started to move toward the door, but he stopped.
Elizabeth bit her lip in chagrin. She had forgotten how much more perceptive
William was than her husband. William had heard far more than the words
she said. He had heard the reiteration of the fact that she did not care
enough for Mauger to care when he brought a mistress home. Mauger would never
have noticed the fact under the simple remark. Elizabeth, who knew her husband
thought she was docile and stupid, took great pleasure in saying things with
quite outrageous double meanings to him, knowing he would never catch them.
Before William could speak, Elizabeth shook her head and
opened the door. On the threshold of the hall, she stopped so suddenly that
William bumped into her. She stepped aside and gestured courteously for him to
go forward, but her eyes warned. The boiling ferment inside William congealed.
Sitting near the fireplace drinking from a handsome goblet, was Mauger.
Standing back, Elizabeth looked at both men with new eyes.
In looks there was no comparison. Handsome, William was not, except for those
ridiculous eyelashes. On the other hand, Mauger was handsome, definitely so.
His hair was true gold, his mouth well formed, his nose straight, his eyes a
lovely blue, innocent and guileless. Was there something in Mauger that
repelled her? No, it could not be that. It was simply that she loved William.
Love was not a matter of face or form.
“I am glad you are back,” William said.
To himself, his voice sounded peculiar, but Mauger did not
seem to notice anything. Perhaps he would put the stiffness down to William’s
displeasure at finding Emma putting herself forward so much. If so, all to the
good. Mauger said something civil in reply, invited William to sit and offered wine.
He did not mention Emma, but asked with more than usual eagerness what he could
do for William, as if he were aware of being caught in something disgraceful
and were trying to re-win William’s esteem. William obliged with a second
recital of Raymond’s arrival. He was somewhat surprised by the intensity with
which Mauger listened.
“No,” Mauger said, when he had heard the tale out. “I have
not heard of any similar thing nor was the young man at court when I left, so I
cannot tell you anything on that score either, but…but I do not like it,
William.”
“Do not like it? What do you mean?”
“The king is growing more and more suspicious of everyone
and everything,” Mauger said with great excitement.
“What set him off? I know he was fulminating about
Winchester, but when Walter Raleigh went to France—”
“No,” Mauger interrupted, “it is the Welsh business. When
Llewelyn ap lowerth decided that David, his son in wedlock from King John’s
daughter Joan, should rule the whole land, his bastard Gruffydd would not
accept it. This Gruffydd claims half his father’s estate—on what right I cannot
guess.”
William nodded. He knew the story much better than Mauger
because his old lord, Rannulf of Chester, had been a friend and neighbor of
Llewelyn ap lowerth. He knew why Gruffydd could claim half the estate and find
supporters for that claim. It was the Welsh custom that “the son of the
handmaid should be heir with the son of the free”. To William it seemed quite
mad that not only legitimate younger sons were entitled to a share with the
eldest but that illegitimate sons had the same right.
Llewelyn had decided to break with custom. Although
legitimacy meant little to him, he recognized that David, who was King Henry’s
cousin, was more fit to rule than Gruffydd, and he had bound his vassals by
oaths to obey the younger, but legitimate, son.
William knew the rest of the story too, but he had no
intention of interrupting Mauger. He was always careful not to mention his own
close contact with high-level policy lest he should be thought to be boasting.
Thus, he listened quietly while Mauger explained how Gruffydd, not unnaturally,
took exception to this
Elizabeth bit her lip in chagrin. She had forgotten how much more perceptive
William was than her husband. William had heard far more than the words
she said. He had heard the reiteration of the fact that she did not care
enough for Mauger to care when he brought a mistress home. Mauger would never
have noticed the fact under the simple remark. Elizabeth, who knew her husband
thought she was docile and stupid, took great pleasure in saying things with
quite outrageous double meanings to him, knowing he would never catch them.
Before William could speak, Elizabeth shook her head and
opened the door. On the threshold of the hall, she stopped so suddenly that
William bumped into her. She stepped aside and gestured courteously for him to
go forward, but her eyes warned. The boiling ferment inside William congealed.
Sitting near the fireplace drinking from a handsome goblet, was Mauger.
Standing back, Elizabeth looked at both men with new eyes.
In looks there was no comparison. Handsome, William was not, except for those
ridiculous eyelashes. On the other hand, Mauger was handsome, definitely so.
His hair was true gold, his mouth well formed, his nose straight, his eyes a
lovely blue, innocent and guileless. Was there something in Mauger that
repelled her? No, it could not be that. It was simply that she loved William.
Love was not a matter of face or form.
“I am glad you are back,” William said.
To himself, his voice sounded peculiar, but Mauger did not
seem to notice anything. Perhaps he would put the stiffness down to William’s
displeasure at finding Emma putting herself forward so much. If so, all to the
good. Mauger said something civil in reply, invited William to sit and offered wine.
He did not mention Emma, but asked with more than usual eagerness what he could
do for William, as if he were aware of being caught in something disgraceful
and were trying to re-win William’s esteem. William obliged with a second
recital of Raymond’s arrival. He was somewhat surprised by the intensity with
which Mauger listened.
“No,” Mauger said, when he had heard the tale out. “I have
not heard of any similar thing nor was the young man at court when I left, so I
cannot tell you anything on that score either, but…but I do not like it,
William.”
“Do not like it? What do you mean?”
“The king is growing more and more suspicious of everyone
and everything,” Mauger said with great excitement.
“What set him off? I know he was fulminating about
Winchester, but when Walter Raleigh went to France—”
“No,” Mauger interrupted, “it is the Welsh business. When
Llewelyn ap lowerth decided that David, his son in wedlock from King John’s
daughter Joan, should rule the whole land, his bastard Gruffydd would not
accept it. This Gruffydd claims half his father’s estate—on what right I cannot
guess.”
William nodded. He knew the story much better than Mauger
because his old lord, Rannulf of Chester, had been a friend and neighbor of
Llewelyn ap lowerth. He knew why Gruffydd could claim half the estate and find
supporters for that claim. It was the Welsh custom that “the son of the
handmaid should be heir with the son of the free”. To William it seemed quite
mad that not only legitimate younger sons were entitled to a share with the
eldest but that illegitimate sons had the same right.
Llewelyn had decided to break with custom. Although
legitimacy meant little to him, he recognized that David, who was King Henry’s
cousin, was more fit to rule than Gruffydd, and he had bound his vassals by
oaths to obey the younger, but legitimate, son.
William knew the rest of the story too, but he had no
intention of interrupting Mauger. He was always careful not to mention his own
close contact with high-level policy lest he should be thought to be boasting.
Thus, he listened quietly while Mauger explained how Gruffydd, not unnaturally,
took exception to this
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