To Defy a King (9 page)

'How do you know?' Mahelt eyed her brother. His hair glinted like bright copper wire in the autumn sunshine and his greenish eyes were shrewd. She felt a twinge of jealousy that Richard was party to something she wasn't.

Just because he was older; just because he was a boy. It wasn't fair.

'I heard him talking to Jean D'Earley in the stables. He said he needed to go to Leinster and sort matters out - that he had let it slide for far too long, and that he was going to write to the King and ask his permission to go.'

Mahelt listened to the hornsman blowing the signal and then the squeak of the winch hauling the net of wine barrels aloft. She had visited Ireland when she was a little girl. Her grandmother Aoife had been a daughter of the High King of Leinster and still alive then, and Mahelt could remember the bare, cold fortress of Kilkenny, with its leaky roof and musty chambers. She had vague memories of the bustle of repairs and of the new building work her father had undertaken there, including founding a port on the river Barrow to bring prosperity and commerce to Leinster. The rain too. Always the rain, but her father had sheltered her under his fur-lined cloak and kept her warm and dry. 'He has people there who can look after it for him,' she said.

'Yes, but they are not doing the best job they can, and some of them are King John's creatures. Leinster is Mama's dowry.'

Mahelt shrugged. 'What of it?'

Richard looked sombre. 'Well, it's what Mama would have to live on if she was widowed.'

Mahelt hit him. 'Don't say that!'

'It must be faced. That's what Papa's doing. He's saved our Norman lands so I can inherit them. Now he has to safeguard the rest for Mama and Will and all of us.'

Mahelt shivered and resumed walking. She hugged herself to keep warm.

'Will is the King's hostage,' she said. 'Some people never return from the King's custody. Everyone knows Prince Arthur disappeared whilst he was John's prisoner. I've heard the rumours saying John murdered him - and Arthur was his own nephew.' Arthur had challenged John for the English throne and control of Normandy and Anjou, saying he had the greater right.

Arthur had been captured during the battle campaign that followed, had entered the Tower of Rouen as a prisoner and not emerged.

Richard looked apprehensive for a moment, but then shook himself. 'It's all hearsay. Papa wouldn't have given Will to John if he thought John was going to kill him.'

'But if Papa goes to Ireland, he won't be nearby if anything does happen . .

.'

'Don't you trust his judgement then?'

'Of course I do!' Mahelt quickened her pace as if by striding out she could escape her fears, not least the changes that would happen in her own life if her father decided to cross the Irish Sea.

9

Framlingham Castle, Suffolk, December 1206

A thin layer of snow dusted the ground like spilled flour around a kneading trough as Hugh mounted Hebon. Dogs and horses milled in the yard as men hastened to mount up in readiness for a winter deer hunt in Framlingham's great park.

The Earl was nursing a strained back and had declined to follow the chase, preferring to keep warm by the fire, drinking spiced wine and dealing with affairs of estate. Let others bring fresh venison to the table if they desired.

However, swathed in his fur-lined cloak he came out to the yard to salute them on their way.

Longespee was visiting and keen to hunt. His bay courser stamped and pawed, tail swishing, and Longespee was in a similar state of impatience.

Having returned from the Poitou expedition covered in glory, his opinion of himself was particularly high just now. Roger exchanged a knowing smile with Hugh. They had done their own duty in Poitou and acquitted themselves without dishonour, but they were not fame-seekers, whereas Longespee was determined to live his life trailing banners of glory.

Roger eyed Ralph who was fretting his own horse. The youth's cold-reddened lips were parted in a dazzling smile. A long dagger hung at his hip as well as a shorter knife. He looked every inch a soldier-squire and courtier, tuition under Longespee having sharpened both elements.

'Good hunting.' Roger slapped the rump of Ralph's courser.

'I hope so. We'll bring home enough venison for a banquet!'

Roger grunted. 'I hope you've warned your mother and the cooks.' His focus left Ralph and fixed on the messenger just riding in. The man's horse bore the Marshal blazon on its breast-band pendants and saddle cloth.

Suddenly Roger was even more keen to sit by the fire and attend to business.

Although the Marshal had recovered from his serious bout of illness, he had yet to return to court. Various rumours were circulating, but it seemed certain from what Roger had heard that William Marshal was bound for Ireland as soon as he could obtain King John's permission. Such a move had wider implications to men who were Marshal allies. As the hunt streamed out of the postern gate and galloped towards the deer park, Roger retired indoors and told his chamberlain to bring the messenger to him immediately.

Although it had snowed, the ground underfoot was still soft and the going treacherous. Hugh was careful with Hebon. It was one thing to risk a horse in a battle, or when one's life depended upon it, quite another when the concern was sport, and after Arrow, he was wary. He would rather have stayed behind with his father, but he was expected to accompany Longespee and play the good host. Longespee didn't see it that way, of course, but then he would ride a horse to death in order to win a bet. He had already taken the lead at full pelt, his cloak flying behind him, his features ablaze with fierce exhilaration. Hugh didn't attempt to keep up, knowing if he did the stakes would only rise.

The beaters were out, shouting, blowing their horns, smacking the undergrowth with besoms and sticks to make noise and startle the game from cover. The hounds strained at their horsehair leashes and gave tongue.

Suddenly a louder halloo sounded as a fallow buck sprang from a thicket of young hazels and bounded away, his coat a flash of dappled red-brown through the winter trees. The hound-keepers loosed the dogs and the riders spurred in pursuit. Hugh reined Hebon in a tight circle as the buck ran in the direction of the steep-sided ditch separating the edge of the deer park from the fields beyond. Following off the pace, he rode along the edge of the ditch, noting where a section had crumbled and needed repair.

The buck doubled back on the hunt and burst out of the trees on Hugh's left.

Shooting past Hugh, it bounded along the crumbling rim of the ditch, and then, with a wide sideways leap, shot back into the forest. Startled, Hebon flinched and lost his footing, pitching Hugh off his back and over the side of the bank. As Hugh tumbled down the muddy, precipitous slope, he scrabbled for a handhold, but found none, finally landing at the foot of the ditch, bruised, winded and plastered in thick, clinging mud. He could hear Hebon snorting at the top of the leap, and the thud of the stallion's hooves on the churned forest floor. His right wrist stung from a long, bloody graze and his ribs and his left hip were booming with pain. Hugh wiped his hand on his cloak, but since he was caked all over in mud, it made little difference.

The hunt came hurtling back in pursuit of the buck, first the dogs in full cry, then the men, shouting and hallooing. Hugh had lost his hunting horn in the fall, but he cupped his hands and hallooed back, unsure if he would be heard in the commotion. Surely they would see his riderless horse? With great relief he heard someone blow a summoning note. Moments later, Ralph's face appeared over the edge of the drop. 'Hugh?'

'Down here!'

'Oh Christ. Are you hurt?'

'No. Just get me out. Have you got Hebon?'

'Yes. What happened?'

'The buck startled the horse and I was thrown.' The shouted exchange was one Hugh would rather not be having. He felt like an idiot. He hadn't fallen off a horse since he was six years old.

'What is it?' Longespee's voice demanded impatiently. 'The deer's going to escape!'

'Hugh fell, but he's all right,' Ralph said.

Longespee muttered something derogatory that Hugh didn't quite hear, then he peered over and shouted down, 'Can you climb out?'

'No, the sides are too slippery. I need a rope or a ladder.'

'And you're not hurt?'

'No!' Hugh snapped, ignoring the pain in his arm and flank.

'Good. We'll send someone back for you as soon as we can.'

Ralph's voice rose in astonishment. 'We can't just leave him!'

'We're not. We'll come back for him.' Longespee's reply was terse with impatience. 'We can't do anything without a ladder anyway. I'll send one of the beaters to get him out when we've caught up with the hunt.'

'But . . .'

'That's an order.'

Hugh listened to the jingle of harness and the sound of horses being reined about and ridden away, the pace gathering from trot to gallop. He couldn't believe they had left him. He made several attempts to climb back up the slope, but the mud was greasy and wet and the angle too steep. There were no hand- or footholds except dead grass and clumps of moss that came away in his grip. Eventually, having added several more scrapes and bruises to his tally, he gave up. Crouching down, he wrapped his cloak around himself, pulled his hat down over his ears, and prepared to endure.

The sky was bruising towards dusk when Hugh finally heard people approaching. He felt as stiff as a corpse several hours dead and the winter cold had seeped deep into his bones. 'Hola!' Ralph shouted. Looking up, Hugh saw his brother's dark shape at the top of the bank. His father was there too and a couple of huntsmen. A rope ladder came snaking down the bank, banging the sides, collecting mud and debris on its way. Hugh's fingers were numb with cold and his legs like boards. His bruises had set and it was an effort to grasp the rungs and agony to haul himself out of the ditch into the red winter dusk. Strong arms grabbed him as he breasted the rim, and dragged him out.

'I'm sorry, we got caught up in the chase and Longespee thought you'd probably be able to get out on your own,' Ralph said in a voice breathless with effort and chagrin.

'Then let us put him down here and see how quickly he succeeds!' Hugh snarled. 'He deliberately left me here!'

'No,' Ralph said on an anxious note. 'I'm sure he just forgot in the heat of the chase. He wouldn't do that.'

'Wouldn't he?' Hugh said with utter contempt.

His father handed him Hebon's reins. 'Are you fit to ride?' He gestured to Hugh's scraped and muddy hands. Although he said nothing, the Earl was shocked at what Longespee had done. You didn't just leave a fallen man for hours on end; you got him out. It was your duty and your responsibility.

'I'll manage,' Hugh said with a terse nod. Although he was in pain, he gained the saddle and turned for home.

When he walked into the hall at Framlingham, draggled and frozen to the marrow, Longespee was taking his ease on a padded bench before the fire, talking to their mother. He was richly dressed in a robe of wool so thick that the nap shone like silk. A gold brooch gleamed at his throat. He looked warm, relaxed and well fed. Their mother was smiling at him with a doting look on her face. Hugh fought the urge to do murder.

'Why didn't you send someone back before now?' he spat. 'How in the name of God's bleeding eyes did you expect me to get out of there on my own?'

Longespee coloured. He made an apologetic gesture and smiled as if he thought Hugh was making a fuss over nothing. 'I am sorry; I knew you were unharmed.'

'And hunting deer is more important than rescuing a fallen member of the party and your own kin to boot?'

'I have said I am sorry. Come, sit by the fire; have some hot wine.' He pointed to the jug warming on the hearth. Hugh caught the pleading look on his mother's face - an expression that managed to intimate they were children squabbling over a prank one had played on the other, and that he should accept the olive branch.

'I think not,' he replied. 'I need to be rid of these befouled garments and I'm not good company just now. I pray your leave.' With a stiff bow to his mother and ignoring Longespee, he left the hall and climbed to the private chambers on the floor above. A hot tub had been prepared in anticipation of his return and an earthenware pot of meat broth simmered on the hearth.

Bread and wine stood on a small trestle near the tub together with some spicy pastries.

As Hugh was disrobing, the door opened and shut quietly as his father entered the room. Obviously he too was disinclined to remain in the hall and drink wine with their guest.

'He thinks because I do not run headlong into danger and because the song of the sword is only one of many to me that I am soft.' Hugh winced at a long red graze on his forearm that matched a tear in the shirt.

'It is because for all that his father is a king and I am but an earl, he is a bastard and you are born in wedlock to twice his wealth,' his father said pragmatically. 'He'll always begrudge you that circumstance of birth. For your mother's sake I make him welcome; besides which he is useful to have at court where our interests are concerned - even if today's behaviour goes beyond the pale.'

Hugh immersed himself in the waiting tub and began to feel better as the hot scented water lapped around him, easing taut muscles, soothing his aches and bruises. The wine was hot and spiced; the pastries contained ginger and it was not long before he was aglow. 'I know what Longespee is,' he said. 'I realise we need him at court and I know how my mother dotes on him. I understand why he is welcomed here, but after today . . .' His mouth turned down at the corners and his voice hardened. 'For my mother's sake and for the earldom, I will tolerate his presence, but do not expect me to keep his company.'

'I do not,' his father said. 'I am glad of this private opportunity to talk though, because there's another matter we need to discuss.'

'What?'

'Your marriage to Mahelt Marshal.'

Hugh left the tub and, after a vigorous towelling, donned soft, fire-warmed clothes and comfortable kidskin shoes. 'Why, are you having second thoughts?' he asked as he latched his belt.