A Place Beyond Courage Read Free

younger than herself. That the youth’s father was now King of Jerusalem had not mellowed her attitude one whit. ‘No, but there are certain pressures he can bring to bear.’ John glanced eloquently towards the King, who was deep in conversation with Stephen of Mortain. The two stood close together in relaxed camaraderie, mirroring each other’s body movements as they ate and drank. ‘He needs to.’ John bit into the crisp, brown crust. ‘He has no direct male heir from his marriages and even if he is hale for the moment, he is not young.’
    Robert rubbed the back of his neck and scowled. ‘Everyone swore to uphold my sister’s right to the throne. We’ve all taken oaths of homage to her.’
    ‘With your father watching every move of every man, who would dare to refuse? Without him, it might be different.’ John had been in Rouen for the oath-taking in the great cathedral. His father had been alive then and had sworn allegiance, but the lands they had of the Marshalsea were insignificant and it was the pledges of the magnates that had mattered to Henry.
    ‘What are you saying?’
    ‘That if your father wants Matilda to sit in his place, it would be useful if there were a well-grown grandson or two by the time he starts to feel his years. Like it or not, my lord, men look to be ruled by another man, not a woman.’
    Robert made an impatient sound, but his gaze flickered towards his father and Stephen.
    John speared another piece of bread and held it to the flames. ‘He’s using Stephen to exert pressure on her, but sometimes you can’t tell who’s hunting whom. Every creature preys on something weaker than itself or aligns itself to take advantage.’
    ‘You included?’
    John gestured around. ‘Look at the trees. Winter strips them bare. You can see every knot and crevice, every rotten branch and strong limb. But clad them in green and it is harder to tell. Depending on the season, they are the same but changed.’
    ‘What kind of answer is that?’ Robert snapped. ‘You talk in foolish riddles.’
    John watched the bread begin to turn brown and said quietly, ‘Your grandsire was bastard begotten, but he wore a crown. Some say that—’
    Robert stepped back as if John had struck him, colour flooding his complexion. ‘I know what “some say” and if you are one of them I have misjudged your friendship. I will never take that road. Never!’
    John pulled his stick away from the fire. ‘You misjudge me no more than you misjudge yourself, my lord.’
    Robert looked away. Adjusting the set of his cloak like a cat grooming ruffled fur, he stalked off without another word. John attended to his toasted bread and thought that Robert was vehement because the notion of reaching for the crown appealed to him at some deep level where he would never admit to it. Since childhood, it had been instilled in him that his father’s heirs were those born of legitimate marriage. The world had changed since his grandfather, William the Bastard, had ruled Normandy and seized the English throne. Robert had lands, titles and great wealth. His mother’s relatives were all welcome at court. His father loved him dearly and kept him deep in his counsels. Even without a crown, the rewards were great and Robert’s moral code would keep him walking that straight path, a willing servant to his father’s will. Nevertheless, John supposed it was a great temptation to eye the gilded road running parallel and think that, but for the grace of God and the words of a priest, one might have been treading the miles of one’s life shod in the purple of kingship. John knew which road he would have taken, but then it was easy to imagine from a distance and a different perspective.
    John had been nineteen years old when a crone at the September fair in Salisbury had studied his hands and told him he would beget greatness - that one day a son of his would rule England. John had laughed in her wizened face. He was the son of a minor