The frown returned to his brow, but it was thought, not rage. Why should he be content with three tenths? Just to satisfy Fulk or Henry? Piss on them! He could now have the whole if only he could think of a way to arrange de Vipont’s demise so that it looked like treason. Suddenly John’s eyes lit, and he smiled. What could be better? What could be more natural? Of course. He would cross from La Rochelle to Portsmouth and then go to Roselynde, hard by. He would do Lady Alinor and Lord Ian the great honor of being their guest as a gesture of forgiveness—and they would treacherously attack him, so that it would be needful to take Roselynde.
De Vipont, of course, would die in the struggle, perhaps in the very act of attempted regicide. Alinor would be taken prisoner and held at his pleasure. John licked his lips again, but his mouth was so wet that little bubbles of spittle hung at the corners of his lips. There was a daughter, too. Very convenient. The son would have to die, but the daughter could be put to better use. John looked down at the parchments on the table and smiled at them almost fondly. All in all, that stinking sow had done him a favor by this marriage. It would give him a good excuse to rid himself of de Vipont, who had been taking entirely too much of his brother Salisbury’s attention, and would drop two handsome estates into his hands. De Vipont’s property was mostly in the north, too, which would give John a foothold among some very loudmouthed and rebellious barons.
The good humor that these plans generated in the king was markedly increased by the discomfiture of his “dear friends”, Fulk and Henry. He not only enjoyed their rage when they saw the rich prizes they had counted their own disappear, but had the additional pleasure of laying the groundwork by which they themselves would permanently remove those promised prizes from their own grasp.
Both Fulk and Henry hated Ian for what he was. They hated him worse because, unlike many others who had treated them with contempt and disdain from the first, Ian had been reasonably friendly. He had been quite willing to overlook their unknown and possibly ignoble ancestry. After all, Simon had risen from nothing and was a fine man, whereas his own wellborn father had been nothing to boast about. Why should not these men also be worthy of friendship, whatever their birth? There was a gradual development of disgust toward them that Ian took no pains to hide, and this was more exacerbating to Fulk and Henry than the mingled fear and loathing with which John’s other noble vassals had always regarded them.
It was not difficult for John to play on those feelings. Although vanity, spite, and greed often blinded the king and distorted his judgment so that he did foolish things, he was by no means a stupid man. When he had done with his henchmen, they were ripe for anything—but John strictly forbade assassination. Whatever befell Ian, he warned his men, it must have the appearance of a legal death or an honorable challenge based on reasonable cause. If it did not, he threatened, it would be necessary for him, no matter how great his regret, to sacrifice those who were guilty of harming de Vipont in order to keep peace with his barons. Ian was known as a faithful vassal, and he had played a prominent part in the victories achieved in France. The king would not be able to ignore his murder or allow his murderer to escape.
Unfortunately the king’s sunny temper did not long outlast his arrival at Portsmouth on the 12th of December. The first blow fell when the messenger he sent to announce his visit to Roselynde returned to say he would not be welcomed there.
“What?” John shrieked, utterly delighted. “Do Lord Ian and his lady defy me? Do they cast my favor, my wish to do them honor, back in my teeth? By Christ’s toenails—”
“No, my lord, no!” the messenger cried, blanching and backing away slightly. “They are not there. No one save a few men-at-arms and the serfs are there. The keep is bare of provision, the garderobes are full and stinking. No insult was intended.”
That was the last thing that John wanted to hear; however, his rage was held in check for an instant by the notion that he might take Roselynde Keep without loss or trouble. The happy thought did not hold him long. The noblemen with him would never countenance such an act perpetrated against a loyal vassal; it would cause more trouble than murdering de Vipont outright. Fortunately for the messenger, his next remark suggested an equally satisfactory notion.
“They are gone to Iford, my lord, on progress.”
“Iford?” John purred, suddenly alert. It had been Sir Giles of Iford who pretended to concur with his wishes and then had betrayed him, who had helped Simon trick the garrison of Kingsclere into admitting them. Once in the keep they had wrested Alinor, who was John’s prisoner in her own stronghold, from his hands. John had not forgotten Sir Giles. Well, the move to Iford did no violence to his plans. If anything, it was helpful. Sir Giles could die at the same time as de Vipont. In addition, it would be safer to do the work at Iford. The king realized he could rid himself of most of the noblemen who were inconveniently hanging to his tail. Many would crave leave to go home of their own desire; the remainder he could send on to Winchester with Isabella. The less traveling Isabella did in her breeding condition the better. That would leave him free, with none but the mercenaries accompanying him or those witnesses whom he knew to be safe, to pay his “visit” to Iford.
The renewed sense of satisfaction lasted four days. John was impatient to taste his joys, but he restrained himself. He could not hurry Isabella’s pace in traveling for fear she would miscarry, which, after her long barrenness, would be a tragedy. Nor could he appear to fret lest he hint at some purpose and wake suspicions in his courtiers. With so happy a goal to dwell upon, John found the day they spent resting at Portsmouth and the second day they spent resting at Netly Abbey more bearable than he expected. Had he known what had occurred minutes after his messenger left Roselynde, he would have been far less content.
Cedric had made his way up to the great hall and into the smallest and least-convenient wall chamber. He knew that the young man who lodged there was in some sense a prisoner and not to be mentioned to anyone who came to the keep. Sir Guy, of course, had no authority, but the lady had sent him on a mission, which he had performed to her satisfaction, and the new lord had spoken to him kindly. Cedric had an idea that he must do something about the arrival of the king’s messenger; he knew it was important, but no instructions had been left for him about what to do. It was his instinct to seek orders from the gentlefolk. Since no one else was there, he would ask Sir Guy. The response he received was so much what he had thought was right himself but had been afraid to do without authority that he had no further doubts. A messenger was dispatched posthaste to Iford to inform Lord Ian and Lady Alinor that the king was close by Roselynde and had sought lodging there.
As it was, John’s sky was unclouded until, on the road from Netly Abbey toward Winchester, he saw an entourage bearing his brother’s colors. Salisbury! The man of all men whose company he did not desire at this moment. It was not that John feared William would ever betray him or play him false, but William had developed a most irritating affection for Ian de Vipont, and William, from long years of experience, was a most astute smoother of troubled waters. It would be virtually impossible either to goad de Vipont into a genuine insult or attack or even to manufacture a pretended situation in William’s presence.
“I thought,” John said caustically, as soon as Salisbury had kissed his hand in greeting, “that Ela was at death’s door. What do you here?”
Salisbury laughed and looked a little surprised. “You know she recovered in her usual way as soon as I came home. She has been very well since then. She even came with me to de Vipont’s wedding.”
“You attended the wedding?” John asked as the cortege got underway again.
“Certainly. It was a very grand affair. Pembroke was there, and Oxford and Leicester and Lord Llewelyn rode all the way in from Wales. Your daughter seems very happy in her marriage, John. That was a well-made match. He is a born maker of mischief, but she curbs him very well with a word and a sweet smile.”
John was not to be diverted, howeve
r. “How dared you attend that wedding! You should rather have stopped it. You knew I intended her for Fulk or Henry.”
Now Salisbury stared at his brother purposefully. “I heard you make some jest about them, but I never dreamed you were in earnest. We were all drunk, and the last thing you said was that it would be best if the lady made her own choice and paid a fine. I did not believe you could have meant it. She is a gentle, wellborn dame. Fulk and Henry are… I know you need such men, brother, because of the state of the realm, but Fulk or Henry and the Lady Alinor… It is unthinkable! Even her daughter would not be safe from them.”
“What is that your affair! You did not think me serious, even after you heard what was in my letter?” John snarled. “Or did the gentle, wellborn bitch conceal the fact that she was defying my order?”
“I know you did not like Sir Simon,” Salisbury soothed, “but do not let that spill over onto his wife. She did not defy your order. Your letter did not come until the day after they were wedded and bedded, too. The messenger, all draggled and torn, arrived during the swearing of the vassals. He was kept prisoner, John. I went and questioned him myself. He was near a week hidden in some outlaw’s den.”
“My dislike for Lemagne has nothing to do with it,” John raged. “You are not such a fool as to forget where Roselynde lies. I need a faithful man in that Keep.”
“Ian de Vipont is a faithful vassal. He has answered every summons you have sent promptly and with the full number of men in his tail. He has fought bravely in each action. You need fear no treachery from him. I am so sure of that, I will stand warrant for him if you desire. If you must be angry with someone, be angry at me. I knew de Vipont had an eye for Lemagne’s widow—well, not so much for the widow, in fact, as for the children whom he speaks of constantly as his own.” Salisbury did not really believe that anymore. He had seen Ian’s reaction to Alinor. It seemed a safer idea to present to John, however. “When you said the lady must marry soon and might choose for herself, I wrote to tell Ian to push his suit.”
For a moment John looked as if he would burst. Then he laughed. “Much good your warranty would do me. Do you think I could harm you even if he turned traitor? Do not talk like a fool. But I am angry, William. I acquit you of malice. Nonetheless, you have done me an ill turn. Go home and cosset your wife until my temper cools.”
“Do you mean I am not to come to Winchester for Christmas?” William asked, his voice low and hurt.
“No, of course not. If you wish, you may accompany Isabella there. I am angry, but I am not unjust. In fact, I had talked myself around to accepting this stupid business. If you had not come here with your talk of a grand wedding—and a fine bunch of rebels you have been consorting with—”
“Rebels? I? Oxford? And Leicester is no rebel, no matter how much he sits on his own lands instead of coming himself to support you as he should. He will help no other man, either.”
“And Pembroke? And Llewelyn?”
“Of Llewelyn, who can say? Even de Vipont, who is some kind of clan blood brother, does not know from day to day what the Welshman will do. For now, you may trust to Joan. But as to Pembroke—you know we do not agree. Pembroke is no rebel. He even spoke for you in the matter of the costs of this war.”
“William,” John said, his lovely voice high with exasperation, “shut your mouth! If you cease to talk, perhaps I can bring myself to do what I had intended, which was to put a good face on this matter and pay Lord Ian and his wife a visit of honor. If I have to listen to you argue, I will go straight to Winchester and—”
“But brother, where are you going if not to Winchester?”
“I was going to Iford, where I have heard Lord Ian and his lady are now staying,” John snapped.
Salisbury smiled warmly. “That is truly kind and generous. How glad I am that I rode down to meet you.”
The words sparked a question in the king’s mind that he had been too angry to voice or even to think of before. “Ah, yes, how did you know I was come? I sent you no word of it.”
“I knew from de Vipont,” Salisbury answered easily. “That is why I said I was glad I had come. I have saved you a useless journey. Ian wrote to tell me that you had arrived in Portsmouth on the twelfth and that he had decided to go to Winchester to meet you. I suppose Lady Alinor will come also, although he did not say so, and she has the children to consider. Naturally, they are both distressed at having disobeyed your wishes and desire to make their peace with you. They must be there already. Ian said they would lodge with the bishop there.”
John stared woodenly ahead. Rage boiled in him, but there was no heat in it, only a cold deadliness that needed no vocal or physical outlet. “Who put that idea into his head?” he asked softly. “And how did de Vipont hear of my coming?”
“Word went out from Roselynde. You must have meant to visit them there and sent a messenger. That was good of you, brother. Truly, I was somewhat afraid that you would cherish a spite against them. I came to welcome you, of course, but also to beg you to be generous in your dealing with de Vipont and his lady.”
“Just a few minutes ago you were warranting his loyalty. Are you warning me now that he will turn on me?” John purred.
“Not de Vipont—barring any… er… insult to his lady.” Salisbury’s eyes shifted. He had hated to say that, but Alinor was very beautiful, and he knew his brother. “He is still young.” Salisbury added apologetically, “at least in that way, and very proud and passionate. No, the danger does not come from de Vipont. I am sorry for it, but I must say there was some ill feeling when word of whom you offered as husband to Lady Alinor spread.”
“And how did that come about?” John snapped. “Did my loyal vassal Ian de Vipont cry it aloud to excuse his disobedience?”
“Now, John, you know there was no disobedience. I have explained that already. And, no, he did not say who you had offered to her,” Salisbury soothed. “Well, what could he say? He was married already. He could not say he was sorry for that—not with the lady standing beside him. What happened was that your letter frightened Lady Alinor. She sought reassurance from the bishops that you would not put her marriage aside. When they said it was a Church matter in which you… er… ” Salisbury hesitated. He was too wise to repeat the bishops’ assurances that John could not interfere with the Church. “In which you would not wish to meddle,” he went on, “she was greatly relieved and said she was grateful for it because she did not wish to disobey you but she could not have brought herself to accept Fulk or Henry.”
“Lady Alinor was frightened, was she?” John said neutrally.
Salisbury glanced at him, but the king’s face betrayed nothing. “She did not say it for any purpose,” he assured John. “It was only a woman’s thoughtlessness. In her fear she was heedless of what import her words might have.”
“And what import did they have?”
After a longer look at his brother, Salisbury shrugged. “What did you expect? I will say the truth. I was disgusted myself. There are enough decent men who are bound to you by tie upon tie and would be faithful in the face of any temptation to reward with such a woman and such estates. Why in the name of God did you choose those two? Every man and woman there was outraged, and the vassals of both de Vipont and Lady Alinor clustered around them to swear again what they had just sworn—support to the uttermost. Whatever use Fulk and Henry are to you, John, this is no way to reward them. You will turn every nobleman away from you.”
“What is it their affair?” John snarled.
“They have wives and daughters, too,” Salisbury pointed out. “My own belly churned. Do you think I wish to fear that Ela will end in such hands?”
“Nonsense,” John said, almost laughing at the idea. His surface irritation was considerably abated by the thought of his sister-in-law in the hands of his henchmen, but the cold hate for Ian and Alinor lay coiled inside him like a snake.
“For me, perhaps,” Salisbury replied, having no idea what had changed John’s mood ex
cept that he believed his brother was warmed by realizing he could be a strong protector to Lady Ela. “For others who are not so sure of your love and favor, it is a more real fear.”
“Oh, very well. There will be no more talk of it. I have told you already that I plan to make the best of the marriage. I will take no more than a tithe from Lady Alinor as a fine, and I will show de Vipont my favor.”
“And I may come with you to Winchester?” Salisbury asked with a slight hesitancy. He feared the implication that he did not trust John, but that was indeed the case. John had lied to him often on such matters, concealing his rancor and then inflicting his revenge when Salisbury was elsewhere.
“Of course,” John laughed aloud. “If you think you can get so far before Ela’s heart begins to beat too hard or her head pains start again.”
Salisbury laughed also. Perhaps his suspicion that John’s spite was directed against Alinor was incorrect. If so, the worst was over. “I do not fear it,” he said gaily. “She started before me to meet us there. She looks forward to cossetting Isabella in her present condition. I declare, that news made her recovery more swift and sure than my homecoming.”
Lady Ela was indeed in Winchester, settled into a house her husband had purchased soon after John became king. Salisbury owned similar houses in London and Oxford, other favorite royal places of residence. Of course, his rank and relationship to the king, and John’s affection for him, could have commanded a lodging in the castles themselves, but his wife complained so bitterly of the noise and crowding and their effect on her fragile health that private residences seemed necessary. They were also convenient, Salisbury admitted to himself not long after he had been whined and pleaded into the purchases. Ela was always indirect and she never admitted she did anything for his good, but he found himself far better off with a retreat from the court.
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