A Place Beyond Courage Read Free Page A

household serjeant who had thrust his way by cleverness, diligence and loyalty into the position of royal marshal. John had the ambition and ability to build on such foundations, but he was certain they didn’t come with a crown attached. The memory of that prediction brought an arid smile to his lips. Dusting crumbs from his hands, he rose from his crouch by the fire and went to question the kennel-keepers about the eating habits of the hounds.
     
    The feast that followed the King’s return from the hunt continued deep into the night and John was kept busy in his role of marshal of the court, maintaining order with his mace of authority in hand. Men who desired audience with the King had first to pass him and his ushers. If Henry made a request to talk with a particular person, it was John’s duty to see it done. Conversely, if the King wished to avoid someone, John and his men were responsible for making sure Henry was not troubled. Sometimes there were objections, which was why John wore his sword and cultivated a dangerous air. People didn’t notice how young the King’s marshal was. What they saw was the speed of his reactions and his ability to anticipate trouble and nip it in the bud.
    By the time Henry retired to his chamber with a few select members of the court, including Robert of Gloucester, Stephen of Mortain and the Beaumont brothers, the moon was a high white sliver in a star-spun sky. John’s ushers had dealt with several drunkards, quelled a brawl between two young hotheads, disarming them of knives in the process, and escorted a bishop back to his lodging after he tripped over Waleran de Beaumont’s dog and cracked his head on a trestle.
    Satisfied that all was under control, John left the hall and walked to his one-roomed lodging near the stables. A glance as he strolled revealed that the lamps were still burning in the whores’ domicile, but that was nothing unusual. Business would continue late into the night. He contemplated stopping by for a word, but decided it could wait until the morrow. He had a pile of tallies and parchments waiting his attention without adding the concerns of the court concubines to the workload.
    Like the horses, the dogs and the hawks, the royal prostitutes came within the marshal’s remit. John had to see the women fed, clothed, housed and paid for out of the exchequer. Many of the women were looking to become permanent mistresses and there was always fierce competition to join the royal household and seek such an opportunity. John was never short of applicants, although few won past his exacting standards. He well knew the tastes of the King and his magnates - his own come to that. A court prostitute had to have more than fine looks and the ability to give a man the ride of his life. She had to be socially adept and adaptable, and utterly, entirely discreet. John sometimes thought it would have been easier to collect a bucket of hens’ teeth than find women of sufficient calibre.
    Arriving at his lodging, John dismissed his chamberlain and squire. Most of his waking hours were spent in company, but he enjoyed moments to himself when he could snatch them. They gave him time to recoup and reflect; to be still and think at leisure. He draped his cloak across his coffer and hung his swordbelt and scabbard on a wall hook. A flagon and a cup stood on a trestle under the shuttered window together with the pile of tallies and parchments from this morning. He poured wine, moved the lamp until he was satisfied with the fall of light upon his work area, and sat down with the sigh of a man letting go of one thing and preparing to tackle another.
    He reached for a document lying to the side of the others, its lower edge tagged with Henry’s seal. This one was personal business, not a routine matter of palfreys or bread for the hounds. His inner vision filled with the memory of the blushing girl he had seen at mass in the cathedral at Salisbury when he had been home attending to