For the King's Favor (38 page)

Taking the whelp’s hand was the last thing Longespée wanted to do, but courtesy forced him.

“Hugh, go and wash and put on a clean tunic,” Ida said quickly. “You’re in no fit state to greet anyone looking like that.”

The youth glanced round and gave their mother that same unalloyed smile. “Yes, Mama,” he said. The ease with which he bestowed that title increased William’s antipathy.

“Do you play camp ball?” Hugh asked as he moved towards the door.

“On occasion,” Longespée replied down his nose. “When I was in Germany with my brother the King and your lord father, I played it sometimes.” It was a small dig, saying that he had had Roger’s attention when Hugh had not, but it was wasted on Hugh, who continued to look cheerful.

“Good, perhaps we can play sometimes then. I like your sword—”

“Hugh,” Ida said on a warning note, and with a roll of his eyes but still grinning, Hugh left.

William surreptitiously wiped his palm down his tunic. That same blood was in him. Suddenly he was glad he had been raised at court.

“You will find with Hugh that what you see is what he is,” the Earl said. “There is no guile or subterfuge in him.”

A muddy grinning idiot then, William thought, and forced himself to return Roger’s smile, although his mouth was so tense, it made it ache to do so. He was the first and the best because he was the son of a king.

***

Having seen the way that his half-brother had looked at him as they clasped hands, Hugh was meticulous about washing the mud away. He cleaned his fingernails, scrubbed his teeth with a hazel twig, and chewed a cardamom seed to sweeten his breath. He donned a fresh shirt, his blue tunic with the gold embroidery, his best red chausses, and the shoes with the blue silk vamp strips. He would show the newcomer that he could dress to the occasion if called for.

Although he had smiled and done his best to make his half-brother welcome, his presence had unsettled Hugh’s equilibrium. His mother’s firstborn son…the one he had heard stories about throughout his childhood, the one she had cried about when she thought no one was looking. The one who had gone to Germany with his father. Hugh was generous and giving by nature, but this was a hurdle higher than he had jumped before. His half-brother had the advantage of being older—almost a man. In a way it was good because it created detachment, but in a way it wasn’t, because men had more power. There was a glamour about Longespée, especially around that sword he carried.

Hugh combed his hair and squared his shoulders. For his mother’s sake and by the tenets of his upbringing, he would do his best to accept the newcomer, but it wasn’t going to be easy.

When he returned to the solar, Ralph and William were both standing around Longespée admiring the sword. His sisters were doing the same with his clothes and his person. His mother was looking on and smiling, but Hugh could tell from the way her hands were clenched in front of her that she was anxious. Joining the group, he showed a friendly interest in the sword too, but the older youth barely spoke to him, although he was more open with the little ones. Noticing that Longespée had finished his wine, Hugh took up the empty cup. “Would you like some more?” he asked, preparing to fetch it himself.

Longespée gave him a level, superior stare. “Do you not have servants for that task?”

Hugh shrugged. “It is no bother,” he said. “Besides, I meant it as a mark of honour.”

Longespée returned the shrug, although his was a contrived lift and fall that emphasised the gold clasp on his shoulder. “If you will, then thank you,” he said. “I suppose your sire is a cup-bearer to my brother the King at court.”

Hugh glanced towards his father, but he was out of earshot, talking to one of the knights about an arrangement for the crown-wearing. Hugh replenished the wine and returned. “What do you think of the shrine of Saint Edmund?” he asked, knowing that the King had stayed there on his way to Winchester. “Isn’t it fine?” Hugh loved the abbey shrine himself. The panels of beaten silver, the wonderful workmanship never failed to sing to him.

“Indeed, very fine,” Longespée agreed, “but not as fine as the shrine of the Three Magi in Cologne. That is richer by far.”

Hugh set his jaw, uncertain whether he was being challenged or snubbed. “My father bore the banner of Saint Edmund into battle for the King,” he said with pride.

His half-brother quirked a superior smile. “My father was the King.”

Hugh frowned. He knew his mother was willing this meeting to be a success, but how could it be when his half-brother was such a prig? He had thought about showing him the new litter of pups born to his father’s favourite gazehound, but he decided they would probably not be grand enough for Longespée, who would only smirk and say he had seen better in Germany or at his brother’s court. And anyway, Hugh suddenly didn’t want to share.

“I am going to be one of the King’s canopy-bearers at the crown-wearing,” Longespée said loftily.

“My father is going to carry the King’s sword into the cathedral,” Hugh replied. It was like making wagers, piling on higher and higher bets until you had nothing left.

“What are you going to do?” Longespée asked.

Hugh returned him a direct stare. “Stand beside my mother,” he said, and felt a guilty but satisfying spurt of triumph as he saw the flush rise in the older youth’s face.

The visitor had to leave soon after that, for there was much to be done before the crown-wearing, and everyone concerned with it was frantically busy.

Ida curtseyed to him again and he formally bowed. “You
must
come to us at Framlingham,” she said.

“Madam, I would like to do that.” There was genuine desire in Longespée’s voice rather than courteous platitude. Other than his instinctive dislike of Hugh, it had been pleasant to be viewed with admiration and seen as an adult by the little ones. He was not about to live in the pockets of his Bigod relatives when his royal ones were so much more illustrious, but a question had been answered. In many ways he was glad he had not been raised among this brood. Heaven help him, he might have found himself doing things that were below his dignity, but at the same time, he had felt a pang at seeing how well his siblings were loved. It was with a sense of accomplishment and deep relief that he swung into the saddle and turned his mount in the direction of the palace. He would come to Framlingham, and he would come proudly, to see his mother, but always as the son of the King, not as a half-brother to the heirs of Norfolk.

***

After William Longespée had gone, there was a hiatus while the day’s events settled their layers over what had gone before and each person found his or her new level. Hugh went off alone to visit the hound pups, and after a while, Ralph and William followed him, the former yelling and whirling an imaginary longsword around his head.

Roger took Ida’s hand. “It will grow easier,” he said. “Today was awkward because everything had to start afresh.”

She looked pensive. “I hope so.”

He drew her to his side. “He has many fine qualities,” he said fairly. “He’s courageous, honourable, a good horseman, and doesn’t complain about hardship on the road. He has stamina and determination.”

“You say those things as compliments, but I sense they are sweeteners to the bitter.”

He shook his head. “Not at all, but a lot of water has flowed beneath the bridge for everyone and carried us all far downstream from where we started. You cannot trap the past in a net and remake it.”

“That is not my intent.”

“Is it not?”

“No.” Her voice caught. “I want to mend the holes so that the future will not slip through it.”

“I am not certain that such a thing is possible.” Roger kissed her temple to soften his words. “He is focused on his royal kin. Yes, I think we have mended the great rents that existed, but do not expect fond and frequent visitations because you will be disappointed.”

“I won’t,” she said with brave resolution, even though tears were close. “An occasional glimpse is all I need. I hope he will come to Framlingham though, and grow to know his brothers and sisters, but I will understand if he does not.”

Roger wondered if she would understand, but he said nothing. That was something for time to tell. He suspected other members of the family had their adjustments to make, particularly Hugh. He had not missed the frisson between the half-brothers, and he knew all too well how keenly sibling rivalry could cut, and how long it could last.

Yorkshire, February 1196

Roger rode into the courtyard of his manor at Settrington. He had been sitting in session all day and his mind was both numb and filled with the details of the cases he had been hearing—mostly land disputes and pleas of dower and maritagium. It would have been so easy to let them all blend into one, yet he had to judge each case on its merits and therefore had to make the effort to keep each plea separate, bearing in mind that the King needed money and the plaintives had come before him for justice. Balancing the two was not easy and he had a thrashing headache.

It was raining again, a steady drizzle of the kind that entered the bones and gradually numbed the marrow. A wet early February day that could only belong to this part of the world, the grey of the dry stone walls blending with the sky; the land one of wind-whipped grass in bleak shades of dun, taupe, and grey, with pockets of half-melted snow lacing the nooks and hollows.

Riding beside him, Hugh was pale with exhaustion. He had been attending the Eyres with Roger, serving as his squire and learning the business of the law because one day it would be his business too, and Yorkshire was a county where the family had a strong presence and vested interest. Roger saw nothing but advantage in educating his son on the matter of legal rights. A man thus armed was seldom duped. He not only enjoyed teaching Hugh, he took pleasure in his company, but today had been hard and long, and both were silent as they approached the manor, reserving their concentration for the ride.

The troop dismounted in the courtyard and, with much easing of spines and buttocks and many groans of relief, turned towards the torchlit warmth of the manor. Roger wearily climbed the outer stairs and entered the solar above the hall. There was no sign of his wife, but the room glowed with the light of beeswax candles and a good red fire blazed in the hearth. A rich aroma of beef and cumin made his mouth water and, as he removed his hat and put it on a coffer, he saw that a trestle had been prepared with white napery and cups of green glass. A new embroidery depicting a scene of pilgrims and travellers decorated the wall above the table. She had finished it then, he thought. On his last visit four nights ago, it had been nearing completion. His younger sons were running around, playing some boisterous military game with their hobby horses and toy weapons.

“Papa!” Five-year-old Ralph dashed up to him, grabbed the hat from the coffer, and pulled it on over his dark curls, then laughed at Roger from under the brim, showing two neat rows of milk teeth.

“Do you want to take my place on the morrow?” Roger asked. “I swear I’d let you.”

Ralph shook his head. “I’m riding in a tourney tomorrow—I’m a knight!” Still wearing his father’s hat, he straddled his hobby horse and galloped off round the chamber.

Roger’s smile became a chuckle. “I hope he’s paid the fee, otherwise Longespée will be down upon him like a sack of lead.”

Hugh removed his own cloak and cap. “He’d have to catch him first without tripping over that sword of his,” he replied tautly.

Roger arched an amused brow but said nothing, looking instead to the door as Ida bustled in and came to kiss him.

“No guests tonight?” She cast a swift glance around.

Roger shook his head. “The other judges stayed to sup at the Bishop’s lodging, but I said I would ride on here and meet them on the road tomorrow.” He made a face. “It’s going to be a foul night and bad roads in the morning. The ford will be flooded.” He handed his cloak to a servant and went to wash his hands and face at the ewer on the sideboard. “I’ve to add two more Eyres to the list. When I’ve finished these, the King wants me to progress through Warwick and Leicester. I received the letters today.”

“He is working you to the bone,” Ida said with disapproval.

Roger gave her a tired look. “An earldom and its privileges come at a price, as we both have cause to know. He keeps William Marshal constantly in the field in France. On balance, at my age, I’d rather be sitting on a court bench hearing pleas from dawn until dusk than climbing a siege ladder in full mail.”

Ida shuddered at the notion, and poured him a cup of hot wine. She didn’t know how his wife, the lady Isabelle bore it, especially with a growing family of vulnerable small children. The Marshal boys were rising six and five, and the daughter Isabelle had borne at the time of Richard’s crown-wearing was an infant barely walking. To have their father engaged in warfare for more than half the year as one of Richard’s senior captains must be a source of constant worry. Although Roger had to perform military service too, at least it was for six weeks, not six months.

Ida handed a cup of wine to Hugh also and kissed his cheek. He was taller than she was now and bid fair to outstrip his father. His voice had started to deepen, he was developing an apple in his throat, and soft golden down fuzzed his upper lip. Ida didn’t know whether to weep at the loss of her little boy or burst with pride at the fine adult emerging from the chrysalis.

“A messenger arrived with a satchel of letters not long since,” she said, and gestured an attendant to fetch the bundle.

Eating a hot fried pastry from the dish that had been brought fresh from the kitchen, Roger studied the seals on the various documents. “Archbishop Hubert,” he told her, “and the King.” He slit the tags and read swiftly. “More instructions about widows and wards,” he said. “The King is like a starving gleaner in a field of stubble. Every grain has to be picked up and ground in the mill. Ah, what’s this?” He swiftly scanned the lines.

Ida looked at him. “Is it trouble?” She had come to be extremely wary of the satchels of letters and the messengers that were a constant part of Roger’s daily life because usually they carried demands and instructions that involved yet more toil for him, or dilemmas to be sorted out.

“Far from it.” He gave her a keen look. “Roger de Glanville has died of a congestion.”

Ida’s lips formed the words as she absorbed what he was saying. “What does that mean for us?”

“Gundreda is a widow again. She will lose influence at court—although the chancellor will still give her and my brother the benefit of his ear because it is to his advantage.” His lip curled with distaste. Longchamp continued to demand money from him concerning various manors that Gundreda and Huon were disputing. Roger’s charter granting him the earldom and all the hereditary lands was worthless while the King and his chancellor continued their extortion. They would extort from Gundreda too, of course. Silver was silver and the treasury was threadbare, and one of the reasons why he was trekking from county to county, hearing pleas and fining miscreants. Ten marks here, three shillings and eight pence there, two palfreys, a hawk, a saddle. “It’s a weakening of the grip,” he said, “albeit a small one. Time will tell.”

He picked up another packet, this time with a seal impressed in dark green wax. Ida recognised the sigil of a mounted knight on one side and a shield bearing small lioncels on the other and felt the familiar jolt through her womb.

Roger opened the letter, scanned the lines, and then with raised brows, passed it to her. Ida read the salutation, which was in a scribe’s neat, professional hand, but it was her son’s words she heard in her mind, and what he said caused her to give a soft gasp.

“So, the King gives him an earldom,” Roger said. “All he has to do for it is marry a nine-year-old girl.” He looked at Hugh who had been eating a fried pastry and who had stopped in mid-mastication. “The King has given Ela of Salisbury to your half-brother in marriage,” he told him. “I admit I had hopes of matching her with one of you, but I suppose from Richard’s point of view it’s perfect for Longespée. It’s enough to raise his dignity, but not sufficient to make him a threat. Salisbury is hardly a great earldom as far as matters go—only sixty-five knights’ fees, but the girl is kin to William Marshal.”

Galloping past on his hobby horse, Ralph had overheard the conversation. “I don’t want to get married.” He screwed up his face. “Girls are boring.”

Roger’s lips twitched. “They improve as you get older,” he said, “but don’t let it worry you for now.”

Ida wasn’t sure how she felt. It was troubling to think of her eldest son being married when he was barely out of boyhood. Sixteen years old, and being joined to a girl of nine. But then at sixteen, Ida had been his father’s mistress. There was the jealousy of realising that this girl child would have the right to share his life as she never had. She pushed the feeling down. “It is a fine step forward,” she replied, “and proof that the King intends to do right by him.”

“Of course, it will be in name only for the time being,” Roger said, “but it will give him revenues and income and accustom him to the notion of handling power…She has the right to repudiate him when she turns twelve should she not be content—although I doubt she will be encouraged to do so.”

“Have you got anyone in mind for me?” Hugh asked mischievously.

Roger grinned. “Your mother will want a say in such matters.” He cupped his jaw. “Do you have anyone suitable in mind yourself? I saw you eyeing up Thomas de Bohun’s daughter in York the other week—and I don’t think your opinion was the same as Ralph’s.”

Hugh’s complexion reddened, but he was smiling. “I thought she was pretty,” he replied with a shrug.

“Good dowry,” Roger said thoughtfully.

“He is still too young,” Ida snapped. She knew they were teasing both her and each other, but she was still goaded to speak up. “He’s your heir. I can see the sense in my oldest son taking the opportunity, because such chances are few and far between, but we have time to consider.”

She saw father and son exchange wry glances, filled with masculine amusement that excluded her. “Indeed so, my love,” Roger said. “We will search long and hard to find a suitable bride for Hugh—and a daughter-in-law you can welcome. And in the meantime we have a wedding to prepare for.”

***

Roger sat before the fire, legs stretched out and ankles crossed as he enjoyed a final cup of wine before retiring. “The carts and pack ponies will be ready at first light,” he said to Ida and glanced at the assembled leather sacks, travelling chests, and laden baskets. “Travelling light, I see.”

Ida sat down beside him and, tilting her head to one side, began to braid her hair. She had combed the rose-water lotion through it and now the tresses gave off a floral spicy scent as she worked. The dimples showed in her cheeks. “I would have more room if I left that one behind.” She nodded to the chest containing his hats.

Roger gave her a look of mock affront. “That is perhaps the only one you should bring.” He turned a little towards her and changed the subject. “He will be Earl of Salisbury.”

“It is great news for him, although I could wish them both older.” She managed to keep her voice steady. In fact, she was equable about him marrying so young a bride, because it gave her time to adjust to the notion. One could not be jealous of a little girl. One could only feel compassion for her—and so soon after losing her father too.

“He is already mature beyond his years in certain ways,” Roger said, “and she will have time to come to know him.” He reached out to run his hand down the weaving of her plait. “I was teasing about Hugh earlier. His is a different situation to Longespée’s. He has no need of an heiress to give him standing in life, although plainly we must seek one who will bring lustre to the earldom. He has brothers to follow him too, so there is no haste.”

Ida recognised his attempt to reassure her. “I know.” She covered his hand with her own for a moment. “I also know that the time will come, and while I may be fond and foolish, I am not stupid.”

“Never that. Only in some matters of the heart you bear more scars than I do.”

“I want all of my children to be happy and safe and protected—even if they themselves are the protectors in times to come.”

He wrapped his hand around her plait and, setting aside his wine, drew her to him. “We’ll do our best for them, but beyond our care, their road is of their own making.”

Her throat tightened. She and Roger had weathered their difficulties. Likely, more would come, and she prayed for the wisdom and grace to see them through. There had been times in her life when she had been neither happy, nor safe, nor protected. She had been Hugh’s age when all three had been taken from her and she had had to live in daily uncertainty. To smile and pretend everything was well with her when it wasn’t. She had been beyond parental care then and her brother in wardship. No one had done their best for her. As Roger had said, she had had to make her own road. At times, the path she had chosen had been stony and narrow. She had bled to walk it, not knowing what was around the corner; but at least her feet were still upon it, and the man with whom she had chosen to make the journey was here at her side, his hand in hers. All she could do was pray that her children had gentler roads to travel.