Read Online The Greatest Knight by Elizabeth Chadwick - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Chadwick
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Detailed embroideries in rich hues of red and gold blazed upon the walls while chained lamps hung from the roof beams and were augmented by candelabra alight with clear-burning beeswax candles. Oak benches strewn with plump cushions lined the sides of the room, as did several brightly painted coffers. Thick woollen curtains decorated with exquisite stitchwork and tassels of gold silk enclosed the Queen’s great bed. Heavy scents of incense and musk drugged the air. At a sideboard scaled with silverware, a squire poured wine into silver goblets. Eleanor herself sat on a curved chair near a brazier, attended by her women and surrounded by a cluster of devoted men, including Salisbury.
William took a cup of wine from the squire, but was hesitant to join the others for he was afraid that they would see how Eleanor quickened him, and laugh at his gaucheness. Instead, he wandered into the antechamber which was populated by a few stray courtiers and ladies of the chamber. Two minstrels leaned over their instruments—harp and lute—playing practice rills of notes. A nursemaid was jiggling a crotchety infant, trying without success to shush him. The child had a quiff of dark hair and bright hazel eyes, their amber hue intensified by the redness of his face as he bawled.
“He’s always crying.”
William glanced down at one of the boys he had met that afternoon and whom he now knew to be Prince Henry, the King’s eldest son. The lad was almost thirteen years old and well proportioned. His hair was the same deep brown as William’s own and his eyes the blue-grey of woodsmoke.
“He’s my brother.” The curl of the youth’s lip informed William that the Prince was not enthralled by the relationship. “His name’s John.”
“I too have a brother called John,” William said, “and one called Henry.”
The boy studied him with a frown while he decided if William was teasing him or speaking the truth. “Do you have one called Richard?” If there had been a grimace for John, there was a telling hostility in the way the boy said “Richard” and flicked his glance towards the main room where his flame-haired brother was sitting at their mother’s feet.
“No, just Ancel. I had two other brothers who died, but they were Walter and Gilbert.”
“One of my brothers died,” the boy said. “His name was William. He would have been my father’s heir if he had lived. Are you your father’s heir?”
William shook his head. “I have no lands to call my own, which is why I am in service to my uncle of Salisbury.”
“John has no lands either.” Prince Henry jutted his chin at the red-faced baby whose roars were beginning to make folk in the antechamber wince. He raised his voice. “I’m to have England and Normandy, Richard’s to have Aquitaine, and my father says Geoffrey’s going to get Brittany.”
The instinct was to move away from the source of the racket, but William gestured to the nurse, who was beginning to look as flustered as her wriggling charge, and plucked young John out of her arms. The noise ceased in mid-bawl, the wriggles stopped, and in a silence almost as loud as the din that had preceded it, the infant stared at William with eyes stretched in shock. William laughed, tossed the baby in the air, caught him, and tossed him again. A squeal erupted, this time of utter delight.
“He likes you,” Henry said, surprised. “John doesn’t usually like anyone.”
“Babies are just babies,” William replied. “My father used to do this to us…except in a wilder fashion, and my mother would be frantic at him.” He chuckled at the memory, although he must have been older than this, and it was probably his youngest brother Ancel he could recall being tossed and caught like a ball.
“If you are not careful, he will repay you by being sick all over your fine tunic,” said Queen Eleanor, her voice husky with amusement.
It was a good thing that William was not in the throw part of the game, or he
William took a cup of wine from the squire, but was hesitant to join the others for he was afraid that they would see how Eleanor quickened him, and laugh at his gaucheness. Instead, he wandered into the antechamber which was populated by a few stray courtiers and ladies of the chamber. Two minstrels leaned over their instruments—harp and lute—playing practice rills of notes. A nursemaid was jiggling a crotchety infant, trying without success to shush him. The child had a quiff of dark hair and bright hazel eyes, their amber hue intensified by the redness of his face as he bawled.
“He’s always crying.”
William glanced down at one of the boys he had met that afternoon and whom he now knew to be Prince Henry, the King’s eldest son. The lad was almost thirteen years old and well proportioned. His hair was the same deep brown as William’s own and his eyes the blue-grey of woodsmoke.
“He’s my brother.” The curl of the youth’s lip informed William that the Prince was not enthralled by the relationship. “His name’s John.”
“I too have a brother called John,” William said, “and one called Henry.”
The boy studied him with a frown while he decided if William was teasing him or speaking the truth. “Do you have one called Richard?” If there had been a grimace for John, there was a telling hostility in the way the boy said “Richard” and flicked his glance towards the main room where his flame-haired brother was sitting at their mother’s feet.
“No, just Ancel. I had two other brothers who died, but they were Walter and Gilbert.”
“One of my brothers died,” the boy said. “His name was William. He would have been my father’s heir if he had lived. Are you your father’s heir?”
William shook his head. “I have no lands to call my own, which is why I am in service to my uncle of Salisbury.”
“John has no lands either.” Prince Henry jutted his chin at the red-faced baby whose roars were beginning to make folk in the antechamber wince. He raised his voice. “I’m to have England and Normandy, Richard’s to have Aquitaine, and my father says Geoffrey’s going to get Brittany.”
The instinct was to move away from the source of the racket, but William gestured to the nurse, who was beginning to look as flustered as her wriggling charge, and plucked young John out of her arms. The noise ceased in mid-bawl, the wriggles stopped, and in a silence almost as loud as the din that had preceded it, the infant stared at William with eyes stretched in shock. William laughed, tossed the baby in the air, caught him, and tossed him again. A squeal erupted, this time of utter delight.
“He likes you,” Henry said, surprised. “John doesn’t usually like anyone.”
“Babies are just babies,” William replied. “My father used to do this to us…except in a wilder fashion, and my mother would be frantic at him.” He chuckled at the memory, although he must have been older than this, and it was probably his youngest brother Ancel he could recall being tossed and caught like a ball.
“If you are not careful, he will repay you by being sick all over your fine tunic,” said Queen Eleanor, her voice husky with amusement.
It was a good thing that William was not in the throw part of the game, or he
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