The Royal Griffin (The Plantagenents Book 2)

by Juliet Dymoke

  'And the lesser men? Will you see justice done to them too? Will you care for your merchants and yeomen, your knights of little substance?' Before Edward could answer Simon asked a different question. 'Did you know I had quarrelled with Gloucester?'

  'Aye, he came running to my father and a sorry mess he looked. He has lost his teeth and his skin is horrid to behold. Nothing King Louis's most skilled physicians could do was able to cure him. I thought at first he had had some strange fever, but he told us he had been poisoned.'

  'So we all heard. I would not have put it past him to accuse me of it, only it seems suspicion fell in another direction for his steward was in receipt of a large and un-explained sum from Sir William de Valence.'

  'That man!' Edward exclaimed. 'I don't like him but he stays loyal to my father whereas Gloucester blows hot and cold. Do you trust him?'

  'Not I, but for good or ill at the moment we are reconciled.' Simon gave his nephew a faint smile; the new earnestness of Edward's conversation appealed to him. 'Well, the Earl hanged his steward for the poisoning, so I suppose he feels justice has been done.’

  'Why did you quarrel?'

  Simon flung out his hands in a gesture that betrayed his deeply felt resentment. 'Because he did not seem to understand what our reforms meant. He insisted that the King must deal justly and according to the law with us, his lords, but he sees no necessity to show the same consideration to those below him. He would brook no interference in his dealings with those he rules and he rules more than most of us. God in heaven!' Simon's voice rose. 'What are we fighting for, if not for those very reforms we set out at Oxford?' His eyes grew sombre. It seemed to him that the Earl had gone back on the very heart of their cause, the cause that had become the whole of life to him, and which Gloucester was trying to manipulate so that he lost none of his own autocratic power. His mind went back to that ugly scene. The barons, pledged to him, resented Gloucester's rudeness, his speaking as if to an underling, but they were also in some awe of the senior peer of the realm and were slow to take sides.

  Simon himself was in no doubt as to Richard de Clare's untrustworthiness, however, and he had cried out that he would be a traitor to all he held dear if he was to work with one so fickle. If Gloucester would not hold by the Provisions he was the traitor! He had hurled the words at his one-time comrade and storming out had gone to France, immersing himself for some months in family affairs. But his Oxford party wanted him back, begged him to return. Gloucester was with the King apparently on friendly terms, and Simon came home.

  'We are well rid of him,' he said now. 'Let us hope he finds Paris too attractive to come back to England at least until matters are quieter.'

  'I never cared for him,' Edward said, 'but Gilbert is not such a bad fellow.'

  'One of your young bloods,' Simon agreed, 'but not yet proved. Edward, you have not really told me why you have come. You know that your father is against all that I am doing, that he is in France to win the French King to his side, signing away Normandy and Angouleme into the bargain, I've no doubt. Only Gascony and Poitou will be left to England and your aunt's rights are being ignored.'

  Edward shrugged. 'It is a move in the game, I suppose.'

  'It is no game.'

  The Prince looked up and saw the stern expression on his godfather's face. 'I did not mean that I look on it lightly, only that what is lost by one move may be won by another.'

  'I've no doubt the King's closest advisers think so. I hear John Mansel has gone to Rome.'

  'Tiresome fellow. He creeps about like a weasel. Uncle, I love my father dearly and I know you mean him no harm, at least – you do not, do you?'

  'None,' Simon said at once.' He is the King and I will adhere to him in that office until I die. But he must be brought to see that he has done things even a King should not do.'

  'I have often wondered –’ Edward paused. 'You could have been his right hand, you could have ousted all the Savoyards and Provencals, made yourself the second man in the kingdom. Why did you not do it?' '

  Simon leaned back in his chair, the hollow eyes thoughtful.

  'Perhaps because I would have had to cheat my conscience. Yes, I could have done it, but my desire lay not that way.' His eyes seemed to his nephew to burn with a fervour that grew each time he saw him. 'Please God, I'll not die until I see at least part of that desire put into practice.'

  Edward got up. 'Please God you've years to give us all,' he echoed, with the ability of youth to see only what he wanted to see. It did not seem to him that a man could burn himself out for a cause without the triumph restoring him. 'Will you and my aunt dine with me tomorrow?'

  When he had gone Simon returned to the turret. He stood there often these days, a prey to depression such as he had never known in his younger days, a melancholy overwhelming him at times like a black cloud. Gloucester's defection wounded him deeply, for that the Earl had defected to the King he had no doubt. The rest were loyal enough but the future looked dark. If Henry won the Pope's backing, the King of France's support, Gloucester's aid, and if Richard came home with his shrewd advice, who could say what confrontation that might bring? It was not only the barons whose grievances against the King were plain; the seething simmering discontent of the citizens of London was growing. And in anguish he wondered why others could not see what was so clear to him.

  It was growing dark, and Simon looked up at the clear sky, a crescent hanging low, a myriad stars above. The night was so calm and peaceful, and his spirit so restless and oppressed that he clasped his hands together, praying for reassurance, for some of that to enter his soul. For a moment it seemed to him that God was indeed with him, that he need not fear the future, nor quail at whatever struggle lay before him.

  A voice broke into his absorption. It was Philip, his wife's page, to inform him that supper was laid in her bower. They sometimes supped alone when she thought he was tired, and as he went down the narrow stair he found himself longing for some of his nephew's youthful optimism. He was weary when he entered the bower, but it seemed Eleanor was waiting to speak urgently with him for as soon as he entered she began. 'Well? Did you talk with Edward? What does Henry mean by this pact with Louis? Is he going to ignore my claim to my mother's holdings?'

  Simon sat down, his hands hanging over the arms of his chair. 'We only touched briefly on that. There are other, greater concerns –’

  'My lord!' she broke in. ‘What is of more concern than my rights in my ancestral lands? Oh, I have been so cheated, all my life. I have never had the monies due to me from William's estates and now it seems I am to lose all that my grandfather won for our family. Is Plantagenet to be no more than a name from the past?'

  'I cannot say. Of course it is wrong, but it is England that matters.'

  'Simon! Will you do nothing about it?'

  He gave a heavy sigh. 'What can I do? Henry will not listen to me. If you are so disturbed about it, journey to Paris and see both your brother and King Louis yourself.'

  She felt a flush rising in her face. 'You would send me alone?'

  'Harry or young Simon could go with you, but I do not want to leave England, especially now that Edward is back. Richard may arrive at any moment and it is vital that –’

  'Vital that your Parliament is called?' she queried. 'And I shall be robbed in the meantime.'

  'I am sorry for that. God knows we never have enough money and you should receive some dues from France.'

  'I will never sign any agreement with Louis until I do, but we may lose all because you will not go to Paris on my behalf.'

  There was a discreet knock on the open door and several servants entered bearing dishes, to be followed by the friar, Adam Marsh, to say grace over the meal.

  When the servants had gone he said gravely, ‘My children, did I hear you quarrelling? It is not right that you should do so, you who are set up as an example to so many.' His face was pale above his plain brown gown, a thin man fervent in his devotion to the founder of his order,
Brother Francis, his fingers holding the crucifix at his belt, sandals on his rather grubby bare feet.

  Eleanor caught at her temper, aware that it was strained these days. If it had been anyone but the Franciscan who so reproved them she would have turned roundly on the culprit, but she had too much respect for this holy man to do so and he was in a particular position, being both her confessor and Simon's. 'No, Brother Adam,' she said, 'I do not quarrel with my lord. A slight disagreement, that is all.'

  She gave Simon a swift warm look and to her surprise saw a hint of tears in his eyes. She wished then that Brother Adam would say grace and go, that they could eat their supper. Perhaps the hot food and the wine would refresh Simon, take that strained look from his face. She was angry and hurt at the bartering away of her status as one of the inheritors of her grandfather's empire, but when it came to the point only Simon mattered.

  At last, when they were alone, the supper cleared, she came to him and knelt by his chair. His hands seemed cold and she wrapped them in her own.

  'My dear, my lord, forgive my hasty words. You are doing so much, all you can.'

  He gave her a long searching stare. 'Not enough, not enough. Will there ever be enough time for all that must be done?'

  She put her arms about him and he lowered his head to let it rest on her shoulder.

  In the weeks that followed Edward spent most of his time with his uncle. They were seen riding in and out of the city together, hawking in the open country north of Moor Gate, in conference in the Tower or hearing Mass at Westminster. Some unkind tongue whispered that perhaps the tall dark Earl wanted to set the young Prince on the throne, seeing in him, as many did, a hope for the future. But neither contemplated such a thing. Simon held by his oath of fealty to the anointed King, regardless of his contempt for the man, and Edward loved his father far too well for such treachery.

  They talked instead of warfare. Edward had no experience other than a foray against the Welsh and he was an eager pupil, listening to the older man's clear-headed views on siege works, assaults and open battle.

  Winter closed in and after Christmas the time approached for the Candlemas meeting of Parliament, called for by the Provisions. Henry was ready to sign his agreement with King Louis but Louis refused to ratify any treaty that had loose ends. Finally in return for fifteen thousand marks out of the sum the French King would pay for the ceding of northern France, Eleanor agreed to waive her claims. It was a fair amount of money and she felt only relief that at least one of Simon's problems was settled.

  King Louis took King Henry's hand in his and proclaimed that henceforth there would be only love and peace between them, and England awaited the return of her King. But still he lingered in France, admiring buildings, listening to the choir of Notre Dame, enjoying the ritual of the great cathedral and the luxury of the French court.

  'What shall we do?' Edward asked. 'Only my father can summon the lords to Westminster.'

  Simon stood with his arms folded, deep in thought. 'So it has always been, but he has agreed – as have we all – on three meetings a year, and this is the time.'

  'I have sent messengers,' Edward said. 'I have begged him to come but I've had no word.'

  Simon became even more depressed as the dark days of January passed. At last a letter arrived bearing the royal seal.

  Henry would not return as yet, and therefore the meeting must be postponed.

  Wild arguments broke out in the baronial party. Gilbert the Red said loudly that as his father was also with the King, a Parliament was not possible; the Earl of Oxford thought it would be better to leave it until after Easter as he had pressing affairs of his own; the Marshal, Roger Bigod, was troubled by the idea of such an unprecedented step as calling a great meeting without the King and threw in his lot with those who accepted the postponement. Finally all agreed except Simon. The Lord Edward considered that his presence would suffice and he supported his uncle, but he was young and untried and his voice carried little weight. Nevertheless the two of them announced that the postponement would be short and if the King still did not come his son would summon the barons in his place.

  'At last,' Simon said to Eleanor, 'at last we are showing a strong hand. I believe now the rest will obey. I have made it plain that no hurt is intended to the King but the business of the realm must go forward.'

  Edward was triumphant, the taste of power in his mouth.

  'Dearest aunt,' he said warmly to Eleanor, 'my uncle is the wisest man I know and I will bring my father to see he is worth all his other advisers put together.'

  He clapped his cousins Harry and Simon on the shoulder and promised them places about him when he should be in a position to give them. With their father's approval he knighted both the young men, all of them dining afterwards in William Rufus's great hall at Westminster.

  Harry de Montfort was full of enthusiasm for his cousin Edward's optimism, but the younger Simon though his adherence to their cause was as firm, confided to his mother that he thought his father believed they were all too sanguine, that nothing was going to turn out quite so easily as Harry foretold.

  'Your father is probably right,' Eleanor said. 'Simon, promise me – '

  He came to her and took her hand, his dark eyes on her anxious face. 'Anything, mother, anything.'

  'Promise me whatever happens you will never leave your father's side. I cannot always be with him and he needs you and Harry, both of you. His spirits are often low.'

  'He could have my life for the asking, you know that, and Harry's too.'

  'You are good sons,' she said. 'I never thought it would come to this – my brother and your father so far opposed to each other. There were times when we were all so happy.'

  Simon was silent, sensing she was lost in a past he knew nothing of but after a moment she thrust away the memories and pressed his hand, owning that she knew she could trust him.

  Some weeks later she was sitting with the Demoiselle and her women, Mary and Dionysia, in her bower at Durham House. The shutters were closed against the cold of a March wind, the fire burning unsteadily and occasionally filling the room with smoke, when Simon entered, followed by his two elder sons. Neither was as tall but they were well-built young men and she thought they were a trio to be proud of.

  Abruptly Simon said, 'Your brother Richard has arrived in London with Gloucester.' He saw the momentary warmth light her face and heavily he added, 'They have closed the gates.'

  She stifled a gasp. 'Against you! Richard has shut them against you!'

  'Yes. They are summoning all the men they think loyal to them to be prepared to take up arms. It will come to war yet.'

  Eleanor threw down her sewing and came to him, her hands laid on his arms. 'Richard could not fight you, my lord – nor me, for it is the same thing. There has always been love between us.'

  'I fear it has given place to something else,' he said harshly, 'and I suppose it was inevitable. We have defied the King and Richard is loyal to his brother. Neither does he like any departure from convention, you know that. That is why he took issue with Henry over the matter of our marriage. Now we have dared to break with convention again and I do not think we will win him to us this time.'

  'Oh.' Eleanor let him go, twisting her fingers together. 'If only I could see him, talk to him, tell him what this means to us. But Edward will perhaps be able to see him, persuade him.'

  'The gates are shut against Longshanks too.'

  'Then we still have that in our favour,' Harry said cheerfully. 'Edward will hold by you, my lord.'

  But would he? Eleanor wondered, and she waited in growing unhappiness, watching the lines deepening on Simon's face. Edward dined with them and did not seem in the least cast down, certain that his uncle and Gloucester would come to Parliament and understand that they were only trying to ensure order.

  But a week or so later the news broke that King Henry had arrived and overnight everything was changed. He rode into the city, accompanied by his half-brother S
ir William de Valence and with some three hundred spears at his back and lodged in the Tower. When Edward appeared at Ludgate asking to see his father he was refused entrance and in stunned amazement turned and rode back to Westminster.

  The news had also reached Durham House and Eleanor, knowing her brother, was aware of a prick of fear that she took good care not to show. Only in her nephew did she see a cause for hope; to be shut from his father's presence might throw him wholeheartedly into their camp.

  The younger Simon remarked – shrewdly that he thought it more likely to send Edward begging for pardon.

  'He won't do that.' Harry scoffed at the idea. 'He cares too much for our father to do that.'

  'You don't see further than your own nose,' Guy told him.

  He was still chewing over his resentment that he had not been knighted with his two elder brothers when the Prince conferred that honour on them. 'Cousin Edward is the King's heir. Do you think he will forget that?'

  'No, but neither will he forget his promises, the plans he made with father that concern him closely.'

  And in the morning when the Lord Edward was announced Harry flashed his mother a glowing smile. It died, however, when they saw Edward's face.

  He came across the vaulted chamber, his embroidered tabard over a mail tunic. His sword hung from his side and his young face was taut.

  'Well, nephew?' Simon surveyed him, adding, 'I can see you are come to tell us something.'

  'Yes.' Edward looked from one to the other, his distress patent, but he hardly paused before going on. 'I have come to say that though I believe with all my heart in your cause, I cannot oppose my father any longer. I sent Roger Leyburn to him last night on my behalf and he will see me today, providing I forswear all other allegiances and do homage to him.'