The Autumn Throne (7 page)

‘Mama …’

Turning, she saw Harry walking down the path towards her. He was wearing his travelling cloak and a feathered cap. Here, in part, was the reason matters would deteriorate. Her sons were leaving for their duties one by one and there would soon be no support from that quarter. Richard had already departed for Poitou armed with fresh funds for his war against his rebellious vassals. Now Harry was going to join him via a visit to his father-in-law in France. Only Geoffrey remained, but he would soon go to Brittany.

‘Are you ready?’ Her smile was strained. She had been hiding in the garden, trying to gain the serenity to bid him farewell. He wore a guilty expression because he was leaving her, but she could also see the gleam of anticipation. He was impatient to be gone. Henry had given him funds too and the money would run through his fingers like water because he had no responsibilities to anchor him to reality. The coin would be squandered on clothes, on parades, on fine horses and days spent hunting and tourneying.

‘Yes, will you come and bid me farewell?’

You are a queen
, she reminded herself.
That is what keeps you strong. That is what you tell your daughter.
‘Of course. I wish you were not leaving, but I know you must.’

She
set her arm on Harry’s sleeve and walked with him from the garden to the stable yard where everyone was gathered, either to ride out or bid Godspeed to those on their way. Some farewells would be longer than others. Her glance flicked to Joanna who had just embraced Harry’s wife Marguerite and was crouching to bid farewell to Marguerite’s fluffy little dog. Alienor suspected the latter was the greater sorrow of the parting, although when her youngest daughter became Queen of Sicily she could have as many lap dogs as she desired.

Harry gave Joanna a pretty intaglio ring with a carving of a small lion. ‘I will escort you part of your way to Sicily after you have crossed the Narrow Sea and I promise to visit you when you are queen,’ he said, hugged her again, and then turned to Alienor.

‘Travel safely, my son,’ she said. ‘I may not hear word of you because of my circumstances, but know you are always in my heart.’

He bestowed his brightest smile on her, the one he could turn on anyone and make them believe they were the most important person in the world. And then he grew serious. ‘I will not forget, Mama, on my soul, I won’t.’ He squeezed her hands. ‘He is my father, but I am also my mother’s son.’

‘And that is why you are taller than he is.’

He laughed aloud, kissed her cheek, and turned to mount his horse.

‘Look after him,’ she said fiercely to William Marshal who was making final checks on the harness and equipment and giving orders to the squires. ‘I trust you.’

‘Madam, that is my life’s task and my honour,’ William responded with a bow. ‘I shall do everything I can to keep him safe.’

They exchanged a meaningful look. To protect him from himself as much as from others was the awareness that went unspoken. William tugged a small jewelled cross from inside his shirt and kissed it; a cross she had given him in the days
when she had such largesse to bestow on those whose service she valued. Tucking it away again, he turned to his horse.

Henry arrived at the last moment to bid his son farewell and gestured Harry to remain mounted. ‘Godspeed you,’ he said gruffly. ‘And try to keep your purse strings closed for once.’

Harry gave his father an ironic salute, and turned his rein.

Alienor watched them ride out, a handsome cavalcade with hawks and hounds, their harnesses jingling with silver bells. Silk banners fluttered in their midst and her throat swelled with emotion at the sight of such pride and beauty, and at the knowledge that she could not ride with them.

‘Well.’ Henry turned to her as the guards closed the gate. ‘You have had your time to think about Amesbury. Do you have an answer for me?’

Alienor faced him. ‘Indeed I do, and it has not changed. Amesbury is out of the question. You may have your annulment if you set me free to go to Aquitaine.’

His face contorted with a mingling of anger and exasperation. ‘Then you condemn yourself to a life of confinement. You leave for Sarum today – immediately.’

‘So you punish Joanna too?’

‘You think she cares about a mother such as you?’ he scoffed. ‘All the value you are to her is as an example of how not to be a queen.’

Alienor set her jaw. ‘Do as you will, but you will not break me.’

‘You think not? Watch me.’ He walked away, flexing his shoulders like a fighter.

An instant later, Alienor was surrounded by guards who gripped her arms and escorted her from the courtyard in front of everyone who had gathered to bid farewell to Harry, including John and Joanna.

She held her head high because contrary to what Henry said, she would show her daughter how to be a queen, especially under duress.

Without
ceremony, Alienor was bundled into a travelling cart with a plain canvas cover. No horse for her this time, no bright escort, just grim-faced soldiers intent on obeying their lord’s bidding. She had been permitted three weeks in a gilded cage among all the finches and eagles of the court. Now it was back to the windswept coop and solitary confinement. Gazing across the wain to the grimy linen canvas on the other side, she made her mind blank in order to endure. Either she would die or Henry would, and then it would be over.

Once again Alienor settled into the stultifying routine of life at Sarum. The endless sewing of plain seams, the days confined to her chamber save for rare moments when she was permitted to walk the castle’s precincts or attend services in the cathedral, under strict supervision. Once more news of the outside world was cut off. She made a pet of a white dove and fed it crumbs on her sill, taking pleasure in watching it pirouette and coo, until the day one of the knights hunted it down with a peregrine from the mews. She ceased feeding the doves after that.

Occasionally she would pick up pieces of information but they were like the discarded ends of linen thread on the seat where she sat to sew the interminable pile of shirts and chemises. Henry had gone to his hunting lodge at Clarendon and Richard had won a victory against the Poitevan rebels at Butteville, but the details were scant and passed down through so many hands that they had little value when they came to her ear. Once or twice her days were enlivened by visiting clergy, but always they came on Henry’s behalf, saying if she would only consider becoming the Abbess of Amesbury all
this would end and be beneficial for everyone. In a perverse way Alienor looked forward to such approaches because they gave her an opportunity to exercise her wiles on the men, leaving them discomfited and aware in no uncertain terms that her stance on the matter remained firm.

One parched afternoon in mid-August, Alienor emerged from prayer in the cathedral. The sun struck the stonework like a hammer on a white anvil and the still air was as hot as a forge. Raising her hand to shade her eyes, she started to walk towards the castle, Amiria at her side, guards following at a discreet distance. And then she stopped because Isabel was standing in the courtyard shaking out her skirts, and with her were John and Joanna, and their cousins Belle and William.

Alienor thought for an instant that the blazing heat had created a mirage, but the scarlet-faced soldiers tending to the horses were far too solid to be ephemera. And Isabel, although neatly dressed as always, had the look of a butterfly newly emerged from the chrysalis wings all crumpled.

It took all Alienor’s will not to run to her visitors and to approach them at a measured walk. ‘What a surprise, but it gladdens my heart to see you!’ she said in a voice that was close to cracking. What was Henry up to now?

‘We’re visiting before we leave for Sicily,’ Isabel replied as they embraced. ‘I have permission.’ She showed Alienor a folded piece of parchment in her hand with a seal attached. ‘I have Henry’s safe conduct. Hamelin persuaded him. I know you think I bow to my husband’s every whim, but I asked him at the right time and in the right way and he agreed to intercede. Sometimes it pays to conciliate.’

Alienor was amused and a little irritated. Clearly their earlier disagreement remained a tender subject with Isabel. ‘It depends what you have to lose by doing so, but I am grateful. I had resigned myself to never seeing any of you again.’ She hugged John and Joanna, and wondered at Henry’s motives for allowing the visit. Perhaps he was hoping that several more months spent in isolation at Sarum had pressed home his point and
would make her more willing to reconsider. If so he was sadly mistaken; the experience had just made her more determined to defy him.

She brought her guests to her chamber in the north tower of the complex. Isabel made no comment as she gazed at the spartan surroundings, but Alienor saw shock in her eyes. And pity. ‘My penitent’s cell,’ she said. ‘At least it is cool in this heat.’

Joanna sat down in the window seat, her expression and posture making it plain that she had not expected to find her mother dwelling in such reduced circumstances.

Isabel’s maid was hefting a large willow basket and Isabel removed the folded tablecloth covering the contents and bade Amiria spread it upon the room’s bare trestle table. ‘I have good wine,’ she declared with determined gaiety as she produced a stone costrel from the depths of the basket. ‘And roast fowl and white bread. The guards dared not refuse the King’s own sister by marriage arriving under safe conduct.’

Alienor raised her brows. ‘Does that not constitute an act of defiance?’

‘Not at all.’ Isabel tossed her head. ‘I am merely exerting my rightful authority.’ She presented Alienor with a cone of parchment filled with sticky brown squares. ‘Hamelin knows how much you like gingerbread and wanted me to give you this.’

The warm scent of exotic spices blended with honey filled Alienor’s nose as she took her next breath. She and Hamelin did not always see eye to eye. As Henry’s brother he always supported him; at times he could be a self-righteous pedant; but he had a thoughtful side and he was not vindictive.

‘You must thank him and tell him I appreciate his gift,’ she said, feeling almost tearful. ‘It is kind of him and I am not accustomed to kindness these days.’

Isabel turned pink at the praise. ‘Indeed I shall. And this is from me.’

She gave Alienor a small rock crystal bottle wrapped in a square of purple silk. The bottle was carved with a swirling labyrinth pattern and when Alienor removed the stopper, a
wonderful perfume of roses, nutmeg and woody balsams from the oil within transported her to the gardens in Poitiers with the summer roses and honeysuckle trellising the wall.

‘I will treasure this,’ she said when she was able to speak. ‘You have brought comfort to my day; indeed to all my days here.’ She hugged Isabel and wiped away a few treacherous tears on the back of her hand.

Once the table was ready, they sat down to eat.

‘I am to be betrothed,’ John announced as he broke a piece off the loaf.

Alienor turned to her youngest son in surprise, although not shock. He had once been betrothed to little Adelaide of Maurienne but the child had died soon after Alienor’s imprisonment. It stood to reason that Henry would find someone else for him – and that he would not see fit to tell her.

‘Indeed? To whom?’

‘Hawise of Gloucester.’ He curled his lip. ‘She’s my second cousin but Papa says he can arrange a dispensation.’

Alienor frowned. ‘Hawise of Gloucester?’

‘She was born not long before you first came to Sarum,’ Isabel said.

‘Ah, yes.’ Not that she had known about the child, but she had seen her father around the court at Winchester.

‘She’s only three.’ John sprinkled his bread with salt. ‘Of course she might die before I marry her like the last one, but if that happens Papa says he’ll give me Isabelle de Clare. That means Chepstow and Pembroke and Ireland. She’s older; she’s four.’ He bit into the bread. ‘And Normandy too,’ he added indistinctly.

‘And when is this betrothal to take place?’

‘In a few weeks in London.’ He chewed and swallowed. ‘It’s the land that matters. The Gloucester ones are better than the Chepstow ones though.’

He spoke in a knowing way that suggested he had checked for himself rather than repeating what someone had told him. His eyes were a quenched green-grey and it was difficult to
tell the expression in them, or to see past the half-mocking smile to what lay beyond. Even as an infant he had always seemed more like an adult – a scheming, manipulating one at times. If he was angry, the recipient of that anger would only find out when they discovered one of their possessions damaged or else sat on the nail that had mysteriously appeared on their chair. Yet he could also be devastatingly sweet and amusing.

‘You seem to have considered it thoroughly,’ Alienor said.

‘I wanted to know.’ He laid down his knife. ‘I also know why Papa wants an annulment.’

Alienor lifted her cup. ‘Is that so?’

‘Rosamund de Clifford is with child.’ His eyes glinted. ‘The baby’s due in the autumn and he wants to marry her and make her queen.’