Sensing that I was upset, the priest patted my head, then left me much depressed.
Lady Fiona had promised that she would accept Leith—as a bastard? If I had difficulty forgiving Enoch for his act, what about her? Could she ever forget? And would Leith become the hated symbol of Enoch’s attack? Bastard! Look at King John and his bastard daughter Joanna—he was kind, wasn’t he? If a king cobra could be generous, why not Lady Fiona?
Bonel had accepted Leith as he had accepted Theo. My tears flowed. The Carpathian Mountains, a paradise high in the sky. He’d meant it, I knew he had. But why hadn’t he written? Was it because of Leith? Because she was Enoch’s? Tearless now, I paced in the cheese room where we had met.
When I left, hours later, I’d concluded that Bonel would write soon. And he would include Leith in his invitation. Would Enoch let her go? Probably not, if he knew. Aye, Bonel had many chores to do for the Jews. I wouldn’t hear before next spring at the earliest. Yet I agonized. I’d had so many losses in my life, I couldn’t bear another.
The nutting season distracted me: we spread pelts under the trees to catch the nuts. Then the lightest among us—I was one—climbed and shook the branches till nuts rained onto the pelts.
Alas, let nuttes fallen free!
Ond in that freedom cum to me!
Far to stay stucken on the tree
Certes war folly!
Cum!
Maken our mouthen jolly!
We culled the nuts for worms, then trampled them with our wooden clogs to remove the skins.
As for the men, Enoch and his knights often left Wanthwaite fully armed. To survey the countryside, Enoch said, then added that many northern barons had been reduced to penury because they’d paid the scutage. One day he pulled me into our forest to show me a dank earthen cave under a circle of nut trees.
“Yif ye’re attacked ond I’m nocht here, bring Leith to this hole.”
“What about the labyrinth?”
He looked at me coldly. “Here. Pull this brush in front. Swar to me.”
I swore. Nuts lay drying on the cave floor.
After the Nativity, the wassail threw a bank of snow into my bedroom so deep I couldn’t get the door open—Gruoth had to rescue me. The blizzard departed in a week, leaving wet, dreary months of winter still ahead. Many of our company rode to Scotland to see their families, for it wasn’t the fighting season. Leith was a hot gleed in my bed. Did it snow in the Carpathian Mountains?
Then, slowly, the Scots returned. Hours of bright blue sky broke the monotonous gray, followed by birdsong. I began to watch for Bonel’s missive again.
Enoch saw the runner before I did. From the moat bridge, I watched him waylay the yellow-garbed man on the far side of the river and take a packet from him. He glanced briefly at its contents, gave the runner something for his pains, and rode in my direction.
I hid behind the cheese house until he’d passed, then surreptitiously followed him into the Great Hall in time to see him fling the missive carelessly into the fireplace.
I pulled the smoldering packet from the flames.
Enoch turned on his bench. “Doona burn yerself—Ich con tell ye quhat it says. The king demands that I cum to Portsmouth beach to sail to Poitou. He plans to fight the French thar.”
At a glance, I saw that the packet was indeed addressed to Enoch.
The next day, I took my position on the moat bridge again.
A second runner appeared at the selfsame hour with another missive for Enoch.
I accepted it this time, however, and handed it to him.
“Be ye expectin’ summit?” he asked.
“Of course not! Why?”
“This be the second day ye ha’e hovered by the river.”
“I was planting lilies on Theo’s grave!”
“’Tis fram Lord Robert fitzWalter, yif ye’re interested.”
“All the way from Normandy?” I was interested and amazed.
“Fram Dover. He’s back in England. The king ha’e forgiven him, him ond Eustace, fer trying to assassinate him.” His blue eyes clouded. “Mast strange.” After a time, he continued. “Lord Robert wants I shuld cum to his estate in Dunmow, ond he’s mast particular that ye cum, too, to translate Latin. He’s inwited all our Brotherhood to meet wi’ him thar.”
“About the charter? Is Cardinal Langton coming?”
“He doeesna say.”
Every instinct screamed that we should stay home! Lord Robert had betrayed Enoch—I knew it! I couldn’t forgive him.
Enoch read my thought. “Ich be surprised that the king would forgive him after he tried to kill him!”
“Because Lords Robert and Eustace blame you! And so does the king!”
He rose and patted my head. “Thankee, Alix, fer defendin’ me. Lord Robert ond Lord Eustace didna shoot the arrow, ’tis true, boot no one knaws that I war inwolwed.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“It cum to Gruoth in a dream.” His grin widened. “A dream poot there by a hermit. How do the hermit knaw? Waesucks, you tell me!”
When we left two weeks later, Leith rode on my horse in front of me.
Dunmow Castle was not a great distance from Wanthwaite if we’d followed a straight path, which we didn’t. On Dere Street we turned north, as if going to Scotland, then immediately to our right, where we ascended another ridge. Again, we beheld a vast valley below; Enoch led us down a path to the opposite side of the ridge. Even here, we didn’t follow the path, but fought our way through melting ice, broken limbs, steep mounds.
Six knights galloped in our direction, whirled, asked our names, then waved us forward with one knight leading us. We went through three such points before we began following the curtain wall guarded by a high gate with more knights, then a moat, another gate, another wall, and we were inside a park.
We reached the actual castle of Dunmow in a low winter mist rising from hoary grass. The park reminded me eerily of the park at the de Braose estate in Wales with its ancient oaks bending like Druids, and its herds of tame deer.
Enoch’s conversation with the armed men at the final gate was muted in the fog. The swirling mists briefly opened to reveal a tall stone castle. I nudged Leith awake so she could see the splendor before us.
We entered a great Hall four times the size of Wanthwaite’s. Leith’s eyes were wide with wonder: the Hall was ablaze with wax tapers wreathed in smoke. Two huge fireplaces blasted intolerable heat, and the cacaphony of shouting male voices was also intolerable. The mix of hot blasts in front of us and cold from the rear, the choke of smoke, and the smell of spilled ale and wine everywhere made me totty. Against the wall, jongleurs banged tambours and scraped viols in vain. Lord Robert signaled wildly from the back wall; he looked hale and happy. Exile agreed with him.
A servant removed my furs and disappeared; someone thrust a goblet into my hands. I felt naked in my new shimmering multihued tunic with the moonstone at my throat. Except for Leith—now in Enoch’s arms—I was the only woman in the hall. A billowing tapestry from Toulouse whipped from a wind behind it; where had Lord Robert found it? I must purchase one for Wanthwaite.
Then Lord Robert was beside me with his free arm over my shoulder. “Welcome to Dunmow!” he cried. “Thank you for coming!”
“I feel honored, milord, that you included me.”
He laughed. “Did you expect me to defy the great Cardinal Langton? He described your linguistic talents. No, to tell the truth, I couldn’t deprive these men of your delicate beauty! You must be aware of their stares. Of course, they dare not appoach you, not with your doting husband shooting murderous looks in all directions.”
Which he was—to protect Leith.
“How were you able to return from Normandy so quickly?” I asked directly.
“Our sojourn was short, wasn’t it?” he hedged, laughing. “You’ll see Lord Eustace here in good time.”
“How did you manage to be forgiven for such a heinous crime?” I insisted.
/> He smiled. “The pope persuaded the king.”
“Did he persuade him to forgive Enoch as well?”
But he’d gone to greet three new barons who’d just entered the Hall, men I’d not seen before.
Enoch stood on the far side of the Hall, holding Leith aloft. The newly arrived barons gave their furs to serving men, then disappeared into the crowd. Sipping my fine Madeira and smiling vacuously, I tried to appear poised. Then two new barons entered, whom I did know: Lord Eustace de Vesci and Lord Robert de Ros. They were related through their wives, both Scottish princesses. Lord Robert de Ros directed them to a corner where Lord Robert fitzWalter waited; all three men spoke behind palms.
Then Lord Robert fitzWalter was back by my side. “Come, my dear, my wife is most eager to meet you.”
He pushed through the throng to a board groaning with fresh game. Behind it stood a fashionable lady.
“Gunmora, this is the baroness of Wanthwaite I told you about. Lady Alix, my wife, Lady Gunmora.”
My first thought was that Lady Gunmora was much too young to have been the mother of Lord Robert’s daughter, Matilda, who’d had such a tragic end. Though far from beautiful, the lady was fashionable: She was richly attired in a black tunic open at the sides, trimmed with the white weasel of the far north. Her brows were plucked almost away, and she wore a cone-shaped hat with veils trailing to the floor.
“Lady Alix, though we’ve not met, I’ve seen you from afar. In Normandy, at my uncle’s estate. Your beauty is legendary.”
She must have seen me with King Richard.
“Quho be yer uncle?” Enoch asked from behind me.
“The Lord of Baloyne—do you know him?”
“Nay, except that everyich one knaws aboot him.” He whispered into my ear, “Richer than auld Midas!”
Lord Robert, the richest baron in England, had just become richer by marriage.
She took my arm. “So beautiful and so intelligent at the same time. Quite a miracle.”
She meant well—why did her words sound insulting?
She then made much of Leith, who was also intelligent though hardly beautiful, except in Enoch’s eyes. “When Robert told me you might bring your baby, I made special preparations; I hope you’ll all be comfortable in the quarters I’ve arranged. Upstairs. A private chamber. Our other guests will roll their mats in the Great Hall.”
She pulled me toward a winding stair. Glancing over my shoulder, I signaled that the Scots should follow. Still chattering in a high affected voice, Lady Gunmora led us to a corridor, open on one side to the Great Hall below and on the other to a series of doors.
“This is for you and your lord,” she told me, opening a door to a small closet. “Your household may place their mats here in the hall, close to you.”
Enoch was already placing Leith on the far edge of a high bed.
“You are most thoughtful, Lady Gunmora,” I thanked her.
“Leave someone for your child while you partake of our poor repast.” She turned to the Scots. “All of you!”
Gruoth indicated that she would stay with Leith, and I promised to send up meat.
Again we followed our hostess to the Great Hall, now louder and more crowded than before. Lady Gunnmora’s voice rose: Had I heard of Lord Robert’s latest loss to the tyrant?
“Castle Baynard?”
“Oh no, his castle at Bennington.” The instant he’d landed, the castle had been torched. He swore revenge.
I thought the fighting season was finished.
She claimed the season meant naught to the king.
“Why did Lord Robert come back from Normandy? Doesn’t he have fine estates there?”
But Lady Gunmora had slipped away.
I spied Lord Robert in a corner talking seriously with Lord Eustace. Something in Eustace’s furtive expression alerted me: Had their present freedom been won in exchange for naming Enoch as the killer? Had King John been told of his presence here? Silently, I slipped behind a billowing brocade embroidered with bluebirds and flies, the better to hear.
The barons immediately moved away, however, so I stepped into the company again. They had disappeared. In the distance, Enoch talked earnestly to an unknown knight-errant who stood in a splay of saffron. I pushed toward him, greeting on my way Lord Robert de Ros, Lord Henry Bohun, and Lord Robert de Vere. Enoch had also disappeared. I passed my hand across my damp forehead.
Someone tapped my shoulder. Cardinal Stephen Langton smiled at me, only he was dressed entirely in a monk’s black robes instead of his usual bright red habit. Was he in disguise?
“Lady Alix, I thank you for coming.”
“You’re most welcome.” I studied him closely; he knew the truth about Lord Robert and Lord Eustace—did he know about Enoch?
He displayed a few gray snags. “I hope you don’t mind translating for these oafs. I’ve been without a clerk at Canterbury for several weeks, or I would have brought someone else. You’re better than my ecclesiastical clerks in any case because of your acquaintance with legal terms.”
I realized he was flattering me. For what purpose? “It’s been many years since I wrote Latin—I may have lost the facility.”
“Discretion is all you need know. King John would punish all of us if . . .” He glanced around the room.
“I’ll not betray you, but . . .” I breathed deeply. “Are you certain of our host?”
His smile faded. “Lord Robert? Why? Do you have information?”
I shrugged prettily. “None at all. I just thought you might know why the king had forgiven him so readily.”
“I plan to make an announcement about his release on the morrow.” He belched lightly. “Then you’ll do it?”
“Aye, if you wish . . .”
He was gone. Could I leave as well? Where was Enoch? I’d just reached the stairs when Lord Robert banged a gong for attention.
“Hear ye! Hear ye!” he cried. “My Lady Gunmora and I welcome you most warmly to Dunmow.”
Most warmly indeed; I brushed my wet brow.
“We invite you to partake of a feast!”
I continued on the stairs, stepped over Scots sprawled in the Hall, and pushed the door to my closet unsuccessfully. On the third try, it suddenly gave way.
“I war asleep on the floor,” Enoch’s hulk informed me.
After I’d rolled Leith to the edge of the bed close to Enoch, I climbed over her to lie next to the icy wall.
Enoch collapsed onto the floor again; then his hand reached over the edge of the bed to Leith.
Tired as I was, I stared into the darkness, unable to sleep.
The following morning, Gruoth took Leith outside to see the deer; I descended for a little food. Lady Gunmora was nowhere in sight; I ate heartily of an exceptionally tasty pig’s stomach shaped like a hedgehog and stuffed with ground pork, ginger, nuts, and apples. Stephen Langton appeared at my side. I moved away.
Fresh logs did not yet smoke and the aroma of fine Portuguese wines seemed fresher than the Madeira of last night, or perhaps I was simply more rested. Lord Eustace brushed close without speaking; still much aged, he appeared healthy and as surly as he had in London, which again made me suspicious. Had he and Lord Robert betrayed Enoch?
Servants staggered into the Great Hall carrying a heavy table, which they placed close to the door. Cardinal Langton gestured that I should sit on the stool behind it and next to where he stood. He pointed to a sheet of vellum and a stylus.
“I want you to make notes of what’s proposed rather than recording every word. Can you do that?”
“If you indicate what you think is important, yes.”
“Of course.”
When he finished praying, he raised his hands. “I bring you great tidings!” he paraphrased Scripture, “for you see before you the next archbishop of Canterbury!”
Joyful shouts filled the Hall; everyone seemed genuinely pleased.
I was pleased that Bonel’s wager was confirmed.
Langt
on continued. “My good fortune is matched by my host’s. He is back in his own country with a full pardon, as is Lord Eustace de Vesci!”
And my own joy faded. Was Langton’s appointment connected to their release?
Enoch shouted, “Has King John died?”
I froze. John might have a spy in our midst!
Archbishop Langton’s smile held. “The interdict has been lifted from England!”
I frowned; we were getting to the crux.
“The pope demanded from the king that he forgive the barons! That he permit them to return in peace!”
“War the interdict his only concession?” Enoch echoed my thought.
Archbishop Langton smiled.
Enoch called out again, “When the king agreed to take you as archbishop, did the pope lift the interdict?”
Langton continued to smile. “Oh, much better than that, Lord Enoch! The pope was pleased, of course, to have me at Canterbury, but my appointment wasn’t enough to lift the interdict.”
Now the barons fell silent. Enoch was blunt. “What did the king give up to get the pope to forgive the assassins?”
Langton turned his smiling face. “Are you not canny?” he asked in English. Then he went back to Latin. “When John lost to King Philip in Bouvines, which I’m certain you know, he realized at last that he must have God on his side.”
I didn’t follow for a moment—John had lost in Bouvines? Many in our audience already knew this, though not Enoch or me. Again I thought of Richard—Bouvines was close to Poitiers.
Langton continued. “Pope Innocent has always favored France, but John struck at a good time.”
Langton was evading the real reason: Lords Robert and Lord Eustace had betrayed Enoch. What else could it be?
Lord Eustace pushed his way to the front. “This has to do with the king’s lubricity. When John stole Queen Isabella from the count of Lusignan, Hugh shifted his loyalty to King Philip. King John was defeated at Bouvines because of his weakness for women!”
He left abruptly. Poor man, still obsessed about John’s sexuality.
The Prince of Poison Page 21
