The Forest by Edward Rutherfurd

looked surprised. “You mean … money?”
    “Well, he isn’t poor. If he thinks you might be useful …”
    “I hadn’t thought of that,” Adela confessed.
    “Oh, my dear child.” The widow took a moment to recover herself. “From now on,” she said firmly, “we must both work to ensure that your cousin feels you will be a
great
credit to him.”
    If her hostess encouraged her to be a little wiser about her own situation, the society of Winchester also made her more aware of what was passing in the outer world. She had known, for instance, that the king had his differences with the Church, but she was quite shocked when a senior churchman, talking casually to them in the cathedral yard, referred to him openly as “that red devil.”
    “Yet think of what Rufus has done,” her friend said afterwards. “First he has a flaming row with the Archbishop of Canterbury. The Archbishop goes to see the Pope and Rufus refuses to let him re-enter England. Then, here in Winchester, the bishop dies and Rufus refuses to install a new one. You know what that means, don’t you? All the revenues of the Winchester diocese, which is hugely rich, are paid to the king instead of the Church. And now, to add insult to injury, he’s just made his best friend, who is an absolute rogue, into the bishop of Durham. The churchmen don’t just hate the king. Many of them would like to see him dead.”
    Another subject she soon encountered concerned her native land. Several times, when they learned that she had come from Normandy, people had remarked: “Ah, I dare say we shall all be under one king again soon.” She had known that when Duke Robert of Normandy had gone on crusade three years before, he had raised the money for the expedition by a huge loan from his brother Rufus, offering Normandy itself as security. What she had not realised, but everyone in Winchester knew, was that Rufus hadn’t the slightest intention of seeing his brother return to his duchy. “If he isn’t killed on crusade,” he had apparently told his friends gleefully, “he’ll come back penniless. He’ll never be able to repay. Then I’ll get Normandy and be as great a man as my father the Conqueror was.”
    “He’s probably right,” the widow told Adela, “but there is a danger. Some of Robert’s friends tried to kill Rufus a few years ago. Some of the Clares, actually. Mind you, they’re all afraid of Rufus. But you never know …”
    “What about the third brother, young Henry?” Adela ventured. “He’s got nothing to rule.”
    “That’s true. You may see him, by the way. He comes through here from time to time.” Her friend considered for a few moments. “I think he’s probably clever,” she said finally.“I don’t think he’d take sides with either brother because you only get caught in the middle. I think he keeps his head down and gives no trouble. That’s probably the wisest thing to do. Don’t you think?”
    Whenever there was any entertaining to be done in Winchester – if a party of knights came through, or some royal official and his retinue were to be given a feast by the keeper of the treasury – the widow and Adela were sure to be of the company. Within a few weeks she had met a dozen eligible young fellows who, if they were not necessarily interested themselves, might mention her to others.
    It was at one of these feasts that she met Sir Fulk.
    He was a middle-aged man, but quite agreeable. She was sorry to hear that he had just lost his fourth wife – he did not seem to say quite how. He had estates in Normandy and in Hampshire, quite near Winchester. He thought he had once met her father. She could not help wishing that, with his little moustache and round face, he did not remind her so much of Walter, but she tried to put the thought from her. He spoke affectionately of all his wives.
    “All my wives,” he told her kindly, “have been very amiable, very docile. I’ve been very fortunate. The second,” he