all this come from?” Richard asked, indicating the luxury of the newly furbished dining salon where they were eating.
“It isn’t paid for. I went into debt,” Henry said quite matter-of-factly.
“Well, how the hell do you expect to pay that debt?” Richard asked bluntly, determined to keep his own purse closed this time.
“That’s Hubert’s problem,” said Henry, turning expectant eyes upon his justiciar.
Hubert washed down his beef with a goblet of Gascony wine and said, “Well, the wedding and coronation of the queen are perfectly legitimate expenses. I think a grant of two marks on every knight’s fee of land wouldn’t be unreasonable.”
Richard looked quickly to William Marshal to gauge his reaction because Parliament had to agree to all taxation. “Do you think the council will agree for a queen who will come virtually empty-handed?”
“They will agree,” William said shrewdly. “They will think it most advantageous to have Louis of France as brother-in-law.”
Eleanor cast him a glance of admiration, and thereafter he was lost to the conversation about him. He was enthralled at the transformation that had taken place. A poetic phrase floated through his mind: Where a rose is tended, a thistle cannot grow. She had been a beautiful child, of course, but she had also been a willful, wild little animal bearing no resemblance to the graceful lady with exquisite manners and regal bearing who sat beside him, softly conversing with his sister about the country of Provence.
When she politely refused any wine, his mind flew back to their wedding day. His lips twitched with amusement as he thought she must have given up drinking since then. She drew his eyes again and again. Simply observing her gave him pleasure. He watched as she daintily dipped her fingers in a bowl of rosewater and dried them on a linen serviette.
Suddenly he realized the king had addressed him, and reluctantly he withdrew his attention from Eleanor and gave it to Henry. “The Bishop of Ferns in Ireland has written to me.
Apparently there is a dispute over land he claims your father took from him. It’s a trifling matter of two manors so I think perhaps it would be expedient to give him title if only to shut the old fool up.”
“Absolutely not!” said Eleanor, her sapphire eyes blazing.
All heads swiveled in her direction. “How dare you ask such a thing, Henry? When you reply to the bishop inform him you cannot disregard the obligations of your office. You cannot play fast and loose with the Marshal of England who laid his life on the line repeatedly to put you on the throne; nor can you slur the memory of his great father.”
Henry immediately backed down and William Marshal realized Eleanor was not simply decorative. She had a fine grasp of things and could handle the King of England as if he were an unruly puppy.
Before the hour grew late the Countess of Pembroke begged the gentlemen to excuse her. William, unwilling to part with her until the last possible moment, said, “I shall escort you to your apartment if you will permit it, my lady.”
She gave him a playful look. “Ah, sir, only Franciscan monks are allowed into the ladies’ quarters of Windsor; you made the rule yourself.”
“Rules are made to be broken.” He smiled and took hold of Isabella and Eleanor’s arms.
“I shall remember that,” she teased lightly.
Eleanor was small, of a height that made it necessary for her to look up to a man. It made him aware of his masculinity. William could not help but notice that her breasts were full and pointed, upward tilting. Her fragrance stole to him. He was unknowledgeable about such feminine things, but he knew he liked the scent of her. When they reached Eleanor’s apartments William realized they would not be private for a moment. Females were everywhere in abundance—companions, servants, handmaids, and chaperons. Almost desperately he asked, “Would you care to ride with me tomorrow, my
“It isn’t paid for. I went into debt,” Henry said quite matter-of-factly.
“Well, how the hell do you expect to pay that debt?” Richard asked bluntly, determined to keep his own purse closed this time.
“That’s Hubert’s problem,” said Henry, turning expectant eyes upon his justiciar.
Hubert washed down his beef with a goblet of Gascony wine and said, “Well, the wedding and coronation of the queen are perfectly legitimate expenses. I think a grant of two marks on every knight’s fee of land wouldn’t be unreasonable.”
Richard looked quickly to William Marshal to gauge his reaction because Parliament had to agree to all taxation. “Do you think the council will agree for a queen who will come virtually empty-handed?”
“They will agree,” William said shrewdly. “They will think it most advantageous to have Louis of France as brother-in-law.”
Eleanor cast him a glance of admiration, and thereafter he was lost to the conversation about him. He was enthralled at the transformation that had taken place. A poetic phrase floated through his mind: Where a rose is tended, a thistle cannot grow. She had been a beautiful child, of course, but she had also been a willful, wild little animal bearing no resemblance to the graceful lady with exquisite manners and regal bearing who sat beside him, softly conversing with his sister about the country of Provence.
When she politely refused any wine, his mind flew back to their wedding day. His lips twitched with amusement as he thought she must have given up drinking since then. She drew his eyes again and again. Simply observing her gave him pleasure. He watched as she daintily dipped her fingers in a bowl of rosewater and dried them on a linen serviette.
Suddenly he realized the king had addressed him, and reluctantly he withdrew his attention from Eleanor and gave it to Henry. “The Bishop of Ferns in Ireland has written to me.
Apparently there is a dispute over land he claims your father took from him. It’s a trifling matter of two manors so I think perhaps it would be expedient to give him title if only to shut the old fool up.”
“Absolutely not!” said Eleanor, her sapphire eyes blazing.
All heads swiveled in her direction. “How dare you ask such a thing, Henry? When you reply to the bishop inform him you cannot disregard the obligations of your office. You cannot play fast and loose with the Marshal of England who laid his life on the line repeatedly to put you on the throne; nor can you slur the memory of his great father.”
Henry immediately backed down and William Marshal realized Eleanor was not simply decorative. She had a fine grasp of things and could handle the King of England as if he were an unruly puppy.
Before the hour grew late the Countess of Pembroke begged the gentlemen to excuse her. William, unwilling to part with her until the last possible moment, said, “I shall escort you to your apartment if you will permit it, my lady.”
She gave him a playful look. “Ah, sir, only Franciscan monks are allowed into the ladies’ quarters of Windsor; you made the rule yourself.”
“Rules are made to be broken.” He smiled and took hold of Isabella and Eleanor’s arms.
“I shall remember that,” she teased lightly.
Eleanor was small, of a height that made it necessary for her to look up to a man. It made him aware of his masculinity. William could not help but notice that her breasts were full and pointed, upward tilting. Her fragrance stole to him. He was unknowledgeable about such feminine things, but he knew he liked the scent of her. When they reached Eleanor’s apartments William realized they would not be private for a moment. Females were everywhere in abundance—companions, servants, handmaids, and chaperons. Almost desperately he asked, “Would you care to ride with me tomorrow, my
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