She had lain for days on her bed, surrounded by her women, fed with broth for she could keep no solid food down. Never had Eleanor so longed for the comfort of her own sisters, but Joanna seldom came south across the border and was pregnant at the moment, while Isabella in far-off Germany was even more inaccessible. Richard spoke highly of the Emperor Frederick, their volatile, magnificent, meteoric brother-in-law, and suggested that Eleanor might benefit from a visit to the German court, but she was too broken to consider it now. He did, however, persuade her she must rise and be herself again, and when she did so she begged Henry to allow her to retire to the quiet of one of William's manors. The King, with the complicated business of her widow's settlement to deal with, enquired for a noble and pious widow. When Mistress Cecily de Sanford was presented to him, he sent his sister in her charge to the Marshal manor of Inkberrow near Worcester.
And there, leaving all her financial affairs in Henry's hands, she had come more and more under the influence of Cecily's religious fervour until she felt that a life of prayer and fasting was necessary for the sake of William's soul and her own salvation. Shattered, lost without his secure presence, all her joy in life gone, she was open to the first strong influence to hand and that was Mistress de Sanford's.
Now the thing was done and she knelt waiting for peace to come. In a measure it did. When she rose to prepare for the return journey it was with a calm born of despair and with the memory of Edmund's kindly blessing hovering over her.
They rode back to Worcester, Finch a yard or two behind her, watchful as ever, but his face wore a somewhat sullen expression. He did not like Mistress de Sanford who had wanted to dismiss him, mainly he thought because he whistled while he was busy in the stables and she did not think it seemly. But he always whistled and his young mistress in happier days had often asked him what song it was that he produced so tunefully. He thought now, in his simple way, that a little less gloom would do his lady no harm, and fortunately she had roused herself to countermand Cecily's orders. Nor did she forbid him to whistle.
Her guardian forswore fine clothes, dressing herself and her charge in peasant russet and occupying the day with hearing Masses, ministering to the poor and the sick, and with much reading from holy books. Cecily was very learned for a woman and for a while dominated their life together, arranging the day to suit her own austere ways. A monk of St Albans and once called to advise them on their study. Eleanor tried to listen to his discourse but found him wearisome.
Heartsick and lonely she moved in a state of dulled acquiescence from one of ·her manors to another, or stayed in convent guesthouses. She could think of nothing but William, remembering every detail of that last night, and then retreating from that to recall all the happy moments when life seemed to stretch endlessly ahead with the hope of children to come. She knew now that she was not pregnant, as she had hoped in the first weeks after his death, but the recollection of all the joy she had had with her middle-aged husband only brought fresh misery, and in this state of wretchedness Cecily imposed on her as she would not have done in normal circumstances.
In the late summer Isabella came to see her and was frankly horrified at what she had done. The Countess of Cornwall turned on the unfortunate Cecily and told her what she thought of one who could influence a grief-stricken girl of sixteen to
Vow herself to perpetual chastity.
Mistress de Sanford flushed but she stood her ground. 'To serve God is of greater value than to serve men, my lady.'
'You must have had a singularly dull marriage bed,' was Isabella's comment. 'Celibacy is all very well for nuns, and if the Princess really wished to vow her life away I would not for the world turn her from God's service, but let it be done when time has passed, not when the child is ill and broken by my brother's death, Jesu rest his soul. In any case I am come to bring you both to court. My next brother Richard is in England. He is now Earl and Marshal in William's place and the King wishes to settle the business of your dower.'
It was a relief to see Isabella again, for the Countess's robust common sense was bracing, and though she had renounced all thought of a second marriage, Isabella's own example proclaimed that a widow re-wed defeated loneliness. But then
Isabella had not loved Gilbert as she had loved William.
The court was assembled at Gloucester, preparing for the Christmas festivities and it was there that Eleanor met Richard Marshal. The first sight of him made her eyes fill for he was very like William. Although he was neither so tall nor so robust he shared the similarity to their father, the old Marshal, and except that Richard was fairer there were moments when in a turn of the head she could have mistaken him for William.
The new Earl of Pembroke, confirmed in that place by the King, greeted his sister-in-law with courtesy but it seemed to her that the smile so often in William's eyes was missing, and his manner was more serious. Men said he was clear-thinking, an honest man, but she did not warm to him nor, she thought, did he to her. She suspected he thought of her as the King’s sister rather than as William’s wife.
There was a great deal of talk about lands and manors, about monies due. Her marriage portion was hers by right, but the discussion dealt with the division of the great Marshal inheritance. William's debts, and surprisingly there were some, became the new Earl's responsibility, not hers, but a third of his holdings should come to her as her dower, free from debt. Wearied by it all, distressed by the nearness of a man whose very voice reminded her of her grief, yet who seemed to be reducing everything to market bargaining, she left her seal on the table beside the King and went away with Cecily to pray in the great cathedral under the soaring arches that pointed the way to Heaven. But William was dead and not all her tormented prayers could bring him back again.
It was strange to be once more at court and she listened with a sense of estrangement to the latest gossip. Hubert de Burgh was in trouble it seemed, hounded by the Bishop of Winchester, Peter de Roches. Ridiculous rumours were put about concerning Hubert, one in particular suggesting that he had poisoned
Eleanor's husband.
'What nonsense!' Richard Marshal cried out. 'They were friends always. I'll believe none of it.'
But the King chose to believe some of the accusations, being under the influence of his Poitevin bishop, and Hubert fled to sanctuary, only to be dragged out by de Roches’s men. At once the prelates of England demanded that sanctuary be respected and he was allowed to return. Both Richard Marshal and Richard of Cornwall spoke in his defence, but Hubert was forced to hand over his castles and his treasure and when his coffers yielded enormous sums of gold, the King was highly indignant. 'Why should Hubert have all this money when I am constantly in need?' he demanded.
Two of Hubert's friends, who happened to be tenants of the new Earl of Pembroke, rescued Hubert and carried him off to Chepstow castle where the King's writ did not run. The Marshal had ordered his men to side with a traitor, Henry swore, and he seized their lands, urged on by the Bishop of Winchester. The Earl stood by his men, though he denied having given them any such order, and furthermore continued to defend Hubert.
'Your grace is over-indulgent to foreigners,' he said on one occasion. 'The Bishop is well named Peter for although St Peter was called the Rock by Our Saviour, this man earns the name for very different reasons. The ship of our state will founder on it if your grace continues to yield to him.'
His brother-in-law, Warin de Munchensai, agreed. ‘Sire, he leaves too much of your affairs in the hands of his nephew Master des Rievaux – and there, may I say, "nephew" seems to be a misnomer.'
The King went crimson with annoyance. It was rumoured that the Bishop had been overfond of a certain fair girl who had sewn his surplices for him and that the “nephew” was the result, but Henry refused to listen. Des Rievaux was astute in money' matters and Henry needed him. 'That is nothing but idle gossip,' he said and sent the Earl of Pembroke to deal with the rising problem of the incursions of Llewellyn, Prince of Wales, on t
he marcher lands.
Eleanor had little interest in these affairs, but slowly youth was reasserting itself. She watched the mummers at Christmastide, listened to the minstrels, and surveyed the dancers with a growing hunger.
On Easter Saturday, when William had been dead two years, she attended the solemnities in Salisbury Cathedral, where the beauty of the new building was a tribute to William's father's old friend, Will Longsword. She and Mistress Cecily had fasted all day yesterday and her young stomach was crying out for food. A bowl of soup was all that her guardian had ordered this morning, and catching a glance of herself in the water of her ewer it seemed to Eleanor that she had grown very thin, losing the promise of a well-shaped figure. She had prayed and prayed but no light of zeal lit her face as it did her companion's, and though she believed in God's mercy and trusted William's soul was in His hands, the life she led with Cecily was as dry and empty as a corn husk.
Already offerings were being brought to the church for the Easter Mass, and someone passing nearby to lay flowers at the feet of the carved Virgin had dropped a primrose. Eleanor bent to pick it up. The little delicate flower with its velvety stem seemed to embody all the hope of spring and she held it in her hand, gazing down at it. Tears blurred her eyes and then miraculously they dried. Hardly realizing what she did she put the pale petals to her lips. She seemed to feel William's presence close to her and there came the overwhelming certainty that, though she would never deny her love for him, he would not want her to be as she was now. It was as though life, stifled for a while, was flooding back into her limbs.
She rose and said to Cecily, 'We will return home now,' in so firm a voice that the astonished Mistress de Sanford followed her from the church.
On the ride back to William's manor at Wexcumb they spoke little but Eleanor's spirits were rising in rebellion with every mile. Reaching the house, small but enough for the two ladies, she immediately ordered a supper of hashed eggs, followed by a custard and raisin tarts.
'But the fast!' exclaimed Cecily in shocked tones. 'My lady, have you forgotten?'
'I have fasted enough,' Eleanor retorted, 'and I am very hungry. Tomorrow is Easter day.' She hurried up to her bedchamber calling for Doll and Megonwy and began to open chests, rummaging through her clothes. 'Where is my blue gown? Jesu, have I no respectable garments left?'
Cecily had followed her, panting a little, and was staring at her in astonishment. 'Lady, what has happened? You cannot mean to forsake your russet – nor the life we have chosen together?'
'I made a vow,' Eleanor said, 'and I have not broken it, have I? Nor has my brother pressed me to do otherwise, but I am young and William would not wish me to live in this half death.' She was struggling out of the hated russet, Doll helping her while Megonwy, with a certain malicious delight, for she did not like Mistress de Sanford, was pulling out the desired gown, brushing out the creases and finding a white mantle, a jewelled belt, and pretty openwork crespine.
'There, my lady, it will be a joy to see you in such colours again. We all thought 'twas a shame that –'
'Hold your tongue, girl,' Cecily said sharply. 'You are not thinking, my lady. You have given yourself to God and these gew-gaws are not for you.'
'I was a child when I did it.' A new independence born of experience and grief and loneliness was emerging with every word. 'But I am not a child now. And a few new gowns will be delightful, and surely no sin. I intend to go to court.'
'But we said we would not go into vain society again, that we would renounce the world –'
'Oh be still!' Eleanor cried out. 'I tell you again I am not breaking my vow but I will go to my brother. I am still a Princess of England and it is right that I should sometimes be at court.'
'Many high-born ladies have not deemed it hurt their state to live within convent walls,' Cecily said severely, but it was with a certain wavering as if she knew she was losing the argument. 'There is the Countess of Leicester, for one.'
'She is old. I would not mind if I were seventy. Is supper ready?' Eleanor asked with a twist of her head as a page came tapping at the door.
She ate hungrily, talking to Robert Smith, clerk to her small household, and to Sir John Penrose, one of the knights sent by the King to attend her when she travelled from one manor to another. Hitherto Eleanor had taken little notice of any of them but now she asked Smith for an account of the monies in her treasure chest. After supper, sending the huffy Cecily to her bed, she sat for a long time over Smith's account books, a frown gathering on her forehead.
'It seems my brother-in-law is in arrears with my dower payments. And why when I am entitled to a third of my late husband's income do I receive a mere five hundred pounds? I know his income was over two thousand pounds a year.'
The clerk was nonplussed by his mistress's sudden and perceptive interest in her finances. He was an honest man but too much in awe of the great men concerned to query the money supplied. 'The King agreed to this settlement, and I only handle what is sent, my lady.'
'Then I see shall have to take my affairs into my own hands,' she said determinedly. By Wednesday in Easter week she and her small retinue had reached Winchester where her brothers welcomed her warmly. Henry had been somewhat disconcerted by her vow, having it in his mind that a royal widow was a great financial asset, but at the same time his devout nature accepted it and prayed with her in his chapel that she might be strong in her resolve. Richard said little. 'Foolish child!' was his first comment and after that, busy about his own affairs, he did not seem disposed to talk about it. He was plainly glad to see her emerge into court life again.
Eleanor joined, demurely enough, in the Easter feasting and shortly afterwards journeyed into Nottinghamshire with her brothers to watch a great tournament at Blythe.
She sat with Matilda Marshal and watched Matilda's son Roger Bigod, a mere youth of eighteen, distinguish himself against many of his elders. Matilda who, like her sister Isabella, strongly resembled her father, was kind and sympathetic, patted Eleanor's hand and said she could well understand her action in view of the loss of such a man as William. Earl Ferrar, their brother-in-law, carried off another prize while Waiter Marshal beat all corners at the butts on the following day.
Eleanor enjoyed the whole affair, the excitement, the brilliance of the court, the fluttering banners against the blue sky, the shouts of the knights taking sides in the contest, and she was conscious all the while of the disapproval of Cecily, sitting stiffly behind her. After a few days Eleanor told her that she would be happier living pensioned in a convent and dismissed her. Cecily departed, her final injunction to her charge that she expected this incursion into the world to bring down the wrath of heaven on her. She would, however, endeavour to placate the judgement from on high by her prayers.
Impulsively Eleanor kissed her, for the older woman had been her stay during the first lonely, wretched year, and promised to visit her often.
Then she turned her attention to more weighty matters and taxed her brother with her financial situation.
'I do not understand,' she said, 'how you could allow Richard Marshal to deny me my due rights. I have here a list of figures –’
'My dear sister,' the King broke in, 'you agreed to the settlement. Your seal was set to it.'
'My seal was left in your charge as you well know, Harry. I was too grief-stricken to care.'
'Master Mansel here saw to the drawing up of the agreement, did you not, John?'
'I did, sire.' The slight clerk, with his cautious eyes, bowed to Eleanor. 'Lady, I did my best for you, but the Marshal inheritance is large and complicated and there were ten to share it.'
'I am William's widow,' she said sharply, 'and he was the eldest. Now, not only has his brother appropriated all William's furnishings in my absence, but he is refusing me my just dues. There are rents owing from my Irish manors too.'
'They were handed over to my lord of Pembroke in return for a settled income for you. It seemed that this would be more conv
enient for you.'
'Convenient, yes,' she retorted with spirit, 'if I received it, but I have had no monies this quarter.'
'I will look into it, lady,' Mansel said deferentially but with a covert look at his master.
'And William's debts? It seems they are not paid, and they at least are not my responsibility.'
'Aye.' Her brother Richard had at this moment walked into Henry's chamber to overhear the last words. 'And it is fitting that our sister should have a more noble household. I always thought Mistress de Sanford, virtuous lady though she is, hardly the one to company Eleanor for too long. It is a great pity she made you take a vow of chastity, my dear. You should have taken my lady Isabella for your guide.' He smiled across at her. 'She would have told you that a second marriage is no bad thing.' He saw a tense expression cross his sister's face and went on, 'But no doubt she will speak to her brother for you in the matter of your dues.'
'I hope so,' Eleanor said, 'but as to a second marriage, though I have not taken the veil I am espoused to Christ.' She was conscious that she was repeating Cecily's words and added hastily, avoiding the subject of wedlock, 'Harry, you will help me to regain what I have lost, will you not? God knows Richard Marshal has no right to defraud his brother's widow. I have no clothes fit for my position, nor money to pay my attendants.'
Henry rose and put an arm about her. 'Why, I will see your household increased as befits my sister, and any of my manors where you wish to stay are available to you. And don't leave court yet, you are so newly returned to us. Let me send my tailor to you. I have some fine yellow velvet newly come from Paris which will suit you well, so you shall have it.'
It was good to feel alive again, to have her brothers caring for her once more, and in her own apartment later she stood stretching her arms and twisting her figure about while the tailor tried to take measurements. He proposed various designs, talking of the new fashions, and the little round cap to sit so becomingly on the wimple that would suit her very well. In the middle of all this Isabella walked in with her youngest sister Joanna de Munchensai. They both embraced Eleanor and welcomed her back, but Isabella added, 'I am sorry to hear you are angry with my brother. He is the Earl now and there are great demands upon him.'
The Royal Griffin (The Plantagenents Book 2) Page 5
