A Knight's Tale: Kenilworth

by Gabriella West

“They looked, what’s the word, inseparable. Finishing each other’s thoughts, lots of smiles. Touches on the arm. You know what these holy fathers are like. Well, mayhap you don’t, lad. But it didn’t surprise me a bit. Still, I’m sure he remembers you fondly.” He coughed and spat to the side. “Pardon me. Anyway, if you ever want to go to Oxford yourself, I’ll tell you the route. Know it like the back of me hand.”

  I fished around in my purse and gave him a coin. He nodded.

  “That’s kind of you, lad. S’pose I’ll be calling you Sir William soon, you and Thomas?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I think we’ll have to prove ourselves in battle first.”

  “That’ll toughen you up,” Wilecok said with some satisfaction. “Was a soldier myself once, years ago. Fought with Earl Simon in France, didn’t I. Never forget it.”

  “Were you here when they brought Stephen home?” I blurted out.

  He nodded. “To be sure, when he was a little lad. I was there when they found him, young master, where was it now... Oh, somewhere in Navarre, we were passing through lands where there’d been a purge of heretics, can’t remember what they were called, that bunch. Albi-something. Anyway, we saw heaps of dead bodies on the road no one had buried yet. Earl Simon demanded we stop and dig a grave, so we did. Had to throw ’em in then. Rough work. Beside one woman’s corpse was this little lad, clinging to her. He hadn’t been touched, but he was covered in her blood. Earl Simon was so pleased that someone was alive that he thanked God and swore to take the child home to Kenilworth. So he did.

  “That’s all I remember,” he said quickly when he saw me staring at him, stunned. “That shocked you, didn’t it? Not heard a lot of war stories, I’m guessing.”

  “Does Stephen know?” I asked in a low voice.

  “Don’t know about that. Probably wanted to forget. Seemed an unhappy child for a long time, I’ll grant you that. Didn’t really ever fit in here with the Montfort lads. Always kept to himself.” He shrugged. “Then you came along.”

  “Were you watching us?” I asked, putting my hand on the wall of the stone of the castle for support. It was still warm from the heat of the day.

  “I’m always watching. The knights don’t notice much. But I notice everyone, it’s part of what I’m paid for. Have to know who people are, the relationships between them.” He shrugged. “Pays off, in the end.”

  “I see,” I said slowly, though I did not quite see.

  “Lady Eleanor and her husband are gone a lot. They need eyes on the place. Eyes on their sons and the goings-on,” Wilecok offered. He grinned suddenly, showing a few brown teeth.

  I’d no doubt he had been involved in Simon’s humiliation years before. But I couldn’t ask.

  “Satisfied now, master?” he asked.

  I nodded, watching him turn and shamble away into the dusk, bow-legged from all his riding, and slightly lame.

  My heart ached. Brother Anselm and Stephen were “inseparable”! Oh, I should be glad he was content and well. In a way, I was. There had been a cheerful tone to the letter that had surprised me. He hadn’t seemed dejected. Now I knew why.

  But perhaps they weren’t sleeping together. There was always that thought.

  And I was being a hypocrite.

  But did it change things? There was a year to figure out what I should do. He had asked me to visit him. If he hadn’t wanted to see me, there would have been a way for him to suggest I stay away. The letter had been loving. In fact, I didn’t doubt he still loved me despite this.

  I couldn’t desert him just because I had suspicions. We have to meet again, I thought. Even if it was to hear him say that he wanted to join the order. At least I’d know.

  Don’t give up, Will, I told myself, hearing an echo of his voice in my head.

  ***

  Thomas and I stood on the ramparts of the castle that August. Up there we could see the land stretching out for miles. It was so peaceful, almost disturbingly so. We could see villeins at work in the golden fields, raking in the hay and putting it in stacks. It was hard to imagine any stress or strife touching this place.

  There were holes drilled in the thick stone under our feet every few paces or so.

  “What are those for?” I asked.

  “Boiling oil or pitch for attackers below, if there’s a siege.”

  “Is that likely to ever happen?” I asked dubiously.

  “Dunno. Ask Simon.”

  My usually cheerful friend was disconcertingly moody these days. I wasn’t much better, but we spoke to each other as trusted friends, as allies.

  “What is it, Thomas?” I asked quietly.

  “Well, I could ask you the same thing.” He sighed. “You’ve kept to yourself the last month or two.”

  “I know...” I said. Ever since the conversation with Wilecok, I’d been sunk in dark thoughts, trying to work out how I felt, what to do.

  “I feel stuck here,” I said after a moment.

  He sighed. “God, so do I. I’ve been tempted to take Christiana back to London and marry her. Forget the whole knight thing. But she won’t leave Lady Eleanor. Also, my father would have a fit.”

  “Ah. For me it’s having to wait to see Stephen again. I thought it would be better when I knew he was all right in Oxford.”

  “But it’s not?” he asked.

  “No, because Wilecok—you know the fellow?—implied that Stephen has a handsome protector. Stephen even mentioned him in the letter, but I thought he was an old man.”

  I saw Thomas hiding a smile.

  “Wilecok said they were inseparable. That hurt to hear.”

  “Yes, he’s in everyone’s business,” Thomas said in a resigned voice. “He probably reported back to Simon about it too.”

  I flushed, feeling humiliated.

  “Sorry, Will, but did you really expect Stephen to stay faithful?”

  “Yes,” I murmured. “Foolish me, but yes.”

  “Have you been faithful?” Thomas asked. He shot me a piercing glance from his slate-colored eyes.

  I swallowed and said nothing.

  “At least you’ve had some fun... I won’t ask the details. Turns out I’ve been faithful, but Christiana hasn’t.”

  I looked at him and looked away.

  “Please tell me you didn’t know.”

  I said nothing, hoping he wouldn’t hate me. Finally I blurted out, “I’m sorry, Tom. I saw them together once.”

  “Christ, so you know who it was, too,” he said, nodding. “Why didn’t you tell me, Will? I thought we were friends.”

  “I don’t know.” I rubbed my forehead wearily. “She begged me not to when we talked about it eventually. Before that, I just thought it would make you unhappy.”

  “Better to be a fool in love, eh?” he sighed. “Well, I was.”

  He seemed calm enough, resigned in his bitterness. “Do you still love her?” I ventured to ask.

  He paused, looking out at the fields. “God, yes, of course I do! Love doesn’t disappear like that. Not for me, anyway. Also, she told me she’d been miserable after it ended. She regretted it. She just got swept away.”

  I nodded.

  “I always admired Simon,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Now I hate him. It’s safe to say that up here, and it’s safe to say it to you.”

  Our eyes met. “I’ll keep your secret, Tom. But I don’t hate him. I could never.”

  I was on the verge of spilling it all to him when he pointed out two helmeted riders approaching the castle at a fast clip. I recognized Simon’s horse, so I knew who it was instantly.

  “It’s them,” he said with a sigh. “We’ll be needed in the armory room. I’m getting too old for this.”

  I knew what he meant. We descended the winding stairs together slowly in silence. They were weathered and crumbling. It took a long time to get down.

  In the armory room, Thomas worked in grim silence to remove Henry’s mail. He was much faster than I was. I lingered on Simon, my hands passing ov
er his broad shoulders, his breath in my face.

  Simon made a point of talking and jesting to Henry as I worked. I could tell he was signaling to me that it was business as usual, that he didn’t expect or want any private time with me. Still, it was intoxicating to be near him.

  “Well done, Thomas. Fast work,” Henry said, ruffling his squire’s hair.

  He waited while I finished with his brother. Kneeling, I slowly pulled Simon’s dusty boots off.

  “Come, brother, let’s go get some ale,” Henry said. “I’m parched.”

  “Were you fighting out there today, my lord?” Thomas asked.

  “Nay. We met a couple of wenches in the town last week and we decided to pay them a visit. It’s not something I do very often, but for once I gave in to my brother’s importuning. Father said we need to don armor every time we go out now.”

  Thomas seemed stunned into silence, and I glanced up to meet Simon’s eyes. He wore a faint smile.

  “They were sisters, or so they said,” he elaborated. “Two brothers and two sisters—I couldn’t pass up the opportunity!”

  “You make it sound filthy,” Henry said. “I assure, you, Will, we each had our lady and we retired to separate chambers.”

  “You make it all sound incredibly boring, brother,” Simon joked, still seated on the bench. Without anyone noticing, he ran his hand quickly up my arm to my bicep as I stood next to him. The hairs on my flesh stood up.

  “Will you see them again, my lord?” Thomas asked, speaking only to Henry. His back was turned to Simon, but I doubted it was obvious.

  “I don’t think so,” Henry said cheerfully. “Father doesn’t like us whoring, and if he gets word of it, there’s always a stern lecture. He doesn’t seem to want us to marry, either, though, so we’re in a bit of a predicament there.”

  “Did you know our father wears a hair shirt for penitence?” Simon chipped in. He was leaning against me slightly, his hair brushing against my arm. “He wakes at midnight to pray for hours and keep vigil.”

  “Would you ever do that, my lord?” Thomas enquired. He turned swiftly, catching sight of our closeness. I moved away at once.

  Simon grinned. “The hair shirt? Never, unless it helped with my nightly self-pleasuring routine somehow. But I don’t see how it would.”

  Thomas turned bright red.

  Henry glared at Simon. “Come now, brother, you need a drink for that dirty mouth. Don’t boast about such things in front of the squires.”

  “I only do it when you’re not here, you know,” Simon murmured to Henry. He flashed me a smile as he left, arm in arm with Henry. They had entered the Great Hall that way once before, I recalled, and I wondered if they had been about the same activity back then. I’d been too innocent to surmise it.

  “Whoreson,” Thomas cursed quietly as their footsteps died away.

  “That’s a hard word.” I slumped down on the bench, deflated.

  “It applies.” Thomas walked over to Simon’s hauberk, which I’d hung carefully on the wall, and punched it.

  “At least they didn’t bring us,” he continued. I raised my hand to ask him to stop.

  “Face it, Will, he’s a pervert. He’d have loved you watching.”

  “We should be grateful, then,” I said listlessly.

  He looked at me. “I’m not a fool, I know you’re in love with him. Both you and Christiana. Ugh!” He was working himself up into a rage.

  My mouth dropped open in shock at his perceptiveness. “In love...?”

  “Yes, and he’s just toying with you. You should know that.”

  “I don’t think so,” I told him stoutly. “Actually, he’s held off—”

  “Temporarily,” Thomas said with a curl to his lip. “I suppose he enjoys making you wait for it.”

  I shuddered. “Don’t make me angry, Thomas.”

  But I wasn’t angry. I was grateful he’d brought it up.

  “Oh, Will. You deserve so much better than either him or Stephen,” Thomas said sadly.

  I shook my head. “You really don’t know anything about it.”

  “Let’s go get drunk,” he said, holding out his hand in a pacifying gesture and heaving me up. “I just wish I could stop you from—you know. I can’t even say it, it’s so filthy and unnatural.”

  The word sodomy hung in the air. It was a nasty word, and I didn’t particularly like the idea of that label being applied to me. It scared me, in fact.

  But I would do it for him. I had asked for it, after all, and my stubborn nature made it impossible for me to retreat.

  ***

  If I had known it was to be my last Christmas at Kenilworth, I would have tried to treasure it more. But, mindful of Stephen’s words, I drank and ate my fill, chatted with Thomas’s parents, and tried to be merry. Hugh Despenser had been given the powerful title of justiciar by the barons in parliament, so he was merry enough. Earl Simon, too, looked in his element. It had been a difficult and tumultuous year for him—and I wasn’t to know the details till much later—but the pro-reform Michaelmas parliament had just reaffirmed his power against the King.

  He told us this as he stood up to give a toast, surrounded by a large group of faithful older knights and landholders. These were gray-bearded, seasoned fighters like Hugh, John de la Haye, Ralph Basset, and Richard de Grey, who now controlled Dover Castle. Not to mention the elderly bishop of Worcester, Walter de Cantilupe, who looked on fondly, clearly a longtime ally.

  “Friends, I am honored to accept the title of Steward of England,” he said, his voice rising. His sons watched him in seeming respect and awe. “For years I had this title and hid it away. No longer. I embrace it.”

  He looked down tenderly at Eleanor, who smiled back up at him.

  “And one more thing.” He took a sip. “We no longer, as of this autumn, have the support of Henry of Almain or his father, Richard...my brother-in-law.” I could see Eleanor wince slightly. “But no matter, friends.” His voice was warm, powerful, persuasive. “If all the world should desert me, I and my four sons will stand firm for the just cause to which I have sworn.” Swept away, we all cheered, pounding our goblets on the table. I saw Simon’s lips quirk in a smile, Henry look moved. Young Guy and Richard grinned. Only Amaury seemed sullen.

  I found out why when he buttonholed me in the courtyard, “Did you hear what Father said, Will? Four sons? I’m not among them. He was counting Richard, not me!” He was trembling, as if in a rage.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” I muttered. “Isn’t it better, perhaps, to be the one son not fighting for your father?”

  “Yes,” Amaury said after a moment’s thought. “I shall accept the first clerical office they give me now. Then I won’t have to hear any more such nauseating speeches.”

  A sudden flurry of events took place in the New Year of 1264, usually such a dead time.

  News came from France in January that King Louis, who had been chosen to arbitrate between the King and Earl Simon and the rebel barons, had decided, despite making a very different decision earlier the previous year, to come down on the side of the King and against the Provisions of Westminster, which were not affirmed. This was ratified in the Mise of Amiens. The gossip was that the King’s French wife, Eleanor, also the sister of the Queen of France, had stayed in Paris during the winter and turned Louis against the reform movement. She had been pelted with filth the previous October by a mob in London as she attempted to travel upriver to Windsor, and she hadn’t forgotten the insult. It was a huge blow for Earl Simon, but it freed him up to definitively act.

  Simon and Henry disappeared together early in February. News filtered back of what they had done. To avenge an insult to their father the previous year, they’d attacked Wigmore, the manor near the Welsh border of one of Prince Edward’s loyal young followers, Roger Mortimer, and burned it to the ground. This would earn them the ferocious enmity of Mortimer’s wife, Maud, and have deadly repercussions.

  The King’s army had gathered i
n Oxford before marching north, which made me nervous about Stephen’s welfare. What had brought the usually passive King Henry to Oxford with troops was Simon’s bold attack on Northampton. Wilecok breathlessly told Earl Simon and Lady Eleanor that Simon, along with a group of about eighty knights, had taken the town. As Earl Simon was recovering from a nasty fall from his horse that resulted in a broken leg, and had stopped him from going to France to meet with King Louis and plead his cause, this cheered him greatly. I kept waiting for Simon to return home, but he didn’t. The expectation his father had was that he would stay in Northampton and defend it against the King. It bothered me that I had not bade him a proper farewell.

  One day in March, as Simon had predicted, the gray-faced, middle-aged Earl of Warwick and his wife sat glumly in the Great Hall when I came in for the afternoon meal. Although it was not announced, Henry and a few others had captured Warwick Castle. They stayed for several days and then disappeared without anyone saying anything. It was clear that the Montforts had been paid the desired ransom, whatever it was, but nothing more was said.

  My eighteenth birthday occurred after that. When I told Thomas it was my birthday, he decided we should take off into the fields as we used to. We drank cider and paddled in the brook together before lying out in the long grass.

  It was like the old days, but I felt a curious hollowness to these idle hours, where we could only surmise what our lords were doing. Glad as I was of my friend’s company, I needed someone—alas, it was Simon—to make me feel loved. We spoke nervously about what we should do when we went into battle alongside Simon and Henry, probably in the summer. We decided we had to keep training intensely, even though everyone was too busy now to notice our efforts.

  With that in mind, we practiced swordplay in the long room, the rush mats helping us spring forward and back and preventing us from slipping. My shield bore the brunt of Thomas’s many slashes. It was easy to defend myself against him, so our fights wore on inconclusively many times. We stopped when we were utterly exhausted, or when one of us tripped and fell. There was always the grim thought that if one of us tripped during a battle, that would probably be the end.