'There,' Ellen said, her rosy face all smiles, 'your lord was right, my lady, you will soon be your own self again, though by'r Lady I feared we'd all be drowned.'
'It must have been a very bad storm.' Eleanor set down the cup and slipped off the bed to look out of the window. The security of a steady floor was a great relief, and the sea had lost its wrath. The April sky was grey still but the wind had died and a gentle rain was falling. She could see the English fleet riding at anchor, her brother's ship with the royal banner hanging limply close by the harbour wall, and she asked if her old nurse knew when they were to sail again, for sail they must. If she had to brave that monster out there again, it would be best to go surely while it was calm.
Ellen said, 'I did hear 'twas not to be until tomorrow's full tide, to give you time to rest. Come back to bed, my chuck.' Eleanor yawned and owned she had become very sleepy since drinking the wine, and when tucked up she fell soundly asleep and did not wake until it was growing dark. Supper that night was taken aboard their ship, now still enough to banish her fears, and she sat between her brother and her husband and ate hungrily, her appetite quite recovered.
Henry teased her for costing them a day's journey, but he was smiling and cheerful. 'We are on the threshold of a great campaign,' he said, 'and one day more or less will not hinder us. This time we will send the French back across their borders and take hold of some of the land my father lost. I must admit I am impatient to see my mother.'
'It is to hoped she will bring adequate forces,' the Earl of Chester said rather glumly. 'We do not have the men or the supplies I would like to have seen.'
'Oh!' Henry gave an expressive shrug. 'That is to be blamed on that old traitor de Burgh. He was against this venture from the start and did all he could to baulk me.'
'Saving your grace's pardon,' Gilbert de Clare broke in, 'if he did so he did it with your grace's welfare at heart. A man may hold opposite views on a matter without being a traitor and my lord Hubert has served you from the day the crown was set on your head, and before.'
'Maybe, maybe.' Henry's tone was petulant. 'But he will not see that I am a man now and it is I who command.' Briefly he recalled how, when he had ridden last year to Portsmouth to set out, he had found such inadequate preparations that he had lost his temper. He had rushed at his chancellor with a drawn sword and only the intervention of the Earl of Chester had prevented bloodshed. He did not like losing his temper, preferring to keep life smooth and pleasant and conducive to his own tastes. He would rather be visiting a cathedral in the building, or a shrine, than sit listening to dreary accounts of demands on the royal treasury. It was up to his chancellor and his exchequer to find money for him, and as it was he had had to wait further months before setting out, all on account of the parsimony of Hubert de Burgh who had become in his eyes too arrogant for comfort.
'Enough of the tiresome fellow,' he said lightly. 'He will sing a different tune when we go home in triumph with my grandfather's lands under my hand again.'
His brother Richard took a long pull at his goblet. 'No easy task. This is poor stuff, Harry. Hubert never did have much of a palate. I shall be glad when we can command better wine.'
'We did not think to be so long at sea,' Henry retorted, smiling at his sister. 'Can you brave the water once more?'
Eleanor suppressed a little shudder, refusing to appear cowardly before all this company. 'I am quite well again now, brother,' she said with dignity, and the thirty hours it took them to reach St Malo were calm enough that she had no more sickness. She stood beside William on the deck as dawn came up on the second morning and, watched the French coast draw near, the gentle breeze barely stirring her hood, the ship moving so smoothly that she actually enjoyed the motion. The beauty of the morning sky, the glittering sea, the green of the coastline stirred her to exclaim at it and remark that there was something to be said for a sea voyage after all.
William was plainly relieved to see the colour back in her face, but then he was always considerate. She thought back over her year of marriage and in a sudden gust of emotion thanked the Blessed Virgin that she had not died on the voyage out, for she adored her husband now and the thought of being without him was horrifying. Her love had grown, deepening with respect for him, for his dignity, his quiet manner, his integrity. His love-making was like the man himself and sometimes she wished for more passion, for some of the fire she had read of in French romances, but William was not, to her fifteen year-old mind, a young man and innocently she supposed she could not expect it. When she lay with him at night it was always with pleasurable anticipation and yet she sensed there was something missing. She tried to talk to her sister-in-law about it but was overcome with embarrassment, and Isabella clearly thought such matters not for discussion.
'Duty and obedience dictate our state,’ Isabella had said, 'and if love comes with them then thank God for your good fortune, and do not question too closely.'
Eleanor said no more but one thing she knew, that she was seldom happier than when William was beside her. He was, he must be, the best of husbands, and if there was something undiscovered, if instinctively her body craved something unachieved, she must not complain about that. She slipped her hand into William's and asked how soon there would be fighting.
‘Soon, please God,' he said, 'it is what we are come for,' and seeing the expression on her face added, 'My heart, a well-armoured knight can survive many battles and I know what I am about.'
Her fingers tightened on his. 'Will your brother be there to meet us?'
'I fear not. I've not seen Richard these seven years, not since he wed Alain of Dinan's daughter. He is in a difficult position for he holds our father's Norman lands and the King of France is his suzerain. He is Louis's marshal into the bargain.'
She was disappointed. She did not like Gilbert Marshal, William's third brother who was in minor orders and held a living in Suffolk, but who plainly cared little for his calling, preferring to be at court in his brother's shadow. She liked Walter and Anselm well enough, but had wished to meet the Richard of whom William spoke so highly.
‘We will come to terms with France in due course, I expect,' William said. 'The regent, Queen Blanche, is a strong-minded woman, as one would expect of a grand-daughter of old King Henry, and she is no fool. When we have filched what we can there will be a truce and then perhaps we will see Richard.'
They stood together watching as the ship drew in, the sailors scrambling in the rigging, throwing ropes to those ashore. The waiting crowds lining the wharf cheered the arrival of the English host enthusiastically while the knights of the Count of Brittany sat in their saddles, spears held erect, to provide an escort for the King of England. Henry came ashore dressed in full armour, a white silk mantle thrown over it, and the crowds yelled themselves hoarse.
He turned to the Earl of Chester. 'You see! We are welcome here. I shall soon rule over all that my father lost.'
In the bustle of landing, while William was supervising the unloading of his gear and Finch, in charge of his lady's boxes, was not aware that she was ready to mount, Eleanor stood momentarily alone beside Mabille, her hand smoothing the palfrey's soft nose.
A knight disengaged himself from a group and appeared suddenly at her side. 'May I assist you, my lady?'
She turned to see a tall slender man with straight dark hair that fell thickly across his forehead. His eyes, set between straight dark brows, were of a deep, cool grey and he had a symmetry of feature that gave him an almost classic beauty, though it was lessened by a habitually grave expression. Only when he smiled, as he did now, did the full effect of his fine features become apparent. He was dressed plainly, almost poorly, and his mantle was fastened with an unadorned clasp. She had seen him before among her brother's knights, but she did not know who he was. A younger son, perhaps, with his way to make.
'Thank you,’ she said and prepared to mount in the usual fashion, but to her surprise found herself lifted bodily into the saddle.
/> She looked down at him somewhat haughtily and he said, 'You are a mere featherweight, lady. I can set my hands to meet about so little a waist.'
'And you have a great impertinence; she retorted. 'A hand for my foot would have sufficed.'
He bowed, a slightly ironic expression on his face that somehow made her feel she had been childish, but she did not expect unknown knights to be familiar with the King's sister. He handed her the reins and would have left her without speaking but that she halted him by asking his name.
He turned back and looked directly up at her. 'Simon de Montfort, my lady.'
'So, daughter.' The Queen mother, now Countess de la Marche, looked her up and down approvingly. 'You are grown into a woman. Do you carry a child under that fine gown?'
Eleanor blushed. 'No, madame, I do not think so.' She found her mother somewhat overwhelming.
'Well, well, there's time yet.' Isabella of Angouleme had grown a little plump but she still had traces of the devastating beauty that had turned men's heads. Ellen had told her mistress, among other tales, that once when the Queen had taken a lover, King John had found out and one morning she had awoken to find the unfortunate man dangling from a rope at the foot of her bed. Eleanor still felt a thrill of horror remembering the story, and though her mother had been happily wed for thirteen years to Hugh de Lusignan and had a brood of growing lads now paying their respects to their half-brother, the King, she still had an air about her that made her daughter believe Ellen's lurid tales.
The whole company mounted up and rode away and as they went, Eleanor asked her brother Richard what he knew of Sir Simon de Montfort.
Richard gave her a surprised glance. 'Have you had speech with him? He is a mere supplicant at the moment, another foreigner trying to find an inheritance in England. But he has a reasonable claim. His great-uncle was Robert de Beamont, Earl of Leicester in our grandfather's day and the Leicester lands should, by default of a male heir, go to the de Montforts of Montfort L'Amaury.'
'Where is that?'
'Some thirty miles south of Paris. Robert's widow, the Countess Loretta, lives in a convent near Canterbury, a redoubtable old lady, one of the de Braose family, and Sir Simon came ostensibly to visit her, but in fact to ask our brother for the Leicester lands and earldom. The stewardship of England goes with them so it is no small matter.'
Eleanor turned her head but she could no longer see the dark young man from France. 'What did Henry say?'
'Well, Chester has them at present. He's the nephew of old Sir Simon, this Simon's father who's been dead these many years. The Earl was supposed to hold them until Amaury de Montfort came of age, but apparently my lord Amaury has waived his right in favour of his younger brother – only Henry says he will not deprive Earl Randulph of them while he lives.'
Eleanor's lips curled into a little smile. 'So Sir Simon has got nothing for his pains?'
Richard glanced at her. 'That seems to please you. Why?'
'Oh,' she gave a little shrug, 'I thought he was rather arrogant. Where do we lie tonight?'
'We shall probably get no further than Dinan, but we should be at Rennes the day after tomorrow. Our uncle Geoffrey once owned the castle there, and had the drawbridge up more often than down. He and our other uncles were always quarrelling about something.'
'I am glad you and Harry are not like that.'
'No,' he answered soberly, 'but that does not mean that I bow to Henry in everything. You may recall that a few years ago when he gave a manor on my land at Berkhamstead to that upstart German fellow. I got it back and without the use of the sword.'
'I remember. William thought you were right.'
'Henry is too impulsive. I am not.'
She looked sideways at his profile. No, she thought, he was always the coolest member of the family but at the same time not one to cross.
The long columns stretched away behind her and in the excitement of the venture she forgot the insignificant knight from Montfort L'Amaury and enjoyed the Breton countryside. The sun was warm on her face, William had left his serious converse with Gilbert de Clare and come to ride on her other side, and she found herself praying she might soon be able to answer yes to her mother's first question. To bear William a son would be the crowning of her love.
At Nantes Henry entertained his Breton and Norman supporters with various entertainments, jousting and pageants and banquets. Every day there was hunting and hawking, or a display of wrestling or archery. He was in holiday mood and opened his coffers wide to show his allies that the King of England was no skinflint. After two weeks he set off for Bordeaux, seized a castle on the way and convinced of his ability to command entered that city to ringing acclaim.
Eleanor was exultant for him but William said carefully, 'It was a small castle, my love, and the garrison yielded all too easily. I fear that is not enough to make our French foes fear us.'
He was right, for Queen Blanche, though she kept an eye on the English, did little beyond suppressing the beginning of a rising in Normandy. French nobles hurried to her to swear their loyalty and she bided her time, having shrewdly assessed the temper of the young English King.
The weather was halcyon in Guyenne and Eleanor enjoyed the entertainments, the dancing and music in the evenings, and she was hardly aware of the growing discontent, of her husband, Earl Gilbert and the Earl of Chester talking earnestly and uneasily in lowered tones. The soldiers, convinced there was to be no fighting at the moment, began selling their equipment to pay for their lodging, for the King's coffers were being emptied at an alarming rate to feast the local nobility and there was little left for the common man waiting to earn his plunder. The round of pleasure went on. Henry visited Castillion and Perigueux, studying church buildings, going into ecstasies over the new style of vaulting, talking constantly of his determination to rebuild the abbey church at Westminster. He sent for Master Peter of Derham, his master mason, to come all the way from England to see the soaring arches he wanted to adorn his chapel. War seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind.
So the summer drifted on until he fell sick with dysentery. He lay and groaned on his bed, all his self-confidence evaporating, and when he was sufficiently recovered to be on his feet again the expedition now had a sour look. He had little money, discontented barons, and rebellious soldiers.
'I am surrounded by dolts and cowards,' he said in a burst of irritation. 'None of you puts my interests first and if we have failed it is not my fault. I have been badly served from my generals down to the meanest fighting man. I shall go back to England.'
'Brother,' Richard said, 'we can borrow more from the Jews. They sit safe enough in London. If you wish to stay, send your clerk Mansel to find us more funds – he has a smooth enough tongue to do it.'
'I don't wish to stay,' Henry retorted and glowered at his court gathered about him. 'I have had my fill of incompetence. In England I can set my hand to more congenial tasks.’
'Sire,' William Marshal said, 'give me leave then to stay and treat with them. I am sure Earl Randulph and Earl Gilbert will aid me.'
Both earls signified their assent and the King said petulantly, 'Stay if you will, I care not.' His glance fell on his sister. 'Well, do you stay too or will you come back to England with me?'
'With your leave, I will remain with my lord,' she answered with a touch of pride in her voice and Henry stamped off out of the hall, a disgusted young man who had discovered he was no soldier. Richard, with an expressive shrug, followed him.
Isabella de Clare also refused to leave her husband, for Gilbert was plainly unwell. He seemed to have difficulty in breathing and Isabella told Eleanor that she feared his lungs were affected. They stayed in Bordeaux while their lords went campaigning and but for her anxiety Eleanor would have enjoyed the pleasant days in this sunlit city, riding or hawking by day and listening in the evening to the Provencal troubadours whose songs were enchanting. One lost his heart to her and wrote verses which he proclaimed with emotion trembling in
his voice to such an extent that Eleanor laughed at the poor man and sent him away much discomfited.
The three Earls effectively put a stop to the French army which was about to march into Brittany. They recaptured one or two border fortresses and Eleanor and Isabella rode north to meet them at Nantes, prepared for a triumphal feast. But a shadow was cast over their joy at the sight of Gilbert barely able to sit his horse, his chest heaving, his body a mere skeleton. His squires eased him from his saddle and within a few days he was dead. Instead of feasting a watch was kept by his grieving widow and his friends, and as soon as it could be arranged Isabella sailed for England, bearing his corpse home for burial. William and Eleanor stood on the quayside to watch her go and Eleanor thought how like she was to William in the stateliness of her bearing.
A few days later, missing Isabella's company, Eleanor was going down the stair to meet the Countess of Aumale with whom she was to ride, when she encountered the knight from Montfort L'Amaury. He stood aside for her to pass but there was something in his appearance that caused her to pause. He wore a new surcoat emblazoned with a badge showing a forktailed lion and there was a ruby ring on one finger.
'Well, messire,' she said, 'my husband told me you had stayed behind in the Earl of Chester's service. It seems you acquitted yourself well in the campaign.'
'I slew a few Frenchmen,' he said lightly.
'Your own countrymen? Your brother is King Louis's liegeman, is he not?'
'There are many men who hold lands of both King Louis and King Henry. And I am King Henry's man,' he retorted, a gleam of triumph in his eyes. 'My lord of Chester is pleased to approve my conduct on the march and he has agreed to yield me the earldom and lands of Leicester. If your brother will be gracious enough to confirm me in them I shall be Earl and Steward by right. I am no longer the landless man I was at St Malo, lady.'
The Royal Griffin (The Plantagenents Book 2) Page 3
