A Knight's Tale: Kenilworth

by Gabriella West

  “Let us talk again, William,” he said. It was a gentle dismissal, and I realized after I got back to my chamber, exhausted, that I did not want to speak to him again on this subject. I hoped he wouldn’t attempt it.

  I put the scroll back in the cedar chest and stared over at Stephen’s bed. It was stripped bare because I had taken his blanket to add to my own, to hold against my face at night, barely smelling his faint scent.

  The room was ice-cold.

  “I am closest to you/when I am far away,” I whispered, sprawled on my mattress. I wondered if Stephen could see me now, if he was thinking of me on the Feast of the Epiphany, far away in the city of Oxford.

  In case he was, I said out loud, “I love you.”

  Chapter 8

  I was down in the armory with Thomas early in the month of June that year. He had been rolling Henry’s best chain mail in a barrel of sand for an hour to clear the rust and make it shine; now he was brushing it down to take the tiny grains out. It was my turn, so I pushed Simon’s hauberk into the barrel and set to work. Long-sleeved, the hauberk descended to a knight’s knees. It came with gloves and a head covering. It was damned heavy, and the work was so noisy that Thomas gave me a friendly wave and disappeared, leaving me to sweat alone as I moved the barrel along the flagstones.

  I liked the work because I did not need to think. Simon and Henry were off to a jousting tournament near Warwick Castle, hosted by the Earl of Warwick, and we had been told that Guy would accompany them as their squire. They had chosen to do this after their father left at the beginning of the month, to go back to France, perhaps. I wasn’t sure. Unlike his arrival, his departure was rather hushed and sudden, and he went alone after Pentecost, leaving Lady Eleanor to run the castle. Since he had gone things had seemed more relaxed. Simon and Henry’s spirits were higher. Their father did not approve of them attending tournaments, Thomas had explained, since the King frowned upon them in general—he had lost good knights that way over the years. They were dangerous and unpredictable events. But Lady Eleanor had offered no objection, apparently. She had just asked her sons not to take part in the melee, where two large groups of knights ran at each other in general combat, often lasting for hours.

  Once I had pulled the heavy hauberk out of the barrel and set it up to hang on a hook made for that purpose, I was dizzy. I sat on a bench to look at my work. The form-fitting shape of the shirt, with its central slit from hem to crotch to enable riding, got me to thinking. I would wear one of these shirts one day, God willing, or, I thought with a smile, if fortune willed it. I liked the idea of fortune more. I suspected that the goddess would smile more favorably on Stephen and me. But I could not tell anyone these thoughts.

  The way the armor hung, intricate and shimmering, was beautiful, reminding me of the way Simon had looked in it the few times I had seen him, his chest filling it out. Most of the weight was carried on the shoulders, he had told me. Beneath it he wore the padded, protective gambeson. One of my main jobs as a squire would be to pull the armor off over his head when he returned and clean it once again. Because we weren’t going...

  “I’m taking you next year,” Simon said suddenly at my shoulder, dressed in his typical soft, colorful tunic. He was eyeing his chain mail dispassionately, sipping from a tankard as he did so.

  “It’s not bad,” he said, just as I protested, “I haven’t brushed it yet!”

  “Well, go ahead,” he said mildly, sitting down on the bench as I vacated it.

  I began brushing, my back to him, listening as tiny grains rolled out of their crevices and hit the floor.

  “It’s really an extra step,” he said lazily. I wondered why he was watching me, but supposed he was just bored.

  Finally, I was satisfied.

  “Hot work, Will,” he said, as I wiped my brow and turned to him.

  I nodded, catching my breath.

  “I’m going to get you some cider. Will you drink with me?”

  I nodded again. A few months before, I would have demurred, but there was no point in being a martyr about it.

  He went to the door of the room, climbed up the steps, and called to a passing servant. “One more cup of cider,” I heard him say outside.

  “Yes, my lord,” came the muffled response.

  I wiped my brow again, feeling my heart beating hard in my chest. What was I nervous about? There was nothing unusual in this, I chided myself.

  When he returned, he handed me a pewter tankard, cool to the touch. I raised the lid.

  As I swallowed, I raised my eyes to his blue ones, much darker than Stephen’s. The light always danced in his eyes, unlike Amaury’s, which were gray and cool. And I had never bothered to look into Henry’s.

  We were seated on the bench together, knees almost touching. I waited for him to say something. He didn’t, so I continued drinking, just barely aware of the growing fuzziness in my head.

  He gave a slight sigh, as if to catch himself. “I always feel better drinking when Father’s away,” he mused.

  I smiled. “But you are one and twenty, my lord.” It seemed an age when one would no longer worry about parental approval.

  “That’s right,” he said. “This month, in fact, is my birth month.”

  I nodded. “Mine is in April, so my mother says.”

  “You’re fifteen now, Will?”

  I nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

  “I wish you would call me Simon,” he said. He drained the tankard and wiped his lips.

  I was shocked. “I can’t!”

  “I know,” he said ruefully. “It wouldn’t sound right to others, but one day I expect that you will. When you are a knight. I hope to be the one to knight you.”

  He made it sound cozy and intimate rather than the powerful public ritual I assumed it to be.

  “Meanwhile, you’re an excellent squire,” he said, springing up restlessly and examining the armor. “It’s never looked this bright.”

  He turned back to me. “But yes, the tournament—I wanted to take you, but Henry said it was too soon. You’d be left alone for hours while we fought, along with Thomas, of course, but there are plenty of unscrupulous rogues of both sexes you might run afoul of.”

  I blushed and laughed at the same time. “I’m not used to the town, ’tis true, my lord.”

  “Next year, Will.” He walked towards me and put his hand on my shoulder. Instinctively I leaned to his hand a little bit, and he ruffled my hair.

  “You had better wash this hair of yours too. It’s wet and tangled. And your face is hot.”

  His hand was caressing my face, and if it had been hot before, now I blushed violently red, too surprised to utter a word.

  “You’re not used to this, are you?” Simon asked.

  I did not know what to say. My heart was beating, and my breath had been stolen from me. His thumb brushed over my lips.

  He pulled his hand away—reluctantly, I felt. I simply stared up at him, biting my lip, drops of sweat sliding down my face and from under my arms.

  “Forgive me. I drank too much,” Simon said in explanation, lifting the tankard. “That was...” He didn’t finish.

  I heard Thomas’s voice out in the courtyard. He had the great gift of calling out to me before he appeared. I silently thanked God for this, not because I wanted the moment with Simon to end, necessarily, but because I could not have stood it if he had burst in and caught us...

  But we had been doing nothing wrong.

  I gulped some more cider. Simon seemed irresolute, turning toward the door but not leaving.

  “You will come with me next year?” he asked quietly. “You can choose not to, if you wish. Guy is always up for it.”

  I stared at him. “Why wouldn’t I go?”

  My voice was slightly defiant, a little tipsy-sounding, and I watched as he smiled in relief, his eyes sparkling. A tight feeling in my chest softened too.

  “Well, that’s good!”

  Thomas entered, almost falling down the steps i
n his haste.

  “Oh, Will, you’re all done with the armor. I was going to tell you that you could stop.” He caught sight of me drinking at Simon’s side and stiffened slightly, his eyes widening.

  “All done here!” Simon said cheerfully. “Now, why don’t you boys go and have a wash before supper? That was dirty work.”

  He handed his tankard to Thomas, saying, “Get rid of this, would you?” and sauntered off, whistling. He often whistled.

  “He’s like a bird, that one,” Thomas grumbled. “Any left for me?”

  I handed him the cider silently. “Take the rest.”

  “You all right?” Thomas glanced at me and then went to the doorway. He pulled the wooden door shut.

  “I’m... fine. Just weary.”

  He sat down beside me. After a while, he said, “Lord Henry told me...”

  I didn’t say anything, not wanting to encourage his confidences.

  “Listen, Will,” he said in his typically frank manner. “Henry told me Simon likes both. You know, both girls and boys.”

  It was such an odd way to say it. I laughed suddenly.

  “Sorry,” I said, ashamed of my cynicism.

  He frowned at me. “Henry said you should watch out. Simon’s not very... careful in his behavior. The knights joke about it, too, behind his back. I’m surprised you haven’t heard.”

  I raked my hand through my hair, trying to come up with some response. Oddly, I felt sadness welling up in me.

  “Christ, it’s the drink,” I muttered.

  “What?” Thomas said blankly.

  “I get emotional when I drink too much. This is the second time.”

  I tried to steady myself.

  “Did something happen?” Thomas looked at the silent hauberk on the wall accusingly. “What were you talking about in here?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just us going to the tournament next year,” I said mechanically. I got up and made my way to the door. “I need to lie down.” In truth, I was feeling dizzy.

  “Will, you have to be tougher than this. On a field of battle...”

  “Oh, shut up!” I snapped at him as I trudged up the steps. “I’ll see you at supper.”

  It was a relief to be out in the courtyard. I stared up at the black crows wheeling overhead. Taking a few breaths was helpful. I was cooling down now.

  Forget what happened, I thought. He’ll forget it.

  I was thinking about Simon, of course, not Thomas.

  I wasn’t that important to him. Was I?

  The dark birds flew above, calling out mockingly.

  ***

  Around Michaelmas of the same year, I climbed the winding stone stairs to visit Christiana. It had been months since I had conversed with her alone. I wanted to sit and rest in her calm presence.

  The summer had passed uneventfully. Earl Simon was still gone. The three sons had returned from the tournament in good spirits. Guy boasted to the knights that he had met a willing maiden who had entertained him for a night. Henry and Simon had both brought back heavy purses of money. Simon seemed content and cheerful, but I avoided being alone with him, and Thomas did what he could to stick by my side.

  It was an odd world, I thought. Thomas actually worried about my virtue! I wished I could joke about it with Stephen, yet the idea of Stephen witnessing the scene in the armory made me hot with shame.

  And I was not entirely easy about going to the tournament the next year. But if I did not, I would have nothing to look forward to, and Thomas would be there all the while, I told myself.

  I had made up my mind to tell Christiana about the incident with Simon, to confess. I had heard someone say that confession cleanses the soul. Perhaps it had been Brother Gregory, in one of the Sunday sermons in the chapel that I listened to distractedly while staring at the light pouring in through the stained glass window. I had begun attending chapel every Sunday like the others.

  My soul felt dirty, it was true. I did not know why, because I had not done anything. I kept saying that to myself, but it didn’t help. My passivity with Simon had been unmanly, a problem in itself. I couldn’t imagine Thomas behaving in such a way. But I was not like Thomas.

  Christiana would have something wise to say about it, I was sure.

  With a heavy heart, I approached the entrance to the solar. The door was almost pulled shut. I raised my hand to push it open, then stilled.

  I heard a faint whispering or murmuring within.

  I paused, wondering what it could be. Something prevented me from calling out. Instead I pushed the door gently until I could see the velvet couch that lay in the corner of the room by the window, about twenty paces distant.

  There were two figures on the couch, a man lying on his side with his back turned to me, a young woman supine. At first I thought disdainfully that it was two of the servants stealing a tryst.

  The woman had her eyes closed, her full breasts bare. The man was caressing them. It took me a minute to see that the woman was Christiana, and the man was Simon. He nuzzled her breasts and she called out in pleasure, saying his name.

  I stood, chilled to the bone.

  They were completely immersed in what they were doing. I watched them almost in disbelief. I had never known a woman could feel so much pleasure. It was impossible to stop watching Simon, as he skillfully pleasured her with his mouth, his hand dipping under her skirt, which was, thankfully, still covering her legs. His hand moved gently but her face flushed and her body shook with each move of his fingers into her hot core.

  He was fully clothed, as far as I could tell, but this was the most carnal scene I had ever witnessed. Even witnessing was a sin, I reminded myself.

  She was supposed to be in love with Thomas. I didn’t understand.

  And I could never tell him.

  “Please,” I heard her say in a throaty voice. “Please take me.”

  Women begged for men to take them?

  I knew I was waiting to see if it happened. There was no other reason to stay rooted to the spot the way I was.

  “Are you sure?” Simon’s voice was a low mumble.

  I knew how she felt suddenly. She wanted his weight on top of her; she wanted to hold him. She wanted to be filled by him. I couldn’t blame her. I would have wanted the same thing.

  Go. Go, I told myself. You must go.

  But I waited until he loosened his hose and gently moved on top of her, her bare legs falling to the side. He was buried inside her, moving gently. I could see little, yet hear so much, and the sticky-wet sounds troubled and aroused me greatly.

  “Oh, my lord!” she gasped. “My lord!”

  The couch, sturdy as it was, creaked now as his body thrust into her more violently. She took him eagerly. I wondered if they had done it before.

  I watched his firm buttocks contracting in their tight hose, the plump flesh on her thighs trembling. If I was her, I would clasp them, I thought. Pull him into me.

  He came with a heavy, shuddering sigh. She did wrap her arms around him then, and they kissed.

  “I don’t want to get you with child,” I heard him say. “It’s why I held back at first.”

  “There’s no chance of that, my lord. There’s a potion the women of my family know how to make if it happens.” She said it gaily, almost laughing. How could she know so much?

  “Have you lain with young Thomas too?”

  “Not yet, my lord.”

  “You probably should. If you ever do fall pregnant, you must get him to marry you.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?” she said to him fondly.

  He laughed gently, bending down to kiss her stiff red nipple, teasing it.

  I would remember the image of his mouth on her nipple for a long time. I imagined they would make love again, but I could not bear to watch.

  ***

  I avoided Christiana’s chamber after this, and she never asked why. In truth, as I lay on my pallet that night and for some nights after, I felt a cold anger towa
rd her. She got to betray Thomas and have Simon. I knew that there was some hypocrisy in my thoughts, though. I was jealous, and I condemned myself for it.

  It was better that he distracted himself with Christiana, wasn’t it, and not me? That was the voice of reason talking.

  But it hurt. I seemed always destined to have the cup dashed away from my lips, and I knew that I was not wicked enough to pursue him. But perhaps, I mused, I would not be strong enough to deny him if the time came.

  Silently, I asked Stephen what to do. I begged earnestly for his forgiveness.

  I told you, Will, his voice seemed to say. You don’t have to be faithful to me. I don’t expect it.

  But I expected it of myself.

  Chapter 9

  June 1262

  “It’s a short journey to Warwick. We’re lucky,” Thomas said. We were trotting side by side on the road leading away from the castle to the south, me on Lucy, him on his horse Nell. Simon and Henry rode ahead, their destriers elaborately caparisoned in the red and white Montfort colors. We carried their shields. They would go straight into the lists when we got there. Thomas and I would stand with the other squires at the lists, holding extra lances in case they broke theirs. It cost a fee of 4 marks (each mark being worth 13 shillings) for landed knights to get in, Thomas informed me, more for earls and barons, and the collected monies would go to the King, as all money in the realm tended to drift upwards.

  “Do they typically stay overnight?” I asked.

  “Most likely. They’ll be tired, exhausted, actually. Guy told me that they all lodged at a local tavern last year; that’s where he met the girl,” Thomas said mysteriously. “So we’ll have to stay with them, but I hope they might stay at the castle this time. I’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “I suppose,” I said. I didn’t really like the idea of bunking down with Thomas in some chilly little castle room.

  “Warwick Castle dates back to William the Conqueror’s time,” Thomas said. “It’s much older than Kenilworth.”

  And it was pretty, too, a grey pile set on the peaceful River Avon, but we only saw it from afar. A great field nearby was where our masters rode to and where the townspeople were gathered. There was a gallery set up just for ladies, which shaded them, while the townspeople sat on the grass. Thomas and I took up our posts with the other squires and watched in interest as the great horses thundered towards each other.