The Silken Rose

by Carol McGrath

  ‘Yes.’ Rosalind said, even though she felt as if she had swallowed a snake and it was curling around her insides, squeezing breath from her.

  Bishop Fulk expressed his appreciation of their work. ‘Magnificent,’ he said. ‘St Thomas and St Hilary in particular – most noteworthy. Indeed, indeed.’ He pointed to the silver-gilt thread and coloured silks gracing the images of saints. ‘The crucifixion on the cope’s back will gleam its message as I face the altar. Yes, indeed, indeed you have worked hard. Your priory will be well rewarded.’

  ‘Thank you, my Lord Bishop,’ whispered Rosalind, hardly able to speak, wondering if he was in truth the King’s enemy. ‘Prioress Elizabeth will be pleased to hear that,’ she managed to say.

  ‘Now, now, as to the rest.’ The Bishop moved slowly along the table on which the cope was displayed. He traced a ringed finger along the edges of the cope. ‘I would like a border of roses intertwined with a star and cross pattern along all of these hems and around the neckline also. Yes, roses, silken and embroidered. Indeed, indeed.’ He sniffed through his long nose. Rosalind took a pace backwards. ‘Can the embroidery be. . .’ the Bishop turned from the cope to face her. ‘completed by Eastertide?’

  ‘Without doubt, my lord.’ She regained her courage and studied him, his smooth face, proud long nose and hooded eyes. Did his eyes conceal secrets?

  As they left the palace, Rosalind knew she must confide in Prioress Elizabeth. The Prioress was Queen Ailenor’s friend. The King could be in great danger.

  Prioress Elizabeth inhaled and exhaled slowly. She spread her hands on her desk. ‘This could be nothing but then it could be something. Either way, it is too serious a matter to trust to a messenger. You will be in Bordeaux, yourself, as quickly as any messenger can reach the Queen. You will go to Bordeaux, won’t you, Rosalind? You will accept the Queen’s summons?’

  ‘Yes, Prioress, I must.’ Even before she had overheard whispers in the Bishop’s Palace, Rosalind had decided to return to Queen Ailenor and discover what had happened to Thomas.

  Prioress Elizabeth’s long hands shifted to meet under her chin, her elbows leaning on the sloping desk. ‘I’ll write what you have heard and you shall take her my message. No doubt this is one of many plots against King Henry. Nothing may ensue, but no risk can be taken either, none at all. Trust no one, Rosalind. Speak not one word of this to anyone travelling on the Griffin. Earl Richard has been on the Crusade for several years. I suspect Templars may be behind this. Henry borrows persistently from their coffers but has he ever returned the loans? I think it unlikely.’

  Rosalind nodded. ‘Prioress, I shall not share this with anyone. Do you think Earl Richard could be involved?’

  ‘Earl Richard is an honourable knight and good brother to the King. He does not hide behind plots. He fought on Crusade and he has freed French knights from the Infidel’s clutches. He has been with King Henry since. This hails from elsewhere. As I have said, Templars.’ She lowered her voice as if the statues placed in wall niches could listen and carry tales. ‘Bishop Fulk was not King Henry’s preferred choice when Bishop Roger Niger died. He is close to Walter Marshal though, in truth, I do not suspect Earl Walter either. Queen Ailenor has recently helped him regain his inheritance and he is in Gascony with the King. Nor may the Bishop be part of this. I cannot think who your blue-gowned would-be plotter can possibly be.’

  ‘I shall be cautious, Mother.’

  Prioress Elizabeth shuffled papers on her desk, sat erect and said firmly, ‘I am thinking of your own safety, my child. Walls, curtains, and screens have ears so be careful whom you trust.’

  A moment’s quiet was broken by the Prioress’s little bird, a linnet, chirruping in its cage. For an intake of breath, Rosalind was reminded of the peace and purpose she discovered here in a nunnery, of the quiet friendships she had made. She would soon face the Queen’s busy and bustling court again, which thrilled her, though what she had overheard that day was unsettling. It made her both excited and afraid. Staring down at her dark gown and white apron, she said, ‘Must I wear this novice’s habit in Gascony?’

  ‘No, my child, we shall return your gowns to you, and if they need altering, we shall alter them.’ She seemed lost in thought for a moment before saying, ‘My child, I shall provide you with a new one. Tomorrow, go to your father’s workplace, bid him farewell and he will see it is made. I think blue might be your colour. Tell him to spare no cost and to line the garment with squirrel fur. Winter approaches. It must be ready within a few days.’

  ‘Thank you, Prioress.’

  Prioress Elizabeth rose from her stool, circled her sloping desk and embraced Rosalind. ‘My child. It is you I must thank. Remember, there will always be a home for you at St Helena’s should you need one. May God bless you and protect your new journey.’ She removed the coif from Rosalind’s hair and touched the knot on the back of the girl’s head. ‘I see your locks have grown in brighter than ever. I had hoped your place would always be with us, but. . .’ she sighed, ‘apparently God has other plans for you.’

  ‘It may be so, Mother,’ Rosalind said. Her heart leapt for joy. For a moment she closed her eyes and tried to summon up an image of Thomas, whom she had not seen for two long years. She could sense him close, in her heart.

  He was alive and he was waiting for her.

  23

  1242 – 1243

  Ailenor broke her fast on bread and honey. On hearing the clatter of horses in the courtyard, she pushed her cup of small beer aside. Her bread fell into her napkin as she leapt to her feet. Throwing open wooden shutters, she peered from the window. Henry was riding into the bailey with his earls, barons and their retainers. Roger Bigod, Will Longespee, and Walter Marshal, plus Earls Richard and Simon, were all impatiently jangling reins, and she was sure they were glowering as they stilled their prancing mounts. Simon and Richard dismounted first. They marched off, crunching dry leaves as they led their horses towards the stables. Henry climbed down from his horse. She noted his thunderous countenance and her stomach churned. Had the truce negotiations failed after all?

  When Henry was in such a mood it was best to wait until he came to her. She returned to her breakfast but the bread and honey she usually loved stuck in her throat. She pushed it away and hurried to the nursery to seek distraction with Beatrice. All morning she patiently waited, wondering what had passed. From what she had observed below, it felt like a quarrel. The hour turned twice as cathedral bells clanged over the city followed by a cacophony of carillons from Bordeaux’s churches. The dinner hour was approaching when Henry burst into her chamber red-faced, his garments untidy. He dismissed her ladies with a scowl and sank into a chair clasping its arms so hard his knuckles were as pale as soured milk.

  Ailenor knelt in front of him. ‘My lord, what is amiss? Is it the peace?’

  Henry’s left eyelid closed making him sinister in appearance as well as angry. ‘There will be a peace of sorts,’ he grunted at her. ‘It’s Montfort. By Christ’s holy bones, he’ll pay for his words.’

  ‘What has he done now?’

  ‘The knave compared me to the mad King of France, the idiot they call Charles the Simple, the one who was locked away centuries ago. I suggested we make another attempt to save Poitou whilst the French were laid low and those who are not ill are riding south to subjugate Toulouse.’ He threw his arms up with the high drama of a player about to speak something of great import. His next words horrified her. ‘What a great opportunity for us to get back our stolen castles.’

  Ailenor’s eyes widened with horror. It would be madness to extend the war against the Poitou knights who have gone over to the French. How could Henry contemplate endangering the peace treaty?

  Henry rambled on, clearly more concerned by Simon’s blunt words than the importance of the treaty. ‘Montfort said I should be secured behind bars as strong as those on the windows of Windsor Castle. I have, he says, led a failed campaign; it was a waste of men and money. Mere Earl as he is, he yelle
d at me, Ailenor. He accused me, saying I had followed a Poitevin traitor in whom I placed my trust foolishly. He shouted insubservient words in front of all my knights. He cried out, “Gascony is endangered by your ineptitude.”’

  They could lose Simon. For a moment she simply stared at Henry’s furious face. At last she said, ‘Simon is furious at Hugh’s defection. He spoke out of turn, Henry, but trying to take back those castles from the French is foolhardy. You have neither men nor money for weapons.’ She drew breath. ‘What of the Treaty?’

  ‘For now we have a truce, one that will be in Louis’s interests. He gains and I lose.’ Henry sank his head into his hands. ‘It will take months to negotiate the peace terms. Louis is still ill, almost to death, with dysentery. It is an excellent opportunity to outmanoeuvre him and get a better treaty.’ He raised his arms and cupped his hands around his head. ‘My Earls, those remaining, are planning to return to their lands in England.’

  This was not good news. ‘What if Simon goes over to France? He’s your best general. Have you thought of this? Although he has spoken wildly, Simon is an asset.’

  ‘If he turns to Louis, he will never get his lands back.’

  Ailenor said firmly, ‘We must safeguard Edward’s inheritance. And there’s the wine trade. Don’t endanger it with a war you are not sure we’ll win. Focus on Gascony, Henry, not Poitou, nor Normandy.’

  ‘Richard is uncompromising and difficult. He and Simon are in accord. I retrieved Gascony from him, despite my promise, but at a cost.’

  ‘Once Richard and Sancha are wed, Richard will forget Gascony,’ she said. ‘Give him money and land in England. That should make him content.’

  Henry gave her a sardonic smile. ‘I have granted him lands in lieu of Gascony and I shall grant the dowry also.’

  ‘Good. The proxy wedding took place in Tarasçon but Mama has written that they can’t travel through France until peace is confirmed. They could be seized as hostages. We need peace, Henry.’

  Henry looked up at her. ‘Richard wishes to return to England.’ He let go a long sigh.

  ‘Good. He can prepare for his wedding. London loves him and they like weddings. They’re a distraction.’ She folded her hands in her lap. ‘I have news, my love.’ She lowered her voice a decibel so it was soft and loving. ‘I’ve sent for our children. God willing, they’ll arrive soon. So, you see, you cannot go off attacking castles in Poitou.’

  Henry reached for her hands. ‘You are a joy in a time of great darkness, war, and mistrust. Let the dust settle on the Poitou campaign as wine pours into England from Gascony.’ Petulance crept into his tone as he added, ‘It’s an ignoble truce but it’ll protect Gascony for Edward. Besides, I’ve heard the Solers and Columbines, the great families, wine families, are quarrelling again down in Gascony’s southern parts. I shall send a troupe of knights deep into Gascony to tame them and collect tax. Montfort can lead them. That will keep him occupied. And if Simon apologises and conducts himself well, he can have his English lands returned to him.’

  Ailenor moved onto his lap and he encircled her waist with his arms. ‘We shall make this cold palace comfortable,’ she said. ‘Tapestries, embroideries - they all need mending.’ She pointed at the damaged, fraying tapestry covering the table. ‘That, for instance, and my bed curtains. All are damaged. The embroideress, Rosalind, is coming too with the children. I’ve asked the convent to release her.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Did that girl not take vows? I want no taint on our court. No heretical connections.’

  ‘She did spend a year studying scripture and prayer as well as embroidering Bishop Fulk’s cope. The Prioress reports well of her. There’s no taint there. Besides, that Dominican priest is far away in Castile.’

  ‘I suppose the girl may return to you.’ The angry miasma that had clouded his mood lifted. ‘You can have your palace improvements. We’ll retire to Blaye with the children for a time.’ He looked at her with admiration. ‘Let’s attend Vespers together this afternoon. I’ve had enough of my petulant knights for now. Their men can eat what they can forage from the kitchens. We’ll dine privately.’ He smiled, his quarrel with Simon tucked away, though Ailenor knew better. It could reappear when least expected, when Simon crossed Henry again. ‘This winter, we shall be a family and make another child.’ Henry drew her deeper into his embrace. She thought to herself, she was certainly not adverse to that. Two girls now. She needed another boy.

  Earl Richard left Gascony on the Griffin with a group of nobles who wanted to pass Christmastide with their families. It was the same vessel that carried the royal children to Bordeaux. As they departed for England, the weather was as unpredictable as Henry’s moods, changing from calm to unsettled with winds cursing the coast. Anxious to be away, the earls refused to wait for a storm to blow itself out but without his earls and knights, Henry could not renew the campaign. Ailenor did not regret their departure.

  A week before, Henry had parted with Simon and she with Nell. ‘You plan to remain here?’ Henry said coolly to Earl Simon. ‘You are not abandoning me too?’ Simon had grudgingly apologised to Henry for his anger and Henry equally grudgingly had accepted his apology.

  ‘I gave you my allegiance, my King,’ Simon said quietly. ‘You have my loyalty. As we have agreed, you will need help taming the wine merchants.’

  Henry had muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Simon raised a bushy black eyebrow, apparently not in the least disconcerted. Ailenor exchanged a nervous glance with Nell. The atmosphere between Henry and Simon remained as tense as an over-tight lute string. Neither woman spoke.

  ‘Nell and the children and I will leave for the south,’ Simon said, breaking the unease. ‘We’ll return as soon as disputes are settled and as much tax as can be seized is collected.’

  Henry nodded. ‘Then go with my blessing, Simon, but take care not to alienate the Gascons.’ Henry sounded sincere in this last part at least.

  ‘Our baggage is packed and now, my liege, if you will excuse us we have the children to organise.’

  ‘Go, go in peace, Earl Simon.’ Henry drew Nell forward and kissed his sister, but to Simon he gave only a nod.

  Ailenor welcomed Rosalind into the palace hall. The girl looked fresh-faced whilst the nurses accompanying their children were green about the gills and unsteady on their feet.

  Ailenor blinked away tears as she took Rosalind’s hands in her own. ‘My dearest Rosalind, we are pleased to have you with us again. But let us talk after you have rested. Lady Willelma will introduce you to embroiderers from the town who will be employed under your tutelage. Lady Margery will conduct you to your chamber.’

  As Rosalind drew a small package from her furred mantle, Ailenor noted the girl’s new gown, and noted the cloak’s deep red squirrel lining as it fell back. ‘Your Grace, Prioress Elizabeth has given me a letter for you. It relates to something I overheard in Bishop Fulk’s palace in London.’ The embroideress held the missive forward. Ailenor stared down at the seal. When her eyes returned to Rosalind, she thought the girl looked fearful. What was so important it frightened her? Glancing across the Hall she saw Henry holding Margaret in his arms and Edward clutching his gown and in that moment she longed to be with them too. This correspondence must wait awhile. She had not seen her children for months. They had priority.

  She handed Willelma the letter. ‘Willelma, take this for me. I shall read it later. The King is waiting for us to settle our children in the nursery.’ Addressing Rosalind again, she said, ‘Thank you. Supper will be served in the ladies’ bower tonight. I shall come to bid you all goodnight.’ She called Lady Margery St John forward from her ladies, a junior lady who had joined her damsels before they had sailed to Gascony. Ailenor turned away as a servant lifted Rosalind’s baggage and Lady Margery ushered the girl towards the staircase.

  Simon and Nell had left Bordeaux accompanied by their children, their nurses, squires, and a troupe of horsemen on the previous Wednesday. As they said farewel
l, Ailenor had noted a golden head amongst Earl Simon’s retainers and creased her brow. Thomas, the squire whom she had hoped would be reunited with Rosalind, was apparently recovered enough from his weakness to ride south with Earl Simon. For a heartbeat, she regretted that it could be weeks before Rosalind was reunited with her squire. Nell had not communicated to him Rosalind’s imminent arrival at court and Ailenor had assumed incorrectly that the young man remained in the monastery where he was recovering from his wounds. Nell and Simon would not return to court for months.

  Later that day, Ailenor read the letter from Prioress Elizabeth. It caused her concern though as the Prioress pointed out, there were always plots, but it was wise to be wary. It was as well Henry was in the courtyard showing Edward a bow and clutch of arrows. She glanced up and caught St Anne staring down at her from her chamber wall. She was sure the saint was frowning. ‘What would you do?’ she whispered into the stillness but St Anne had resumed her usual beatific expression, albeit her silken-rimmed almond eyes were staring at her. She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. Templars indeed. Was such a plot far-fetched? Precautions must be taken, the Bishop of London’s palace closely watched, Templars observed, and new food tasters employed. Every jug of wine must be sampled before Henry drank it. Ailenor had her own contacts in London, within certain groups of the clergy, thanks to Uncle Peter’s connections. The Templars’ Hall and their church must be placed under scrutiny. Thinking of such dangers she called John Mansel to her closet, then sent for Rosalind.

  Rosalind’s hands were shaking as she curtsied. The girl was wearing the beautiful pink court dress that she had received as a gift from Ailenor a year before. As usual, a neat linen coif covered her hair. Ailenor praised her appearance and bade Rosalind sit with her. She poured them both small cups of sweet honeyed wine. John Mansel sat discreetly behind a screen to observe the interview. It was his idea since Ailenor did not want to intimidate Rosalind with his presence.