The Winter Crown (51 page)

Approaching the castle, Alienor became aware of another entourage preparing to enter a dwelling house and, with an unpleasant jolt, recognised Rosamund de Clifford. Her cloak was also lined with squirrel fur and her gown was an expensive Madonna-blue. Framed by a soft veil, her pale complexion was flawless and virginal.

Richard made a sound of disgust when he saw her. ‘I cannot believe he has brought her here to Chinon,’ he said.

Alienor made an indifferent gesture, although the sight of all that false innocence sickened her. ‘Why not? He brings her everywhere else. I no longer care what he does,’ she said. ‘Only let us govern in Aquitaine without his interference.’

Richard raised one eyebrow. ‘I doubt that, Mama. He will still try to find ways of keeping it in his hand.’

Alienor grimaced. ‘Your grandmother the Empress advised him to keep his barons hungry – to starve them like hawks in order to make them sharper.’

‘Peck out his eyes more like,’ Richard said.

They rode past Rosamund, who swept them a deep curtsey and lowered her head, but not before Alienor had glimpsed the resentment and challenge in her eyes. She had grown bolder since their last encounter, but then she was no longer a girl, rather a woman in her full beauty – although that in itself was no guarantee of keeping Henry’s affection. He liked his women innocent and malleable.

Richard turned his head away. ‘My father’s whore,’ he said, loud enough to be heard.

Alienor said nothing and gazed straight ahead as if Rosamund did not exist.

‘She wants to be queen,’ Richard said. ‘I have heard her inveigling my father.’

‘That will never happen,’ she replied with world-weary amusement. ‘He will not risk his grip on Aquitaine for a concubine, no matter her charms. She may be of noble blood, but not rich enough to put her on the right side of the blanket.’ She looked at Richard and saw his flushed complexion. If he had had experience of women, he was discreet and kept it from her. The way he spoke about Rosamund, she suspected that any dealings he had with whores would not be amicable.

Riding into the courtyard, they came upon Henry, freshly returned from the hunt and talking to a groom who was about to lead away his mired and sweaty mount. Alienor gazed between her golden son on his golden horse, and the man with grey in his red beard standing beside a trembling chaser that had been ridden too far and too hard. Henry turned from the horse and focused on them, wrapping his hands around his belt.

Richard dismounted in a flowing movement, threw back his sleek fur cloak and helped Alienor down from her mare. ‘Madam my mother,’ he acknowledged with a bow. Only then did he turn and bend the knee to his father. ‘Sire,’ he said, his sea-blue eyes full of pride and challenge.

Looking amused but wary, Henry advanced and stooped to kiss him. ‘My son the Count of Poitiers and Duke of Aquitaine,’ he said. ‘And almost a man.’

Richard tightened his lips; Alienor noted with approval that he had learned to hold his tongue. That particular discipline had been difficult for him to master.

‘He already does a man’s work,’ she said to Henry, ‘and that makes him a man in my eyes. If he had not been ready, I would not have named him my heir.’

Henry gave her a narrow look. ‘Madam my wife,’ he said, ‘it is good to see you.’

Alienor did not believe that for a moment. ‘And you,’ she said. Their kiss was a dry, cold meeting of lips. ‘You have been hunting, I see?’

‘A man should always be active. It aids digestion and helps him to think.’

Alienor raised her brows. His physique had broadened and grown solid as he approached middle age, although he was still clearly vigorous. There was no sign of a paunch, and yet his years rode him as hard as he rode his mounts.

‘I hope both are in good order,’ she said. ‘I am pleased I do not need to race a horse into a sweat to exercise my own wits.’

Henry curled his lip. ‘Absence has not softened the sharpness of your tongue.’

‘Nor made the heart grow fonder,’ she retorted. ‘I notice you have not been pining for my company if a certain house in the town is any indication. Does she help you to think too?’

‘Rosamund helps me with many things,’ Henry said stonily, ‘and her tongue is not a blade.’

‘Oh, I am sure she has other weapons at her disposal.’

Ignoring the remark, Henry changed the subject by admiring Richard’s palfrey. ‘It was a gift from me at his investiture as Duke of Aquitaine,’ Alienor said.

Henry examined the horse, grunting approval as he ran his hands over its firm, muscular body. ‘You have always liked these since you were a little boy,’ he said. ‘The tawny horses.’

‘They are gold,’ Richard said, emphasising the word. ‘Men will always mark where I am, because they will see my golden horse and know.’

Henry gave Richard an enquiring look. ‘What will they know?’

Richard jutted his jaw. ‘That here is leadership. That here is a man they can follow through thick and thin. That here is a man who will take the reins and use them to forge his destiny.’

Alienor smiled.

Henry raised his brows, creating three horizontal pleats across his forehead. ‘You look every inch the prince,’ he said, ‘I grant you that. But power does not come from fine clothes and horses and courtly flourishes. Standing here as I am with burrs in my tunic and mud on my boots, I have more power in my little finger than you have in your entire being. Power comes from within, and you still have much to learn, boy, even if you think you know all.’

‘You did not have to be so harsh on Richard,’ Alienor said to Henry later as they sat before the fire in his chamber. She noticed that he kept rubbing his leg, but when he saw her looking, he pretended everything was all right.

Across the room, a group of courtiers were playing games of dice and chess, Richard among them, marked out by his height and his bright hair.

‘He is far too sure of himself,’ Henry said. ‘He still answers to me.’

‘Yes he does, because you are his father and because he is one of your heirs, but he is maturing swiftly. He is a duke and count in his own right and I shall give him more duties when we return to Poitiers. He will not answer to you for Aquitaine because Aquitaine is not your vassal and never has been.’

Henry rubbed his chin. ‘I see. And that is why you are no longer acknowledging me in your charters? Did you think I would not notice how you have changed the salutations on your documents to exclude me?’

‘Why should I not change the wording? It is my prerogative. Richard is old enough to undertake military duties and some government, and that leaves you free to deal with other arenas.’

Henry’s expression grew hard. ‘Our lands must be ruled with an overall policy to be effective, especially where France is concerned. I do not want to find that one part has been working for its own gain or strengthening itself and making alliances at the expense of others. Suppose Richard took it into his head to attack Toulouse? Or to go raiding where he should not? My sons are too young and inexperienced. They still need my hands on the reins.’

The hands of a man who did not want to relinquish one iota of control. ‘Is a woman’s touch not good enough? Richard is my project, and he has excelled himself. Do you think I would go pushing my own son into war? I will guide him through each stage until he is ready. He still has much to learn, but you should give him a little loose rein. Think of yourself at fifteen, your pride and how sure you were.’

Henry gave her a jaundiced look. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and that’s why I say he needs keeping on a tight rein. Besides, what I was at fifteen does not apply to my sons.’

The discussion was going round in a circle. Henry would do nothing that lessened his control on any situation. Changing the subject, she asked him about Ireland.

‘The matter is settled for now,’ he said. ‘I have been acknowledged king and allegiance has been sworn. When John is grown he can rule there if he is not fitted for the Church.’

Alienor inclined her head; she had no argument with that notion. ‘He should be arriving with Joanna and their nurses by tomorrow,’ she said and glanced up as Hamelin joined them. ‘Is Isabel coming to court for the Christmas season?’

‘Indeed she is; I expect her any day.’

‘And the children?’

‘Belle and William both. Adela and Mahelt will stay in Touraine – they are too young and travelling with them would make the journey twice as long.’ He looked wry. ‘Isabel will be reluctant to leave them, but it will not be for long.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I take it you have heard the news from England? The latest about Canterbury?’

‘What news is that?’ She glanced at Henry, who shrugged and opened his hands, but looked wary.

Hamelin dug in his pouch and handed Alienor a small lead ampulla with a string threaded through it. ‘One of my men was given this the other day.’

The object was shaped like a horseshoe and inside the upward curve was a small container etched with a figure on a bier attended by two priests. The legend in Latin round the outside read ‘Thomas is the best doctor of the worthy sick’. She gave the trinket to Henry with a grimace of distaste.

‘They are diluting his blood and brains in water and selling the stuff to pilgrims declaring it is a cure for the sick,’ Hamelin said. ‘There have been claims about miracles for a while, but the cult is growing. They started selling the water earlier this year in wax-lined boxes, but now it’s been refined to these ampullae.’

‘Thomas was ever good at schemes to make money,’ Henry sneered. ‘The Church will sit on its overflowing coffers and bleat piety until Judgement Day.’

‘He has also made himself a martyr in the eyes of the people and the cult will only grow. Your son has already attached himself to it by visiting the shrine.’

‘What do you mean?’ Alienor asked sharply.

‘Harry visited the shrine earlier this year,’ Hamelin said. He looked at Henry. ‘And in so doing, he has increased his standing and thrown the blame back on to you.’

Alienor saw Henry stiffen. Hamelin was frowning. There were undercurrents here; things she needed to know that were not going to be said.

‘You make too much of the matter,’ Henry snapped. ‘I have admitted that my words may have set those knights on the path to murder Becket, but it was of their own volition and unwitting by me. I have done penance and been absolved.’

‘To the letter of the law, yes,’ Hamelin replied doggedly, ‘but is that enough?’

‘Of course it is!’ Henry’s eyes glittered with impatience. ‘I will go no further.’

‘But they have gone further with these ampullae and miracles. If you want stability and honour and rule, you have to be greater than that. People see what you have said and done, and it measures up lacking against Becket. You swore at Auvergne to go on crusade and to give money to Jerusalem. You have sworn to restore the Church’s property and do right by Becket’s relatives, but have you set any of this in motion? If you do not make a great show of remorse or humility, people will turn from you and look in the direction of your sons to make things right.’

‘Of course I intend it!’ Henry’s face reddened and his chest inflated with anger. Alienor had never seen Hamelin confront Henry like this; plainly he was deeply concerned, perhaps even afraid.

‘You are not going to ride off to Jerusalem even if that is what you have said you will do. You would be far more organised by now if that was the case. I do not believe anyone else expects you to do it either, but you must demonstrate your remorse over the Archbishop’s death. Unless you show your contrition, these little ampullae of the “Water of Canterbury” will bring you down, and the rest of us with you.’

‘You talk like a fool, Hamelin,’ Henry scoffed. ‘You’re becoming an old man.’

‘Hah, I want to live to become an old man!’ Hamelin retorted and stalked off.

Henry shook his head and glowered at Alienor. ‘Do not look at me like that.’

‘Perhaps Hamelin is right about the penances and showing that you mean it,’ she said. ‘Can you afford to ignore his advice when he is so loyal to you?’

Henry said nothing, but his jaw clamped like a vice.

‘What did he mean about people looking in the direction of your heir?’

‘Nothing. It’s just Harry trying to flex his wings before he has the feathers to fly. He wants me to give him lands to rule for himself and won’t accept it when I say he is not ready. I know full well that Louis has rubbed a sore spot on his pride and is now grinding salt in it just to cause trouble. He keeps telling Harry it is beneath the dignity of a king not to have land and power.’

‘But why should he not flex his wings?’ Alienor asked. ‘He will soon attain his eighteenth year day. Your father was only your age when he willingly ceded you Normandy and you were only seventeen.’

He drummed his fingers on the table in irritation. ‘You do not need to tell me my own history.’

‘Do I not? You cannot give your son money and distractions and expect him to be satisfied. He is beyond monkeys called Robert now; he needs to be independent.’

‘He is holding his own Christmas court at Bonneville with Marguerite, and she has been anointed queen by the Archbishop of Rouen,’ Henry said. ‘I have been more than indulgent.’

‘Yes, you allow him to play at being king, to hold feasts and entertainments, and then you complain about how much it costs you. You must give him proper responsibility. If you cannot loosen your grip, what room in your life does anyone else have?’

‘Plenty when they show they can be trusted.’

‘Ah, trust,’ she said. ‘And who can trust a king who does not keep his word?’ She rose, knowing that like Hamelin she had to escape. ‘You must give him something to occupy him and soothe his dignity. Not just as a sop to a youth, but as an exercise in power. You have raised him up, but now you must give substance to his crown, otherwise you will make him a laughing stock.’

‘I shall do as I see fit.’

‘Of course you will, and then watch it all tumble down because you have no foundations.’ She left the room in exasperation and climbed to the battlements because she did not want to bring her anger and irritation into her own chamber.