Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,185

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son and he has no time for young men’s rebellions.” She took his slender young hands in hers, unmarked by years, not yet toughened by fighting. His narrow wrists were dappled with freckles and gilded with fine hairs. “Take your men home and ask your father to pay, and while you are about it, ask him to send me more money too, because I am in sore need.” His expression became set and still.

Geoffrey was going to be furious with him, she thought, but that was the price paid for disobedience. “Every action has consequences,” she said, “and you must learn to deal with them and think everything through.”

“Did you do that at Westminster, Mama?” he challenged.

“I am giving you the benefit of my wisdom in hindsight.

Learn from your own mistakes and those of others. Sometimes the lessons are harsh indeed—as I have cause to know, and you are finding out.”

He narrowed his eyes. Then he fixed her again with that knowing, calculating look. “I have been rash,” he admitted. “I have some thinking to do.”

Matilda received the impression that Henry had indeed absorbed a lesson from their conversation, but she was not entirely sure it was the one she intended. The look on his face was determined and wilful rather than contrite.

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Fifty-three

March 1147

W ill was playing dice with Stephen, Robert de Beaumont, Earl of Leicester, and William Martel the steward. Outside a dark March day was drawing towards dusk and servants were lighting fresh candles and refilling the oil lamps. The shutters were latched against the bitter weather and the old man who tended the fire for a wage of four pence a day was keeping it well stoked with logs and charcoal. The venison stew and force-meats, the fruits in honey and spices, had left everyone feeling warm and befuddled. Stephen was in a genial, expansive mood.

The threat from Normandy had proven to be so much piss in the wind, and there had been no sign of the Angevin lordling or his rabble since they had been put to flight at Purton and Cricklade.

Will threw a pair of sixes and, with a triumphant laugh, scooped up the pile of silver in the middle of the table.

“Will that be enough to build some more fancy latrines?” jibed Leicester. Everyone had been highly amused by the refinements Will was building at Rising.

“You are just jealous,” Will said equably. “Or your wife is.” Leicester rolled his eyes. “I dare not tell her, or else we would be inundated with the things. Thank Christ you have built your little folly off the beaten track, D’Albini. At least she won’t come visiting and covet everything she sees.” LadyofEnglish.indd 459

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Will shrugged. “It is my haven,” he said. “Somewhere I can create a thing of beauty to honour my wife, and not be disturbed.”

“How is your lady?” Stephen asked.

Will was silent for a moment and Stephen’s look sharpened.

“She is but recently out of confinement,” he said. He was worried about Adeliza because she had still been very fragile when he left to come to court.

“You have named the boy Henry have you not?” Will reddened. “It was my lady’s choice, for the king her first husband.”

“Of course,” Stephen said blandly and picked up the dice.

“Another game?”

An usher entered the chamber and hurried over to the gaming table. Bending to the king, he murmured in his ear.

Stephen’s gaze widened. Then he gave a short bark of laughter. “Bring him,” he said. As the usher departed, Stephen looked round at his companions. “Well, when I said another game, I did not quite have this in mind, but it seems that my nephew of Anjou is here to pay his respects.” They all stared at him in shocked surprise, but Stephen was still chuckling. “I will say this for him, the lad has nerve, even if he is a fool.”

Moments later the usher returned, leading a handsome red-haired youth. He was not as tall as the usher, but his physique was robust and he had presence. He wore serviceable travel clothes without embellishment: a thick winter cloak and a quilted gambeson over the top of a fine but plain tunic, and stout hunting boots rising to mid-calf. To look at him, Will would have guessed he was well to do, but there was