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become Geoffrey’s mistress then?’
    She wrinkled her nose and laughed. ‘Oh no, he’s far too fickle. For the moment he’s a prickly youth who needs stroking and reassurance - although when he grows up, he might be worth it.’
    John continued with his work for a while, although his mind was split between the parchments and tallies of the marshal’s accounts and what Damette had said.
    ‘I could be very useful to you,’ she offered, as if sensing the periphery of his thoughts. ‘Your father always considered that the things I heard and saw were a great asset to him.’
    John studied a tally without focusing on it. He realised now how much his father had protected him in keeping him away from Damette when he was Geoffrey of Anjou’s age. ‘Then I too will be happy to consider.’
    ‘And the fee?’
    ‘Negotiable.’ He put his head down over his work. She plainly knew just how far to push, for she lay down with her back to him and, pulling the coverlet high over her shoulder, at least feigned sleep.
    John poured more wine and toasted her huddled form, his eyes lighting with dour humour. If nothing else, tonight’s interlude had informed him that he was most certainly back at court.

2
     
    Abbey of le Pré, Rouen, Autumn 1130
     
    ‘Compostela!’ Matilda, dowager Empress of the Holy Roman Empire, and currently cast-off wife of the seventeen-year-old Count of Anjou, spat the word with angry laughter. ‘Now I know my husband truly is mad!’ The word ‘husband’ was uttered with disgust, as if she had been eating greens and discovered a slug. ‘What’s he going to do there? Pray for Saint James to intercede and grant an annulment to this hellish marriage? Jesu let me add my prayers too!’ Spots of fury brightened her cheekbones and brought a dangerous glitter to her eyes.
    Leaning against the wall near the door, his rod of office tucked into his belt, John admired her even while being overjoyed she was not espoused to him. Small wonder her marriage to a youth more than a decade younger and of lesser rank was foundering and sinking as swiftly as the ship that had drowned her brother ten years ago. He had told Robert of Gloucester what Damette had said, and Robert was now telling his sister before he escorted her across the Seine to dine with their father at the Tower of Rouen.
    ‘He won’t do it.’ Robert looked uneasy. ‘It’s a threat, a whim. He wants to twist the knot a little.’
    ‘Then let him hang himself with it, I care not.’
    ‘Geoffrey has a duty even as much as you do yourself. Our father won’t let either of you off the hook, you know that.’
    She scowled at her brother, encompassing John with the same look. ‘Do not prate to me of duty. I was eight years old when I left my nursery for my first wedding at my father’s behest. I married Geoffrey of Anjou because my father wished it. Do you think I would have undertaken either match of my own accord? At least the first time I was an empress and I had respect from my husband and his people. This second marriage is a . . . a vile travesty!’
    Robert looked uncomfortable. ‘Geoffrey of Anjou will grow up.’
    ‘Into what?’ she retorted with a curl of her lip and glared contemptuously at John. ‘I suppose you heard the piece about Compostela from one of your whores?’
    John bowed his head. ‘Where would the court be for information, madam, without the digging of prostitutes and priests?’ he asked in a bland voice.
    Her eyes narrowed and John braced himself for a tirade, but it didn’t come. Instead, she faced her brother. ‘I won’t go back to him, Rob.’
    ‘Not even if circumstances were different?’
    ‘This marriage has brought me low enough already,’ she said bitterly. ‘I do not see how circumstances could be different. Geoffrey did the repudiating. Let him do the begging now. If he prefers Compostela and his whores then let him lie in those beds, for he certainly won’t lie in mine.’
    Her voice was hard with