The Scarlet Lion by Elizabeth Chadwick Page B

subtleties at the end of the feast. She had noticed one on the sideboard, fashioned to resemble the Tower of London where she had been held as a royal ward before her marriage. To break off a few crenellations would be extremely satisfying.
       William being high in John's favour, many of the barons' wives were seeking hers, twittering around her like sparrows in search of crumbs. Isabelle found herself rather enjoying the admiration and flattery after so long away from court. Nevertheless, she did not allow it to turn her head because most of it was a means to an end and she was adroit at sifting wheat from chaff. However, there was one woman who had no time for compliments and fuss, and was abruptly direct in her approach.
       "You and your lord are to be congratulated, Countess," said Maude de Braose. Her deep-set eyes were mocking. She had a ruddy complexion netted with broken veins, and bushy, almost masculine eyebrows, which she plainly scorned to pluck. A once magnificent figure had slumped gradually southwards during the carrying and bearing of sixteen children until her breasts were at her waist and her belly rested on her thighs like a bag pudding. Her mind, however, was muscular and honed for battle. "The Earl of Pembroke, no less. That was a title your late father couldn't wrest from the Angevin grip."
       Isabelle smiled pleasantly at Lady Maude. Courtesy cost nothing, and the de Braose family were their natural allies in Wales and Ireland. De Braose and his wife had been married for thirty years and although they bickered a great deal, they still shared a common ambition and obviously liked each other well enough in bed since their youngest child Bernard was only two years old. Isabelle admired Maude for her endurance and the fact that all of her children were healthy and thriving—no small feat. Whatever face she presented to others, Maude de Braose was known to be a proud and doting mother. "Thank you," Isabelle said. "Your own husband has been rewarded too."
       Maude showed her teeth in a yellow smile. "Indeed, but then our husbands are responsible for putting John on his throne. Without them, our new King would be whistling for his kingdom. He is in our debt for his golden crown and, if we are shrewd, we may reap yet more benefit for our services."
       Isabelle felt her spine prickle, as if something dangerous stalked in the periphery of her vision. "All I desire is my rightful due: the restoration of my father's lands."
       "Opportunities arise and you take them," Maude said with asperity. "Your husband understands this well, or he would still be a common hearth knight bedding down in the straw near the hall door instead of the great magnate he is now."
       Curbing a sharp retort, Isabelle murmured the excuse that she had to visit the privy and gratefully freed herself of Maude de Braose's abrasive presence. On her return, she was quietly misappropriating the top turret of the Tower of London and a small boat fashioned of coloured sugar paste from the subtlety on the sideboard when Ida, Countess of Norfolk, arrived, intent on a similar mission for her own offspring. Within moments the women were giggling together as conspiratorially as girls.
       Crenellations and sundries purloined and secreted into napkins, the talk naturally turned to children in general terms, although with exploratory undercurrents at work on both sides for it was never too early to begin investigations and enquiries concerning marriage alliances. Isabelle had noted the Norfolk heir standing beside his parents at the coronation: a tall, graceful youth with dark-gold hair and vivid blue eyes. Isabelle's delicate enquiries drew forth the information that no, young Hugh was not yet betrothed and his parents were open to negotiation— should a likely bride present herself.
                                 *** It was past the hour of midnight matins when Isabelle and William returned to