The Silken Rose

by Carol McGrath

  Thomas began to laugh. ‘There is another thing. I nearly forgot. I ran into that ass, Jonathan de Basing.’

  ‘Where? How?’ Would Jonathan de Basing never vanish from their lives?

  ‘He was crossing the courtyard at Westminster and said, “You may have the protection of Earl Simon today, and your lady that of the Queen herself, but I’ll warrant if they both fall from favour, I could make your father-in-law’s life miserable.”

  ‘The bastard bored past me, but I caught his arm. He’s got a huge bit of beef on that arm these days, but I’m agile as ever.’

  The wretch had threatened Papa! Thomas went on, ‘I said to him. “Just you try. My father-in-law has Earl Richard’s protection. Master Alfred has no allegiance to Earl Simon but Richard of Cornwall, Lady Eleanor’s brother, will have you strung up if you threaten his tailor. So be on your way, you fat, strutting cockerel!” I’ll swear he looked green. I placed my hand on my sword. I think he thought the better of challenging me. It’s as well we are returning to Leicestershire.’

  ‘As well,’ murmured Rosalind. It would not be too soon. Of a sudden, she doubled over. Her labour was coming. ‘Ouch’, she gasped.

  ‘I said only a few moments, Thomas,’ Mildred said. ‘Now go and wait downstairs. We’ll be very occupied here as you can see.’

  Ignoring Mildred, Thomas crossed the chamber which was full of linen and basins. He dropped a kiss onto Rosalind’s forehead. ‘God be with you, my lady. I love you with all my heart.’

  ‘I love thee too,’ she struggled to say as she groaned again.

  ‘May I stay?’ he asked.

  ‘No, be gone.’ Mildred shooed him from the chamber.

  Rosalind’s chamber was too warm. Her bed was covered with white. A birthing stool appeared.

  She looked at it, her brow wrinkling in disgust.

  ‘It will ease the birthing,’ said the midwife, who had recently arrived. She was a kindly, competent woman with a neat, clean coif on her head.

  ‘But I never needed one for the others,’ Rosalind protested between pains descending and swamping her. She tried to stand. Mildred and her maidservant took her arms, one on either side, and began to walk her around the chamber.

  ‘The bed would not be soiled with blood and waters and it is easier on you. But choose whatever is comfortable,’ the midwife said, and set out rose oil with which to massage her belly.

  Outside the birthing chamber the household prayed for her safe delivery. Thomas was with Alfred in his office off the Hall. The children were in the kitchen out of earshot, managed by the cook. She lay on the bed again as full labour came upon her. The fires were ready. ‘I’ll use it,’ she gasped, pointing to the stool.

  She hardly had time to reach the birthing stool. Jane took one arm again, Mildred the other, and the midwife caught the baby as clutching her eagle stone Rosalind pushed down. She was delivered of a second girl in the fourth hour after midday, just as the church bells rang out for Vespers.

  ‘She is beautiful, like her mother and her sister. Baby Mildred. I wonder if now our family is complete,’ Thomas said some hours later when at last he was allowed to see her.

  ‘Only God can tell, but happy I am that we are returning home. Happy we are a family again.’ Rosalind looked past Thomas to three children standing with Dame Mildred in the doorway hopeful of seeing their new sister.

  Queen Ailenor, after Thomas took a wherry to the Tower to tell them he had a new daughter, sent her a basket of fruits. The fruit had arrived all the way from Gascony. As Rosalind looked at the grapes, pomegranates, and oranges, she thought how fortunate she was to have Queen Ailenor’s goodwill. She smelled the oranges.

  ‘We could use the skins to make orange waters.’

  ‘We might,’ agreed Mildred.

  A day later Countess Eleanor sent her a gift of fabric. Thomas smiled as he said, ‘It’s silk from Italy. She kept it all these years. I am sorry I was never able to bring you back the gift you said you would marry me for.’ He smiled down, and she saw how his honest blue eyes were soft with love. ‘My present for you was lost in Saintes all those years ago. It was in my bundle.’

  ‘I had forgotten about that, Thomas,’ she said, nestling baby Mildred in her arms. ‘Just don’t think of going looking for it. At least you tried and as you can see it wasn’t necessary, not at all.’

  She handed Mildred to him. As he took their infant from her he said, ‘I love you with all my heart.’

  ‘And I thee.’

  The length of silk fabric that had been wrapped in linen with fennel and lavender still smelled faintly of something stronger. It was a foreign scent. She lifted the precious material a second time to her nose. The scent was frankincense with a hint of muskiness from the East.

  She glanced up. ‘Thomas, what was the gift you lost?’

  ‘It wasn’t fabric. It was -’

  At that moment baby Mildred began to cry. Rosalind put her to her breast.

  ‘It was?’

  ‘Simply a skein of gold embroidery silk from Jerusalem.’

  35

  Autumn 1252

  Ailenor knew Henry would not easily forgive her for siding with her uncle Boniface against Bishop Aymer’s bullying behaviour at St Thomas’s Hospital that autumn and he still suspected her of conniving with Bishop Grosseteste. She moved to Windsor after Earl Simon returned to Gascony. Nell departed for Kenilworth in September. Henry came to Windsor, discovered Ailenor in her privy chamber, and sharply told her to pack her belongings and get herself to Winchester. Dropping their embroidery, her ladies stared open-mouthed at the King.

  ‘Leave us,’ she ordered and they raced from the chamber, silver and gold threads glittering on the floor by the frame they abandoned. ‘Why?’ She turned back to Henry. She could not help the challenge in her voice.

  ‘You are interfering. First you caused an interdict over Flamstead. Fortunately that was lifted before it became serious. Now you’ve insulted my half-brother Bishop Aymer and I’ve heard how you’ve actively supported Earl Simon’s cause. You and Boniface both went against Aymer, had his choice of appointment for St Thomas’s Hospital removed. Boniface called my nephew, the good Bishop, to account. No, Ailenor, you will remove yourself to Winchester and there you will keep to your own apartments and your chapel. Bishop Aymer will hear your confession daily. You will humble yourself to him.’ Henry snapped his fingers at her. ‘Select three ladies to attend you and two maids only. The rest of them return to their family estates until Christmas.’

  She stood, stretching her neck and said in a weary voice, ‘You cannot do this, Henry. Our children need me. Beatrice. . .’

  ‘Is well-looked after and away from a malevolent influence. She has Alix for company.’

  ‘I am not a malevolent influence.’ Ailenor was aghast, furious. ‘And is Alix suitable company for our daughter?’

  ‘Apparently you have thought so since you left Beatrice in her care often during Earl Simon’s trial to scheme on his behalf.’

  ‘How do you know? This is a lie.’

  ‘Alix. Who else would tell me?’ he said with an edge to his tone, ‘I hope a period of prayer and solitude will temper your disloyal spirit. I shall pray for your return to steadfastness.’

  Steadfastness. When was she not steadfast? She stiffened her resolve, and her posture. She would not beg. Henry’s grandmother Eleanor of Aquitaine had been locked away by the second Henry for years and years because she had supported their sons in their quest for independence. What if Henry grew into his grandfather’s wicked boots, did likewise, and controlled Edward’s future independence? She would not risk that, no matter how wrong he was, how unfair, stupid and stubborn. Her sojourn at Winchester with the detestable Aymer would not be a lengthy one. She would wait and guard her tongue. Her time would come and, despite all, she would regain his love. Alix of Lusignan would be gone from court as soon as Ailenor could arrange it, and she would do so with pleasure.

  ‘I have a request, Henry,�
� she said haughtily, keeping her face immobile.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked. His impatience was obvious by the way his left eye drooped and his arms folded across his silk-clad chest.

  ‘Alix should be one of my chosen ladies for the months I must pass in prayer and contemplation. Beatrice can either come with her or remain with her siblings.’

  Henry looked at her askance, his greying eyebrows lifting. She felt him studying her face closely. She lowered her eyes. ‘Granted,’ he said after an uncomfortable silence had passed. ‘But Beatrice stays here with me.’

  ‘As you wish,’ she said. When she lifted her head again, her face remained inscrutable.

  Ailenor uncovered the embroidery frame that had been tucked away into an alcove in the bower at Winchester Castle. Alix gasped as she looked upon the unfinished embroidery which gleamed with gold thread and pearls. ‘What perfect fish, Aunt Ailenor,’ she said as she reached out to touch their popping eyes and drew a finger along the silvered scales.

  ‘It has been wrapped away for two years. Do you like it, Alix?’

  ‘I do. I have always wondered at that miracle of loaves and fishes.’ She stared at the serene Christ figure. She leaned towards him, studied the stiff little figure and looking up said, ‘He looks like Uncle Henry.’

  Ailenor nodded. ‘It was not deliberate but yes, a younger Uncle Henry. Would you like to learn how to work this embroidery? I don’t think Bishop Aymer can object to such an innocent occupation.’

  ‘I want to learn. Aymer will praise it.’

  ‘If we finish it, you may have it as part of your wedding chest. It can go with you into your new life, for your own chapel.’

  ‘That is generous, Aunt Ailenor. When may we start?’

  ‘Willelma and Mary will sort out our threads and tighten the frame. We can stitch a little this evening if you wish, after Compline if the candles give us enough light. I’ll show you the stitches. You’ll know some of these already.’

  A contrite Ailenor walked to Compline in the Castle Chapel attended by her ladies, Willelma, Mary, and Alix. Aymer would serve the evening Mass. Since she was instructed to remain within the Castle and not go abroad, he must come to her. She smiled to herself since it made hearing their confession an inconvenience for him.

  He arrived in his elaborate bishop’s litter, gowned in an extravagant chasuble depicting the Tree of Jesse, its gold borders glittering. His magnificent chariot was drawn by a donkey and seeing this spectacle she restrained a desire to laugh. He offered to hear her confession after Compline but instead she suggested he return the next day. Prime would be a more suitable time. Indeed, she needed to relieve her conscience, she said. On the following morning, after confession, they could break their fast together. The castle cook had sourced fresh trout; the bakers promised soft loaves, and she’d heard their quails had laid a great number of eggs that day. It would permit him to pass the rest of the day with Church business. She really did not want to take up too much of his time.

  ‘As you wish, Your Grace,’ the handsome Bishop said, his chasuble swaying as he moved, and his voice musical. How could he possess such fine looks, a gentle voice, and yet own unsettling undertones of ruthlessness? He looked at Alix with a fond smile. ‘It will be a pleasure to dine with such charming ladies,’ he said, his voice smooth as the silk he wore.

  ‘Alix is learning English embroidery. You must see our work. It is for God’s adoration, to adorn her chapel once she is married.’

  Bishop Aymer gave her an approving nod and said he would be honoured to see how his niece progressed. Ailenor knew she was directing all in a satisfactory manner. She exchanged a sideways glace with Willelma as the Bishop’s attention was drawn from the Queen to his own beautiful sister. Ailenor bestowed her gracious smile on the Bishop as he departed.

  ‘Alix, we’ll work a small sample first.’ Ailenor put together two layers of fabric. The upper layer was of fine pink silk and the bottom was velvet. Willelma threaded two needles, the first with silver-gilt thread which she passed to Alix, the second with fine thread. Ailenor said, ‘The fabric you are to lay the silver thread over is woven in satin. It has a silk warp and a cotton weft. Some call it kanzi. It comes from the East, from Persia. You may keep this little piece when completed. Make it into a purse for your belt.’

  Alix lifted her threaded needle, her face stiff with concentration.

  ‘The double layer is because you will embellish this with the metal thread on your needle there. Later you might like to add ornaments such as tiny pearls. The silver thread is wrapped thread with metal wrapped around a silk core. Now, watch me.’ Ailenor lifted a needle and, taking the practice piece on which she had outlined a simple rose, laid the silk thread onto the material following the curve of the flower. ‘Secure this with really tiny split stitches. You can make running stitches with green silk for the leaves and outline them with gold thread. Shade in the flower with more split stitches. Shall we work a section of your rose?’

  With total absorption, more than Ailenor had ever before observed in Alix’s behaviour, the girl began to embroider. She must not work on the larger embroidery until she had mastered the techniques they used. Ailenor enjoyed teaching Alix and after several days, her niece had completed the rose and leaves. She would stitch it onto another piece of velvet for a belt purse.

  ‘How did you learn this, Aunt Ailenor?’

  ‘I learned it from an embroideress called Rosalind. She dwells in Leicestershire. Once, long ago, she was a court embroideress. There’s a workshop in one of Westminster Palace’s courtyards, tucked away behind ash trees. I’ll take you there one day.’

  ‘I should like that.’

  ‘Now you can work on the fish.’

  When Ailenor attended confessions, she wore a simple blue woollen gown without any embellishment and a wimple on her head. She humbly begged God’s pardon for gainsaying her husband but she was not entirely contrite. She would try harder to understand why her husband made the choices he made and begged God’s forgiveness for any errors of judgement she may have made as his Queen. It was not difficult to slide over the surface of things with Bishop Aymer because he was a superficial man. She emphasised the words ‘gentle’ in her prayers and confessions. She wished to be ‘gentle woman and humble woman’, a queen who used her queenship to cherish hospitals, to set an example of devotion amongst women, donate to priories, and intercede when intercession was right. She would not interfere with the King’s decisions.

  For his part, Bishop Aymer nodded and referred to the humility of Mary whose body inclined towards Christ in statues and images and who received her own crown at His hands. He touched his elaborate cope and said on that first morning, ‘You are an important link in the royal lineage. Your role is to be a loyal wife.’

  Well, of course, it was, but wasn’t she an earthly queen too? She preferred images depicting the coronation of the Virgin, seated beside Christ, rather than those of the Virgin with her head humbly inclined towards Christ. She did not say this to Aymer. She was determined to mend the foolish quarrel but she scorned the notions that every married woman was like an infant; that women were less rational than men, or that women were temptresses. She could pretend for a time to be docile and quiet but she knew in her heart, and she knew Henry knew it too, humility was not in her nature. He had once loved her intelligence. He adored her patronage of the arts and he would respect her again.

  Aymer remarked one morning as they neared Christmastide, ‘These courts you have held, discussing matters of chivalry and romance, posing questions that women should not discuss. . .’

  Ailenor stared at him because his eyes were full of bemusement. ‘They are harmless, Aymer, as you well know yourself.’

  ‘Well. . . as long as you guide discussions with humility. . . I shall tell the King that you regret any misunderstandings arising from your. . . ahem. . . Courts of Love.’

  This was a turning point for Ailenor, this and the wonderful breakfasts and dinners she pro
vided for Aymer and had, herself, begun to enjoy. When Uncle Boniface visited from Canterbury she did her utmost to reconcile them both whilst showing them both the embroidery they had almost completed for Alix’s wedding coffers. Alix smiled in a most endearing manner at Uncle Boniface.

  ‘I pray, your Grace, you will officiate at my wedding to Gilbert de Clare,’ Alix said and moved her sharp violet eyes to her uncle. ‘Dear Uncle Aymer, I pray that you can assist the Archbishop.’ She sighed engagingly and clasped her dainty hands together. ‘We are a close family.’ She reached out one hand to Ailenor. ‘I love the Queen dearly. She has been generous and kind to me. She has instructed me in many things.’

  ‘Such as?’ Aymer said narrowing his eyes.

  ‘Embroidery, marriage, a lady’s responsibilities. We read our Books of Hours together daily. We pray together.’

  Boniface said, ‘Well, Bishop Aymer, what do you think? Will you assist with the wedding?’

  ‘It will be an honour, Archbishop Boniface.’

  Aymer studied the embroidery closely, trailing a long finger over the image of Christ. ‘What a treasure this is. I had no idea the Queen was so talented with the needle and you, Alix, have been an excellent pupil. Gilbert de Clare is most fortunate.’

  ‘When he grows up,’ Alix said, her tone full of sweetness.

  Ailenor was sure she may have turned two of that wretched Lusignan family into her allies, Alix and Aymer both.

  She happily prepared for Christmas and wrote a long secret letter to Nell who would soon be delivered of her child. Earl Simon was in Paris with the French King and that was a concern.

  My Dearest Nell,

  I have been sent by Henry, my Lord King, to Winchester in disgrace. My heart aches because he has separated me from the children. He knows this banishment is painful for me, but at least he has not placed me in Wilton Nunnery, as did Edward Confessor his wife, Edith, when, centuries gone by, she was sent from court, or treated me as that other Eleanor, your grandmother who was banished from court for years. I am told to consider my attitude towards Henry’s half-brothers and to correct it. Since I am under Bishop Aymer’s supervision, I have no choice but to bend to Henry’s will. I shall be conciliatory. I am angry but I am Henry’s queen and a queen must behave with decorum. There is no point to our quarrelling; there’s no sense in maintaining a foolish situation of King’s Men and Queen’s Men.