The Silken Rose

by Carol McGrath

  ‘Well, Henry, I’m glad that is settled,’ she said. She put the offending letter away and set out to distract him. ‘How is Westminster progressing? Have you sent masons to France to learn those new designs you talked of?’

  Henry smiled at last. He took himself to the door, pushed his head out, and demanded a flagon of wine, the best Gascon wine, and supper to be served. Discovering herself to be hungry, she requested salmon poached and a honey sauce to accompany it.

  ‘Westminster will surpass anything Louis has built, even Sainte-Chappelle,’ he said after he sent the order to the kitchens.

  When food arrived in golden serving dishes, Henry lifted the gleaming lids and, with approving sounds, sniffed the steam that rose from them. After everything was tasted, he sent the servants away. Once he had placed a white napkin over Ailenor’s shoulder and another over his own, he served up the fish, placing a manchet of white bread on her golden dish. ‘I am travelling to Wales again,’ he announced.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Trouble on the borders.’ He leaned forward. ‘I’ll starve the ungodly Welsh into submission this time.’ He stabbed his bread, leaned back in his chair and called for a page to place another log on the fire. ‘We need a new, stronger castle. That’ll stop that traitor, Dafydd.’ He glanced up, his anger suddenly gone. ‘Do you know, Ailenor, that if Dafydd dies childless, I am legally his heir. Remember I told you how his mother Joanna was my half-sister. Pity he’s not as sweet as his mother.’

  Ailenor sighed. Wales was such a muddle with its warring princes, but since Gascony was for Edward, Wales might be Edmund’s one day to govern. Henry had to go to war in Wales.

  ‘When do you travel?’

  ‘Within the week. I am having new armour made.’ He tugged at his beard as he did when in thought. ‘Why don’t you take Edward and the children to Winchester for Eastertide? The change of air will do you good.’

  Ailenor spread butter over her bread and on top placed a slice of cheese. ‘We could continue to Woodstock to see the new gardens.’

  ‘I’ll join you once it’s over. A campaign in Wales could last all summer.’ He sighed. ‘Richard has offered to finance it. He is reminting our coin. That always makes more money.’ He looked more cheerful. ‘The barons support a war with Wales, but then they would. Many of them own border castles and lands.’

  Ailenor raised an eyebrow. ‘Whom does the mint advantage most? Richard, no doubt.’ She thought of Nell. ‘I expect Earl Simon will campaign in Wales. If so, Sancha and Nell could come to Woodstock.’ She thought for a moment. ‘And Rosalind too, as she is often with Nell. I have missed her since Thomas took up his estate and she has children.’

  ‘You could visit Winchester first, for Easter.’

  ‘And Canterbury to see Uncle Boniface,’ she said.

  ‘Remind him of where his loyalty lies.’ Henry pushed away his empty plate. ‘I have a letter to write to Boniface. So Richard Wych it will be.’ He dropped a kiss on her head and hurried off, saying, ‘I’ll return later.’

  Ailenor called for the maids to change her linen sheets, sprinkle lavender water on her pillows, and perfume her nightgown. She sang to herself at the thought of another baby in their nursery. It was time.

  27

  Sumpter horses lined up in the yard. Edward and Margaret sat erect in the carriage beside their mother, brimming with impatience to be on their way. It was a soft April day and Ailenor’s heart sang with the joy of a journey ahead.

  Her cavalcade of wagons, servants, and guards crossed London Bridge, wound their way through Southwark and plunged deep into the gentle Kent countryside. Their first destination was Canterbury where Uncle Boniface was in residence, having that very month returned from the meeting with the exiled Pope in Lyon.

  Boniface, tall and smiling, greeted them in the palace courtyard. Soon they were guided to aired and pleasant-smelling chambers, possessing glass in the windows and views of a garden filled with mulberry trees. The children loved Boniface. He made such a fuss of them, especially his new great- nephew, baby Edmund. His eyes were seductively warm as honey, but whilst he possessed a good-natured smile, Ailenor knew that beneath this affable personality lay danger and ruthlessness.

  Before she set out from Canterbury to Winchester on the second leg of their progress, she took Edward and Margaret to visit one of the holiest of England’s shrines, that of St Thomas Becket who had been murdered on the orders of the children’s great-grandfather.

  Their party joined a swarm of pilgrims entering the Cathedral. Visitors stood back to allow the Queen’s company passage, bowing low in homage as the royal family walked slowly along the Nave. Ailenor smiled graciously. After all, she was an earthly and heavenly queen, blessed by the Virgin Mary, a queen who would always be penitent, humble, kind, and generous of heart. She paused for a moment and whispered to Sir Hugh, Edward’s household steward. She ordered alms to be given to the poor of Canterbury. And later, as did the common folk visiting the shrine of St Thomas, Ailenor departed Canterbury with purses full of little metal pilgrim badges to give as tokens to her retinue. Edward and Margaret couldn’t wait. As they walked with her from the Cathedral they wore theirs pinned onto their mantles.

  Their progress reached Winchester on Palm Sunday.

  Once settled into her apartments in the palace, Ailenor began to recount the Easter stories. Margaret and Edward were fascinated. Beatrice, a little young at less than three years old, listened intently, seated on Ailenor’s knee staring at the gilded illuminations in her mother’s Psalter until her head nodded and her nurse swept her off to bed. Ailenor smiled fondly as Edward picked out all the letters as his mother read from the Psalter, translating the prayers from Latin into the French they spoke at court.

  Margaret and Edward always begged her for more stories, but those they most enjoyed most were not Biblical, but rather tales of Arthur and his Court.

  ‘The Grail Castle, please,’ Edward pleaded.

  ‘After I read you one more Easter prayer.’

  ‘One day, Mama,’ Edward announced, ‘I shall have a round table for my knights. It will be painted with gold and silver and sit under a canopy of gilded stars in a blue sky.’

  ‘That’s a fine idea, Edward,’ she said closing her Psalter. ‘I’ll tell you one more very short story and then you must go to bed.’

  ‘I shall be one of Edward’s court ladies,’ Margaret prattled.

  Edward studied his sister. ‘You talk too much, but I shall consider you. The Grail is the very chalice Christ drank from at the Last Supper. And,’ added Edward, ‘the lance pierced Christ’s side as he hung dying on the Cross.’

  ‘That is so,’ Ailenor began and started to describe the Grail Castle to the children. Her description was drawn from her own imaginings and soon she lost herself within her telling. She never forgot that, one day, the wide-eyed little girl with dark curling hair might one day leave her side to live in her own castle just as she had to leave Provence so many years before.

  The following Friday, Edward and Margaret watched as priests and monks crawled on their hands and knees towards Christ hanging from the enormous cross in the Cathedral nave. On Saturday the children were permitted to stay up for the midnight Service of Light. Edward was entranced by the procession that walked around the shadowy cathedral followed by the lighting of the Easter Paschal Candle.

  ‘It represents the risen Christ,’ Ailenor whispered to the children. This was the Church ceremony she liked most of all. They glanced around and their eyes widened as more and more lights entered the cathedral and church bells slowly pealed. ‘It’s magical,’ she murmured to them.

  On Easter Sunday, Ailenor led her children in the festive procession when the sacrament was paraded around the concourse outside the Cathedral. As they entered Winchester’s nave, priestly acolytes shook hand bells and sweet incense drifted through its columns of ancient pillars. Ailenor pointed to the tall windows beyond the altar. ‘Look, there you can see Christ’s story.’ Althou
gh she swept her hand towards colourful walls on which every space was painted with Biblical stories and the images of saints, she avoided drawing their attention to the Doom painting, with its descending ladders and hideous devils and their imps holding prongs to push sinners into Hell’s fires. The thought of being tortured in Hell frightened everyone, even her, the Queen, but surely purgatory would be short for the Virgin’s representative on earth.

  ‘Mama, it’s beautiful,’ Edward gasped.

  ‘Beautiful,’ repeated Margaret. ‘I want to stay here with God for ever. I want to become a nun.’

  ‘You chatter too much to be a nun,’ Edward said.

  ‘You, my sweeting, will be a great queen like your mother. She turned to Edward, ‘And for you, the crown of England like your Papa wears for the crowning ceremonies, filled with jewels - emeralds, rubies, sapphires.’ She paused. ‘You will marry a beautiful princess as in all the histories of the past. She will be an earthly queen as holy as the Queen of Heaven and as gracious.’ She felt her children’s hands clasp her own tightly and saw how their eyes glowed with awe in the candlelight. One day, they would understand their great destiny.

  Margaret pointed to one of the magnificent windows. ‘Look, Mama, I see the angels and Baby Jesus. I can see the manger.’

  Edward, not to be outdone, gestured to the great cross. ‘He should never have been killed. I hate Jews. They did that. When I am king I shall destroy them all.’

  ‘It was a long time ago, Edward.’ Ailenor said. ‘Not all Jews are evil. They are good business people. It is not charitable to be vengeful.’

  Edward grunted. ‘They eat Christian children.’

  ‘Whoever told you that nonsense?’

  ‘A servant. The one with the big teeth and fat belly.’

  ‘The servant’s name?’

  ‘Roland.’

  Roland must be removed from their service forthwith.

  ‘Look,’ Edward exclaimed, ‘the Madonna is crowned in that statue. She is a queen like you, Mama.’

  ‘She is almost, but not quite as special, as her Son.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I shall take you to Beaulieu Abbey one day. It is a great abbey. It will be consecrated next year, we think.’

  ‘And me too?’ queried Margaret.

  ‘I shall take you to see Wilton Abbey on our way to Clarendon. We shall spend a night there, my love. Many noblewomen were educated in the Abbey school.’ She leaned down. ‘And it has a beautiful chapel dedicated to Saint Edith.’

  Margaret was mollified by this, and even more so when her mother announced that she would sit beside her mother that afternoon for the Easter feast. ‘There will be venison and beef, and marchpane treats and syllabub.’ Clasping her hands with pleasure, she said, ‘The fasting time is over, my children.’

  After Easter, Ailenor’s cavalcade set out for Woodstock. She kept the children safe inside the carriage as they travelled through the leafy English countryside. There was always the threat of bandits in the forests. Diseases lurked within towns.

  If the road was smooth, they played checkers. Occasionally she relented and allowed them to ride on special saddles that fitted onto the horses adults rode. Every now and then Edward would sit behind Sir Hugh. Riding pacified Edward’s protests at being confined to a carriage.

  A week later they rode into the palace courtyard at Woodstock and she reminded them, ‘After Midsummer you’ll return to Windsor but I must wait here until Papa returns from the Welsh wars.’ They were so happy being with her, she had to gently prepare them for another parting. ‘Lady Sybil and Sir Hugh are your guardians. They’ll watch over you when I cannot be with you.’

  The children nodded and were soon distracted as they ran about the courtyard, glad to be on their feet again. Ailenor also determined to enjoy the two months they had left before the children would return to London without her. She clapped her hands. ‘Let’s look at Lady Rosamund’s maze and the gardens. Edmund and Beatrice need their naps.’ Leaving the nurses to settle the babies, she led them, their eyes wide with expectation, into the gardens.

  Nell arrived at Woodstock in time to celebrate the Midsummer holiday with three of her children, a band of servants, and several sumpter horses. By now Nell had four boys. The youngest, Guy, born during the previous year, remained at Kenilworth with his nurses. Each time Ailenor saw the boys they were taller and even more delightfully mischievous. Amaury was two, Simon five, and Hal had passed his sixth birthday. They were much loved by Margaret and Edward.

  Rosalind accompanied them. Ailenor had not seen her for a year though occasionally they exchanged letters. The workshop at Westminster thrived and Ailenor still referred to it as Rosalind’s workshop. She noted how Rosalind remained slim; how her eyes sparkled and her skin glowed with life. Now Lady Rosalind, she wore fashionable netted crispinettes on her golden hair, which was plaited in coils around her ears rather than hanging in the single long plait she had worn in the past. The embroideress now had tiny children of her own, both boys, one a baby.

  ‘Rosalind!’ Ailenor opened her arms in greeting. ‘Come and join us, you are welcome.’ Rosalind curtsied gracefully. Ailenor raised her up and turning to her maids called for basins of rose water, towels, and refreshments for all her guests.

  ‘The Countess mentioned you would like some gowns embellished.’ Rosalind smiled, showing her pretty, even teeth. ‘I am happy to embroider whilst we are here, Your Grace.’

  ‘I brought you here for your company, not to work for me.’ Ailenor glanced around. ‘Here is Lady Mary and Domina Willelma to welcome you. They will show you your chamber.’

  Rosalind was surrounded by Ailenor’s ladies. Ailenor didn’t mind at all when they ushered the embroideress into the Hall, fussing around her and chattering as if Rosalind were queen bee of their hive rather than herself.

  Ailenor turned to Nell. ‘I am so, so pleased to see you, my dear friend. Sancha was supposed to come for Midsummer but she is ill.’ She lowered her voice. ‘My sister didn’t say it in her letter but she might be with child. I am hopeful.’

  Nell held Ailenor’s hands. ‘Try not to worry. Sancha is delicate. I hope Richard takes care of her.’ Accepting a proffered basin and towel from a maid, she added, ‘Our children bring us joy. I’ve not seen Edmund yet.’

  ‘Come and you shall.’ Ailenor looked over at how Edward and Margaret and toddling Beatrice were surrounded by Nell’s boys. ‘They are so delighted with each other’s company. If only time could stop and they never had to face the world. If only they could be little all their lives.’

  Nell dried her hands and face. ‘Let us hope that since they cannot, our world is kind to them all and that they stand by each other.’ She smiled down at Margaret and Beatrice who were both swirling about, skirts flying around small legs. ‘I am praying that next time we, too, have a little girl.’

  ‘Girls are company but alas too soon we bid them farewell. We hope for an alliance with Scotland.’ Ailenor smiled, shaking off the melancholy sentiment. ‘Come, Nell, no sadness. Let’s enjoy wafers and mead together in my solar. It’s a warm day but the windows open onto a garden, and I want to hear all your news from Kenilworth.’

  Soon, the bedchambers in the palace were filled to overflowing with Nell’s ladies and Ailenor’s ladies sharing two spacious chambers. For two days Nell and Ailenor discussed children and complained about the war in Wales. As they walked together in the gardens, they relaxed in each other’s company. They wore their hair loose, simple gowns of silk and linen with gauzy sleeves, fine linen stockings, and light slippers.

  Despite Ailenor’s protests, Rosalind settled down to embroidering and when she promised to take an order back with her to trim a valuable velvet over-gown with gold thread and jewels, Ailenor said, ‘Allow me to make you a gift of a green velvet robe. I have many similar.’ Ailenor knew that even her oldest gowns would look beautiful on Rosalind. Nothing must ever be discarded or wasted. All would be handed on or cut down for the children or given as a gift to one o
f her ladies and allowed new life.

  On Midsummer’s Eve, Ailenor awoke to a cloudless sky of azure blue. Courtyard cobbles had been scrubbed. Benches were placed in a horseshoe because the children were to see a Midsummer play. Afterwards they would enjoy a feast outdoors.

  The colourful troupe in a tall cart trailed in through the palace gates banging tambourines, one carrying a rebec, another playing a clarion, two in glittering flowing robes clashing cymbals, and one in a parti-coloured tunic of red and yellow beating a pair of nakers. An actor wearing a stag’s horns led the actors’ cart, blowing loudly on a bagpipe. Ailenor hurried forwards and welcomed the players. In a state of anticipation the children crowded onto the front benches. Their ladies squeezed in behind. Soon there was standing room only, but nobody minded.

  Once they were settled the actors, who had retreated into the changing room on the lower floor of their two-storey wagon, appeared on the stage which was the cart’s upper floor. What emerged was not a religious play, as Ailenor had expected, but a play drawn from the story of King Arthur. Cymbals clashed, the audience hushed as the boy-king Arthur pulled a sword from a life-like stone and the wizard-druid Merlin declared him England’s king. Three young player-knights wearing chain mail shirts appeared on the stage to herald the young King Arthur. They were dressed as crusaders, wearing white cloaks with red crosses. One by one they announced their names to be Galahad, Perceval, and Bors. They pointed to a round table filled with knights that was depicted on a cloth hanging behind the actors. The king, who was of a sudden mysteriously grown up - he had donned a beard - spoke to the three pretend knights, giving them their quest.

  They trotted off on hobby horses to seek the Holy Grail in Jerusalem, their armour clanking. The children laughed as the actors disappearing behind a curtain caught their swords in its folds, causing it to fall. Their eyes grew round as the same curtain was replaced with a forest of painted trees.