“I think I managed that quite well,” she said. “Henry is rather vexed with Simon, and now they’ll have a chance to talk in private, to make peace ere the churching begins.”
“Why should Henry be vexed with Simon? You must be mistaken, Madame, for Simon has never stood higher in Henry’s favor.”
“Then why did Henry fly into such a rage when I made mention of the debt Simon owes my uncle?”
Nell was frowning. “What debt?”
Eleanor shrugged. “All I know is that Simon somehow owes my uncle Thomas a large sum of money, and he bade me ask Henry to seek payment from Simon. Which I did, and Henry became remarkably wroth.”
Nell was remembering. “You must be referring to the debt Simon owed his cousin Ranulf. He was the late Earl of Chester. John the Scot’s uncle,” she added, for even after three years in England, Eleanor had yet to untangle the bloodlines of the English aristocracy. “Upon Ranulf’s death, the debt passed to the Count of Brittany, and then to your uncle, the Count of Flanders. It was two hundred pounds at the outset, but with interest accrued, it is now more than two thousand marks. So much,” she said resentfully “for the Church’s stricture that Christians must never engage in usury! But why should Henry be angry over an old debt? That makes no sense.”
“That is why I wanted Simon and Henry to talk together, to—” Eleanor stopped in dismay, and Nell turned, saw her brother entering the hall.
Henry came to an abrupt halt at sight of his brother-in-law. “You are not welcome here,” he said, “not at my court and for certes not at my Queen’s churching.”
Simon’s smile faded. “My liege?” he said, sounding so astonished, so innocent that Henry’s rage—too long untended, smoldering in the dark—flared up like parched kindling, flaming out of control.
“This is a holy ceremony,” he snapped. “Only those who know God’s grace deserve to take part in it.”
Simon felt no anger yet, only disbelief. “How have I offended you?”
“You know full well how you have offended me! You do owe my wife’s uncle two thousand marks, and yet you refuse to pay, you—”
“That is not so,” Simon cut in sharply. “That matter is pending before the papal curia, and I will abide by whatever decision they render.”
“I am sure His Holiness the Pope will be relieved to hear that! But how do you expect to make payment? I gave you the earldom of Leicester, and yet your debts continue to mount, to—”
“And we both know why. King John took the earldom from my father in 1207; it was not returned to me until 1231.” Simon had not heard Nell’s approach, suddenly felt her hand upon his arm. But he could not stop himself; his grievance was too raw. “And in those twenty-four years, the lands were mortgaged, the revenues wasted, the forests cut down. Yes, you gave me back our earldom, well nigh ruined!”
Henry flushed. “Ah, no, you’re not going to blame me for your debts! If you did not keep such a princely household, if you curbed your wife’s lavish spending as you ought, your coffers would not be empty, and you could pay your debts as a man of honor should!”
Nell gasped; her extravagances were of minor moment when compared to those of Henry’s Queen. “If I find no fault with my wife’s spending, why should you?” Simon said coldly, and she gave him a grateful look, before turning indignantly upon her brother.
“It is your fault that Simon and I are so hard pressed,” she cried. “You are the King, my eldest brother, and yet you allowed the Marshals to cheat me of my dower rights. You still allow them to delay payments, to offer excuses instead of money. And then…when Simon and I were wed, you denied me my marriage portion!”
“You did not deserve it! That marriage was a mockery, a sinful—”
“My liege!” Simon’s voice was shaking with fury, for to challenge their marriage now was to cast a shadow upon their son’s legitimacy. “Need I remind you that the Pope did grant us a dispensation?”
“Only because you lied to him! You bribed his counselors, got them to give him false facts, else he never would have consented, and you know that! You lied to His Holiness, just as surely as you lied to me!” Henry swung about, faced his sister. “I would never have agreed to your marriage had you not deceived me, had you not sworn you carried this man’s child!”
There was a sudden and utter silence, remarkable in a hall that size. For a moment frozen in time, Henry looked no less horrified than Nell and Simon. He seemed to hear his own words, echoing over and over in the eerie stillness. His sister was staring at him, but he could not meet her eyes. “Get out.” He swallowed, said more loudly, “I want you both gone from my sight, from my court.” He looked at Simon as he spoke; it was easier that way. “Get out!”
Simon reached for Nell’s hand. She was trembling, but she matched her step to his. Holding hands, they walked slowly toward the door, as if oblivious of the whispers, the stares, the scandal.
Simon poured red wine into a cup, passed it to Nell. “Drink,” he said, and she obediently took a swallow, then set the cup down.
“How can I ever return to court?” she whispered. “How could he do it, Simon? How could he shame me like that?”
He gave her one brief, burning glance. “Hold me,” she entreated, and he took her in his arms, but for a few moments only, no more than that. He could not be still, paced the chamber as if it were a cage, and as she watched, she discovered that his pain was harder to bear than her own.
“My lord…” Adam stood in the doorway, and Simon whirled, for he’d given orders that none were to enter the solar. “Do not be angry, my lord,” the boy pleaded. “I had to seek you out, for the city sheriffs have come. They await you in the great hall.”
Simon knew both of the sheriffs, John de Coudres and John de Wylehale. They looked surprisingly ill at ease, for he knew them to be men not easily discomfited. But before he could speak, John de Coudres said hastily, “You should know, my lord, that we are here at the King’s will, not our own.”
Nell was standing beside Simon. She regarded the sheriffs with composure, with polite curiosity, but her fingers were digging into Simon’s arm. “And what,” he asked, “is the King’s will?”
De Coudres glanced at his companion, back at Simon. “I might as well say it straight out. You cannot stay here any longer, my lord. This is the King’s house, and he has ordered us to turn you out.”
“My God…” Nell had never felt faint in her life, but she did now, was suddenly dizzy and light-headed. She caught the back of a chair, leaned on it till her breathing slowed. The King could do that, could take from them all that was theirs. The King had the power. But where was her brother? How had she lost Henry?
Simon had turned away, moved to the window. After some moments, Nell followed. “Beloved, listen to me,” she said softly. “We must return to court. We must see Henry, must seek to put this right.” He looked at her, saying nothing. His eyes glinted, took the shadows but none of the light. She knew what he was feeling; without words, she knew. “Please,” she said.
Eleanor had been anticipating the churching for weeks. But the ceremony was utterly overshadowed by Henry’s shocking public quarrel with his sister and her husband. Instead of being the center of attention, Eleanor found herself all but ignored. Upon their return from the abbey, she fled to her own chamber, where she threw herself down upon the bed, heedless of her new finery, and burst into tears. Henry retreated to his private apartment, the sunlit green room known as the Painted Chamber, and all others dispersed to discuss the astonishing scene so many had witnessed in Westminster’s great hall.
As Simon and Nell approached the entrance of the Painted Chamber, an embarrassed usher stepped forward to bar the way. “I am sorry, my lord of Leicester,” he said. “The King’s Grace has given orders that you are not to be admitted to his presence.”
“I see.” Never had Simon felt such rage; never had he felt so frighteningly impotent. All knew Fortune was a fickle bitch, but had any man ever lost her favor so fast?<
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Nell was gazing coolly at the usher. “Did my brother the King issue any order barring me?” And when he shook his head, she said, “You may announce me, then.” Her eyes cut quickly to Simon, eyes full of entreaty. “Will you wait for me?” she asked, and he nodded, for he knew what was at stake, too much for false pride.
The Painted Chamber, the lesser hall, and St Stephen’s Chapel intersected to form a spacious courtyard. Beyond, the ground stretched down to the river wall. People were wandering about in the late afternoon sun; as he walked down a graveled pathway, Simon could feel their eyes following him. None were neutral about Simon. Men either liked him very much or not at all, and more than a few were taking satisfaction in his sudden fall. But even those who sympathized did not dare to express it in so public a setting. He was left alone in the garden, gazing up at the oriel windows of the Painted Chamber, windows defaced by incongruous iron bars, installed in all of Henry’s manors after the assassination attempt at Woodstock.
“Simon!” He turned, saw Elen and Robert de Quincy hastening toward him.
When they reached him, there was a moment of awkward silence, for they’d been in the hall. “Nell is with Henry,” he said. Color rose in his face, but he forced himself to add, “He would not see me. And…he turned us out of Winchester House.”
“Jesus wept!” Elen shook her head in disbelief. “I do understand none of this,” she confessed. “Simon, I thought you and Henry were on the best of terms.”
“So,” Simon said grimly, “did I,” and another silence fell. It was Rob who saw Nell first. She paused in the doorway, then started toward them. Simon knew her as no one else did, could read failure in the prideful tilt of her chin, the rigid set of her shoulders. He was close enough now to see the tears glistening on her lashes; they seemed to cling by sheer force of will.
“He would not listen. As soon as he saw me, he began to shout and rant like…like a madman. He insisted there was nothing more to be said, and when I tried to plead with him, he became even more agitated, ordered me from the chamber.” There was a faint tremor to her voice. “Take me away from here, Simon,” she said, and he nodded, his hand closing tightly on hers.
“I will,” he said, but his assurance sounded hollow, even to him, for where was he to take her?
As the same thought occurred to Elen, she opened her mouth, but Rob was even quicker. “Elen and I have leased a riverside manor,” he said, “not far from Castle Baynard. Come back with us, Simon.”
Simon gave the other man a look of surprised reappraisal, and then he smiled. “Thank you, Rob. I feel fortunate, indeed, to have such a kinsman.”
With a fine disregard for propriety, Elen wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck, gave him an impassioned kiss. “I shall make a Welshman out of you yet, Robyn,” she laughed. “For my people know that kinship counts for all.”
Nell was staring up at the Painted Chamber’s bleak, barred windows, and there was on her face both bewilderment and despair. “I always thought,” she said, “that Henry believed that, too.”
None of them had much appetite; a supper of stewed apples and eels had gone virtually untouched. The de Quincy manor was not far from the church of St Martin le Grand, and sitting in a solar window-seat, Nell could hear its bells tolling curfew. Eight o’clock; the city gates would be shutting. But people would not be making ready for bed yet, not until the last of the light faded. Only then would they venture indoors, ignite oil lamps. The taverns and ale-houses would close, and the city Watch would take to the empty streets. The routine of London life would not vary. Tonight would be as it had been on any of a thousand summer nights. As if nothing had changed, Nell thought, as if the world had not gone mad.
Elen refilled their wine cups. “What shall you do, Simon?” she asked, and he gave a weary shrug.
“On the morrow we shall fetch our son from Kenilworth. Then we shall withdraw to one of my manors in Leicestershire, or mayhap to Odiham Castle.” But Simon knew even as he spoke that he was deluding Elen, deluding himself. What did it matter that those manors were his, that Odiham was Nell’s? The humiliation at Winchester House could be repeated at any time; all of his lands could be forfeited if that were the King’s pleasure. And who knew what would please this King?
Nell suddenly tensed. “A barge has just tied up at your dock, Rob,” she said. “Now what?”
“Given how the day has so far been going,” Simon said, “that is probably one of the city sheriffs with an order for my arrest.”
His attempt at gallows humor did not amuse his wife in the least. “Do not say that,” she cried, “not even in jest!” and he made amends with a rather strained smile. But then, at the sight of the man being ushered into the solar, Nell sprang to her feet, ran to embrace her brother.
“Oh, Richard, thank God!” For an irrational moment, she found herself fearing that Henry’s inexplicable lunacy was somehow contagious, that it might even have infected Richard, too, and her relief was considerable when he hugged her back.
“I had a devil of a time tracking you down,” he complained. “But I want no servants on hand, not for what I have to tell you.”
Nell clutched his arm. “What is it? What else could possibly happen?”
Richard waited till the servant withdrew, then glanced over at his niece. “What is it you Welsh say, Elen? ‘Troubles may ofttimes be so dire that they cannot get better. But they are never so dire that they still cannot get worse.’ That says it all quite well. You see, Simon, Henry ordered the sheriffs to place you under arrest, to take you to the Tower this very night.”
Simon sucked in his breath. Nell made a smothered sound, whirled toward him, arms outstretched, almost as if she would protect him with her own body. “No! Henry cannot do that, he cannot! Name of God, Richard, help us!”
Richard was faintly disconcerted, for he’d meant only to dramatize his own part in Simon’s deliverance, not to terrify his sister, and he made haste to say, “I will, Nell. Indeed, I already have.”
“In truth?” she said dubiously, and he nodded.
“Luckily for you, Simon, I was present when Henry gave that command. For once a cooler head prevailed—mine. I was able to persuade him to rescind the order.”
It was very quiet then. Simon reached for his wine cup, took a deep swallow, then another. “Thank you, Richard,” he said flatly. “I am grateful that you did speak out on my behalf. I would, though, that you’d found a way to tell us without giving Nell such a needless fright.”
Richard frowned. “You do exaggerate, for certes,” he said, beginning to bridle, and Elen decided she’d best take the helm, for the conversation was fast veering into rough water.
“No, Richard, Simon did not exaggerate; you gave us all a scare. Uncle, when you do have good news and bad news to deliver, it is usually more merciful to deliver the good news first,” she said and smiled. “But Simon…if a man is drowning and another man throws him a lifeline, ought the drowning man to quibble over the color of the rope?”
The combination of evenhandedness and calculated candor worked, as Elen had known it would; there were times when a woman might say with impunity what a man could not. She turned her head, winked at Rob, as Nell said tautly, “Richard, will you not tell us what happened?”
He did, painting for them an unnerving portrait of a very distraught man, a King on the far reaches of self-control. “And so,” he concluded, “it did take the veritable patience of Job, but when I left him, Henry had grudgingly agreed that Simon had done nothing to warrant a stay in the Tower.”
Simon had begun to pace. “I find it hard to believe he could be so false. Since our marriage, he has treated me as a friend, a brother. At Candlemas, he formally invested me with the earldom of Leicester. He stood godfather to my son, and just six weeks past, I stood godfather to his son. Yet all the while, he was dissembling, biding his time!”
Richard gave a derisive laugh. “No wonder you’re in such trouble with Henry if you understand him as li
ttle as that. Do you truly believe that outburst today was calculated? Henry does not plan ahead from one day to the next!”
They were all staring at him. “Jesú, it is so plain; am I the only one to see it? What happens if a wound fails to heal as it ought? Proud flesh forms, it begins to fester. And even a light touch can break it open, freeing all that poison and pus. Poor little Eleanor did that today, quite unwittingly, found a very raw wound, indeed.”
“But…but why?”
“You should know that, Nell, better than anyone. You played Henry for a fool, did you not?”
“No!”
“Henry thinks you did. He told me about that resourceful lie of yours, Nell,” Richard said, and was both surprised and amused when his sister blushed. “He pointed out—accurately—that he could have acted quite differently, that scandals have been muffled behind convent walls, buried in dungeons. But he cared for your happiness. And because he did, he brought upon himself trouble and grief in no small measure…only then to discover that you’d deceived him, made a mockery of his trust.”
“Richard, it was not like that! Yes, I lied, but not out of malice, out of desperation. I loved Simon, could not bear to lose him. If you take me to Henry, I could talk to him, try to make him understand—”
Richard was shaking his head. “It is too late, Nell. You did Henry a wrong, but today he did you a far greater one, and he knows it. You cannot believe he ever meant to blurt out the truth like that…before half the court? He is sick with shame at what he’s done, and he cannot own up to it. That is not Henry’s way, not any king’s way. All he can do is to take refuge in rage. Why else would he have ordered you to the Tower, Simon? He is trying very hard to convince himself that he is blameless, that you brought all of this upon yourself.”
Simon studied his brother-in-law, impressed in spite of himself. “And so where does that leave me?”
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