The Lion and the Leopard

by Mary Ellen Johnson

  Living as she did in the open environs of castle life, Maria was not ignorant of sex or men. Henrietta oft sat on a guest's bed while he was within and conversed with him, even exchanging bawdy jokes. 'Twas custom, as when Maria and Eleanora were charged to help bathe Fordwich's more exalted visitors. But a proper maid arrived at her wedding night a virgin, and was expected to discover love's mysteries without explanation from her mother or anyone else.

  From along the pebbled path outside Maria heard footsteps and a murmur of conversation. She recognized Richard of Sussex's voice and was surprised by her twinge of jealousy. Though she could not fault the earl's kindness, the ties linking the two men effectively excluded her and seemed more powerful than anything she had to offer.

  What secrets had they shared in the past? Had they talked about their hopes and fears and ambitions? Had they discussed other women?

  Maria stared at the pavilion's striped ceiling, and assured herself whatever the men's former closeness, everything would be different now. Richard was no longer the most important person in Phillip's life. She was.

  Phillip entered and allowed himself to be undressed by one of Richard's servants. Rather than modestly look away, Maria openly watched the process—delighting in the play of back muscles as he removed his tunic; the narrow waist, tight buttocks, long legs. Only after the servant discreetly departed and Phillip approached the couch did she close her eyes.

  When he slipped in beside Maria, his weight sank the cushions, rolling her toward him. The hard-muscled length of his body felt pleasantly different from her own. Phillip stretched against her, fitting curve to curve. The hairs on his chest tickled her back. He slipped his arm over her waist and with fingertips light as a fluttering butterfly began stroking her thighs, following the path of her body downward and upward past her waist, along her rib cage, toward her breasts.

  "Never had I thought to willingly embrace marriage," he whispered. "You have proven me wrong." Twisting a handful of her hair, he lifted it from her neck and kissed the uncovered flesh. "I have waited long for this moment, my wife."

  She turned in his arms to face him. "I have also waited long, my love." With her finger, Maria traced the outline of his face, his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, his soft mouth surrounded by the harshness of beard. "'Twas worth it, running away. Not even in dreams could I have imagined such a husband."

  A thought came unbidden: This is why you do not marry for love. The emotions are too much to bear.

  Phillip brushed his lips upon the corners of her mouth. "I hope I will not prove a poor match for you. No man is the stuff of dreams. Certainly, I am not."

  As the enormity of their act, his commitment began to dawn, apprehension threatened to overwhelm Phillip's desire.

  Marriage! I am a married man.

  Forcing his mind to concentrate on the moment, he crushed Maria's body against his and her response, combined with his increasing passion, eventually extinguished all disquiet. Phillip did not speak to her of his feelings but he showed her with his mouth, his hands, his body. This night, at least, the lovemaking alone was enough for both.

  Chapter 11

  Winchcomb and Deerhurst

  Near Midsummer Day, Phillip, Maria and a small escort set out for Winchcomb, the Rendell family demesne located in Herefordshire. Deerhurst, their wedding present from Richard of Sussex, was adjacent to Winchcomb, and after a short visit with Phillip's brother, Humphrey, he planned to retire there.

  Maria was relieved to finally have time completely alone with her husband. At Rockingham she'd had to share Phillip with Lord Sussex. Sometimes Phillip seemed to prefer the earl's company to her own, which led to a certain amount of friction. It wasn't that she was ungrateful to Sussex, who was unfailingly polite and even kind to her, sometimes seeking her out in the garden or after a meal when Phillip was otherwise occupied. Nay, she could not fault Richard, but the only time she and her husband were ever completely alone was in bed. Even then Phillip was filled with talk of his lord, rather than concerned about her day. Often Maria wondered whether Phillip actually preferred Richard's company to her own. When she questioned Phillip, he assured her that wasn't so, that he was pleased with her and happy with their marriage.

  Still, that glimmer of a suspicion from her wedding night began to occupy a larger place in her musings...

  There was wisdom in treating marriage as a practical arrangement, weighing and measuring lands and titles, pondering the practicalities of choosing a spouse as if one were considering between a merlin or sparrow hawk or among various tapestries to hang in the great hall. A matter of the mind. Because when the heart was involved, aye, it was more than she could bear. She was consumed by thoughts of Phillip, aching to be with him when he was away, wanting to always touch his hand or his face, to lean against him or to stroke his hair. After they made love and he slept beside him, she would imagine becoming a will-of-the-wisp that could pass into his body, imagine becoming so immersed with him that there would be no separation between the two–their mingled blood, bones and sinew, the same beating heart. If she could inhale him she would. Devour him she would. If she could create the earth as God had, she would be Eve and he would be Adam and they would be the only inhabitants, able to explore paradise into eternity.

  She struggled to keep her hunger for Phillip in check—pretending not to want too much of him, to adore him too openly, to be able to walk through each day as if she had the same thoughts and feelings and distractions as everyone else when only one reality existed. Phillip.

  Yet, along with her passion Maria felt despair for surely her love wasn't reciprocated. How could it be? Priests would say such feelings were sinful, and Phillip would be annoyed, wouldn't he? So she kept her obsession tethered as best she could—only allowing it release when she felt he would not run from her as if she were something unnatural—like a faerie or an undine or an estrie who hugged its intended in the manner of a bear until it suffocated.

  How frightening should I misstep and kill that which I most love.

  When Maria was not brooding over her husband—how much does he desire me, want me, cherish me, love me? Does he desire me, want me, cherish me, love me at all?—she brooded over her family's refusal to answer her many letters. Nor had the d'Ardernes acknowledged her marriage. She knew Henrietta was behind the ostracism, but Maria couldn't completely blame her mother. If only that awful thing with Edmund Leybourne hadn't happened...

  Maria and Phillip passed through the towns of Coventry and Winchester, through flat farmlands and scatterings of cattle and sheep that had escaped the previous years of devastating murrains. The Rendell lands themselves appeared neat and prosperous. Humphrey obviously took great pleasure in farming.

  Upon approaching the graceful turrets of Winchcomb Castle, still a ways in the distance, Maria sensed a change in Phillip. Though always quiet he seemed uneasy.

  Are you thinking about the woman who was your intended? Where does this Cecily person live? Did we pass through her lands? Are you sorry you chose me rather than her?

  Phillip had only once mentioned his affianced, but now Maria took that to be an ominous sign—as if he cared too much to utter her name.

  Finally, she asked, "Is something wrong?"

  Phillip shrugged. "My brother's wife is as sweet as an angel but Humphrey himself can be... unpleasant. I do not think he's yet forgiven me the "scandal." Their flight and the subsequent tragedy were always euphemistically referred to by that term.

  "I am not looking forward to one of his diatribes."

  "Oh."

  So it wasn't the lady Cecily. But this was no better. Mention of the scandal always blackened Maria's mood. Not that she blamed herself or Phillip for Lord Leybourne's death which had occurred while he'd been gathering knights to pursue them. Indeed she interpreted his demise as a sign that God was displeased with him.

  Yet sometimes she doubted.

  Leybourne had been in the middle of a harangue, demanding justice, when he'd topp
led over and died. Maria speculated the hand of God had smote him, his family maintained his heart had exploded with grief and Phillip had ridden off with Richard to discuss the matter.

  He'd not subsequently mentioned it save for one oblique reference. "You do not think our marriage is cursed, do you?" Maria had been stunned by Phillip's question and the uncertainty implicit in his words.

  With the passage of time, however, she'd whittled Edmund Leybourne's death and her husband's uneasiness down to more manageable proportions.

  'Twas just a fortunate accident, she assured herself, and proceeded to shove the entire event from her mind.

  When they reached Winchcomb's inner gate, Phillip rang a heavy metal gong hanging there. "Though I sent word ahead, I would not arrive unannounced. Lady Jean is of a nervous disposition which irritates my brother. I do not want to unnecessarily upset her."

  What sort of ogre is Humphrey Rendell? Maria wondered. And why is Phillip so solicitous of his sister-in-law? He'd once mentioned that he and Jean had grown up together. Might they have been childhood sweethearts?

  When Maria saw Lady Jean scurrying toward them, dragging a small girl and unsuccessfully attempting to keep up with her husband and teenaged son, she was ashamed of her suspicions. Jean Rendell was a tiny washed out creature with honey-colored hair and eyes, and Maria soon discovered, a personality as sweet.

  "Saints be praised! We've been expecting you! Oh, husband, is this not grand?" Lady Jean bustled forward, her face a mixture of joy and apprehension. As Phillip dismounted, she blurted, "We have missed you so these past years," and began to cry. With much muffled sobbing, she bent over to retie a ribbon in her daughter Lia's hair.

  "God's bones!" swore Humphrey Rendell. "If you are going to snivel at every visitor who comes along I won't allow you out in public. You have more tears inside than clouds have rain."

  "But we haven't seen Phillip for three long years and now he is here with his bride..." Jean choked. Turning away, she blew her nose daintily on the underside of her sleeve, wiped her eyes and struggled for composure.

  While Phillip helped Maria dismount, she surreptitiously studied her new brother-in-law. Humphrey Rendell was shorter and much heavier than his younger brother. Even as she watched he straightened the rich folds of his fustian tunic, attempting to hide his belly. His passing resemblance to Phillip was blurred by too many years and too much food, but Maria's main surprise was at the lavishness and elaborate fashion of his dress, more suited to court than a country manor.

  "So this is my brother's bride." Humphrey's gaze ran over her, weighing, appraising. Maria immediately sensed that he despised her.

  Before he could make further comment, Lady Jean scurried forward to buss Maria on the cheek. "And such a pretty bride you are. But I knew you would be, for Phillip wrote us all about you and we heard... Well, no matter what we heard." Jean dismissed weeks of gossip and the scandals of two broken betrothals with a wave of her hand. To Phillip she bubbled, "I prayed so hard that you would return safely to England and here you are looking so fine and handsome and with a worthy wife and I am just so happy!"

  Before Lady Jean could resume crying, Phillip bent over and kissed her on the lips. Maria watched in alarm. Surely their kiss, her husband's entire attitude was more than brotherly in nature. Had her original suspicion been correct, that they'd been sweethearts? Had he given Jean pins and glass rings? Had they played "Pinch Me" neath a summer moon, chased each other through Winchcomb's halls, stolen kisses following Easter mummeries?

  Struggling with her jealousy, Maria pretended great interest in the Rendell children. Lia intermittently stared at Phillip and stepped on the heels of her teenaged brother, Harry, who either swatted at her or picked at a boil alongside his nose. Humphrey glowered at them all.

  After Phillip released Lady Jean, she clapped her hands. "Let us all go inside. We planned a feast especially to welcome you home." She slipped an arm through Maria's. "You and I will be friends, I know it. Anyone whom Phillip loves I will love also."

  Humphrey rested a hand on his brother's arm. "Stay a moment, please. Now that you have finally deigned to return home after long years, we have matters to discuss."

  Immediately after Maria and Jean, trailed by the Rendell children, had disappeared into Winchcomb's great hall, Humphrey turned on Phillip in an angry rush.

  "Fool! Whatever possessed you to marry such a creature? You have disgraced our name and, Christ's Blood, the woman is worse than I feared. You needed a nice quiet wife like Jean, like... like Cecily, who you have disgraced with your actions, not some strumpet who caused the death of a poor old man, and who is a total mismatch. God's Bones! Her hair, her eyes, her manner, everything about her is totally wrong."

  Phillip shrugged off his brother's hand. "Maria is the woman I chose to marry. I would not have anyone else."

  He strode toward the keep with Humphrey hurrying after.

  "Chose! Chose, you say! You were supposed to choose Cecily of Pencombe. 'Twas decided years ago. You assured her and her brothers that you would be married ere harvest season. I... we... you promised. But that is a fine joke, is it not? We should have made sure who you were going to marry, rather than just assume 'twould be someone with more land than you have a right to—"

  "Fordwich, which will someday belong to me, is a fine manor, if my former poor prospects are what you lament. And don't forget my lord Sussex's wedding gift of Deerhurst. I am no longer a landless knight. In fact, brother, even you should be pleased with my new status. It far outstrips Lady Pencombe's dowry."

  Humphrey spat on the ground. "Do not dare preen about Deerhurst! 'Tis the same gift you so foolishly turned down after Bannockburn. You could have had more—"

  "Aye! My Lord Sussex could have granted me all of England." Phillip spun around to face him. "And you would not have been satisfied until you'd planted rye and barley from Northumbria to Dorset. For years you complained because I would not wed, and now because I do."

  "You were supposed to marry Cecily! You canna just go around changing your mind and humiliating everyone involved because of some silly infatuation. Your travels have put unnatural presumptions in your head."

  Phillip brushed past him. "I thank you, brother, for your welcome home."

  "You refuse to understand," Humphrey called after his younger brother. "You always have. But hear me well. Your—that woman is naught but trouble. Someday, I promise, you will curse the very name Maria d'Arderne."

  * * *

  After a strained few days, Maria and Phillip rode for Deerhurst, a two hour ride. Deerhurst was a sprawling demesne with crop yields and soil even Humphrey would envy. Around the small castle clustered a well-maintained kitchen, servants' quarters, stables, barns and storehouses. The keep itself consisted only of a private bedroom and great hall which had been built in the old style—aisled like a church and with rows of stone pillars supporting the timbered roof. When lit, the chimneyed fireplaces cast a certain warmth to the soaring ceiling, boars' and stags' heads, colorful banners and tapestries cluttering the recently whitewashed walls. It was obvious that Richard of Sussex's retainers had proven competent in their administration. The outdoor seneschal, Sir Timothy Maudelyn, knew precisely the amount of acreage sown, ploughed or ready for reaping, as well as the condition of the pasturage and the number of livestock kept and improved.

  "We will be happy here," Maria said to Phillip after inspecting their new home. She offered silent thanks to their lord Sussex for his generosity. Lady Jean had provided her with a lady-in-waiting, Anne Perth, who was an efficient addition to the original household staff, and Maria looked forward to running Deerhurst and enjoying life hand in hand with her beloved.

  Unfortunately, such was not to be. Before summer's end, political events dictated her husband's presence hundreds of miles to the north, and Maria found herself alone.

  Chapter 12

  Deerhurst, 1318-19

  King Edward ordered a muster at York against the ever-threatening Scot
s, to which knights from across England responded. Thomas Lancaster's retainers at Lancaster's castle, Pontefract, however, barred their way north. Lancaster himself stated that 'if the king wished to take arms against anyone he ought first to notify the Steward of England.' Thomas Lancaster was, of course, Steward of England and was worried that the king was plotting to weaken his position. Because of Lancaster's latest intransigence, civil war appeared increasingly imminent; Lancaster even secretly contacted Robert the Bruce concerning a possible alliance against his sovereign.

  By April of 1318 the need for conciliation was made imperative by the Scots' capture of Berwick, Harbottle and Wark. Only in Ireland, where the most powerful baron of the Welsh march, Roger Mortimer of Wigmore, had succeeded in routing Edward Bruce, did matters look other than hopeless.

  While the king and Lancaster wrangled over power and the concept of "crown," the Scots burned and pillaged much of the north. Finally, in August, 1318, a settlement—more favorable to King Edward than to his quarrelsome cousin—was reached in the Treaty of Leake. With Edward and his cousin in temporary harmony, a major campaign against the Scots was finally mounted in 1319.

  Alone at Deerhurst Maria understood little more about political affairs than that they often kept Phillip away from her. Deerhurst, the entire surrounding area, was part of what was known as the Marchland—that area of England bordering Wales. The March was strategically important, that she knew, but much of it was isolated, and when Phillip was gone she felt abandoned, with few to talk to besides Anne Perth and her seneschal. She spent an unhappy year longing for Fordwich, pondering the babe growing in her belly and brooding over her husband's absences. No sooner would Phillip return than he would be summoned for yet another campaign. Sometimes she thought he left too willingly, especially as her birthing date loomed.