Free For the King's Favor by Elizabeth Chadwick

said at length. “Your stepmother’s claim must be carefully examined before I can come to a judgement and, in the meantime, loyal service will do you nothing but good. I will keep and cultivate your presence at court and you will do me homage tomorrow for those of your father’s lands that are not in dispute.”
    “Sire,” Roger said. He recognised that his audience was over and this was as much as he was going to get from Henry at this stage.
    As he returned to the hall, he pondered on what Henry had and had not said. Matters could be considerably better, but he was philosophical. They could be worse too. At least Framlingham was secure, as were his interests at Yarmouth and Ipswich. Heaving a sigh, Roger mentally braced his shoulders. There was leeway for optimism, but he was going to have to toil like an ox for any reward.
    In the hall, a group of women were singing a joyful song about the delights of springtime to entertain themselves and others. Roger paused to observe and listen while he recovered his equilibrium. The piece was one he vaguely knew with a poignant chorus line and some intricate tonal work in the verses and as he absorbed himself in the patterns and pleasure of the music, he started to relax.
    His Uncle Aubrey joined the gathering of listeners and, standing beside Roger, arms folded, asked under cover of the singing how the interview had gone.
    Roger told him. “It was not what I hoped for,” he said, “but it was what I expected.”
    De Vere looked thoughtful. “The race is not always to the swift. You have the stronger case. Bide your time and you’ll yet have all.” He laid a supportive hand on Roger’s shoulder.
    Roger nodded and looked equable, but beneath his calm exterior, his impatience simmered like a pot close to the boil. He had a feeling he would have to bide that time for years rather than weeks or months, and that permission to rebuild Framlingham’s defences would be like obtaining blood from a stone.
    Making a deliberate effort to settle down, he focused on the singers and noticed several young women who were as easy on the eyes as their voices were on the ears. A tall girl with a tilted nose held the notes with pure strength. Beside her a plump young woman warbled with her eyes closed, a stray tendril of blond hair tickling the side of her face. At the end of the semi-circle of women, a slender girl clad in a gown of green wool attracted his gaze. She had melting eyes of hazelnut-brown, arched dark brows, and a dimpled smile as she sang in a clear, sweet voice. At the chorus, the singers had to clap and turn to the left and then the right and she performed the moves with a sparkle and a laugh.
    “Lovely girl,” his uncle said and ran his tongue around the inside of his closed mouth. “Ida de Tosney—Henry’s new young mistress and very dear to him.”
    Roger was a little shocked because the innocent joy in her face and movements sat at odds with the notion of her sharing the King’s bed. There was nothing of a concubine in her mien.
    “She’s not one of the regular whores,” his uncle added. “She’s one of his wards.” He lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “An heiress but, like yourself, Henry is considering her future while holding it in abeyance.”
    Roger was quick enough to absorb the meaning within his uncle’s remarks. Ida de Tosney belonged to Henry and a wise man would keep his distance. Not that approaching her had been on Roger’s mind. He liked women and had the same urges as any healthy young male, but he was also self-contained and wary of the court butterflies.
    Dismissing Ida de Tosney from his mind, he headed to the latrine to empty his bladder of Henry’s vile wine. Task accomplished, he turned to leave but found his way blocked by his half-brothers and Gundreda’s lawyer, Roger de Glanville. Roger’s heart started to pound but he held his gaze steady and kept his head high. He was accustomed to games of intimidation; his father had taught him