[1997] Once and Future Love

by Anne Kelleher

  Giscard narrowed his little eyes. “Oh?”

  She shrugged again. “The poor thing thinks he’s possessed—and maybe he is for all I know. It was all I heard today. Oh, please, Guillaume, say you’ll take me with you tomorrow? It’s bad enough we’re stuck in this miserable country for another month or more. Please, take me with you.”

  Guillaume opened his mouth to reply, but Giscard interrupted him. “What do you mean, she thinks he’s possessed?”

  Marguerite waved her hands airily. “Oh, she thinks he’s changed. He speaks in strange tongues sometimes, says things no one understands. She says he isn’t at all the man she married.” She looked at her husband. “Please, Guillaume? Please say yes.”

  “Ah, very well, my dear.” Guillaume shrugged. “I suppose there are enough ladies there for you to keep yourself occupied. Certainly there’s enough going on to keep anyone amused for quite some time. But I’ll be busy, you understand. You’ll be on your own there—don’t look for me to amuse you.”

  “Humph.” Marguerite made a little sound of contempt. “And since when have I ever waited for you to amuse me?” She rose to her feet and gathered her skirts. “I bid you both good night. I’m going to decide what I should wear to court tomorrow.” She swept away, her skirts making a loud swish as she passed.

  Giscard waited until she’d disappeared up the stairs. He took a deep breath.

  “Don’t even say it, brother.” Guillaume signaled to the serving maid for more ale.

  “What do you think I’m going to say?”

  “I think you think you have a way to bring de Lambert down. Well, I’m telling you to go slowly and tread carefully. I saw him today—several times, in fact. And each time he was in the company of William the Marshal. They had their heads together on more than one occasion. If he’s so close to the Marshal, he has a powerful friend, indeed.”

  “The Marshal is his liege lord. He’s sworn to give—”

  “To give counsel? I don’t think so. The Marshal must trust and respect his judgment, to have him so close at a time like this. Even the king spoke to him. He’s not some backwater bumpkin. He’s a man who’s been noticed. And I would suggest, brother, you tread very carefully where de Lambert’s concerned.”

  Giscard scowled at his brother. “Why so cautious, brother? You had no scruples about marrying Marguerite.”

  “Marguerite was not the wife of another man, she was already a widow.” He took a long quaff of ale. “I think you’re being very foolish, Giscard. Surely there are heiresses in England more easily acquired than one who’s already married to a man who has the ear of not only the king but probably the most respected knight in Europe as well.”

  Giscard gave his brother a long look. This was the sort of thing he had always despised Guillaume for—the way he had of being supportive up to a point, and then turning back and acting as if he’d been against the idea from the beginning. He thought about arguing with Guillaume further, but decided against it.

  He didn’t trust his brother not to go running to the Marshal if he thought he could benefit in some

  way. His brother’s opportunism was disgusting. So he shrugged instead and picked up his tankard of ale. “Well, brother,” he said, studying the contents of the tankard carefully, pretending to seem lost in thought. “I suppose you have a good point.”

  “Better to wait until this all settles down. The king will doubtless have rewards for those who remain loyal to him. You will benefit then.”

  “When are you leaving?” Giscard asked abruptly.

  Guillaume shrugged. “Soon. Marguerite is bored—and I am too, if the truth be told. There’s no point in staying now. This situation must either resolve itself soon or the country will explode into civil war. And I don’t want to be here when that happens. I’m thinking of booking passage as soon as possible.”

  Giscard nodded, saying nothing. Better to wait, then, until his brother was well on his way to France. A plan was rapidly forming in his mind, a plan that would ensure Richard’s downfall more definitely than his murder ever could. A plan Giscard didn’t want to fail.

  CHAPTER 21

  The gray stone walls of Windsor rose out of the early morning mist like a castle in a dream. Eleanor jogged along on the little mare behind Richard, silent and slightly nauseous, but determined to say nothing of her discomfort. She didn’t dare disclose to him her condition until she was sure of what she should do.

  He had been solicitous and attentive when they had awoken, inviting her to accompany him to the great castle. “I would have brought you along yesterday,” he said as they breakfasted on a loaf of the fresh-baked bread and honey that she’d had yesterday, “but you were sleeping so soundly, I thought it better to let you rest. But if you like, I thought you might enjoy the castle more than this place. It’s dull here.” he added, almost to himself.

  Outwardly Eleanor was calm and quiet, but inwardly she seethed in conflict. Perhaps at Windsor she could speak to a priest, a priest more learned in these matters than Father Alphonse was ever likely to be. She regretted that she would not see Marguerite, although she doubted that Richard would approve of her friendship with a woman who was related, albeit only by marriage, to a man who was his enemy.

  Momentarily she wondered if perhaps she had misspoken when she’d confided in Marguerite. What if she told Giscard? But then, Eleanor decided, what man would listen to a woman’s prattle, anyway? Giscard wasn’t her husband, he was only her brother-in-law. And Marguerite had made it clear she cared for him not at all. Her imitations of his table manners had been devastatingly funny.

  “…‌so you see, it’s not so much the specific items that the barons are asking for that are important, it’s the very nature of the charter itself,” Richard was saying.

  With a start, she realized he was talking to her. “Oh, I see,” she said, wondering what exactly he was explaining. “I’m afraid I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Well,” he said, frowning a little. “For example, there are a lot of concerns about the fishing weirs along the Thames. These have all been itemized, and each grievance addressed. Who knows, though, exactly how long they can be enforced?”

  She only nodded a little, to show she understood, and he continued. “Things such as that aren’t really the important issue here, and that’s what Lord William and the other men gathered around the king understand. The important issue is the idea that the king does not wield unlimited power, that the power of the king is limited in some way by this thing we call law. And that even the king is answerable before it. You have no idea how much of a difference this is going to make someday, Eleanor. The great charter we are working on will have an effect on the lives of every person born in Britain for hundreds of years, or more. And it’s going to be the foundation for ideas that are even greater and more important—concepts such as freedom of the press and speech and—” He broke off.

  She was staring at him. She gave him a little smile, wondering what on earth he was talking about. Freedom of the press? What in the world was a press? He almost sounded as if he knew far more than he was telling her. But what, exactly? It was one more item on the long list of differences between the Richard before the autumn and the Richard after it. But this was slightly different.

  He spoke as if he understood ideas about law and freedom that the man she had married had absolutely no interest in. But it was one thing to have no interest in something, and then to discover one. It was quite another to have acquired knowledge. And how could Richard have acquired this kind of knowledge? He’d been scarcely a week with the Marshal—that wasn’t long enough.

  A chill went down her spine. She shut her eyes and said a brief prayer as a wave of nausea washed over her. She prayed that God would keep both her and the child safe.

  Richard walked slowly up the narrow stairs that led to the council chamber. He’d seen Eleanor ensconced in the solar with several of the ladies of the court, who welcomed the newcomer enthusiastically. He knew that t
he ladies were anxious, and for the most part, ignorant of the events that were unfolding around them. But when he tried to talk to Eleanor about what was going on, she seemed largely uncommunicative.

  He knew he was going to have to talk to her before long. But he’d been so busy with the recent events, so fascinated with the history that was being made every day, he’d had no time to think of a way to talk to her.

  “Richard.” Walter extended his hand and Richard shook it. “I’m glad to see you again. Lord William was speaking highly of you last night. You must have made even more of an impression this time.”

  Since I can talk this time, Richard thought wryly. “I’m glad to be of service. Is there any word from Stanford?”

  “No.” Walter shook his head. “It’s more important right now that we keep the king from losing his temper entirely. He’s getting impatient. He wants a resolution here, and it appears to me that—”

  “That the other side is deliberately holding out.” Richard finished. He hadn’t been impressed by the caliber of the men who had been speaking for the barons yesterday. They’d all struck him as contentious men who were more interested in quarreling for quarreling’s sake than in any reforms or changes that would benefit them all.

  Walter shook his head and sighed. “You’re right. That’s exactly what’s happening. The barons want disunity. They’re hoping to push the king so far that he’ll be forced to take the field—and that will mean not only civil war, but chaos throughout the whole realm. And that will make all of us vulnerable.”

  Richard peered over Walter’s shoulder. The antechamber of the council room was open, but the inner door was shut. “Who’s in there now?”

  “The king. Lord William. A few of the others. Stephen Langton is the most reasonable of all the men on the other side, but I doubt the archbishop will be able to keep control indefinitely. Come, let’s wait inside.” He gestured to the antechamber.

  The men took seats beside the hearth. The day was warm and Richard was abruptly reminded that spring was the season Lucy had loved best in England. And Eleanor, he wondered. What was her favorite season? And would she care to tell him if he asked? Right now, he doubted he’d get an answer at all.

  The door of the council room opened, and William the Marshal peered out. “Ah,” he said, his face breaking into a smile. “Richard. I’m glad you’re here. Perhaps you can suggest some way to meet this latest demand—without shedding blood, of course.”

  “Of course, my lord.” Richard got to his feet and bowed. It was good to think that the things he knew best could be of some use in this time and place.

  “Lady Eleanor!”

  The familiar voice took Eleanor by surprise. She looked up, squinted in the bright sunlight, and recognized Lady Marguerite. She smiled. It was good to see her new friend. “Marguerite,” she said, as the woman reached her side, “I’m so glad to see you here.”

  “Well,” said Marguerite with a small smile, “I couldn’t leave England without seeing the court. And my husband and his brother are so important these days—all this rushing around at court. Giscard was nothing but a soldier, but now to listen to him talk you’d think he was King John’s most trusted confidant…‌as if he would know anything at all about diplomacy.”

  Eleanor said nothing. She plucked at her embroidery.

  “And you, my dear, how are you feeling today? Less upset, I hope? I saw your husband last night in the common room. He is a most delicious-looking man. If I were a devil and bent on possession, I’d surely possess someone who looked like him.” Marguerite laughed, but broke off when she saw the stricken look on Eleanor’s face. “Oh, my dear, I’m sorry! I was joking, nothing more. Please, are you all right?”

  “Oh,” Eleanor said, biting her lip. “I know. I’m just so confused. He’s everything you say, and more. But—”

  Marguerite patted her hand. “Have you spoken to a priest, child?”

  “No. I really didn’t think there was anything amiss until we left Barland. And now—”

  Marguerite looked around. “Wait here.” She got up with a rustle of skirts and took off across the grass. In a few minutes she was back, a black-robed priest in tow. “Father Caedmun, I’d like to present Lady Eleanor de Lambert. She’s sorely troubled, Father, and seeks your counsel and advice.”

  “Oh?” The priest smiled down at Eleanor. He was a man of middle years, his hair a gray fringe around his tonsure. He was clean-shaven, and the fabric of his black robes was of a fine quality of wool. “Can I be of help to you, my lady?”

  Eleanor looked from the priest to Marguerite. “Well…”

  “Talk to him, my dear. You’ll feel much better for it.” Marguerite smiled and retreated once again.

  Eleanor gestured to the empty space on the long bench. “Please sit down, Father. There is a matter that has been troubling me.”

  “And does it concern your soul, my lady?”

  Eleanor gazed at the priest’s face. He seemed much more human and forgiving than stern Father

  Alphonse ever did. “Not my soul, Father. My husband’s.”

  “Ah.” The priest nodded. “Your husband is—?”

  “Richard de Lambert.”

  “De Lambert,” the priest echoed with mild surprise. “Indeed.”

  “You know him, Father?” It was Eleanor’s turn to be surprised.

  “Ah, he’s making quite a name for himself at court. The king is most impressed with his prowess at negotiating—and his ability to turn a phrase. He’s had quite a hand in the document they are preparing now, from what I hear. What exactly concerns you about the state of your husband’s soul?”

  “Father,” Eleanor lowered her eyes and blushed. “I—I hope you don’t think me silly. But—”

  “My dear lady, there’s nothing you can tell me about your husband that will shock me or make me think you silly. Does your husband drink excessively? Have an eye for the other ladies? Spend nights gaming, or whoring with his men?”

  “Oh, no, Father, nothing like that at all.” Eleanor knotted her hands together on her lap. “I—I have reason to think he might be possessed.”

  The priest said nothing. He looked at Eleanor very carefully. “This is a serious matter, my lady.”

  “I am serious, Father. That is why I am talking to you.”

  Father Caedmun nodded. “Well, then, my lady. I suppose you better tell me why it is that you think your husband is possessed.”

  Haltingly at first, and then with greater confidence, Eleanor told the story of how Richard had miraculously revived after she’d thought him dead, and how he seemed to be an entirely different man since his recovery. She told how Sir John had come to her following the second ambush, adding that she had dismissed him out of hand. “But then, Father,” she continued, “I heard him myself. He used words such as I’ve never heard anyone use. No one at all.”

  “And how many languages are you familiar with, my lady?” the priest asked gently. “I am not suggesting that your concerns are without merit. But is it possible he could have used a language that you are unfamiliar with—Greek, say?”

  “Father,” Eleanor set her shoulders. “I am convent educated. I have heard Greek, though I know it not.”

  The priest’s brow puckered. “Lady Eleanor, I can see that you are a godly woman. I—I cannot speak on this issue with any certainty. But it would seem to me that this is best explained by the seriousness of those injuries he suffered in the autumn. You say yourself that you and everyone else thought him dead, and that he took months to fully recuperate. Perhaps this evidence of his own mortality was what Lord Richard needed to change his life. He has been a better husband to you since, has he not?” When Eleanor nodded, the priest went on. “And he is well respected here—by the king, by the Marshal, by all who have met him. I have heard his name bandied about the halls by men from whom respect must be earned.”

  “But—but what about the strange words?”

  The priest spread his hands. “Perhaps the
injuries affected his speech in some way. You said yourself his memory appeared to have been affected. There were things he seemed to have no knowledge of when he first came to himself. This is not uncommon. And it is not a sign of demonic possession. Is there anything else about his behavior which troubles you?”

  “Well,” Eleanor said slowly, “he seems to know things.”

  “Things? What things?”

  “He talks to me about what is going on—and he uses strange phrases-words I know, but not in the way I use them. He talked about freedom of speech—and something else—some phrase I didn’t understand at all. It made no sense to me. But he says this document, this charter, is tremendously important. He says it will affect the lives of people for hundreds of years to come.”

  The priest stared at her. His eyes were troubled. “This is not enough to convict him, lady. Does he go to mass? Take the sacraments?”

  “When I do. But I have the feeling—”

  “What feeling?”

  “That he is merely going through the motions.”

  “Oh, my dear lady.” The priest chuckled. “If every knight and lord in England were thought to be possessed because they were merely going through the motions of the mass, nearly all the knights and lords would be in deep trouble.” He smiled.” I do not mean to laugh at your convictions, lady. I can see that this has preyed upon your mind greatly. Try to be of ease. I think it likely that he did experience some great change when he was so severely injured. Such things are not uncommon. It might even be that he is injured in some way you cannot see—he does not speak clearly, or certain words are muddled beyond recognition. It is not likely at all that your husband is possessed by the devil.”

  “But it is possible?”

  The priest sighed. “I would be lying if I said it wasn’t possible.I don’t think it’s likely.” He patted her hand. I will see what I can learn of these cases. Perhaps there is something I can tell you definitively. In the mean time, be a good wife. Do not provoke him by accusing him unjustly. And wait to see what happens.”