The Dragon and the Jewel

by Virginia Henley

  Now that Eleanor’s departure was imminent, Henry suddenly became very possessive. He had become all prudish and proper and threw the Marshal of England a look of downright disapproval. “I realize you have been legally wed for many years, but I’m not sure my baby sister doesn’t still need my protection. She is overyoung to be a wife in anything but name, I think.”

  The queen spoke up immediately. “Henry enjoys his little jests. He knows his sister and I share the same name as well as the same year of birth, and believe me, I am more than a wife in name only.”

  Henry’s frowns turned to smiles. If this arrangement pleased his Eleanor, he was ready to sacrifice his sister, and by the evidence of his own eyes, Eleanor was a most willing sacrifice.

  Actually, now that Henry thought about it, his baby sister had changed completely from the little terror she used to be. She had applied herself to her lessons in an effort to please William Marshal, and the young woman who had emerged was both poised and educated. He felt a small pang of regret for the willful, passionate child who had changed herself to please another. His glance fell upon his wife and he realized he’d done much the same thing. Was it worth it? he wondered.

  William accompanied his countess back to her apartments where he thoughtfully gave each of her ladies-in-waiting a thank-you gift of jewelry. His young nieces were not unmindful that their uncle William had provided dowries generous enough to contract great matches for each of them.

  “I know you have been happy here with Eleanor for I know just how generous she can be, but now you will be free to go forward into the future your parents have planned for you. I hope Eleanor’s passion for life has rubbed off on each of you a little.” He dropped an affectionate kiss on the top of her head, and her unruly black curls tickled his cheek.

  “I have brought extra servants to take the drudgery out of your packing. Feel free to stay here as long as you wish, but rest assured when you are ready to return to your homes, my men-at-arms will give you safe escort.”

  He looked at his sister Isabella, saw the worry in her eyes, and said to Eleanor, “If you will excuse us, I would like a private word with Lady de Clare.” In her chamber he patted her shoulder in a fatherly manner. “Do you suppose you can go home to Gilbert and give it another try? If it is untenable you may come and live with Eleanor. We will still live separately, you know. This circus today was for the benefit of the jackals.”

  His sister looked so infinitely sad, he tried to cheer her. “You can be proud of all you have accomplished here with Eleanor and with the Marshal nieces. Today they made the queen and her Provençal ladies resemble overripe peaches who had hung against a sun-drenched wall so long they had begun to rot.”

  “Oh, William, I had forgotten how outrageous your wit could be.” She smiled at him. “I believe you are a match for Eleanor.”

  “I doubt that,” he admitted ruefully. “What’s your decision?”

  “I have decided to go home,” she said with finality. “If only I didn’t feel this disloyalty … this betrayal.”

  “Gilbert need never know; will never guess.”

  “I wasn’t speaking of disloyalty to Gilbert, but to Richard,” she admitted hopelessly.

  “My dear, if you have it that bad, there is little hope of reconciliation.”

  “William, what has made you so understanding?” She searched his face.

  “’tis simple enough. I’ve fallen in love. How ironic that my morals prevent me from making love to her.”

  “William, she is as you wished her to be, ignorant in the ways of men. But lately she has shown a great curiosity and asked me many pointed questions. Naturally I preserved her innocence, but rather than have her learn from some sluttish servant, I wish you would relax that damned rigid code of honor and satisfy her natural curiosity in a loving, wholesome way.”

  “Well, she will celebrate her sixteenth birthday very shortly. I shall think about your advice, Isabella, but trust me to know when the time is right to make her a wife in every way.” His sister didn’t know him very well, thank God. His damned rigid code of honor was Eleanor’s protection, for his thoughts of her were far more carnal than wholesome.

  12

  Brenda insisted upon staying to supervise the servants from Durham House as they packed Eleanor’s beautiful clothes. The Countess of Pembroke shook her head in amazement at the transformation that had come over the girl lately, very likely due to fear that she would not be included in the new household. Not only had she become very attentive, but she had actually started to go to confession twice a week!

  Brenda sought out the Bishop of Winchester, who was at his dinner, but when his servant told him who was at his chamber door he told him to admit her.

  “I have been expecting you, my child. Events are unfolding exactly as they should.” He wiped his mouth on a square of linen and dipped his sausagelike fingers in a bowl of rosewater. “Keep your eyes and ears open and your mouth closed. I want to know everything about the Marshals, no matter how trivial you may think it. A good place to start would be William Marshal’s squire. He will be loyal, of course, but remember he will be a fountain of privileged information.” Peter des Roches smiled. “Once you get your hands on his balls, you should be able to squeeze out any information.” He was twisting the thumbstall ring with its enormous ruby until Brenda’s attention was fixed upon it with longing.

  “Tell me, my child, do Eleanor’s ladies-in-waiting go with her or do they return to their homes? They are all Marshals and I have an interest in every Marshal who ever drew breath.”

  “They are all returning home, my lord bishop. Even Isabella de Clare, which greatly surprises me.”

  “Why so?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

  Brenda focused on the ring, her mouth totally dry with her need. She had to moisten her lips before she could speak. “She loves Richard of Cornwall. She and Gilbert de Clare are like strangers.”

  Winchester’s eyes disappeared into the creases of his smile. “You should have told me this before. I want to know everything,” he emphasized.

  “My lord bishop, Windsor is some distance from Durham House. How will I make my confession?”

  “I am at Westminster every Sunday, well within walking distance of Marshal’s town house.”

  “My lord bishop … I need absolution.” She damned him silently for making her beg.

  “Of course you do, my child. Go straight through that door and I shall be with you in the flesh directly.”

  After Brenda had gone, Peter des Roches lost no time seeking out Richard. “It has been many years since you spent the holidays at Winchester, Your Highness. For old times’ sake I hope you will come at Easter.”

  The king’s brother was filled with martial zeal and a thirst for war with France at the moment, and he had little time or thought for matters ecclesiastic.

  “With my own hands I placed the crown upon Henry’s head when he was only nine and you but seven. You had the makings of a king, my boy, but you never seemed ambitious for power.”

  “Make no mistake, my lord bishop, I am ambitious for power. It is only my brother’s crown I do not covet,” Richard stated.

  Roches smiled. “So, the lessons I taught you as a boy found fertile ground. Then alas I was cast aside and your favorites became illustrious soldiers like Marshal and de Burgh, which is right and proper for impetuous youths. But now that you are older you should come to realize the vast power wielded in the name of religion. The church controls half the wealth of this world, and with enough money even a crown can be purchased. Tell me, does the title King of the Romans appeal to you?” The Bishop of Winchester’s eyes disappeared inside his smile. “When you were a boy you came to me with all your problems … I can still solve some of them for you, you know. You are the only Plantagenet unmarried, and yet I know you long for sons.” He paused and Richard was on his guard immediately. “If your fancy fell upon a lady who had the impediment of, say, a husband, the church has the power to remove that
impediment.”

  Richard knew the wily old swine had sniffed out his desire for Isabella Marshal de Clare. Surely to God she hadn’t let out their secrets in the confessional booth? Still, he’d never dreamed of taking steps to have the church dissolve her marriage, but if he was hearing correctly, Winchester was offering to do this for him.

  “My lord bishop, I should be both grateful and generous to any man who helped me fulfill my ambitions.”

  “Are you having any luck urging the barons to take up arms?” he asked silkily.

  Christ, Richard thought, he has a fat finger stuck in every pie. “The barons who have interests in Normandy and Aquitaine need no urging. ’tis the rest I must convince. I assume you are against war?” Richard asked point-blank.

  “There, you see how little you know of me. In times of war there are fortunes to be made, ambitions to be realized, hungers to be satisfied, and old scores revenged. It is only when evolution speeds up into revolution, or peace erupts into war, that the old order can be swept aside to make way for the new.”

  Richard excused himself. The man made him feel unclean. He still remembered a day when he was about eight when he had knocked those sausagelike fingers from his genitals. He had often wondered if the old swine had made advances to Henry.

  Richard had the support of Ranulf, Earl of Chester, and though Hubert de Burgh had had enough fighting with the French to last him a lifetime, he could always be counted upon to obey the king, reasoned Richard. Hubert had even stayed loyal to their father, King John. If he could stomach that prick, he would certainly hold his nose and obey Henry.

  The mercenaries, led by Falkes de Bréauté, were paid to fight wars. They did their job well and were willing and eager, but that was because England was not at their heartroot. They’d be willing to fight for anyone with the gold to purchase their services. If the fabric of England was torn asunder by war, it mattered naught to them. He could number on one hand the barons who would go to France willingly. He could count on Fitz-John, Fitz-Walter, Peter de Mauley, and Philip d’Aubigny. Richard knew that William Marshal held the key to success or failure. If he could get Marshal on their side, then the Earls of Norfolk, Derby, and Gloucester would fall into line as well as the influential de Lacys, de Warennes, de Clares, and de Ferrars. Tomorrow he would pay a visit to his sister at Durham House. If he could convince Eleanor, William would be clay in her hands.

  That night, however, William Marshal was in the throes of a dilemma. It had taken only a few days for Eleanor to get settled. She was adored by the household servants, and they bent over backward to make it easy for her to take over the role of chatelaine of Durham House. He found he enjoyed her company more than he had ever dreamed. She was fascinating, witty, enthusiastic, sensitive to his moods, and more alluring than a courtesan. If he spent time with her, desire raged through him like wildfire. On the other hand, if he avoided her company so that his blood stayed cool and his thoughts were rational, he was utterly miserable without her lovely face smiling up at him or her sapphire eyes challenging him over a game of chess. Whenever her laughter floated to him he was drawn to her side, like a moth to a flame. Finally he stopped fighting with his inner voices and gave himself up utterly to the pleasure of her company. He faced the fact that a casual whore would now be impossible. If his wife’s closeness and the scent of her made his body’s needs too painful to bear, he would simply have to masturbate. It wouldn’t kill him and he certainly wouldn’t be the first man to have to resort to such unsatisfactory measures.

  After the evening meal Eleanor would have withdrawn to her own chambers, had not William watched her longingly as she moved toward the stairs. “If you’ll stay down here and keep me company for a while, I’ll build up the fire for you,” he bribed.

  “Would you care to play a board game or I could play the lute for you, my lord?”

  “Sweet, you don’t need to entertain me constantly. I just want to be with you,” he said, sitting in an easy chair.

  She picked up a bowl from the sideboard and took a copper pan from the wall. “We can roast chestnuts and talk,” she said, sinking to the rug at his knee.

  He watched her profile against the backdrop of the orange flames. He would have sold his soul to the devil in that moment to be an eighteen-year-old youth again. He would push her back on that rug and undress her with impatient hands, then he would worship her with his young body and make love to her until dawn.

  She peeled a hot chestnut with nimble fingers and held it to his lips. “Once upon a time you told me my grandfather and grandmother had a great love affair. No one has ever enlightened me.”

  He could not resist touching her and reached out a hand for an unruly black tendril of hair. It curled about his fingers possessively, and he sighed his contentment. As he began his tale she leaned her head against his knee so that his hands could play with her hair or wander wherever else they wished to stray.

  “Your grandmother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, was married to King Louis and was the reigning Queen of France when your grandfather, the lowly Count of Anjou, was sent on a mission to the King of France. Henry was so vigorous, horses fell beneath him. He was so ambitious and such a great war lord that he made himself King of England on the thinnest connection to the throne. When he laid eyes upon Eleanor of Aquitaine, he lusted for her. He knew he would need a queen to rule England with him, and his choice fell upon Eleanor.

  “They were true opposites. He was a soldier, rough, unpolished, coarse in word and deed, while she was beautiful, cultured, educated, and seductive. Never mind that she was almost a dozen years older than he, never mind that she was married to another man who was king of a great country. In his blunt, direct way Henry told Eleanor he would have her and without hesitation told Louis he must divorce her. Of course Louis was outraged and refused.

  “That didn’t stop Henry.” Here William paused. How could he put the rest of the story to her delicately? He could not. Henry II hadn’t known the meaning of the word “delicate,” and of course this was what had attracted Eleanor’s passionate nature. The story would lose its impact if he put it delicately. He continued. “He deliberately seduced Eleanor of Aquitaine, bedded her again and again until he got her with child. It caused the greatest scandal of the century, but he achieved his goal. Louis divorced her immediately and Henry made her Queen of England, and begat five sons and three daughters upon her. They were mad for each other. Eight children in less than a dozen years.”

  “So it was only years later when their passion cooled that he imprisoned her?” Eleanor asked.

  “Their passions never cooled. When he took a mistress, the fair Rosamonde, and she gave birth to your uncle, William of Salisbury, Eleanor was so jealous she spent a lifetime getting even with him. She fed the fire of ambition in her sons until they pulled their father down for the crown he wore. He confined her to her own castle to protect himself.”

  “Then I think their passions cooled, my lord,” Eleanor said, caught up in the tale.

  “Their love cooled, but not their passions. They still shared a bed. Half her children were born after the affair with Rosamonde.”

  “I don’t think he married her for love—he married her to further his ambition. I have never heard anything so calculating in my life. He was a vile man … and she no better to have committed adultery with him. They deserved each other.”

  “I shouldn’t have told you,” William said ruefully.

  “Of course you should!” she said, laughing up at him. “William, you mustn’t shield me from the truth. They were wicked and worldy—but very well matched. Who could ask for more?” she said almost wistfully.

  He came down to the rug and brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. “Eleanor, I want to take you to Chepstowe and Pembroke. I love Wales. I want you to love it too.”

  “Oh, William, will you really take me? I’ve longed to see it for years.”

  “You are the Countess of Pembroke. I’ll take you home.” Now he peeled a
hot chestnut and held it to her lips. “You may not be quite old enough to be a wife and mother, but I’ve decided you are old enough to be courted.” He lifted her against his heart and very gently touched his lips to hers.

  When Richard arrived at Durham House, he found it a hive of activity. It was obvious preparations for a journey were being made, but Richard could not locate the marshal in either the armory or the knights’ quarters. He was amazed to find him helping Eleanor select warm traveling clothes. Richard rolled his eyes to the rafters. “You’ve already got him in leading strings. I thought you had more brains than to involve your husband in women’s affairs.”

  Eleanor laughed, pleased to see her brother at her home. “Richard, I’ll get you refreshments. We had ale from Kent delivered just this morning.”

  William held his tongue. He knew her brothers loved her dearly, but they must learn to respect her.

  Richard said, “Don’t hurry back, Eleanor, I have business of the realm to discuss with the marshal.”

  “In that case the Countess of Pembroke must remain. From now on all my business will be conducted with Eleanor at my side. She has the ability to learn faster than any Plantagenet I’ve ever met,” he said pointedly.

  “I stand reprimanded,” said Richard, more bemused than ever that his sister had the Marshal of England wrapped about her little finger. He put forth his most persuasive arguments for war with France, stressing that the main objective would be to regain any small part of the territories his father had let slip away. He then gave the marshal a list of the men who would stand with them and, saving the best ’til last, he said, “We already have Simon de Montfort aiding the Count of Brittany. He has sworn fealty to Henry.”

  “Simon de Montfort?” Eleanor was unfamiliar with the name.

  “I am impressed,” said William, then he enlightened Eleanor. “He is a war lord, a legend, probably the greatest warrior of our time. He is reputed to be a giant—like a massive fighting machine.”