The Autumn Throne Read Online Free Page A

obey her father.’ He pinched a strand of gold embroidery thread between forefinger and thumb and examined it in the light from the window. ‘Envoys are on their way from Sicily to finalise a marriage proposal on behalf of King William, and I am of a mind to accept if the terms are advantageous.’
    Alienor made a couple of intricate stitches. An alliance withSicily had been mooted several years ago, and put to one side, but not as a rejection. Another daughter given to far-flung lands, probably never to be seen again. And yet in its climate and culture, Sicily was not unlike Aquitaine, and might suit Joanna well. William of Sicily was perhaps ten years older than their daughter – an age gap that could be either a short step or a gulf. ‘Does Joanna know?’
    ‘No, but I will tell her soon. If the negotiations are straightforward, she will leave before autumn.’
    Alienor looked down at her work. Hating to ask, but swallowing her pride, she said, ‘Will you let me stay and spend some time with her?’
    ‘I might see my way to it.’ He heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘I have always done what is necessary for the unity of our realms. My sons understand that now, and I hope your time to reflect has brought you to a better sense of reason. How are we meant to inspire kingship and loyalty if people do not see us as united?’
    My sons
, she noted, not
our sons
. ‘I have had little else to do but ponder the matter,’ she said, and turned the fabric to look at the back of her stitches. ‘Since you have slackened my chain and brought me to Winchester, you clearly have something in mind. Harry said you wanted to make peace?’
    He wound the glittering filament of thread round his forefinger. ‘Do you remember when we visited Fontevraud together?’
    An interesting gambit. ‘That was a long time ago.’
    He gave a twisted smile. ‘Yes, in the good years.’
    Her mind filled with an image of strolling with Henry through dew-damp grass, hand in hand, the abbey’s walls pearled in early morning mist, a nurse following with their firstborn carried high in her arms. A future of endless opportunity stretched before them and her heart had brimmed with certainty and exultation. But Will had been tomb-dust for more than twenty years, and the memory was but a swift sun-flash on perilous water. She had visited Fontevraud many times since, but never with Henry. ‘What of it?’
    ‘Youhave always found balm for your soul there. I do not believe you have the same connection with Sarum?’
    Alienor stopped sewing and gave him a narrow look. ‘Your point being?’
    He rose and went to the window. The movement released the acrid smell of the hunt from his body and garments. ‘The abbey at Amesbury is to come under the rule of Fontevraud and will require an abbess. It would be a worthy project for you without stigma. You would be honoured.’
    Abbess!
So that was his plan. Pack her off to a nunnery and expect her to spend her time in prayer and charitable works and perhaps a little socialising sufficient unto the dignity and standing of a noble lady of the Church. A small and pretty death – and presumably a hard and cold one at Sarum if she resisted.
    ‘I would not put pressure on you once you were there,’ he said smoothly. ‘You could do as you pleased – go out riding, entertain visitors of rank and be an asset to our dynasty, not a liability.’
    Alienor eyed the back of his head. His hair was thinning and the once ruddy gold was the hue of dusty sand. ‘I think I would prefer to spend time in Poitiers,’ she said in a conversational tone. ‘In another two months the cherries will be ripening and early summer is always beautiful there. That would truly be balm to my soul.’
    He turned round. ‘That would not be appropriate. After what has happened, you can never return there.’ His stare was as hard as the stone against which he had been leaning. ‘I have been talking to various Churchmen and they tell me it can be