noticed, though, that his sister’s steps were lagging, and gave her a curious glance.
“You are not nervous, Maud?”
“Now why ever would I be nervous?” she said tartly.
“Well, I can understand your unease,” he commiserated, “especially after the dire fate of the Poitevin rebels.”
Maud came to an abrupt halt. “‘Dire fate’? I thought Harry pardoned them!” Realizing then that she was the victim of brotherly humor, she jabbed Roger in the ribs with her elbow. “Very amusing.”
“I thought so,” he said cheerfully. “You are being foolish to worry, Sister. Harry has been remarkably merciful to rebels, forbearing to charge them with treason as he well could have done. Instead, he chose to follow the teachings of Our Saviour and offer forgiveness.”
Not to Eleanor, Maud thought, knowing that the queen was celebrating Christmas alone at Winchester. Her anger toward her former friend had cooled, mitigated by her son’s reprieve and her sense of fair play; she did not think it right that Eleanor alone should be the one to suffer for that ill-advised rebellion. She said nothing, though, knowing that Roger did not share her sympathies, and followed him into the hall.
It was overflowing with highborn guests and princes of the Church, all eager to display their loyalty and enjoy the splendors of the king’s Christmas Court. Henry was upon the dais, but not seated, a hardship on his less energetic subjects since they could not sit unless he did. He turned as Roger ushered Maud toward him, and for an uneasy moment, she could not tell what her reception would be. But then he said, “Welcome, Cousin Maud,” and gathered her into a quick embrace.
Maud had not feared being penalized for her son’s treason, for Roger had been able to convince Henry that she’d played no part in it. She had feared, though, that their friendship might have been irretrievably damaged, and she was greatly relieved to find it was not so. “I wanted to thank you again,” she said warmly, “for the kindness you’ve shown Hugh. He told me that he has been fully restored to favor, and you even plan to entrust him with a mission to Ireland in the spring.”
“Some people might argue that sending a man to Ireland is hardly a mark of royal favor,” Henry said dryly. “You owe me no thanks, Cousin. What’s past is past.”
Maud didn’t agree, but she knew he did not like profuse expressions of gratitude and after a few moments of idle talk, she graciously excused herself so that she could discover where she and her ladies were being lodged. Roger stayed on the dais with Henry, asking who else was expected at Nottingham.
“The Bishop of Norwich is due any day now from Sicily: I’d sent him ahead of Joanna to convey gifts and good will to William. I got word this week that she will be celebrating Christmas in Naples, for the poor lass was so seasick during the voyage that it was decided she needed time ashore to regain her strength.” Henry, who was never seasick, sounded both sympathetic and bemused. “Once she feels up to it, they will resume the journey to Sicily, but they’ll be traveling by land to make it easier for her.”
Henry waved away a servant who was offering wine, but Roger snared a cup. “Willem is here, though not for long. He has taken the cross and plans to accompany the Count of Flanders to the Holy Land come the spring. Hamelin is here, and Johnny, of course, and Geoffrey, too. But Richard is in Bordeaux, and Hal and Marguerite are holding their Christmas Court in Normandy at Argentan. Oh, and Geoff just arrived yesterday,” Henry said, and when Roger asked how Geoff’s studies were progressing in Tours, he grinned. “Well enough, he says. I can only hope he is spending more time in the university library than in the town taverns!”
Roger grinned, too; he’d done his own studies at Tours and he remembered the secular attractions quite vividly. Seeing that they were relatively alone, none within immediate earshot, he said quietly, “How is the Lady Rosamund faring?”
“I have not seen her since October, when I stopped at Godstow on my way from Windsor to meet the Scots king at Feckenham. She looked very frail to me, Roger, although she insists she is well and in good spirits.” Henry paused. “It is not easy to admit, but she seems content there, at peace.”
“I am glad to hear that,” Roger said; he’d spared more than a few prayers in the past nine months for the soul of Rosamund Clifford, a sinner who’d repented before it was too late. “I hear you are holding a council at Northampton next month. Shall I attend?”
“I think you’ll want to, Cousin. Amongst other matters, I plan to restore their lands to your nephew Hugh and his irksome ally, the Earl of Leicester. Saving a few strategic castles, of course.”
“That is good news, indeed! Maud will be delighted. Why did you not tell her that earlier?”
Henry shrugged. “You know how women are. She’d have squealed and kissed me. You are not going to do that, are you?”
“No, although of course I’d want to,” Roger said gravely, paying Henry back in his own coin, which he acknowledged with another grin. Roger was debating whether he ought to make any mention of Hal and his outrageous treatment of a man of God when Henry was informed that a messenger had just ridden in from the nunnery at Godstow.
“Send him in,” Henry ordered, before saying to Roger, “How is that for timing, Cousin?” He recognized the man being escorted toward the dais, one of Prioress Edith’s servants who’d delivered letters from Rosamund in the past. He’d always had an excellent memory for names and faces and it stood him in good stead now, recalling that the courier was called Edwin.
“You need not hurry back to Godstow, Edwin,” he said expansively. “You might as well linger for a few days and enjoy the festivities. I expect that-”
He cut himself off so abruptly that Roger turned in his direction. Henry read faces well and the man approaching was a study in utter misery. Kneeling before Henry, he mutely held out his letter, never meeting the king’s eyes. Henry glanced down at the seal; it was not Rosamund’s, belonged to the prioress. He froze, making no attempt to take the letter.
Roger glanced from one to the other and then reached for it himself. Surprised by the depth of sadness he felt, he looked at his cousin in silent sympathy, waiting until Henry could bring himself to take that letter and get confirmation of what he already knew.
So far his stay at Nottingham had been a great disappointment to John. He’d been looking forward to it eagerly, for his tenth birthday would occur two days after Christmas. Best of all, his father had told him that Nottingham Castle was his.
He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but it seemed to him that the Lord of Nottingham would be the center of attention, or at least the object of more deference than he usually received. That did not happen. His father remained the focal point of all eyes, and any leftover honors were claimed by his brother Geoffrey, newly returned from a successful campaign in Brittany. Once more John was overlooked, forgotten.
Worse was to come. Yesterday his father had gotten bad news. John did not know what it was, for he’d not dared to ask. He’d tried to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations, thinking they might know, but they would fall silent as soon as they caught sight of him. He feared that his father would not be in the mood for celebrating the Christmas revelries, much less his birthday. He’d been promised a surprise, but now he wondered if his father would even remember.
Nottingham had been a huge letdown. What he found most disquieting, though, was his father’s withdrawal. He’d made few public appearances and when he did, he was remote and aloof. John’s world had suffered such dramatic upheavals in the past three years that he often felt as if he were a leaf borne on the wind. He’d not liked the abbey of Fontevrault very much, but at least it was familiar and there he felt safe. John never felt safe anymore. Too much had changed, too fast. His mother and father had gone to war, his brothers all siding with her. After that, she was in disgrace, a prisoner whom he’d not seen in more than three years. If a queen could fall so far, anyone could. She’d been a glamorous stranger to him, but he’d been proud that she was his mother, and he missed her even though he did not understand how he could miss someone he’d seen so infrequently.
He did not miss Richard and Geoffrey; he’d not spent much time with them and when he did, they’d teased him mercilessly. Hal had been kind to him once, on those rare occasions when they met, tousling his hair and calling him “Sprout” but not in a mean way; a few times he’d even played with John. That had all changed since his fight with their father. Now when he saw Hal, his brother was brusque, dismissive like Geoffrey and Richard. Hal seemed angry with him, but he did not know what he’d done.
Joanna had been more than his companion at Fontevrault. She’d been his rock, but now she’d gone away and he might never see her again. Without Joanna, he had only his father, and ever since his father had gotten his bad
