The Scarlet Lion Read Online Free PDF Page B

you!"
       Grinning, he squeezed her waist. "I intend to thoroughly exploit your gratitude," he said. "Be warned."
       She watched him leave the room, his tread buoyant now that he had shared his burden with her, then she turned back to her women, her face flushed and her eyes alight.
       Elizabeth Avenel was waiting to pounce. "Jesu, I see what you mean about him only having to look at you and you quicken," she quipped. "You look like a woman who has just been thoroughly pleasured."
       Isabelle laughed and clapped her hands. "I have. We're going to Leinster!"
       The expression on Lady Elizabeth's face was priceless.

 
     
    Three
     
     
    VAUDREUIL, NORMANDY, APRIL 1199
     
     
    William eyed with relief the servants bearing covered dishes and salvers into the room. It seemed an age since he had broken his fast on bread and honey following mass at dawn and his stomach had been growling for hours. He and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Hubert Walter, had spent a long morning sitting in judiciary session, dealing out what William hoped was fair justice, although he was not certain some of the plaintiffs agreed. The mental exercise involved had given him a numb posterior, a throbbing skull, and a savage hunger.
       The Archbishop appeared to have worked up an appetite too, for he blessed the food in short order and signalled to the attendants with the finger bowls. William washed his hands in the perfumed water, dried them on the proffered embroidered towel, and immediately set to. Even if it was still Lent and the fare somewhat short on variety, the poached salmon was moist and succulent and the spiced frumenty laced with almond slivers and raisins was a pleasure on the palate. A sinful dish of pale primrose butter stood beside a basket of crusty wheaten loaves and William reached for it eagerly. He would do penance for gluttony on the morrow.
       Hubert Walter shook his head as he watched William spread butter on the bread with the back of his knife. "I see you still indulge in rustic English habits," he remarked.
       William shrugged. "I was born an English rustic and a man should know where he comes from as well as where he hopes to go."
       Hubert smiled thinly and conceded the point with a wave of his beringed right hand. He too had risen to an eminent position from less exalted beginnings, although the peculiar English habit of putting butter on bread had not been part of his upbringing.
       Whilst they ate, the men forbore to discuss the cases they had been judging. Hubert, a consummate lawyer, would have been happy to do so, but William preferred to use the time to refresh his mind for the following session.
       "Your family is growing swiftly," Hubert said between mouthfuls of salmon. "How many is it now?"
       "Four boys and a girl," William replied. "Will's nine, Richard's seven, Mahelt's five, Gilbert's almost two, and Walter was born at Christmas." He could recite the names and ages by rote and had made a point of doing so ever since William de Braose had confessed one day at court to not remembering the names and ages of several of his sixteen children.
       The Archbishop looked thoughtful. "Any of the boys destined for the Church? You could do worse than put one of them in Holy Orders."
       "If they show the aptitude, then certainly," William said, "but they'll be trained in general terms first. I am my father's fourth son, but it would have been a disaster for myself and the Church if I had taken vows. My brother Henry was far more suited to the priesthood."
       "Ah yes, the eminent Bishop of Exeter," said Hubert Walter, his impartial tone more eloquent than words spoken with feeling.
       William seldom had dealings with Henry, who had risen high in the Church by courtesy of King Richard's favour towards the Marshal faction. William preferred to keep a cordial distance from his brother, who was patronising, finicky, and would not have dreamed of eating buttered