For the King's Favor by Elizabeth Chadwick

Author:Elizabeth Chadwick [Chadwick, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-four

WOODSTOCK, AUTUMN 1187

Seven-year-old William FitzRoy fixed his nurse with a solemn stare. Her name was Jueta and she had long, dark curly hair. She concealed it under a wimple in the public rooms, but in private she wore it in a simple, unadorned braid, which he liked. She had brought him bread and honey and a cup of milk.

“Why do I have no mother?” he asked.

Jueta laughed and tousled his hair. “Ah, my young princeling,” she said. “Of course you have a mother! Indeed, you are greatly privileged because you have many.” She gestured at the other women in the domestic chamber. “We’re all here to look after you and we all love you; after all, you are a king’s son.”

William frowned. He knew he was the son of the King and that his brothers were royal. But they were much older than he was and their mother was Queen Eleanor who didn’t live at court. He had another brother, also much older, who was trained for the priesthood and was their father’s chancellor. He didn’t appear to have a mother either, but since he was a grown man, it didn’t seem quite so strange. He had heard tales from the older boys in the household about how babies came about. He hadn’t been sure about believing them at first, but had come to think they were right. He had seen horses and dogs mating, but had never particularly associated such things with people until prompted by the boys’ sniggering discussion.

“Did you…” He frowned and used the same term as the boys, even though he knew it was not a polite one. “Did my father futter you?”

Jueta flushed scarlet to the roots of her hair. “Oh dear me, no!” she gasped. “Who put such a thought and such words in your head?” Her voice grew brisk. “Come, eat your bread, drink your milk.”

“Then where did I come from?”

She wrapped her hand around her braid in the way she did when she was agitated. “You’re the son of the King, that’s all you need to know. I told you, we are all your mothers.”

His frown deepened, but he knew he wasn’t going to get much further. Perhaps he could ask his father, but he wasn’t sure he had the courage. His brother John might tell him, but John often told lies for the fun of upsetting people and couldn’t be trusted. Although he did as Jueta bade him and attended to his food, he stowed the question at the back of his mind, as if he were putting something he needed on a shelf—out of the way for now, but waiting to be picked up again. He had vague memories of another dark-haired woman who smelled of jasmine; of being sung to and cuddled; but whenever he tried to grasp that memory, it evaporated. Was she his mother? But in that case where was she now? Having all these “other mothers” was well and good, but it didn’t compensate for not having the one.

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