Theobald shook his head. 'I'm not looking to marry.'
'You should. Your brother's not going to provide any legitimate offspring, is he?' Le Vavasour nodded at Hubert.
'Neither would I with a twelve-year-old,' Theobald said shortly.
Le Vavasour unfolded his arms. 'Well, if you should have a change of heart, I'm open to offers for the wench from a man of your standing and means.' Smoothly he altered the subject, talking more generally of the coronation.
Fulke politely excused himself and threaded his way through the mass of tents and buildings towards the kitchens in search of Jean. He decided that he did not much care for Robert le Vavasour. The man had too high an opinion of himself and too vociferous an opinion on everything else.
Fulke finally found his friend in the kitchens being loudly berated by fat Marjorie.
'A thousand extra cups and two thousand pitchers!' she cried, her face pink and sweat-streaked from toiling over three cauldrons at once. 'And that's just the start. The old King would be turning in his grave if he could see the extravagance!' She waved a wooden ladle at Jean, then at Fulke, as if she thought it was their fault.
To Fulke the kitchens resembled how he imagined a hall in the court of hell would look. Fires blazed beneath cauldrons, fireboxes full of charcoal gave off a simmering heat over which sauces were being stirred and pie fillings prepared. A mountain of dead chickens, ducks and partridges obscured Fulke's view of the oven where yet another batch of bread was being baked for the banquet. Several maids sat plucking the fowl and filling sacks with feathers. To one side, a huge wild boar awaited a butcher's attention. Since the weather was fine, even the area outside the kitchens had been utilised and servants toiled by ragged torchlight to chop and stir and mould. No one was going to sleep tonight, and certainly not on the morrow.
'Richard knows the value of display,' Jean said to the woman as he acknowledged Fulke with a wave. 'Give a man a full belly, make him feel important and he will be more disposed to respond generously'
'So we can expect an increase in our wages then?' Marjorie demanded sourly. Then with an impatient sound she relented enough to toss the young men a large cobble of gingerbread each from a pile that was cooling on a wooden tray. 'Away with you.' She made a flicking gesture at the open door. 'I ain't got time to gossip tonight and you're more hindrance than help.'
Jean swept a bow. 'I'll consider my ears boxed, mistress.'
She mockingly shook her fist at him but found a preoccupied smile before returning to her row of cauldrons simmering on a grid over one of the fireboxes.
Jean clapped Fulke's shoulder. 'It's good to see you.'
'And you.' Fulke chewed on the gingerbread, relishing the honeyed spiciness of the sweetmeat. Between rotations of his jaw, he told Jean about his forthcoming knighthood.
'No longer Fulke, but "Sir" Fulke,' Jean teased with a white grin. His own knighthood had taken place two years earlier, but, unlike Fulke, he had no inheritance and he served the Walter family for his daily bread.
Fulke laughed. 'I doubt that anyone will grace me with that title.'
'Aren't you going to have a squire then?'
'Yes, my brother Ivo, and he certainly won't address me as "sir".'
Outside the kitchens, they paused beside a cauldron of wine and water into which a kitchen boy was scattering cups of wheat and barley to make a jellied frumenty.
'What will you do once you're knighted?'
'Mayhap I will spend a season on the tourney circuit.' It was the occupation of many a newly knighted young man. Those without lands took to the tourney field in the hopes of gaining employment or a fief of their own. Those who had an inheritance but time to kill before it came to them joined the tourneys in order to broaden their experience of warfare and stave off boredom. It was an excellent if somewhat dangerous training ground.
'You do not desire to take the Cross then?' Jean indicated the red linen insignia stitched to his cloak in token of the vow he had taken to join King Richard on crusade.
'A little, but I am no burning zealot, and my family lands come first.' Fulke looked at his friend. 'For you it does not matter so much, and I know how much your feet itch if they stay in one place too long.'
Jean grinned at the assessment. 'I need
to
know what lies on the other side of the hill, be it grass or desert.'
'Usually it's just another bill,' Fulke said.
By unspoken and mutual consent, they set off in the direction of one of the alehouses that served the palace workers and off-duty guards. Finding a recently vacated trestle, they sat down and ordered a jug of mead to wash down the heat of the gingerbread.
'My father says that Richard is going to put England up for sale,' Fulke said as they filled their cups. 'That every office, lordship and sheriffdom will be taken from its present holder and sold to the highest bidder.'
'That is likely true,' Jean nodded. 'Lord Theobald's Uncle Ranulf has been stripped of the shrievalty of Yorkshire and made to pay a fine of fifteen thousand pounds for abuses of the office.'
'Abuses?' Fulke thought of the dignified grey-haired man. 'That's a contrived accusation, surely!'
'In part, yes. Ranulf cannot be everywhere at once and he deputised most of the work to his stewardwho's been fined hard too. Minor difficulties have been inflated out of all proportion. 'Jean rubbed his thumb over the lines incised round the fat belly of his cup. 'All Ranulf's power came from King Henry and Richard wants to show that his word is now the law of the land. The de Glanville family is not to be flattened, but it has been warned not to flaunt its power.'
'What does Lord Theobald say to all this?'
Jean shrugged. "Very little. He's astute enough to know when to hold his peace. His brother Hubert dwells in Richard's camp and he remains with John's retinuekeeping the family's eggs in more than one basket. Until King Richard marries and begets an heir, Prince John is his successor.'
Fulke grimaced at the notion. Richard was already two and thirty. He had been betrothed to Princess Alais of France for more than Fulke's lifetime and still there was no sign that a wedding was imminent, much less a dynasty. Moreover, going on crusade was scarcely a guarantee of longevity. 'What about Prince Arthur?' he asked, grasping at straws.
Geoffrey, who had been next in line to Richard, had died in an accident at a tourney soon after John's ignominious return from Ireland. However, he had left a son growing in his wife's belly.
Jean shook his head. 'Arthur of Brittany is only two years old. The lords will not choose a foreign-raised infant above John. Whatever his faults, he is still Richard's brother. Richard might threaten John by naming Arthur his heir, but when it comes to the sticking point, he will not do it.'
'Then I wish Richard a long and fruitful reign,' Fulke said vehemently and signed his breast to give the intention more weight. 'What worries me is who will have control of Richard's lands while Richard is away saving Jerusalem? Who will save England from John?'
'Lord Theobald says that Queen Eleanor will be made a regent for certain. Hubert told him that Richard will not give John any power because he does not trust him to hold steady to any ambition but his own.'
'I hope that is true,' Fulke said grimly, remembering how it had been in Ireland and imagining John's vindictiveness and tyranny let loose on a wider scale with larger funds. And if Richard should die on crusade… an involuntary shudder rippled down Fulke's spine.
From the alehouse, they strolled companionably to the tents that housed the FitzWarin retinue. There was not a patch of green to be seen between the host of canvas shelters belonging to the lords and vassals who had come to Westminster for the coronation ceremony and to swear allegiance to the new King.
'Will your father appeal for Whittington?' Jean asked as they approached the FitzWarin pavilions. The canvas had been gaily painted with the wolf's teeth device and his father's banner fluttered from a spear planted in the ground outside the larger of the two tents.
Fulke nodded, it was his first thought as soon as he heard that King Henry was dead. He's been counting the silver ever since because he knows as well as every man here that Richard needs money for the crusade, and he's open to all offers.' His expression clouded. 'But it rankles with him more than I can tell, Jean, that what is ours by honour and by right should have to be bought like a bolt of cloth at a market.'
Their conversation was interrupted by an unholy shriek as a girl raced past them, a ball of stitched leather clutched in her hands. Fulke received an impression of flying silver-gilt plaits and a blue dress kilted through her belt to allow for running. Dainty shoes of tan goatskin adorned her flashing feet and she was laughing as she ran.
'Give it back!' Round the corner of the tents pounded three boys in full indignant cry: Fulke's youngest brothers Alain and Richard with their friend Audulf de Bracy.
'Not unless you let me play!' She whirled round, the ball tucked under her arm, and flicked her plaits out of her face. Her flat chest was heaving. A pretty silver brooch adorned the neck opening of her gown and a border of exquisite embroidery spoke of a rank at least as high as Fulke's.
'You're a girl!' Alain's voice rang with self-explanatory indignation.
'That means I'm a match for any turnip-witted boys!'
'You're not. Give me that ball!' Alain launched himself at her. She screamed and made to run, but she was not quite swift enough and the boy brought her down in a flying tackle that sent her sprawling in the grass. But instead of bursting into tears or throwing a tantrum like most little girls that Fulke had encountered, she kept tight hold of the ball and used it to belabour Alain until for his own preservation he was forced to let her go. Richard and Audulf gaped like a couple of landed codfish.
Dishevelled but triumphant, she scrambled to her feet, the ball still firmly in her possession. A long grass stain marred her blue gown and one of the garters holding up her hose had come untied so that there was an unseemly wrinkle of fabric around her skinny left leg.
'Let her play, lads,' Fulke said through his laughter. 'She deserves it.'
The girl flashed a glance at Fulke, obviously seeing him for the first time. He had expected blue eyes to go with hair so blonde, but they were a clear, pale green like expensive glass and fringed by heavy lashes a few shades darker than her hair.
'I don't want to any more,' she said with a regal tilt of her neat little nose and tossed the ball at a red-faced Alain as if it were a crust to a beggar. 'Is he your squire? He has no manners.'
Fulke smothered a grin. 'He's my brother.' At his side, Jean was making small spluttering noises.
She eyed Fulke suspiciously. 'He's a lot younger than you.'
'Eleven years,' Fulke said with a warning glance at Alain who looked as if he was about to explode like a barrel of overheated pitch. 'And you are, my lady?'
She flicked at her plaits again and fixed him with an imperious stare, made all the more touching and amusing by her disorderly appearance. 'I am Maude le Vavasour,' she announced proudly. 'My papa is a great lord and the under-sheriff of Lancashire'
Fulke's gaze widened. 'Yes, I've met him.'
A nervous look entered her eyes, but she jutted her chin. 'No, you haven't,' she said.
'I have. His name is Robert and he's wearing a red tunic and blue chausses with leg bindings of scarlet braid.'
And he's offering you in marriage to Theobald Walter or anyone else of likely blood who's prepared to pay the fee
. A spark of pity entered Fulke's gaze. She was a child, a skinny, kipper-chested little girl running away with his brother's ball. He couldn't imagine her married to anyone. 'He's a friend of the lord to whom I was squire,' he continued when she said nothing, just stared at him with those strange, clear eyes while shifting awkwardly from leg to leg. 'Does he know you're here?'
She nodded. 'He knows I've gone visiting with my grandmother.'
Fulke glanced around. 'And where is your grandmother?'
'In there.' Maude pointed to the FitzWarin tent. 'She said I could watch the boys at playbut I wanted to join in.'
'And no blame if you did.' Fulke wondered whether to enter the tent and introduce himself, or beat a hasty retreat. He was certain that le Brun and his two other brothers William and Ivo had made themselves scarce. The notion was borne out by the fact that the dogs had not rushed out to greet him. The excuse of taking them for some exercise and clearing the tent of their size and smell was too fortuitous to miss when his mother had the company of a gossip.
Before he had made up his mind to follow their absent example, however, there was a flurry of tent flap and the sound of female voices raised in farewell. A slender, sharp-featured woman, elegantly gowned, stepped outside, followed by his mother.
'Now,' said the visitor, 'where's that child?' As she spoke, her eyes lit on Maude and her thin features grew pinched with horror. 'By St Mary and the Virgin, what have you been doing?' she gasped, hurrying to the girl with the little mincing steps of someone who has been taught their manners in high-born company, i told you not to dirty your dress. What will your father say? You look like a little hoyden!'
'I wanted to play, but the boy was rude and said I couldn't join in because I was a girl.' Indignation filled the child's voice. 'Then when I tried, he chased after me and knocked me down.'
There was no sign of Alain, nor the two other boys, who, at the first indication of trouble, had hastily sloped off.
'Never trust a woman,' Jean muttered out of the side of his mouth. 'Even at this age they're deadly.'
'It's all right, Mathilda, bring her within and we'll soon mend the damage,' soothed Hawise. 'It's not so bad.'
'Her father wants her to make a good impression, especially when he's looking to make a match for her.' Taking her charge's arm in a firm grip as if fearing that the girl would otherwise abscond, the older woman marched her inside the tent and dropped the flap.