Falls the Shadow

by Sharon Kay Penman

  Gaillard del Soler gave Simon a look of naked hatred. “My father died at Roquer Castle! Dare you deny that?”

  “No. Rostand del Soler did indeed die in my custody. Shall I tell the court why? When your father fell ill, he asked me if you could take his place. I was agreeable to this.” Simon paused; he had an instinctive sense of timing. “But you were not willing,” he said, “were you?” And when Gaillard del Soler did not answer, Simon glanced back at Henry. “I think,” he said, “that I have responded to the accusations.”

  “I am Raimond de Fronsac, here under safe-conduct of the English King. I do have numerous grievances against the Earl of Leicester, as do my neighbors, the Viscounts of Gramont and Soule. He seized my castle of Fronsac, holds it to this day. He laid siege to Raimond Brun’s castle at Gramont, then cast the Viscount into prison without benefit of trial. He also imprisoned the Viscount of Soule, and last summer he did capture the Viscount of Castillon’s stronghold, whilst detaining the Viscount for ransom, and the castle still remains in his hands. He destroyed our vineyards, our main source of income. He paid no heed to our complaints, treated us as if we were peasants, men of low birth. And all of this I am willing to swear upon the most sacred of holy relics.”

  “I am Sir Peter de Montfort of Beaudesert in Warwickshire, liegeman to the Earl of Warwick. It was my privilege to serve in Gascony for the past three years with my lord of Leicester. I am a witness, therefore, to those events described by the Viscount of Fronsac. Earl Simon did indeed seize the Viscount’s castle; the man was in rebellion at the time! The Viscount of Soule was imprisoned after he refused to appear before the Seneschal’s court. The Viscount of Castillon was no less of a rebel, no less of a traitor. These men claim their income is derived from their vineyards, but that is a lie. They are, in truth, brigands, who prey upon passers-by and pilgrims.”

  There was an angry murmur from the Gascons, but Peter ignored them. “The Viscount of Fronsac is a brigand,” he repeated, “and his past is a bloody one. He ravaged the region of Labour, sacked the town of Blaye, gave shelter to Gaillard del Soler and his brother Pierre, who were then fugitives from royal justice, having fled Bordeaux after the rioting.”

  “Fugitives from Leicester’s justice!” Gaillard del Soler interrupted hotly, and Peter snapped,

  “The Earl of Leicester was the King’s Seneschal, his regent in Gascony, appointed to act in the King’s stead. What he did, he did in the King’s name, on the King’s behalf.”

  “Then why,” Pierre de Castillon jeered, “was he summoned to defend himself before the King’s court?”

  Peter turned, looked directly at the King. “Why, indeed?”

  “I am Pierre de Lignan, Abbot of the Benedictine Abbey of Sainte-Croix in Bordeaux. I would tell you this, my lord King. The Earl of Leicester has caused needless suffering in my city. He unfairly favored the Coloms over the del Solers, raising serious doubts about his neutrality. After he demanded hostages from the del Solers, he destroyed Rostand del Soler’s house, in violation of city statutes, and when challenged, he disregarded our complaints, saying that the King had instructed him to put down a rebellion and by God, that was what he meant to do. I ask you, do not send him back to Gascony.”

  “Your Grace, I am Amanieu Colom, Mayor of Bordeaux. I have been listening with a troubled heart these weeks past, as the Earl of Leicester has been defamed by men unworthy to stand in his shadow. The testimony of the del Solers is tainted, my lords. There has long been bad blood betwixt our families, and they resent my lord of Leicester for not giving them a free hand in the city. They do not speak for Bordeaux. I have here a letter from the commune. May I read a portion aloud? The Earl of Leicester has governed with patient strenuousness, with prudent circumspection, with just moderation, with persevering clemency, assisting loyal subjects and punishing rebels, without danger to any or profuse expenditures.’ That, my lords, is the verdict of the Bordelais.”

  “Since my lord Gaston, Viscount of Béarn, could not be present before the court, I am authorized to speak for him. The Earl of Leicester has treated the Viscount of Béarn with unrelenting hostility, and it is our belief that this hostility is of a personal nature. The County of Bigorre is claimed by Gaston’s wife, Mathe, and by Esquivat de Chabanais, who happens to be de Montfort’s kinsman. We suspect, therefore, that—”

  “That is a damnable lie!” Simon was on his feet. “When the Countess of Bigorre died last year, she bequeathed her lands to her grandson, Esquivat. Whilst I agreed with her choice, that did not affect my dealings with Gaston.”

  The Archbishop of Bordeaux smiled, not pleasantly. “Naturally you would say that, my lord.”

  “When men want to throw hounds off a scent, they drag a herring across the trail. That, my lord Archbishop, is precisely what you seek to do here today. By impugning my motives, you hope to distract the court, to turn attention away from the man who ought to be on trial, Gaston de Béarn. The man who plundered the town of Dax. The man who shamelessly intrigued with the King of Navarre. The man who disavowed allegiance to England, to the King who then pardoned him!”

  Henry jerked upright in his chair. “I had my reasons for pardoning him!”

  Simon moved forward. “Tell us then, my liege. Tell us what they were. I daresay every man here waits with bated breath for your revelation.”

  “I am not answerable to you, de Montfort! I am not answerable to any man!”

  In the silence that followed, Henry sensed that he had somehow erred, somehow played into Simon’s hands. His barons were exchanging glances; their disapproval was a palpable thing, a sudden presence in the court. Simon said, “As you say, my liege,” returned to his seat.

  “My name is Bertrand Lambert, my lords. I am a citizen of Bordeaux, where I have an apothecary shop, close by the Hospital Saint-Jean. I am here to speak on behalf of the Earl of Leicester. Ere he came to Gascony, the land was in turmoil. Men were loath to travel the King’s roads, for the lords of Fronsac and Gramont set up barriers, charged unlawful tolls. They gave shelter to outlaws and felons, and turned them loose upon the countryside to rape and pillage. They refused to pay merchants fair prices for their goods. They put men in fear for their lives, for their women. And then the Earl of Leicester came, and it all changed. My lords, think you that the Gascon people care that the Viscount of Gramont was cast into prison without a trial? We cheered when my lord of Leicester ordered these brigands hanged. Would that one dangled from every tree in Gascony!”

  “We, the deputies of Bayonne, do humbly urge Your Grace not to send the Earl back to Gascony. We do not grieve for the rebel lords he imprisoned; they well deserved it. But the Earl confuses dissent with disloyalty, ignores legitimate complaints, and treats our land like a conquered province. Our citizens long for peace, and the Earl by his very presence stirs up controversy, even amongst men of good will. His task is done, Your Grace. We beseech you to heed our pleas, to banish the Earl from Gascony.”

  “My lord of Leicester, do you wish to address the court?”

  “I do, Your Grace. Gascony has long been a thorn in the English Crown. Its lords are known to be the most faithless in Christendom, men who barter their honor like whores. Three Seneschals in succession had failed to restore order to the duchy. At the King’s urgings, I undertook to crush the rebellion. I have listened as men complained that I was too harsh, too unyielding, and indeed, I make no apology for it. I know no other way to fight a war. Granted, I was not always scrupulous about observing legal formalities. But as I see it, men who defy the law do put themselves beyond the law. If I have given citizens reason to doubt my good intentions, I do regret it. Ask me not to shed tears, though, for rebel lords like the Viscount of Gramont, or those who allied themselves with him, like the del Solers. They well deserved any grief they got, and if there was justice, Gaston de Béarn would be rotting now in Hell.”

  For a moment, Simon’s eyes swept the chamber, coming at last to Henry’s face. “I sought to serve my King, to protect the pow
erless, and I am willing to submit myself to the judgment of my peers, to the judgment of the Almighty. I do not doubt that I shall be fully vindicated, indeed am ready to try my innocence upon the field, in trial by combat, if my accusers be willing.” He paused. “I see they are not. Well, then, let my actions speak for themselves. I acted in good faith, and no man can do more than that.”

  “My lord of Cornwall, you have something to say?”

  “Yes, my liege, I do.” Richard rose to his feet. “For five weeks now, we have been listening to testimony, weighing evidence. I think it is time we reached a decision. I know I have heard enough. What say you, my lords?”

  Henry was caught off balance, none too happy at having the initiative taken away from him like this. But his lords were already murmuring their assent, looking to Richard.

  “It is my opinion,” Richard said slowly, “that the Earl of Leicester deserves no censure. I think he has proved beyond question that he was but following the King’s orders.”

  Henry sucked in his breath. That Richard could so betray him like this! Did the loss of Gascony mean so much to him, that he’d side with de Montfort against his own brother, against his King?

  The Bishop of Worcester swiftly followed Richard’s example, proclaiming Simon’s innocence in ringing tones. That was no more than Henry would have expected, for he knew the Bishop was an intimate of Simon’s. He seethed, but felt no surprise when the Earl of Hereford now declared for Simon; Hereford’s eldest son was Humphrey de Bohun, another of Simon’s friends. But the Earl of Gloucester was getting to his feet, and Henry’s confidence began to return, for he knew Gloucester had no liking for Simon. He was stunned, therefore, when Gloucester said,

  “My liege, I can find no fault in the Earl of Leicester’s conduct. As I see it, you sent the Earl to Gascony to quell a rebellion, and he did just that.”

  Henry often had dreams of betrayal. Now he found himself unable to awaken from one, as his barons and Bishops continued to speak out in Simon’s favor. Roger de Quincy, Earl of Winchester. Roger Bigod, Earl of Norfolk. Walter Kirkham, Bishop of Durham. Men he’d trusted. But his wife’s uncle, Peter de Savoy, Earl of Richmond, had yet to be heard. Peter was known to be an eloquent orator, and Henry clung to the last tendrils of hope as he rose; mayhap Peter could still sway them, make them see Simon as he truly was, stripped of his aura of invincibility and righteousness.

  “My lords, I am not surprised we are in full agreement, for the facts permit no other conclusion. I can but echo the findings of Your Grace’s own commission of inquiry, the one you chose to disregard, that the Earl of Leicester did treat certain lords quite severely, but no more than they deserved.”

  After that, Henry ceased to listen. Never had he felt so alone. A deliberate affront, he had no doubt of that. His lords were making use of de Montfort to diminish the powers of the Crown. Well, they’d not get away with it. He could still override them all, impose his own will upon them, as his father would have done. He raised his hand for silence. But as he gazed out upon a sea of expectant faces, his resolve wavered. “I have heard your judgment…,” he began, and then his courage failed him. He simply could not summon up the fortitude to defy them all, de Montfort, his own council, the Church, his barons. “It would appear,” he faltered, “that the Earl of Leicester has proven his innocence to the satisfaction of this court,” and as he slumped back in his seat, he knew that he’d carry to his grave the bitter memory of Simon’s triumphant smile.

  Simon and Nell had celebrated into the early hours of the morning, and as they entered the abbey refectory the next day they looked tired, but content. Henry did not appear to have gotten much sleep, either. His blue eyes were puffy, and a tiny muscle was twitching in his cheek, an infallible sign of stress.

  “My lord King.” Simon approached the dais. “Whilst I am, of course, gratified by the judgment of your court, I think it might be best if I now renounced my command. I am willing to resign this day, provided that I am indemnified for the heavy expenses I incurred in the governance of Gascony. If, however, you wish that I continue as Seneschal, I am willing to serve out the three remaining years of my term.”

  “Are you willing, indeed? Most magnanimous, my lord Earl. As it happens, however, I choose to reject both of your offers. I have no intention of paying your debts. Nor do I wish you to return to Gascony.”

  The last of Henry’s speech was almost drowned out in the sudden uproar that swept the court. Men were all talking at once, in rising tones of astonishment and indignation, and Henry had to struggle to make himself heard.

  “Silence, whilst your King speaks! Last night I did give much thought to the problem posed by Gascony, and I have reached a decision. It has long been my intent to give that realm to my firstborn son, Edward. In less than a fortnight, Edward shall be thirteen. On that day, I mean to invest him with the duchy. Furthermore, a truce is to be declared, from now until Candlemas, at which time I hope to go myself to that troubled land. The Earl of Leicester is not to resume his former authority; I shall send a bailiff to take control of the government. I hereby order the Earl of Leicester to release those Gascon lords he is holding as hostages. He is also to surrender the castles of Fronsac, Castillon, and Sault de Navailles, and as I have issued an order for the release of the Viscount of Gramont, that lord’s castle is to be turned over to Pierre de Bordeaux forthwith. Then—”

  “Pierre de Bordeaux is Gramont’s cousin!” Simon’s disbelief exploded into outrage. “You’re telling me I must allow those castles to become outlaw strongholds again? For what purpose, then, did I spend four wretched years in Gascony? For what purpose did I endure this trial at Westminster? To have you annul the court’s verdict at your whim?”

  On a nearby table lay the court exhibits, the documents and sworn affidavits that had been presented in the course of the trial. Reaching for a charter bearing the King’s seal, Simon thrust it toward Henry. “This is the covenant we made four years ago. It clearly states that I am to be given full authority to govern Gascony, and that you are to assume responsibility for my expenses. I demand, my liege, that you keep faith with me, with this charter. You owe me, and well you know it, for I have impoverished my earldom for the sake of your honor. You gave me your sworn word! Are you now saying that the King of England’s word is worthless?”

  Henry grabbed the parchment, crumpled it in his fist, and flung it to the floor at Simon’s feet. “I’ll not keep these promises! I’ll not keep any promises to a traitor!”

  The court erupted in pandemonium. In two strides, Simon was up on the dais, and Henry jumped to his feet in alarm. “That is an accursed lie,” Simon said, slurring the words in his rush to get them said. “If you were not shielded behind the dignity of the Crown, this would have been an evil hour for you! Had any other man dared to call me traitor, he’d have paid for that insult with his life.”

  “You dare—” Henry looked around wildly for the captain of his guards. “I want this man taken to the Tower, want him—”

  “No, Henry, you do not!” Few had seen Richard move with such speed; in the blink of an eye, he was on the dais, too, between the two men. “For the love of Christ, brother, think what you do!” Lowering his voice, he ignored Henry’s attempt to shake off his restraining hand. “Look around you, Henry. Do you think these men are going to allow you to arrest de Montfort? Yesterday he was exonerated in this very court, by your own council, by the most powerful lords of your realm, by the prelates of the Roman Catholic Church. And yet today you call him a traitor, proclaim your promises have no value, and want to have him imprisoned! What do you seek to do, provoke a rebellion here and now? Do you not know what can befall a king abandoned by his own lords?”

  Other voices were being raised now. The Bishop of Worcester and Peter de Savoy had begun to echo Richard’s arguments, and John Mansel, appearing as if from nowhere, hissed urgently, “Sire, you cannot do this!”

  Henry pulled free from Richard’s grasp. His eyes darted from face to f
ace, seeking support, finding only hostility. “Get away from me, all of you!” he cried. “You are luckier than you deserve, de Montfort. Never have I regretted any deed so much as I regret that I ever permitted you to make England your home, to possess lands and honors here.”

  “At last,” Simon said, “you do speak the truth. I’ve long known that you wished me ill. I suspect that the whole purpose of this trial was to enable you to declare me a traitor, thus allowing you to bestow my estates upon your de Lusignan half-brothers!”

  Henry gasped, for he had indeed considered the possibility of confiscating Simon’s lands. But he had discussed it only with Eleanor and Richard, and so negative had their responses been that he’d never gone beyond wistful conjecture. Now he whirled, gave Richard a look of enraged reproach, and Simon said scornfully, “No one needed to tell me. I know you.”

  Henry had not inherited the notorious Plantagenet temper, the savage fury that spawned a legend, that these Angevin Kings did claim descent from the Devil. Henry’s rages were less spectacular, less irrational, more ineffectual. Now, however, he felt such hatred that he feared he might choke on it. “Go to Gascony, then!” he shouted. “If you crave war so much, seek it out! Go and be damned!”

  “I will indeed go to Gascony, and I shall not return until—ungrateful though you are—I have subdued your enemies, flung them at your feet!” With that, Simon turned his back upon his King, stalked from the chamber.

  Nell followed in haste, caught up with him some moments later, alone in the Chapter House. Another of Henry’s projects, it was nearly completed, and ablaze with summer sunlight, for Henry’s stained-glass panes had yet to be installed in the soaring windows. Simon was standing by the lectern, and when she reached him, she found that he was still trembling with rage.