A Knight There Was

by Mary Ellen Johnson

  If only I could fade away like the curfew bell until I am no more than an echo drifting through the darkness...

  Her husband finally emerged from the privy chamber. Though his color was unnaturally pale, he appeared recovered.

  Margery felt faint.

  After undressing, Simon blew out the large candle beside the bed, replacing it with a small night light. Before turning away, she glimpsed his hairless chest and legs, sagging belly and buttocks and withered arms. Bile burned her throat.

  Crull drew back the counterpane and top sheet so that her entire body lay exposed before him.

  Margery kept her head turned.

  I am going to be sick.

  Another memory of Matthew, "My sweet Meg, let me love thee." Eyes dark with desire, that look that nearly drove her mad with her own answering lust; his hands cupping her breasts, that slight smile playing on his mouth as he leaned forward to kiss each nipple...

  Simon stretched out, his weight sinking her toward him, causing their legs to touch. His skin was as smooth and soft as the scattered rose petals. Margery jerked away.

  "Look at me," Crull commanded.

  Margery shook her head. She could not bear his smell—of capon grease and rose soap; the iris of his perfume, the primrose he chewed to relieve the pain from his rotting teeth.

  Crull grabbed her chin, jerking her face toward him.

  "Listen, wife, and listen well. I mislike repeating myself. The purest love is that which is celibate, such as the Virgin Mother's and St. Joseph. The church teaches that."

  Margery's eyes widened. "What are you saying? Do you think to have a chaste relationship?" Perhaps God had just granted her a boon. Some marriages were indeed kept physically pure. 'Twas not considered a shameful situation, but an honorable one.

  "Just be still and listen. Gisla knew when to keep quiet. You will learn to do the same." Crull adjusted his nightcap, which had slipped back on his head. "'Tis known that some young women, if left unserviced, go mad from unfulfilled desire. 'Tis a female's greatest duty to be chaste, and if you are frustrated, you could turn to others, bringing shame upon my house."

  "I would never be unfaithful. I am not interested in dalliances, I swear I am not, so—"

  "Bah! Women never know their mind from one moment to the next." When she opened her mouth to deny it, he clamped his hand over it. "I will service you because it will forestall trouble. I assure you I would far rather look at you than indulge in the filthy act of copulation. But I will not neglect my duty. Understand you what I am saying?"

  Margery prayed the potency part of the potion had taken effect.

  "Understand, wife?"

  Almost imperceptibly, she nodded.

  Dispensing with foreplay, Crull climbed atop Margery. Several times he tried to penetrate her. She turned her face away, into the pillow, imagined yanking a dagger from a nearby chest and slicing off his private parts.

  I would rather face execution than a lifetime of this.

  Finally, without completing his mission, Simon rolled off her. "I never had this trouble with Gisla," he said in accusation.

  Margery stared up at the canopy. She nearly smiled at his words. She nearly cried.

  Abruptly, Crull turned to face her. "I know what is wrong."

  Thinking he had figured out her ruse, Margery stiffened, awaiting a torrent of invective.

  "It happens sometimes. A mature husband can be intimidated by youth and beauty and rendered incapable of performance. 'Tis a temporary condition and easily rectified."

  "How so?" She could not resist adding, "Would you have me wear a mask to bed?"

  "Your brain is as flawed as your body is perfect," Simon said irritably. "That would not help. I will just have to become accustomed to you. We will make another attempt later."

  During the night, Simon tried several times—always in vain.

  In the morning, he awakened in a foul mood. "I cannot have this. If word gets out, I will be a laughingstock."

  "I would never tell."

  "I couldn't trust you. Your sex never knows when to keep silent."

  After performing his morning toilet, Simon ordered Margery to mix his usual potion. Sipping his drink, he studied her thoughtfully.

  "I know what I am going to do," he finally said, tossing the leavings in the ashes of last night's fire. "I have not time to hope that matters improve. 'Tis imperative that I be a proper husband before your base urges drive you to others."

  "I would not..."

  "I am going to seek God's help in this matter," Simon said, cutting her off. "You and I, wife, are going on a pilgrimage."

  Chapter 24

  London

  Matthew Hart guided his horse down Bread Street, toward the Shop of the Unicorn. In her letters, Margery had repeatedly reminded him to return at Michaelmas, but he was so eager to see her he had decided to arrive early. He was still unclear as to his beloved's reasoning. Upon his return she would be departing the goldsmith's service anyway so why would she care whether her master needed her for some wedding? But Matthew had wanted to please her.

  I am as docile as any knight in a minstrel's tale, who, in order to win his lady's love, accedes to her every wish. No matter how ridiculous.

  It happened so often in verse and so seldom in reality that Matthew had never even given lip service to the concept of courtly love. Yet here he was, acquiescing to Margery as if she were some exalted court lady and he her moonstruck suitor.

  Truth to tell, life in Cumbria had made compliance easier. Matthew enjoyed the clean air and slower pace, the days spent hawking and hunting or just taking long rides with his father. Finally, however, not even Cumbria's charms could hold him. Once on the road, he had made the journey to London in a week's time. Now he was saddle-sore, in need of sleep, and filthy from the dust and grime of the byways, but he had not seen Margery in more than four months and that was enough. Until battle or duty called him, he would be content to live with her. Perhaps someday they could even retire to Cumbria.

  Who would have believed I could so eagerly embrace domesticity, he thought, smiling to himself. But who would have thought the Black Prince, Christendom's greatest warrior, could be tamed by a twice-married cousin past her prime? Yet 'tis so. Prince Edward's carefree days will soon be over, and he does not mind any more than I mind settling down with Meg. They were are all growing older. War and a good woman, taken either in marriage or love, were enough for any man.

  Two apprentices were working in the public area of the Shop of the Unicorn. One was seated at a table while a second, using a hammer and tongs, stretched and pulled a sheet of gold across an anvil. The shop's lone customer, an elderly matron, intently examined a display of paternosters.

  Matthew beckoned to the apprentices.

  Brian Goldman stepped forward. "Aye, my lord?"

  "Would you inform Margery Watson that Lord Matthew Hart wishes to see her?"

  Even without the introduction, Brian would have recognized Lord Hart from Lady Cecy's description. While she had told him to apprise her immediately of Matthew Hart's arrival, Lady Cecy had never instructed him on what to say should the knight ever actually address him. Brian nervously cleared his throat and wiped his slender fingers upon his apron. 'Twas not easy to relay bad news to such an intimidating figure.

  "Margery... Watson is not here, sire." He glanced at Nicholas Norlong who remained bent over his painted table, copying a design of flowers. Nicholas, who normally had an easy way with customers, put down his chalk long enough to scrutinize Lord Hart.

  "Where might she be?" asked the knight. "When will she be back?"

  Stalling for time, Brian carefully placed the hammer and tongs beside the anvil. After swearing him to secrecy, Lady Cecy had paid him handsomely for his part in her deception. At first he had enjoyed acting as liaison. Not only was the money a godsend to an apprentice attached to a miserly master, but Brian had enjoyed causing Margery Watson mischief. She had always been an aloof one, as if she thought he
rself superior to the rest of the household. But now, Brian wondered whether participation in Lady Cecy's machinations may have involved more risk than he realized.

  Brian cleared his throat. "I canna say, sire."

  "You canna say what? Where she's gone or when she'll return?" Matthew leaned forward, unconsciously fingering the dagger at his belt. "I mislike wasting time, and you are wasting my time."

  "She—"

  Nicholas Norlong, mindful that the knight might make a scene and drive away business, spoke. "She and her husband went on pilgrimage, m'lord. Soon after their wedding."

  Brian quickly stepped away from the bench, toward the stairway to the family quarters, in case Lord Hart thought to act out upon this news.

  Matthew's eyes narrowed. "What wedding? What are you talking about?"

  Ignorant of Brian's treachery or of impending danger, Nicholas Norlong continued, "She married Master Crull on Lammas Day. They have been gone on pilgrimage a month now."

  Before Norlong realized what was happening, Matthew bolted through the entrance, jerked the rotund apprentice from his seat, and slammed him against a wall. The table crashed to the floor, scattering boxes, flasks, and pottery. The elderly matron screamed, dropped her paternosters and tottered out the door. Brian scurried for the stairway.

  "What do you mean Margery Watson is married?" Matthew twisted Norlong's under shirt so tightly round his neck that the apprentice gasped for breath. "You'd best make sense now, or 'twill be your last moment on earth."

  "'Tis so, sire. They were wed at St. John Zachary in a small ceremony, but all the banns were posted and 'twas legal. Please loosen your grip, I beg you, m'lord, for I can scarce breathe."

  Matthew relaxed his hold. Slightly.

  Norlong rushed on. "They left immediately on pilgrimage. Master Crull thought to go to Canterbury, but his... Dame... um... preferred visiting St. Swithin at Winchester and the holy thorn-tree at Glastonbury. What more can I say? They mean to return before All Hallow's Eve. I know naught else."

  Matthew turned to Brian, cowering behind the stairway. "Is this true?"

  Brian nodded. He prayed Lady Cecy never revealed their collusion or he would be a dead man.

  Matthew continued to address Brian. "Who married them?"

  "Father Crispin at St. John Zachary's," Brian squeaked, terrified. 'Twas easy to forget that, despite their polite manners and professed interest in the gentler arts, the sumptuously dressed knights who daily patronized the shop were trained killers.

  Matthew released Nicholas Norlong so abruptly the apprentice fell to the floor. Spinning around, he strode from the shop, vaulted upon his horse, and jerked it around in the direction of St. John Zachary.

  He found Father Crispin distributing alms to beggars in front of the church.

  "A word with you, priest."

  Although Father Crispin was in the middle of his task and already late for an appointment with his superior, the look on the knight's face brooked no argument.

  Pulling him by the arm, Matthew led the priest away from the beggars. "Tell me what you know about the marriage of Margery Watson and Simon Crull."

  * * *

  Matthew retreated to Hart's Place in a daze. Nothing made sense. Margery married? She'd given no hint in the three letters she'd had sent. What sort of trickery was this? How could she be pregnant, as Father Crispin had intimated? If that were true, she would have had to be sleeping with Simon Crull on the heels of his departure. What game had she been playing?

  Matthew tried to remember every detail of their last meeting, as if something in the conversation might explain the unexplainable. Margery had initially been reluctant to be his leman, but that was understandable. She had also mentioned the truth of her father.

  Might Thomas Rendell have something to do with this?

  But Thomas had been a subject soon passed over. What had happened then? He knew women did not always think logically, but what could have happened in Margery's mind to cause her to so betray him?

  Matthew wished Harry were still in London, but he was with his lord, John of Gaunt, now Duke of Lancaster. Matt had no one to talk to, to help him understand what had happened.

  But I must reason this out.

  He dragged himself upstairs to the solar and eased his road-weary body down upon the seat in the bay window where he and Margery had shared their last moments.

  Staring down at the garden, with its flowers fading into fall and its leaves carpeting the dying grass, he whispered, "How can this be? What have you done to us... to me?"

  Chapter 25

  London

  On October 10, 1361, Edward of Woodstock, Prince of Wales, married Joan of Kent. The wedding ceremony took place at Windsor in the presence of the entire royal family, as well as members from England's noblest houses. Though gossips had long whispered that His Grace was unhappy with the prince's choice of bride, outwardly both King Edward and Queen Philippa appeared pleased. His Grace had already declared that he would make the Black Prince lord of Guienne and Gascony. Which meant Prince Edward and his household would soon be heading for Bordeaux, from whence the prince would govern the French provinces.

  While Matthew participated in the wedding and all subsequent festivities, not even frantic activity could alleviate his unhappiness. He was relieved that they would soon set sail for Bordeaux. In a different environment, memories of Margery Watson would quickly fade. But first he had unfinished business with her. In anticipation of her return from pilgrimage, he had taken to watching the Shop of the Unicorn. As festivities intensified, his trips became less frequent, but he vowed that before leaving England he would have his say to Dame Margery. In his mind he re-enacted his revenge.

  I will tell her I am glad she's married, that I never cared for her anyway. I will reduce her to weeping, if she possesses a heart, and then walk away and never give her another by-your-leave. He did not add what he'd silently vowed, that he would never again allow himself to be so vulnerable. EVER.

  He even tried to convince himself 'twas a good thing, being free of one woman. He had already taken others to bed, in particular Desiderata Cecy. Easy enough to detach feeling from lovemaking; it was the difference between enjoying a banquet or settling for crumbs, but he'd never minded before. Sex was an act, a release, nothing more. He took little pleasure in it and even less in pleasing his partner. He would get over that hollowness inside, that feeling that something was missing no matter whether he was roughhousing with other members of Prince Edward's household or practicing his swordplay to pass the time, or having new armor fitted, or allowing Desiderata Cecy to service him. Life went on; he did not care.

  Yet in Matthew's unguarded moments, he could not help but grieve for Margery. In the early hours when sleep remained impossible, he would think back to their first meeting, and run through his mind the subsequent years, trying to decipher what he had done to make her betray him.

  I can have any woman. I do not need Dame Margery Watson, the mayor's wife. I will not waste one minute mourning her.

  Yet he did. Every hour of every day, 'twas like a headache or toothache or a bruised rib that pained him each time he took a breath. A condition that the minstrels called... heartache.

  * * *

  Two weeks after the wedding a huge celebration was held at Edward's palace at Kennington, across the Thames from London. The banquet, as well as the wedding, was considered the year's social event. In addition to most of the royal family, all of London's dignitaries planned to attend.

  Matthew entered Kennington's hall late. At sight of him, Desire disengaged from one of John of Gaunt's retainers, who had been trying to impress her with the antics of his trained monkey.

  "I have been waiting for you, m'lord," Desire said, gliding up to him. "Will you sit with me tonight?"

  Her gaze was as bold as any man's. No denying she was a provocative woman, and more willing in bed than most. But she had an irritating habit of wanting to talk about Margery Watson, and Matthew was not intere
sted in her views on the subject. Particularly not tonight, when he and Harry, who had just returned to London, had had a hurried conversation about his brother's last meeting with Margery. Harry's recollection was vague, but Margery's demeanor seemed at odds with her subsequent letters. "She was in a blessed hurry for your return," Harry had said. "That much I do remember."

  At that moment an obviously flustered Harry hurried up to Matthew and Desire. "This place is swarming with Londoners. Remember when Father tried to match me up with Henry Ypres' daughter, Rohesia?"

  "Aye," Matt said. "Father found her wealth most attractive."

  "Well, Rohesia is here tonight. She accosted me outside in the great garden and I swear she fancies she has found herself a husband. I will never forgive Father for mentioning marriage in front of her."

  "What is wrong with that?" Desire slipped her arm possessively through Matthew's. "She would be a fine catch for a second son. Her family has amassed a fortune in wool."

  "No wonder she so resembles a ewe," Harry muttered. Looking over his shoulder, he yelped, "Here she comes! Help! Someone! Hide me!"

  Harry plunged into the crowd drifting to the benches in front of the dais where the royal family and London's most prominent citizens had already begun to take their seats.

  When Rohesia Ypres charged past, Matthew commented, "Damme! She does resemble a ewe."

  "What can you expect? Breeding will always tell."

  "Not every woman need paint her face and dress like a stroller to be considered beautiful," Matthew countered, glancing at the dais, where Joan of Kent was already ensconced with her new husband. Matt would never understand what Edward saw in the lady Joan. While most rhapsodized her beauty—she was not called the Fair Maid of Kent for naught—Matthew considered her blonde hair unattractively brassy and her manner so studiedly coquettish as to be tiresome. Save for her wealth, he couldn't comprehend the prince's attraction to her.