The Lion and the Leopard

by Mary Ellen Johnson

  When a lord took a mistress it was not uncommon to have children with a mixture of heredity, even a mixture of family members, sharing the same household, but Maria could not bring herself to be so brazen. Richard maintained the pretense of residing at Westminster, though she doubted they fooled anyone.

  I have made my choice, she reminded herself, settling in the window seat situated in the fourth story sitting room where she spent most of her time. And I will involve as few others as possible.

  Besides, she had no idea how long their liaison would last. Someday Phillip might return; someday events might tear them apart.

  As the setting sun turned London's perpetual haze an ominous crimson, Maria readied for her lover. After ringing for her bath, she watched Joanna, the chambermaid Richard had provided, enter the master bedroom followed by pages bearing a wooden tub. Joanna supervised the subsequent preparations with an efficient flurry of hand movements. The chambermaid had been struck dumb, 'twas told, after Bannockburn, when she'd heard of the death of her father and brothers. While Maria would have preferred to retain her own maids who could have at least provided a measure of companionship, Richard disagreed.

  "In London where gossip rides the air like a foul wind a servant who cannot spread tales is a gift from God."

  After Joanna laid out her clothes, Maria relaxed in a tub of steaming rose scented water. In the two weeks she'd lived atop the bridge, Richard had provided an entire wardrobe of rich velvets, sendals, and samites. While she was grateful for the dresses, she returned most of the jewelry he tried to lavish upon her.

  "I am not comfortable with such treasures. You should not feel that you must buy a love I've freely offered."

  "I enjoy giving you things. I would present you with all of England if I thought 'twould make you happy."

  Not all of England yet, she thought, but besides the bridge apartment he'd granted her Leeds Castle, which he'd obtained following Bartholomew Badlesmere's execution.

  "I know these places will give you pleasure," he'd said when she'd protested. "And I have enough other properties. Will you not accept a small gift from me?"

  "Do not people hate the Despensers for this very reason, because His Grace showers them with favors?"

  "They meddle in political matters, which you do not. Besides, I would hardly call a handful of properties extravagant."

  After Maria finished her bath and dried her hair in front of the fire, Joanna helped her into a kirtle of blue and gold, the colors of Richard's coat of arms. Every fiber of her being now strained for the first sound of her lover's booted foot upon the stair.

  Restlessly, she returned to the bay window in the sitting room. Bars of ice upon the Thames caught the sun's last scarlet rays; the wharf of Queenhithe, with its stacks of wine, wool, hides, corn, and firewood, jutted into the river. When Piers Gaveston had been alive, Edward had presented Piers' wife with the rents from Queenhithe. The king and his favorites...

  And now what will they say of Richard? What will they say of me?

  Lights began to bloom from Newgate to Aldersgate, but still Richard did not arrive. Had something happened at Westminster? From her vantage point Maria could see the severed heads of traitors placed above London Bridge's storehouse, though she made it a habit not to look. 'Twas like a bad omen of... something. Tonight she spotted five fresh heads silhouetted against the evening sky. Carrion crow circled before gliding to rest atop the hair-covered skulls. Shuddering, Maria moved away from the window, back to the warmth of the fire.

  How she wished she had someone to talk to, to help her understand what might be happening. Richard preferred not to discuss matters of state and she was so isolated she dared not even speculate. Besides instructions for meals and the care of her rooms, she had few duties. Forced to devise her own amusements, she was teaching herself to play the recorder, which sometimes, if she breathed a certain way into the mouthpiece and moved her fingers just so over the holes, sounded like the distant echoing call of a hawk.

  Maria picked up a nearby book, Tristan and Iseult, though the firelight was too uncertain for reading. She had visited the royal lending library, which was housed in London's Tower and contained nearly 400 books. It had also been a favorite haunt of Queen Isabella's and Maria discovered that they shared similar tastes.

  Both had perused The Deeds of Arthur and Perceval and Gawain, in addition to Tristan and Iseult, which Maria remembered her parents reading to her and Eleanora as children. With its depiction of a doomed affair and of a cuckolded king the story was now imbued with a more sinister meaning, though could one really be cuckolded if Tristan and Iseult were in the thrall of a love potion? Wasn't King Mark wrong to hold them responsible for actions beyond their control? Of course this tale contained no happy ending, though after the lovers' deaths 'twas told that a hazel and honeysuckle tree grew out of their graves with branches so closely intertwined that they could never be parted, no matter how often King Mark hacked them apart.

  Maria heard a tread on the stair and ran for the door only to be greeted by Michael Hallam.

  "Where is my lord?" she asked.

  Hallam headed straight for the fire. "Lord Sussex will be a trifle late. He asked that I relay the message."

  Maria always felt uncomfortable around Richard's squire for he seemed as cold as the ice glutting the Thames.

  "What is happening at Westminster?" she persisted. "Why have more people been executed?"

  Michael tossed another log on the fire and spread his hands to the warmth. "'Tis none of your concern. Leave questions of politics to men. They have the heads for such things."

  More amused than offended by his rudeness, she moved to stand beside him. "You mislike me, do you not?" she asked abruptly.

  Hallam's gaze flickered over her. "'Tis not my place to feel anything about you. I just do not want anyone to hurt my lord."

  "Do you think I would ever hurt Lord Sussex?"

  "You already have. And you will again. You and your husband and my lord—a fine threesome that is. How could you not hurt him? No wonder priests blame women for man's fall and the world's evils. Men have a way of losing their good judgment when confronted by a pretty face."

  "I would rather die than hurt our lord," Maria said softly. "I love him." Even as she uttered that phrase, she knew how inadequate, even foolish, it sounded. As if love were a potion that could magically soothe all problems. Tristan and Iseult had ingested such a potion and look what happened.

  Seeing tears glisten in Maria's eyes, Michael felt himself soften, but rather than risk beguilement by such womanly wiles, he assumed his fiercest expression.

  "'Tis not for me to judge your heart. But I know my lord's and whomever he loves, I will guard with my life."

  "Do you think I need protection?" she asked, alarmed.

  "We might all soon be in need of protection."

  Maria leaned closer to the fire, as if its cheery warmth could belie the implication of Hallam's words. She did not question him further concerning their meaning, however. Better not to know.

  A log in the fireplace crumbled to coals. Sparks flew and popped. Entering with a handful of chemises, Joanna disappeared into the master bedroom.

  Michael crossed to the bay window where he pretended to concentrate on London's skyline, which was dominated by the soaring spire of St. Paul's Cathedral. "How fares your sister? Why did she not come to Westminster for Christmas?"

  "She had a cold. Nothing serious. She just decided not to risk its worsening."

  "If you travel to Fordwich, tell her I inquired as to her health and that I wish her well."

  Maria suppressed a smile. Michael Hallam hardly made for an ardent suitor. "Why do you not tell her yourself? If you have a liking for my sister, why not request her hand in marriage? I am certain Eleanora would agree."

  Michael's jaw clenched. "That can never be." The words erupted as scornfully as if he were cursing the God who'd made him. "In the eyes of the church I am already a married man."


  Maria's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh! No one ever told me. I swear I did not know. I am so sorry if I offended you."

  "'Tis my marriage that is the offense." Michael struggled to maintain control, reassuring himself that the past could no longer hurt him, unless he desired a relationship with another woman, which he did not. Save for Eleanora. "My wife and I see very little of each other. I found early on she prefers the company of other women."

  "I do not understand. What is wrong with having friends?"

  "I think you misunderstand, Lady Rendell." Michael fixed her with an enigmatic look. "Have you ever thought why the queen hates her husband, or why His Grace is so close with Nephew Hugh?"

  She frowned, for he seemed to be speaking in riddles. "I suppose... I know the king and Despenser seem to be inseparable—in much the same way as you and Richard, I suppose."

  His mouth twisted. "'Tis a far different relationship, m'lady."

  The trend of conversation was beginning to unnerve Maria. She had no desire to be privy to royal secrets, if such Michael was about to impart. "'Tis not my place to wonder about such things. I am not certain it is always safe to question."

  "You are right. And I hope you will always be able to stay in the sheltered world you've erected round yourself."

  At that moment Maria heard Richard. After Michael discreetly withdrew, she forgot all about him and their peculiar conversation. When Richard opened the door, she wrapped her arms around him, feeling once again secure, loved—and happy.

  "I thank you for your enthusiastic welcome."

  As Richard returned her embrace he breathed in the fragrance of her hair and perfume. "How I've missed thee." Leading Maria to the window seat, he pulled her onto his lap. "I leave Westminster wanting to pull my hair in frustration over the idyllic land my brother and Despenser inhabit, but by the time I reach London Bridge I am soaring. The very thought of you makes it all endurable."

  When Maria slid from his lap to remove his cordovan leather boots, he rested his fingertips, light as thistledown, atop her head. "How I survived these past months without you I canna think."

  "Nor I without you." She smiled up at him. The newness of their relationship, its possible brevity, made each shared moment that much more special. Noting the tired lines around his mouth, the fatigue in his movements she silently berated the king and his favorites for causing her beloved such difficulty.

  Leaning back against a pillow Richard closed his eyes. When he spoke weariness thickened his voice. "Edward rants on about the queen and her refusal to leave France and I think of you. Despenser plots how to further weaken England's laws and poison my brother's mind, and I wonder how you're spending your day, if you miss me, or no longer love me at all."

  Settling once again in his arms, Maria smoothed his hair and brushed his lips with hers. "That you need never worry about. 'Twould be easier to cease breathing than loving you."

  Richard cradled her face in his hands. "Just a few more days. Then we can head for Dover, where 'twill be much safer and you won't have to be locked away like a criminal. In London even the walls have ears. Here at least we must be discreet."

  "Aye, though I would shout my love from atop the Tower."

  "Events are at a dangerous crossroads now," he continued. "I would not needlessly worry you but perhaps you should know. Isabella has taken Roger Mortimer as her lover and together they are plotting an invasion of England."

  "What?" Maria struggled up to face him. "I do not believe it! We are a civilized people. Such a thing could not happen."

  Richard smiled grimly. "With Roger Mortimer plotting behind the scenes anything is possible. If my brother does not act, he is in danger of losing his kingdom."

  Seeing her terrified expression, Richard regretted his candor and pulled her back down against him. "Do not fret, lovedy. Edward is well aware of that fact and at this very moment is mulling various options."

  And will choose nothing, he silently added, but he would not further worry Maria. He stroked her until he felt the fear and tension recede.

  With her beside him, Richard soon forgot all about politics. "I do believe I love thee, Maria, more than any man has ever loved a woman."

  Eyes filling, she burrowed against his neck. She remembered Michael Hallam's prediction that she would hurt Richard—and she would. When her husband returned there would be hurt enough to last forever.

  Chapter 27

  Dover Castle

  The morning of Maria and Richard's arrival at Dover began dull and grey, though by mid-day the clouds had lifted until only a wispy haze clung to the narrow road. The gentle farmland which covered so much of Kent had gradually given way to treacherous terrain unlike any Maria had ever seen. Thickly forested hills, unbroken by fields or towns, surrounded the pack train which struggled up a roadway breathtaking in its steepness.

  With each passing mile Maria felt more isolated from her family. Upon their return from London she and Richard had stopped at Fordwich where Blanche and Little Tom were now staying rather than at Deerhurst. Her visit with Hugh and Eleanora had been strained. Though Fordwich was a day's ride from Dover, Maria was relieved to know they would never visit.

  "'Tis my life to do with as I please," she'd told Eleanora when her twin had broached the subject. Her sister's disapproving remarks and looks not only made Maria uncomfortable but awakened guilty feelings she was determined to ignore.

  "Where did you get such a foolish notion?" Eleanora pursed her mouth disapprovingly—a mannerism shared with their mother. "No one can do as he pleases, certainly not a woman. Show me the law that gives us such a right."

  "I am not the only woman who has ever been part of a lord's household."

  "Aye. But introduce me to Lord Sussex's wife whom you would serve or his children for whom you would care. Tell me your legitimate title, sister." When Maria did not respond Eleanora shook her head. "The only title you'll be known by is leman to the earl of Sussex."

  I will not think of Eleanora or anyone, Maria told herself as they neared Dover Castle. My lord promised to send soon for Blanche and Tom rides beside me, and I'll ask for nothing more.

  Covertly, she studied her son. Throughout the trip he'd tried to act grown and unimpressed but as he looked at the alien hills, rattled off questions to anyone within range, or cared for the stocky black palfrey Richard had given him, his face shone with excitement and happiness.

  "I am going to be a great knight, Maman," he repeatedly assured her. "I canna wait to begin my apprenticeship at Walmer Castle. Lord Sussex said that my lord Gloucester's men will escort me there in three days' time."

  "Aye," said Maria, hiding her bleakness over Tom's pending departure with a smile.

  "You and P-papa will be so proud of me."

  "I am already proud of you... And I'm certain Papa will be, too."

  Richard made it a point of treating Tom with deference and respect, as if addressing an equal. Maria was grateful for the earl's kindness and discretion. Neither by word nor deed did he betray their intimate relationship and if Tom overheard or surmised otherwise, he gave no indication. He was too busy commenting on the trip, asking questions about his new home and prodding Richard for bloodthirsty tales to worry about anything as uninteresting as his mother.

  When Maria's heart softened toward her husband, she hardened it with the knowledge that Phillip had neglected their son. It had been her father who had taught Tom to read and write, and she who had helped him struggle through the Arthurian tales, the Trojan War and Julius Caesar. Deerhurst's steward had taught Tom checkers, chess and backgammon and it was his liege lord, not his father, who was teaching him how to play the lute and the art of fencing with a blunted sword. Richard had also stressed the importance of daily mass in a manner that had changed Tom's indifference to something approaching devoutness.

  "God is our ultimate lord, Thomas, and we must strive to serve him as honorably as we do our King Edward here on earth." Richard had instructed him. "Remember that honor is the m
ost important attribute a knight can possess, and his word the most solemn oath he can give. All is lost without honor."

  The earl's words near stuck in his throat.

  What right have I to prattle about honor when I have broken faith with Tom's father and continue to break it, when I am sleeping with Tom's very mother and usurping Phillip's place as a father?

  Such questions increasingly plagued the earl's mind, bringing such unhappiness and self-loathing they sometimes threatened to overshadow his love for Maria. But now as he approached Dover Richard's only thought was to share his pride in Dover Castle, which was his favorite residence.

  "Round the bend you'll catch sight of the castle," he said, pointing. "'Tis a picture I promise you'll not forget."

  The trees alongside the road abruptly ended; the land on either side fell away and Dover Castle revealed itself, jutting above a low hanging mist. The wind blowing off the Strait of Dover caused the Sussex banner, situated above the castle's massive keep, to stretch taut like a pointing finger.

  "Look, Tom!" Maria reined in Facebelle to better view Dover's forbidding majesty. Every powerful line, every thrusting tower mutely proclaimed its military function. 'Twas not just a fanciful phrase that declared Dover to be "Key of England." Thirty miles across the sea lay France—visible on a clear day. From Roman times some sort of fortress had guarded the channel from the troublesome French as well as a host of other enemies.