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pallet as a feather bed, whereas his chancellor had the tastes and inclinations of a potentate – or of a man striving to forget his common origins in a display of overblown grandeur.
    From the great hall, Becket led them along a covered pathway. A bitter wind swept off the river, which was tipped with whitecaps as the incoming tide battled up the estuary. Alienor wrapped her cloak firmly around her body, sheltering her womb, where the child conceived in September was starting to thicken her figure. They came to a smaller hall that had been derelict the previous year, and now stood proud in a coat of fresh limewash, roofed in oak shingles gleaming like dull silk.
    The warmth inside the smaller dwelling was like an embrace and Alienor went to enjoy the heat glowing from the fire in the central hearth. Here too the walls had received new plaster and limewash. An insulating layer of fragrant straw covered the floor topped by reed matting. Ceramic lamps hung from the ceiling on brass chains and the exotic perfume of scented oil filled the chamber. On a sturdy chest under the window stood an exquisite little ivory box with ornate hinges. Henry pounced on it. ‘I remember this!’ he cried. ‘My mother brought it with her when she came to fight for her crown. I haven’t seen it since I was a child. She used to keep her rings in it.’ His face was animated as he raised the lid to reveal many small irregular lumps of opaque grey and gold resin resembling beach shingle.
    ‘Frankincense!’ Alienor looked over his shoulder and smiled.
    ‘The Bishop of Winchester left it behind when he fled,’ Becket said. ‘I am sorry there were no jewels inside, but the frankincense is worth its weight in gold.’
    ‘I am surprised it does not hold thirty pieces of silver,’ Henry muttered. He placed three lumps on a small skillet at the side of the hearth and held it over the fire until pale, fragrant smoke started to twist from the resin.
    Henry, Bishop of Winchester, was King Stephen’s brother. Unwilling to raze the castles he had built during the Anarchy, he had offered bribes and wriggled all ways to try and unhook himself, and when he saw that he was going to be brought down whatever he did, he had quickly and quietly arranged to send his purloined, amassed treasure to France, to the abbey at Cluny. He had followed, slipping out of the country on the ebb tide of a dark November night.
    Henry wafted his hand through the smoke. Closing her eyes, Alienor inhaled the scent of royal power, and of God. Memories coiled around her, many of them powerful and glorious even if not altogether happy.
    When she opened her eyes again, Henry’s half-brother Hamelin had joined them. His grim expression and wooden posture were an immediate warning.
    ‘It’s Aelburgh,’ he said to Henry. ‘There has been an accident.’
    Henry rose from the hearth and swiftly drew Hamelin to one side. Alienor watched the latter stoop to murmur in Henry’s ear and saw Henry stiffen. The English name meant nothing to her, she did not even know if it was male or female, but it clearly meant a great deal to Henry. Without a word to her or Becket he strode from the room, dragging Hamelin with him.
    Alienor stared after them in astonishment and disquiet. She was accustomed to Henry’s volatile flurries of energy, but not like this. ‘Who is Aelburgh?’ She looked round at her ladies, who shook their heads. She turned to Becket, who was picking up the box of frankincense from the side of the hearth. ‘My lord chancellor?’
    He cleared his throat. ‘I have no personal acquaintance, madam.’
    ‘But you do know who it is?’
    ‘I think it best for the King to tell you when he returns, madam.’
    Anger flashed. She felt at a disadvantage – undermined. ‘You may “think” what you like, my lord chancellor, but you will tell me if you know.’
    He looked down at the little box and secured the lid. ‘I believe the King has known the lady for many years,’ he