me who you were.” Swallowing her anger, she concentrated on her companion.
“Did he?” Gundreda’s nostrils flared. “News travels fast.” Her nose was arched at the bridge and the skin was shiny as if the bone was about to break the surface. Her lips were thin and dry, her cheeks showed fine thread veins. Defying the slow ruin of the years, her eyes were a rare, clear green, like window glass, and would have been beautiful if the expression in them had not been so bitter.
A few months ago Ida would have blushed with chagrin, but she had grown a thicker skin since then. “I am Ida de Tosney, the King’s ward. We are kinswomen through my mother, I believe.”
Gundreda inclined her head. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, although I do not know your family, even if I have heard of them. You have a brother, do you not?”
“Yes, my lady. In wardship too, but in Normandy. I haven’t seen him in several years,” she added with a wistful pang.
“Let us hope he has less trouble claiming his inheritance than I and my sons,” Gundreda said acidly.
“I am sorry for your loss,” Ida murmured into the taut silence, seeking the right thing to say but unsure of her ground. “I pray God will succour you.”
Gundreda of Norfolk gave her a pinched look. “It is not God’s succour I need but the King’s—and his justice.”
“I am sure both will hear you, my lady.”
“I am the dowager countess, you would think so.”
Ida noticed how Gundreda’s hands imprisoned each other in a tight grip, left over right. Her thumb rubbed repetitively over a heavy gold ring on her wedding finger and the tension in her clenched jaw made visible hollows in her cheeks. Concerned, Ida set aside her sewing and personally fetched her kinswoman a cup of wine rather than summoning a servant.
“They say your husband died having taken the Cross.” She tried to offer comfort as Gundreda thanked her for the drink and sipped. “Surely he is in heaven now.”
“The whereabouts of my husband are of no interest to me.” Gundreda’s tone was glacial. “He was a bastard from the start of our marriage to the end and if his eternal home is hell, then may he rot there in torment. What does concern me is my dower and the inheritance due to my sons. It is too easy to cheat widows, heiresses, and wards out of what is theirs by right.” She glanced towards the young men by the fire.
“I hope you will be successful, my lady.” Ida was inwardly shocked by Gundreda’s corrosive attitude. How could anyone speak in such a fashion of another person?
A severe-featured man with a greying beard was looking in their direction. His mantle was lined with squirrel fur and his tunic was the expensive blue-black of over-dyed woad. Ida did not know Roger de Glanville well, although she recognised him. He was one of the officials serving the administrative side of the court. An older brother, Ranulf, was employed in a similar capacity, and a younger one was the castellan of Henry’s keep at Orford.
“My lawyer,” Gundreda said. “You will excuse me.”
Ida watched her go to the man and speak to him, before leaving the room with her hand on his sleeve. The quality of the gesture made Ida thoughtful. Gundreda’s sons followed, reminding Ida of hounds trailing after their owner. The older one flashed her a glance in which she saw speculation mingled with what she now recognised as a predatory glimmer. It was unsettling, but she no longer blushed at such looks. Six months of dwelling in the eye of the court had taught her a great deal about men and about herself.
***
Two days later, Ida was in the hall when the Countess approached her again. This time Gundreda’s lips wore a forced smile and her eyes were as hard and bright as peridots.
“Have you been able to see the King, madam?” Ida asked politely.
Gundreda nodded. “Master Glanville has spoken to him at length on behalf of me and my sons.” She glanced towards her offspring, who
“Did he?” Gundreda’s nostrils flared. “News travels fast.” Her nose was arched at the bridge and the skin was shiny as if the bone was about to break the surface. Her lips were thin and dry, her cheeks showed fine thread veins. Defying the slow ruin of the years, her eyes were a rare, clear green, like window glass, and would have been beautiful if the expression in them had not been so bitter.
A few months ago Ida would have blushed with chagrin, but she had grown a thicker skin since then. “I am Ida de Tosney, the King’s ward. We are kinswomen through my mother, I believe.”
Gundreda inclined her head. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, although I do not know your family, even if I have heard of them. You have a brother, do you not?”
“Yes, my lady. In wardship too, but in Normandy. I haven’t seen him in several years,” she added with a wistful pang.
“Let us hope he has less trouble claiming his inheritance than I and my sons,” Gundreda said acidly.
“I am sorry for your loss,” Ida murmured into the taut silence, seeking the right thing to say but unsure of her ground. “I pray God will succour you.”
Gundreda of Norfolk gave her a pinched look. “It is not God’s succour I need but the King’s—and his justice.”
“I am sure both will hear you, my lady.”
“I am the dowager countess, you would think so.”
Ida noticed how Gundreda’s hands imprisoned each other in a tight grip, left over right. Her thumb rubbed repetitively over a heavy gold ring on her wedding finger and the tension in her clenched jaw made visible hollows in her cheeks. Concerned, Ida set aside her sewing and personally fetched her kinswoman a cup of wine rather than summoning a servant.
“They say your husband died having taken the Cross.” She tried to offer comfort as Gundreda thanked her for the drink and sipped. “Surely he is in heaven now.”
“The whereabouts of my husband are of no interest to me.” Gundreda’s tone was glacial. “He was a bastard from the start of our marriage to the end and if his eternal home is hell, then may he rot there in torment. What does concern me is my dower and the inheritance due to my sons. It is too easy to cheat widows, heiresses, and wards out of what is theirs by right.” She glanced towards the young men by the fire.
“I hope you will be successful, my lady.” Ida was inwardly shocked by Gundreda’s corrosive attitude. How could anyone speak in such a fashion of another person?
A severe-featured man with a greying beard was looking in their direction. His mantle was lined with squirrel fur and his tunic was the expensive blue-black of over-dyed woad. Ida did not know Roger de Glanville well, although she recognised him. He was one of the officials serving the administrative side of the court. An older brother, Ranulf, was employed in a similar capacity, and a younger one was the castellan of Henry’s keep at Orford.
“My lawyer,” Gundreda said. “You will excuse me.”
Ida watched her go to the man and speak to him, before leaving the room with her hand on his sleeve. The quality of the gesture made Ida thoughtful. Gundreda’s sons followed, reminding Ida of hounds trailing after their owner. The older one flashed her a glance in which she saw speculation mingled with what she now recognised as a predatory glimmer. It was unsettling, but she no longer blushed at such looks. Six months of dwelling in the eye of the court had taught her a great deal about men and about herself.
***
Two days later, Ida was in the hall when the Countess approached her again. This time Gundreda’s lips wore a forced smile and her eyes were as hard and bright as peridots.
“Have you been able to see the King, madam?” Ida asked politely.
Gundreda nodded. “Master Glanville has spoken to him at length on behalf of me and my sons.” She glanced towards her offspring, who
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