Returning to France with Louis’s emissaries, whose advice had been asked, if not always taken, about the new peace terms, was a new group of negotiators. These men had been empowered to bargain, barring a few conditions.
“Which are?” Alphonse asked, pouring wine into a cup from a flagon on a side table and carrying it to Gloucester, who nodded his thanks.
“Security for Leicester, me, Norfolk, and all of our adherents.”
“Of course,” Barbara said. “Louis could not object to that.”
“Then there will be four arbitrators, the Archbishop of Rouen, Peter the Chamberlain—”
Gloucester looked at Alphonse who had made an indefinable sound as he imagined how Peter would “enjoy” having so onerous a duty thrust on him. Then, when Alphonse, still wordless, shook his head, he continued and named the Bishop of London and Hugh le Despenser as the other two arbitrators, with the papal legate to have a fifth and deciding vote in case the four arbitrators could not agree.
“Louis will not accept those arbitrators,” Alphonse said. “The Archbishop of Rouen, while not quite as prejudiced as Despenser and London, is known to favor Leicester strongly. The only truly neutral man is Peter the Chamberlain, and he will be outvoted three to one every time he disagrees with one of Leicester’s proposals.”
“Oh, I know it is hopeless,” Gloucester snarled. “I do not understand why we, the victors, should go crawling for approval to—” He stopped abruptly and flushed. “I beg your pardon, Alphonse. Louis is your king.”
“But by no means faultless in my eyes,” Alphonse said, smiling.
The words were perfectly true, but Barbara knew that they did not mean Alphonse disapproved of Louis’s stand with regard to the peace terms. She had no more inclination than her husband to explain this to Gloucester, however. What did concern her was that Alphonse might be classified as an enemy after negotiations ended.
She said, “I am sorry to hear this. Will not the breakdown of negotiations make it impossible for Alphonse to redeem his promise to Lady Alys to visit her father?”
“Good God, I had forgotten all about that,” Gloucester exclaimed. “But this last effort for peace will be no overnight matter. Our envoys will be in France for some weeks, I believe. There will be time enough to ride to Kenilworth and see…”
“Sir William,” Alphonse offered, as Gloucester hesitated, having forgotten the name.
“The man has no political importance,” Gloucester went on, frowning thoughtfully, “and I am sure you would not use permission to visit him to work any harm.”
“Indeed, I would not,” Alphonse agreed heartily. “To speak the truth, I would gladly be rid of that promise and go back to France with the envoys if I could find any other way to ease my sister’s mind.”
“Nothing but knowing him free and well will truly ease his daughter’s heart,” Barbara said. “That is how I would feel if my father were a prisoner. But since that is not possible, I think it more important than ever that you see Sir William with your own eyes, Alphonse, so you can tell Alys whether he was thin or stout and the color of his skin and whether his eyes were sunk… You know what she will need to hear to believe him well.”
Alphonse sighed. “Yes, I know. And unfortunately Alys is not one easily deceived. To lie and be caught in it would be worse than admitting I could not visit him.”
“There is no reason why you should not visit him,” Gloucester said. “I can see no harm in it at all. I will give you a letter to young Simon de Montfort, who is his gaoler, and a letter allowing you freedom to travel.”
“I would be most grateful, my lord,” Alphonse said, then grinned and added, “and you will be free at last of guests whom you may have believed had taken root in your household.”
Gloucester laughed. “I wish you had taken root. I will sorely miss being black-and-blue from being dumped on the ground by your jousting lance three times a week.”
Alphonse laughed also. “And I will miss my lessons on how to manage an army. My brother will approve most heartily of what I have learned.”
Although the young earl was clearly pleased and flattered by Alphonse’s remark, he made a dismissive gesture. “Seriously, I will be very sorry to see you go and would gladly have offered you a place in my household, but I know your duty is to your brother and that you have lands in France.”
Alphonse acknowledged his reluctance to consider leaving France permanently, then tactfully changed the subject by asking whether Gloucester thought it best to send a letter ahead to Kenilworth and what would be the best route to follow. Barbara listened idly, indifferent because she was not, as she usually was, avidly looking forward to any change that would relieve boredom. She had enjoyed being in Tonbridge, yet she had no regrets over leaving either, so it was not Tonbridge that had held her interest.
Just then Alphonse remarked that he thought Kenilworth was Leicester’s main seat and asked whether the earl or members of his family other than young Simon were likely to be there in the next few weeks. The pleasure the mere sound of his voice gave her reminded Barbara why she had not been bored. Then the sense of the question Alphonse had asked penetrated and drove out both the pleasure and the anxiety that pleasure had generated.
“There is a small problem,” she said. “If Guy should happen to be at Kenilworth, it would be better if I did not stay there.”
“That had occurred to me,” Alphonse agreed, voice and face equally expressionless.
Gloucester looked startled at this seeming eagerness to avoid any cause of a quarrel with Guy and then rose quickly and went to the side table, where he refilled his cup. When he turned back toward his guests, his face was as expressionless as Alphonse’s. Unfortunately for Barbara’s peace of mind, she could see the bright gleam in his eyes from where she sat. He knew from practice fights that Alphonse could not be afraid of Guy. Did Gloucester believe that Alphonse would find it easier to chastise Guy when she was absent? If so, he was wrong. She would remind her potentially bellicose spouse of his promise not to challenge Guy, and she would make him extend that promise to include not prodding Guy into challenging him.
“You must stay here, Lady Barbara,” Gloucester offered.
And leave my too attractive Alphonse to wander around the country with his rod at the ready? Barbara did not voice the thought. What she said, smiling, was “You are very kind, Gilbert, but I am afraid that would provide too much fodder for the beasts of rumor. You know they will never believe you and I are only friends. They will grow fat chewing over whether Alphonse encouraged me to lie with you to gain your influence or whether grasping at your favor is my idea and he is so stupid that I have managed to seduce you—or you me—and cuckold him under his very nose.”
“The wife of a friend?” Gloucester exclaimed in horror. “I would never—”
“You know it and I know it.” Barbara shrugged. “But you are no longer a gangling boy to be discounted. You are a man of power and presence, desirable to many as a lover.”
Gloucester gulped his wine and turned around quickly, but his ears were bright red. Alphonse bit his lips, and managed not to choke on laughter over Barbara’s skilled refusal of the young earl’s invitation. He would not have hurt Gloucester for the world. At the moment, filled with joy at Barbara’s clear intention not to be parted from him, he would have been generous to his worst enemy—even to Guy de Montfort.
However, the problem remained, discounting any trouble Guy might make, the main stronghold of the Earl of Leicester was not a good place for the beloved daughter of Norfolk, whose behavior toward Leicester might be considered ambivalent. Young Simon had also pursued her and might think it a double coup to hold Barbe as a guarantee of her father’s good behavior. Moreover, if Louis’s rejection of the peace terms came sooner than expected, Alphonse thought his own safety would be much enhanced by Barbe’s freedom to complain to her father and to Gloucester if he should be detained.
Meanwhile, Barbe had said, “I cannot go to Strigul. My fat
her’s wife, Lady Isabella, is there and would doubtless hang me sooner than let me in.”
“She might indeed,” Gloucester said dryly, “since she is strongly suspected of supporting the lords Marcher.”
“A plague take that woman,” Barbara exclaimed. “I do not think she cares a pin for the right or wrong of the matter. She acts only to spite my father and make trouble for him.”
“Perhaps,” Gloucester said, “but to be fair, Strigul is surrounded by Prince Edward’s friends, and she may have been afraid to appear opposed to them. In any case, I do not think it would be wise for you to seek shelter at Strigul, it is much too far southwest, several days’ travel from Kenilworth. You would be safer and more comfortable at Warwick with my vassal, John Giffard, who is castellan there. Warwick is less than two leagues from Kenilworth, and John Giffard is no particular friend of the younger Montforts. He has some hard feeling against them for taking prisoner Alan de la Zouche, who was his prisoner first and whom he had released with safe conduct… Ah, no matter. It is done now and must be forgotten.”
The very mention of the affront made clear that it had not been forgotten by Gloucester. Probably he was reflecting his vassal’s resentment, Alphonse thought, and if so, Warwick would indeed be a safe place for Barbe and a refuge for him too. Alphonse agreed eagerly that Barbe be John Giffard’s guest if he would have her, and Barbara concurred as eagerly. It had occurred to her that since Warwick was so close to Kenilworth, Alphonse could stay with her there and could ride over to see Sir William of Marlowe when he was allowed to visit.
Barbara was unfeignedly delighted with the arrangement Gloucester offered. It would be safer for Alphonse not to need to spend much time in the company of young Simon—and Guy, if he should decide to visit Kenilworth at that time—and safer for her too. She found that she suffered no pangs of jealousy over what Alphonse did during the day as long as he occupied her bed at night and gave such delightful evidence of his pleasure in his place. If he slept elsewhere, she was not certain she would be equally indifferent to his activities. She could imagine herself asking bitter, hurtful questions no woman, wife or not, had a right to ask—since men did not bear their heirs to property, their sins were irrelevant, except to their souls and God’s judgment. And that was the answer pride would drive Alphonse to give her if she questioned his faithfulness, whether he was innocent or not.
Pleased with the success of his idea, Gloucester sent a servant for his clerk and dictated then and there the permissions to travel and visit Sir William and his request to Giffard to receive Alphonse and Barbara as guests. The letter to Giffard went out in the morning, but it was the beginning of the second week in October before Alphonse and Barbara left Tonbridge.
They bade farewell to Gloucester—who was himself leaving to meet Leicester at Dover—at the town gate. The two men hugged each other roughly with a faint screech of metal links grinding against metal links. Barbara, still mounted, first kissed the hand the earl held out to her and then leaned perilously from her mare to pull his head closer and kiss his lips. And while he was still looking bemused but pleased, she touched his cheek and begged him to take good care of himself.
“Did you have some reason for giving Gloucester that warning?” Alphonse asked some time later as they were traveling west along the Medway toward the old road that ran due north and south from Lewes to London.
“Warning!” Barbara repeated, startled. “I did not mean—” She shook her head. “I do not know what I meant, just that I felt uneasy in parting from him.” She smiled tentatively at Alphonse. “It was very good of you to help me calm him over and over, since I suppose Prince Edward’s purpose would be better served if Gloucester became angry enough at Leicester to withdraw his support.”
“I do not know that any prince’s purpose is best served by having his country torn apart by war, especially a war he cannot control,” Alphonse replied. “Edward is learning some salutary lessons. And Leicester does not deserve to lose his friends because he is harassed on all sides and does not have time to think up soothing ways to address a man thirty years younger than himself.”
Barbara burst out laughing. “True enough, but you are working on a wrong premise. It is not because he is rushed and harried that Leicester speaks his mind plainly. He never had any tact. I can remember my father’s fury over his bluntness. He always said it goaded King Henry into mistakes rather than saving him from them.” Then she frowned. “I suppose I should not have warned Gilbert to take care, only he is so young, so brave, and so proud. I am afraid for him.”
“And for us?”
“What is there to fear for us?” Barbara looked and felt startled.
Alphonse laughed and shook his head as if he had been jesting. Her surprise made him recall that Gloucester had been careful to speak of the continued unrest in the country only in Barbe’s absence. Alphonse had not previously realized that Gloucester had excluded Barbe deliberately. He would not have done so himself, but it seemed foolish to begin telling her horror stories now when they were already on the road.
The battle of Lewes had ended most organized resistance in King Henry’s favor, however, it had also made outlaws of the Royalists who had escaped the battle and no longer had homes or lands and had wakened hopes in the unscrupulous that law and order was a thing of the past too. Both the starving and the greedy attacked travelers and their neighbors, the greedy using the excuse that the neighbors were of Royalist inclination. Gloucester thought that the news of the defeat of the lords Marcher in Wales might curb the lawlessness of the greedy. The outlaws, however, were a problem that could not be addressed until a peace was settled on. Then amnesty and methods of redemption of estates could be arranged. Meanwhile, the best Gloucester could do was to offer Alphonse a strong troop as escort. After due consideration Alphonse had refused, saying that more men might reduce the chance of attack by outlaws but would increase their appeal to local lordlings.
Alphonse never discovered whether good luck or good judgment was the stronger factor in protecting them. The result was the same and totally satisfactory. They arrived safely in London before evening. From Alys’s letter, Alphonse knew that Marlowe Keep was on the Thames, west of London, very near the Abbey of Hurley. Directions to Hurley were easy to obtain, and they came to the abbey the following evening, also without having been in danger at any time. After some cautious fencing with the abbot, Alphonse was convinced that the man truly held Sir William in high esteem and stated his purpose clearly.
The abbot had good news for them. The furniture and valuables of Marlowe Keep were in the abbey’s storehouses. The keep itself was shut tight, being held by a handful of retainers. So far no attempt had been made to take it because the place was so strong. Smiling thinly, the abbot said he had done his best to discourage any offense and, with more warmth, added that his task had been made easier by the fact that Sir William was liked and respected by his neighbors, many of whom owed him favors.
John of Hurley’s keep was safe because it was beholden to the abbey, and the abbot had put his own troop into the place when John warned him that he intended to follow Hugh Bigod into the king’s army. The Marlowe ladies, who were Alphonse’s first concern, were also safe. As soon as word of the defeat at Lewes had come, Harold of Herron, who probably owed Aubery of Ilmer his life and certainly owed him the prosperity of his estate, had taken Sir William’s wife, Lady Elizabeth, and her daughter-by-marriage, Lady Fenice, and the children into his keeping.
The next day a lay brother was sent off to discover whether Harold of Herron would be willing to receive Alphonse. He returned that afternoon with a letter from Marlowe’s daughter-by-marriage, Lady Fenice, saying that Harold was away from Herron but begging Alphonse to come anyway. Barbara was rather surprised to see that Alphonse was less than overjoyed by the rapid and enthusiastic response. In private, in the visitors’ garden of the abbey, he confessed that he was torn between wishing to see Lady Elizabeth and Fenice himself and being somewhat fearful
of Fenice’s reaction to her husband’s imprisonment. Fenice was so timid and fearful a creature, he said, that he expected to be drowned in her floods of tears and begged to accomplish the impossible and free her husband, Aubery.
Barbara thus was braced for an unpleasant day or two providing hope and comfort to a pair of lachrymose ladies. Instead, when she and Alphonse arrived in Herron, they were greeted by a glowing beauty of about her own age and an elderly lady, Marlowe’s second wife, Elizabeth—who seemed perfectly self-possessed and smiled at her with singular sweetness. In the light of what Alphonse had told her, Barbara was puzzled by the apparent happiness of both women. She felt she should be repelled by such selfishness, but she could not resist the older lady whose hair, like her own, constantly escaped her crespine and curled wildly in all directions.
As soon as he had assured Lady Elizabeth of her son John of Hurley’s safety, Alphonse produced Alys’s letter, with its offer of a haven in Aix. Barbara was not at all surprised when it was instantly refused, although she should have been if Fenice and Lady Elizabeth were as selfish as their carefree manner implied. One part of the puzzle was soon solved. Lady Elizabeth made no secret of her conviction that Richard of Cornwall would be able to arrange for his own liberation and that the arrangement would include her husband. Whether that meant the return of their lands or going with Richard to Germany, Lady Elizabeth did not care. She would be ready and where she would cause no doubt or delay as soon as her husband was released.
Despite the warm welcome she and Alphonse had received, Barbara detected a certain uneasiness in the ladies. She did not seek to probe it, assuming it was because she was Norfolk’s daughter. Since it was apparent that Fenice and Lady Elizabeth were safe and well, Barbara expected to leave the next day. Instead, Alphonse made a mysterious excursion from which he did not return until the evening of October 17. And when she asked where he had been, Alphonse looked her hard in the eyes and announced he had felt the need of exercise and had gone hunting, following which he said they would leave in the morning. Barbara blinked only once, thanked him gravely for telling her—hunting was an activity so unlikely because of the forest laws that the statement could not be considered a lie—and blandly hoped he had enjoyed himself.
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