Tom stood in his stirrups, his face flushed by excitement and cold. "'Tis fine, M-maman, is it not?"
"Aye." Neither saint nor sinner, nor all of Satan's legions, she was certain, could ever bring this mighty fortress to its knees.
Richard smiled at Tom. "I thought you would be well impressed. Come along. I am eager to give you both a closer look."
Pulling her cloak closer round her shoulders, Maria shivered against the chill from the sea, kicked Facebelle and began the last steep ascent up Castle Hill.
* * *
Dover Castle had been built for war, not love or comfort. Its brown-grey walls of Kentish rag were twenty-one feet thick in some places; its four angle towers topping the keep afforded an excellent view of the small town and port, as well as the sea and surrounding countryside.
The keep's lower area was used as a barracks for Richard's soldiers. The upper level contained a small chapel, as well as a gracefully proportioned banquet and great hall. Their bedchamber was large, brightly painted and comfortable, though for appearance sake, Maria had her own tiny bedroom which had been cut into the stone of the walls. While softened by rugs and tapestries it was still bleak and cold, and Maria spent as little time there as possible.
Rumors of impending invasions, either by Isabella or the king of France himself, were so constant that after the initial fear she learned to ignore them. In the ensuing weeks, Dover took on the demeanor of a second court with royal messengers forever arriving and leaving and magnates closeting themselves with Sussex for hours on end. Maria herself knew very little about official business.
"If 'tis important I'll tell you," Richard assured her. "Otherwise I would not needlessly worry you."
Events seemed to totter back and forth, with nothing really changing. Because of increased communication between the exiled rebels and his subjects, Edward had ordered a general commission, covering England's most important ports, to stop the flow of correspondence in and out of the country. Though some rebel letters were confiscated, many more reached their destinations in bales of cloth, the false bottoms of barrels, or even by bribery of Edward's officials. In France Isabella's affair with Roger Mortimer had become so flagrant that her brother had forced her to withdraw from Paris. She found refuge in the low and monotonous plains of the Netherlands, with its splendid cities made prosperous by industry. Count William of Hainault, also lord of Holland and Zealand, welcomed her to his castle near the city of Valenciennes, and there she, Mortimer and young Prince Edward enjoyed his hospitality.
When Richard was closeted with visitors or merely out hunting or hawking along Dover's cliffs Maria spent most of her time in the castle's small chapel, part of which overlooked the inner entrance to the castle. From here Maria always awaited Richard's return. It was a secret game between them. No matter how busy, he always managed a glimpse to the chapel opening and a private smile of greeting, which made the loneliness of Dover bearable.
This early April day Maria ran to meet Richard in the narrow hall connecting the chapel to the banquet hall. They embraced as passionately as if their separation had lasted years, not hours.
"Your lips are cold," she said when they parted.
He smiled and put his arm around her, steering her toward their bedchamber. "'Twas chilly along the cliffs. Did you miss me?" They sat down to a continuing game of backgammon.
"Aye. 'Tis lonely without you."
"I wish that we didn't have to be so secretive, that I could fill Dover with people so you would never have to be alone."
Maria reached across the board to stroke his knuckles. Strange that Richard would think her lonely for others when he was enough to make her happy. She shivered as the thought struck her: Might happiness, like life itself, be transitory—even as is the Cherry Fair?
* * *
By Midsummer's Eve, Maria was certain of what she'd previously just suspected. "I am pregnant, sire."
Richard blinked and then stared at her as if she were a stranger. "Pregnant?" He repeated the word as if it, too, were unknown to him. "How can that be?"
Maria smiled. "I think you would know how a woman conceives a child." Richard continued to stare. "I could not be certain before, but now I have no doubt and we must discuss it."
She had found the earl in Dover's barracks, where his men were readying for Midsummer's activities. Some were already intoxicated, and the noise was not conducive to private conversation. Laying her hand atop her lover's arm, Maria pulled him through an archway into the lower chapel where his soldiers attended mass. Here, at least, they could talk more quietly.
Was it her imagination or had he followed reluctantly? "I know 'tis an... unusual situation, and we must decide how best to approach it." She searched his face, trying to gauge his reaction. She wasn't certain what she'd expected, but at least some expression of pleasure, surely...
"You have picked a poor time to tell me," Richard said, craning his head back toward his men, who were beginning a game of dice. "Midsummer is supposed to be a time of pleasuring, not for mourning."
Maria stiffened. "I think we have naught to mourn, my lord, and I only wanted to tell you now, so that we might have some time alone tonight. With the rest of Dover enjoying Midsummer, I thought 'twould be the perfect time to talk."
Richard looked down at her hand, which still rested upon his arm, then shrugged it off and walked away.
* * *
Dinner was a noisy affair. In anticipation of the later revels, most of Richard's men had already ingested heroic amounts of wine. Midsummer festivities would last until sunrise the following day. Because tonight, June 24, was the shortest night of the year, it was the safest time for souls to leave sleeping bodies for places where deaths were fated to occur. Bonfires were built throughout England and peasants threw herbal wreaths into the flames as protection against witches and other evil spirits.
A strange night, one better made for staying behind closed doors, Maria thought. She noticed plaited, garlanded and bundled thistles, which was a plant believed to provide protection against the powers of darkness, around Dover's great hall.
Maria returned her gaze to Richard, as she'd done throughout the evening. He was in deep conversation with Michael Hallam, heads bent close together. She was not fooled; he was purposely avoiding her. This was the first time since Christmas that his behavior had been anything other than loving, which was both puzzling and troubling. But Maria could not just pretend that nothing had changed. Decisions must be made about their future before her condition became apparent to everyone.
As the banquet hall began emptying and it was more difficult for Richard to ignore her, she leaned against him and whispered, "Come, my love, let us retire."
His eyes wandered beyond her to his exiting men. "What is there to discuss? Words will not change reality."
"I know that, but I want to know what you are thinking and—"
"I've a mind to watch the festivities, my lady. We have months yet to ponder our actions."
Maria opened her mouth to protest, but she did not want to risk a public disagreement. And she suddenly felt so weary, as if her body were urging her to sleep rather than deal with this or any other troubling matter. Instead, she said, "I will wait for you in your chamber. Please do not forget."
All night she waited, but Richard did not come. Despite her exhaustion, she was unable to sleep and spent much of the night gazing out a window into the darkness. Bonfires blazed atop every mountain and dotted the shoreline for as far as she could see. Their orange flames leapt to the velvet blackness of a night blanketed with stars. A soft night, a night made for dancing and lovemaking. From beyond Dover's curtain drifted shouts and laughter and the eerie wail of bagpipes.
"Do not forsake me now, my love," Maria whispered.
Tired from standing, she shifted position. Every babe sapped her strength early on, and this one was no different.
But it is. 'Tis a bastard who will suffer because of the sins of its parents. Perhaps it will be sh
eltered because of Richard's power, but the stigma will still be there.
With Blanche, at least, no one could roll their eyes, count on their fingers and dismiss Phillip as father. All of England would know the heritage of this child.
Dover's keep was quiet with only an occasional sound drifting from the barracks below. Most of the knights were probably out neath the moon, tumbling some giggling maid.
And what are YOU doing?
The room was dark save for a night light set in water beside their bed; outside the bonfires seemed to float above invisible mountaintops. Strange things indeed happened this night. Faeries were said to be able to speak with human tongues. To see them you need but gather fern seed at midnight, rub it on your eyelids and become invisible.
Shivering, Maria placed her hands across her gently swelling stomach. "You are safe within, my wee one," she whispered. "And no matter what mistakes your parents have made we will love thee well."
Dawn streaked the eastern sky before Maria finally fell asleep.
Alone.
* * *
Richard didn't appear for his customary sop of wine, and Maria attended morning mass alone. She questioned several people as to his whereabouts but received contradictory replies from servants and evasive responses from knights. When Richard still hadn't returned by mid-afternoon, she decided to retire to her room. To her astonishment she found Michael Hallam and another of Richard's men, Anthony Hawkwood, posted on either side of her chamber door. Her travelling trunks were stacked between them.
"What is the meaning of this?" Maria cried. "Why are my trunks here? Where is my lord?"
Michael's brown eyes flicked over her. He forced his expression to blankness. He was here to execute his lord's will, not to feel pity for Maria, though she was indeed a pitiful sight. "My lord asked that we bid you good-bye in his place. We are to escort you to Fordwich."
"Fordwich? I do not understand." Maria turned to Anthony Hawkwood, who was peering down at his boots. "Lord Hawkwood, you have always been kind to me. Will you please enlighten me as to what is happening?"
Looking exceedingly uncomfortable, Anthony rubbed his blunt hands over his red beard. "'Tis as he says. We are to provide you escort." He raised his faded eyes to her. "We must do as our lord wishes, m'lady."
"But I cannot go home. Not now. Where is my lord Sussex?" Maria's voice rose to a shrill. "If he means to kick me out like a common whore he will at least explain his actions."
Hallam moved toward her trunks. "If we leave now we can be to Barfeston 'ere nightfall." He swung a small trunk upon his broad shoulders.
Maria's knees shook. She felt lightheaded. Once again, she addressed Lord Hawkwood. "Would you please tell me where my lord Sussex is?"
He hesitated but after a glance at Michael Hallam, whose face remained impassive, he said, "Down by the pharos, m'lady."
Maria hurried from the keep for Harold's Earthwork, where the pharos was located. Striding across the green, treeless stretch, Maria reached the horse-shoe shaped promontory where sat the lighthouse and the church of St. Mary-in-Castro. A gentle breeze blew off the channel. Fog, like wisps of smoke, undulated along France's distant shoreline. Ships edged toward the harbor, their sails billowing, their painted masts vivid against the washed-out afternoon sky. She approached the pharos, which had once been a Roman lighthouse but was now used as a bell tower for St. Mary.
Heart pounding, Maria neared the entrance of the pharos.
I do not understand what is happening.
'Twas like another spirit had entered the body of her gentle lover. This was not the man she'd lain next to these many months, who swore his undying love. How would he ever explain his treachery?
Maria leaned against the rough flint wall of the pharos until her heart ceased beating in her ears. Slowly she pushed open the door.
"My lord?"
She blinked in the dimness. Pigeons, nesting in the framework, fluttered about. One glance assured her the earl was not there.
Maria retreated. Her gaze swept the English Channel, the cruciform church, and to the south, a stone windmill with its slowly rotating vanes. Beyond, she spotted Richard leaning against an outer wall, gazing toward the sea. He looked so lonely that her anger evaporated.
"My lord," she said, upon reaching him.
Richard turned. Like a curtain, arrogance descended, hardening features that had been open, even yearning. "What are you doing here? You should be on the road to Fordwich by now."
"Why did you mean to cast me out? I do not understand."
The wind tugged at his hair. In the distance smoke from a still smoldering bonfire drifted upward, dancing and swaying before disintegrating in the breeze.
"Where were you last night? I waited for you until dawn."
"I did not say I'd come. And I thought it better this way. Just to have you leave."
The last was said in such a rush of agony that Maria reached out to embrace him. He twisted aside. When he faced her his eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"What is wrong? Why are you so upset?"
"'Tis a fine mess we've made, isn't it? A bastard begetting a bastard. God must truly mean to punish us that he would so afflict us."
"Afflict us? A babe is not a plague. And I'll grant I'd rather not bear a natural child, but I'm not the first woman to do so. Despite everything, 'tis our creation, and I love its father more than life."
A muscle twitched in Richard's jaw. "You talk as if love is the end all, but it is not. Love does not explain to my friend that I have cuckolded him. Love will not explain to my son why he must wear a bend sinister upon his coat of arms or to my daughter why she cannot marry as well as others beneath her in wealth. Love is but a small part of life."
"It may be a small part to you, but it is all I have left. If you should cast me out now I cannot return to Fordwich. Think you Papa and Eleanora would welcome me? And Deerhurst is so very isolated. And lonely." Maria again wrapped her arms around his waist. This time he did not pull away, but neither did he respond. "Your position is all that protects me from full shame, and I do not care. As long as you love me, I will risk it all."
Richard raised her chin so that she looked into his eyes. "If you stay, you will no longer come to my chamber."
Maria gasped. "What are you saying?"
"We'll not lie together. I can exercise at least that much restraint. I must. The babe is punishment, Maria, I know it. For my treachery."
Fear chilled her heart. Hurriedly, she crossed herself. "Do not say such things. You might make terrible things come to pass."
Reaching out Richard cupped her cheek. "If only I did not love you so much."
"If only I were not Phillip's wife," she said wearily.
"Aye, if only."
Chapter 28
Dover
During the summer of 1326 two papal legates from Rome slipped into Dover bearing letters from Pope John XXII to Hugh Despenser the Younger. They enjoined Hugh to assist in the reconciliation of Edward and Isabella, and admonished him to "abstain from provoking enmities and to study and to promote friendship."
King Edward was furious over the contents of the letters, which should have been confiscated in the first place.
"If my subjects get wind of that damnable cobbler's son's hostility toward Hugh, who knows what trouble might ensue? Isabella insists she'll not return until the Despensers' banishment, and the pope's blathering just gives her carping a legitimacy it does not deserve."
Upon ordering Richard of Sussex to imprison the papal legates, His Grace then traveled to personally question them. After threatening their deaths he allowed them to leave the country without announcing their commission—and prayed their message would truly remain secret.
Edward remained in Dover for several weeks. He sent for his minstrels, hawks, and favorite hunting dogs to entertain him, and many of his magnates to provide counsel. Surrounded by his barons, he began drawing up complex—and illogical—schemes of defense against a possible inv
asion.
For Maria, His Grace's presence remained a source of embarrassment. She was nearly four months pregnant and while her tunics concealed her swelling stomach, the truth would soon reveal itself. She especially hated being under the ever-watchful and ever-critical eye of Edward's favorite. Like a poisonous snake Hugh Despenser was made all the more deadly by the uncertainty of when he might strike.
Her relationship with Richard continued to deteriorate. They were polite to each other, but she had ceased sitting beside him during mealtimes, and they seldom shared a private moment together. Sometimes when she caught him looking at her his torment was so apparent that she could forgive all.
We will weather this time, she assured herself during her daily walks along Dover's cliffs. Our love will emerge ever stronger. Soon you will accept our child and the guilt will lessen. Phillip will never return so there will be no true day of reckoning.
She repeated this last so often it became more a litany than a statement. Castle life seemed to flow around her like water round a rock. She found herself gazing endlessly out to sea, at the cogs and hulks struggling across its cerulean surface, at the smaller boats littered like discarded toys upon the shoreline, and at the soldiers and sailors and merchants scurrying about, as if their movements actually had purpose. When none of it mattered any more than the overhead circling of the seagulls, whose plaintive cries matched the loneliness in her heart.
While King Edward was in residence huge amounts of wine were consumed, with revelry stretching into the early hours. The king's jesters regaled their appreciative audience with progressively bawdy jokes, acrobats contorted their bodies into amazing shapes, and half naked dancers, stained dark with walnut juice, performed wondrous feats with wicked-looking knives. Interspersed among the various acts, Robin the Minstrel recited epic tales of war.
Robin especially disturbed Maria. Perhaps it was her condition, but she found the minstrel's tales, which vividly evoked blood and death, scattered brains and gore, revolting. When Robin turned from the king's martial exploits to Richard's, when he spoke of the earl severing a Scot's head, of plunging his hand into the chest of an enemy and yanking out the still pumping heart, she had to remind herself that such stories were always exaggerated. This was not the Richard she knew, nor cared to know. But who now exactly was her lover?
The Lion and the Leopard Page 20