Free The Scarlet Lion by Elizabeth Chadwick Page B

flame.

 
     
    Seven
     
     
    PEMBROKE, SOUTH WALES, OCTOBER 1200
     
     
    A bitter wind whipped down the estuary and out to sea, capping the waves with white surges of foam. Water and sky were the colour of a sword in motion: changes of light and cloud creating pattern-welded moments of sharp silver and dark, quenched steel. Standing on the deck of the trading galley the Sainte-Marie as the rowers pulled past Pembroke dock and out into Milford Sound, Isabelle was exhilarated, for finally they were on their way to Ireland. If she felt queasy, it was due to anticipation rather than seasickness. Last time she had trodden Irish soil, she had been twelve—little older than Will and Richard, who were making the voyage with her and William, as was Mahelt. Gilbert, Walter, and the baby had remained behind at Pembroke in the care of their nurses. William said that they were too young for the rigorous sea crossing, and should anything happen to the ship, then at least two sons and a daughter would survive to carry on the family line.
       William stood at her side, his expression grim as he watched Pembroke Castle recede into the distance. By squinting Isabelle could still make out the scaffolding around one of the towers and the mounds of foundations and earthworks, with labourers and masons swarming over them like ants. To exert his power in South Wales, William needed an impregnable base from which to operate and as soon as they had arrived had embarked on a building programme to modernise and improve the defences. She curled her arm around his. "Did you drink the horseradish tisane?"
       "Yes, for what good it will do."
       Isabelle marked the irascible note in his voice and the lines of tension creasing his face. Sea crossings were one of the few occasions when William's good nature deserted him and he became a complete trial to be near. "It will be all right," she said in the same low pitch she used to soothe the children when they were fractious or upset.
       "There is no need to coddle me," he growled.
       "I was offering comfort, not coddling," she answered tartly. "I suppose you'd rather be at court fêting King John and his new Queen?"
       William glowered. "Now you are being foolish."
       Isabelle bit back a retort about the state of his temper and watched the sleek heads of seals pop up on a wave crest then just as rapidly submerge. She had attended the coronation of John's bride and had felt deeply sorry for the slender girl put on display like a newly bought young filly at an exclusive horse fair, and struggling to come to terms with the harness of expectation and duty. John had apparently sworn that he would not get her with child until her body was capable of birthing an infant, but such an oath did not prevent him from indulging in debauched and lecherous practices that would not lead to pregnancy. Isabelle suspected William was also braving the swells and troughs of the Irish Sea in order to escape the moral laxity of John's court.
       As they headed into open water, the wind freshened and gusted. Isabelle tasted salt on her tongue and exulted in the sight of the dark waves bursting against the sides of their ship. The children were wild with excitement and she had to warn her women to keep an eye on them. Richard in particular had to be watched like a hawk for he was fearless and ran amongst the crew, clambering on barrels, swinging around the halyards, and scampering everywhere like the Bishop of Winchester's pet monkey, until William seized him by the scruff, shook him, and threatened to lift his hide with a whip. Richard was quieter after that, prudently keeping out of his father's way by going to talk to the steersman.
       The crew shipped oars and lowered the strake shields to cover the oar ports. The coast of Pembroke fell away to be replaced by a heavy grey swell, stretching from horizon to horizon and meeting a sky of similar hue. For a while an escort of gulls wheeled above the