I think that possibly they had decided that if they could not control it, then it were better that no one could.
Nobles had also been to and fro at Elesberie where Edmond had continued to hold court, albeit a smaller court than he had held at the Tower, or did at Westminster.
None of these men, their wives or their sons, showed me any resentment.
Edmond’s own sons, Richard and John, stayed long months at Elesberie and they treated me respectfully, if a little coolly.
I do not think they welcomed Hugh, who they believed was their illegitimate brother. Illegitimate or not, he posed a threat to them.
So I returned to Westminster with Edmond and with our son (for so he was treated), Hugh. It had been a year since I had been south to London and Westminster, and I was astounded at the change.
The plague had indeed vanished with Raife’s death, and now the realm and its peoples breathed easier. Hope had replaced fear, rebuilding had replaced devastation. London, so shattered by fire and plague, was still a place of empty spaces where once had been buildings, but these spaces were now clear of burned timbers and harboured gentle carpets of flowers and small shrubs. In other places new buildings had sprung up, some completed, others still to be finished.
The streets were alive with people once more. Edmond later told me London had witnessed an influx of some fifteen thousand new souls in the past year alone as people flocked to the city from this realm, and others, to take advantage of the burgeoning trade and market in rebuilding, and of the need for crafts and people to ply them.
We stopped briefly at the city, then rode south down the banks of the Thames to Thorney Island. Even though I had stayed there some weeks after Raife had died, I had mainly kept indoors. When I had left, it had been at night, and I had been heavily hooded against both the dark and the rumours.
So now, when we clattered over the wooden bridge to Thorney Island, it was as if I was seeing Westminster for the first time. The abbey and its monastery — the smaller but no less grand newly built church of Saint Margaret’s — the great hall, the palace, the village. It was summer now, and everything shone under the sun.
People from the village and servants from both abbey and palace lined the street for the final approach to the palace, and they cheered and waved ribbons attached to sticks. They called out Edmond’s name, over and over and, to my utter astonishment, mine.
I wondered how much coin Edmond had caused to be spread among the crowd for them to shout my name so.
We rode to the entrance of the great hall, the household members among our company continuing on to the living quarters of the palace to fit it for our return. Hugh and his nurse, Blanche, were among them. I hated being parted from him, even for half a day, but even I could see the sense in keeping him quiet and safe in our privy chambers in the palace rather than in what I could already see was the hubbub of the great hall.
Someone had organised a grand reception. I suspected it to be Edmond, for he did not appear surprised at the welcome — although perhaps that was merely the experience of his kingship.
No. He had known, for he had made sure I was dressed in my finest, including the jewelled girdle and coronet that Raife had given me.
A groom helped me down from Dulcette (the only friend who remained with me since I had arrived at Rosseley Manor two years before), and Edmond came over. I had so often thought of him as ordinary, but today he was handsome, strong, powerful, every inch the king. His wiry dark hair had been cut fresh close to his scalp, he was smooth chinned and cheeked and dressed in the most sumptuous of robes and jewels.
He smiled, and kissed me, softly, lingeringly, in front of everyone who was standing outside the entrance to the great hall.
‘Edmond,’ I said softly, ‘my nerves are screaming.’
‘Then they do so quietly,’ he said, ‘for you look as calm as a still lake.’
‘My lord,’ I said more formally as the palace chamberlain approached, ‘I —’
‘Ah, fitzRolf,’ Edmond said, turning to the man.
FitzRolf carried in his hands a pillow, with whatever it contained covered in a dainty cloth. Edmond lifted the cloth aside, and there was a crown — not as beautiful as the Devil’s diadem, but a crown nonetheless set with magnificent gems. Edmond lifted it, looked at it, then set it on his head.
He held out his arm for me.
I hesitated, thinking that I should not take it. That it would be an impertinence before the court and nobles and so soon after the scandal of Raife’s death.
‘To hide in the shadows,’ Edmond said softly, ‘will be to admit to everything whispered. You may not wear a crown, but you rule my heart, and I want this clearly understood by everyone in this court.’
I took a breath, then his arm, and together we walked up the steps into the great hall at Westminster, the princes Richard and John following behind.
Chapter Two
I was not queen, and not given the benefit of that rank, but I stood beside Edmond in place of a queen, and thus commanded respect. In many cases it may have been a false respect — smiles and courtliness to my face, dark words behind it — but never again did anyone challenge or accuse me.
They may have tried in the months following Raife’s death, but that time also witnessed the rise of Edmond’s power base. King, ward of the infant Earl of Pengraic and thus controller of the vast Pengraic fortunes and land, and with the power of the Church (themselves the second largest landholder in England behind the king) solidly behind him. He was unassailable. Some at the court might not like me, but Edmond loved me, and that is what mattered.
It may have been unwise for Edmond to marry me, but it was equally unwise for any to attack me.
I became an accepted part of court, and of Edmond’s life.
What surprised me as the years passed was that Edmond did not tire of me. I had assumed he would, as he had of all his lovers. But, no. He continued to shower me with love and dedication. I have no doubt that there were many at court who would have wasted no time in whispering to me rumours of any dalliance that Edmond had embarked upon. But there were no whispers.
There were no lovers.
There were no rumours.
I saw women at court flatter him and preen before him, and even when Edmond did not realise he was being watched, his expression always was one of disinterest. Women more beautiful than I sought his bed and were rejected with utter indifference.
The marriage negotiations with the King of France’s daughter came to naught having dragged on for almost six years. Then Edmond’s ambassadors considered a German princess, then one from one of the Iberian states. There was a daughter of Scotland paraded before him.
But always, there were problems with the negotiations. They would start with enthusiasm, and then founder amid myriad difficulties.
It became obvious that Edmond would not marry again. His son John married and fathered a son, and then another, and after that there was little purpose in Edmond trying to father more male heirs. His sons would do it for him.
Edmond relaxed.
I relaxed.
Edmond showered me with far more than love and dedication. As the years passed he granted me lands and estates until I became wealthy and a powerful landholder in my own right — all these lands will go to my son Hugh on my death as Edmond has provided for the three daughters I gave him over time.
I loved Edmond. Not with the same passion as Raife, but with such steadfastness and respect and friendship that he became the pivot of my life.
The passion I’d once given Raife I now gave to his son, Hugh.
It is strange that the child I conceived with Raife during the early, good times of our marriage became a stranger to me, and the child who was conceived amid such doubt became the adored child. Even the three daughters I eventually bore Edmond — Heloise, Ellice and Adète — while loved and cherished, were nonetheless always second to Hugh in my heart. I tried not to show it, but they all knew.
Geoffrey stayed at Pengraic for the first six years of his life. In all that time I did not see him. He was raised by Isouda and d’Avranches; they were his effective parents, not I.