A Place Beyond Courage Read Online Free Page B

anger and resentment. John thought that if she pitched it lower and used its music, it would be a devastating weapon rather than a hostile instrument, but he doubted that compromise and softness were in her nature. He admired Matilda for her courage, and knew she was dear to Robert - although perhaps such affection was allied to the amount she would have to rely on her half-brother when she inherited Normandy and England.
    Matilda stalked away to her maid to have her cloak arranged and pinned.
    ‘At least there’s a glimmer of hope,’ John murmured to Robert. ‘She did say “let him do the begging”. That means she’s prepared to reconsider should he make an approach.’
    ‘You think so?’ Robert looked wry.
    ‘Geoffrey’s advisers won’t permit him to let Normandy and England slip through his hands, and if it means reconciliation with his wife, then so be it. As you say, he has some growing up to do, but he’s not a fool.’
    Robert smiled. ‘More insights from your informant?’
    ‘It’s not all the gossip of whores,’ John said tautly.
    Robert’s smile deepened. ‘I know that. You wouldn’t be my father’s marshal if your wits weren’t as sharp as an awl. The way you weigh up men and situations in my father’s hall is enviable.’
    A bleak smile entered John’s eyes. ‘It’s not enviable,’ he said, ‘it’s necessary.’
     
    Raised upon a windswept mound, Salisbury cathedral faced a rolling landscape populated by ancient stone circles and footpaths that had existed time out of mind. A bitter east wind dappled with snow was sweeping across the Downs and the sky over the church of the Blessed Virgin Mary, with its great new east end, was a lowering grey.
    A large congregation filled the long nave but the press of bodies did little to warm the atmosphere. Hacking coughs, red, streaming noses, damp sleeves attested that the usual winter diseases and chills were performing their circuit of misery as December advanced further into darkness.
    Aline Pipard tucked her frozen hands under her arms and curled and uncurled her toes which were half-numb and half-burning with swollen, red chilblains. Making an effort, she concentrated on the ritual of the mass which Roger, Bishop of Salisbury, was conducting. His presence was something of an event since he was usually dealing with affairs of state and the royal finances, leaving the administration of his flock to subordinates. Rumour ran that investigations at the exchequer had exposed untoward dealings and laxness, and that the Bishop was under a cloud at court, if not exactly in disgrace.
    The vapours wisping heavenwards from the censers bore the aroma of frankincense - one of the costly spices brought by the Three Magi to the Christ Child in Bethlehem. Aline’s imagination twirled aloft with the exotic, resinous scent. She imagined herself kneeling in worship at the manger in the stable and being bathed in the holy glow surrounding the Virgin and child. Hosanna in excelsis. Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini. Hosanna in excelsis.
    Aline adored churches, adored the rituals, the objects, the stories. Even today in the biting cold, she found comfort and solace just by being in God’s house. Pater noster, qui es in coelis: sanctificetur nomen tuum: adveniat regnum tuum: fiat voluntas tua, sicut in coelo, et in terra. Yesterday, on arriving in Salisbury, she and her mother had learned from Lord Walter the sheriff, that King Henry’s marshal, John FitzGilbert of Hamstead, had officially purchased the right to her wardship and marriage. There had been a letter from FitzGilbert himself, and a gift of a set of prayer beads. They were made of amber and each one glowed like a globule of hard honey. Lighter than glass or stone, they were warm like a residue of summer as she slipped them through her fingers. Aline had been overwhelmed but uncertain what the gift betokened. Was it a symbol of esteem? Did he mean to marry her, or remain her warden? Following the