The Royal Griffin (The Plantagenents Book 2)

by Juliet Dymoke

  Something warned Eleanor to be careful but in her newfound sense of freedom caution was not uppermost in her mind. 'Need has nothing to do with it,' she retorted, 'and William would be very angry that his brother should appropriate what is my due. Two years I've been widowed and already he owes me more than two hundred pounds.’

  'I'm sure it is a mistake,' Joanna, always the most timid of the family, was beginning, when Eleanor overrode her.

  'I do not think my lord Richard makes such mistakes.'

  'He has had much to occupy him since he came from France,' Isabella said. 'There is always trouble in Ireland, and this business over Hubert de Burgh has concerned him greatly.'

  ‘Hubert rose too high and took too much for himself,' Eleanor said. 'A fault all too common, it seems. And Richard is a liegeman of King Louis. I remember William telling me that. It might have been better had he been content to stay in France.'

  'You are prejudiced against him, sister.' Isabella's tone was severe for once, 'But you should know how highly William thought of him. He is wise in state affairs and the King would do better to listen to him and to my lord Hubert than to that man, de Roches. He schemes always to be rid of my brothers and other English barons that see through his wily ways. Let him go back to Poitou, I say.'

  'Politics are not for us,' Joanna put in. The present Earl was her favourite brother and she tried to change the subject. 'Dear life, how thin you are grown. You will have to get some colour back into your cheeks.'

  'Mistress de Sanford must have kept her on a meagre diet,' Isabella suggested.

  The criticism, accurate though it was, roused a spurt of annoyance in Eleanor. She was very fond of Isabella but now they were treating her as if she was no more than a poor relation seeking restitution.

  'My lord of Pembroke must learn that he cannot escape his commitments to me,' she said haughtily. 'He may be all you say, but to me he is merely a man who defrauds his brother's widow. And when that widow is a Princess of England –’

  Isabella gathered up her mantle. 'If you will see it no other way, then we had best not talk of it.'

  Thereafter a coolness existed between them for a while. At court it became obvious that the barons were almost wholly in support of Richard Marshal in his claims that the King had taken some of the Marshal inheritance into his own hands, but Henry was utterly under the influence of the Winchester faction and would not listen to his protests. The Earl of Chester, perhaps the one man to keep a balance between the English and the Poitevins, made an attempt to reconcile the two sides and arranged a conference. The Earl of Pembroke agreed and the Bishop of Winchester rubbed his hands with pleasure.

  'He is delivering himself up to us,' he said. 'If your grace will be guided by me you will have him confined to the Tower at once and banished the kingdom.'

  'Of course,' Henry agreed, snatching at the chance to rid himself of a man he disliked. 'Let him be seized the moment he arrives, and see that there are sufficient men to overcome his retinue. He travels as if he keeps greater state than I do.'

  'Is that wise?' his brother asked. 'Pembroke is no fool. It would be better to have him as an ally than an enemy. He has much of the old Marshal in him.'

  'You are careful as always, my lord,' the Bishop answered smoothly, 'but perhaps you are influenced in this case by the fact that the Earl is your brother-in-law.'

  'Not at all. I am merely using my commonsense.'

  'And mine tells me the King would be advised to be rid of a man who bids fair to put himself into the place once occupied by de Burgh.'

  This remark brought Henry to his feet. 'It shall be done. I'll be rid of Richard Marshal and the rest of the brood if I can.' For one fleeting moment his mind rebelliously threw up a misty picture of himself as a boy of nine, a gold circlet set on his head and the old Marshal lifting him high to present him to the barons, loyalty itself. But he thrust the image away. 'See to it, my lord Bishop.'

  Richard said nothing further, nor did he speak to his wife of it for he misliked the whole affair, but one of the King's attendants who was enamoured of a sewing woman in the Countess of Cornwall's service repeated to her that a trap had been set for the Earl of Pembroke. The girl told her mistress and Isabella sent a warning to her brother not to ride to Woodstock for the meeting. He turned back and raised his standard against a King who could thus plot against his freedom and perhaps his life. He made an alliance with Llewellyn of Wales and though stating he had no desire to quarrel with his liege-lord he did quarrel with the advice given him by foreign advisers. He and his Welsh ally seized certain castles that Henry had purloined and defeated a royal army sent against them.

  'I will pay a shilling for every enemy head sent to me in London,' Henry blustered, but he was uneasy.

  Too many barons, while not involving themselves in active rebellion, nevertheless made it plain that they considered Richard Marshal had been hardly dealt with.

  It was finally Edmund Rich who saved the situation, at least for the time being. He had been appointed Archbishop of Canterbury and, little as he wanted to emerge from his quiet retirement, he had felt bound to do so. His first act was to bring about a truce between Pembroke and the King and to persuade the King that the peace of England depended on his dismissing his Poitevin favourites.

  Henry sulked for days, but as always when faced with a moral crisis he weakened and both the Bishop of Winchester and his nephew Peter des Rievaux were advised to take up their residence in France for a while. Englishmen breathed again and Henry turned his attention to his building programme, spending more time with his master mason than with his council.

  Isabella's part in warning her brother was suspected and she retired for a while to Berkhamstead Castle. She was expecting a child and glad of the excuse to leave court for a while.

  'I am very sorry,' she had said to Eleanor when they chanced to meet one morning shortly before her departure. 'Sorry that we should not be friends any more. You think my brother has used you ill and I think yours has used mine worse. No doubt you think too he should have been shut up in the Tower but I'm glad I warned him.'

  'You talk as if I wished to rob him,' Eleanor replied. 'I wanted no more than my due and that he would not give me.'

  'Perhaps,' Isabella sighed. She seemed suddenly less defensive and saddened by the whole affair. 'It has caused grief between my husband and myself, though,' she laid a hand on her stomach, 'this child has healed that. Dearest Eleanor, we women have so little choice in the business of the world and we can be torn between husbands and brothers, but let us part as sisters.'

  Eleanor held back, but only for a moment. It was impossible to forget all Isabella's past kindness. She embraced her. 'God speed then, and may He give you a safe delivery.'

  'And you?' Isabella held her away to look at her. 'I hate that vow you made. You are grown so beautiful now. I know you loved William dearly, but I think you should wed again. I am so happy with Richard.'

  'And break my oath?' Eleanor gave an uneasy laugh. 'I am afraid our new Archbishop would be very angry with me if I did.'

  'He is a holy man, but I think he does not know what women feel and a barren woman has a sorrow no man can guess at.' She saw a strange look pass over Eleanor's face as if the Princess had not thought of this, and she added hastily, 'Never fear, my love, there will be some answer to your situation, I am sure. In the meantime will you write to me? Tell me if there is any news of my brother? I know Gilbert is at Court but he is no hand with letters and he does not see things coolly.'

  'I will write,' Eleanor assured her and kissed her with all the old warmth.

  But when she did write it was with the worst possible news.

  After Archbishop Edmund's truce, the Earl of Pembroke retired with Henry's permission to Ireland to deal with some rebels stirring up trouble there. But he had not been there long before he was betrayed by men in the pay of the exiled Bishop of Winchester; he was ambushed and wounded, and his wounds so badly cauterized that he died of the trea
tment.

  One of his friends, returning to England, brought letters supposedly signed by the King encouraging his Irish vassals to put an end to the Marshal's life. The English barons were shocked and declared as one man that for such dealing with the son of the old Marshal someone must be made to pay. Like a weathercock Henry's feelings swung round in the opposite direction. He burst into tears, swore Peter des Rievaux had written the letters and used his seal without his knowledge, and declared vengeance on the murderers, calling the dead Earl wise and noble and England the loser by his death.

  'Dear God!' Richard of Cornwall exclaimed, 'haven't you been quarrelling with the man these two years?'

  Isabella wept bitterly at the loss of a second brother but the birth of a son, named John after her husband's father, revived her spirits until the baby sickened and died.

  The sad occasion was made one for a general reconciliation, however, and when Gilbert Marshal, giving up all thought of pursuing his religious career, demanded the earldom and title of Marshal, the King yielded to him. He did not like Gilbert, but as the dead Earl had no heirs he could find no good reason to deny him. Gilbert was knighted and became a peer of England but whenever he appeared at court Henry scowled at him and on one occasion refused him admittance to the Christmas feasting.

  Eleanor did not like him either. She thought he tried to ape his elder brothers while having none of their abilities; he was even more tight-fisted than Richard and the arguments over her dower went on.

  She found herself now the first lady at court. She spent a great deal of money on her wardrobe and on her household which now consisted of several ladies in waiting, knights to attend her when she rode out, a chaplain, an excellent cook and all the necessary servants. Finch became master of her stables, to his great delight, and she dressed Doll and Megonwy in identical gowns and had them attend her constantly, standing behind her chair when she received guests. The vow of chastity, taken so long ago, faded into the back of her mind, but on one occasion when the Archbishop came to Winchester he sought to remind her of it.

  'I fear you have forgotten your promise,' he said, sighing heavily. 'Did you put that away when you laid aside your russet gown? Your dress is very lavish for one dedicated to our Lord.'

  'I was beside myself with grief,' she said. 'You are my father in God, you know what was in my heart then. But I have not forgotten my vow.'

  'Perhaps not, but for how long will you be faithful in this worldly life at court?'

  'How long? I have not thought of forsaking it.'

  'There may come a day when you will. Then –'

  'Then –' she took his hand and kissed his ring. 'Then I shall fly to you for strength.'

  'Please God,' he said. 'I will pray for you, child. Will you come into the chapel with me now?'

  'I can't.' She added hastily, 'Forgive me, but Henry is awaiting me. He has given me a new merlin that I am schooling and he does not like to be kept waiting when the birds are ready. I am overdue as it is.'

  'Very well.' He sighed again. 'But remember it is well to give more to charity than to your gown-maker.'

  She slipped away and a few moments later, in Mabille's saddle with her hawk on her wrist was enjoying the ride out beyond the palace into the countryside.

  On this particular day Sir Simon de Montfort ranged himself at her side. He was always in England now, and men said he was rapidly restoring order and prosperity to his Leicestershire lands. Certainly he was very changed from the man of St Malo. He was constantly at the King's side and since the departure of the Bishop of Winchester and his nephew, Henry turned more and more to Simon as his new confidante. There was something in the Norman Earl's cool appraisal of people and affairs that the volatile King appreciated. The fact that Simon at this time was also, to many of the barons, yet another hated foreigner, worried Henry not at all. He called Simon his head and once when they were visiting the work at the abbey he pointed to a carving of a stone griffin.

  'There,' he said, 'a noble animal but gentle. That is what I am, a royal griffin, and you shall be the lion at my side.'

  Eleanor thought of that remark now. She had the feeling Simon saw through Henry's extravagant phraseology to his inherent weakness. It would have been very different if Richard had been the older brother. On the surface Richard and Simon were friendly enough, but she had heard Richard make a disparaging remark about the new Earl that showed he had not the same feeling towards him as his brother.

  Cantering beside her now, Simon began by remarking that it was a good thing for the country that the King was to marry at last. Eleanora of Provence might be a surprising choice but would no doubt prove an excellent wife.

  'So my brother Richard says,' Eleanor agreed. 'The lady is called La Belle in her own country where the standard of beauty is high. I hear her sisters are equally lovely.'

  'Since her father, the Count, has no money it is as well that they have beauty to commend them,' he observed. 'The Queen Regent of France was quick to engage the eldest for her son. King Louis and our King should be' on good terms now that they are wedded to sisters.'

  'Perhaps.' She gave a little shrug. 'I have never noticed it is necessarily so.'

  'You are thinking of your Marshal relations,' he said acutely, 'and you are right, of course. Earl Gilbert and your brothers can hardly be called on amiable terms.'

  To change a subject which she had no mind to discuss with him she said, 'I believe the Lady Eleanora is a verse-maker. My brother Richard brought home a copy of a poem she had written after he had visited her father. It was clever enough to capture Henry's imagination. I must confess I am eager to see this paragon.'

  'And I,' he agreed. 'I am to play my part as Steward for the first time at their wedding.'

  'Maybe you will seek a bride of your own soon,' she said and then wondered why she had said it, for he turned to look full at her, the grey eyes holding an expression she found hard to read. To her annoyance she felt her colour rise.

  'Perhaps,' was all he said. He looked very striking today in scarlet velvet, a fur mantle about his broad shoulders, a black velvet cap on his dark head, and she was further annoyed to find that he affected her in an odd way. He added, 'I would wish, lady, that you might have a like happiness to your brother's.' Her flush deepened.

  'Bridals are no concern of mine,' she retorted and spurred Mabille to join her brother Richard.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  'Beautiful! Beautiful!' Henry said exultantly. He turned the diadem in his hands, the jewels, emeralds, rubies and diamonds catching the candlelight, all set in gold. 'It is a crown fit for a Queen, do you not think so, Richard?'

  His brother was leaning back in a carved chair, a chessboard on the table between them, the game interrupted by the late arrival of the royal goldsmith. 'Indeed. But fifteen hundred marks is a lot of money.'

  'Not too much for such a bride as my Queen will be. You have seen her, you have told me of her beauty.' He handed the c ;own back to the goldsmith. 'You have done well, Master Warewood. Pray take this to my treasurer to be locked away with the rest of my lady's jewels.'

  'The man bowed himself out and Henry asked, 'You like the new decorations here brother? The green for my painted chamber, the hangings, the table silver?'

  'It is all in the best of taste,' Richard agreed, 'but whether you can afford it is another matter. Our brother-in-law in Germany is still owed a great sum for our sister's marriage portion.'

  'Oh, I know you think a great deal of Emperor Frederick, but he is not so poor he cannot wait awhile,' the King retorted. He himself had waited long enough for a bride and he was now twenty-nine years old. He was carrying a little more weight and his complexion had grown ruddier, the curling golden hair on his forehead no longer as thick as he could have wished. But what did that matter when his person would outshine all the others there? Money poured through his fingers and his own wardrobe was lavish in the extreme, but he was well aware that his coffers were singularly empty of coin.

 
; 'I don't know how it is,' he said with a touch of petulance, 'that you always seem to have money. Your tin mines and stannaries must yield a high profit.'

  Richard had returned to the game and with the careful consideration he gave to all things he moved his bishop. 'Well enough, but that is a mere part of my income. Money will grow if handled well, Harry.'

  'Oh, I know you loan your treasure to bishops and barons alike and get a good return on it – '

  'I am not a usurer,' Richard broke in, a rare sharpness in his voice. 'I lay out my money to a friend, but only on the safest security and I ask only for a return on it that is reasonable. If a man cannot repay – and I press no one too hard – a manor or a knight's fee will suffice in place of cash.'

  'But you never seem to lose any money,' Henry grumbled in such a tone that his brother burst out laughing.

  'Of course not, nor need you if you curb your extravagance, and be a little wiser in the advice you listen to.'

  'I am King, I must be seen to be King, and as for the crowning of my Queen, should I not let my new Savoyard relations see that England is a great country? Shouldn't London be hung with banners, shouldn't there be trumpeters to greet her and pageants for her pleasure? God's teeth, the city aldermen are rich enough and we must show that we are not so poor as the Count of Provence.'

  'If you can make them open their fat purses you are a clever man,' Richard said. 'But I agree with you. If the girl had not been so lovely and so intelligent I would not have urged you to take her without a marriage portion and no dowry at all except a reversion of our mother's in due course. She's healthy enough to live to a ripe old age so God knows when you'll get that.'