Daughter of the Last King, page 18
part #1 of Conquest I Series
Arnulf was one of the first people to approach us, with Gerald at his side. ‘So, the king will announce the new earl of Shrewsbury today,’ Sybil said. ‘I hear King William is well pleased with you, brother.’
Arnulf feigned a modest gesture in response. Gerald looked with satisfaction at the cross and I smiled my thanks shyly to him.
‘The king told my husband he judges you to be a competent and efficient administrator,’ Sybil said smugly, ‘and that you have a well-earned reputation for probity.’
‘I am lucky in the king’s good opinion. He has recently seen fit to grant me a very large parcel of land in Lincolnshire and Holderness, in addition to my lands around Pembroke.’ He narrowed his eyes provocatively at me when he spoke of the lands of my family as his.
‘Keep your back straight and your head up and look like the noblewoman you are, Nest,’ Sybil told me and began to move forward into the melee of people. I made to follow her, but Arnulf took hold of my elbow and held me back a moment. Gerald hovered uncertainly, and Arnulf waved him off with a peremptory gesture.
‘Lady Nest, you look very fine.’
‘Thank you.’ I was suddenly tongue-tied, embarrassed by my memories of our last encounter. He looked fine himself. The embroidery on his dark brown tunic showed an intricate pattern of twining leaves inlaid with tiny pearls. It was time I was married. Looking at him, I reflected that if it came to that today, to him, perhaps I should not be too sorry. I suppressed a smile at the memory that surfaced of Amelina telling me, ‘I would!’ But there was my suspicion that he was Goronwy’s murderer knawing at my heart.
‘I expect a positive answer from the king today on the matter of our marriage,’ Arnulf said, close to my ear, ‘and then I will be finding many ways to fill up the boredom of your days.’
Bridling at the self-assurance of his tone, I said, ‘I have my own life. It does not need filling up with you.’
He was angry at my rebuff. ‘I will be filling you up, Nest, rest assured, before too long.’ His earlier pleasant tone had vanished. I pulled my elbow from his grasp and followed in Sybil’s wake, catching up to her and watching her stolidly placing her ungainly feet at forty-five degrees to one another.
I let out a slow breath when I suddenly noticed the Welsh princes, distinguished by their dress and short hair, standing on the opposite side of the vast space. The sight of them brought back so many memories. I met Cadwgan at my father’s llys once when I was very young and thought I recognised him. Two other men must be Gruffudd ap Cynan, the king of Gwynedd and his son. The tall, red-haired young man standing next to Cadwgan had to be Owain, although I could make no reconciliation between this fine man and my ‘tinker’. Owain was looking keenly at me.
‘Might I speak with the Welsh princes?’ I asked Sybil.
‘Very well,’ she said, ‘but I will accompany you.’
Cadwgan saw us coming and his eyes lighted on me curiously. Sybil and I swept them a curtsey, and the four men bowed in return. ‘May I introduce Lady Sybil de Montgomery, wife of Lord Robert FitzHamon in Morgannwg,’ I told them in Welsh. ‘I am introducing you,’ I said to her rapidly in response to the irritation that flared on her face when she could not understand me. They bowed politely to her, and she returned their greeting.
‘Tell the lady we speak no French,’ Cadwgan said to me and I relayed his words, though I doubted they were true. Sybil pursed her mouth. I turned back to Cadwgan. ‘And you, lady?’ he asked. ‘You have not told us who you are?’ I guessed he already had an inkling who I was, but liked to play in his conversation.
‘I am Nest ferch Rhys, sire.’
He surprised me by suddenly taking my hand in both of his, his eyes immediately brimming. ‘My dear, my daughter,’ he said. Perhaps I had been mistaken about his betrayal of my father. Tears welled in my own eyes, and I struggled to control myself. I felt Sybil’s gaze on me.
‘This is my son Owain,’ he said, plucking him by the sleeve and drawing him forward.
‘Lady Nest.’ Owain swept me a lavish bow that gave a view of his unruly thick red-blond hair. As he rose from the bow, his startling blue eyes played consciously upon me. Drawn to his height again, his limbs appeared ungainly in unfamiliar finery. ‘I apologise profusely,’ he said. ‘You may have heard we encountered a little trouble in Anglesey and were obliged to vacation for a while in Ireland. I was unable …’ He shrugged, and I nodded, understanding what he referred to. A look of surprise slipped almost too rapidly to notice across Cadwgan’s face. He had not known about Owain’s plan to rescue me from Cardiff then.
‘That’s enough,’ Sybil told me brusquely, not understanding, but intuiting that the conversation might be moving where she did not wish it to go. I took my leave of Cadwgan and his son, feeling the joy of my own language in my mouth and reluctantly returning to the different shape of French.
‘Lady Nest.’ I found Gerald at my shoulder, speaking in a low tone, and I turned to him smiling. ‘So the king may give you a husband today?’
‘Perhaps,’ I said, looking down at his boots.
‘I wish you well, lady, always.’
I looked up at him again. ‘Thank you. There is something I want to ask you, Sir Gerald.’
‘Please do.’
‘Do you know who killed my brother, Goronwy?’
He looked away.
‘Was it Arnulf?’ I persisted, although as I asked, it occurred to me that I had not seen his distinctive red tabard on the beach. I had only first noticed Arnulf in the fort when I sat with my mother.
‘Perhaps. It’s hard to say. It’s a possibility.’
‘I just realised …’ I began, but then a hush suddenly fell over the hubbub as King William entered wearing a splendid crown and tunic and the procession began to form up behind him. My conversation with Gerald had to be cut short. Edgar, king of the Scots, came first in the procession, bearing the sword of state for King William. The Welsh kings were due to do the same, walking behind Edgar but when the servants bearing the swords on cushions approached them, four of the English barons stepped in, jostling the Welshmen out of the way rudely, and taking up the swords and places intended for the Welsh royalty. At first I saw Gruffudd ap Cynan was deeply offended, but Cadwgan smiled and whispered in Gruffudd’s ear, who nodded and changed his expression. Owain grinned openly. I guessed Cadwgan suggested that the barons’ eagerness to insult them had in fact saved them from a display of subjugation and meant they need not bend the knee to the foreigner. I noticed a tall, stocky man with a broad chest and floppy black hair regarding me and regarding the tussle between the barons and the Welshmen. He also seemed to guess at the cause for Cadwgan’s pleasure. He saw what I saw and was amused by the small drama.
‘Who is that man?’ I asked Sybil quietly, showing who I meant with a small indication of my head. ‘The one with black hair.’
‘That is Count Henry, the king’s brother and the Conqueror’s youngest son. He rules Western Normandy and has been now a supporter of one brother, Duke Robert, and now a supporter of the other, King William, as it suits him. Inconstantly. Stay away from that one, Nest.’
I raised my eyebrows.
‘You see the woman standing next to him? The Saxon?’
A straight-backed, handsome woman, nearly as tall as he, stood beside him. She had two long, neat, corn-coloured plaits showing beneath her head-veil, draped to fall over her shoulders and the front of her dress, dangling to touch the ornate belt at her waist. ‘Yes.’
‘That’s his current mistress, Ansfride of Abingdon, a widow. And he has two bastards, at least, by two other mistresses.’
Intrigued by her account, I looked back at Count Henry who, to my embarrassment, noticed my interest and gave me a smile and then a formal bow. I curtsied and Sybil huffed beside me. ‘Oh, for goodness sake, Nest. I told you to stay clear and here you are immediately flirting with him.’
I opened my mouth to protest I had not intended to flirt, but the procession was beginning and I was forced to stifle my defence. I gripped my hands around one another. My future would be decided now. Most likely Arnulf … or even … the king himself was still unmarried, but surely if he continued to think of me, there would have been some indication, some negotiation beforehand. Yet considering FitzHamon was so unforthcoming with his own wife, it was possible I would not be given the courtesy of any warning … I stopped my busy brain in its track and focused on the king. I would know soon enough.
After King William was seated on his throne, the business of the court began. Ranulf Flambard was created bishop of Durham. A great crowd, some three hundred squires, presented themselves before the king to be dubbed as knights. There was a collective gasp from the assembled company when a large contingent of these young men knocked back their hoods to reveal their hair shorn close to their skulls. It was extraordinary to see all these naked, stubbled heads, like sheep after a shearing. The king struggled to control the expression on his face and then spluttered into loud laughter, shaking his head.
‘What’s this all about?’ Sybil asked FitzHamon.
‘A protest from Giffard and his boys,’ FitzHamon told her, ‘that they were kept waiting so long by the king before being made knights.’
Sybil snorted.
‘It is an affront to the king?’ I asked, confused.
‘Well, a complaint,’ FitzHamon said. ‘An amusing one.’
I frowned. ‘If the men of a Welsh king behaved so, they would soon find themselves dangling by the stomach from the point of his sword.’
‘A Norman king has no call for such violent display,’ FitzHamon told me smugly, his buck teeth resettling softly on his moist bottom lip. ‘The opinion of his barons is important to him and must be nurtured. They have their own status and pride to maintain and are not merely his minions, but his valued and noble advisers.’
Flambard read out a treaty confirming the peace agreed with the Welsh kings, and Gruffudd ap Cynan and Cadwgan ap Bleddyn stepped up to place their marks on the document. Owain searched over the heads of the crowd and found me, an expectant look on his face. The king confirmed that the daughter of Picot de Say was given in marriage to Cadwgan as part of the peace agreement, although the young woman herself did not look best pleased about it.
The ceremonies and the business droned on and I watched a dance of three flies against the lower panes of a stained glass window. My stomach rumbled on air and my feet ached but my attention was gripped when the king announced that Robert de Bellême, the eldest Montgomery, whom I had never met, would be the new earl of Shrewsbury. I looked swiftly to Sybil, who stood with her mouth open, and then my glance passed over her to FitzHamon who stood with a smug look on his face. He had known and not bothered to tell her. I looked beyond them to Arnulf and watched him fight for control, his fists clenched, his body rigid. His face was an unnatural red hue and his cheek muscle twitched like a palsy. Gerald was looking at his lord with some concern. I wondered what this appointment of Bellême as the new earl of Shrewsbury could mean. Bellême had always been a supporter of Duke Robert and not the king. No doubt Master Richard would be even more busy now, carrying tales of the Montgomerys to Ranulf Flambard and FitzHamon, and Bellême would be the new jailer of my brother Idwal at Shrewsbury Castle.
‘In the matter of the petitions I have received regarding the marriage of my ward, Nest of Deheubarth …’ the king pronounced in a loud but lazy voice, and I jumped at my name, pivoting back to face him. ‘It is my decision that she will continue in the guardianship of Robert FitzHamon for the time being. I do not grant these petitions.’ He enunciated the last sentence emphatically. The king smiled warmly to me and I curtsied to him.
I absorbed it slowly and let out a breath. He was refusing permission to Arnulf, although he did not name him. For now, at least. ‘Why did he say petitions, plural?’ I whispered to Sybil, who turned to answer me, but we found Count Henry at our shoulders and there before her with a response.
‘Didn’t you know, lady?’ Count Henry said. ‘Cadwgan also petitioned the king on behalf of his son Prince Owain of Powys for your hand in marriage, but it seems you will be a virgin a little while longer. Forgive me,’ he bowed again. ‘Lady Sybil.’ He bowed to her, and she curtsied back. ‘How rude of me,’ he declared, not meaning it at all. ‘Won’t you introduce me properly to your charge? I understand you already met my knight Haith on your journey here this morning.’ The tall Fleming from the boat was alongside him and several other men who formed his entourage.
Reluctantly, Sybil introduced me to the count. ‘Do you know anything, Count Henry, of the king’s surprising decision to appoint my brother Robert to the earldom?’ she asked.
He inclined his head. ‘My brother, the king, was reconciled with Bellême in Normandy because he captured Count Helias of Maine, and then joined forces with William to besiege the count of Anjou in Le Mans.’
Sybil bit her lip and the count watched her face. Suddenly he took my hand and began to tow me into the crowd, calling over his shoulder, ‘May I take this exotic princess for a tour around the vast new hall?’ He did not wait for her response.
I remembered I should not let a man, who was not of our household, touch my hands, but there seemed little I could do about it. I looked nervously at him, but surely I could come to no harm amidst all these people. I looked back over my shoulder and saw Haith staring after us, his ubiquitous smile replaced with a mildly worried expression. Count Henry was somewhere around twenty-eight or -nine, I guessed, and though not an especially handsome man, he was striking and had an easy grace and confidence. The count’s mother, Queen Matilda, was reputed to have been a kind of dwarf while his father, the Conqueror, had been a giant, but this Henry was of a reasonable height, with no dwarfishness about him.
‘Didn’t you know about the proposal for your hand from Owain ap Cadwgan, as well as, of course, the long-standing one from Arnulf de Montgomery?’ he asked me.
‘No, my lord.’
‘It can’t be a surprise to you that all these lords are desperate for you,’ he said, looking me up and down in a deliberate fashion, ‘but none of them are worthy.’
He was laughing at me. Provoked, I spoke without thinking: ‘I was betrothed to Owain ap Cadwgan by my father and it seems an appropriate marriage … but, of course, I am subject to the king’s pleasure and command.’
I thought he might be angry at my forthrightness, but instead he seemed pleased and smiled voraciously. ‘Yes, Lady Nest, you are subject to pleasure and command,’ he said.
What could I say to such open and inappropriate flirting? I looked around me desperately.
‘Have you heard of the curse against Neufmarché?’
I stared at him, aghast. ‘No!’ How could he know?
‘You see the pious new bishop there?’ he asked in a sarcastic voice, jerking his head discreetly in the direction of Ranulf Flambard. I nodded. ‘His mother is a sorceress.’ He raised an eyebrow to me and I couldn’t help but smile at his expression.
‘Indeed?’
‘Oh yes. It is the secret of his success, and she has pronounced a curse against the fat, black Neufmarché.’
I failed to suppress my amusement, and a choked laugh burst from me as I looked at him expectantly for more.
‘She declares the old rogue warrior will die emasculated and with no heir, even though he currently has two sons and a daughter,’ he whispered, bringing his head close to mine. ‘She is never wrong. What do you make of that, Lady Nest?’
I was relieved to see FitzHamon approaching with a young woman at his side. ‘Count Henry, I see you have met my ward, Lady Nest.’
‘Yes,’ Henry said. ‘Your wife has done well in her educating.’
I felt pleased that someone of his stature should appreciate me. FitzHamon took my hand politely from him. ‘Thank you,’ he said, bowing and smiling. ‘Here is another lady you know, Count Henry. Princess Matilda of Scotland.’ Henry greeted her with delighted courtesy. FitzHamon smiled and swivelled to take me back to Sybil, his expression changing to annoyance as soon as his back was turned to Henry. I could not tell if he was annoyed with me or with the count.
Sybil left me in no such uncertainty and blamed me entirely for the encounter. ‘Don’t be so foolish as to attempt to ingratiate yourself with that one. He is not simply a suave courtier. He is dangerous.’
I looked back over my shoulder toward Count Henry, trying to imagine how he could be dangerous. He gave me a small wave, his dark eyes alight with a sardonic humour.
‘You introduced the Saxon princess to the count?’ Sybil asked her husband.
‘They are already well acquainted. She has lately refused a marriage offer from William de Warenne, earl of Surrey, much to his chagrin. King William cannot be brought to that match, although it would be good policy for him to ally with a woman who is the descendent of the Anglo-Saxon royal line, and who could bear him an heir.’ He left us abruptly, and Sybil scowled. The word heir, even in connection with another, could not be pleasing to her these days.
Sybil did not allow me to go to court on the following days that we remained in London, and I sat in the lodgings with Amelina working on my sewing. Each morning I was amused to see Haith bundling himself out of the door of the lodging, always running a little late, tucking his tunic into place around his belt or pinning his cloak brooch as he ran, calling out to the boatman, ‘Hold there I beg you!’
Amelina tutted at me to stand back from the window as I jumped up to watch him. ‘People will gossip about you,’ she said, ‘that you are ogling the Fleming, though I can’t blame you.’ Amelina never missed an opportunity to voice her connoisseurship of good-looking men.
On our final evening in London, when Sybil and FitzHamon returned from court, I overheard them speaking about me. ‘Why does he not give permission to Arnulf?’ Sybil asked her husband. ‘It’s high time she was wed.’
