A Silver Mirror

by Roberta Gellis

  “You have bad news,” she said.

  “Rumors only,” he replied. “Harold of Herron is no devoted Royalist and he has friends among Leicester’s supporters. One of them came upon us in the alehouse in Thame where I was brought to meet Harold so he could lead me to Aubery’s camp in the forest. He told us that King Louis had objected to the imbalance of the arbitrators but seemed willing to listen to offers of adjustment. But the legate, although he had not yet given a firm answer, had indicated that he was immovable on the subject of renouncing the Provisions of Oxford.”

  Barbara shook her head. “Whatever else Leicester might be willing to yield, he will not yield that. If all hope of King Louis’s arbitration of peace is at an end, will you be in danger because you are French? Perhaps we should not go to Kenilworth. Simon is just careless and arrogant enough to ignore Gloucester’s request that you be allowed to visit Sir William and even his order that we be allowed to travel freely.”

  “There is no danger yet,” Alphonse said. “I am certain Leicester has no intention of declaring France an enemy and the negotiations are not yet ended. I would not like to leave without even trying to see Sir William. And he is nobody in himself. A visit to him must be politically without danger and without meaning. Thus, whatever the rumors, I might be permitted to see Sir William.”

  John Giffard received them warmly in Warwick on the afternoon of October 20 after two and a half days of hard travel. He apologized for the noise and disorder, saying with so little expression that he might as well have shouted his disapproval, that he had been ordered by Leicester to pull down the great stone keep and the work was under way. However, the wooden hall and domestic buildings in the strongly walled bailey were comfortable enough and he was glad to see visitors.

  When they had entered the hall and told him their purpose in coming, Sir John was completely of Alphonse’s opinion that the sooner he saw Sir William the better. He summoned his clerk, wrote a message to Simon de Montfort at Kenilworth, and sent it off with Gloucester’s letter before he instructed his steward to show Alphonse and Barbara to the portion of the solar he had made ready for them.

  “Simon is not ill-natured,” he said stiffly, “only young and thoughtless. If he has received no instruction to the contrary, his natural response would be to allow the visit.”

  Before dark the messenger returned. “Lord Simon,” he recited, “will be happy to allow Sieur Alphonse to visit Sir William, however, Sir William does not happen to be in Kenilworth at the moment. He has been sent out to certain of Richard of Cornwall’s properties, of which he had long been steward, to explain the new management to the bailiffs and make them more cooperative. Tomorrow Lord Simon will send a messenger to have Sir William brought back. Lord Simon expects Sir William to return in about three days. In the meantime, Sieur Alphonse is more than welcome to be a guest at Kenilworth Keep.”

  Over their evening meal, Barbara, Alphonse, and Sir John Giffard discussed Simon’s message, but could come to no conclusion about what it meant. Alphonse had seen how uncomfortable Sir John became when the messenger called the young man Lord Simon, which he could only have picked up from the servants in Kenilworth or whoever gave him the message. He probed further carefully and discovered that Sir John had been castellan of Kenilworth and had been the man who wrested Warwick from its previous lord, and his “reward” had been an order from Leicester to hand over Kenilworth to young Simon and oversee the destruction of Warwick, his war prize, just because it was too near Kenilworth.

  What a singularly stupid thing for Leicester to do, Alphonse thought. Atop the business of the Zouche ransom, Sir John’s trust in Leicester’s lack of partiality must be badly undermined. Like Gloucester’s resentment against Leicester, Sir John’s hurt showed where a wedge could easily be driven. However, Alphonse felt it wrong for him to become embroiled in English politics, whatever his sympathy for Prince Edward, and as soon as his curiosity was satisfied, he shifted the subject back to Simon’s message.

  “What I need to decide,” Alphonse pointed out, “is whether to go to Kenilworth tomorrow or not.”

  “No,” Barbara said.

  Both men looked at her.

  “He has invited me. Will it not seem suspicious to him if I refuse?” Alphonse asked.

  “Do you have some reason to believe your husband will be in danger from Simon?” Sir John asked at the same time.

  Barbara could have bitten her tongue. It was the green-eyed devil in her that had spoken—and her lust. She had no reason for her “no”, only a strong reluctance to let her husband out of her sight.

  She could not admit that, however, nor could she even look at Alphonse, so she said to Sir John, “I am not so vain that I believe every man desires me, but Simon has paid me particular attention.” She smiled. “I think his attentions were intended mainly to make my friend Aliva le Despenser jealous. Nonetheless, if he should forget Alphonse is my husband and touch his pride with some silly remark, it is not impossible that Alphonse would forget himself and teach Simon a lesson. Whether or not Simon deserved it, Leicester would be angry. Thus, I think the less time Alphonse spends with Simon the better.”

  Nothing at all showed in Alphonse’s face. No man could object to what Barbe had said. She had given him no cause to be jealous of Simon, nor had she implied that her husband was foolish or too hasty. There were remarks made casually or in jest for which a husband in honor must demand a retraction. But unless Simon was a monster or an idiot, a retraction—and an apology too—would be provided in such a case. Barbe did not want him to go to Kenilworth. Why?

  He became certain he would not get a frank answer from her as he listened to her smooth and logical reasons for him to reject altogether, or delay responding to, Simon’s invitation. Sir John pursed his lips and nodded more than once, but not one of Barbe’s reasons woke a flicker in her eyes or a note of sincerity in her voice. Was it possible that she simply wanted to keep him with her for pleasure? Certainly he gave her pleasure; but then why had she never—no, not once in the months they had been married—come of her own will into his arms. Why each time did he have to woo her anew?

  “I cannot refuse altogether,” Alphonse said quickly, argument being better than chewing that dry old bone.

  “Why not?” Barbe challenged. “You can say you must stay in Warwick because you have a young and foolish wife who—”

  She broke off as Alphonse’s brows rose and his lips curled tightly in a cynical grimace. “Ah yes, my love, Simon knows you well, does he not? And would he not invite my wife to come with me, that is, if he had not burst with laughing when I said you were fearful of being left alone in Warwick.” He turned back to Sir John, who was pursing his lips and then pulling them tight uneasily. “But if you are also uneasy, Sir John, why do I not say that I feel it uncourteous to leave you so soon when Gloucester sent me to Warwick and that I will come on the third day?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Simon de Montfort looked down from a window of the solar above the hall his father had built in Kenilworth Keep. Alphonse d’Aix was dismounting from his magnificent destrier. Simon was surprised by the unease that gripped him when he thought of the deception he intended to practice on the man he was watching. Although many years had passed since his older brother Henry had taken him to a joust not far from Paris, he now recognized Sieur Alphonse by his lithe movement, his easy grace under the weight of his armor. The admiration he had felt then for Alphonse’s style and courage returned, and he also remembered that Alphonse d’Aix was Henry’s friend.

  Well, what of it? Simon asked himself, watching the stallion paw the ground and shake its head when a groom approached. Sieur Alphonse waved the groom back, pulled his mount around, and seemed to be talking to it. Then the servant who had ridden in with the knight came and took the rein, and Sieur Alphonse turned toward the door of the hall. Simon moved away from the window to go down the stair and greet his guest, but he was filled with doubts about what Guy had asked him to do.
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  Still, the bones had already rolled, he could not change the symbols on them now. Simon had thought it very funny when Guy first wrote how Lady Barbara had gotten around her vow not to bear a child out of wedlock and had readily agreed to detain her husband when he came to visit the prisoner, Sir William of Marlowe. He had still been amused when he wrote to Guy that Alphonse had arrived at Warwick, that he had sent Sir William away for a while, and that his brother should seek out the lady and enjoy her with all dispatch.

  Having recognized Alphonse, Simon was no longer amused, but there was no way to back out of the arrangement with Guy. For all he knew, Guy was already in the lady’s arms and it would be far worse to release the husband and have his brother caught committing adultery. No, his father must not hear of Guy’s lechery. Worse, if Alphonse caught Guy with his wife, he might even kill him. Simon thought of his father’s grief if either disaster took place and set his jaw. He wished he had remembered who Lady Barbara’s husband was before agreeing to Guy’s scheme, but it did not matter now. Montforts supported each other, right or wrong.

  Then, as he came into the hall and walked across the dais, calling “Sieur Alphonse?” Simon thought that if Lady Barbara was set on playing with Guy, in a way he was protecting her husband. As it was, the man would come to no harm. This way, he would never know that he had been cuckolded, and maybe that fool of a woman would get Guy out of her mind.

  “Yes, I am Alphonse. Are you Sir Simon?”

  “Yes, Henry’s younger brother. I am very pleased to meet you. I saw you joust in company with Henry and…” Simon hesitated and then went on in a harder voice, “and Prince Edward.”

  “They are both fine fighters,” Alphonse said smoothly, showing no sign that he had noticed Simon’s hesitation.

  “But not as good as you,” Simon said. “You took the prize.”

  Alphonse smiled lazily, his dark eyes sleepy under their half-lowered lids. The look was not all pretense. Barbara had given him a parting gift that had kept both of them awake half the night.

  “Ah, but they tourney for pleasure,” he said easily. “I fight for need. It is the way I make my pourboire.”

  Simon looked shocked. He could not imagine his father and mother allowing one of their sons to pick up scraps at tourneys for a living. Somehow lands would be found to support each of them and to dower their sisters. Then he smiled uncertainly, his eyes on Alphonse’s surcoat, a rich gold velvet sewn over with stripes of red, and from left shoulder to right hip the bend that marked the bastardy of his house. The wide black band was embroidered with a tilting lance that glittered even in the dim light of the hall. Simon knew the device was done in real gold. His eyes flicked over the rest of Alphonse’s accoutrements and his smile widened. Whatever Alphonse said, he was not poor. He felt a trifle contemptuous of a man who would pretend poverty, and that feeling eased his conscience.

  “Does that mean you do not wish to show me your skills?” Simon asked, unable to hide a faint note of condescension.

  “I hoped I would have no reason or time to do so,” Alphonse replied without the smallest sign that he had noticed the contempt. “I expected to see Sir William and then return to Warwick.”

  “Oh, no, you cannot expect me to allow you to escape without once crossing lances with me,” Simon cried.

  There was enough sincerity in that cry to make Alphonse laugh. “Not before I see Sir William,” he said, and blandly revenged himself by adding, “if I should happen to overset you, I would not wish to be thrust out of the keep without accomplishing my purpose.”

  “I would not do that,” Simon protested, smiling, and then began to apologize for not earlier having him shown to the upper chamber so he could remove his armor.

  “But I will need my armor if you wish to try a passage at arms after I have spoken to Sir William,” Alphonse insisted gently.

  “Forgive me,” Simon exclaimed. “I am so pleased to meet you that I feel you are my invited guest. I keep forgetting you have a private reason for being here. I am sorry. Sir William has not yet returned from Cornwall’s holdings. He was to go to several different estates, you see. I sent my messenger to the place I thought him most likely to be, but I seem to have misjudged. That would mean the man must try again to find him. Still, it cannot be much longer—a day or two. Surely you can stay that long?”

  “Yes, of course,” Alphonse answered smoothly.

  He felt the trap close, but because he was relatively sure that no bad news about the peace negotiations had come, he could see no reason why Simon would want to detain him. Moreover, the young man seemed relatively transparent. Alphonse had been able to read his surprise and disdain for a man who would speak of poverty with ease, so perhaps everything Simon said was true. Perhaps he really was thrilled to have a well-known tourney fighter as a guest, and perhaps the messenger had not yet found and recalled Sir William.

  In any case, Alphonse thought, his best defense was to seem unaware, so he smiled and said he would be glad to change out of his armor but that he had not brought any clothing because he did not expect to be allowed to stay. “I thought perhaps, despite your kind invitation, that the shorter the visit made by the prince’s friend the better.”

  Simon laughed heartily. “Since Edward has been here many times himself, there is nothing you could learn about Kenilworth that he does not already know. Please believe my invitation was most sincere. You are welcome here for as long as you like. There are guesting clothes in plenty. Come now to my chamber and choose what you like to wear.”

  Alphonse agreed easily, only asking that a servant be sent to tell Chacier to take the horses to the stable and where to come to take charge of his armor. Simon did so and then accompanied Alphonse to his own chamber and opened his clothes chests. Not unwilling to be thought a man who was interested only in surface matters, of fighting and hunting and clothing, and because he did like fine garments, Alphonse spent some time choosing what to wear. By then Chacier had arrived.

  While Chacier helped Alphonse out of his armor, Simon, as if drawn irresistibly to the subject, began to talk about tourneys again and lightly mentioned the riots that had followed several meetings in England. Alphonse was rather surprised, considering the principles the father espoused, to learn that Simon had been more amused than distressed by the destruction of property and injury done the common folk involved. But he wanted to seem stupid, so he did not try to point out to the young idiot that if tourneys got a bad reputation with the burghers, they would soon be banned by all towns. All he said was that he did not like riots because he liked to tourney in a familiar place where he knew the inns and the people and where comfortable lodgings were held for him year after year.

  Simon then had the grace to look somewhat abashed and turned the talk to hunting, which Alphonse encouraged. Seizing this opening, Simon promptly offered to arrange a hunt if Alphonse would stay a few days. Without actually agreeing, Alphonse managed to give the impression he would be delighted, and they went down the hall again discussing the types of game each preferred. Eventually Simon invited Alphonse to examine the hunting dogs, and when Alphonse had given well-deserved praise to the kennels and the animals, they moved on to the stables.

  The afternoon passed most pleasantly. Alphonse began to wonder whether Barbe’s reluctance to let him stay in Kenilworth had poisoned his mind. Simon did not seem at all dangerous. Alphonse was more and more inclined to agree with Sir John that he was young for his age, spoiled and thoughtless but not ill-natured, and hardly an evil plotter. Moreover, Simon had left him alone several times during the afternoon to speak to a servant or attend to a minor estate matter, and Alphonse could not detect a single sign of being watched. The only oddity that struck him was that Simon asked him, after the evening meal, whether he would like a bed partner and offered to collect all the more palatable women in the keep so he could choose among them.

  Alphonse refused with warm thanks but considerable firmness. He did not want Simon to think he was merely bein
g polite and find a girl between his sheets. To make clear that he meant what he said, he stated frankly that his wife satisfied him completely and he would have to be separated from her much longer before he sought the kind of relief one got from a common slut.

  At the time Simon made the offer, Alphonse was too horrified by the notion that, the two keeps being so close, Barbe might hear that he taken a woman the first night they had not shared a bed to think beyond how to refuse. Later it occurred to him that such an offer was not common custom. A host, seeing his guest look with longing on a maid, might bid her quietly go serve the guest or might wink and nod in such a way that the guest knew he could take what he wanted with no offense. But to suggest displaying all suitable women, that was going too far. And had not Simon looked dismayed by his refusal?

  The next day provided enough ordinary reasons for Simon to be eager for his company that Alphonse almost dismissed his doubts. After mass—to miss a day was a grave sin in Leicester’s keep and one that was reported to its master even when the sinner was a son—and breaking their fast, Simon begged Alphonse to break a few lances. Alphonse laughed and agreed at once, and when they were armed and mounted they rode to the outer bailey where there was room enough for the destriers to find their stride. Both enjoyed themselves.

  Simon recognized that Alphonse’s ability was based on skill, not on an exaggerated reputation, because he was not able even once to make his lance catch on Alphonse’s shield. His best efforts were slatted off like those of a novice. Simultaneously he swelled with pride because he was not overset even once. Alphonse was particularly pleased with the delicacy of touch he was able to manage, which never allowed Simon to land a telling blow on him and concealed the fact that he was holding back much of his own power. Thus he salved the young man’s pride while saving him from overconfidence.