by April Munday
“You have borne these last days well, Eleanor, but I have taken you away from those who could comfort you and it was only right to give you my mother and my sister to help you.”
“I think I will hear the story now, if you can tell it.” She knew, now, what Henry’s story must be and why he had taken her from the convent.
Chapter Six
Henry said, “When I arrived in France Philip had already been there some time. I do not have a great estate or many lands and had no men with me. My lord had paid his way out of sending men and thought me a fool for not doing the same. So I was looking for men to fight with. I found Philip on my second day, or rather he found Solomon. He wanted to buy him, but I would not sell, for all he offered a price that would allow me to buy a good horse and have money to spare. We got drunk together while we argued about whether or not I would sell. I passed out before I would give in and he took me back to his tent. We were always together after that. He said he kept me near, because the moment I was killed in battle he would take Solomon. I stayed with him because he was a good soldier.”
Henry paused, because he did not want to lie to Eleanor. There were things he had decided he would not tell her, but this should not be one of them. “I was also fascinated by him. He dressed like a peacock, but could converse with the lowliest soldier as if he were that soldier’s brother. He fought like a man who lived only to kill, but I saw him cry when we came across the bodies of some children in an abandoned house. He sat his horse worse than any man I ever saw, but on his own legs he moved with such grace that I could never grow weary of watching him.
We grew close as we went out to fight the French together. He saved my life and I saved his and he saved mine again. We got drunk together. I told him about my family and he told me about you.” This was one of the things he would not tell her. She would never know from him in what little regard her brother had held her. “She’s only a woman,” he’d said. “What use are they?” Henry had replied that they were quite useful for getting heirs. “An heir! I tried that once. My wife screamed while we were getting him and again when they both died as she bore him. No, women are nothing.” Henry had not agreed, but had already decided that he would only argue with Philip where he must.
“He told me that you had entered the convent and were to take your vows.” Henry had spent most of the voyage home trying to remember one compliment that Philip had paid his sister. “He said you would make a good nun.”
Eleanor smiled weakly. “I knew Philip. I do not grieve because he was a good brother, because he was not. I grieve because I am now alone.” Henry was not shocked or surprised; Eleanor was a woman of sense, who must surely have known Philip’s character as well as he did. Still Henry knew that he could not tell her the whole truth. However well she thought she knew Philip, there were things that she could not and must not know.
“You’re not alone, Eleanor, not while I live.”
“You are very kind, Henry, but you have already told me that you will leave me here alone.” It was an accusation and Henry felt it keenly. Her brother had abandoned her to the convent and had died without taking thought for her future and now he was going to have to abandon her to people who were even more strangers to her than he was. She was right to be angry.
“I cannot take you with me, you understand that.” Henry stopped, not sure that a woman who had spent most of her life in a convent would understand why she could not come with him. She was far too trusting; it had been easy enough to convince her that he had meant her no harm when he had kidnapped her and she had allowed him liberties that no man save a husband should be allowed. It was true indeed that he had meant her no harm, but he suspected that he could have seduced her had he so wished and that Edward could have seduced her had he had the opportunity. He shook his head to clear it, remembering the story that he was telling. “Soldiers become close,” he continued, not wanting to discuss his improprieties and why she must remain with his father. “And we were very close. We looked out for one another and one night I asked him to come and tell my family if I was killed. He promised that he would.” Philip had become very emotional at the thought of Henry’s death and had told him not to think about dying, for how could he, Philip, carry on without him. Henry had long known the depth of Philip’s feelings for him and had guessed their nature. He had held Philip for a long time, that night, telling him that he had no intention of dying, but that men died in wars and he wanted to know that his parents would hear of his death from a friend. “Am I just a friend?” Philip had asked through his tears. “No, you are more than a friend.” It had cost Henry a great deal to admit this, but it was not in his nature to lie, even when it would have made things easier for him.
“The next night he told me about the treasure that your grandfather found. Saxon gold. He told me where it was and gave me the token that you will need to obtain it.” He pulled out a chain from under his tunic and over his head and held it up. From the chain hung a plain gold ring.
“This is why the men came to the convent. They thought Philip had left the token with me.” Eleanor reached out to touch the ring, but did not take it. Henry thought that she blamed it for her unexpected and unwanted departure from the convent.
Henry nodded. Philip should have left the ring with her. Eleanor was not his heir, but he should have left the token with her so that she could decide whether or not to give it to his heir. Instead he had taken it with him to France and then had given it to Henry. Eleanor could never know that Philip had not intended her to have it. Philip had loved Henry, but Henry could not take the treasure from Eleanor. Philip had explained that the gold was not part of the birthright; it belonged outright to whoever the current owner wished to give it. His instructions about taking the ring to a church in Exeter and using it to demonstrate his right to the gold had been explicit. He was glad now, however, that Philip had not left the ring with her, because he would have had no reason to go to the convent and Eleanor might have been hurt or worse.
He gave the ring to Eleanor, who took it and examined it closely.
“You know how to use the ring and where to go?”
Eleanor nodded.
“But I have no use for that gold.” She tried to give it back to him, but he shook his head.
“Then give it to the convent, or as alms to people who need it, or invest a school. Philip told me there is a lot of gold. You can do a lot of good.” Henry had no idea how much gold there was, but he had assumed there was a lot and Eleanor’s reaction confirmed it.
Eleanor took the ring and turned it round in her fingers. Then she slipped the chain over her head and guided the ring under her clothes. Adjusting her clothing so that it could not be seen, she looked into Henry’s eyes.
“Tell me how he died.”
Henry looked away from her for a moment. He had decided what he would leave out of his story, but how could he bear to tell all the rest?
“Please,” said Eleanor and he turned back to her. Now it was her turn to take his hand. He looked down at it for a moment. Her hand was too small to hold his, but it was comfortable. He sensed that he could find absolution here if he wanted it. He didn’t deserve it and Eleanor might not offer it if she knew what had really happened. He continued with his story, not daring to take the risk.
“There was a big battle. I tried to stay near him, but he fought like a man possessed and I could not keep close. When it was over I looked for him. After I had looked among the living I went out to see if he was with the fallen.”
This had been worse than the battle. Men, badly injured, were screaming and crying out for help, but he had ignored them, desperate to find Philip. The living were picking over the corpses of the dead and when he had found Philip his body was being robbed.
“I chased the man away and knelt beside Philip. His body was still warm.” His beautiful face had looked just as it had when he had slept, but Henry was under no illusion that it had been a peaceful death. Philip lay on a patch of ground made
mud by his own blood.
“It was only when I picked him up to take him away that I realised he had been stabbed in the back. I wondered then if he had been killed by the man I had seen.” He sensed Eleanor’s shock. “It is not unknown for men to kill those who are badly injured so that they can steal their belongings more easily. I wasn’t sure that day, but when I saw the same man at your convent, I knew that he had killed Philip.”
“For this.” Eleanor touched the place between her breasts where the ring lay.
“I can think of no other reason. Someone else must have known the tale of the Saxon treasure.”
“You buried him.” Eleanor did not question.
“Yes and had a priest say a mass for his soul. You need not worry about that. When I return home I shall ask the priest to say a mass once a week for him.”
Eleanor nodded. “So, you came to the convent to tell me of Philip’s death and to give me the token. And now you have brought me here and you will leave me here.”
“You will be safe here, Eleanor. The gate is barred at night, there are always people about and arms are always near. There is no gate at my house and few men to protect you.”
“I understand.”
Henry knew she did not, but there was no more to be said; he could not take her with him. She would not be safe in his house. He stood. He was exhausted and longed for his bed.
“You said you would stay for a while.”
He had not expected that Eleanor would want his company after he had told her how he had let Philip die alone.
“I said I would stay if you wanted me to.”
“I do want you to stay.”
He sat again.
“It wasn’t your fault,” her voice was so quiet he could barely hear it.
“What wasn’t?”
“That he died.”
Henry knew that it was his fault. If they hadn’t quarrelled they would have gone into the battle together and they would have stayed together and he could have protected Philip.
“We were comrades, brothers-in-arms. I should have been with him.”
“His loss grieves you deeply, doesn’t it?”
And then Henry knew that she had not asked him to stay for her own sake.
“Yes.”
She opened her arms for him and he laid his head on her shoulder, knowing that she would not condemn him for this weakness.
Neither of them said anything. Eleanor stroked his back gently and he put his arm around her. He knew that what he had done was unforgivable, but Eleanor’s comfort was freely given, so he took it.
William managed to talk Henry into going to bed in the afternoon and they did not expect to see him until the next day. Eleanor felt badly that he had suffered so much since he had taken her from the convent and now he could not even enjoy his homecoming, for it was obvious that his mother had made extensive preparations for this day. He had been away so long and deserved to have this celebration, although she missed him more than she had expected and felt awkward around William and Philippa and Henry’s parents.
William and Philippa did their best to make her welcome. They asked no questions, for Henry had already told them what was necessary. Philippa showed her the important rooms of the house and told her the routine of the family. Then they sat in the hall. Philippa spun wool and Eleanor had the unwanted luxury of doing nothing. She would rather be busy, but Philippa seemed to think that she needed to rest. Eleanor was certain that Henry had not told them the whole story, but he must have told them that the last few days had been exhausting for her as well as for him. The longer they sat the more she began to believe that Philippa might have been right; she did need to rest. They talked, so that Eleanor might learn the ways of the house, but, for today, nothing more was expected of her than that she should sit and recover from her journey. Doing nothing did not come easily, but Eleanor soon found that she was really very tired. Exhaustion from the tensions and exertions of the last few days swept over her and she found her head nodding. Despite all her efforts, she gradually fell asleep and did not wake again until the servants started getting the hall ready for the evening meal. She smiled sheepishly at Philippa, who leaned across and squeezed her hand “Henry said you would be tired and that, if you slept, I should leave you to it. I did not believe him, but it seems the last few days have taken a great toll on both of you.”
“I did not realise how tired I was, I’m sorry.”
“No. I’m the one who should apologise. I should have sent you to your bed until we were ready to eat.”
William joined them just before the evening meal and helped his wife to move her wheel and the wool out of the way. The meal that evening was as much a feast as the meal Edward had served the night before, although it lacked both blackbird and venison. Eleanor was sad that Henry was not there to enjoy it, but William was insistent that he needed to be allowed to sleep and she, at least, was quick to agree with him.
Eleanor sat between Philippa and Edward. At first she felt uncomfortable, but Edward was charming and frequently smiled his disarming smile, despite his bruised face. He was quiet and did not join in the conversation much, but he treated Eleanor as an honoured guest and neither said nor did anything out of place. He did not seem like the same man who had quarrelled with his brother that very morning.
This time Eleanor did not dare ask about what she was eating, but she enjoyed it. Life outside of the convent was very varied and it was more complicated. The sisters did not live a life without quarrels, but they did not raise their voices and certainly not their fists. The violence that she had seen and heard about in the last few days disturbed and frightened her.
After the meal, Edward led Eleanor to the fire and brought up a stool for her.
“You will be more comfortable here, Sister Margaret,” he said, even though she had not yet indicated where she would sit.
“Thank you,” she said, for want of anything better. She sat and watched as the servants began to clear the room.
“Is there anything you need? More beer?
“No, thank you. I have sufficient.” William had only just filled her beaker. The beer was good and William had proved to be an attentive host.
“Then do you object if I sit beside you?”
Eleanor had noticed the other stool and assumed that he had brought it for his mother.
“No.” She had no wish to be rude to her host’s son and much less a desire to lie to him, but she would have preferred to sit in another room without a fire than sit next to him in front of the fire here. She could not easily forget how she had had to hide three dead bodies this afternoon to prevent him accusing his brother of murder.
“Shall we have a story, Father?” Edward asked once everyone was sitting before the fire.
Sir John looked doubtful. “I would rather hear about your journey back from Brittany with your brother.”
“Of course, if you do not mind hearing about Henry being seasick all the time.”
Sir John laughed and Lady Mary smiled. “We are all aware of Henry’s weakness.”
Eleanor felt uncomfortable; she had not guessed from Sir John’s welcome that he despised his second son as much as Edward did. Now she wondered if it was her estimation of Henry that was wrong.
“Do not worry, Sister Margaret, I do not mock Henry. Who should know better than his own family that he is no sailor?”
Although Edward’s words were kind, Eleanor did not miss the cruelty in his face, although he turned away from her quickly.
“I find that Henry is the better sailor for going to sea knowing how much harm it will do him.” Her voice trembled slightly, as she was aware that she was saying too much and might offend Sir John.
“That is what I have always said,” said William. “Henry can’t help being seasick, but he did not have to go to France. He could have stayed at his manor and had a quiet life.” Eleanor was glad both for his support and for the knowledge that she had not been wrong.
“It is a soldie
r’s duty to fight in a time of war.”
“Yes, Father,” said William patiently, “And that is why Henry went. He knows his duty, even though it costs him the respect of his father and his brother. He knew that he would suffer on the voyage, but he went anyway. Go on, Edward, tell your tale, but spare us any more criticism of Henry. He is a better man than either of us.”
“Very well.”
Edward’s story gripped Eleanor from the beginning. Despite herself she wanted to hear about his journey across the sea; she wanted to hear how he had been able to find his way; she wanted to know what the crew had done when the storms had been worse than the one she had been in; she wanted to know what they had done when they could not put in to land each night. When Edward described arriving in Brittany she longed to have been there with him. After the adventures of the last few days and the excitement of seeing so many new things she wondered what places and people across the sea were like.
It was late by the time that Edward’s tale reached this point and Lady Mary suggested that they retire and hear the rest of the tale the next evening. Eleanor wanted to hear the rest of it now, even though she had been present for some of it. Reluctantly she went to her bedchamber, but it was a while before she could sleep.
She found herself questioning Henry’s assessment of his brother’s character. Whilst she felt that Edward was not to be trusted, she now found it difficult to believe that he would set out to get his brother hanged. It was one thing for Edward to lust after a woman and try to visit her in her bed and quite another to be the cause of the death of his brother. Henry had been away a long time, perhaps he imagined or exaggerated the change in Edward. Perhaps it was Henry who had changed. How difficult it was to find out where the truth lay. She was still struggling over it when sleep took her for the third time that day.
The next morning, before she broke her fast, Eleanor slipped out of the house and went to the stable to see if Solomon needed anything while Henry could not look after him. During the night it had grown much colder and the rain had turned to snow, which crunched beneath her feet as she crossed the courtyard. To her surprise, Henry was with Solomon. He turned when he heard her enter and smiled.