and rump, examined the teeth, picked up the hooves, then stepped back to scrutinise the whole.
“I do not suppose you have any more like this running on your pastures?” he asked.
“I have a yearling colt born of the same dam and sire,” Roger replied. “The colt’s darker than this one here—amber coat and red dapples.”
“Spoken for?”
“Not as yet,” Roger said. “If you are interested, I will keep you in mind.”
William said that he was and Roger did not ask if he had the necessary funds for such a purchase. The Marshal might not have landed wealth, but his clothing and equipment spoke for itself. “Your destrier is magnificent.”
“He is rather fine, isn’t he?” William looked smug. “Lombardy’s best.”
In his turn, Roger checked over William’s horse, asked questions, and the men swiftly established an easy camaraderie. Roger had half expected the younger Henry’s marshal to be like his master—charming but superficial. The charm was indeed there by the bushel, but there was strength and depth too. Roger was good at assessing men as well as horses. William Marshal was not the kind to fall by the wayside for lack of stamina, he thought, although given his master, he would probably need every iota of his formidable vigour.
***
Across the room, Ida watched Roger Bigod talking in a group of men that included William Marshal and Henry’s heir, the Young King, so titled because he had been crowned in his own father’s lifetime to ensure the succession.
She had missed Roger’s presence at court and the time had dragged without that frisson of covert flirtation. Other men would gladly have played a game of dalliance with her, but Ida wasn’t attracted in the same way, nor would she have felt safe answering their looks. With Roger, she knew it wouldn’t go beyond a glance, a quick smile, or a passing word. There was no such boundary with the others. Not that Roger had paid her any attention since his arrival, for he had been deeply engrossed in masculine conversations and interests thus far. She also suspected he was avoiding her on the principle that if you didn’t go near the fire in the first place, you couldn’t be burned. But it did no harm to warm yourself a little at the periphery if you were careful—surely?
Determined to enjoy herself, Ida joined the ladies of the court to watch a troupe of acrobats performing gymnastic feats on a series of ropes and poles suspended from a beam. The players’ costumes were wonderful confections festooned with coloured silks and tassels. One man had showers of blue ribbons at his shoulders that Ida thought were lovely. She admired the supple grace of the performers, their elegant gestures and lithe coordination. The ladies whispered and giggled together about the fine musculature on display.
Chief among the spectators were the Young King’s wife, Marguerite, daughter of King Louis of France, and her sister Alais, who was betrothed to Prince Richard, although whether the marriage would actually take place was debatable and a source of much friction. King Louis kept demanding that the couple be married and Henry kept finding excuses, because if something better came along, a betrothal could be broken more easily than a marriage. He already had one son bound in matrimony to France and Ida had heard him hint that a match to secure possessions in Poitou and Aquitaine would be a better long-term policy.
Alais was slim and pretty with straight brown hair, a turned up nose, and a wide, laughing mouth. Her sister Marguerite, the Young King’s wife, was by contrast plump and serious with eyes that held shadows. She had borne her lord a son who had died soon after birth, and had miscarried of another. Matters were difficult between herself and her superficial young husband, and even though she clapped her hands and laughed at the performance, Ida could see that, like the entertainment, it was an act to please others, and she ached with empathy.
The
“I do not suppose you have any more like this running on your pastures?” he asked.
“I have a yearling colt born of the same dam and sire,” Roger replied. “The colt’s darker than this one here—amber coat and red dapples.”
“Spoken for?”
“Not as yet,” Roger said. “If you are interested, I will keep you in mind.”
William said that he was and Roger did not ask if he had the necessary funds for such a purchase. The Marshal might not have landed wealth, but his clothing and equipment spoke for itself. “Your destrier is magnificent.”
“He is rather fine, isn’t he?” William looked smug. “Lombardy’s best.”
In his turn, Roger checked over William’s horse, asked questions, and the men swiftly established an easy camaraderie. Roger had half expected the younger Henry’s marshal to be like his master—charming but superficial. The charm was indeed there by the bushel, but there was strength and depth too. Roger was good at assessing men as well as horses. William Marshal was not the kind to fall by the wayside for lack of stamina, he thought, although given his master, he would probably need every iota of his formidable vigour.
***
Across the room, Ida watched Roger Bigod talking in a group of men that included William Marshal and Henry’s heir, the Young King, so titled because he had been crowned in his own father’s lifetime to ensure the succession.
She had missed Roger’s presence at court and the time had dragged without that frisson of covert flirtation. Other men would gladly have played a game of dalliance with her, but Ida wasn’t attracted in the same way, nor would she have felt safe answering their looks. With Roger, she knew it wouldn’t go beyond a glance, a quick smile, or a passing word. There was no such boundary with the others. Not that Roger had paid her any attention since his arrival, for he had been deeply engrossed in masculine conversations and interests thus far. She also suspected he was avoiding her on the principle that if you didn’t go near the fire in the first place, you couldn’t be burned. But it did no harm to warm yourself a little at the periphery if you were careful—surely?
Determined to enjoy herself, Ida joined the ladies of the court to watch a troupe of acrobats performing gymnastic feats on a series of ropes and poles suspended from a beam. The players’ costumes were wonderful confections festooned with coloured silks and tassels. One man had showers of blue ribbons at his shoulders that Ida thought were lovely. She admired the supple grace of the performers, their elegant gestures and lithe coordination. The ladies whispered and giggled together about the fine musculature on display.
Chief among the spectators were the Young King’s wife, Marguerite, daughter of King Louis of France, and her sister Alais, who was betrothed to Prince Richard, although whether the marriage would actually take place was debatable and a source of much friction. King Louis kept demanding that the couple be married and Henry kept finding excuses, because if something better came along, a betrothal could be broken more easily than a marriage. He already had one son bound in matrimony to France and Ida had heard him hint that a match to secure possessions in Poitou and Aquitaine would be a better long-term policy.
Alais was slim and pretty with straight brown hair, a turned up nose, and a wide, laughing mouth. Her sister Marguerite, the Young King’s wife, was by contrast plump and serious with eyes that held shadows. She had borne her lord a son who had died soon after birth, and had miscarried of another. Matters were difficult between herself and her superficial young husband, and even though she clapped her hands and laughed at the performance, Ida could see that, like the entertainment, it was an act to please others, and she ached with empathy.
The
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