by Ann Turner
She lay on the bed with her eyes shut, but sleep avoided her. She was exhausted mentally and physically, and tried in vain to banish the long hours now imprinted on her memory and visible behind her closed eyelids.
Quietly, Simon silently let himself into her room. At first, she did not notice him watching her and was startled when she opened her eyes, sensing she was not alone. He looked awful. His face was grey with misery and his eyes were red from the tears he had shed in secret.
‘Get out of my room!’ she shouted, pulling herself backwards.
He stood motionless, helpless, his arms hanging useless by his side, and she suddenly felt a tremendous pity for him. She had never seen him look like this before, so defeated and beaten. Her heart began to race with exhilaration at him being so close. Why he had chosen to come to her room?
Stepping further into the room, and filling the small space with his presence, he opened his mouth to speak. No words sounded. He raised his eyes upwards, scanning the ceiling in a vague attempt to discover the right words, and then drew a very deep breath. He looked at Aubrette and finally found his voice.
‘I had to find you to talk to you. Only you can understand all of this. I have nowhere else to go,’ he said, coming closer to her bed. Aubrette drew back, listening but not daring to breathe or speak for fear of revealing her feelings for him. ‘My wife lives, thank God,’ he breathed, running a shaking hand over his face, ‘but my son is dead.’ He held out trembling hands to her, his eyes shimmering with tears unshed, his lips quivering. ‘Comfort me, sister. Comfort me now.’
This was the first time Simon had referred to Aubrette as sister and she instinctively knew what he was asking. She was the only one he wanted to turn to in his misery. Despite knowing his wife, her sister, lay alone elsewhere in the house desolate from the loss of her child, Aubrette silently reached out and took his hands, drawing him to the bed. This was what she had wanted to happen; she had attempted to quell her unrequited desire for him and had never dared to believe that Simon might have the same feelings. Yet here he was in his darkest hour, turning to her, asking for her, needing her. This was not love, this was a man wanting assuagement.
Aubrette sat on the edge of the bed, drew up her dress, exposing her legs. Simon fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around her, his mouth desperately finding her mouth in tempestuous compulsion as he pushed forward in lust-induced ferociousness. The atmosphere in the small room was overpowering with sexual desire, driving the two people on and carrying them forward to an inexcusable conclusion. She yielded fully, feeling the pain of a virgin and then the pleasure of a woman satisfied.
Completed, Simon fell forward and collapsed onto her. His shoulders began to shake and the tears flowed freely again, while she lay there under him, unable and unwilling to move. She stroked his golden head, allowing him vent his wretchedness. Finally exhausted, he struggled to his feet, ashamed of his actions. At first he could not bring himself to look into her face.
‘I am sorry, I should not have. It will not occur again,’ he apologised, mournfully.
Aubrette sat looking at him as she pushed her disarranged hair from her face. She was not sorry. ‘I am always here when you need comfort,’ she assured.
Simon raised his head and looked directly at her. She could see behind the pain in his eyes, he was battling to control his misery, his guilt and his desire. ‘I shall return again,’ he muttered and then hurried from the room, leaving Aubrette to take stock of a day of contrasting heartbreak and salaciousness.
‘I shall return again’ – she could not believe that he would be back. Just those four little words had thrown her life into wonderful turmoil. ‘I shall return again.’
‘I am sorry, Rowena, but your tragedy has brought me joy,’ Aubrette whispered into the room, which was now bright with the sunlight of a new day. She felt no remorse for what she had experienced with her sister’s husband. She had not enticed him or set a trap for him, as a spider spins a web. Simon had arrived at her door because he had wanted to, and he would return because he wanted to.
Aubrette threw herself back onto the crumpled bed, going over all of the delicious details and fell asleep with a smile on her face. “I shall return again” – those words continued to circle in her mind as she drifted into a contented deep sleep. The thought of her sister’s lost son had already been pushed to the back of her mind. It was Simon who now occupied her thoughts.
11
Rowena slowly recovered from the stillbirth. She had been left weakened, but was now more determined than ever to give Simon a son. She had proved to him that she was able to conceive, and hoped that she would go on to have a brood of handsome children and make her husband proud. For this, Rowena purchased infusions to swallow and inhale, to help her conceive quickly and carry a son successfully.
Simon and Aubrette continued to meet in secret. It frequently took place in her own small room, but whenever they could both escape, they would find quiet niches and come together spiritedly before returning to their duties. Rowena remained blissfully unaware of the deception of her husband and sister. This added a sense of excitement to the deceiving couple, who both became intoxicated with the thrill that they may be discovered in compromising positions. It would break Rowena’s heart, but Aubrette was becoming reckless in her infatuation. Her answer to any accusations would be that Simon was her master and it was his right to take whom he desired.
News soon reached Oxford that the king was planning to pass through the city en route to the continent with his sons, and that they would stay at the castle to rest and replenish their retinue before continuing the progress. This sent ripples of excitement through both the city and castle, and preparations for the king’s arrival began with fervour. It was common knowledge that Henry’s favourite castle in England was Oxford. After all, his favourite mistress, Alice, resided close by and he would pass many happy hours in the delightful woman’s company.
Not wanting to miss the opportunity of meeting with his father and half-brothers, Simon moved into the castle with Rowena and Aubrette, as his wife’s attendant and his mistress, along with a small number of servants. The constable was aware of Simon’s connection with the king and gladly made suitable accommodation ready for him.
Hunters were sent out into the forest to bring back fresh venison and boar to fill the hungry royal stomachs, and the gardeners selected the most fragrant and aromatic herbs to flavour the food and sweeten the castle. Floors were swept and the best tapestries were retrieved from their storage, before being beaten clean and hung. Laundry women began washing the best bed linen and stretched them across the hedges to dry. The bakers set about baking bread, while in the buttery, butter was churned and the best mature cheeses were selected to stimulate the royal palates. Neither Rowena nor Aubrette had experienced such nervous enthusiasm reverberating around the castle, and were drawn into the growing excitement.
In the great gallery, the castle fool and his apprentice rehearsed a new routine to amuse the king, his sons and their guests. Passing through the gallery on an errand, Aubrette stopped alongside amused onlookers to watch the two fools as they stood nose to nose, loudly rehearsing a bawdy poem. They each shouted a line while hitting the other over the head with their bladders. The older of the two suddenly noticed Aubrette and dropped his bladder, clapping his hands over his mouth and screaming in an exaggerated high-pitched voice.
‘It’s a girl! It’s a chaste girl!’ he screamed, playfully, pointing directly at her. His apprentice threw his hands up in mock horror and ran at her.
‘I’ll chaste her, master!’ he shrieked and chased Aubrette around the hall to the hilarity of the onlookers. He caught her, grasping her waist with both hands and he swung her about in a dance, laughing. ‘A kiss for a fool, milady.’ The young man puckered his lips, making loud sucking sounds and squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Aubrette obliged with a peck on the cheek, to
which the young fool cheered wildly and somersaulted across the floor to his master, whooping loudly. He looked back at her, winked mischievously with a twinkling eye and blew an enormous kiss, which she returned before resuming her errand.
Out riders arrived to say the king was less than one day’s ride away and to expect him soon. While all this went on, Aubrette saw little of Simon. He was too preoccupied with assisting the preparations for the arrival of the royal party to steal away with her, though through her duties to Rowena, she would frequently see him. She would brush her mistress’s hair, tie a nightcap under her chin and help her into her nightdress every night, before Simon would come to his wife’s bed, in his endeavour to impregnate her again. Their eyes would sometimes meet and Aubrette would feel her cheeks burn with desire for him, hoping Rowena did not notice. She would retire to the small room where she slept, imagining that it was she and Simon whose bodies were entwining.
During one night, Aubrette awoke to the sound of incessant tapping on her door. She cautiously rose from her bed and pulled up the latch, opening the door by just a crack. To her surprise and delight, it was Simon. She opened the door wider and he slipped in, pushing the door shut behind him. He pulled Aubrette to him, kissing her hard on the lips.
‘I told Rowena I could not sleep and would take a walk through the gallery,’ he explained as Aubrette quickly unlaced her nightgown for him. He pulled it from her shoulders and buried his face in her bare breasts. ‘I have missed you, my darling, missed feeling your body close to mine, missed filling you with my desire,’ he breathed as they came together, falling onto her small bed. He lubricious slid into her in a brief stolen moment of prurience.
It was over quickly and they lay in each other’s arms, content. ‘I cannot remain long. I need to return to Rowena, but I shall come back tomorrow night,’ Simon promised.
Aubrette did not prevent his departure. Simon had left her glowing with satisfaction, and any time spent intimately with him was time enough for her.
12
Oxford Castle buzzed with excitement. All the preparations were complete; banners and flags flapped boldly in the morning breeze, while the delicious smell of meats roasting on their spits and the enticing aroma of freshly baked bread rose from the kitchen.
The constable, his wife and the other important dignitaries of Oxford were in the courtyard, lined up, waiting for the king and his three sons to arrive. Simon and Rowena stood close to the head of the line. Aubrette had been permitted to stand with them, having to remain behind her master and mistress. Rowena was nervous; she kept fidgeting, unable to control her nerves. She had never seen the king before and was apprehensive at how he would find and greet her as his daughter-in-law. Simon had to reprimand her to keep still, saying people would think she had worms.
The drawbridge was lowered and a detachment of soldiers positioned themselves as a guard of honour, their swords drawn, ready to greet their king. From outside the castle, the town folk of Oxford could be heard laughing and talking loudly –the free wine the constable ordered to be distributed had its intended effect. The crowds had gathered from before dawn, all hoping to attain the best position to see their king. Not even an early shower of rain had dampened their spirits and now, the sun was shining onto Oxford.
The sound of a fanfare drifted towards them on a breeze and the cheering from the town folk increased. He was nearly here! All necks were craned and all eyes were straining in an attempt to be the first to see Henry.
He was here! The captain of the guard bellowed the order and the soldiers raised their swords in greeting to the king. Preceded by his personal banners as Duke of Normandy, Count of Anjou and the Royal Standard, King Henry rode slowly over the drawbridge, his alert eyes darting around and missing nothing. Just behind him were three of his four sons. To his right, Duke Richard sat tall in the saddle, the sun shining onto his golden hair, and to the king’s left, Count Geoffrey, of Brittany, a gifted horseman with eyes, like his father, that missed nothing. Further to the king’s left was Prince John, who was regarded as the runt of the Plantagenet litter of sons, sitting straight-backed astride his horse. The ageing lion flanked by his seditious cubs.
The constable approached the king and kissed his outstretched hand. Henry swung down from the saddle, landing lightly on his feet. Richard and Geoffrey dismounted in the same manner as their father, but John landed heavily without the grace of his brothers.
‘Our stay shall not be long. I am on my way to greet the young king to settle another dispute he has foolishly become involved with, but we shall gladly partake of your hospitality,’ said Henry.
‘Allow me to show you to your apartments, sire,’ the constable offered, bowing low.
Henry laughed out loud and patted his shoulder affectionately. ‘No need, I am well acquainted with the layout of this castle.’ He looked happily around the familiar courtyard before striding onwards, into the castle itself. His sons accepted the homage of the constable and followed their father.
None of the brothers regarded each other; it was common knowledge that this was a family constantly at war with itself. The gossips said that the king wanted to keep his three sons close, so he would know whether they plotted against him or each other. One of Henry’s other illegitimate sons, also named Geoffrey, had accompanied the royal party and was following close behind the king. He bowed in greeting to Simon, who acknowledged him affectionately. Further back, an elegant man, with handsome features and the finest clothes, walked with an arrogant confidence behind the immediate royal party. His eyes never left the back of Duke Richard’s head, drawing the attention of the waiting crowd with his luxe deportment.
Rowena leant back towards Aubrette. ‘They could almost be twins,’ she whispered, comparing Simon to Duke Richard.
The likeness of the two men was indeed incredible. Simon had now broken rank and hurried to catch up with Richard. They greeted each other warmly with a hearty shake of hands and Richard slapped his half-brother on the back. Brothers Geoffrey and John looked on distrustfully, neither desiring to show such a familiar gesture.
‘Word reached me that you are now wed, brother,’ Richard said, glancing at Rowena, who blushed.
Simon laughed, proudly. ‘I am; she is obedient and compliant. Should you wish, she can be your amusement while you are here.’
‘Husband, I am not a whore to be rented out,’ she hissed, crossly, in a quiet voice.Simon snorted a laugh. ‘You are my property to do with as I desire,’ he answered, cruelly.
Richard looked at the couple and walked on, laughing. He had no intention of taking his brother’s wife; in fact, he had no intention of taking any woman. While here, there would be amusement of another kind, but that would stay a secret except for a trusted friend. No need for it to be made public – not just yet.
Simon realised the duke had passed by and hurried to catch up with him, desperate for the close friendship they shared to be seen by as many as possible. Prince John had overheard the brief conversation. He turned and came back to Rowena, bowing low, taking and kissing her hand.
‘I am your husband’s half brother, too. I can be amused by your company,’ he suggested.
Rowena curtsied, offended. ‘By your command, sir. My husband commands me and I obey,’ she answered, meekly, though the thought of Prince John conducting her to his bed filled her with fear. There had been rumours circulating about this young prince’s sexual activities. John’s eyes flitted over her body lasciviously and he passed by, chuckling to himself. He caught up with Geoffrey, who glanced over his shoulder at Rowena, and they carried on walking and laughing over a private joke about her.
‘You know your husband does not mean what he says,’ Aubrette said, quietly. Although she was already thinking that if any of the royal brothers requested Rowena’s company, it would give her and Simon time to slip away for a surreptitious moment.
‘I know, I th
ink he finally has grown to love me in his own way. He has become kinder to me recently, since our son was born dead. I do not think he would not let another man touch me. He was just trying to impress the duke.’
Aubrette remained silent. Had this sudden kindness been the result of the guilt Simon felt for bedding her? Rowena still appeared not to have any idea what was happening directly in front of her.
That evening, the banquet for the king and his sons proved as successful as the constable could have wished. There was fine food and excellent wines, all of which was consumed greedily in vast amounts. The fool and his apprentice took to the floor, juggling with daggers and flaming clubs. They snatched women from their seats and performed comic dances with them, before telling funny stories that had everyone weeping with laughter. Their finale was the bawdy poem, which they bellowed loudly at the top of their voices. However, instead of hitting each other over the head with their bladders, they would dash to the long tables and hit the head of a courtier, then run comically back to the centre of the hall to gales of laughter from all.
After finishing the last line of the poem, the older fool darted to the high table where the king, the duke, the count and the prince all sat, and walloped each of them on the head in quick succession before dashing back. At first, there was a horrified silence throughout the hall. Had the jester gone too far this time?
All eyes turned to the high table. Everyone waited, holding their breath. Richard looked irritated, Geoffrey amused, while John sniggered. Henry stood slowly up, glowering at the fool. Was he going to order the fool to be executed immediately for his impudence? Or would he have the unfortunate jester’s hands struck from his arms for touching the royal persons with such disrespect.