Merchants of Milan

by Edale Lane

  "I trust you and Isabella de Clare will join me for the feast tomorrow evening," Eleanor began as they leisurely passed various grounds workers.

  "We would be most honored," William answered as he nodded toward her.

  Once they were away from any others, Eleanor began. "Richard trusted you. Surely after that debacle between John and Longchamp, you know well John does not always support his brother."

  "Indeed. Rest assured that my loyalty to King Richard is without question. I allowed myself to be caught up in the affair only because I failed to see John for who and what he is." Then William shook his head. "One day, I may need to pledge John my allegiance–a pledge I would indeed keep. But as long as the Lionheart lives, I am his man, and yours, Your Grace."

  "I appreciate you, William. Not only what you stand for, which is far and above the standard for all who would call themselves knight, but for who you are; I am pleased to consider you my friend."

  "As am I, Your Highness. I sense something troubles you," he perceived and gazed at her in question.

  Eleanor sighed. "It is John, as one might guess. I suspect he is up to something."

  "Truly?" William asked. "Again? And so soon after trying to pay Emperor Henry to keep Richard captive?"

  "Oh, he was much too quick to agree to help me raise the remaining ransom," she explained in an exasperated tone. Her keen eyes scanned the castle yard to ensure they were still alone. "No, he is sneaky and underhanded and definitely up to no good. He is taking off to tour the country, supposedly to collect tax money himself, along with his new friend Sir Guy of Gisborne. What can you tell me about Sir Guy? He is much older than John; I don't see what they have in common."

  William stroked his beard as they made a turn at the castle wall. "He is my age, Your Grace, and twenty years ago was a strong contender in the tournaments. He inherited his father's estate and has been profitable with it. However rumor has it that his success comes at the price of cruelty to his serfs. About fifteen years ago he was banned from competing in any sanctioned events because he was caught cheating. It seems he substituted his official ash lances for identically painted ones made from maple."

  Eleanor furrowed her brow. "I don't understand."

  "You see," he explained. "The tournament provides lances for all jousters that are the same size, weight, and hardness, fitted with blunt ends to protect competitors. Invariably there are accidents. Sometimes a knight is killed, but that is not the aim. The point is to knock a knight from his horse. Lances made of ash are flexible and splinter fairly easily, so if a strike is indirect, the lance will break and the rider remains in the saddle; only a direct hit will unseat him. But Gisborne was substituting his lances with ones made of maple, a much harder wood, which does not splinter. That allowed him a greater chance than other competitors to unseat his opponent with only a glancing blow. Subtle, but still cheating."

  "So he wanted to win unfairly," she mused. "That is what he and John hold in common. My guess is that Gisborne has pledged his fealty to John seeking advancement and reward from my youngest as soon as they place him on Richard's throne." She shook her head and looked to William. "I truly wish, I could trust my son John to be loyal to the King and wait his turn for the crown, but I fear I cannot. He has undermined the authority Richard left with us at every turn. And now that we are charged with collecting this 100,000 marks from a country barely more than a century old, from Saxons who distrust us and Normans who cannot spare the funds, we must become taskmasters of a people we would rather inspire to greatness than crush with taxes. The truth is, Richard is a better king than John would be. My prayer is that my baby will one day grow into his role; he can be more than he is–I know he can be."

  "Only if he wants to be, Milady."

  Eleanor moved her gaze to the castle and nodded her own agreement. "I already have a few spies in London, Warwick, Cambridge, and another in Nottingham," she stated matter-of-factly. Then paused looking up into his honest eyes. "But I think a little insurance is in order."

  "Your Grace?" the Earl questioned.

  "There is someone I feel I can count on who may be able to elicit exactly the information we need. I will speak with her about it on the morrow."

  "Her?" Surprise lit his expression.

  Eleanor's mouth twisted into a knowing smile that strained to hold back laughter and she flashed dark eyes at her companion. "Why, Sir William, surely you know better than to under estimate the power of a capable woman."

  Maid Marian FitzWalter sat at the long elevated table at one end of the great hall along with the royal family and high nobles of the court. Her long, honey colored hair was divided into two braids interwoven with a blue ribbon and arranged in a fashionable chignon. The ribbon complemented the indigo trim of her otherwise azure, full-sleeved bliaut, accented by a silver necklace set with a sapphire stone. Her eyes were the pastel blue of robins' eggs set beneath delicate brows on either side of a straight nose. Her bowed lips and apple cheeks were subtly colored with strawberry rouge to set them ever so slightly apart from her alabaster skin.

  Marian's seat was between Isabelle de Clare, who was near her age, and Sir Guy of Gisborne, who was considerably older and a recent widower. Also at the table were Queen Eleanor, Prince John and his wife Isabella, Sir William Marshall Earl of Pembroke, Sir Aubrey de Vere Earl of Oxford and his wife Agnes, Sir Henry FitzCount Earl of Cornwall and Bishop Richard Fitz Neal, the nation's treasurer. At the other tables were dozens of lesser lords and ladies who had been invited to the St. Mary of Magdalene

  The hall was a spacious rectangular room with a high ceiling that served many purposes, including feasts. Several large picture windows faced out onto Eleanor's beautifully landscaped gardens letting in daytime light. The wall behind the dining tables had but tiny arrow slit windows bearing a long row of wall sconces for light and various tapestries for warmth and decoration. Across the expanse of floor, used for dancing, was a wide entry door beneath the minstrels' gallery where Alberic and his troubadours played a selection from Eleanor's list. In the center of the room was a tremendous hearth with a square stone chimney displaying the red and gold Plantagenet coat-of-arms, two facing rampant lions, and Eleanor's Angevin single gold lion on a red shield with one paw raised. Because the summer evening was warm, the great fire was not lit. Instead, round candelabras hung from the ceiling, brightening the room.

  Squires and servants in sharp, clean attire scurried forth from a side door leading from the kitchens bearing platters of delightful delicacies to satisfy both the eye and appetite. There was thick pottage served in bowls made of bread, a roasted peacock arranged with its feathers on a silver platter along with a swan that was similarly displayed, a roast boar with an apple in its mouth, platters of cheeses, bowls of fruit, plates piled high with aromatic pastries, and goblets of wine. Everything was as Eleanor had designed.

  Marian was sampling a beef fritter with plum sauce when Sir Guy turned his attention to her. "'Twas such sad news about the Earl of Loxley and his son," he said between bites of sautéed eel.

  Suddenly Marian went still. She no longer heard the music nor considered the food as she turned her full attention to Sir Guy. "What about them?" she asked with concern. "I haven't heard."

  "Oh dear," he replied in feigned concern and washed his morsel down with some French wine. "Word has recently arrived from the crusade. I'm afraid they both were killed." Marian's fair face paled with shock. "I understand your family was friends with the Loxleys."

  "Yes, yes," she uttered. "I grew up in a nearby manor and we visited each other regularly. This is such distressing news." Marian found herself no longer in a mood for celebration, but she wanted to find out more about what had happened. "Have you heard anything of Robyn, Sir Loxley's daughter?"

  Isabella, William Marshall's young wife, replied, "She seems to have disappeared. No one really knows what happened to her."

  Though less beautiful than Marian, the young brunette came from a vastly more wealthy family as
her wardrobe and jewelry attested. The two had developed a quick friendship during the week of William and Isabella's visit to Windsor from Kilkenny Castle overlooking their substantial holdings in Ireland.

  Marian's expression went blank as she stared at the green-eyed Isabella. "What do you mean nobody knows?"

  "Sweet Marian, do not upset yourself so!" Isabella put down her food and laid a hand on Marian's arm. "I heard one rumor that she has gone to a nunnery."

  "A nunnery?" Marian couldn't believe it. "Why wouldn't she still be at Loxley manor? Was she so distressed by her loss?"

  "I am sure it was a considerable blow, especially after losing her mother and younger siblings," Sir Guy concluded. "But you realize that, as an unmarried woman, she had no claims to the estate." Both his wavy copper shoulder length hair and his trim pointed beard bore streaks of gray. His mid-section had bulged with age, but his weight was also considered a sign of wealth. He gazed at Marian through hungry hazel eyes. "You should take note, my dear. A maid of your age must think about marriage yourself."

  "You know I must wait for my father's return from Germany," she repeated, as she had many times before over the past four years. "Verily, I cannot marry without my father's approval. Now that the ransom for King Richard has almost all been collected, I feel sure he will return home with the King quite soon. But about Robyn…"

  Sir Guy sighed an impatient breath and added, "Actually, I heard she has run off to Scotland."

  "Scotland!" Marian was more confounded than before. "I can't believe she would commit herself to a nunnery or leave the country without telling me." Now Marian was not sure which new turn of events hurt her heart the most.

  "She has always been rather strange," Isabella noted in as compassionate of a tone as she could muster. "I suppose it can't be helped, what with her being a Saxon and all. Why, I don't think she has been back to court since the summer of her coming out."

  "What does her lineage matter?" Marian asked in derision. "She has not been to court because she has been busy managing the Loxley lands alone while her male relatives were giving their lives to defend our Christian faith!"

  Sir Guy had gone back to eating but managed to squeeze a nonchalant word in between bites. "That is what a steward is for. I have one myself."

  "It takes more than one person to run an entire estate," Marian noted, adding quietly, "to do it properly, that is."

  Sir Guy changed tactics. He set down his knife and cup and turned his full attention to the eligible and desirable beauty beside him, attempting to comfort Marian in her time of sorrow. "Maid Marian, I have already arranged a trip to Nottingham for tomorrow and I promise to personally look into Maid Robyn's whereabouts." He used his most sincere tone, softening his eyes as he placed a broad well-manicured hand over hers. "I will find out what has happened to her for you and send word immediately so you will not be so distraught."

  Marian smiled at him in gratitude. "Thank you, Sir Guy."

  She had her suspicions about Gisborne's motives, as she did about every unmarried man who called upon her, but she did not think of him the way he thought of her. She regarded Sir Guy like an uncle or grandfather, or other such masculine relative, but not as a husband. While he always displayed chivalric manners to her, she had heard from peasants and serfs on her own family's manor that he was cruel and heartless, not even properly mourning his own wife's passing. They said he was more concerned with profits than people, with promoting his own political success than in honor, and that he could not be trusted as far as one could pitch a millstone. And while she had a propensity to believe such stories, there was always a chance folks exaggerated. For here was Sir Guy displaying empathy for her feelings… or did he simply want under her skirts?

  "Don't mention it," he answered with a kind looking smile and patted her hand. "Anything I can do for the beloved goddaughter of the King will be my pleasure."

  Marian could think of nothing all night save what had become of her childhood friend, even when dancing the galliard and roundel. She was an excellent dancer and, though her mood was dark and pensive, she was compelled by her station to join in the evening's activities. She danced with several partners including Sir Guy, but became distracted to the point of desperation. After a pavane, Marian excused herself to the garderobe, and feeling slightly more relieved set out to speak with the Queen. As it happened, Eleanor had also been looking for her.

  They found each other just outside the hall doorway from which music and laughter poured. "Your Highness," Marian greeted with a curtsey. "I must ask for your leave to return home as soon as Your Highness may grant it."

  Eleanor, seeing her distress, took the young lady by the arm. "Come, Marian. Have you seen the hybrid rose I have been cultivating in the gardens? I call it the Plantageitaine Rose."

  Marian was baffled by the abrupt change in subject, but went with Eleanor outside. The Queen was in a regal verdant gown with long swooping sleeves adorned with gold and a thin gold band around her forehead. The moon was high overhead, and the garden was also lit by torches, so maneuvering the grounds was easy.

  "I love the gardens," Eleanor said with a dreamy look in her dark eyes and a sigh in her voice. "So peaceful and private." Once they were thirty or forty yards from the festivities Eleanor stopped in front of a bed of roses.

  Marian looked at them and commented. "They are indeed lovely."

  "Tell me, child; why do you suddenly wish to return home?"

  Marian straightened but was still much shorter than Eleanor. "I must find out what has happened to my friend, Robyn of Loxley. They are saying her father and brother were killed, and that she has disappeared. I cannot have peace until I know what has happened to her."

  Eleanor studied the maid's sincerity and then fondled one of the roses. "I grafted cuttings from a rose variety I brought with me from Aquitaine to a bush native to this land. I think the result is a stronger, more beautiful and fragrant sort." Then she looked to Marian. "There are those who say Normans are superior to Saxons, but I have learned a secret; like the roses, each has something to offer the other, and we are indeed stronger together."

  "I fail to understand why so many hold ill opinions of our fellow Englishmen more than a hundred years after the war," Marian voiced, puzzled again by the Queen's change in subject. "It has been at least three generations, yet some want to judge others based on their ancestry from before our nation was even established."

  Eleanor gave her a bemused glance. "Some people consider what they have in common with their neighbor, while others see only what is different. My dear, I fear I must confirm what you heard this evening: the latest casualty report listed the Earl and his son as killed in battle. I regret not knowing what has happened to the daughter, nor did I know anything was amiss. She is your friend?"

  "Yes, Your Grace," Marian replied choking back the tears that had been threatening all evening.

  "Tell me, what is the nature of your relationship with Sir Guy of Gisborne?"

  The burgeoning tears stopped in their tracks and a confused expression emerged on Marian's face. "What? Sir Guy? I have no relationship with Sir Guy."

  A twisted smile crossed Eleanor's mouth. "That is not what court gossip says. My dear Marian, do you not know when a man is wooing you?"

  "But I told him that I cannot even consider courting anyone until my father returns home to give his consent."

  "Merely ascertaining the truth of the matter," she said and led them on a farther stroll. "You are Richard's goddaughter because your father, Sir Robert FitzWalter, is my son's dearest, oldest and most loyal friend. Even now, he sits encamped outside Trifels Castle in Germany, waiting to escort Richard back home upon his release. Despite the urgings of members of our court and warnings by the Holy Roman Emperor, he refuses to leave without his King. That is the loyalty of your father. What about your loyalty, Maid Marian?"

  "I do not understand. I am unconditionally loyal to the King, and will challenge anyone who would say otherwise. In fact, I
am very much my father's daughter," she declared.

  "I thought as much," Eleanor replied as she paused beside some white flowering shrubs. After a careful glance around she explained. "There are those in England, even at court, even in my own family, who are not so loyal. I believe Sir Guy is among them."

  Marian registered the line of conversation and the tour around the gardens. The Queen's words rang true for her. "I do not intend to wed him, Your Grace, nor any man regardless of his wealth or title if he does not love King Richard as my father does."

  "It is fortuitous that you wish to return home, though not for such a grievous reason, as I would ask it of you anyway. Sir Guy and Prince John are planning to leave for Nottingham Castle to plot some scheme with the Sheriff there–I am sure of it. Both your manor and Loxley are located in the vicinity, so you can take time with your family, check on Maid Robyn and keep an eye on Sir Guy. I am not suggesting you promise him anything, but as long as his attention is fixed upon you, you may find yourself privy to what may otherwise be considered private conversations. It is imperative we discover what John, Gisborne and the Sheriff are about."

  "I see," Marian said. "As long as I am there, I will do whatever is necessary to secure the return of my King, and my father with him."

  "It could be dangerous," Eleanor warned, "especially if they become suspicious of you. Can you play at courting Sir Guy while holding him at arm's length with the excuse of waiting on your father's consent?"