‘Have you spoken to Alice of Pembroke?’ he asked, avoiding my eyes.
‘Alice? Why?’
He stayed silent.
‘Myler?’
‘You must speak to Alice, Aoife.’
‘What?’ I tried to catch his gaze. ‘Myler!’ I sought his eyes.
Exasperated, he threw his hands into the air. ‘OK, OK . . . sit down, Aoife.’ He guided me to a small bench and sat beside me, holding my hand.
‘And swear to me, Aoife, you will never tell anyone where you heard this . . . particularly not Strongbow.’
I looked at him quizzically. What was all this about?
‘Swear,’ he insisted.
‘I promise.’
And he told me.
Apparently, there was more than administrative affairs to occupy Strongbow’s attention at Pembroke Castle. There was also his mistress. She had lived there as long as Myler could remember, and although he visited her frequently, she had never come to Chepstow, and Myler had never met her. As his mistress, Strongbow respected the etiquette of these matters rigorously. She would not have any formal place by his side.
I had known that Strongbow most probably had such connections, but hearing it for the first time was not easy. Such a long-standing arrangement was also not unusual. The higher Norman lords would marry for dynastic purposes. A wife must bring wealth or prospects to advance their fortune and that of their followers. Consequently, these types of arrangements were common before and after marriage. I had not expected anything much different. After all, in Ireland, a man could take two wives and more concubines. However there, a wife could easily divorce her husband and take an equal share in the wealth, more if she had brought the bulk of it to the marriage. Women could also take lovers, and Brehon law allowed for these arrangements with or without the consent of her family, the law always seeking the moderating balance. The ways of the Normans gave women no such rights.
Myler scrutinised me, gauging the impact of this revelation. His kindness would not have wished me distress.
Probabilities become realities; when thoughts are articulated, they seem to take on a shape that must be seen. Words put edges on thoughts that throw shadows and can be felt on the skin. They become real.
I would have preferred it otherwise. An image of a man, a husband, devoted to his young wife, who might in time turn her loving gaze towards him. Childish notions of a young girl. I laughed inwardly at my hypocrisy. I knew the way of things. More glaringly, lofty virtuous ways had been readily abandoned with my robes for the man who now held my hand.
‘I see,’ I said. Then I continued. ‘It’s fine, Myler, it’s the way of things. In fact, I’m no angel myself in these matters, as you may have noticed.’ I smiled at him. Surprisingly, he remained glum.
‘There’s more, Aoife. There’s a child. A daughter, not much younger than you, I believe. Aline, Aline de Clare. She also lives there.’
I must have shown my shock. Looking back, I should not have been surprised. These things could be avoided, but they happened. I stood and paced. Surprised at my own reaction, my sudden venom for a girl I had never known. I had always easily befriended people, but here I felt an unfamiliar loathing. A visceral fear of a threat, an unfamiliar feeling borne from deep within, from the blood, my blood . . . royal blood.
‘I feared as much. The child will make things difficult in the future. Any children I might bear for Strongbow would have to contend with the child,’
Myler looked perplexed. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘She will have no rights. She is illegitimate.’
It was now my turn to struggle to understand. ‘Illegitimate? What do you mean?’ For in Ireland, under Brehon law, there was no notion of illegitimacy. Whether born in or out of marriage, it was of no consequence in law or attitude. The distinction was truly a foreign concept. Indeed, there were many such children as the first year of marriage was seen as a trial period for each to assess the suitability of their chosen partner for a life together. If either party decided to end the relationship, it was done on a no-fault basis, and the law clearly set the responsibilities of the father and mother in respect of any resulting children. These children had equal rights to succession to any subsequent children of their parents.
‘How can a child be illegitimate, outside the law?’ I asked. ‘Whose law? How can a born child be illegal?’ It was a ridiculous notion to me, near comical.
Myler went on to explain how every monarch’s crown could only be fully legitimised by a coronation approved by the pope. So, kings and queens were very attentive to the whims of the church. They enforced Christian ways on their people. Particularly the laws surrounding marriage and inheritance where a man could only have one wife. The children of that marriage could inherit whereas any children outside of the marriage could not legitimately inherit a title and the wealth that came with it—they were considered illegitimate.
Grasping his meaning, I sensed my hostility to Strongbow’s child abating remarkably quickly. I was a bit ashamed of how easily I had been willing to trample upon the interests of an innocent girl when my own were threatened.
However, such is life. As Alice had repeatedly told me, it was my blood that would shape the course of my life; there was a lot more at stake than my own innocent girlish notions. Against this, I started to get a different sense of my father and what he had done. If I could stand over an injustice against an innocent girl, what leap was necessary to let harm come to someone I knew, and then to kin, beyond that to a brother, even a son or daughter?
Would I find the reasons to justify abandoning them if the time came? Would I leave a child under the swing of an axeman to die, knowing only by doing so could my other children survive? Could I also murder and pierce the eyeballs of my kin, knowing not to do so would condemn my own children to the same fate? I shuddered at the thought of it. I preferred to think I wouldn’t, but I wasn’t so sure now.
I could feel the pulse of that royal blood in my thoughts, washing away a childish innocence, loosening my hand on simplistic certainties and noble principles. My grip would ease further as the inescapable current of life swept me on.
The choices my father made, although repugnant, could be understood. Was that what Strongbow had meant when he suggested that he would not have done much differently? Would I?
For now, I was relieved that the girl would pose no threat. I must have shown my delight, for when I turned to Myler I could see the anguish etched into his handsome face. A fathomed sadness in his dark eyes seeing my future, the children I would bear for another man. A man he too loved like a father.
His agony jolted me back to my own sorrow for this loss. The sacrifice I would also make. Life tends to tinge every joy with a shadow of sorrow, but then again, our trials are also often lightened with a wisp of promise. The world would not let me forget my blood, as Alice had told me . . . but nor would my very blood itself. I could see now how it must be. I would do my duty by my family and do whatever was required to protect them and further our interests. It was either that or perish.
I moved to close the heavy shutters on the window which overlooked the lower bailey of the castle courtyard. My chamber was visible to prying eyes from the ramparts on the south wall on the opposite side. The castle was alive with the return of the Geraldines and their following men-at-arms and archers who ambled through the gates. The horses whinnied their joy at their return over the shouting men and wagons clambering over the cobblestones. We would not be missed for a while. Barring the door, I returned to hold his sunken head in my hands where he sat on my bed. The rich, silky thickness of his long hair was scented with rose oil. I had not seen him in weeks. I missed his tenderness. Opening my robe to expose my breasts, I pulled his lips to my nipple and felt his tongue circle, his hands moving from my thighs, fingertips down my spine to firmly clasp my rump. A heightening of the noise outside caused us both to look to the barred windows. The confusion continued; I held his head to my breast, we had only moments. Pushing him back I went to him. Rhythmic thrusts, mingled breath, lost in each other; the quick thrust of seed, a rush of relief, mixed in the cacophony of noise rising from the courtyard muted in the moment’s reverie. Then the pounding, becoming real, clear, the pounding on the door; Alice’s urgent shout:
‘It’s Strongbow. Strongbow is returned! Aoife, he is coming!’
Chapter TwelvePAYING THE PRICE
Chepstow Castle, Wales
Winter 1168
Strongbow had not gone to Pembroke; he had unexpectedly followed the Geraldines to Chepstow. Receiving word that a messenger from the king would arrive at the castle, he had turned this way.
‘M’lord,’ I heard Alice say in the corridor approaching my chamber. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you returned safely.’
