by Jason Vail
“You’re not to be allowed in, sir,” the warden said.
“What do you mean?” Stephen asked, dumbfounded.
“Orders,” the warden said.
“I’ve been given safe passage.”
“I know that was so, but it’s been rescinded.”
“By whom?”
“Somebody. I don’t know. I just follow orders.”
Stephen was of a mind to demand to speak to the officer of the watch, but before he could open his mouth to do so, there were shouts in the bailey and a stream of spear-carrying sergeants marched through the gate toward him.
The gate warden said, “You’ll have to move away, sir. They’ll take no excuse and knock you over, no matter who you are.”
As Stephen retreated toward the market, the sergeants burst out with cries of “Make way! Make way!”
The people in the market had no idea yet why they had to make way, but since people were used to being shoved aside for the noble born, they yielded as far as they could, which caused a press of bodies about some of the market stalls, whose frames wobbled dangerously. Stephen struggled through to Ida at the edge of the crowd, but Gilbert disappeared in the confusion. Stephen kept an arm around Ida as they were among those thrust back against the frame of a stall and nearly fell over.
A procession of mounted men trotted their horses through the barbican and turned left toward the fields east of the castle. At its head was Prince Edward.
Edward’s eye caught Stephen’s and then swept on as if he was not there at all.
FitzAllan, at the prince’s elbow, spotted Stephen and Ida as well. His face contorted with a gloating sneer, and he pointed directly at Stephen and laughed before he rode on.
“I don’t like the look of that,” Ida said. “That foul man is up to something.”
“I suppose we’ll find out what it is soon enough,” Stephen said.
Ida shivered. “Soon enough to duck out of the way, I hope.”
Rykelyng, who was in the party, saw them, too. Rather than ride on, he broke out of line. He motioned for the sergeants to break their cordon for him, and rode up to Stephen.
“The prince bids me to tell you that your services are no longer needed,” Rykelyng said, his lips curled with hatred. “It seems you are not up to the task he set for you.”
“I am sorry about your brother, you know,” Stephen said.
“I’ll have satisfaction for him,” Rykelyng said. “You can be sure of that.”
He reined about, used his whip on the heads of some market goers who were in the way, and cantered to catch the tail of the procession.
When the prince’s party had gone by, the armed sergeants withdrew into the castle and the market returned to its normal bustle.
“So, that’s why you’re out here instead of in there,” Ida said.
“Yes. I am not wanted now.”
“Are you reconciled with that?”
Stephen wrinkled his nose. He should say that he didn’t care. But he did. “It is what it is.”
“I see,” Ida said, eying Stephen with an expression that said she did not take his attempt at unconcern at face value. “Well, whatever your feelings truly are, there is nothing to keep us here any longer.”
“It seems so,” Stephen replied. “But first, there is the market. It seems like a fine one. And the day is turning sunny and warm. Shall we take a look at what’s on offer? Or do you want to rush off?”
“You — interested in the market?” Ida asked.
“I’ve no interest in markets. I’ll just take my turn keeping you out of trouble, since Gilbert seems to have disappeared.”
“You’re not the sort to keep anyone out of trouble,” she said.
They turned to find Gilbert extracting himself from a pile of those who had fallen over during the press. Ida held out a hand to help Gilbert to his feet. He brushed the dust from his coat, which included a footprint on the middle of his chest, muttering about being treated like a doormat.
“A rather plush doormat,” Stephen said.
“You wouldn’t like it if it had been you,” Gilbert grumbled. “The fellow didn’t even say he was sorry. What is the matter with the world! Rudeness and self-indulgence everywhere you turn these days.”
The market was indeed a magnificent one. There were the usual rolls of brightly colored linen and wool; pots and kettles of iron and some in bright red copper, with ladles and spoons and prongs, and griddles, grills, pans with legs on them and without, trivets, and spits and stands for roasting meat; arrays of colored tiles for decorating a house; boxes and chests, some elaborately carved, some with tooled metal at the corners and at the locks; a table full of ropes of various lengths and sizes; another table strewn with all sorts of knives and cleavers; a lot of pottery, and one table with something quite new that attracted a crowd: glass goblets of red, blue, green and yellow; people selling surplus grain out of the backs of carts; one cart loaded three times the height of man with fresh hay, with a boy perched on top of it; racks of leathers; a shoemaker’s transplanted shop where he worked behind the counter making a turn shoe for a woman sitting on a stool; and more, much more.
Stephen was contemplating buying honeyed buns for the three of them from a passing vendor, her wares set out on a board that hung by straps from her shoulders, when Ida tugged his elbow and pointed between two stalls on the north edge of the market.
“I wonder where she’s going,” Ida said.
“Who?” Stephen asked, his attention on the buns which were getting away, taking their mouth-watering aroma of sweetness and yeast with them.
“Princess Leonor. She’s just come out and gone toward the bridge.”
The appearance of a princess taking a stroll in public was sufficiently unusual to provoke comment. Indeed, others about them were pointing and remarking about it.
Stephen edged over to get a better look. A small procession of women was gliding down Morstreet beneath the western walls of the castle. He could only see their backs now, so there was no telling for certain that the princess was among them. It was a matter of only passing interest, anyway. Or would have been if one of the women hadn’t paused to get a stone out of her shoe. Stephen saw her face as she stooped and half turned.
It was Lady Isabel.
Prudence and good judgment told him that he should turn away and let the matter lie. But his feet had a different opinion. Without thinking about it, he stepped through the stalls, passed by the pillory where a baker was doing punishment for short-weighting his bread, and followed the women down the hill.
“What are you doing?” Ida hissed as she reached his side. She tugged his arm, guessing what was in his mind. “Let it go.”
“I won’t be but a moment,” Stephen said. “I just need a word with her.”
“With whom? The princess?” Ida was incredulous.
“No, Lady Isabel.”
“Lady Isabel? What do you mean to do?”
“I have … questions. Just a few questions.”
Ida clutched Stephen’s arm to hold him back. “Gilbert! Help me! Stop him!”
“I’m afraid there is nothing we can do, my lady,” Gilbert stammered, wringing his hands. “He is a force of nature. We can no more contain the wind.”
Quailing at her furious scowl, he hastily added, “I think Lady Ida is right. Let things lie as they are. You recall Father Bernard’s warning! Why would you delve into matters where lives are in the balance when you don’t have to? Surely, you must realize that one of them might be yours. Perhaps there are secrets involved that should not be known.”
Stephen had no answer to this. They were right. But he removed Ida’s hand from his arm, and started after the women anyway.
The women were well down the hill by this time and turning the corner around the castle’s northwest tower. He wondered where they were going as he hurried after them. There wasn’t anything he could think of in the lower town that might interest the princess: a few taverns and inns, the smell
y tanneries and the slaughterhouse. Going to feed the swans, perhaps? A boat ride on the river?
As he rounded the northwest tower, the women were filing through the gate of the little chapel where the road bent toward the river.
Several women stood about the doorway to the chapel, and eyed Stephen with suspicion as he pushed through the gate. Neither the princess nor Isabel was among them. Had they gone inside? He could not think of a reason why they would do so. If they wanted to pray in a chapel there were two perfectly good ones in the castle. They didn’t need to walk here.
Stephen started to go around the chapel to the little graveyard behind it. One of the ladies-in-waiting saw his intention and said sharply, “You will remain here!”
Stephen kept going without responding.
Princess Leonor and Lady Isabel were in the graveyard by Giles’ grave, a bare oblong mound.
The women pivoted toward him, surprise on their faces.
“What are you doing here?” Leonor demanded. She spoke in Castilian and her eyes went over Stephen’s shoulder to see if any of her ladies had come after him.
“Searching for the truth,” Stephen answered in Castilian as he came up to them. It occurred to him that the princess’ choice of language, one probably not spoken by any other of her ladies than Isabel, meant she anticipated their conversation was one she did not want others to understand.
“Sir, the prince no longer has any need for your services,” Leonor responded.
“Perhaps his grace no longer has an interest in knowing how or why Father Giles died. But do you want to know?” Stephen asked.
Leonor hesitated.
“I do,” she said in a low voice. She glanced at the chapel, where three of her ladies-in-waiting were peering at them. She motioned them to be gone and they ducked out of sight. “Do you know?”
“I have no direct proof, but I think I know enough to put together what happened. But I need to ask Lady Isabel a few questions to be sure.”
“Very well,” Leonor said.
“Perhaps I should do so in private.”
“She can say before me what she has to say,” Leonor said. “We have no secrets from each other.”
“As you wish, your grace,” Stephen said.
He turned on Isabel. “That was you outside Saint John the Baptist’s Church the night he disappeared, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Isabel said.
“The priest of the church overheard you. Shall we have him identify your voice?”
“I should call your bluff.”
“What is this about?” Leonor asked.
“Father Giles had a jeweled cross,” Stephen said. “It was given to him by a lover. The spies at the Golden Swan stole it. He arranged to steal it back. That happened the night he disappeared. He met the thieves at the church where he paid them and recovered the cross. Isabel met him there.”
“Did you, Isabel?” Leonor asked, bewildered.
Isabel’s mouth tightened. “All right. I did.”
“How did you know to find him there?” Stephen asked.
“He told me his plan to … to pray at the church in the town.” Isabel did not go on.
“You know there was more to it than that,” Stephen said. “He went there to get the cross back. The cross the gang of spies stole from him. A priceless object they kept to force him to spy for them.”
Isabel did not acknowledge this. She said bitterly instead, “He was a charming man, and could be delightful. But he was utterly without guile or cunning. He could be brought to say whatever was in his mind. All it ever took was a little coaxing, a show of sympathy, a few bats of the eyes. A man like that is a dangerous fool.”
“What is this?” Leonor cried.
“Giles was a despondent man after his affair with a noblewoman ended,” Stephen said. “He drank heavily at the Golden Swan, and, somehow, he mentioned the affair to one of the whores who worked for the gang. The gang managed to steal the cross, probably when he had passed out in one of the upper chambers. They undoubtedly threatened to expose the affair, using the cross as evidence, if he refused to spy for them.”
“Oh, dear God!” Leonor gasped.
“How did you and Winnefrith get out of the castle?” Stephen asked, turning his attention back to Isabel. “The sally port?”
Isabel smiled without humor. “Of course — that’s how you stole your wife away from FitzAllan.”
“Well, was it?”
“We went out just after dark.”
“You and Winnefrith.”
“Yes, me and Winnefrith.”
“Why take him with you?”
“He insisted on going. He was just as concerned about Giles as I was.”
“What concern was that?”
“We feared for his mental state. We feared what he might do. He told Winnefrith that he was tired and he wanted all his troubles to end.”
“I don’t think that’s why you went.”
“How dare you doubt my word!”
“I wouldn’t doubt it if you told the truth, but I don’t think you do. No, you went to the church to see if you could get the cross back from Giles.”
“I should never have given it to him in the first place,” Isabel said heatedly. “If my husband finds out, the consequences will be terrible.”
“Is that why you urged Giles to kill himself?” Stephen asked.
“Giles killed himself?” Leonor cried, aghast.
“He tied himself to an anchor stone and threw himself off the Thames bridge,” Stephen said.
Leonor’s hands flew to her mouth and she turned her back.
“Well?” Stephen demanded of Isabel.
“Answer him Isabel!” Leonor said.
“It was the only way,” Isabel said. She shrugged. “It was his idea. Not mine, and he knew it was the right thing to do.” She waved in the direction of the upper town. “The spies were blackmailing him. The fool tattled to a whore one night when he was drunk and feeling sorry for himself, as he says. She was in league with the spies, and they threatened to expose our secret if he didn’t spy for them. They demanded to know what Edward and Leonor said in confession as well as in private conversations. He also foolishly made it known that he overheard Edward’s councils from the balcony in the chapel. They stole the cross as proof of their accusations if they had to make them. Giles was in anguish about what to do. He could not violate the sanctity of the confessional. And he could not bear betraying his dearest friends. But the prospect of the secret getting out was even more terrible.”
“So, you kept whispering in his ear that the gang would make its accusations even without the cross. Stealing it back availed him nothing,” Stephen said.
“It was the truth! My husband would have taken the accusations seriously.”
“Why, because you have cuckolded him before?”
Isabel ignored that accusation. “There would have been an investigation. Winnefrith would have been put to the test. Every man confesses under torture.”
“Why Winnefrith?”
“Because he knew, of course, you idiot.”
“And with Giles dead, there would be no point in the gang making accusations.”
“You see so clearly when a place is set before you.”
Stephen was about to go on, but he paused to look at Leonor, who was sobbing soundlessly.
“Winnefrith came with you not out of concern for Giles’ well-being,” Stephen said to Isabel, “but to help with your plot to push Giles into killing himself.”
Isabel did not answer.
“Winnefrith fetched the anchor stone,” Stephen went on. “I have a witness to this. That witness also said that Winnefrith made a last attempt to recover the cross. He failed.”
“Winnefrith was a better fighting man than Giles ever hoped to be,” Isabel said. “I cannot imagine how he failed.”
“Perhaps he underestimated how much the cross meant to Giles,” Stephen said.
�
��He was attached to it,” Isabel said bitterly.
Stephen looked around to see if anyone was close enough to overhear what he was about to say.
“You didn’t give him that cross,” Stephen said quietly. Even as the words left his mouth, he wondered why he said them. He had heard enough. He didn’t need to hear more. And yet he could not stop.
“I did!” Isabel cried.
“It was another, wasn’t it?”
“Do not dare to speak another word!”
“The priest at the church overheard you saying that the life of the child was in danger,” Stephen said. “What child was that?”
Isabel’s chest heaved.
“It wasn’t your child,” Stephen said. “You’re not pregnant.”
“But I am,” Leonor said. She turned around, wiping tears from her cheeks.
“Is it Giles’ child, your grace?” Stephen asked gently.
“Leonor!” Isabel said. “Say no more! For your life!” She stepped between Stephen and Leonor.
“There is a chance, but I don’t think so,” Leonor said.
“How did it happen, your affair?” Stephen asked gently.
Leonor took two paces in one direction and two back, moving her hands about. “I was thirteen. My parents and their advisors said I had to marry him. I always knew such a thing would happen, but somehow I thought it would not come so soon.” She paced back and forth again. “I was not fully a woman then, and Edward wanted nothing to do with me after the first night.” She shuddered. “It was painful, you see, having relations with him. Not pleasurable for him then, and certainly not for me. He sought comfort in the arms of a lover and eventually paid no attention to me. Me, I had nothing. Even the child he forced upon me a few years ago died.
“I was lonely. And sad. You have no idea what it is like to be sent away to a foreign country which you have no hope of escaping, forced to live among foreign people whose language and customs are odd and often repulsive, and with a husband who, until recently, wanted little to do with me.” Leonor laughed humorlessly. “He didn’t find me interesting until his lover died in the autumn. A fever, I heard. So many die of fevers in this country. Why is that?”
She went on, “Giles comforted me. We talked. He was kind and sweet. He spoke French so well. His voice was like music. I was weak. I gave into him one evening after confession.”