As she spoke, Eleanor watched the face of the head of the order. Not only did it show great disappointment, it showed dismay, fear almost.
Mother Superior’s voice cracked as she said, “We need a deal of money to carry on here now that the Earl of Pembroke’s support is gone.”
Eleanor went cold. Even the church did not want her for herself. All this pressure and persuasion had been for the Countess of Pembroke’s lands and money, not for the immortal soul of Eleanor. Well, the jest was on them for the avaricious Marshals had not yet ceded her one acre.
In a businesslike manner she stood up and said, “I shall look into the deed for this land and convent. I shall also wish to see your account books. When they are ready have Sister Mary bring them to me.”
When she arrived back at her apartments in the King John Tower, she sought out Bette, a round comfortable woman servant who had followed her from Durham House. When Eleanor gave her a dazzling smile, the look of anxiety left the woman’s face.
“Bette, be a love and fill me a bath. Oh, and you can have these white robes burned,” she said as an afterthought.
Bette returned the dazzling smile. It was not her place to tell the Countess of Pembroke what she should do with her life, but she certainly had not approved of her becoming a bride of Christ. “King Henry sent a squire looking for you, my lady. I asked him what it was all about an’ he said summat about all your brothers cummin’ to live here. I didn’t know you had more brothers, beside Henry and Richard.”
Eleanor’s mind flew to her mother. She barely remembered her. She’d seen paintings of her mother, of course, and heard whispers of her wanton behavior. She’d given her former lover sons only nine months apart and had started producing them before Eleanor was one year old.
Eleanor chose a gown of sunny yellow. As she walked along the wall that overlooked the quadrangle and tiltyard she was amazed to see over a hundred men naked to the waist, engaged in ferocious practice with the broadsword. Towering head and shoulders over the other men was the unmistakable figure of Simon de Montfort who seemed to be in charge of this barbaric melee. Her eyes widened as she noted the dragons tattooed upon his massive forearms. She had caressed those dragons without even knowing of their existence.
She was relieved to see that his black eyes looked right through her with all the indifference in the world, as if they had never met, and, of course, hers tried to do the same. She glanced up and saw that Henry watched from a high window. When he saw her he beckoned her up eagerly.
“Eleanor, how wonderful to see you out of mourning.” He ran forward to take her hands.
“Well, I thought I had better tell you I have decided against the convent.”
“Oh, I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. More wonderful news—our brothers are coming home!”
She eyed his joyous enthusiasm with tolerance. “You mean our half brothers.”
“Oh, don’t tell me you are displeased like my wife,” he begged her.
Eleanor brightened. “Oh, isn’t the queen overjoyed? Well, certainly I am not displeased. It will be very interesting to meet the other half of the family.”
“Oh, Eleanor, what fun it will be to have our three young brothers live here. Only think of how much I’ll be able to do for them. I’ve a letter here from William telling me of a tournament he enjoyed. I’ve decided to plan a tournament for when they arrive.”
“I thought they were banned in England because of then-danger.”
“Oh, they were, but I rule England now and I shall unban them.” He walked to the window. “Come here, I want to show you something.”
Eleanor placed her small hands on the stone windowsill and leaned out.
“Do you see that giant down there? That is Simon de Montfort, the new Earl of Leicester. He is like a fighting machine. Knights are riding in every day for a chance to be trained by the great war lord. Undoubtedly he will emerge champion of my tournament. He is like a magnet; he draws fighting men. He will gather for me the largest army England has ever known.”
As she looked down into the quadrangle she knew that never in her life had she seen so superb a man. Those same forearms tattooed with the images of dragons had embraced her all night. His heavy, dark brows slashed above his deep-set black eyes, his wild black mane flowed about his broad-shouldered frame that revealed unmistakable raw strength.
“You’ll help to hand out the prizes at the tournament, won’t you, Eleanor? It will in no way compromise your holy vow of chastity and widowhood, my dear. You have no idea how much it means to a champion to receive his reward from a real princess.”
“Of course I shall,” she assured her brother. “I was not meant to be a recluse.” Her smile flashed like sunlit gold. “I must see to my wardrobe, I don’t even know what the latest fashions are. I must wear something to make the queen grind her teeth in chagrin.”
“Little Maggot,” Henry said happily.
23
The lists for the jousting and the stands for the spectators were built in Windsor’s Great Park, which lay beyond the walls of the Upper Ward. The fields about bloomed with colorful silk pavilions and it seemed half of England descended on Windsor.
Henry gave a banquet to welcome his brothers. Eleanor attended out of sheer curiosity. To her delight she discovered that one of the serving women from Durham House. Dame Hickey, was an excellent seamstress whose husband was one of London’s finest tailors. The couple had labored long and lovingly over a new wardrobe for Eleanor. Fashionable gowns now were flowing and feminine and were made from exquisite material imported from Syria and the East. Transparent silk sarcenet was used for trailing sleeves, veils, and mantles of honor that floated from the shoulders. Silks were interwoven with gold thread and brocaded in flower designs. Baudekin, a six-threaded samite from Syria, glowed as if the rays of the copper sun had been caught and imprisoned in it.
For the banquet Eleanor chose a gown of pink and mauve. Its many layers of transparent silk were embroidered with flowers and butterflies. A transparent head veil held in place by a gold fillet over her forehead did not conceal the beauty of her silken mass of black curls.
As Eleanor approached the dais that was reserved for royalty, Queen Eleanor’s face registered shock and annoyance. Obviously her sister-in-law had tired of playing nun and was out of her drab widow’s weeds. The queen’s eyes narrowed as she thought, Well, at least her vow of chastity prevents any men save her brothers or the clergy from even approaching her.
Eleanor smiled sweetly at the queen as her eyes swept over the profusion of scallops bordering her shoulder mantle, which were repeated in the overlong train. Her eyes lit with amusement as they fell on the boy page at the queen’s elbow who was puffed up at the importance of carrying her Majesty’s train.
Henry’s welcome, however, transformed his face as he spied his sister. “Sweeting,” he exclaimed excitedly, “these are our brothers!” He stood back to display them like rare treasure.
Guy and Aymer were tall young men who resembled each other in size and coloring. She noticed they did not possess the handsome looks of Henry or Richard and though they were younger than herself, they had a worldly air that could only have come from overindulgence. When her eyes fell upon William de Lusignan, the eldest of the trio, they widened in astonishment. She could have been looking into a mirror. He was small, had a profusion of shining black curls, and only his cruel mouth could prevent him from being described as beautiful. She stared in fascination as he gesticulated with pretty hands and exclaimed in a feminine voice, “Ma petite chou, how devine to meet you at last. You are so ravishing our mother would hate you on sight. Dearest heart, please say you will partner me at dinner. If I do not learn the name of your tailor I shall simply die.” He tossed his head and his jeweled earrings glittered as they caught the light. Earrings, begod!
He is more like a sister than a brother, Eleanor thought with distaste. William was so talkative she learned more than she cared to of her brothers. They had b
rought their dogs and all their servants and even had their own musicians. “Henry is going to find me an heiress,” he confided to her. “Aymer, the baby, decided to go into the church. The livings are so good and preferment comes quickly, Henry has assured him he is on his way to a fortune.”
“Is Aymer a priest?” she asked, appalled at the way that young man was ordering about the squires who served the high table.
“No, no. He’s only an acolyte. He hasn’t taken holy orders yet because he is only fifteen.”
“I see,” Eleanor said faintly, thinking she had never seen anyone less suited to holy orders.
“Tell me, dearest heart, do you make your own lip rouge? Dare I ask you for the recipe?”
Eleanor was relieved to see that Richard and Isabella had arrived. She scanned Isabella’s waistline quickly and raised her eyebrows in a mute question. Isabella kissed her and whispered, “Nothing definite, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”
Richard hugged Eleanor and said gruffly, “God’s nightshirt, it’s good to see you looking so recovered. We were all very worried about you.”
“Well, now you can worry about the rest of the family. Richard, do you realize Henry has organized this great tournament just to please William de Lusignan? Have you seen him? He looks as if a strong wind could knock him over, let alone a champion holding a lance.” She bent toward him confidentially. “The other two look like they would benefit from falling from a high horse, but someone’s going to have to protect Wee Willie.”
Eleanor need not have worried for the undersized William. He was one of the most viciously cruel men to ever draw breath. Cruelty to animals especially excited him, and he found the atmosphere surrounding a tournament where horses screamed from lance wounds or swordthrusts particularly exhilarating.
Isabella joined the other members of the Marshal family who had arrived for the tournament. Her sister had brought her daughter, and of course all the young Marshal cousins formed a merry group. They made a point of ignoring Eleanor, which both puzzled and hurt her. One of the Marshal cousins was Matilda Bigod who had always disliked her intensely, but Eleanor was dismayed to see her husband’s sisters turn their heads away from her. She took Isabella aside to voice her concern. “Your sisters and their daughters are pointedly ignoring me. They still blame me for William’s death.”
“Oh, darling, of course they do not. It’s all to do with money. They resent that you are claiming a fifth of the Marshal holdings.”
“I’ve received nothing yet. They are like a pack of damned vultures. Bloody rich Marshals!”
Isabella put up her chin. “The Plantagenets are every bit as avaricious as the Marshals. Henry thinks he should get all that belonged to William because he died without an heir, and Richard is claiming a fifth because I am a Marshal and entitled to it.”
So, Eleanor thought, it is every man for himself. While I sleepwalked for eighteen months, they divided up the pie. She would go to Henry and demand an accounting. She must know what she would inherit. He was surrounded by his newfound brothers at the moment, enjoying himself immensely playing indulgent father.
Eleanor’s eyes moved on to the queen, who was surrounded by her own fawning Savoys. She had been preening and flirting outrageously as she idly popped sweetmeats into the mouth of the page who occupied a stool beside her. Suddenly the little page set his goblet of wine upon the dais and vomited. It sprayed all over the queen’s train, and he received a sharp slap for his efforts. There is a God after all, thought Eleanor, biting her lip to keep from laughing aloud.
Suddenly the amusement was wiped from her face. Simon de Montfort’s black eyes had been studying her. His gaze was impersonal, as if he found nothing to distinguish her from any other woman. Eleanor looked away from him, but it did not free her mind of his strong image. She should be glad he looked indifferent; they must keep their secret. In public their gazes must never be possessive as if they were bound lovers claiming each other.
She realized with alarm that her pulse quickened, her breath shortened, and her knees turned to water. How dare he have this effect upon her! She was furious. She wanted to rake her nails down his dark, arrogant cheek. She wanted to slap that detached, impersonal look from his face. A tiny flame of satisfaction burned inside for she had not been to the walled garden during daylight hours. She would not give him the chance to get her alone again.
She stood up to leave, but Henry was there, taking her arm, saying “Eleanor, you have not met the new Earl of Leicester.”
Her eyes widened in panic. “Henry, you forget … I cannot converse with any man except a brother.”
“Oh, damn, why did you take that silly vow?” Still holding her arm, he propelled her toward Simon de Montfort. “I was going to introduce my sister Eleanor, but it goes against her vows,” he explained to Simon.
She gazed up at him wordlessly. His eyes were restless and alive. His impact upon her was enormous. He had a magnetic presence that was larger than life, qualities that marked him off from other men. His skin stretched smooth and brown over saber-sharp cheekbones. Suddenly his nostrils flared and for one moment she saw the raw desire in his face. “Ille est tibi,” he murmured in Latin. “This man is yours.”
She glanced guiltily at Henry, her cheeks a dusky rose, then she cast Simon de Montfort a challenging glance. She deliberately turned her back upon him and smiled up at her brother. “Will you challenge the Earl of Leicester in the tournament, Henry? I swear none but the king will have courage to challenge the great war lord.” She knew de Montfort would have to let the king win, and she wanted nothing more than to see him humbled by a fall in the dirt.
“You are wrong, Eleanor. Every earl present has already challenged him. You don’t know men very well, I’m afraid. If they were lucky enough to unseat Simon, they would cover themselves with glory.”
She shivered delicately. “You are right, Henry. I don’t know men very well, nor do I wish to. Good night,” she said coolly.
The day of the tournament dawned glorious and fair. The field was filled with horses, squires, and armor-bearers as England’s nobles played out this deadly serious business of entertaining themselves. All of Windsor took on such a festive air; it affected even the children and dogs as they chased each other in giddy circles and the boys flew homemade banners in imitation of the great earls and barons.
The King’s chamberlain was acting as field marshal of the joust, using half a dozen knights to keep track of the challenges. It was complicated because the code of chivalry forbade a man from challenging one of higher rank. Equal or lesser rank could be challenged; the king must issue his own challenge as must Richard of Cornwall, since he was the only duke present.
There were earls aplenty, however. Derby, Norfolk, Hereford, Surrey, Richmond, and Oxford all challenging Leicester. The barons, de Clare, de Lacy, de Braose, and de Munchensi, were pitted against each other and had issued challenges to the knights reputed for their fighting skills, such as Rickard de Burgh.
The queen’s relatives and Henry’s young brothers had taken an immediate dislike to each other for they instinctively realized they would have to vie for the same royal favors and posts. Those who had prepared the lists already dubbed them King’s Men and Queen’s Men.
The spectator stands had turned into a fashion parade for the ladies. The headdresses ranged from the spectacular to the ridiculous with steeples predominating. Their points were adorned with fluttering veils that could be detached and given as favors to the jousters.
The queen had chosen royal purple and cloth-of-gold. She always needed to emphasize that she was the queen and the most important lady in the land. Her ladies had all chosen bright colors that would show up vividly in the stands, and when Eleanor arrived she was glad she was the only female wearing white. Not only did she stand out, but she looked and felt refreshingly cool in the hot sunshine.
The attire of the men was more resplendent than that of the women. The loose, sleeveless surcoats and tabards that
covered their armor were emblazoned with brilliantly embroidered crests and devices, their helmets adorned by dyed plumes. Even the horses had silk trappings covering their protective leather armor.
Henry wore his favorite green, encrusted with gold and jewels; his half brothers wore green in flattering imitation of the king’s colors. The English barons favored azure, mulberry, and forest green, whereas the Savoys of Provence had more flamboyant taste and wore dramatic black and silver or scarlet and gold.
Everyone was curious about Simon de Montfort and speculated about which device would adorn his wide back. He was entitled to wear either the heraldic device of Leicester or that of a warrior count of Montfort I’Amauri. However, when Simon rode onto the field he wore plain white damask with the red cross of a crusader upon his shield. He needed no gorgeous raiment to make him stand out from other men. His magnificent physique towered head and shoulders over every other man in England.
The color standards marked the length of the field, the royal herald sounded their fanfares, and the combatants rode out upon the field, each stopping before the stands to beg a favor from their chosen lady. Eleanor had not planned to give her veil to any contestant, but she did have a special prize up her trailing sleeve to present to de Montfort should he emerge champion of the day.
She watched the queen’s smug face as her Savoy uncles thoroughly trounced the king’s half brothers, but she felt a measure of satisfaction when her brother Richard in turn defeated the Savoys. She also noted with deep pride that Sir Rickard de Burgh won against the three barons who challenged him.
Simon de Montfort, however, unhorsed ten earls in a row and Eleanor was looking forward to watching him ride against the king. She knew it was the only time she would ever see him go down in defeat. Even though it would only be a gesture of chivalry, she would have the satisfaction of seeing him fall in the dust.
The Dragon and the Jewel Page 24
