A Place Beyond Courage by Elizabeth Chadwick

‘Even so, I wouldn’t usually abandon my bed this early, but I have duties at Wallingford.’
    John nodded but said nothing. Brian was lord of Wallingford in respect of Maude his wife. Despite being more than six years wed, they had no heirs and conducted their marriage from a distance, but John supposed FitzCount had to put in an appearance now and again and hope sons would come of it. Everyone knew FitzCount was devoted to the Empress and she to him, even if their behaviour towards each other was exemplary. Not even the hardened court gossips could find a trace of scandal. But the way they looked at each other was revealing: the acknowledgements, the things that did not have to be said, because they were already known.
    ‘I hear you are to be married, Marshal,’ FitzCount said.
    John watched the light brighten in the east. ‘Yes, my lord, before the court returns to Normandy.’
    ‘Will you bring your wife across the Narrow Sea with you?’
    ‘Would you bring yours except on necessary occasions?’
    FitzCount made a face. ‘Probably not. Court and domestic hearth are like drinking ale and wine together. They don’t mix.’
    The sudden beating of a fist on the outside of the great doors caused both men to jump. Cursing, the porter abandoned his breakfast preparations and went to slide the bolts and unlock a small door cut into the bigger one. The royal messenger, who had been waiting outside, stepped over the threshold leading a blowing nag, its saddlebags fat with sealed parchments. John knew him well. He was nicknamed Absalom because of his silky long hair, although unlike his biblical namesake, he had yet to come to grief by getting it tangled in a tree. Currently he was wearing it in a neat, almost feminine braid, but there was nothing feminine about the sword at his left hip or the jut of his jaw. Absalom was as tough as a peasant’s toenails. FitzCount had stiffened at the sight of him, which didn’t surprise John. There could only be one reason for this dawn apparition after an obvious ride through the night.
    Absalom gave them a dazzling grin. ‘Great news, my lords! The Empress was delivered of a son at Le Mans on the fifth day of March. He has been christened Henry, for his grandsire. My lord the King has an heir, as he desired!’
    ‘God be praised!’ Colour flushed FitzCount’s throat and face. ‘The Empress herself, she is well?’
    John’s gaze flickered to his companion as he heard the betraying anxiety in his voice.
    ‘Yes, my lord,’ Absalom replied. ‘She is in good health and recovering well. The baby is not big, but he’s robust and strong. I saw him in the cradle before I set out. The Empress desired me to see him so that I could make report to the King her father. He has red hair like his sire . . .’
    ‘Such hair runs in the Empress’s family too, on her father’s side,’ said FitzCount.
    ‘That explains it then, my lord.’ Absalom chuckled. ‘Norman lion, not Angevin fox.’
    FitzCount laughed, and taking a ring from his little finger gave it to Absalom in token of thanks. The messenger bowed, touched his forehead, and led his horse towards the stables.
    ‘Good news indeed.’ FitzCount blew out between puffed cheeks. He clapped his hand to John’s shoulder, visibly struggling with emotion.
    ‘It makes the road ahead a little more certain,’ John replied. ‘You will excuse me, my lord. With such news abroad there is bound to be high celebration. I had better warn my men.’
    FitzCount swallowed and withdrew his hand from John’s shoulder. ‘Of course,’ he said and busily adjusted the fastening of his cloak as if it were a closure on feelings he should not have revealed. ‘And I have a day’s ride to Wallingford ahead of me.’
    ‘Then God speed you, my lord.’
    With a brusque nod, FitzCount departed, and John turned to his own duty.

6
     
    Winchester, Midsummer 1133
     
    In a small private chamber in Winchester castle, Aline suffered her attendant women to