived at the array of tents lining the field beyond the shore. His own camp was still intact; indeed, his cook was applying the bellows to the fire and a spit of freshly caught grey mullet had been set to roast.

Seeing Roger and Hugh, Longespee diverted to speak to them. His complexion was the colour of tanned leather and weather-creases fanned at his eye corners. 'The King is rightly furious,' he told them, an air of checked anger in his own bearing. He set his hands to his hips and thrust out one foot, clad in dyed calf hide. 'He cannot cross to Normandy without the backing of us all.'

'There will be a more opportune time,' Roger said evenly. 'Better to husband our resources for now.'

Longespee fixed him with a hard stare. 'That is the opinion of some.'

'Of the many,' Hugh said. 'As you can see with your own eyes.'

Longespee shot him an irritated look. 'That does not make it right.'

Roger gestured to Longespee's pavilion. 'I notice you are not packing up camp?'

'No.' Longespee drew himself up. 'I am to head an army to relieve La Rochelle. They have held out thus far, but they need men and supplies and at least the King can provide those for them, whatever else he is prevented from doing. It would be shameful beyond reckoning if the King of France were to devour Poitou as well as Normandy, don't you think?'

Roger inclined his head. His tone remained level and tactful. 'I wish you success and may God speed your voyage and keep you safe.'

Hugh repeated his father's sentiments, paying lip service to politeness, although his true feelings were somewhat more tepid. It was typical of his half-brother to see the thick of a military adventure as a superior duty and the right thing to do. Let others worry about the harvests and see to the welfare of everything that underpinned the world.
What else are servants
for?
Longespee had asked on more than one occasion.

Longespee bowed in return. 'I pray you greet my lady mother on my behalf and tell her I will bring Ela to visit on my return.'

'I will do so.'

Longespee continued on to his tent and began issuing commands. Hugh let out his breath on a hard sigh, unclenched his fists and flexed his hands to ease the tendons.

'At least sending troops to La Rochelle with a commander he can trust is sound strategy on John's part,' Roger said. 'It will keep him a thorn in King Philip's rear and it is something that's feasible to accomplish. It's good employment for Longespee too. He might be as irritating as a hair shirt, but there is no denying his skill as a soldier.'

Hugh wrestled with his antipathy. In fairness, despite his insufferable air of superiority, his half-brother's military and maritime abilities had to be acknowledged. Realising that his father was watching him with knowing eyes, he stilled the motion of his hands.

'Longespee is valuable to the King, and valuable to our family because of it,' Roger said. 'Your mother cherishes him; he is my stepson and your half-brother. For all these reasons I make him welcome . . .'

'Sire,' Hugh replied stiffly.

'. . . but he is not a Bigod.'

The subtle humour in his father's remark changed Hugh's expression. He began to grin, and then could not help a chuckle. 'God forbid.'

His father slapped him on the shoulder. 'Come,' he said. 'The horses are saddled and we can leave. Let the baggage follow at leisure.'

7

Hamstead Marshal, Berkshire, July 1205

Mahelt sat on Richard's bed in the chamber her brothers shared, her world in tatters. Will's bed was a stripped frame. The mattress had been rolled up, secured with straps and put on the packhorse together with the sheets and bolsters. His clothing chest was empty, his gaming board and box of bone counters gone. No garments draped the hanging poles and no mantle or hood occupied the wall peg. Two nights ago they had played dice together in here, bantering with argumentative pleasure, the atmosphere full and vibrant. Now nothing of his presence remained to say he had even existed. Mahelt stared down at the small, colourful piece of green and yellow silk folded in her hands. She could not believe King John had demanded Will as a hostage for her family's loyalty and she was still reeling from the knowledge that her father had agreed to give him up. There had been trouble at court because her father had pledged himself to the King of France for their Norman lands in order to safeguard them until Richard came of age. Now, in retaliation, John had demanded Will. She had been told that her brother was going to be a squire and it was a positive thing for him: it would broaden his horizons and be a valuable part of his training; but Mahelt knew the words were a colourful gauze covering a turd. Her parents had quarrelled over John's demand. Her mother had wanted to refuse, but her father said they had no choice - and his word was law. Never before had Mahelt's security been threatened by division in the household and she was deeply upset and angry.

The door opened and Will entered. He was cloaked and booted for his journey, a dark cap with a rolled brim covering his hair. His set expression gave nothing away, but Mahelt knew he didn't want to go - not to John.

'What are you doing here?' he asked curtly. 'Everyone's waiting in the yard.'

Mahelt lifted her chin. 'I could ask the same of you.'

'Making sure I haven't left anything behind.' He crouched and extended his hand to Tripes, who had been snuffling round the corners of the room but came to lick him, then rolled over for a tummy rub.

Her throat constricted. 'That's what I was doing . . . but you haven't, I've checked.' Tears filled her eyes as she held out the piece of folded silk. 'I was going to give you this when I'd finished it properly, but you'll have to have it now.'

Will rose from fondling the dog, took it from her and opened it out to reveal a small silk pennant designed to fly from a lance. It bore the Marshal blazon of a red lion snarling on a background half green and half gold.

He swallowed manfully. 'I'll keep it with me always,' he promised.

Mahelt couldn't bear it. It was all ending. Nothing would ever be the same again. What was it going to be like without him? With a small cry, she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely. 'I won't ever let you go!'

He hugged her in return and swung her round. 'I'll never leave in spirit.

You'll always be with me, I swear.'

She felt his skin and his hair and tried to reach inside him because she knew the embrace might be their last one. Whether it was or not, this moment closed the door on her childhood.

He had to use firm pressure to unlock her arms and push her away. 'It'll be all right, Matty.' He smiled, trying to make light of it. 'I think you are just jealous because you want to be a squire in my stead and ride a fine big warhorse.'

The use of her nickname made her want to howl aloud with grief, but she held it in until her stomach ached. 'I would take your place if I could.'