The Royal Griffin (The Plantagenents Book 2)

by Juliet Dymoke

  'You go too far, my lords,' he said severely. 'It is incredible to me that you should all thus condemn a man who has done you no harm, and even more incredible that you should take your King to task in this manner. He has the right to bestow his sister's hand where he will.'

  'It may seem incredible to you' – the Earl of Oxford swivelled round to face him – 'but that is because you do not understand our laws, nor, it seems the purpose of the King's Council. I suppose such civilized proceedings are unknown in Provence.'

  Richmond coloured angrily. 'You Englishmen think you know better about everything than anyone else. Believe me, you are not so highly thought of in France.'

  'Uncle! If you please,' Henry held up his hand. He turned to the one man present who had not yet spoken but whose views he had sounded beforehand. 'My lord bishop, what is your opinion? You know the law of the Church as well as anyone.'

  Robert Grosseteste, Bishop of Lincoln, was in something of a dilemma. A man of immense intelligence, single-minded and of sound judgement, he was devoted to the Church and to his spiritual superior the Archbishop, but he fought constantly against the encroachments of the Papal Legate and wanted to see English affairs settled by Englishmen. He had also, during the years that Simon had held the Leicester lands, become a close friend to the Earl. He turned in appeal to Edmund Rich. 'My father-in-God, you know Earl Simon as well as I do. You know his true devotion; you know he would do nothing to flout God's law. He does not believe, in contracting this marriage, that he has done so but if we consider he has, then he is prepared to go to the Pope, to ask for the matter to be set right.'

  The Archbishop shook his head sadly. 'Is that not a case of bolting the stable door when the horse has fled? I am horrified that he and the Princess could so blind themselves as to what they have done. The very stealthiness of the marriage betrays their hidden guilt, whatever they may say. It is invalid – they live in sin.'

  'Aye, it is the secrecy that stinks,' Pembroke muttered and half a dozen other voices joined in the protest. 'Without even consultation with us!'

  'And why should the richest prize in England be given to a foreigner?'

  'The marriage is no marriage, the Church says so.'

  'Simon de Montfort should be sent back to Normandy. ‘

  'Dismiss him, sire. He has betrayed you, all of us, by his wicked scheming.'

  'Aye, to seduce our Princess!'

  The chorus of angry voices rose until Earl Richard banged on the table for silence, summing all up by saying that at best it was a piece of ill-advised plotting that reflected no good on any of those concerned.

  This brought Henry to his feet, his fair skin mottled. He hated argument, hated trouble, whether brought about by his own folly or not, and he bellowed at them, 'By Our Lady, I will not have this! I have done what I have done and you shall not argue with me. My lord of Leicester' – deliberately giving Simon his title – 'shall go to Rome. I myself will give him letters to the Holy Father who, I doubt not, will absolve my sister. And you, all of you,' his eyes went ominously in the direction of Gilbert Marshal, 'especially you, my lord of Pembroke, will incur my deepest displeasure if you are discourteous to either the Earl or the Countess of Leicester.'

  Archbishop Edmund rose. 'The Countess of Pembroke is her title, sire, until such time as we hear from His Holiness. And may I suggest – '

  But Henry was already striding away from the table. He was fully aware that Richard was not following him, that his brother was standing, in a manner that spoke louder than words, among the other angry barons and prelate.

  'My dear sister,' the Queen said smoothly, 'how very romantic! Quite like one of my own poems. But may I say it was not perhaps a wise thing to do.' She had heard the news only half an hour before the stormy Council meeting and had gone at once to the Princess's bedchamber.

  'Nevertheless I did it,' Eleanor said quietly. In the new found strength of her love she would have dared anything for Simon.

  The Queen picked up a fringe she had been working on and fingered the silk. 'Pretty stuff. If you had consulted me, as indeed a true sister would have done, I might have advised you more carefully.'

  'You, madame?' Eleanor raised an eyebrow. 'I had my own brother to advise me. You are new to our country and you do not understand us very well as yet.'

  'New? I have been here these two years.'

  'Perhaps,' Eleanor said with calculated carelessness, 'but then your time is spent among your own people, is it not?'

  'Yet you have wed a foreigner like myself. Your argument carries no weight there, my dear.'

  'I am not arguing,' Eleanor said. She was well aware that her sister-in-law was annoyed because she had not been made privy to the secret wedding. Eleanora of Provence was young and very proud, but Eleanor of England was her equal in pride. 'I am merely saying that it was my brother's wish that the matter should be handled as it was.'

  The Queen gave an elaborate sigh. 'Yes, it is hard for one to understand the ways of a different people. In my country a vow of chastity would be considered so binding that one would not dare to break it for fear of God's wrath.'

  Eleanor felt her colour rising. 'Perhaps God is more understanding of the circumstances than you, madame. We are no less devout in England than you in Provence.'

  The Queen laughed. 'You cannot tell me you mean to keep your vow! I am sure Sir Simon is not the man to emulate your King Edward whom you call the Confessor. I read the other day – you see I am studying your history – that he never so much as entered his wife's bed.'

  'Your reading of our history may be accurate, madame, but hardly applicable to my lord and myself.'

  'No?' The Queen's eyes went coolly over her. 'No, I do not imagine Sir Simon to be of that stamp. He has a look of coldness but any woman can see that there is passion beneath the surface – as I am sure you have found out. Well, at least now you can be open about it.'

  'It was never intended that we would be otherwise for more than a short time.'

  'As I said, like a French romance, but of course many people will put a different construction on the secrecy and the haste.'

  'Then they will find they are mistaken,' Eleanor retorted angrily. 'I am not with child.'

  'I am relieved to hear it. That would have embarrassed your brother. But of course one cannot be sure –'

  Eleanor seized the fringe that the Queen was still fingering and storming across to the door flung it open. 'Madame, you have no cause to doubt my virtue. I think it best that we do not discuss this any more.'

  Eleanora of Provence did not move. 'My dear, it is not for you to dismiss me. But there, I must return to my apartments anyway.' She crossed the room and patted Eleanor's cheek in a condescending manner that sent an even deeper colour into it. 'I do not envy you the wrath that is likely to fall on you now. And I don't mean God's but that of the King's barons and their ladies. Sir Simon is not well liked. But I will stand by you.' She gave her sister-in-law a faint smile and went from the room.

  Eleanor in sheer vexation flung the fringe on the floor and ground her foot on it.

  That night Simon came openly to her chamber and when she told him of the Queen's insinuations he laughed outright. 'A moment of spite, my heart, that's all, because Henry did not tell her. And she is jealous of you.'

  'Jealous?'

  'Of course. You are more to the people here than she is.'

  'Naturally,' Eleanor said. 'If she did not keep all those Provencal hangers-on around her she would be better liked, only Henry will not send them away. He can deny her nothing.'

  'And he has been good to us,' Simon said against her hair. 'You must win the Queen over for his sake, and I must do my best with your brother Richard.'

  She gave a little sigh. 'I am sorry he is so offended.'

  'I know how much you care for him. I will talk to him tomorrow.'

  'Were they all so angry, at the Council meeting?' she asked. 'Did anyone tell you of it?'

  'Yes, my lord of Richmond. He sp
oke for me, but the air was hot, he said, and not one Englishman there approved what the King had done.'

  'Perhaps it was wrong,' she said in a low voice, her head against his shoulder. 'Perhaps in breaking my vow I have done a terrible thing.'

  'No!' He caught her closely in his arms. 'Eleanor, we have talked and talked of this. We have prayed, and God has not struck us down. It is right that we should be man and wife – do you doubt that? Do you?'

  On the last words his mouth came down on hers and when she could speak again she whispered, 'Oh no, no.' And as his hands took possession of her and his love-making drove all compunction, any last lingering doubt from her mind she hoped, ardently, that the Queen's insinuation might soon become a truth.

  The whole of England, it seemed, was in a turmoil. With one voice the clerics condemned the marriage, refusing to refer to the Princess as the Countess of Leicester. The barons were furious, their self-importance slighted, their anger directed as much towards the willful King as towards the Norman who had stolen their Princess in so underhand a manner.

  Earl Richard and Gilbert Marshal were loudest in their protests and Simon, with his usual ability to appraise a situation betook himself to Berkhamstead Castle where Earl Richard was residing since the Council meeting. Eleanor accompanied him and was shown at once into Isabella's apartments.

  'Well!' the Countess said and laughed. 'You have taken my advice at last but, my dear, I never imagined it would be in so dramatic a way, nor that you would set the country by the ears. Nothing else is talked of and Richard is very angry.'

  'I know,' Eleanor said. 'I wish he was not, though I care nothing for the mouthings of ill-tempered men like your brother Gilbert. Forgive me, Isabella, but I think he would have preferred to keep me a pensioner all my days.'

  'Gilbert is not on good terms with the King and is using this affair to vent his own hurt,' Isabella agreed calmly. Gilbert had never been her favourite brother. She looked her sister-in-law up and down. 'God knows how it will be resolved but I can see that you are happy. You look very different from the days when we talked at Odiham.'

  A swift smile broke over Eleanor's face. 'Of course I am happy, as you are with Richard, but I had a very sharp letter from Cecily de Sanford. She is so shocked at what I have done. She still lives in a convent.'

  'And wears out her knees praying. Thank God you freed yourself from her, my love. To be a nun if one wants to is one thing, but that life was not for you, nor would William have wished you to cut yourself off from the world. I'm sure he would approve of your marrying again, though the manner of it –'

  'Don't you see?' Eleanor interrupted passionately 'Simon is not liked by the barons. The Council would have wrangled on and on and as for the churchmen, they would not have listened for one moment to our plea. And even my dear friend the Archbishop, who was so kind to me when William died, has turned against me.'

  'I suppose it is understandable as you took the vow in front of him. I always said it was foolishness, but I think he is right; you should have asked for a dispensation before you wed Sir Simon.'

  'And wait, maybe for years. Oh no.' Eleanor sat down on some cushions on a window ledge where she could look out on the large and busy courtyard. 'Isabella, there was too much fire in us for that. Surely you know –’

  'I know, as you did not with William perhaps,' her sister-in-law said with sadness in her voice. 'Passion makes women of us, that is what I see in you now, but sometimes it takes away our sense.'

  'I would do it again. Isabella, none of you appreciate Simon, what he is, what he can do. He has more to offer Henry than all the Council put together. He is wise like Richard and if we are reconciled with Richard it will be much better for everyone. I did not think you would be against us.'

  'Against you?' Isabella came to the window seat and kissed her cheek lightly. 'Dearest Eleanor, I have talked myself hoarse trying to persuade my lord to accept what in any case cannot now be undone.'

  'And has be? Will he receive Simon kindly?'

  'I can't tell. Richard is very good at listening and saying little in return. Only he does truly love you and so I hope for the best.'

  'If he does not, what shall we do?' Eleanor cried out. 'If Richard is with the Council and the barons it will be very hard for Henry and Simon to stand out against them. And you know Henry – he may change his mind, especially if the Pope is angered. But Simon says he will go to the Holy Father himself.'

  'The Curia can no doubt be persuaded,' Isabella agreed drily. 'Sometimes I think gold is the only thing that counts in Rome. He would be wise to go with his pockets well lined.'

  Simon had in fact come to Berkhamstead with that piece of advice already in his head, for Richard, like the Curia, was open to similar persuasion. In fact Simon was managing a great deal better than either he or Eleanor suspected that he would.

  He presented himself at the Earl of Cornwall's private chamber and met the first frosty glance in an open and frank manner that in his judgement was the right approach.

  'My lord Richard,' he began, 'I can see that we have offended you greatly and for that I am sorry. We should have confided in you.' There was something immutable about the way Richard was sitting in his great carved chair, his feet on a stool, one ringed hand held out to the blazing logs in the hearth.

  For one moment Simon wondered if he had been mistaken, if the King's brother was more upset by the affront to the Church than that to himself, but he went on, 'All I can do now is to appeal to you on the grounds of your sister's happiness.

  Are you aware, when you look at her, that she is happy? It may sound foolish but love has come to us, so great a love that I believe with all my heart that it must come from God Himself. That is what made us strong enough to face all that the breaking of Eleanor's vow would entail – and we did not underestimate that.' He paused. The last words were only partly true for he had not expected such violent opposition, nor that he should receive cold looks and resentful mutterings in the streets, as he had last week when he rode down Ludgate Hill. Someone had actually thrown a rotten fish head at the feet of his horse and it had required considerable self control not to lash out with his whip at the offender. But the citizens, poor fellows, were influenced by councillors and aldermen whose pride was hurt and he kept his temper, determined that he should be seen as a man of dignity with no need for shame in the affair.

  'Well, you certainly stirred up a hornet's nest,' Richard said. He was aware that he was keeping the suppliant standing, that he had not offered wine, but this business had to be settled first, one way or another. 'As for Eleanor, of course I can see that she is happy, but our friend the Archbishop would tell you that right comes before personal pleasure.'

  'I doubt if the Archbishop has ever been in love.'

  An appreciative flicker of a smile crept briefly into Richard's eyes. 'A saint is expected to be holier than other men – though St Augustine came late to chastity. No one expected you to be chaste, my friend, neither did I think Eleanor would be content forever in the state she chose for herself. Better to be in a convent than in the world yet cut off from the pleasuring that is natural. It was the manner of your union that offended. And that vow – at least it would have been wise to try to free her from it first.'

  Simon said earnestly, 'Earl Richard, I have the deepest respect for the Archbishop, yet for so gentle a man he can be inflexible where the Church is concerned. I must admit I was governed by the fear that even if we went to the Pope I might not win Eleanor.' He paused. Richard's expression was hard to read. 'My lord, the thing is done, whatever the rights, or the wrongs which I have admitted. We are brothers now and in the past you have been good enough to give me your friendship, as the King has done.'

  Richard made a gesture. 'Friendship presupposes trust.'

  'What would you have said to us, my lord, had we come to you?'

  Richard's brows, darker than his hair, drew together. 'You have me there. I think I would not have been as precipitate as my brother
.'

  'A King's privilege, perhaps?'

  'You are adept at words, Sir Simon.'

  'I am being honest, which I think you appreciate.'

  'A rare quality,' was the Earl's comment. 'I hope that you will find it pays.'

  'In your case, I am sure that it will,' Simon said swiftly, 'for I know how much you love your sister. For her sake I ask you to forgive us for not consulting you, to give us your blessing. I will prove myself a good husband and loyal to the realm, for England is now unalterably my home.' He saw a spark of response to this speech and waiting for just the right amount of time, he opened a canvas bag that he carried over his arm and brought out a magnificent gold cup. 'This is a gift, from one brother to another, and here is a platter to match. The ornamentation is superbly wrought, isn't it? The work of Master Stephen of Chepe, whom I'm sure you know. It was my wife who thought you would enjoy such a gift – to show our desire for your forgiveness.'

  Richard said nothing, but he picked up the gold cup and turned it in his fingers, tracing the elegant work, appreciating the costliness and the beauty at the same time. The smile that had showed briefly in his eyes spread to his mouth.

  'Your arguments are as well turned as this cup,' he said at last. 'Well, you are right in one thing – I care very much for Eleanor's happiness and no one can look at her and deny that you have made a woman of her. She was always beautiful but now –' he broke off. 'It seems I cannot deny her what is perhaps best in life, certainly better than cold chastity.'

  He stood up at last, his hand held out. 'Welcome, brother. We are, after all, to be crusaders together and there must be no animosity between us. I will do what I can to reconcile you to my fellow barons and I think they will follow where I lead.'

  Simon took his hand firmly. He had a great liking for Richard of Cornwall and for a fleeting moment wished that it was this man, with his careful judgement, his many abilities, who sat on the throne of England.