I awoke the next morning with an aching head, and a gritty feeling in my mouth, but with my spirits unaccountably high. I felt a sense of freedom that I had not enjoyed for many a month. Bernard had been on excellent form the night before, taking me down the river in a barge and over to the other side to a disreputable house owned by the Bishop of Southwark where we had guzzled wine and Bernard had besported himself with three young girls who began the evening dressed as novice nuns — I did not believe that they were really novices, destined one day to become Brides of Christ, but you could never be too sure with the bawdy Bishop of Southwark’s girls.
I have never quite felt comfortable in my bones paying for the love of women — although I will not condemn those who do — and so I confined myself to watching Bernard as he cavorted with his three lovelies, passing the odd cup of wine to him when he felt in need of refreshment, and passing ribald comments when I felt they were called for.
Once Bernard had quenched his lust — and I must say that, for a man in his late thirties who loved to complain so much about being aged and infirm, he had a prodigious amount of stamina — we paid off the girls and fell to talking of recent affairs of the kingdom.
‘You know, they nearly have it,’ Bernard said to me, wiping his sweaty face with a towel. ‘A hundred thousand marks — I never thought they’d do it. But by hook or by crook — by crook mostly — the Queen, may she live another thousand years, has gathered the first tranche of the money together for Richard’s ransom. The Emperor’s ambassadors are coming next week to collect it.’
‘The first tranche?’ I said, surprised. ‘I thought a hundred thousand was the full price for his release.’
‘No, no, my boy,’ chuckled Bernard. ‘Never underestimate the greed of princes. Emperor Henry has decided to squeeze Richard until he squeaks — he’s upped the price. Now he wants a hundred and fifty thousand marks in cash, or the equivalent in well-born hostages.’
‘But that is impossible — the country has been bled dry. There is no more money in England — anywhere. I know, I did a good deal of the bleeding!’
‘They’ll do a deal, Alan. They always do. But the important thing is that the German ambassadors are coming and, once they’ve got their money, they’ll have to set a date for Richard’s release. And once that has happened, the tide will turn in our favour.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘For the past year, all the knights and barons of England and Normandy have been trying to divine who will win this great struggle between Richard and John. Obviously, they all want to be on the winning side. When Richard was in prison, and John triumphantly capturing castles left and right all over England, everyone looked at John as the eventual winner. The longer Richard was locked up, the more our King’s support melted away — apart from a few staunch fellows such as me, you and your outlaw friend Robert of Locksley, of course.’
Bernard paused, took a swig of wine, and went on: ‘Once a date has been set for Richard’s release, all the fighting men in England will have to reconsider their positions. When Richard comes home he’s unlikely to look kindly on those who supported his brother’s bid for the throne. He’s more likely to waste their lands, slaughter their soldiers and dispossess their children. So everything is in flux right now. People are already beginning to switch back to Richard’s side. Things are looking up for us.’
I pondered Bernard’s words the next morning as I sluiced my aching head at the pump in the courtyard outside Westminster Hall, while Thomas stood behind me with a towel and a clean shirt. Bernard was right, I concluded. Things were indeed looking up. But I had another reason to be cheerful that day. I was going to be paying a visit to my master’s wife Marie-Anne and her baby son Hugh — and I’d also get a chance to see my lovely Goody. And there was something in particular, something very special indeed, that I was planning to ask her.
Chapter Eighteen
The Countess of Locksley had taken a large two-storey, timber-framed house on the south side of the Strondway, the main road leading into London from Westminster. It was the inn or town house of Lord Wakefield, who was presently in Normandy, and Marie-Anne had filled it with her women and her dogs, and a dozen or so of Queen Eleanor’s jolly Gascon men-at-arms.
I rode up there on Ghost on that crisp morning, with the frost still on the grass either side of the wide road even though it was near nine of the clock, and I reflected that my life was far from unsatisfactory that cold autumn day. As Bernard had said last night, all being well, King Richard would soon be released from his German prison. Better yet, my musical friend had told me that Goody was stricken with remorse over the way she had spoken to me at our last meeting. According to Bernard, she now looked upon me as some sort of hero who had hoodwinked Prince John and allowed Robin to collect a fortune in silver on King Richard’s behalf. A hero, no less. I liked the sound of that.
Although I was prepared for a change of heart from Goody, I did not expect the enthusiasm I received when I arrived in the big courtyard of Wakefield Inn, dismounted and handed Ghost’s reins to a waiting groom. I was dimly aware of a human-shaped streak of white and gold coming towards me at speed and then Goody was in my arms, her body wrapped tightly around me, her lips kissing my face over and over while she wept and apologized and kissed me again.
Finally she drew breath and pulled back from her embrace: ‘Oh, Alan, can you ever forgive me — the things I said to you… I didn’t understand… I thought that you had… but of course, you never would. Not you…’
Her face was quite delicious: cold and beautiful, like a bowl of wild strawberries and fresh cream — blotched pink around her sparkling violet-blue eyes where she had been crying, the deep flushed red of her soft lips, a glimpse of pearly teeth, and all set off by her silky white skin. I could have eaten her alive. Instead, I kissed her full on the lips.
And she kissed me back.
My mouth melted into hers; our tongues probed, duelled, entwined; her taste was slippery sweet; warm and soft and utterly wonderful. My arms were locked around her thin back, and hers around my neck; and I could feel every curve of her lithe young body pressed hard against mine, and soon that familiar hot rush of blood to my loins…
‘Godifa, what on earth do you think you are doing?’ said a sharp voice from twenty yards away. And Goody broke our long kiss, and turned her golden head to look behind her.
Advancing across the courtyard, through a sea of dogs, with an irritated frown wrinkling her normally perfect brow was Marie-Anne, Countess of Locksley, Robin’s wife, Goody’s guardian, and my hostess. I was aware that half a dozen servants were standing in the courtyard gawping at Goody and myself and the expression of our love like a passel of slack-jawed half-wits. I gave them all my fiercest battle scowl.
‘Marie-Anne — look, it is Alan!’ said my lovely girl.
‘I can see that. And that is no reason to eat him alive out here in the courtyard. Stop making a spectacle of yourself and bring him inside.’
‘But it’s Alan!’ Goody said again, and I could hear the incredulous joy in her voice.
‘I know, my dear, I know. Now, let’s take him inside,’ said Marie-Anne, and she took me by the elbow. So, with two of the most beautiful women in England on my arm, I was escorted into the big warm hall of Wakefield Inn.
That deep kiss was the last one I received from Goody until we were formally betrothed. Marie-Anne insisted on this, and Goody and I meekly agreed to remain chaste until we were duly affianced. Then it was agreed that Hanno, Thomas and I would move into Lord Wakefield’s big house along with Robin’s twenty men-at-arms — for there was plenty of space and stabling for everyone. Goody and I spent that autumn in a happy blur of mutual, unfulfilled but passionate love.
To be near Goody was to be in Heaven: I could not take my eyes off her, she seemed to me to be the embodiment of perfection: the way she moved, the shape of her hands and arms, the curl of bright hair that escaped from under her plain white cap — everything about her was utterly entrancing, intoxicating to me. We took long rides together in the countryside around Westminster — always accompanied by Marie-Anne and a couple of maidservants and Thomas, and protected by Hanno and a handful of Robin’s men-at-arms, for I had learnt my lesson after the incident with the river pirates, and I never ventured far in those days without half a dozen good
