A Place Beyond Courage by Elizabeth Chadwick Page B

just like the essence in a man’s loins. Feeling squeamish and afraid, she had been glad to give Gilbert to the wet nurse and bind up her breasts. She loved him, of course she did, but preferred others to do the handling.
    His cries quieted to soft squeaks and then a sudden spluttering cough as he choked. She heard John give an amused grunt at the sound. He eased his arm out from beneath her and quietly left the bed. Aline reached for him in panic. ‘Where are you going?’
    He glanced round at her, his lids heavy with satiation, his expression and posture relaxed. ‘Only to blow out the candles,’ he said. ‘I don’t need to see to sleep.’
    Aline lay in the dark with his arm around her, his palm loosely spread across her belly, and his breathing quiet at her neck. She tried so hard to please him, but it was difficult when she knew nothing of men . . . of this man. He lived a different life beyond the small boundaries of Hamstead, Tidworth and Clyffe, one populated by royalty, great magnates and bishops. What did she know of such a world, except for a few faint glimmers? Perhaps she should learn, but she didn’t want to; it was too daunting.
    When she woke just before dawn, Gilbert was crying again to be fed, and the place at her side was empty.

8
     
    Lyons-la-Fôret, Normandy, November 1135
     
    A crisp silver frost glittered on the roof shingles of the hunting lodge and a red dawn was rising out of the trees as the King set out to hunt with his courtiers. Watching him leave the hall, John noticed the bounce in his stride and heard his laughter as Robert of Gloucester said something amusing. There was no sign of the irritation that had gripped him earlier that week on hearing that the Empress’s husband and some malcontent Norman barons had been fomenting rebellion along his borders. Henry was keen to go to England and instead was having to stay in Normandy and keep an eye on his troublesome son-by-marriage. John suspected the vigour of the hunt was what kept the King’s temper from erupting; besides which, he could use the chase for informal discussion with his advisers without too many eavesdroppers.
    John had joined yesterday’s gallop through the forest, but today he had matters to attend to. Henry still wanted to be in England for Christmas if possible and that involved organising stopping places on the road, hiring horses, carts and drivers, making sure there was accommodation for the royal household and sufficient fodder and provisions en route. If the King decided the situation in Normandy was too critical to leave, then Christmas would be spent in Rouen, and that meant John had to plan for both contingencies. Leaving the hall, he went out to the stables in search of the head groom, who would tell him how many horses he was expecting to feed over the next three days and at whose expense.
    Two small children were jumping on the frozen puddles in the yard, making crazed fretwork patterns, their squeals as loud as colours on the raw silver air. Nearby a messenger stood picking his teeth with a dagger while he waited for an attendant to saddle up his mount. Straining in the traces, a cob hauled a two-wheeled cart into the courtyard. A pungent smell of raw fish struck John like a wet slap of sea spray. The cart’s interior was lined with straw, but even so, a trail of odorous moisture dripped from baskets of lampreys, oysters, mussels and assorted fish. John grimaced. The King was particularly fond of lampreys, although God alone knew why. John disliked eels in any form. Even smoked they failed to inspire his palate. He watched the cart rattle off in the direction of the kitchen quarters. If the oysters were fresh, they’d do, cracked open with the edge of a broad knife and swallowed whole.
    He spoke to the groom, went on to the keeper of the hounds, then the head falconer. He sent messengers out, and received messengers in with details of supplies and news about accommodation. He checked the tallies as to