For the King’s Favor Read Online Free PDF Page B

Anketil in tow, he mounted the wall walk and faced the sunset.
    He had spoken to his mother of pitching a tent, and indeed had been prepared to do just that in order to claim his inheritance, but in the event, Henry had shown a glimmer of mercy. Tomorrow the destruction would begin, but Ailnoth and his crew had instructions to leave the stone great hall and chapel standing, and the kitchens, byres, and utility buildings. What was to be destroyed were the battlements, the gatehouse tower and guardrooms, the earthworks and defences—everything that had made Framlingham a stronghold. But at least he had a place to live.
    His father had not stayed in the royal camp beyond making his formal surrender. Having agreed to all the terms in a voice devoid of emotion, he had departed, intent on taking ship for Flanders with his mercenaries. He hadn’t spared a single look for his eldest son, as if by refusing to acknowledge his presence in the King’s campaign tent he could wipe him from existence. All Roger had seen was an old man, deflated, beaten, almost used up, but still existing on the dregs of his bitterness and venom.
    “My father wouldn’t stay to see all this pulled down.” Roger pressed the flat of his hand against the sun-warmed oak, now in shadow. “But someone has to bear witness. Someone has to watch it all come down and face the consequences.” He looked round at Anketil, resolution firming his jaw. “Someone has to rebuild.”
    “Sir?”
    “You fall over, you get up again,” Roger said. “This was my father’s castle. The next one will be mine.”

Four
    Windsor Castle, September 1176
    Ida de Tosney studied the wall hanging in the chamber, admiring the way the embroiderer had combined two shades of blue thread and mingled it with green to depict the river where the hunting party in the picture had paused to water their horses. She imagined how she would work such a scene, perhaps adding a line of silver to the water and a fish or two. She loved planning embroideries and although she had but recently turned fifteen years old, she was an accomplished needlewoman.
    Her rose-coloured gown was embellished with vine-leaf coils of delicate green thread at the sleeves and neckline. Small clusters of garnet grapes adorned the scrollwork, and the outline borders were worked with seed pearls. The belt, double-looped at her waist, was of her own weaving, and it too was decorated with pearls, for she was an heiress and these were her court robes, especially made for her presentation to the King whose ward she was. Beset with anxiety, she had imagined the moment a hundred times, envisaging her curtsey, the rise and the step back. She hoped that if he spoke to her, she would be able to make an appropriate answer.
    Her maid Goda twined gold ribbons through Ida’s thick brown braid, whilst Bertrice tweezed Ida’s eyebrows until they were shapely arches and Ida tried not to flinch.
    “You have to look your best for the King,” Bertrice said with a practical nod. “If he likes you, he’ll deal well with your wardship and find you a good husband.” She patted a moist, lavender-scented cloth against Ida’s brows to remove any redness, and then smoothed the area with a gentle fingertip.
    “Perhaps you’ll even find a husband today, among the courtiers,” Goda said, optimistically. “It wouldn’t do to look ungroomed, would it now, young mistress?”
    Ida blushed and made herself stand still while the women completed her toilet. She knew they were anxious she should please the King, because it reflected on their care of her. She wanted to please the King too, for her own sake as well as theirs; and, as they said, some of the men looking on might be in search of a wife. Although still innocent of the world, Ida had begun to notice the assessment in men’s glances—the way their eyes lingered on her lips and her bosom. Such attention created a warm glow in her solar plexus even while it scared her. Something told her