The Scarlet Lion by Elizabeth Chadwick

men respect all of you. You may serve John, but you are not his creatures. If he had sent de Burgh, de Braose, or Faulkes de Breauté to do his courting, there might have been a different outcome." He threw the dice on to the table, calculated, and moved a bishop. When he spoke again, his voice was hard and uncompromising. "The peace will hold, Marshal, providing John honours the promises you have all made on his behalf. If he reneges and plays false, then there will be bloody rebellion. Men want justice. They want what is theirs by right."
       "It is not John's fault their lands and privileges have been undermined and abused; the blame lies with his father and
    brother," William defended him.
       "Yes, but unless he mends the damage…" Chester let an eloquent shrug of his shoulders serve for the rest.
       William wasn't certain that John had it in his nature to grant some of the demands, but having laid the groundwork for negotiation, he had accomplished his own task. His duty now was to return to Normandy and escort John to England. The prospect of more sea crossings, even in calm weather, filled him with trepidation. "That is up to him. I have done what I can."
       "Then God grant it is not in vain," Chester replied darkly.
    ***
    Aboard the royal galley, John, uncrowned King of England and inheritor of all that he had so long coveted, watched the coastline of Normandy recede into haze. "You were always my brother's man, Marshal," he said to William, who was standing beside him at the mast. "Faithful as a dog."
       Watching the gulls wheel above the undulating swell of the waves, William hoped the wind would bid them a swift voyage and allay his suffering. He didn't want to puke in front of John, who had the gift of a steady gut even on a rough crossing. William would have liked to make the voyage with Isabelle and their household, but John had specifically requested his presence on the royal nef and it wouldn't have been politic to refuse the soon-to-be King of England. "I gave him my oath, sire, as I gave my oath to your father and your brother Henry before that, God rest their souls."
       John flicked a speck from the ermine border of his cloak. "Men's oaths are always for sale. My brother purchased your fealty with Isabelle de Clare and Striguil. What would you have from me?"
       William looked at him steadily. "Sire, I give my fealty to you because it is your right to inherit your brother's crown."
       John flashed a mocking smile. "I am sure you do, just as I am sure that ambition spurs you as hard as any man. Don't be embarrassed, my lord. Name your desire, let us have it out in the open between us: no hidden rocks on which to founder."
       William thought drily that having a matter out in the open must be something of a novelty for John, whose dealings were frequently twisted with intrigue. "Then, sire, I would have my wife's paternal inheritance restored to her family. I would have Pembroke and Cilgerran."
       "Hah!" John's mouth curled with the pleasure of a cynic proven right. "Your wife been at you, has she?"
       "No more than usual, sire."
       John laughed. "It's always the women who push the men for more. Ask de Braose. That wife of his is like a bucket with a huge hole in the bottom. After sixteen children she probably feels like one too when he swives her."
       William said nothing. Maude de Braose was no beauty and it was true she was ever pressing her husband for grants and privileges to support their enormous brood of offspring, but the remark was cruel and unnecessary. His gut lurched with the next heave of the boat and he tightened his lips. Across the waves he could see the galley carrying his family, but too distant to make out the figures on deck. Isabelle would be enjoying the salt spray and the brisk breeze. She loved sea crossings. He sometimes teased her that she had the blood of Viking sea-reavers in her veins. Perhaps she did. If so, he hoped she had