Chapter Thirteen #3
John heaved a sigh and threw up his hands. “I will say no more. There’s no point in shouting at the deaf.” He turned to Ancel. “I knew you’d go. You’ve been like a fledged swallow clinging to the eaves for far too long. But don’t blame me if you fly too close to the sun and singe your wings.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll look after him.” William gave his youngest brother a friendly cuff.
“That doesn’t reassure me,” John growled.
“I thought you were going to say no more?”
“I’m not. Just don’t provoke me. One of us needs the sense he was born with.”
“And the other two already have it.” William ducked as Ancel responded to the cuff by launching at him and for a moment they indulged in a bout of play-wrestling that left John shaking his head in despair and exasperation.
However, despite the provocation, he managed to keep his mouth shut, even when his son ran into the room, stared at his uncles in astonishment, and then joined in with a howl of glee.
Alais began laughing. John looked at her, then at the brawl. “You are all mad,” he said.
William returned to court by way of Salisbury and Queen Eleanor.
Ancel was incandescent with excitement as they rode over the bridge and into the courtyard.
William kept a straight face but inside he was chuckling, for Ancel, at six and twenty, was behaving like a green squire in his first year of service.
At that age, William had already seen epic battle, had been a hostage, a courtier, and given charge of the military training of the heir to England and Normandy.
“Remember to treat the Queen as if she is the most beautiful woman in the world, and you will not go far wrong,” William told his brother as they dismounted before the hall of whitewashed stone.
He allowed himself a grin as the grooms took the horses away to the stables.
“Don’t worry, the Queen is indeed one of the most beautiful women in the world.
Age may have creased her loveliness, but it hasn’t withered it. You won’t have to lie.”
The brothers entered the great hall and William saw that as well as Eleanor’s usher and the watchful guards whose task it was to make sure that the Queen’s captivity remained just that, there were other servants whose faces were familiar.
A swift enquiry brought forth the detail that, yes, the Young Queen was visiting her mother-by-marriage and she and Eleanor were closeted together in the royal apartments.
William was pleased. “Auspicious,” he said.
“It is not every day that you get two queens for the price of one.” Ancel nervously plucked a lingering dog hair from his best tunic of dark red wool.
“There is no need to fuss,” William said as he noticed the gesture.
“They are both used to King Henry looking like a peasant. You’re presentable, and that’s enough. ”
They waited in the hall while the usher sent a servant to inform the women of their arrival.
William went among the men he knew, talking to them, picking up the new threads of court gossip.
There was nothing about himself and no sign of an atmosphere, he was pleased to note.
The act of leaving court to spend time with his family had obviously removed his own particular cooking pot from the fire—for the moment at least. He introduced Ancel to some of the men and then made his way over to Baldwin de Béthune.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you’d be with our young lord?”
Baldwin’s teeth flashed. “Someone had to escort the Young Queen to Sarum and I volunteered. Like you, I enjoy a change of air and it’s no onerous duty to be riding with a lady in the softness of spring.”
“No,” William agreed, but inwardly recoiled, remembering just such a spring day in Poitou, and the bloody battle that had changed everything.
“And this is Ancel?” Baldwin shook William’s brother by the hand. “You can tell that you’re both branches of the same tree. The women of the court won’t know what has hit them!”
Ancel flushed, prompting Baldwin to laugh. “A shy Marshal will certainly be a change for them,” he teased.
William took pity on his brother and diverted the subject. “The Queen is well?” he asked.
“Which one?” Baldwin sobered. “Eleanor is still as spry as a maid half her age, and twice as alluring. That’s another reason I agreed to make the journey; she’s better company than her husband. But Marguerite…” He hesitated and lowered his voice. “There was no child. It was a false hope.”
William’s gaze sharpened. “She miscarried?”
“I do not know. All that the Young King said was that she was not with child, and the mood he was in, no one was going to press him for details.”
A squire came to escort the brothers to Eleanor and Marguerite.
Promising to talk to Baldwin later, William took Ancel by the sleeve and followed the youth to the Queen’s chamber.
The door was open, suggesting that for the moment at least Eleanor was not confined to her room.
The room itself was better furnished than his previous visit, the painted coffers restored to their places, embroideries brightening the walls, and the scented braziers Eleanor so loved gave the room a luxurious warmth that had been lacking before.
Her day bed was made up with an embroidered silk coverlet and strewn with bolsters and cushions in all the rich deep shades he remembered from the years in Poitou.
Marguerite sat on the edge of the bed, hemming a veil, and Eleanor was playing chess with one of her ladies.
The other women attendants were mostly engaged in various pieces of needlecraft, although one was playing a harp and the delicate notes trembled in the air.
As the brothers knelt to the women, William thought that Marguerite looked wan and tired.
Her eyes were over-bright and her smile forced.
Eleanor was delighted and diverted by the visitors.
“If I had known there was another Marshal so close to my prison and a fine chevalier, I would have been much comforted,” she said as Ancel bent the knee, his ears as red as embers.
“There is also my brother John, madam,” Ancel said, his nervousness drawing the words out of him like an accidental blot of ink on a piece of parchment. “Until recently I dwelt under his roof.”
The curve remained on Eleanor’s lips but lost some of its pleasure. “John Marshal is my husband’s man, although I am sure that he is as worthy as either of his brothers.” Her tone was neutral, but not the emotions behind it.
William would have kicked Ancel had he been able to do it without the women seeing. “Ancel is hoping to further his education,” he said smoothly. “Until now he has been little exposed to life beyond my brother’s manors.”
Eleanor’s smile softened, although her eyes held a disquieting gleam.
“Then, Ancel Marshal, you have a lot to learn,” she said.
“Listen to William and follow his advice. He knows how to make his way at court.” She turned to William.
“If you are going to show him the world beyond his small window, make sure that he stays in it.” A desolate sheen filled her eyes.
“Nothing burdens the soul more than the loss of freedom.”
The brothers dined with the women, the meal taken in the privacy of Eleanor’s chamber.
William noticed that the fare had improved since his last visit too.
Although it was Lent, there was pickled salmon and fresh shrimps, good wheaten bread to mop up the salty, piquant sauces, honey tart and almond custard.
Ancel was nervous and talked more than he should, but Eleanor was endeared rather than irritated.
“He reminds me a little of you when you were in your uncle of Salisbury’s service,” she teased William, pressing his arm.
“You were never as talkative but your ears turned red just like that.”
“That was because I was often too innocent for the conversations, madam,” William responded with a straight face.
She tapped him lightly in reproof, but her eyes were laughing. “Does your brother sing too?”
William winced. “I would not malign my own flesh and blood, but Ancel has a voice like a rooster at dawn. He does play a hard game of chess though,” he said in mitigation. “You are an acknowledged expert, madam, but you would be hard pressed to beat him.”
She regarded Ancel with empathy. “I suppose we each have had little else to do of an evening but sharpen such skills. I will enjoy testing his mettle.”
Following the meal, Eleanor drew Ancel to sit in the window embrasure where the chessboard stood with its serried ranks of ivory and jet pieces.
William grasped the opportunity to talk to Marguerite alone.
She had been sitting on a bench close to a brazier, her sewing in her lap, but she had taken few stitches and was plainly uninterested in the project.
“You are well, madam?” he enquired.
She parted her lips to give him the standard reply, then changed her mind and shook her head. “No,” she said, looking down. “I am not well at all.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“But not surprised. I know when my maid holds up my hand mirror and I see my reflection that I look like a “walking corpse.”
“No, madam. You look like a creature from the land of faery—half made of shadows, but lovely nonetheless.”
She gave a laugh filled with pathos. “Oh, William, your courtesy never fails. I know I look like death warmed up. Did you know that I was with child when we sailed from Wissant?”
“There was a rumour, but I always treat court gossip with caution.”
“Then whispers must also have told you that I lost it?”
“I am sorry, madam. It must be a great grief to yourself and my lord.”
She compressed her lips and her chin dimpled.
“Indeed yes. But Henry…his grief is different to mine. I have scarcely seen him since we have been in England. He…He pretends that nothing has happened, and that I am nothing too. If he looks through me, if he does not see me, then he does not have to acknowledge our failure. I wish…I wish that…” She swallowed and shook her head.
Her brown eyes locked on his, beseeching and tear-filled.
William’s heart wallowed. “The Young King cares for you,” he said and felt the lie burn his tongue.
“Does he?” Her tone was dull. “Then it is probably as much as I care for him. We have our duty, but God alone knows how we will manage to perform it. I heard Yqueboeuf tell Henry that all cats and coneys were dark at night…”
William’s face twisted with revulsion. “If I had been within hearing, Yqueboeuf wouldn’t have had a mouth left to make his confession,” he growled. “What did Henry say?”
Her chin dimpled. “He was very drunk,” she said with careful dignity.
William swore under his breath. Reading between the lines, Henry had said and done nothing, perhaps even condoned the remark. Excuses were always made for Henry’s behaviour. It was never his fault, but there came a point when the blame had to come home to roost.
Marguerite bit her lip. “If you interfere, you will only make matters worse,” she said with dismay. “I should not have told you. For my sake and yours, I beg you say nothing.”
William clenched his jaw.
“Please…”
“Very well, madam,” he said stiffly, “since that be your wish, but if it happens again and I am by, I won’t hold back.”
“Thank you.” She looked relieved.
He left her side and went to watch the chess game, although what he really wanted to do was go and wash his hands and rid himself of the feeling that he had somehow smirched his honour.
Ancel was holding his own against a fiercely determined Eleanor. Her full lower lip was thrust out and the frown lines between her eyes were heavily demarcated. She made her move and looked up at William. “He’s not afraid to risk all,” she said, a gleam of approbation in her eyes.
William found a smile, although it was difficult after what Marguerite had just said. “No,” he said. “He’s not.” And thought of the risks facing himself and the dangerous temptation to take them.