The Autumn Throne by Elizabeth Chadwick

Author:Elizabeth Chadwick
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780748133932
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2016-09-01T06:00:00+00:00

29

Nonancourt, Normandy, March 1190

‘How is your wife, my lord Earl?’ Alienor asked William Marshal as she fell into step beside him, her tone slightly teasing as she addressed him by the latter title. She had arrived that morning at the great fortress of Nonancourt in north Normandy to attend a gathering where the government of Richard’s lands was to be discussed and settled as he prepared to depart for Outremer.

‘Isabelle is very well, madam, but resting at Longueville.’

‘She must be near her time.’

‘Late April.’ He gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘I have suddenly taken to looking in cradles and paying attention to women with babies in their arms, and thinking that soon it will be a routine part of my household.’

Alienor lightly touched his sleeve. ‘Let me know when the child is born. In the meantime I shall write to Isabelle and offer prayers for her safe delivery. I am very fond of your wife.’

‘Thank you, madam.’ He inclined his head. ‘She speaks often of you and with high regard.’

‘I am pleased to hear it, although she must be cursing me too for the amount of time I take you away from her. I do not need to be a fortune teller to foresee how busy you are going to be in the months to come. You are going to earn that earldom of yours in every part.’

William grinned ruefully. ‘When I was a young man they called me Gasteviande because I had such an enormous appetite. Now I must apply the same to matters other than food and hope I have not bitten off more than I can chew.’

His smile vanished as they were joined by Richard’s chancellor, William Longchamp, Bishop of Ely, who had several rolls of parchment tucked under his arm. A clerk and a scribe followed in his wake bearing more parchments, quills and ink, and two more servants clad in the Bishop’s livery.

‘My lord Bishop,’ William said with the bland courtesy of an accomplished courtier, ‘I am sorry if I was walking too fast. Do you wish to rest for a moment?’

Longchamp suffered from swollen joints in hip and knee, and his body was twisted like a tree gnarled out of shape. He walked awkwardly with the aid of his crosier, and his lips were often bared in a grimace of pain. His eyes, however, were acquisitive and shrewd, and his mind was a razor, especially when it came to fiscal matters. He was one of the inner circle, the man Richard intended to set in a position of high administration to govern England during his absence.

‘Thank you, my lord Marshal,’ he answered curtly. ‘I can manage well enough.’ Without your help or solicitous gestures his attitude said even though he was clearly in discomfort. ‘It is not far.’ He nodded at the open doors before them, leading into a chamber where a table and benches had been prepared for the council members.

Alienor had no love for Longchamp. He was cold and avaricious, and rebuffed all

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