Lords of the White Castle (37 page)

He eyed her sombrely. Mayhap that was the way she felt; until today he had been good at keeping her out, but he had seen facets of Maude since her late childhood that made him certain of his own commitment. 'Since the only way to find out is to cross the line and neither of us will do so, there is no remedy save to keep apart,' he said.

'Well, that is simple enough,' she said with false brightness. 'I am to join Theo at court and then we're going to Ireland.'

He smiled grimly in response. 'And I am going back into the forests, seeking thorns to put in King John's side.'

They looked at each other, the unspoken knowledge between them that he was treading a hazardous path, possibly towards his own death. The keeping apart might be as final as eternity.

There was sudden noise in the courtyard, a groom shouting for torches and the clattering of many shod hooves. In the chamber doorway, Emmeline called excitedly to Fulke and Maude that the troop was home from its foray.

i have to go.' She rose so quickly that she stumbled on the full hem of her gown. He grasped her hand to steady her, the force pulling her momentarily towards him, and now her touch streaked through him like fire. Teetering on the line, one hair-fire strand remaining. Another tug and she would be in his lap.

He snatched his hand away and waved it hard. 'Go!' His voice was ragged. 'You'll be safe. I can't run after you, can I?'

With a gasp, she fled.

Leaning back, Fulke closed his eyes and tried to summon the will necessary to greet and question his brothers.

CHAPTER 19

Marlborough, Wiltshire,

Autumn 1200

'I am going to ask John for an outright answer.' Theobald's voice was firm with determination as he changed from the clay's practical hunting gear into a sumptuous court robe of blue wool embroidered with thread of gold. Despite his new-found piety he still enjoyed clothes and could gild the lily with the best of them. 'He cannot keep dangling me like this.' He thrust one leg forwards so that his squire could wind the decorative tablet-weave bindings from ankle to knee. 'What does he think I am going to do—foment a wild rebellion?'

'Perhaps he does,' Maude murmured, standing still while Barbette floated a light silk veil on to her head and secured it with a circlet of silver wire. 'How many of the barons truly serve him out of love and respect?' Outside the rain was drumming on the roof of their tent. Now and then, the striped canvas rippled alarmingly as it was buffeted by sudden gusts of wind. She would be glad to cross the wet sward and enter the warmth of the palace for the afternoon's feasting and entertainment. At least she would be warm and dry.

'Very few,' Theobald said bleakly,' but the majority give him their loyalty. He is our rightful King.' He sighed. 'I just wish he trusted me enough to let me go, but that is one of his flaws. He trusts no one. He keeps us within his sights not out of love or need, but out of a fear that we are going to stab him in the back.' He scowled with frustration. 'I want to see my monasteries in Ireland again before I die. Is it so much to ask?'

Task finished, Barbette stepped back and Maude came over to Theobald. Waving the squire aside she continued with the task of securing his leg bindings. 'You speak as if you are a doddering ancient,' she said as she knelt. 'You're not going to widow me for a long time yet, I hope.' It was a hope bolstered by fervent and guilty prayer. At the back of her mind, sealed away in shame that it existed at all, was the vision of a line drawn by a lance point in dew-wet grass.

Her head was bent to her efforts and she felt his hand descend lightly to her shoulder. 'I am five and fifty years old,' he said. 'At that age a man's mind turns easily to thoughts of his own mortality. When I look around, I do not see many who are more than ten years older than me. I must think to the future of my soul. No man wants to die, but it is best if he is prepared.'

Maude's movements grew abrupt. 'And what of the future of your wife?' she demanded. Selfish though it might be, she felt that her fleshly life was currently of more interest to her than the good of the soul. 'Have you prepared for that?'

'I have left you well provided for,' he said in a tone that was slightly puzzled, slightly hurt. 'Why are you angry?'

Breathless from the constriction of kneeling, Maude stood up and glared at him. 'Well enough to make me a valuable marriage prize for one of John's cronies?' she snapped.

Theobald blinked and shook his head. 'Of course not. You will have Hubert to guide and protect you. No one will dare to harm you if you are under the wing of the Archbishop of Canterbury'

'Who is younger than you by what, two or three years? He has already been sick. I will be sold to the highest bidder.'

Theobald looked perplexed, like a small boy who expected to be praised and was receiving a scolding instead. 'I have taken what precautions I can,' he said, trying to lighten his tone. 'I promise to do my best to live to be as old as Methuselah. Come, sweetheart, don't frown.' He set his hand to her brow and smoothed it gently with the pad of his thumb. 'I've seen too many glum looks on your face since you arrived at court.'

For his sake, Maude forced a smile. 'I am pleased to be at your side, but you know I hate these great gatherings.'

'There is nothing else troubling your spirit?'

She shook her head and hoped that God would forgive her for the lie. 'Nothing,' she said. 'Indeed, if you think upon it, I did not begin to frown until you spoke of dying.'

'Ah, so it's my fault.'

'Don't be foolish. 'The words emerged more sharply than she had intended and he raised his brows. 'Oh, pay me no heed, Theo.' She gave him a hug of contrition. 'If I'm in a crotchet it is of my own making. Come, are you ready?' She linked her arm through his.

He was as eager to dismiss the moment as she and gestured his squire to draw back the tent flap on the rain-laden dusk. As they moved to the entrance, he looked down at her and the graven seams at his eye corners deepened in a smile. 'You will be the most beautiful woman there, Maude, and whatever John metes out to me, I will still be the most fortunate of men.'

'Flatterer.' She nudged him, her throat suddenly tight with tears.

The food was rich and elaborate as befitted a royal banquet to honour John's new Queen. There was roast boar and venison from the royal forests, attended by numerous colourful and piquant sauces; there were small pies, their crusts shaped like castle turrets; and there were sugared plums and marchpane sweetmeats for the child bride's delight.

Isobel of Angoulême had to sit on a large cushion to make her the right height for the arched marble table. She was fey and dainty with a cloud of pale blonde hair and eyes the deep, true blue of cornflowers. Twelve years old, her breasts scarcely beginning to bud, the bones of her face still tender and malleable, she was already a rare beauty. Rumours abounded. John was infatuated by her, it was said. Apparently he had broken her betrothal to another man in order to have her. The more prosaic explanation was that the original betrothal had been between two powerful families opposed to John. By marrying the girl, he had neatly kept the factions divided and gained an excellent dowry as well as a beautiful, biddable wife.

Remembering her anxiety at the time of her own marriage, Maude sought to befriend the girl and offer her a shoulder to lean on. It quickly became apparent, however, that despite the similarity of circumstance, Isobel was a creature cut from a very different cloth. Whereas Maude had worn her childhood scrapes and escapades like badges of honour, Isobel's pride was in her possessions, in her clothes and jewels, in dressing exquisitely and receiving the adulation of the smitten. John had ordered some bolts of fabric to make winter gowns for his child bride. A merchant train was expected to arrive before the court left for Gloucester and Isobel was petulant because dark had fallen and the cloth had not arrived. That was a matter over which Maude could empathise. The arrival of a merchant train was always of interest, particularly when the content was fabric. There was nothing quite like an ell of expertly woven blue broadcloth or a splash of scarlet Italian silk to draw a crowd of admirers and that was just the men.

The many courses of the meal were separated by entertainments: jugglers, tumblers, musicians. Jean de Rampaigne dazzled them all with his skill at the lute and the soaring range of his voice. And there was dancing. Isobel loved to dance. She was light on her feet with grace and natural ability. She partnered John and she partnered his barons, her movements quicksilver, her face sparkling and animated.

Theobald went to speak with John about Ireland and Maude sought the garderobe as Falco de Breauté, one of John's mercenary bodyguards, approached her with the obvious intention of asking her to partner him. She could not abide him, although he seemed to think that he was God's gift to women.

Having visited the garderobe, she lingered, giving de Breauté time to fix his attentions elsewhere, and then made her way slowly back. Perhaps if Theo had finished talking to John, they could retire to their pavilion for the night. As she entered a walkway lit by a guttering torch, a figure walked from the opposite direction, blocking her path, and made no move to step aside. When Maude paused to let him by, her heart thumping, he stopped too, and she drew a sharp, involuntary breath.

'Lady Walter,' pur red John with a feline smile. 'You should not be lingering out here, you'll catch a chill.'

Maude mangled a curtsey. 'I was returning to the hall, sire.'

'That is as may be, but I am glad to find you here, for
I
wish to speak to you.'

'About what, sire?' She wondered how easy it would be to duck around his bulk and run for the bright, smoky safety of the hall.

John's eyes were darker than darkness. He parted his lips and she saw the feral gleam of his teeth. '
I
thought you would be pleased to know that I have granted your husband's request. He is free to go and dwell in his Irish bog with his monks if that be his desire.'

'That is indeed generous of you, sire,' Maude murmured. She wondered what he wanted in return. Something for nothing was not within the lexicon of John's nature. Theobald's gratitude might suffice, but she doubted it unless the King was in an exceptionally expansive mood.

'And trusting, after the way he behaved over Lancaster,' John remarked nastily, revealing that Theobald's yielding to Richard six years ago still rankled in his memory.

'He has always served you well, sire,' she defended him.

'Whilst serving himself at the same time. I know his ilk, my lady. Honourable, upright, devout.' Each word was spoken like an insult. 'If I am letting him go, it is to prevent that brother of his from carping at me on the matter. Besides, I doubt that Theobald has the vitality to foment rebellion these days!'

Maude compressed her lips to contain the hot words that filled her mouth, reminding herself that tomorrow she and Theobald could leave the court and breathe clean air.

'A young and lovely woman like you must find it a trial dwelling with a man whose sap has ceased to rise,' John said provocatively and moved closer, the intention obvious in the glint of his eyes. 'Surely you cannot be pleased at the thought of dwelling in the midst of nowhere while your husband practises his religious chants with a group of celibate monks?'