Falls the Shadow: A Novel

by Sharon Kay Penman

  Henry loved pageantry and ceremony, and the Christmas season afforded him ample opportunity to indulge his passion for fêtes and revelry. On this chill night in mid-December, he was in good spirits, having at last selected his New Year’s gifts for his young Queen: a heartshaped silver brooch, a sapphire ring, and a reliquary containing a fragment of the True Cross. He was well pleased with his choices, already anticipating Eleanor’s delight, and it was with pleasure that he watched now as Simon de Montfort and his sister Nell were escorted into the privacy of the Painted Chamber.

  Henry looked from Simon to Nell in disbelief. “Is this a jest?” he said, as if hoping it was, and Nell knelt by his chair in a flurry of silken skirts.

  “Dearest, we are very much in earnest. Nothing has ever meant more to me, Henry. Simon and I love each other, and we wish to wed. We know that—”

  “Are you mad? What of your vow?”

  “We would not have Nell forsake her vow,” Simon said hastily. “We intend to seek a dispensation from the Pope.”

  “What makes you think he would ever grant one?”

  “I will make it worth his while,” Simon said, saw Henry stiffen, and realized he had erred. He’d lived in England long enough to acquire some English prejudices; most Englishmen, no matter how devout, were convinced that the Pope saw England as a milch cow, one to be milked dry on behalf of the Roman Church, and few doubted that the papal court was a market place, where justice was dispensed to the highest bidder. But Henry had an impassioned reverence for the papacy, for he believed the Pope’s support had helped to secure his throne for him during those first troubled years of his reign. He looked deeply offended now by Simon’s cynicism, and said curtly.

  “This is a pointless discussion. I see no reason why His Holiness would ever agree to set aside a vow of chastity. Such vows are not undertaken lightly, are not to be—”

  “Henry, I was but fifteen! I did not know my own mind.” Nell was becoming frightened, for she knew how stubborn Henry could be. “I know the Church teaches us that chastity is an exalted state, second only to virginity. But not all of us are destined for so holy a life. And marriage is an honorable state, too. What sacrilege could there be in a sacrament, Henry?”

  It was a weak joke, failed to amuse her brother. Henry heard three Masses a day without fail, and he was genuinely shocked by his sister’s irreverence, by her willingness to profane her oath. But she was looking at him so imploringly that he sought to soften his refusal somewhat. “Nell, I am sorry. But what you ask is impossible. Once you’ve had time to think, you’ll recognize this request for what it is, a whim of the moment that could never be, that—”

  “Henry, I love Simon! This is no whim, it is my very life!”

  “I can make her happy, Henry, I swear it. And once we have the dispensation—”

  “No!” There was anger in Henry’s voice now, the anger of a man ensnared in a web not of his making. He did not want to hurt his sister. Nor did he want to hurt Simon. “You cannot marry my sister, Simon. Even if she were free to wed, that would change nothing. I could not give my consent to your marriage.”

  They looked so stunned that he winced. Why must they ask of him what he could not possibly give?

  “I thought,” Simon said, “that I was your friend.”

  “You are my friend. But that does not make you a fit husband for my sister!” Why was he having to do this, to elaborate upon the obvious? “My father and grandfather were Kings of England before me, Dukes of Normandy and Anjou. My grandmother was Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine. My sister Joan is Queen of Scotland. My other sister Isabella is Empress of the Holy Roman Empire. Need I truly say more, Simon? The very idea is absurd. In truth, you can be thankful for my friendship, thankful that I have not taken offense at your effrontery.”

  “I should be grateful that you think my love demeans your sister?”

  “I did not say that, Simon! Or if I did, it was only because you forced me to it. I have never faulted you for your ambition. But this time you have over-reached yourself. And that is a warning you’d best take to heart. Have you no idea of the scandal this would cause in council? The King’s sister and the Earl of Leicester? Christ on the cross!”

  “I see,” Simon said. “Then it is not Nell’s oath and not my lineage. It is that you do not want to be discomfited before your barons. You’d truly sacrifice your sister’s happiness for that? Because you lacked the…will to defend her?”

  Henry flushed darkly. Like many timid men, he was morbidly quick to suspect slurs upon his courage, and Simon’s pause had been a telling one. “This discussion is done,” he snapped. “And so are your high-flying dreams of glory. You are not to see my sister again.”

  Nell had been listening, horror-struck. With that, she gave a choked cry. “Simon!”

  He turned toward her, and she saw on his face her own despair and disbelief and a very dangerous rage. “I will have Nell as my wife,” he said tautly, “with or without your approval.”

  Henry was accustomed to arguments and protest; even with the inherent powers of kingship at his command, he had never learned how to compel unquestioning obedience from other men. But such outright defiance left him speechless. He gasped, sputtered incredulously, and then shouted, “You marry Nell and you’ll pass your wedding night in the Tower!”

  Nell’s fear suddenly gave way to fury. “If you imprison Simon, then you must imprison me, too!”

  Henry had an inordinately strong sense of family; the thought of his sister in a prison cell was horrifying to him. “Jesú, Nell! Do you truly think so little of me, that you could believe me capable of that?”

  For once, she was indifferent to his pain. She moved to Simon’s side. “I think Simon is right,” she said. “I think you do shrink from facing down your barons. It is easier for you if we do not wed, and you’ve ever been one for taking the easy way, Henry.”

  “You are fortunate, Nell, in that I do understand your anger, your disappointment. For I shall overlook your heedless words, shall do my best to put them from my memory. But you cannot marry this man, and I’ll say no more on it. My patience is at an end.”

  Nell looked at her brother, seeing him suddenly with a stranger’s eyes, seeing him with utterly unsparing clarity. She reached for Simon’s hand, entwined his fingers in her own, for she knew now what she must do.

  “No, Henry, you do not understand,” she said, and was surprised that her voice could sound so calm, so cold. “You are right when you say there would be a great scandal if I wed Simon. But there will be an even greater scandal if I do not.”

  She felt Simon’s hand tighten on hers; for a startled moment, his eyes sought hers, but he was quick to comprehend—and to approve.

  Henry had yet to absorb the full impact of her words. “What do you—Nell, no!”

  He sat down abruptly, the color draining from his face. But Nell felt no pity, no remorse. “Yes,” she said, “I am with child.”

  It was a gamble of absolute desperation, a lie that risked all—perhaps even Simon’s life—upon how well she knew her brother. “How could you?” Henry cried. “How could you shame yourself like that?”

  “I love him,” she said, as if that explained and excused all, and Henry wondered suddenly if she could be bewitched, so unrepentant was she, so defiant.

  “It must be true,” he said, “what men say, that blood will tell. For God help you, you are indeed Eleanor of Aquitaine’s granddaughter.”

  From the first Sunday in Advent until Epiphany no marriage Masses could be said. It was on the following day, January 7, that Simon and Nell were ushered into the Painted Chamber at Westminster Palace. There were no servants, no wedding guests, only the King of England to act as witness to their marriage. Henry had a private oratory in one corner of his bedchamber, and it was here that Simon and Nell knelt to be joined in wedlock by the chaplain of St Stephen’s chapel.

  When the Mass was said, the deed done, Simon poured wine for his King and for his bride.
Drawing Nell aside, he gave her then his bride’s gift, a ruby pendant set in heavy gold.

  “Thank you, beloved!” Nell raised up, gave him a lingering kiss. “Mayhap Henry is right, mayhap I am shameless,” she confided softly, “for I feel no more your wife now than I did that first night at Odiham. That was our true wedding night, Simon.”

  “You do not mind that our wedding was so hurried, so lacking in ceremony? I wanted more for you than this, Nell.”

  “I would willingly have wed you in a stable, Simon; do you not know that?”

  “There was a time,” he confessed, “when I thought we might be wed in a cell!” and they both laughed, the unsteady, exultant laughter of those who had wagered against all odds and somehow won.

  “I will be such a good wife to you, Simon. I swear I will. But…but I doubt, beloved, that I can be a very dutiful one.”

  She looked so troubled that Simon burst out laughing. “I doubt it, too,” he said. “I doubt it exceedingly.”

  “Simon, I will try, in truth I will. But I do not want to lead you astray with false promises, promises I cannot keep. I know my faults too well, you see. I am more willful than woman has right to be, and I am lavish with money, and I do not always think ere I speak; my tongue can be right sharp. We’ll quarrel, Simon.”

  “Frequently,” he agreed, and kissed her.

  Across the chamber, Henry and his chaplain drank their wine in morose silence. The chaplain was wretchedly sure that he had sinned in performing this marriage, and he dreaded facing his superiors in the Church, having nothing to offer them but the feeble excuse that he had not dared to say nay to his King. He had shuddered when Simon placed a gold band upon Nell’s finger, remembering another ring, one that pledged her to Our Lord Jesus Christ. No good could ever come of such a marriage; he did not doubt that Simon de Montfort and the Lady Nell would pay dearly for this day.

  “My liege?” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Will you be the one to inform my lord Archbishop of Canterbury?”

  “No,” Henry said hastily. “The Earl of Leicester shall have that signal honor.” But he could take no comfort from that, for he knew the Archbishop would then demand to know how he could have permitted this marriage, how he could have allowed them to make of him a partner in their crime. He believed himself to be a good son of the Church, yet now he must risk the wrath of God, he must defend the indefensible.

  And what of his council? His brother Richard? How outraged they would be, as much with him as with Simon and Nell. Henry hated confrontations; he knew there were men who thrived on discord and turmoil, but he was not one of them. Yet now, through no fault of his own, he found himself in the middle of a maelstrom. What, he wondered, was he to say? But what else could he have done? Let his sister shame them all by bearing a bastard child?

  Simon and Nell were coming toward them, and Henry tried to find a passable smile. What was done was done, and this was Nell’s wedding day. He would not spoil it for her.

  “I drink to your happiness,” he said, as heartily as he could, and held his wine cup aloft. The chaplain looked as if he’d been asked to quaff hemlock, but he gamely followed suit.

  Henry kissed his sister on the cheek, but he could not help thinking that it was indecent for her to look so radiant, so joyous. Had she no conscience at all? His eyes shifted to his brother-in-law’s face; a dark face, boldly featured, it was the eyes men first noticed, the eyes of a hawk, Henry thought, telling himself that Simon was his friend, that nothing had changed.

  “When do you sail for France, Simon?”

  They had decided that Simon should go to Rome, plead his case in person before the Pope. But Simon now said, “Not for some weeks yet. Nell and I talked it over, and we think it best if I wait until our marriage is revealed in council, until the dust settles.” There was an involuntary, sardonic twist to his mouth at that last; he knew how Henry feared the uproar sure to follow, and as much as he wanted to be grateful for Henry’s support, he could not deny that he felt, too, a certain contempt for the other man’s timidity.

  Henry was heartened by Simon’s decision to remain; he could value in others qualities he knew he himself lacked, and he’d long admired Simon’s coolness under fire. “To my sister,” he said, raising his wine cup again. “And to her husband. God keep you both in His favor.” And he tried very hard to convince himself that he did indeed wish them well, that he had truly forgiven them for their betrayal, and that he bore them no grudge for all the trouble they were about to bring upon him.

  5

  ________

  Cricieth Castle, North Wales

  July 1238

  ________

  “If you take much longer, Ednyved, moss will be forming on our chess pieces.”

  But Llewelyn’s prompting was in vain; Ednyved refused to be rushed. “All things come to pass in God’s time,” he said sententiously, continuing his painstaking scrutiny of the chessboard, and Llewelyn glanced over at Hunydd.

  “He always says that when he’s losing,” he said, and Hunydd smiled. He’d not noticed her doing it, but he saw that she’d brought a bowl of fruit to the table; her concern for his comfort was as constant as it was unobtrusive.

  “Did you tell Lord Ednyved the news about Lady Joanna’s sister?” she murmured, and Llewelyn returned her smile, his eyes lingering upon her face. She was Joanna’s age, many years widowed, a serenely handsome woman who occasionally put him in mind of Tangwystl, Gruffydd’s long-dead mother. He’d remained friends with Hunydd after their liaison was over; they were still friends, good friends who sometimes shared a bed. She had many qualities that Llewelyn admired; not the least of them was her utter lack of jealousy. She did not begrudge Joanna his heart, making mention of Joanna’s name now without the slightest hesitation, neither self-conscious nor resentful, for she was too wise a woman to cast herself as Joanna’s rival.

  Ednyved reached for an apple. “What is the news about Nell?”

  “I had a letter from Elen. She says that de Montfort was able to secure a dispensation from the Pope.”

  Ednyved’s smile was sardonic. “I’d wager that cost him a right fair sum. But I suppose he feels it’s money well spent, and I daresay most of it was Nell’s!”

  Llewelyn grinned. “I like Nell; I’ve always admired her pluck.” He began to peel an orange. “Elen says de Montfort will not be hastening back to England, though. That marriage stirred up so much turmoil that Nell and de Montfort thought it best if he was away for a while, giving tempers time to cool. I understood poor Henry took so much abuse that he retreated to the Tower, refused to come out!” There was in Llewelyn’s voice both detached amusement and faint sympathy, for while he had little respect for his royal brother-in-law, he did have a reluctant fondness for Henry; he’d often benefited from Henry’s heartfelt affection for Joanna.

  “According to Elen,” he continued, “de Montfort has gone to aid his new brother-by-marriage, the Holy Roman Emperor, at the siege of Brescia. Marriage to Nell has suddenly given the man some truly illustrious kin, has it not? But he’ll be back ere the first frost for certes; Elen says Nell is with child.” Adding dryly, “To satisfy your unseemly curiosity, the babe is due in late November.”

  Ednyved made an elaborate show of counting upon his fingers. “Nigh on eleven months. I suspect that will disappoint a great many people!”

  Llewelyn was no longer listening; he’d cocked his head, looking toward the window. It was unshuttered, and there came clearly to them now the shrieks of seagulls, squabbling over the garbage dumped behind the kitchen. There came also the sound of arrival; horsemen had just ridden into the castle bailey. “That will be Davydd and Isabella,” he said. “They are due back today.”

  Ednyved knew that Davydd had been down in South Wales, meeting with the Princes of Deheubarth, Rhys Mechyll and Maelgwn Fychan. Rhys and Maelgwn were the sons of Llewelyn’s former allies, and he thought, Llewelyn and I are outliving our friends as well as our enemies. But he was surprised by this
mention of Isabella, for he knew no great passion burned between Davydd and his young English wife. “Did Davydd take his wife with him?”

  “No, Isabella has been in South Wales for the past month, visiting her younger sisters. It was agreed upon that Davydd would escort her home once his council was done.” Llewelyn glanced expectantly at the door, hearing eager footsteps on the outer stairs. But it was not Davydd and Isabella who burst into the chamber; it was Llelo and Gruffydd.

  Llewelyn was delighted, but also surprised. He’d sent Gruffydd word of his arrival at Cricieth, asked to see his grandson, and he’d been hopeful that Gruffydd would agree, for Cricieth was just fifteen miles from Gruffydd’s manor at Nefyn. He’d not expected, though, that Gruffydd would accompany the boy.

  “We have good tidings, Grandpapa!” Lelo glanced back at his father. “Can I be the one to tell him, Papa?” and when Gruffydd nodded indulgently, he blurted out, “I have a baby brother!”

  Gruffydd had told Llewelyn that Senena was not due till late August, but as Llewelyn’s eyes sought his son’s, Gruffydd grinned. “The babe was not willing to wait,” he said. “Last Wednesday eve, just after Vespers, Senena was brought to bed of a fine, healthy son.”

  “That is welcome news, indeed.” Llewelyn smiled upon them both, remembering just in time to query politely, “And Senena?”

  “She is well, Papa.” It had always irked Gruffydd that the brother he so detested should have borne the name of the most celebrated of Welsh saints, and he relished this opportunity to reclaim it for one of his own. “We named him Davydd.” Adding quite needlessly, “After the saint, of course.”

  “He has reddish peach fuzz all over his head,” Llelo volunteered, “and at first he was all puckered up, like a prune.” His eyes had settled wistfully upon the orange in his grandfather’s hand, for oranges had to be imported from Spain, were considered rare delicacies. Llewelyn proved himself to be adroit at mind-reading; he separated the fruit into halves, passed one to Llelo, who gave him a grateful grin. “The wet nurse suckles him every three hours, Grandpapa, so he gets four meals a day!”