“I know,” Geoffrey replied drily.
The camp had sustained several visits from their royal leader. The last one had been the immediate motivation for Geoffrey’s little jaunt into Wales. John had criticized the lack of oxen and carts in Geoffrey’s preparations for the transport of supplies. To do the king justice, he had not argued when Geoffrey explained his reasons nor been unpleasant, but he had raised the question in public where the men Geoffrey would lead could hear. Ostensibly, John’s visits had been to see for himself how well his vassals had responded to his summons, but Geoffrey thought privately that he did not really care. The number of mercenaries, under a skilled and ruthless but honest captain, Faulk de Bréaute, was greater than the levied troops.
Then another thought came to Geoffrey. “Did I miss that messenger too? How is it that no summons was left for me?” he bristled.
“There was no affront to you intended,” Salisbury soothed, but his worried frown deepened. “No summons was sent to any of the men in the camp. Richard Marsh is just passing the word along now.”
Geoffrey pressed the heels of his hands into his temples. “Do I hear you aright?” he asked uncertainly. “Did you say the king was calling a council of war and excluding all the vassals who have chosen to stay in camp with their men?”
“That was not the intention. I am sure it was not,” Salisbury said, with just a shade too much emphasis.
Fire glowed in Geoffrey’s eyes, and he opened his mouthbut he said nothing, merely clutched his father’s forearm comfortingly. He could not add to the worry he saw on Salisbury’s face. Then he glanced to the window seat where Joanna still sat quietly. Salisbury followed his eyes.
“Go back to her,” he urged, “she is waiting for you.”
Geoffrey uttered a bark of laughter. “You are wrong about that,” he said caustically. “She is waiting for me to leave.”
“For God’s sake,” Salisbury snapped impatiently, “go out to the garderobe and stick your finger down your throat. I will talk to Joanna. When you are sober, come back and tell the girl you are sorry for whatever you said to offend her.”
“I am not drunk now,” Geoffrey protested indignantly, “and I said nothing to offend Joanna.”
“Then”
“Nor did I do anything. I am greatly in her way, she tells me. She cannot talk freely to the gentlemen of the court while I ‘glower’ at her across the room.”
“What? You are making that up, Geoffrey. Joanna would never”
“Her motives are most pure,” Geoffrey snarled. Then he realized he could not describe Joanna’s motives to his father. “Oh, curse me that I ever agreed to have any part of her. All the women of that breed are devils. I am going to bed!”
Salisbury did not try to stop him. He had been a fool to interrupt Geoffrey in the middle of coupling and a worse fool to force him, drunk and unsatisfied, into the presence of a girl who would increase his frustration. Geoffrey must willfully have misunderstood something she said. He made his way toward Joanna purposefully, unaware that four other men were heading in the same direction. They hesitated, one cursing under his breath, when they saw him. To Salisbury’s surprise Joanna greeted him with a broad smile.
“My lord,” she murmured, “I hope you did not scold poor Geoffrey.”
“Erno. I”
“He is full as a tick,” Joanna giggled, “and he was very, very cross because I told him to go away and sleep it off.”
“Is that what you said?”
“Well, I also agreed with him when he said he should be in camp with his men and not dancing with me.”
Salisbury looked at his prospective daughter-by-marriage sharply. “If you knew he was drunk, why did you tease him?” he remonstrated, but he was more amused than angry.
“I did not mean it as teasing at first,” she replied. “I meant only to assure him that I would not be offended by his doing his duty. In time of war, the men must come before dancing,” she said seriously. Then she began to giggle again. “But when he called the gentlemen with me ‘rutting stags,’ I could not forbear roasting him a little.” She sobered again, put a hand gently on Salisbury’s. ‘‘I will make my peace with him when I next see him. Do not be angry with me.”
“With you? Never, my child. It is my fault. I did not realize how drunk he was. I should have sobered him up before I brought him in here. I am glad you are so understanding about it.”
“Yes. Do not trouble about me,” Joanna agreed, “butif I am not presuming, my lordthere is another who may be offended. Geoffrey wasHe spoke quite rudely to Henry de Braybrook. I do not know what should be done, but”
“Braybrook?” Salisbury’s mouth tightened, but then he forced his lips into a smile. “Do not worry your head, my dear. I will make all smooth. Tell me what you have heard from Lord Ian and your mother.”
“Nothing yet, my lord, except the word Geoffrey brought me that they were safe arrived. I expectMy lord, I think Lord Oxford wants you.”
Salisbury saw that Aubery de Vere, who had freed himself from Marsh, was indeed signaling to him. He patted Joanna’s shoulder and moved away quickly. The young men who had been hanging hesitantly at a distance promptly began to converge on the window seat again. Joanna smiled modestly, allowed her head to drop, but glanced up under the long, thick lashes whose dark red color gave her eyes so odd and yet so lustrous a gleam.
The young men who had been watching for their chance were not the only eyes bent upon Joanna. Queen Isabella did not like Joanna. She had decided that quite firmly soon after Joanna presented herself. It was not so much that the girl was beautiful that troubled Isabella, although she did not like rivals to her own dark perfection. Joanna was a prude and not at all amusing. Isabella rather liked Lady Alinor in spite of John’s hatred of the woman. Lady Alinor said delightful things and was always most interested in Isabella’s beautiful clothing and jewels. Joanna, on the other hand, was stupid and sullen. She was interested only in drawing the young men’s attention to herself.
A slut, that was what Joanna was, Isabella thought, a slut who covered her nature by silence and pious mouthings. And that bastard of Salisbury’s was as hot after her as all the other young fools even though he was betrothed to her. An enchanting smile touched Isabella’s perfect lips. Proud as a fighting cock was Geoffrey the bastard. Well, she would abate his pride. He should have a whore for a wife. That would quench both his heat and his pride. Isabella’s dark eyes shone with such beauty that her husband smiled at her. Automatically she preened, stretching her long neck and pulling in her chin to better display the exquisite line of cheek and jaw.
A delightful thought had come to Isabella. Joanna should be broached, if she still happened to be a virgin, and well used. Then if a court wedding could be arranged, the clean, dry sheets would blazon Geoffrey’s shame to the whole world. A little care would be needed to make sure no trick was played, but doubtless by then rumors would be flying around the court and no one would believe the blood even if any showed.
John followed the direction of his wife’s eyes and stared for a while, astounded. How had that piece of womanflesh escaped his notice? “Who is it at whom you stare?” he asked Isabella. One of the things he really appreciated about his wife was her total lack of jealousy in physical matters. So long as he did not honor the women he took to his bed, she did not care if he futtered the world.
“That is Lady JoannaSalisbury’s bastard’s betrothed.”
The king uttered a grunt of disappointment, and licked his lips regretfully. That was one he dared not meddle withopenly anyway. Perhaps after the Welsh campaign when the court was dispersed, something could be arranged. He would keep it in mind. It would be very amusing to take the daughter when he had once been thwarted by the mother. A quiet, meek girl, Isabella had said, with the life trampled out of her by her witch of a mother. Doubtless fear would make her hold her tongue if he could come upon her in secrecy, but if William ever found outJohn would not think of that. He looked back at his wife and noted that her smile had disappeared and there was a spiteful droop to her lips. He was not sure whether for the first time a spark of jealousy had singed her or whether it was an especial spite against the girl. If the latter was true, Isabella might even be willing to help him use the daughter of the bitch as she deserved.
While she murmured demure replies to the gentlemen around her, Joanna considered the remark she had made to excuse Geoffrey’s sudden departure and Salisbury’s agreement with it. Although Joanna did not doubt that Geoffrey was carrying a full freight of wine, she did not think he was drunk in the sense of not knowing what he did. And he was dangerously jealous. The fool! Would she seek elsewhere when he provided safely and sinlessly everything she could want? Well, it was a nuisance, but she would have to be very, very careful that no breath of scandal should touch her name. Else it would mean dead men and danger to Geoffrey. Even if the challenges were fair, hatred would be engendered if Geoffrey went about killing men.
Having doused his head in cold water until the throbbing in it had diminished to a dull ache, Geoffrey dropped into his father’s bed. He did not think he would sleep. He intended to devise a plan that would result in Joanna’s immediate departure from the court. In fact, he underestimated the combined effects of a long ride, a lively party, an overindulgence in wine and underindulgence in women, and a rousing quarrel. When Salisbury came to bed several hours later, he was able to talk to his squires in perfectly ordinary tones and even to roll his son to one side without rousing him more than enough to grunt.
By morning, Geoffrey’s head was back to normal. However, sober contemplation of Joanna’s avowed intentions left him no more satisfied than when he had first heard them. He hated to appeal to his father for help, only there was no way to make Isabella send Joanna home but to get the king to tell her to do so. He could not say he distrusted Joanna, but he could say he feared Isabella would make her unhappy and that she would be disgusted by the loose behavior of the women in the court. Salisbury still thought of Joanna as a defenseless innocent, and he would believe that. Geoffrey grinned at the memory of how the “defenseless innocent” had got rid of her escort’s troop and looked down at the gouge marks on his hand where her nails had bitten deep.
With that matter settled to his satisfaction, Geoffrey was able to give his full attention to the king when those who were bidden to the council convened in the refectory. What he heard drove Joanna completely out of his mind. John proposed that the quickest way to end the war was to pursue and take Llewelyn prisoner.
“When he is gone from them, the Welsh will fall upon each other and do our work for us,” the king concluded. “Then we will appear in the light of saviors to them, protecting each from the other.” Geoffrey drew a deep breath and looked at the older men who surrounded him. There was nothing in their faces that aroused any hope that someone would protest this insanity. He realized with a sinking heart that no one thought ill of the king’s plan. There had not been a war in Walesnot a real war of English against Welshsince the time of old King Henry. There had been only that punitive expedition that Ian’s lord, Sir Simon, had carried out nearly twenty years past. Few remembered that. If they remembered at all, it was that John had marched a large army into the country, and not far in, and Rhys apGruffydd had come and done homage.
For an ordinary campaign against a foe obviously much weaker than oneself, there was considerable merit in John’s proposal. There was little sense in laying waste strongholds that did not threaten one’s own forces. There was kindness and political good sense in not ravaging the land unnecessarily. Unfortunately, none of these reasonable notions appeared to apply to Wales. Of two things Geoffrey was sure: No army would ever catch Lord Llewelyn aplowerth among the forests and mountains of Wales; no challenge would ever tempt him into a pitched battle against a stronger enemy. But the men who had the experience and authority to raise these points were not present. Braose was in exile in France. Mortimer was sitting sullenly on his own land in the south with the excuse that a war in the north would start war in the south also. Actually, Mortimer would not take up arms against the kingnot after what had happened to Braose for just speaking a little too freelybut if he had a preference it was that Llewelyn should rule Wales rather than John. Geoffrey FitzPeter, who had conducted a short campaign against Llewelyn’s grandfather in 1198 was attending to his duties as justiciar in England. Pembroke and Ian were in Ireland.
Other voices besides John’s had been raised, but these were largely in speculation as to where Llewelyn was most likely to make his stand. Geoffrey drew another deep breath. His age and lack of experience bade him stand still and listen to his elders and betters. That, however, was not the sum total of the situation. Perhaps Geoffrey FitzWilliam, a minor vassal of the king and a young man with no experience of leading men should be respectfully silent. However, the deputy of Ian de Vipont had a responsibility both to the king and to de Vipont’s men. He listened for a few minutes more, considering the wisdom of what he should do. If he spoke, John would be angry. Moreover, his single voice in protest could accomplish nothing. Still, if Ian had been there, he would have spoken.
“Sire, you will not find Lord Llewelyn there.” Geoffrey said clearly and loudly, stepping forward.
“ThereWhat do you mean, ‘there?’ Four strongholds have been named. In which will we not find him?” the king asked testily. “And how do you know so much about the movements of our enemy? Are you in communication with him?” John added nastily.
“No, not with him, nor with Lord Ian’s Welsh vassals, nor with my foster brother Owain apLlewelyn,” Geoffrey answered firmly, hoping the naming of his Welsh connections would remind everyone that he was familiar with the country and the people. “But I have traveled often in Wales,” he added to make his point, ‘‘and I have listened to their tales of war”
“That is what you should be doing nowsitting at your nurse’s knee and listening to tales, not interrupting a war council.”