The castle of Striguil, to which the King told his party they were headed, was a long day’s ride away. As they forded the Wye, Strongbow and his sister waited to welcome them on the opposite bank, ready to accompany them south. Henry noted that Eveline was much subdued. He continued to ignore her, but drew her brother aside and dismounted.
‘I’m giving you Striguil,’ he said.
The Earl dropped to one knee, but Henry lifted him to kiss his cheeks. ‘From all I hear, the south is a lesser problem than the north-west. Will you ride with me? Just we two and an interpreter I have a vassal who speaks Welsh. We’ll travel discreetly.’
‘The rest of your party, Sire?’
‘They’ll continue to Striguil and stay there until our return. My standard will go with them.’
Strongbow’s large, intelligent, slow-moving eyes glinted with excitement for a war reconnoitre. ‘It’s my family’s tradition that a man is dishonoured who dies in bed instead of on the battlefield. But my sister will be disappointed, Highness. She was hoping to win your favour.’
Henry laughed. ‘Beautiful women! Fickle creatures. She can do me a service, however. Among my guards there’s a man who resembles me in height, bearing and hair colour. As they ride south, I’d like your sister to pay him the respect due to a king. My presence should not be missed.’ He beckoned over his knight and Strongbow’s sister. While he spoke she looked at him, green eyes in bashful surrender. Then he summoned Thomas. ‘I’m taking your scribe, Tom,’ he said.
Becket pursed his lips. ‘Good luck, my dear liege.’
Richard had earlier snatched a moment to tell Henry, in Latin, he had rebuffed the Chancellor the night before and at this moment they were not on speaking terms. Henry understood Thomas’s moods better than he had before. The smile he gave, the slight bow of his head, the apparent amusement he found in his lord’s ruses were all false. The Chancellor was desperately unhappy.
Quietly he added, ‘I realise you’re parting from him after an unresolved tiff, Tom. But the realm takes precedence.’
‘Take him for as long as you like, Henry. I hope he falls over a cliff.’
Henry was not forthcoming with Thomas on how long they would be away or where they were going. He was busy exchanging his royal riding cloak and saddle with the plain one of his knight, when a shout went up. Caught on a rock on the riverbank was the bloated body of a horse. He stared at the creature. ‘That’s mine,’ he muttered.
It was without saddle or bridle. ‘How do you explain this, Chancellor? The fine animal I lent you becomes lost, its equipage is removed, then it’s drowned. This is bad work.’
‘Someone must have s-s-stolen it.’ He did not dare look at Richard. The youth bit his lip. I didn’t vow to tell him the truth of things he doesn’t ask me about.
‘I require recompense for destruction of my property.’ The look Henry gave Thomas made him flinch.
Everything’s changed since we left Foliot’s palace. It was that ghastly little girl and her harlot of a mother. Henry’s attitude to Richard has changed completely. He barely noticed his existence before. Now he favours him as if he were a nephew. When I get the chance I’ll tell him Richard killed his destrier.
The King had decided that he and Strongbow would travel as Norsemen searching Wales for the falcons that nested on its west coast on sea cliffs battered by storms. Gales made the birds’ wings so enormously powerful not even Norse falcons were as highly prized. Besides Richard, their only help were three packhorses that carried provisions, a firestone and weapons; bows, two hundred arrows and undecorated short swords. Strongbow was half a head taller than the King, with the same golden brown hair as his sister. He could pass for a Norseman. He had a slow smile, a wry wit, and limped slightly from a battle injury.
Through Richard they explained to villagers they were on a mission to buy the sea falcons of Wales for the King of England. Some men spat on the ground. Richard dutifully translated: ‘All the English are quinnies’. Men and women made observations on English manners, morals and Englishmen’s diminutive sexual organs. They made no discrimination between Normans and Saxons; all were vicious, the males sported tiny penises, the females limped around with quinnies the size of a cow’s. Some recalled the Romans and what they had done in Wales. In a tavern a woman volunteered, ‘The King of the English is a sodomite.’ A fellow drinker remarked, ‘He eats the flesh of dogs.’ Another added, ‘ After he’s fucked the dog .’ The tavern rocked with such hilarity tears ran down people’s cheeks.
‘Welcome to Wales,’ Strongbow drawled.
Henry gave a graveyard laugh. ‘It’s refreshing to escape my courtiers and hear honest opinions. I’m eager for war in the north-west where they hate us.’
At the next hamlet he told Richard to ask people if they’d heard of Anjevins.
‘Oh, yes,’ a man said. ‘From south across the sea they come. One of them can sing.’
‘That’s my brother!’ Henry hissed to Strongbow. ‘They’ve never heard of me. But Guillaume … When I go to war I’ll put him in the vanguard, the swine, and make him sing!’
Strongbow was laconic. ‘Could work,’ he said. ‘They love poetry and songs.’
Their conversations easily turned to local issues – crops, cattle, priests and politics. Which princes were liked? Which ones disliked? Why? The further north they rode the greater Henry’s discouragement. The forests were dense, the mountains high, the valleys deep.
‘Agriculture’s so scant I’ll have to bring all the army’s supplies,’ Henry muttered.
‘Precarious for packhorses in this terrain,’ Strongbow drawled.
‘I’ll sail food and weaponry up the coast. Maybe into Dovey River.’
‘If your fleet could make it to Anglesey you could attack Owain in his lair,’ de Clare added. His eyes gleamed with excitement.
‘A lion in his lair?’ Henry raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think so, my dear.’
One night they were so cold they climbed into the hayrack of a barn to sleep above the animals, but even there felt frozen. Henry could see that Richard, thin as a squirrel at the end of winter, shivered inside his blanket and cloak.
‘Come here,’ he ordered. He lifted the furs and riding cloaks he and Strongbow shared, making room for the youth to creep between them. The heat of the their bodies soothed the youth like honeyed milk. He nestled his face against the King. ‘Go to sleep,’ Henry growled. Abruptly he felt still and knew Rachel was present. Around his heart he felt love flow and without intending to, he stroked Richard’s soft, silver-brown hair. The slight, thin body began to shake and a small hand reached up to his chest. The King felt the boy’s tears run from his eyes in such a torrent they wet both of them. ‘Shhh,’ he said.
Richard burrowed his wet face against Henry.
When the men woke next morning the youth had vanished. Outside the barn a breakfast fire was alight and on it the scribe was roasting three fat geese.
‘He’s lived off the land,’ Strongbow muttered. ‘Unusual for a scribe.’
‘He’s not what he seems.’
‘One thing’s certain, he has your Chancellor around his little toe.’ They both grinned.
‘You’ve done well, young man,’ the Earl said. He eyed the roasted birds and the small flour cakes Richard had cooked in the ashes. He had found clean water for the cakes, for drinking and washing their hands.
‘Led an interesting life, haven’t you?’ Henry remarked. ‘Tell the Earl.’
‘During the civil war, my Lord, I lived two years in the forest where I learned to hunt to stay alive.’
Henry nodded as if this were common knowledge. In reality, it was news to him.
Their last day in the north was unutterably miserable. They had traversed the Black Mountains and the Brecon Beacons and were halfway to Snowdonia, where the war was mostly likely to be fought. Their provisions were running too low to continue the reconnoitre. At night there was not a single light to be seen on earth – no house, no hovel, no church. Above them stars in awesome profusion prickled the sky and brought a sense of ineffable longing. The King continued to allow Richard to snuggle against him when they lay down to sleep wherever they could find a dry spot. I’m like a bitch hound that adopts a kitten, Henry thought.
By mid-morning cold rain was falling and underfoot they had to fight against slippery mud with one packhorse almost tumbling into a creek. The horse strained a hind leg and had to be rested. Henry was gratified that Richard, who so far had shown no affection for any living thing except him, dismounted and comforted the packhorse, feeding it an apple he conjured from somewhere.
‘Come here,’ Henry said. He kissed the youth’s forehead. ‘I like to see kindness to animals.’
Richard stared. The remark was a revelation, a way of looking at the world he had never before imagined.
‘You humble me, Sire,’ he whispered.
‘You did very well in collecting the herbs for that little girl bitten by the viper,’ the King added. Tears glistened at the outer edges of the boy’s eyes. Henry thought, I’ve won him and I’m winning Strongbow. He turned to the Earl. ‘It was our Richard who knew which herbs to use for a poultice to draw venom from Clifford’s daughter.’
The boy blushed. The Earl recognised the monarch’s intention to heap praise on him. ‘You put us men to shame, lad, in catching fish and small game,’ he said. ‘Highness, I believe you should promote him. He’s too talented to remain a scribe.’
Henry eyed his vassal. ‘What would you like to be when you’re twenty-five?’ he asked. ‘Rising high in the Church? In the military? A scholar?’
He replied quietly, ‘I’d like to become a knight but work as a courtier, Sire. I’d like to have the knowledge and wisdom to offer advice to the Crown. And …’
‘And?’
‘I’d like to marry. And have children.’
‘I’ll send you to the guild at Oxford to study Roman law.’ To Henry’s surprise Richard began to snivel.
‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘You desire a different study?’
‘Nobody’s ever been so kind to me,’ he whispered.
Strongbow stepped in. ‘Lad, you’ve had a hard life. But in His Highness you’ve found a true protector.’ His genial tone allowed them all to relax into smiles. The grin the King gave was mirrored inside his chest. I’ve won the hearts of both, he thought. Not bad. A young murderer with a wit as sharp as my dagger and a warrior who, given half a chance, would have raised a rebellion against me a month ago. Not bad at all.
On the journey south, much faster than their reconnoitre of the north-west, Henry and Strongbow discussed ‘the problem of Wales’ as the King now referred to it. He had invited the Earl to call him by his first name.
‘Prince Owain must be checked,’ he said. ‘If not he’ll take all of Cheshire. From there he can raid Shrewsbury, even Worcestershire. The brigand controls the worst terrain for a war I’ve ever encountered – and we didn’t even see Snowdonia properly. Or his stronghold of Anglesey.’
Strongbow agreed about the terrain. ‘You could subdue the weaker princes first.’
‘I could. But I’d prefer to strike down the strongest as a lesson to weaker men.’
Richard, who had been sitting against a tree near a stream where they had stopped to drink and eat some dried venison, said, ‘There’s hatred between the prince and his brother, Cadwaller. But Sire, you may find even greater comfort with Madog, the prince of Powys.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘There were servants at Clifford who spoke about the situation in Wales and how the princes hate each other.’
That night Strongbow and Henry strolled together through a wood, picking any edible berries they found. ‘He has an unusual grasp of politics,’ Strongbow remarked.
‘In the scriptorium he’s privy to all but the most secret correspondence of the realm. I take your point, however.’
The Earl stopped in his tracks. ‘Henry, I find this difficult to admit; I’ve never feared an armed man trying to kill me because I know I’ll kill him first. But there’s something about that youth that makes me apprehensive. I’ve noticed he dotes on you. I see him trying to hold your hand or stroke your arm at any opportunity.’
Henry nodded. ‘He’s a catamite, although it now seems he wishes he were not or that he’s outgrown that phase. What I didn’t tell you earlier is that he’s a skilful murderer. He’s murdered many times.’
Strongbow ruminated a while. ‘In one so young …’ he hesitated, knowing Henry had affection for the boy. ‘… such habits become ingrained.’
Henry nodded. ‘But he seems to have changed during this trip. However, as you and I know, evil in the bud is easily crushed; as it ages it becomes stronger. Perhaps Richard has passed that point already.’ He felt suddenly disheartened. They had endured cold, hunger and extreme discomfort only to discover that a war against the Welsh, although necessary, would be more than usually uncertain.
‘When do you plan to attack?’
‘Next summer if I can convince my barons. I’ll be frank with them. Taking Owain won’t be like hunting partridge.’
‘I’ll muster four hundred swords.’
The King turned and embraced him. ‘I knew when you looked me in the eye at Clifford’s place I could rely on you.’ But he sighed after he spoke.
That night they again warmed Richard between their bodies, who whispered to Henry in Welsh, ‘I love you. You’re my daddy. Please forgive me for being so wicked.’
‘Stop mumbling,’ the King growled.
As Striguil came into view, with the royal standard flying in a cold west wind, the three broke into a gallop and the packhorses roused themselves to a sluggish canter. Striguil was an enormous Norman castle perched on a white limestone cliff, the guardian against invasion of southern England across the Severn River. Lookouts saw them and by the time the dishevelled travellers arrived, food and hot water were ready. The Chancellor rushed forward with open arms to welcome his monarch. ‘My dear …!’
He took a step backwards.
Up close, all three stank. They were thick-bearded, wild haired and thinner than when they’d left, but so hungry for a good meal they only splashed water on their hands and faces before eating.
Eveline served the King with her own hands. She was as lovely as a rose, golden curls escaping her headdress, slipping down the sides of her slender neck. She wore a dark green gown that made her eyes even more fascinating. But you’re not worth risking the love of your brother and four hundred swords, Henry thought. ‘Please excuse my stench,’ he said.
At the end of dinner the Chancellor was horrified when the King said to the Earl and Richard, ‘Now we’ll bathe.’
‘Sire, I’m too shy,’ the youth whispered.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Henry answered sharply. ‘We’ve eaten, slept and shat together for almost a month. ‘It’ll save the bath servants some work.’
Thomas felt sick. The man I love more than I’ve ever loved before feels nothing for me – and he’s been sleeping with my chou-chou.
When Richard emerged from the bathing chamber, fragrant from Lady de Clare’s soap, his hair still damp, his cheeks pink, the Chancellor was waiting. He grabbed the scribe’s elbow and marched him towards his own quarters in the castle.
‘What did His Highness mean when he said he slept with you?’ he demanded.
‘Nothing, sir. It was very cold. We slept together for warmth. The Earl, too.’
‘You slept between the King and the Earl of Pembroke!’
After the days of quiet in the wilderness Richard found the Chancellor’s voice was piercingly ugly. ‘I’d have frozen to death.’
‘I see.’ Becket’s look grew menacing, but suddenly he gave a sob. ‘You don’t love me, Richard. You don’t, do you?’
I’ve always despised you. ‘Oh, sir, I missed you dreadfully.’
‘I missed you,’ Thomas replied. He sniffed. ‘Tonight?’
‘I may not be allowed. His Highness …’
The Chancellor inclined his head graciously. In his softest voice he said, ‘Pity. I could tell you the secrets of what happened since you left.’
Richard’s glance darted around the corridor where they spoke. ‘If you tell me now, I may be able to slip away.’
‘Come to my apartment.’
As soon as the door shut Becket opened his robe for the youth to milk him.
Richard whispered, ‘I’m listening.’
The Chancellor relaxed. ‘Well, the Earl’s sister is more than ordinarily curious about the King – and the de Clare family, with Striguil restored to them, now controls too much land and too many villages.’ In a tone of satisfaction he added, ‘I plan to relieve them of some. If you can return tonight I’ll show you the figures.’
Imbecile, Richard thought. Have you no idea of the bond between His Highness and Strongbow after our shared privations?
Thomas gave him an affectionate shove. ‘I think you were born with a cock in your mouth.’
Richard simpered, bowed and made his escape. He could not decide on when he should warn the King about the Chancellor’s plans to plunder the de Clares. Inevitably Strongbow would suspect Henry had authorised it.
That night the barking of the mastiffs dragged the King from sleep.
Eveline de Clare, a candle flame quaking in her hand, was backed against a wall of his chamber. To evade the knights posted outside the royal suite she had entered through the servants’ door. Henry jumped off the bed with a shout to restrain the dogs. He grasped her free hand and led her across the room, suddenly aware his nightshirt barely covered him. He was so stunned he was not sure what to say.
The girl’s voice trembled. ‘Forgive me. I want you to love me, Sire.’
‘Give me that candle.’ He placed it on a table beside the bed. ‘Unfortunately, Eveline, it’s impossible for me to love you.’
‘Am I so hateful?’
‘On the contrary. But …’
‘But I’m vain and arrogant and too objectionable for any man to want?’
‘My heart beats like a blacksmith’s hammer. Are you a virgin?’
She nodded.
‘You’re unbelievably beautiful. But I cannot …’ He buried his face in the angle between her neck and her shoulder.
‘Please do it to me,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be a virgin. If I’m married and my husband turns out to be a pig, I want to be able to say to myself, “You think you own me. But the man who enjoyed me first was the King.”’
He took her hand and led her to the bed, lay down and turned his back. ‘Lie behind me,’ he murmured. ‘Lift your gown.’ He twined her long legs between his.
‘Have you seen a man’s penis when it’s extended for love?’
‘No.’
‘You can lean over and hold mine.’ She gasped as he curled her fingers around it. ‘Don’t move your hand. Don’t move it,’ he ordered.
‘What happens if I do, Sire?’
He was concentrating so intensely he couldn’t answer.
After a few minutes she made a small, perturbed sound. ‘It’s changed,’ she said. ‘It’s gone … floppy.’
Henry expelled the breath he’d been holding. He rolled on his back, pulled her on top of him and gave her a chaste kiss. With his foot flat on the mattress he crooked one leg. ‘Would you like to rub yourself on my thigh?’ he asked. ‘Open your legs wide and push your quinny down.’ He spat on his palm and slid it beneath her, thinking her delicate membranes could be scratched by the hair on his thighs. She rode only moments before she gave a cry of wild surprise.
Slowly he rolled her off onto her back to lie beside him. When he glanced at his palm the light from her candle showed him the milky white fluid of female orgasm. He’d encountered it only twice before, in his youth, adventuring with his father. ‘Am I still a virgin?’ she asked timidly.
‘You are. You’re a special virgin …’ He held up his open palm. ‘See this? Few women show their joy this way.’ She glanced at his palm but her attention moved to his new erection. ‘Please ignore that thing,’ Henry said. ‘He’s my most disobedient subject. I should fling him into an oubliette. Am I the first man with whom you’ve had pleasure?’
‘Yes, Sire. But I wanted you to break me inside and make me bleed.’
He groaned. ‘I’d love to open your rose.’ He fell into silence. Beside him Eveline was holding her breath in anticipation. After a while he added, ‘Kings have more responsibilities than ordinary men. I can’t do it. Some other man must have the honour of your virginity.’
She began breathing fast, on the verge of a storm of tears. ‘I’ve disgraced my family by coming to you!’
‘You’ve delighted me, Eveline! For almost a year I’ve thought of you. I’ve pictured your beautiful face and your lovely, young body …’ His declaration made her burst into sobs. ‘Stop it!’ he ordered. ‘You’ll make us unhappy when we should be happy. I’ve ridden hundreds of miles just to see you.’
She stopped crying. ‘I’m madly in love with you, Sire. I have been since we first met. You said you’d like to confiscate me.’
At the servants’ door he took her in his arms and kissed her properly. ‘Farewell, angel,’ he murmured.
When he woke next morning he wondered if he’d dreamed the whole event. His penis had woken him during the night, rearing and jumping like a horse with a burr under its saddle. Now it throbbed. A dull ache pulsed in his testicles. He covered himself and rang for a page. The boy entered timorously, his eye on the mastiffs. The King asked that Richard come to the chamber. ‘Can you find me a milking maid?’
At breakfast the King embraced first the Chancellor then the knight who had impersonated him on the ride to Striguil. Strongbow was absent, as was Eveline. She hurried in, flushed, and served Henry’s food. Her look of adoration told him the night had not been an illusion. Suddenly her brother strode into the chamber. ‘I beg your pardon, Highness. Please forgive me for being late. I had some matters to attend.’ His gaze fixed on Eveline who, seated at the far end of the table, away from the men, blushed crimson. Strongbow turned to the King. ‘Would you excuse me and my sister for a moment?’
‘Certainly.’ God’s teeth! Henry thought. He’s discovered she was in my bed. The Earl pushed her roughly as they exited. Everyone in the breakfast chamber could hear their raised voices outside followed by Eveline’s scream.
Henry stood and the thirty men at the table leapt to their feet.
Eveline cringed against a doorway through which she had tried to escape her brother. She was holding her hand against a blood-red cheek.
Strongbow strode back and forth, attempting to calm his temper. ‘I apologise, Henry, that my sister whored herself to you last night. A house churl told me. I checked it with your guards. They heard the dogs aroused and were about to rush to your protection. But then they heard a woman’s voice …’
Henry took his friend in his arms. ‘Strongbow, my dear, there’s been a misunderstanding between you and your lovely virginal sister. This exquisite flower did come to my sleeping chamber last night to ask my help in finding her a husband. She was overwrought. She was crying. She screamed. She fears being married off to a brute. I promised I’d speak to you about it this morning. As you are a brother to me, Eveline is a sister. I’m honoured she sought my help.’
The Earl looked from the King to the weeping girl.
Henry thought, He’ll know from the servants I had a milking maid this morning. That makes what I’ve said more plausible. Strongbow walked to his sister and drew her away from the door. ‘I’m sorry, Evie. I apologise for striking you. I ask your forgiveness.’
Eveline gave a small, sad smile that Henry returned. ‘Find her a good husband. I’ll add to her dowry.’
The three returned to the breakfast chamber where the Chancellor looked from one to the other, avid with curiosity. ‘Find out what happened,’ he whispered to Richard.
Henry snatched a moment to say to Eveline, ‘When you’re married we can be lovers.’ He still remembered the dream he’d had weeks earlier when Rachel had told him, ‘Soon you’ll meet she whom you’ll love your whole life.’ Surely, not Eveline de Clare, he thought. She’s lovely. But she needs to be married and I’ll not spend my life assuaging some jealous husband, or meeting her in secret as poor Papa had to do with Eleanor. I must have misunderstood what Rachel said.
A path from the castle led down to the river where the royal ship was at anchor. It was too steep to ride, although the horses could manage the path if led slowly. The mastiffs went bounding ahead, barking with excitement. Thomas was annoyed because he said he’d twisted his ankle; actually, he was in a rage because now he knew Richard was infatuated with the King. The boy had refused to return to his apartment the night before, making an excuse about needing to write up a report of the journey in Wales. He decided to keep an eye on the pair of them as they sailed for Exmouth. Henry announced that en route they would visit Tintagel, a castle that was said to have been built in one night by faeries. They would put ashore at Land’s End and a half dozen other spots along the coast. Men who had yet to travel to Westminster to pay homage would have the opportunity to do so. He had arrangements in place for those who declined. The people of the south had always been for the Matilda cause, and many remembered Henry at the age of sixteen, when he had fought his way from Scotland through King Stephen’s lines, to the coast.
By now it was winter and despite bitter winds at every stop crowds flocked to the seashore to welcome him. Henry took Thomas ashore for these celebrations. He’d observed how dyspeptic his Chancellor seemed since Striguil and decided to turn his mood. ‘My Chancellor and member of my inner circle,’ he announced at each reception. He held up Thomas’s gold-laden hand. The Chancellor reclined his head in regal acknowledgement of the attention crowds gave him. He wore colours Henry considered vulgar: a bright pink robe beneath a dark green cloak; a yellow robe with a cloak of pine martin fur. All to attract attention to himself. On ordinary days the King wore plain brown hide.
One morning, while Thomas was arranging the royal chapel for the prayers of terce, Henry took Richard aside. ‘You may begin your service as a courtier,’ he said. ‘Be more agreeable to the Chancellor. Applaud his elegant gestures. Admire his gowns. Tell him I’ve remarked on how splendid my subjects find him, how impressed they are when they see him. Assure him of my admiration for him. For his elegance, his talents, his graceful walk …’
After some days on board ship Henry invited Thomas for a private discussion in his cabin. The wind had strengthened and a gale threatened. The ship lurched and already some men were seasick. Becket was as immune as the King to a storm at sea, steadying himself on a handrail as he entered the cabin. Henry patted the mattress of his narrow bed for him to sit. Thomas believed he had managed to disguise his feelings since they left Striguil, but as he sat down they lurched against each other and his heart raced.
‘He-He-Henry, I’m so happy you’ve asked me …’
The King cocked an eyebrow.
‘… because I have to confess to you …’ Henry’s shoulder knocked against his again. The sea itself conspires to bring us together. The monarch felt what was coming and raised a hand to silence him, but the Chancellor rushed on. ‘You enslave me!
Your love is matchless. I cannot …’
Henry thought, He’s mad. But too valuable to become an enemy. ‘Tom,’ he said gravely, ‘I know you’re very fond of Richard …’
‘I’m not! I’m sick to death of him. You know who I love.’
‘And I love you, Tom.’
Thomas’s eyes shone with expectation. ‘So you’ve not forgotten Hereford?’ he murmured.
‘I’ll regret what happened in Hereford all my life.’
‘How can you be so cruel!’
‘Cruel? A knight cut down in the flower of youth?’ His temper was rising.
Becket thought, He’s determined to deny what he did. ‘Henry, you’ve ordered me to speak truthfully, and I will. I know you from your soul to your skin. You gave away your secret years ago, in the scriptorium, when you told me about the game you played as a boy.’
He’s raving. ‘Tom,’ he crooned, ‘My Tom.’
The Chancellor closed his eyes.
Henry waited in silence. When Thomas appeared to have collected himself the King continued in the same soothing tone. ‘Tom, I’m happy to hear you no longer love Richard, because I want him to leave the scriptorium.’
‘You’re banishing him from court?’
‘I’m appointing him as my personal Remembrancer. It’s a new role I’ve decided to create for England.’
‘You slash my heart.’
‘God’s eyes, Tom! I want his brains, not his body.’
The Chancellor’s voice was small. ‘Is that true?’
‘I thought you might have observed I favour women.’
‘So …’
‘So in England, Richard is to work for me exclusively. Except in battle. Where I go, he goes. What I hear, he hears. He’s my second set of ears and eyes. He’s my shadow.’
‘The maggot! He’s wormed his way into your confidence! Just as he wormed his way into mine. He’s a fiend. I tell you, Henry, that boy has more evil in him …’
‘I know his background is execrable. But he has a genius. I intend to use it for the good governance of the realm.’
Unshed tears made Becket’s nose run.
Henry grinned. ‘Of course, if you still find some charm in him – and he’s willing – you’re welcome to keep him as your chou-chou.’
‘I’d prefer to fuck a sow.’
The King’s face stiffened. ‘You overstep the bounds of civility, Chancellor. You may leave.’
Thomas trembled slightly as he asked, ‘May I kiss your hand?’
Henry turned away to look out a porthole as he extended his arm.
Outside the cabin the Chancellor adopted a broad smile. ‘Where’s Richard-the-scribe?’ he asked in a cheerful tone. A sailor pointed to the bow.
Next morning Richard had a black eye. The Chancellor’s nose was broken, he had a split lip, a black eye and a chipped front tooth.
‘Thomas lost his sea legs in the storm,’ Henry remarked to his men. Everyone laughed. Some had heard Becket shouting at the scribe and his scream of shock as the youth hit him with something. This was followed by bellowing for towels to staunch the blood from his wound.
Waves buffeted the ship so roughly that after mass the normal Kiss of Peace was impossible to exchange. Noses banged against cheek bones, lips landed on ears.
At the conclusion of prayers the King loitered in the makeshift chapel in the bow of the ship.
Now’s my chance to get his forgiveness for my rudeness yesterday, Thomas thought. I’ll ask him to exchange the Kiss of Peace. Clearly he’s waiting until the others have left for something he wants to discuss. It must be Hereford.
‘Taken to fist-fighting, Tom? One of the oarsmen, was it?’ Henry asked.
He’s forgiven me, he’s making light of yesterday. ‘I tried to kill a dormouse. Beastly thing stood on its hind legs and whacked me with a chair.’
Henry chortled. ‘Mice! Vicious, treacherous beasts. Terrified of ’em m’self. In Westminster, one attacked me with an axe.’ He continued to chuckle. ‘Yelled at me I’d insulted its mother.’ They laughed until tears ran down their cheeks.
Becket inhaled deeply. ‘Henry, we’ve not yet exchanged the Kiss of Peace.’
‘We’ll do so now. Come here, mouse slayer.’ He wrapped his arms around the Chancellor, who steadied his back against the hull. He admits it! Out of sight of everyone, he admits we’re lovers.
Their bodies supported each other against the swaying of the ship. The Kiss was normally an instant’s formal touch, a brush of skin on skin. Thomas licked his lips. He pressed them against the King’s and as the ship bucked pushed his tongue inside Henry’s mouth.
Imbecile! Henry thought. But I won’t show I’m disgusted.
Thomas thought, I’ve won! And once I have you in my bed it’s you who’ll be enslaved.
By now the King was weary of the company of so many men for so many months and looked forward to the wit and charm of the ladies of the court, especially and foremost, his wife. Eleanor had written to say she had arranged the Christmas Court to be held in Bordeaux, where the weather would be milder than England, ‘and the wine far superior’.
After a calm night’s sailing, the following morning Henry once more performed the royal duty of leading his men into prayers. As he knelt, still wondering what amusements the Queen would have for him, he felt a coolness, like a breeze on his face, although the candle flames stood straight and the damask on the altar did not tremble. The Guardian said,
‘Keep your Remembrancer out of sight of the Queen as much as possible. Dismiss as courtiers’ malice anything she asks you about him. The reason for this will be revealed in years to come.’
Eleanor arranged a small but sumptuous Christmas Court, with the choicest wines from her territories. There were a half dozen boar and scores of cranes so cunningly presented they appeared to be still alive. With a deft whisk from the chefs, their feathers fell away leaving the succulent cooked meat exposed. The Duchess, as she was here, had engaged jugglers and dancers to entertain the guests, including women from Andaluse who shook tambourines and flashed their legs. Some of the prelates excused themselves. After each banquet the Duchess herselfled the hall in songs of the south, many of them written by her grandfather.
‘Don’t tire yourself,’ Henry urged her. ‘We need energy for making a child.’
While they lay together he returned to his scheme for taking the House of Capet without bloodshed. ‘Our young Henry. Their Margaret. On Louis’ death, our Henry will be King of France.’
Eleanor had been thinking over the plan herself and considered her husband too optimistic. ‘Louis’ passing could be decades away – and by then he could have a son himself.’
Henry knew she wanted him to go to war against Louis, defeat him and seize his throne. Only then would she feel fully revenged. Having no sense of the uncertainty of battle, she favoured war to a diplomatic alliance. After a silence she asked, ‘Henry, why don’t you win Toulouse for me?’
He stroked her forehead. ‘One struggle at a time, Cousin. I’ve decided to take back from that brat in Scotland the counties his grandfather, King David, won from Stephen.’ The Scottish monarch, now fourteen years old, delighted in war as much as his grandfather. Years earlier Henry had vowed to David that, were he to become King of England, he would allow his heirs to keep the northern counties of Cumberland, Westmorland and Northumberland. All were territories the Scots had seized from England’s feeble monarch. The foremost warriors in the battle for them had been Douglas and his regiment and the young Anjevin brothers, Henry and Guillaume.
Henry turned to his wife with a half grin. ‘David would be ashamed of his grandson. The lout’s treatment of Douglas has changed my mind about the vow I made that under my reign his heirs would keep those territories.’
‘Where is Douglas?’ Eleanor asked suddenly.
Henry shrugged. His voice became listless. ‘Who knows? Living in a cave somewhere …’ Douglas was in Edinburgh where Henry had dispatched him to convince the Highland regiment that the King of England was prepared to take Scotland up to Dundee if their boy monarch defied him. ‘Not only do I have to teach that Scottish brat a lesson, this coming year I must subdue Wales.’
Eleanor recognised the determination in her husband’s tone. Louis had been candle wax. But once this husband’s mind was set, she had no chance of remoulding it. She glanced out the window. She could see the yellow glow of a full moon rising from behind a stand of cypress pines. An angel rides on its beams, she thought. It brings a son. ‘Let’s turn our minds to joy, sweet Cousin. I’m eager for another child conceived here in the south.’
She nudged Henry onto his back. ‘Let me ride,’ she said. After a while she realised he was not present. ‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded.
‘Nothing.’
‘Why are you so—’
‘I was thinking about the war in Wales.’
She panted with displeasure. ‘Thank you, husband, for donating your seed. I hope it can sprout inside me.’
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘When I begin to think of a battle…’
Without warning Eleanor bent and bit his neck so hard the salty, metallic tang of blood covered her tongue. Henry reared away. ‘I told you never to bite me!’ he shouted. ‘Never!’
‘Your father enjoyed it,’ she sneered, gathered her bedrobe from the floor, walked out and slammed the door.
Within a few weeks she knew she was pregnant.