A Place Beyond Courage by Elizabeth Chadwick Read Free Book Online

of old deposits and fresh candles set in their sockets. The best napery was fetched from the linen coffer and draped upon the lord’s table in the hall. The silver-gilt cup his father had used was set at John’s right hand. He should have been well satisfied, but sitting alone in his chamber later that night, a flagon to hand, a brazier warming his feet and his ponderings lit by the scented yellow glow of good beeswax candles, he was restless.
    While engaged about the King’s business, his days were so busy that he had little time to think beyond his occupation. Here, without the constant flurry of tasks and with only his servants and retainers for company, he felt as if the walls had expanded and put him in a place of echoes and dusty memories. He needed something to colour the gaps and lessen the shadows.
    Planning the future, deciding how to develop his influence and prosperity, helped a little, for he enjoyed devising strategies. Anticipating and being one step ahead was something he did well. But building the future meant building for future generations too - as his father had done, and his grandfather before.
    Until recently, he had never thought beyond his immediate physical need for a woman - as a pleasure and a necessary release. Being in charge of the court whores meant that he never had to go without. But since his father’s death and his purchase of the wardship of Aline Pipard, his mind had turned towards more permanent arrangements. It would be satisfying to have a wife sitting opposite him now, plying her embroidery, a son in the cradle and another one growing in her belly. Robert of Gloucester had several offspring. Stephen had been waxing lyrical about his own small sons, Baldwin and Eustace. The Empress Matilda had returned to her young husband in order to fulfil her father’s wishes for the succession, and expected a child in the spring. Everyone he knew was marrying and begetting future generations. Over the last year, he had made several bids at court for heiresses to lands more extensive than the Pipard estates, but others with greater resources and influence had offered more. It had been hinted at, although not openly said, that he was aiming too high; that he might be the King’s marshal, but not of sufficient rank to wed the women whose hands and estates he sought. Without promotion from Henry, he had reached a level above which he was never going to rise. He was a royal servant: a big fish in a small pool to those outside the world of the curia - and a minnow challenging pikes to the denizens within it.
    He reached for the flagon and realised he had drunk the contents to the lees. It wasn’t good to drink alone, but tonight he hadn’t particularly wanted to socialise with his men and he had had no intention of bringing one of the servant girls or village women to his chamber. They wouldn’t know what to talk about or how to behave, and bedding with one from such a small community would only lead to complications.
    John rose to his feet and wove unsteadily to his bed. It was an effort to remove his boots, but he didn’t call for his squire or chamberlain. He was seldom in his cups and didn’t want them to see him stripped of his usual grace and control. He flopped down on the sun-bleached sheets, the two mattresses yielding to his weight. Rolling to his side, he closed his eyes and decided that on the morrow he would put in hand a visit to his ward at Clyffe.
     
    In the small timber church at Clyffe, Aline crossed herself before the altar and rose from her knees. It was a distance from the manor, which had no chapel of its own, a matter about which her father had been wont to grumble, but he had never done anything about it. Nevertheless, Aline tried to attend confession at least once a week and mass as often as she could. She frequently thought that had she not been an heiress, she would have chosen the religious life. There was order in prayer. The rhythms and repetitions were soothing