The Winter Crown (46 page)

‘Madam, I appreciate your offer, but any correspondence I have was entrusted to me, and it is incumbent on me to deliver it in person.’

‘I understand,’ Alienor replied. ‘I but thought to save you a wasted journey.’

‘That is thoughtful of you, madam,’ the Bishop said, not concealing the irony in his voice. ‘No journey is ever wasted, but I appreciate why mine will be delayed.’ He wiped his lips on his napkin. ‘You do know that your son’s coronation will have its legality questioned if it is not performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury?’

‘The King has a dispensation from the Pope,’ she replied smoothly. ‘As I understand, the Archbishop of Canterbury’s role is only tradition and not an unassailable right. But I take your point. I am sure in the future the situation will be clarified by additional ceremonies and, God willing, the participation of Canterbury, but for now it remains as you see it.’

‘The King of France will not be satisfied with such an arrangement for his daughter.’

‘We shall deal with that when the time comes. It behoves the King of France to help resolve this matter if he wishes to see his daughter crowned by the Archbishop of Canterbury, does it not?’

Roger of Worcester said no more on the matter, and the meal continued with less pointed conversation. Indeed, after their initial exchange, he seemed to have resigned himself, and even appeared to relax and take pleasure in the music, which surprised Alienor because she thought he would have been more concerned.

When he retired to his prepared chamber for the night, she told William to put a guard outside his door.

‘You think he will try to escape, madam?’

‘I do not know, but he seems to have accepted his detention with less complaint than I expected.’

‘Perhaps his heart is not in it?’

She shook her head. ‘Far from it – I think he is very concerned. He is a close friend of the Archbishop’s. He is also a consummate player, and I need to make sure this is not a ruse on his part.’

‘Perhaps there are duplicate sets of letters. The Archbishop must know that a lookout will be kept.’

‘That is my thought too,’ Alienor said, ‘so we must continue to be vigilant. But even if letters do arrive, I suspect they will not be heeded.’

William bowed and made to leave, but she caught his arm and gestured him to sit. ‘Before you go, I want to speak to you on another matter.’

‘Madam.’ His expression was attentive and pleasant but Alienor could tell that he was shielding his doubts and uncertainties.

‘I have been thinking about your situation,’ she said as he folded his long body on to the bench. ‘It seems to me that I have been keeping the equivalent of an expensive fast horse in my stables for pulling the plough and carrying goods to market. I know you chaff at the constraints.’

‘Madam, I…’

‘No.’ She raised her hand to silence him. ‘You are not being used to your full potential and that is a waste of your talent and my largesse.’

He looked at her with a spark in his eyes – surprise and anticipation, she thought. ‘Madam, I am content to serve you…’

‘No, you are not,’ she contradicted. ‘You are willing and loyal, which are different matters. You need more than I can give you. Before the King sailed for England, we discussed the men who would form the nucleus of Harry’s household. Harry likes you and you have a talent for educating the squires and young lads in the warrior skills. You are proven in battle, in diplomacy and in loyal service to my household. I am appointing you, with the King’s agreement, to the post of Harry’s marshal and his tutor in chivalry when he sails to England to be crowned.’

William’s complexion grew ruddy. Rising from the bench he fell to his knees before her. ‘Madam, you honour me.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Smiling, she extended her hand so that he could kiss her ring. ‘This is to your great advantage; use it well.’

‘Does my young lord know?’

‘He asked for you when we were discussing who should form his household.’ Dark amusement entered her voice. ‘He does not want you training Richard and giving him an edge. I thought about giving you that position, but decided it was better for you to serve Harry. You are English by birth; you know their ways and will be of great use to him in that capacity. I also expect you to keep him steady and to the mark – and to report to me on how he fares. Use Wigan as your messenger. He’s to be employed as Harry’s kitchen clerk and I know he keeps tourney tallies for you.’

‘Madam.’

‘I trust you to look after Harry, as does the King. Thus far you have not failed us. Loyalty and good service will take you far, William, but you could go further still. You have it in you to be more than a hearth knight; but it is up to you what you make of the opportunity.’

He inhaled deeply, taking in her words and she saw that he understood very well indeed. She gave him a wide, warm smile like a jewel. Even though she had set him free to leave her, she still had his support for life.

The Bishop of Worcester spent the night without incident, attended mass in the morning and then met to converse with his fellow clergy. He continued to treat his house arrest with equanimity. On meeting Marguerite and Harry, he was reserved but courteous, and seemingly unbothered by his situation. Although he showed no inclination to abscond, Alienor continued to have him closely watched and wrote to Henry telling him that the Bishop of Worcester was her guest.

A week later another visitor arrived in Caen in the form of Mary de Boulogne, Isabel’s sister-in-law, whom Henry had forced out of her convent and into marriage with Matthew of Alsace. Mary had borne her unwanted husband a second daughter in January, and after ten years of marriage had finally obtained her annulment and was seeking to return to the religious life.

The woman who was ushered into Alienor’s chamber was like a winter sparrow, thin and small. Her cheeks were hollow, her dark eyes troubled; yet there was a determined set to her jaw, and she had a straight, upright bearing. Her narrow frame was clad in a robe of plain dark wool bagging over a leather belt. A white wimple arranged in severe folds covered her hair and outlined her jaw.

‘I wish to cross to England to deal with my affairs and make my peace,’ she told Alienor. ‘As one royal woman to another I request safe passage. I have endured ten years in the world.’ She set her jaw. ‘My marriage was begun in rape. Never did I consent; it was unlawful from the start. Now, praise God, the Church has finally found its conscience and granted me an annulment. I shall be glad to retire from the world.’

‘I understand your need, my lady,’ Alienor said. She was deeply sympathetic towards Mary and guilty because she should have protested more at the time – although Henry had been set on his policy and she doubted it would have changed things. ‘You are welcome to lodge here for as long as you wish.’

‘Thank you.’ Mary folded her hands in her lap, gripping them together until they were a single white knot.

Later, the women dined with the Bishop of Worcester. Mary was quiet and dignified, and Alienor could see in her the powerful Mother Abbess she had been before Henry had ripped that life from her. Mary did not ask why the Bishop was lodging here, even though she must have known the reason. She was quiet and introspective, although she and the Bishop spoke briefly upon theological matters.

The next day Mary departed with her small retinue, bidding Alienor a formal farewell in the courtyard before mounting her white mule. In her dark dress and plain woollen cloak, her lips pursed, the impression Alienor received was that Mary dwelt in a world from which all the colours of joy had been sucked out. All that remained was a grey and steely resolution, and, in a way, Alienor knew how she felt.

The final preparations were in hand for Harry to go to England. The weather had turned fair and fine; the wind was in the right direction, and the crossing of the Narrow Sea was set fair.

Seamstresses and tailors had been working day and night to complete the coronation robes. Marguerite, still unaware that she would not be accompanying her young husband, was flushed with anticipation almost to the point of giddiness. Although clothes usually meant little to her, she was excited about her cloth-of-gold coronation gown, her ermine cloak and gem-embroidered shoes, and twirled round the chamber after the most recent fitting, her eyes shining as she chattered about being anointed queen in Westminster Abbey.

Alienor thought Marguerite looked as if the clothes were wearing her, but even if it was impossible to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, the magnificence was the message. Alienor felt a glimmer of satisfaction that Marguerite even in her finest moment would never look as glorious as she had done on her own coronation day with Harry curled in her womb. Even now, Marguerite would be insignificant beside Harry’s splendour – if and when she was crowned.

Marguerite eventually changed into her everyday garments. The women were folding the coronation robes into a cedar wood chest when William Marshal arrived to speak to Alienor. The young knight had taken on a new gravitas since being promoted to his position in Harry’s retinue. He had been dealing with loading the ships and the logistics involved with the journey, and the heat of the summer sun had flushed his face and put tawny streaks in his deep brown hair. Some of Alienor’s ladies sent coy glances his way, of which he was obviously aware but did not acknowledge beyond a slight bow in their direction.

‘Is all going well?’ Alienor asked.

‘Yes, madam.’ He bowed to Marguerite too and she smiled at him. Like everyone else, she relaxed under William’s charm.

‘While I was at the dockside, an English ship arrived with a messenger aboard.’ He turned to indicate the man standing outside the doorway.

Alienor bade him come forward and took the packet. He knelt and handed it to her. Reading the contents, she pursed her lips. ‘You may go,’ she said, ‘but return by compline for the reply.’

As he made his obeisance and departed, she turned to William. ‘I know now why Roger of Worcester was so amiable about being lodged here,’ she said. ‘The letters of excommunication have reached England.’

His gaze filled with chagrin. ‘I am sorry, madam. I have been vigilant, but obviously not vigilant enough.’

‘It is not your fault. The Archbishop sent the letters with the lady of Boulogne.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘All the time she was here, paying an obligatory visit and requesting permission to go to England, she was sitting on those excommunication documents!’

William winced, but appreciation glinted in his eyes. ‘What will happen now?’

‘Nothing. The King will still go forward with the coronation because he is set on it. Doubtless he will burn the letters and claim they never arrived, but it will have given the Countess of Blois satisfaction to serve the notice and Becket will have scored a moral victory by winning through the blockade. There was other news in the letter too.’ She looked over her shoulder, but Marguerite was playing with her small terrier dog out of earshot. ‘The King deems it unwise to crown Marguerite. She is not to sail to England with Harry, but will stay here with me for now.’

William raised his brows. ‘Does my young lord know?’

‘No,’ Alienor said. ‘He does not need to be told until the morrow. I trust your discretion.’

‘Indeed you have it, madam, but I am sorry for the Princess.’

‘This is but a momentary delay. She will still be crowned.’

‘Yes, madam.’ His expression neutral, William bowed and took his leave.

Next morning at dawn, Harry embarked for England, the sunrise marking a path across the sea as it crested the horizon in a flash of gold. Many of the entourage had not retired until late because of the light summer evening, and heavy-eyed squires and knights curled up on deck and went back to sleep the moment they were on board.

Alienor embraced Harry, who had just stifled a yawn. His breath smelled of sour wine and the cardamom pods he had been chewing to sweeten his mouth. ‘God speed you,’ she said. ‘When I see you again, you will be an anointed king.’ The last two words gave her a frisson of pleasure. ‘Be mindful of that, and live up to your part.’

‘Of course, Mama.’ His tone was dismissive. She could feel his impatience to be away and pursuing masculine things. He had been thoroughly equable when told that Marguerite was not to accompany him; indeed, even a little pleased, because it meant his coronation was an opportunity for him to shine on his own, and he would not have to share any accolades. Alienor only wished she was accompanying him to see his moment of triumph, but there would be other occasions.

‘Go with my blessing,’ she said, kissed him again, and watched him board the ship that would take him to his destiny.

Marguerite dragged her coronation dress out of its coffer, hurled it on the floor and stamped on the yards of gold silk. ‘You knew!’ she sobbed at Alienor. ‘You knew! You betrayed me! What use is this gown now?’ She kicked the dress. Her small white dog took the opportunity to dart in and attack the cloth, tearing at it with his sharp little teeth and snarling.

Alienor eyed her daughter-in-law with surprise and speculation. She would not have thought stoical Marguerite the kind to throw a tantrum. ‘It is for the best,’ she said. ‘It is because of the dispute with the Archbishop of Canterbury. The King has a dispensation to have Harry anointed by a bishop of his choice, but that dispensation does not include you. It would not be binding and your father would never permit that. Your coronation has to be above reproach. It will happen later on once everything is settled.’

‘But it was planned for now!’ Marguerite said tearfully. ‘I do not trust you. I shall never trust you again. I shall write to my father and he will come with an army and soldiers and he will deal with all of you! You will all pay!’

‘That is enough!’ Alienor said, her anger rising. ‘Matters of state are involved of which you know nothing. If your parents-by-marriage and your husband see fit to delay the coronation then so be it. Your loyalty is to us. I thought better of you than to behave like a thwarted child.’

Marguerite’s shoulders heaved. She jutted her jaw and stared at Alienor without apology like a pugnacious little dog.