A Knight's Tale: Kenilworth

by Gabriella West

  “Should it ever come to blows, you mean?”

  “Yes. Well, we hope it won’t. Earl Simon has tried to do everything by political means first. You’re probably aware that he is the leader of a group of barons, twenty-four, actually, who usually meet at Parliament thrice a year? The barons have been trying to rein in the power of the monarchy by peaceful means.”

  It had begun to rain. He glanced up at the sky irritably.

  “Damn this weather. Well, to cut a long story short, Sir John says he will not venture to Kenilworth while things are this tense. Nor will he fight for the Earl. He will continue to pay his rent on quarter day, of course, he reminded me. And your mother, who seemed quite upset, chipped in to add that your father had wanted you to stay here, to become a knight, so there’s no question of you being called back home. I had to ask your stepfather that, I’m afraid, whether he wanted you back. But if you stay on here with the Montforts, I fear that Sir John won’t be welcoming once you do return.”

  “I’m staying,” I said curtly, staring up at him.

  “All right. Well, go in now and get warm. God be with you until we meet again.”

  He rode out under the gate and for the first time, when I heard the portcullis dropping, I felt closed in.

  ***

  Thomas was not at the hearth when I went up the winding stair to the Great Hall. I walked toward my solar, pushing open the door absent-mindedly. Seeing a figure sitting on Stephen’s bed, I gave a great start.

  “God, it’s cold in here,” Thomas said. “How do you stand it?”

  I flopped down on my bed and stared at him. “You get used to it.”

  “I’m sorry about this,” he said awkwardly. “You’re not accustomed to seeing me here, I know.”

  “I’m not. But I’m glad to see you.”

  He nodded, subdued but smiling a little. “Brought you these.”

  He tossed me an orange from a basket and something wrapped in wax paper. It turned out to be gingerbread.

  “From our Christmas hoard. Try the orange. It’s actually rather sweet.”

  They were a delicacy from the Orient, so I took out my knife eagerly and started paring the fruit. I sucked my fingers when the juice ran out all over it.

  “Thanks!” I said finally, chewing a little with my eyes closed, relishing the tart sweetness.

  “Now try the gingerbread. It’s good.”

  I couldn’t help relaxing with pleasure as I sampled the gingerbread.

  “I thought you would go straight to Christiana,” I said, lying down now and wrapping myself in my blanket.

  He watched me in the dim light. “I intend to, but I wanted to speak with you first.”

  “All right.” I yawned. “Sir Richard already told me that ... oh, what did he say? My stepfather is siding with the King rather than Simon. I wish this business would be over soon.”

  “Will,” Thomas said, “I don’t want to alarm you, but it’s going to end up in a war.”

  I sat up violently. “War? When?”

  “Not soon, I expect,” Thomas said. “But to be honest, I had to fight to come back here.” He spoke in a whisper. “My parents wanted me to stay home and not return to Kenilworth. They actually think that Earl Simon will provoke the King into a war, and then it’s possible the castle will be besieged in the next few years!”

  There was a hint of the old Thomas in his voice, but what alarmed me was the hint of fear in his tone, fear rather than excitement.

  “I don’t see how we could win against the King,” I brooded.

  “Don’t get me wrong, my father supports Earl Simon, and he will fight for him. But he sounds worried about it. It’s all supposed to be a big secret, but I wanted to tell you, Will. My father says that Prince Edward and Richard of Cornwall are both sympathetic to the barons’ cause. But he fears that while the King is alive, he will always be able to sway his lords to rally around him, no matter how just the cause of the barons is. You know how it goes...”

  Thomas subsided, wrapping his cloak around him. The room was in deep gloom now.

  “Should I light a candle?” I asked.

  “No,” he answered. After a moment, he said, “I partly came back for you, Will. I couldn’t leave you here alone to face this.”

  I was shocked. After a moment, I said, “Thanks, Thomas. But don’t you think we’ll be safe? We’re squires, after all.”

  He paused for a long time and then answered, “Once we’re young knights, we won’t be safe. I think England will look very different in a few years. If we stay with Earl Simon and he doesn’t win, it’s death or exile for us.”

  “They’ve told us nothing,” I said, a little breathless with anger. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Ah, so Simon told you nothing of this.”

  He said it sadly and I looked over at him. He had not had time to talk to Christiana. He couldn’t know. But somehow I felt he had guessed it.

  “Nothing,” I said numbly, thinking about the room in Warwick. He had bound me to him that night and I wondered now how calculated his actions had been.

  “I can’t leave now,” I murmured, shrugging.

  He sighed. “It’s too late for me as well. It’s bad timing for us, my friend. I almost wish your chamber-mate Stephen was with us. He could tell us...”

  At that, Christiana’s words about Stephen’s prediction came back to me and I gave a deep shudder. Luckily the chamber was dark and he couldn’t see my face.

  “Thomas,” I said, hating the way my voice broke with emotion, “Thomas, if you knew... If you knew you wouldn’t survive a battle, would you stay away?”

  He was silent. I heard him taking a gulp from whatever bottle he was carrying with him. If it was wine, I did not want to know, as I was reluctant to drink with him.

  “But I could never know for certain, Will.” His voice was cool. “If you live like that—well, how can you live like that? I’ll follow Henry’s orders. It’s my duty and he won’t lead me wrong.”

  “And I’ll follow Simon,” I said.

  “I knew you would.”

  There was definitely something knowing in his voice.

  I gave a deep sigh. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Thomas.”

  He chuckled faintly. “I’m not sorry for you, Will. I think we should stick by each other’s side, don’t you? We’ll protect each other as best we can. I’m up for it. I wanted this.”

  “You never thought you’d be in a war...”

  “I didn’t,” he said. He drank from the bottle again. “It’s just rather odd how Simon and Henry have told us nothing. They must know everything. They know their own father’s intentions, surely.”

  I thought about it. Simon and his brother had been gone a lot on long trips over the past year and a half. Now I realized that they were going to houses and castles all over the country, rallying people. Gathering allies. And the bishops and lords who came to dinner at Kenilworth, too, were allies as much as friends.

  “Simon didn’t tell you why his father left, did he?”

  Thomas’s voice was slightly slurred now. He passed the bottle to me and I took a reluctant sip of what turned out to be rank, sour wine.

  Since I didn’t respond, he went on:

  “It’s rather simple, really. The parliament of rebel barons met at Oxford in 1258 with Earl Simon at the head, and forced the King to take certain oaths. He had to swear to uphold the Provisions of Oxford, which meant in his eyes that he was giving away his own power to the barons. They forced him to it. It was either that, though, or forfeit his kingdom. It was all provoked because he had raised an enormous sum to buy his younger son Edmund the title of the kingdom of Sicily. All from the barons—they were forced to pay. And they’re sick of it. They felt fleeced.

  “So it seemed like Earl Simon and the barons had a good hand against the King. But what does the sly bastard do? He writes to the Pope and asks to be absolved of his promises to keep the Parliament going with that structure. Just before he died, Pope A
lexander issued a papal bull to that effect. It was signed in April of 1261. Remember that Earl Simon took off the next month for France, when he heard? He was furious, but more than that, he was in jeopardy. Parliament hasn’t met properly since.”

  “Is Earl Simon a fugitive?” I asked, stunned.

  “Very nearly, yes. I mean, if he goes to London it’s likely he’ll be clapped in chains, though the commoners love him. He nearly was arrested by the King years ago, so it’s not as if they’ve had an easy relationship. I suppose he thinks he can always get away with it.”

  “Because of Lady Eleanor?”

  “Yes, and his own personal charm. He’s a powerful figure.”

  “I can see why the King wouldn’t like that,” I murmured. I wiped my mouth and passed the bottle back to Thomas. We were silent for a little while.

  “I came back partly because I feared for your virtue,” Thomas said drunkenly. I laughed but said nothing.

  “It’s not a joke, Will. I really have worried about you and Simon.”

  I busied myself lighting a candle, realizing too that I wasn’t blushing. Perhaps nothing mattered very much now. My own personal virtue suddenly seemed rather unimportant.

  “Thomas, if anything happened along those lines, I would want it.” I looked at him levelly. “I’m not like you, and you have to accept this about me.”

  He swore quietly under his breath.

  “I’m too late, aren’t I?”

  “A bit,” I answered. “I’m not in danger, though, not in that way.”

  “You could leave if you wish. Sir Richard said—”

  “I know. But I can’t leave Kenilworth. I don’t want to. So let’s both of us make the best of it.”

  He rose, gathering his things, and I got up as well. We embraced in a clumsy way, shy with each other suddenly.

  “I’m going to go collapse now, or find Christiana,” he muttered.

  “She’s probably wondering where the hell you are. You go do that.”

  “You’re a cool customer,” he said at the door, “compared to before.”

  As I bolted the door behind him, I looked over at Stephen’s rumpled bed where Thomas had sweetly left three oranges in a little round basket for me. But I wasn’t seeing it, I was thinking about the note of fear in Thomas’s voice and my own feelings of betrayal. It was strange, I thought, how some people tried to tell you things to warn you, and other people didn’t tell you things to protect themselves. And somehow it didn’t really make any difference. I was as committed to stay and fight with the family as Thomas was, despite my bitter words three years earlier. And even Thomas, too, had doubts. That made me like him more than I ever had.

  Was Earl Simon mad? I had no doubt that he appeared full of confidence. He was the sort of man who could sway people. His sons must believe in him, all except Amaury, perhaps, who was so different and who had always been pushed aside slightly.

  I saw Amaury’s hand resting on the chess piece. Sometimes Thomas and I seemed like pawns. It was a harsh way to look at it.

  My mother. I sighed deeply as I dropped onto the bed. She wanted me to stay here. No doubt she knew how dangerous it would be for me to go back.

  But the worst thought of all was fighting for the King. Sir John might make me do it. It made me sick to think of facing Simon in battle one day.

  No, I must always be on his side, the Montfort side. It was the better one.

  After all, it wasn’t a bad cause, I thought, now that I knew more about it. It was the sort of thing that some people might call noble.

  To know you would probably fail, but go on anyway... I didn’t know what to call that sort of person. A fool?

  Although supper was served outside in the Hall, I stayed in my chamber. The orange and gingerbread and wine sat heavily in my stomach. Later I would probably have to use the garderobe to purge myself of my excesses.

  I looked over at the little basket of oranges Thomas had left on the bed. They scented the air slightly. I decided to stick cloves all over one of them and make a pomander to hang; I had seen my mother do it when I was a child. That way the room would always smell of spices and orange.

  “I wish you could share them with me, Stephen,” I said.

  If all went well, and I truly did not know how likely this was, given the circumstances, I would be knighted the following year and I could go find my long-lost friend, my love, and retrieve him.

  But at this point, he might want to stay in the monastery. He might have cast aside worldly desires.

  The pattering rain at the window had now become drenching. I heard the wind howling, common enough at the castle.

  A year and a few months. I could wait that long. On the other hand, if the country was at war, wouldn’t taking him out of the monastery be rather cruel?

  I paced the chamber, thinking of the reality of bringing him back to Kenilworth. How odd it would seem! Taking him home was impossible. Christiana had suggested we go abroad. Thomas had mentioned death or exile. Exile with Stephen at my side would be all right, I thought.

  It was probably going to be exile.

  Chapter 12

  June 1263

  That April, Earl Simon had returned from France—for good, we thought. But it was a strange return because he was in constant movement, traveling weekly. Important guests joined the family at dinner in the Great Hall almost every afternoon. There was an air of preoccupation and building excitement at the castle. There was a sense of planning. Lady Eleanor, swishing about the place in her long skirts, seemed happier.

  But Thomas and I were not included in the private conversations that were obviously taking place in chambers around the castle. We stuck to our routines. Now we both rode big, stalwart horses to tilt at the quintain with our lances. We had mastered it. And as with anything in life, once mastered, it seemed hard to believe it had ever been a challenge.

  I was getting better at sword practice too, so much so that Thomas had to work hard to keep up with me. The exercise, in a long upstairs castle chamber fitted with rough mats, was the only thing that helped me stay sane. I was nervy and uncomfortable much of the time, I remember. Gripping the hilt and facing my opponent was the only time I felt a sense of power. I wanted to prove myself, but no worthy challenge had been presented to me yet.

  My seventeenth birthday had passed. I was almost as tall as Simon, almost as muscular. I could not help measuring myself against him every time I stood close. I was very near eighteen. I kept telling myself that. Eighteen was the magic year when things would open up for me. I had to believe it.

  Rumors started floating that King Henry was quietly amassing troops for a battle against Earl Simon’s forces.

  “Nothing will happen till the spring, next year,” Simon said. We were in the stables one afternoon; he was watching his horse being groomed. “Nothing formal, anyway.”

  “What do you mean by that, my lord?” I enquired.

  “What I mean, Will, is that my father has decided to take matters into his own hands. We’re going to be carrying out some raids locally. I don’t want you to be shocked if you see grim faces supping in the Great Hall.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said, puzzled.

  “Neighbors of ours who don’t support the fight. They will be held for ransom.” He spoke in a low voice but his tone was casual, almost flippant.

  “What?” I was incredulous. And then I asked, “Does that actually work?”

  “Yes, it’s been proven to work quite nicely. It’s all part of being a knight, you know. Holding prisoners for ransom. Even William Marshal did it.”

  As everyone knew, William Marshal was a great, powerful knight of the last century, who had served as regent until the present King came of age. Coincidentally, Lady Eleanor had been married to his son when she was a young girl. The younger William Marshal had died suddenly, I knew as well.

  “My grandfather fought alongside William Marshal, I heard tell,” I said.

  “In the Crusades? You probably
heard my great-uncle was there as well.” Simon smiled at me. The groom had left for a moment, and he ran his hand down his horse’s flank. The stallion was a beauty, massive and black, with a fiery temperament to match. I would not have dared touch him.

  “Richard the Lionheart? Yes.”

  “I wish I had met him,” Simon said idly. “Pity my grandfather, John, was such a cowardly rascal. Still, I’m sure I have some of Richard’s blood. My brother Henry looks quite like him, very old people used to say.

  The groom returned, whistling, carrying another pail of water. I lingered, not wanting to leave Simon, for I did not get a chance to converse with him very often.

  “You said something about next year?” I ventured.

  “Oh, yes. Next year if there’s a battle with the King’s forces, which Father is sure there will be, you can accompany me if you want to. Your last duty as a squire.”

  “Into the thick of it?” I asked, my jaw dropping, forgetting about the raids.

  “Of course. There are no sidelines in a battle, you know. Not like a tourney. Speaking of that...”

  He moved toward the stables’ entrance, and I followed.

  “There won’t be a tournament at Warwick this year,” he said quietly, not meeting my eyes.

  I lowered mine, not wanting him to see my disappointment.

  “Things are so uncertain now, the King has cancelled all of them. And I wouldn’t be sure how safe it would be for Henry and me to go. Father has made enemies.”

  I nodded. “It seems my stepfather is one of them,” I muttered, for something to say.

  Simon smiled. “Don’t worry, he won’t be held for ransom.”

  “Oh, I never thought...” My cheeks crimsoned.

  “We wouldn’t do that,” Simon said. “It’s people who have more money than they know what to do with that we... select.”

  He’d almost said target. I felt sure that was what he meant. Looking into his deep blue eyes, I tried to see him as others must see him. How dangerous he could be. An excellent fighter without too many scruples, an arrogant, debauched young man...