A Knight's Tale: Kenilworth

by Gabriella West

  “Shall we all stay here for Christmas, then?” Stephen asked, his voice clear and steady. “All four, like old times. Let the Montforts congregate at Kenilworth and talk strategy. I’ve no desire to go back there.”

  We all laid our hands together on the oak table. I rested mine on Christiana’s, with Stephen’s on top of mine.

  “I don’t think Lady Eleanor will mind at all,” Christiana said reassuringly. “Fewer mouths to feed at Kenilworth, fewer horses to keep there. Oh, I’ve readied a bedchamber for you two.”

  “I told Will that we wouldn’t be sharing one,” Stephen said. “It’s till I shake off this illness. I need a lot of uninterrupted sleep, so it’s not really fair to Will.” His words sounded convincing, but I was taken aback that he had kept his word.

  She nodded quickly. “That’s all right. There’s a small chamber that you could have. But it’s back to a pallet, I’m afraid!”

  “I never had a proper bed at the priory,” Stephen admitted with a smile.

  “But you shall have one this time, Will,” Christiana said. She looked at me almost shyly, and I wondered what her look meant.

  “That will be very nice.”

  But it was bewildering, almost, as I stood alone in the chamber, looking at the four-poster bed. The hangings were ornate, of a velvety material. The bed was so high off the ground I felt I would need to be scooped up into it.

  My window looked out onto green grass and trees. The air in the chamber was pleasantly warm, not stale. I felt like a grown-up guest in some noble’s house.

  Stephen appeared at my side. “I’m about to retire for the evening, Will. I’m exhausted.”

  We stood looking at the bed together.

  “It looks like a marriage bed,” I offered.

  “And we were supposed to share it.” His smile was bleak.

  “I’ll stay here alone for now...but you can join me whenever you like.” I didn’t look at him as I said this.

  “It’s kind of you.” He cleared his throat, then ran his hand over the bed coverings.

  “I liked you riding pillion, after all. We do well sharing a horse.” I smiled at him to let him know I was not offended by his decision.

  “I agree,” he said softly. “And I have seen us sharing this bed here, if you want to know.”

  “But you don’t know when. I understand.” I really wanted to take him in my arms just then, but I was constrained by how tired he looked.

  “Perhaps after Christmas,” he said gently. He moved his lips against mine, which was our way of kissing now, just a subtle touch. Then he stumbled from the room to rest.

  I sighed, climbing on to the bed. The mattress was stuffed with feathers. I lay back, closed my eyes, and was quickly transported to the land of Nod, as my mother once liked to call it.

  ***

  I had had to learn patience, praying that in the end it would all work out. The relief I felt at not seeing Simon was immense. I dreaded the look in his eyes when he saw Stephen and I together. I dreaded the conversation we might have where he asked me to come help him with the siege of Pevensey. I thought of him on some nights that winter, though, out in the cold at Pevensey, exposed to the damp, raw sea air as the trebuchet hurled balls of iron at the castle walls. Close to Christmas, Wilecok came to Odiham and, with a faint smirk on his face, reported that the royalist garrison trapped in the castle had been reprovisioned by boat, despite Simon’s and his men’s best efforts.

  “So they’ll likely hold out a few months longer, my lady,” Wilecok said hoarsely to Lady Eleanor.

  She sat tensely at the high table in her fashionable scarlet dress with billowing sleeves.

  “You shall take a message to my husband tomorrow,” she said to Wilecok. He bowed.

  She was never alone at dinnertime; there were always guests there, high-born local ladies, mostly, or a traveling bishop or two. They were not introduced to me, and that was fine with me. Stephen tended to know their names because he was more intimately involved with her household accounts. In fact, his task at Odiham was to record the Countess’s expenses and what they were for, whether for food for the table, provisions for the horses, or clothing for herself and her daughter. She also purchased cloth for her royal guests, the hostages, who were also her relatives. It made me scratch my head, but Stephen said it was who she had always been. Very generous, always spent lots of money on her nearest and dearest, unlike Earl Simon, who was frugal and disapproved of such things. But Earl Simon was hardly ever here now. He was away at the Michaelmas parliament in London—he attended each of them, as he always had—and then he would return to Kenilworth for the festivities.

  Stephen wrote neatly by quill pen on a large sheet of parchment, which was called the Countess’s household roll. Each day was dated; the items laid out and priced.

  He worked in a little study rather like the one at Kenilworth, at a sloping desk. This study had an armchair, though. I sometimes sat in there and watched him, scratching away, his mind deep in thought.

  “It is so mundane. Wouldn’t you rather be writing something vivid, a history, perhaps?” I enquired one day, as rain slated against the window.

  He smiled over at me. “I will be wearing spectacles soon, I expect,” he joked.

  It didn’t really answer my question, but I dropped it.

  “Tom will be back here soon,” he said, not looking up.

  “It will be strange to see him.” I shifted uneasily. He had embraced me the last time we were together, but so much had happened. I sensed my sordid history with Simon was now common knowledge among our group of insiders and intimates.

  “Will.” I looked up. “Make the most of it.” His eyes were bright. “It will be the last time you see him.”

  I reeled in shock. “Don’t do that!” I said angrily.

  “There’s no good way to say it,” he said, shrugging.

  I blinked away some tears. “I believe you, that’s the worst thing.”

  He continued scratching away. When he looked up, he seemed sad.

  “You always have the choice, Will, to go be his comrade. I believe you’re staying here for the right reasons. But I don’t want you to resent me for it.”

  I just shook my head, saying nothing. I often questioned my choice to stay, but the fact was that I felt great satisfaction just watching him work, watching him slowly regain his strength. Little Eleanor had taken a fondness to him, though she barely remembered him from before, and I often watched them stroll in the garden together, him holding her pudgy hand and pointing out the names of the roses and other flowers. He would sit and turn over each page of the breviary that her mother had purchased for her, helping her read the words and smiling at the cunningly illustrated characters. Without much effort, he had slipped back into the heart of the family, and now almost seemed beloved. But I loved him too and that was the conflict I had. I could easily join Simon or Henry and know he would be safe here, almost as peaceful as at the priory. But something told me that if I did that, I would lose him. I would lose his trust; he would pull away from me, and then our paths would diverge. And I couldn’t bear it.

  Tom arrived one December night just as Lady Eleanor and her daughter were preparing to depart. He looked lonely and exhausted riding in on his own. We embraced. Christiana came running out to meet him in the rain and they embraced lovingly.

  “Wallingford was awful,” he said bluntly, when we were all sitting around the fire. “We took ’em to Kenilworth first—that was a tense ride! I don’t trust the Lord Edward at all. He can’t wait to get out, join his followers, and march against Earl Simon. It’s in his eyes. The calculations.”

  He sipped his mulled wine moodily.

  “Oh, Tom,” Christiana said, laying her head on his shoulder. “We must try to be merry. We must.”

  “I know, sorry.” He gave a half smile. “Henry’s exhausted. Earl Simon looked exhausted when I saw him at Kenilworth. And Simon—luckily, I haven’t seen him, but I hear he’s having a hard time of
it.”

  “He did partly save your life at Lewes,” I pointed out to him. He frowned at me.

  “Only for your sake, I’ll bet,” he muttered. Then he looked up at Stephen, whom he had hardly acknowledged, and flushed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should let bygones be bygones.”

  “Yes, Tom.” Stephen nodded. “I actually have a better reason to be angry at Simon than yourself. He sent me away to the priory four years ago.”

  There was a silence as we all digested this. Christiana and Tom stared at each other. Clearly, they had speculated privately about it.

  “We didn’t know...” Christiana said. “But we always thought...”

  “Turns out only Wilecok knew, and he was kind enough to tell me,” I said. “And Stephen knew in his own way, which must have really twisted the knife.”

  “So you’re hiding out here from him?” Tom said with a dry smile to me. “Clever. Why not? Make him work to get you back. To fight, I mean,” he added quickly.

  “No, Tom, I’m never going to do that. I made up my mind.”

  The fire crackled.

  He whistled. “I have to hand it to you, Will. But I always expected we’d be fighting together.” There was a plaintive tone in his voice. “Henry would be glad to have your aid.”

  “I’m sure he would,” I said, glancing at Stephen, who was watching intently, standing near the fire.

  “I have nothing against Henry. I just feel the need to stay closer to home, so to speak. Stephen and I have been apart for so long.”

  “You managed to survive the smallpox,” Tom said to him with some effort to be civil in his voice.

  Stephen nodded. “Will came just in time. I had given up.”

  “That’s Will for you,” Tom said fondly, his hand on my arm. “He saved my life in the nick of time too. Saw everything flash before my eyes!”

  “I was also having that kind of moment, although in my case it was taking days,” Stephen replied.

  A general laugh broke up the tension.

  “Well,” Tom said, “you and I do have something in common, Stephen.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Simon hasn’t slept with us.”

  After a moment’s shock, we laughed again. Christiana covered her mouth, her eyes crinkling.

  “Dark humor,” Stephen said. “The kind I like best.”

  We stayed up talking late around the fire. In the morning we woke up to sleet and wind outside. Stephen came to join me in bed and handed me a Christmas stocking, a long woolen sock stuffed with treats and sweetmeats.

  “It’s a French custom,” he said. “I thought you’d like it.”

  “I do.” We rested comfortably together in the delicious bed.

  “I heard them make love last night,” he whispered. “My chamber’s close to Christiana’s.”

  “Has Tom improved as a lover, do you think?” I enquired, my mouth tantalizingly close to his face.

  “I can’t tell. I think she’s so passionate that all she needs is a warm body. She loves him, so that helps.”

  “You’re dubious about his skills...” I mused. “His sense of humor does seem more sophisticated, though.”

  “Yes, I thought he tried hard last night. You weren’t offended by his jest, were you?”

  I shook my head. “There’s no point. It was sharp, but... Well, I deserve it, I suppose.”

  “Don’t be ashamed, Will.” He kissed the tip of my nose, then brushed his lips against mine. “We all do stupid things. I forgive you. And I think it’s rather wonderful that Tom forgave Christiana for slipping. That shows real strength.”

  “They seem close, don’t they?” I murmured. “Should she know—should you tell her it’s the last time?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know if it is for her. I just know that it is for you.”

  “Christ, I’m sorry that I brought it up.” A bleak silence enveloped us, and the sense of teasing passion that I had begun to feel slowly ebbed away.

  And yet it was fun to feast together that day. “Our pagan Christmas,” Tom called it. He stood at the top of the table, pretending to be Earl Simon, carving the goose. The fire burned robustly in the hearth as we drank and ate. It was a simple meal compared to the many courses that they would have at Kenilworth, but I was glad not to be there for that feast. There would be tension and anxiety behind the smiles of many of the attendees. Perhaps little Eleanor would lighten the night with a dance, as she had before. And Lady Eleanor would give gifts to her brother and nephew, who would thank her for them with perfect courtesy as Earl Simon looked on.

  Our minds were on the other household, but our bodies were warmed by food and drink. Tom and I rode out together that afternoon. Despite our cloaks, we were soon chilled by the drizzle.

  “It’s not as cold as Kenilworth, but still... a foul climate,” I remarked.

  Tom gestured towards the forest. “We’ll find cover there.”

  We entered an old forest, an ancient grove, riding close together on a narrow path. He was right; not a drip of rain passed through the tree cover. We rode into a kind of clearing.

  “You should bring Stephen here in the spring,” Tom said.

  “Why?” I asked curiously.

  “It would be rather beautiful, with bluebells and such things.”

  I laughed. “What’s got into you, Tom? Such delicacy.”

  He flushed. “I’ve always liked flowers, Will. That was why I liked going to the meadow with you.”

  He held up his hand. A grunting sound came from nearby and then a gray-brown bristling creature charged across the clearing, and away.

  “Well, thank goodness it wasn’t coming at us.” Tom looked thoughtful. “Did you see its eyes?”

  I had. The creature’s eyes had been red.

  “Wild boar,” I mused.

  “Yes, this is a fine hunting spot. I’m sure the King used to hunt here before he handed it over to his sister. Perhaps they hunted together. I can see her doing that in her youth.”

  It was hard to tell him anything; we had been away from each other for so long.

  “Brother Michael died,” I said finally.

  “Oh.” Tom nodded. “Not much of a loss, that one.”

  “Stephen thinks...” The words stuck in my throat. “Well, he thinks that Lady Eleanor will end up going to France after all this is over. I know it seems like they know what they’re doing, but... it will end in disaster, he thinks. More than thinks, he sees it.”

  Tom nodded. His face was sharp and pale as he turned to me. “You know I have to fight alongside my father and Henry. It’s what I was brought up to do.”

  I bowed my head.

  “I don’t believe you have the same duty, Will.” His voice was gentle. “I think the way Simon treated you was an example of...” He paused. “Please don’t take offense. But I felt he treated you more like a plaything, or a woman.”

  I flushed, but said nothing.

  “You’re brave. I’m not denying it. But you’re not...” He paused again. “You’re not nobility. I don’t think you should give your life for Earl Simon’s cause if you don’t want to.”

  “Ah,” I said meaninglessly.

  “You’d have given your life for Simon, probably, earlier. He messed it all up.”

  “It’s what he did to Stephen,” I said, the rage rising in my voice. “That was so wrong. And I know it could have been worse.”

  Tom nodded, but put his hand warningly on my arm. “Don’t say any more.”

  “He really was close to death, Tom. It was horrifying. And yet Simon did let me go back to save him. Everything is so tied up with everything else.”

  “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Each strand impossible to unravel. I just wanted you to know this: that I would never blame you or think ill of you if you stood aside.”

  “I don’t understand it, really.” I sighed. “I expected to be pressed into service. Everyone else is.”

  “But I think you’ve already been
of service,” he said. His mouth twisted. “They’re probably surprised you’re not asking for anything.”

  “Christ. Is that the way they think?”

  “We all get paid off in one way or another. But staying on as you have is another form of bravery. It shows dignity, anyway.”

  “If it was just my mother at home now, I’d gladly go back.”

  “I know...” he murmured. “Strange how going back home becomes impossible after a certain point. Being with Christiana feels like home to me.”

  I glanced up at the old oaks. “I bet the Ancient Britons did sacrifices here.”

  “The Druids,” Tom murmured. “No doubt.”

  “Tom, I fear we may not meet again.” My voice wobbled. I believed what Stephen said whole-heartedly. To my surprise I saw moisture in his grey eyes, too. Uncertainty.

  “I fear we may not, as well. Let’s leave it in God’s hands, Will.”

  “I pray that he is merciful, then.”

  We clasped hands. “I’ve come to see you as a brother,” Tom said, “although I am not sure you view me that way.”

  I thought of the many times we had fought, had tilted at the quintain together. We had been well matched.

  “Are you prepared?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I’m not. I keep hoping against hope that things will resolve without a battle.”

  We were silent as the old forest enveloped us.

  “I’m sorry I let Simon come between us,” I whispered.

  “I hated the way he changed you. But you’re back now.” His voice was warm and comforting. “You’ll protect Stephen, make him happy. And that’s all right. I’d much rather you be with him than off fighting with Simon somewhere.”

  “You really don’t see me as cowardly?” It puzzled me, because I had those doubts daily.

  “I’d fight anyone who said it.” He did look wiry and strong. “And I can’t imagine who would dare.”

  We smiled at each other.

  His final words to me a few days later were “farewell, brother.” Christiana wept, hugging him. And he had the grace to reach out and clasp Stephen’s hand before he mounted his horse.