Ranulf pulled her into his arms, holding her so close she could hardly breathe. “The babe was conceived in Rouen, then.” He kissed her tears away before seeking her mouth, and then said what she most wanted to hear. “I shall tell Harry that we cannot accompany him on to London. Once the Woodstock council is done, we’ll go home to Wales.”
The Bailey was crowded and clamorous, for the Welsh were making ready to depart. Farewells had been said to Henry, chilled and correct, packhorses loaded, orders given. Ranulf and Hywel stood watching as horses were led out and men began to mount. Taking his stallion’s reins from a groom, Hywel glanced back at Ranulf. “Ought you not to be at the council meeting?”
“They are not discussing any matters of urgency today. Harry wants to change the way the sheriff’s aid is paid, hardly an issue of life or death. So I’ll not be missed nor am I missing much.”
“What is the sheriff’s aid?”
Ranulf knew full well that Hywel cared not a whit about English taxes. He’d asked for the same reason that he’d not yet mounted his horse: to put off the moment of departure. “The sheriff’s aid is a customary payment made by landowners to the sheriffs of each shire. Harry is proposing that the money be paid directly to the Exchequer in the future. That way, officials of the Crown can be kept under closer supervision, whilst limiting the opportunities for extortion.”
“Dishonest sheriffs?” Hywel gave a grimace of mock horror. “What next-unchaste nuns and lecherous monks?”
Ranulf smiled. “Or tongue-tied poets? We live in an odd world indeed, Hywel. Are you sure you cannot wait and ride back to Wales with us?”
Hywel glanced across the bailey toward his father. “No… a good guest always knows when to go home.”
Ranulf nodded, unsurprised. The Welsh had weighty matters to discuss. Upon his own return to Trefriw, he meant to visit Owain’s court, do what he could to reassure the Welsh king of his nephew’s good faith. And today he would try again to make Harry understand why the Welsh often seemed so skittish, so infernally stubborn. There had to be a way to bridge the gap between his two homelands, and he’d find it, by God he would.
After the Welsh had ridden out, Ranulf considered going over to the great hall where the council meeting was in session. But the prospect was not an appealing one; it seemed almost sinful to waste a summer day indoors, discussing a tedious topic like royal revenues. The choice was made for him as he drew near the gardens, for there a boisterous game of quoits was in progress. Several youths were flinging horseshoes about with reckless abandon, to the accompanying applause and jeers of a growing audience. Ranulf recognized Maud’s two sons, fifteen-year-old Hugh and his younger brother, Richard, and was not surprised to see his niece midst the bystanders, cheering them on. At sight of Ranulf, she beckoned him over, and he hesitated for all of a heartbeat before yielding to temptation.
“Have the Welsh gone?” Maud asked, and then, “Good pitch, Hugh!”
“They departed a while ago. I tried to get Hywel to ride back with us, to no avail.”
“What ails him, Ranulf? My impression of Hywel is that he’d be joking with the Devil on his deathbed. I’ve never seen him so somber as he was here at Woodstock. Why, when I told him that the Scots king was known as Malcolm the Maiden because he’d taken an ill-considered vow of chastity, Hywel merely nodded and made not a single jest! When he passed up an opportunity like that, I knew something must truly be amiss.”
“The Welsh are troubled by Harry’s demand for homage. They are worried that this new vassalage might well have strings attached, unseen as yet.”
Maud looked amused. “Strings? With Cousin Harry, most likely enough strings to weave a spider’s web.”
Ranulf frowned, for he thought his niece was a shrewd judge of men. “You think, then, that Harry truly covets Rhys and Owain’s domains?”
“Of course he covets, Uncle. That is what kings do, even saintly souls like Louis or our virginal young Malcolm. But I doubt that Harry is hatching any nefarious schemes to usurp Wales the way Stephen did England. To be unforgivably candid, Wales is not that great a prize. I think his true concern is to assure the succession for his son, and if that requires overawing the Welsh and the Scots, so be it. As like as not, he will-Jesu!”
Maud recoiled as an ill-aimed horseshoe thudded into the grass at her feet. “Are you so eager to be an orphan, Dickon?” she chided, and her younger son gave her an embarrassed grin. “Come on,” she said, linking her arm through Ranulf’s. “Apparently I am too tempting a target for my lads!”
Ranulf laughed and followed her out of the line of fire. “Quoits can be downright dangerous, especially when the players use stones instead of horseshoes. Add ale to the mix, and bystanders are likely to start dropping like ripe pears.” He was about to relate an account of a near-riot that had erupted after a quoit had bounced off the hob and clouted a London alderman, when he saw a familiar figure striding toward them.
“Rainald? Is the council done already?”
“Aye, it is done,” Rainald said, sounding so morose that Maud and Ranulf forgot about the game of quoits and hastened over. “Be glad you were not there, Ranulf, for it turned into a right ugly brawl. I’m half-deafened from so much shouting, am surprised you did not hear it all the way out here, for Harry can rattle shutters and raise the roof when he is in full cry.”
“What stirred up such a commotion? I thought it was just the sheriff’s aid that was under discussion.”
“Believe it or not, that was what kindled the fire. As soon as Harry announced that he wanted the sheriff’s aid to go into the Exchequer, Thomas Becket rose up in opposition to the plan, objecting most vehemently to the proposed change.”
Ranulf and Maud exchanged baffled looks. “Why? It would affect the sheriffs, not the Church.”
“So Harry pointed out. But Becket insisted that the sheriff’s aid was a free-will offering and was not to be changed into a royal revenue at the king’s whim. Harry was taken aback and instead of setting forth his reasons for wanting the change, he lost his temper and swore by God’s Eyes that the aid should be entered on the Pipe Rolls. And then Becket also lost his temper and he swore, too, by God’s Eyes, vowing that he’d not pay so much as a penny from his estates or Church lands. And all the while, the rest of us were sitting there openmouthed, unable to understand how it had come about.”
“Did Harry prevail?”
“No,” Rainald said, with astonishment that had yet to fade. “Becket did! He cleverly shifted his ground, arguing that our ancient, revered customs must be preserved against new and potentially dangerous innovations. That carried the day with barons and bishops alike, for who amongst us is not suspicious of change? When Harry saw the way the wind was blowing, he agreed to drop the matter, at least for now.”
“Why would Becket make so much ado about this? Why antagonize Harry over an issue that matters so little to the Church?”
“I’d have to be a soothsayer to answer that, Ranulf. This I can tell you, though, the bishops were asking that very question amongst themselves. For all that they rallied around Becket in public, they were as baffled by his behavior as we are. A wise man picks his quarrels with care, and Becket just squandered the king’s friendship for a trifle.”
“Uncle Ranulf?” Henry’s brother intercepted him as he started up the steps into the great hall. “May we talk?”
“Of course, lad.” Will’s open, freckled face was pinched and drawn, his distress so obvious that Ranulf took his elbow and steered him away from eavesdroppers. “Were you witness to the dispute over the sheriff’s aid?”
Will nodded. “I’ve never seen Harry so wroth, not ever. Few men would have dared to defy him like that, not to his face. I do not understand, Ranulf, how it has come to this.”
“Neither do I, Will.”
“Uncle… I had a troubling encounter with Thomas myself this morning, ere the council began. I honestly do not know if I have cause for concern or not, but I’ll admit to being disquieted about it. I told Thomas, you see, that I am to wed Isabella de Warenne. And he looked at me very gravely, shook his head, and said that such a marriage would not be acceptable in God’s Eyes, as Isabella is kin to me, by blood and marriage. It is true that Isabella and I are very distant cousins, and her late husband was my third cousin. But… but surely that is not an insurmountable impediment? Cousins get dispensations to wed all the time. Harry and Eleanor are cousins, after all, as were my parents. For certes, Thomas will be reasonable, will he not? He would not really forbid the marriage?”