news, he’d been there and yet he was not there. John could not explain it, could only sense it, and it frightened him. His feelings for his father were complicated. He was very proud to be the son of Henry Fitz Empress. But he never felt that comfortable with Henry. He’d watched his father’s fits of rage, watched other men cower before him. He’d never yelled at John, but John was always afraid that he would. Joanna was the only member of his family with whom he felt completely at ease, and he missed her very much.
He’d been wandering about all morning like a lost soul, trying to find some way to entertain himself. In late morning, he’d ventured up to his father’s chamber in a tower of the inner bailey, but he’d lost his nerve at the last moment and started back down the stairs. It was dark and the stone steps were slick, well worn by countless feet, for this part of the castle was over a hundred years old. John was carefully making his way down when he heard the voices below him. It was a man and a woman, and he caught his breath when he recognized the male voice. It was his brother Geoffrey. He could guess what they were doing by the way they were laughing, but he had no idea who the woman was. She could be a serving maid of the castle or a maid servant of one of the guests or a lady’s handmaiden or even a lady, he supposed; most of the barons had brought their wives and they’d all brought large entourages. He hesitated, not sure what to do next. If Geoffrey caught him, he’d get his ears boxed for certes. But the temptation to eavesdrop was irresistible, a chance to learn more about the things men did with women and mayhap even their father’s bad news, for Geoffrey must surely know.
The girl giggled, saying breathlessly that they must stop, for someone could come along at any moment. Geoffrey murmured something too softly for John to hear, then suggested they go to his chamber where they could be assured of privacy. She protested that she could not risk it, startling John when she mentioned her husband. It had to be someplace safe, she insisted, and after mentioning several places and then rejecting them as too dangerous, she announced in triumphant tones that she knew where they could meet-in the stables when the grooms went to their midday meal in the hall. Geoffrey seemed less than enthusiastic, pointing out that it would be colder than a witch’s teat and he’d likely freeze the body part she was most interested in, but she laughed huskily and murmured she’d warm him up soon enough. There was more laughing, low and intimate, and then John heard their footsteps descending, fading away. He’d sank down upon the steps, but now he came quietly to his feet, his eyes shining, for an idea had come to him, a daring idea that was as appealing as it was scary.
Before he could think better of it, John trudged through the snow of the outer bailey to the stables and waited until no grooms were about to clamber up the ladder into the loft. There he burrowed deep into the hay, making himself a secure, hidden nest. He thought it most likely that Geoffrey and the girl would choose to come up into the loft, too, but even if they stayed below in one of the empty stalls, he’d still be able to watch. He knew what a risk he was taking, shivered to think of his brother’s anger if he were found spying on them. But he could not resist this chance to watch while they did it, whatever it was that men and women did. He had a fairly good idea, having watched dogs humping, but imagining was not the same as actually seeing for himself. The thought even crossed his mind that this might be something to hold over his brother’s head, that if ever Geoffrey threatened to give him a thrashing, he could make a threat of his own, mentioning the girl Geoffrey had been groping in the stairwell, the one with a husband.
It was warmer beneath the hay than he’d expected, and he began to feel so comfortable that he was soon yawning. The night’s storm had awakened him well before daybreak and he’d been unable to go back to sleep, listening to the eerie wailing of the wind and thinking it sounded like a pack of hungry wolves. Curling up like a cat, he yawned again, feeling drowsy. He hoped they’d come soon.
He must have fallen asleep after that, for he awoke with a start, not remembering for a moment where he was. It all came back to him, though, when he heard their voices. Peering from his hideaway, he could barely make out their figures, for the loft was filled with shadows, as dark as night in the far corners. As he listened, he realized that they’d already done it, and he felt a sharp pang of disappointment, angry with himself for sleeping through it. He could not go anywhere, though, until they did, so he settled down to wait, consoling himself with the thought that they might do it again.
“See…this was not such a bad idea,” the girl murmured, and Geoffrey agreed that she’d more than kept her word, had kindled enough heat to burn the barn down. She giggled and they talked for a while of matters that John found very boring, mainly of people he did not know. He was dozing again when he heard the girl mention “the queen” and his eyes snapped open.
“Is she as beautiful as men say?”
“Well,” Geoffrey said, sounding as if he were yawning, “now she is old, of course. But yes, when she was young, she was very beautiful. I remember her coming into the nursery to bid us good night. Her skirts would rustle and she always smelled so good, even better than fresh-baked bread.”
“Were you often with her when you were young?”
“A fair amount of the time. Boys stay in their mother’s care only till they are seven or so, and after that, we did not see her as much, of course. Obviously she could not travel with all of us, but she usually had a couple of us wherever she went. God knows, we saw more of her than our father.”
“Fathers are never underfoot, are they? Mine only noticed his children when one of us got into trouble, and then he would roar and rant, but he never hit me or my sisters. My brothers now-that was another story. He would thrash them till they were as raw as uncooked beef. And my mother was just as strict; she had the makings of a fine lady abbess, God’s truth. Were your parents strict with you and your brothers, Geoffrey?”
He laughed softly. “Lord, no! We got away with holy hell. Our father was rarely around and when he was, he could always be coaxed into giving us whatever we wanted. I suppose he was loath to discipline us when he saw us so seldom. Our mother was not as easy to fool, but she did not care much if we got up to mischief. Oh, she’d scold us if we were caught in the act, but her heart was not in it, we could tell. What I most remember is that she was fun. She’d chase fireflies in the garden with us or let us bring our dogs into bed at night and when we fell out of trees, she would shrug and say it was lucky she had sons to spare, could afford to lose one or two. No, she was not like other mothers.”
He laughed again. “I remember one time when Richard and I found a snake. We were trying to decide what to do with it, and I do not recall which one of us had the idea, but we ended up smuggling it into our mother’s bed. Then we hid outside her chamber that night, waiting to hear all the shrieking and carrying on. We were not sure she’d scream, but we figured her ladies would. We heard nothing at all, though, and crept back to our bed, very disappointed. Not a word was said about it the next day, either, so we decided the snake must have escaped. We’d forgotten all about it by that night-until we climbed into bed and found something warm and slick and slithery under the covers with us!”
The girl joined in his laughter. John stifled a laugh himself, thinking of his brothers yelling and bolting from the bed in panic. Geoffrey was telling her that they decided to play her game and say nothing about it the next day, but as soon as they’d met her eyes, all three of them had begun to laugh helplessly, while everyone else watched in bafflement, not knowing what the joke was. But after a while, it no longer seemed as funny to John. It occurred to him that he did not have any memories to match Richard’s and Geoffrey’s, no recollections of playing games with their mother or sharing jests or having her sit up with him at night after he’d caught poison oak, as Geoffrey was relating now. Why not? Why was it different for him?
When Geoffrey and the girl finally departed, John waited till it was safe to venture out and scrambled down the ladder just as two of the grooms sauntered into the stables. They looked surprised and he knew they wanted to ask what he was doing up there, but he raised his chin and, reminding himself that this was his loft, he walked past them as if he’d not seen them. He was at a loss what to do next. He’d missed dinner, and he wondered if anyone had noticed his absence. Once he was back in the middle bailey, he decided to go to the kitchen and get something to tide him over till supper that evening. But then he happened to glance across the bailey toward the chapel and he had another idea, even better than his notion to spy on Geoffrey.
Last night he’d heard his cousin Morgan and two other boys in the royal household discussing the magical properties of holy water. According to them, it was supposed to burn sinners if it was splashed upon them, and they were eager to make the test. They’d decided to try it out upon a culprit in the town’s pillory, but their scheme had been thwarted when a priest caught them trying to dip water out of the chapel font. If he could obtain a vial of holy water, they’d be sure to be impressed. They were all several years older than he was, so that would be quite a coup. Darting into the kitchen, he snatched a clay cup when no one was watching, then hurried toward the chapel.
At least it was not as dark here as up in the loft, for candles burned in wall sconces and on the High Altar.
