The Knight And The Rose

by Isolde Martyn

  “This is my true husband, Sir Gervase de Laval,” Johanna explained, entwining her arm around his. She could see her mother pulling a face by the deputy sheriff’s shoulder. “Oh . . . then . . . then you have not received a message from my . . . from Sir Fulk, my lord?”

  He shook his head. “No, madam, I have been on the road constantly since leaving my lord the king and the high sheriff at York and am on my way to Skipton. You have heard the tidings, of course?”

  “We have heard there was a battle, sir,” Lady Constance answered swiftly.

  “Yes, up at Boroughbridge. Lancaster, God curse him, was trying to outrun the king’s army up to his stronghold at Dunstanburgh, going to talk those Scots heathens into an alliance against the king’s grace. Any rate, all is well. Sir Andrew de Harcla, the Sheriff of Carlisle, arrived in good time and we were able to hold the bridge and send a detachment to prevent any of the rebels crossing at the ford.”

  Johanna wondered if it was imagination that the stranger’s fingers tightened briefly in hers. She looked up and received a thin-stretched smile of reassurance.

  “Ah, chaplain, good morrow to you.” Sir Ralph held out his hand to Father Gilbert. The priest joined them, clearly keen to keep abreast with the tidings, as their visitor continued, “Where was I . . . aye, the rebel, Sir Roger Clifford, was wounded leading the enemy charge at the bridge and some bright little Welshman on our side hid under the planks of the bridge and drove his pike up into that traitor, the Earl of Hereford.” His hearers involuntarily clenched their teeth at the imagining. “Then it was a rout. Poor bloodied fools at the bridge were leaderless. Some of ’em went running across to the ford where Lancaster was trying to force a crossing with his horsemen but he was driven back. Our man Harcla did not have the numbers to take him then and there but the outcome was sure. For the rebels, it was every man for himself. Lancaster took himself into Boroughbridge church for the night, claiming sanctuary, but in the morning, with the place surrounded, he gave himself up to the king’s mercy. If he ever is at liberty to lay hands on Sir Andrew de Harcla, whew . . . Oh, but this is tedious for the ladies.”

  Not tedious exactly but . . . Johanna noticed Father Gilbert was watching their captive scholar as if rating his chances of passing as a knight.

  “And what is become of Lancaster then?” asked the priest.

  “Taken down to his castle at Pomfret, and the king’s there now with Hugh Despenser the older and the other lords.”

  Gervase, pale and addled from the night’s carousing, let go her hand, looking somewhat discomforted, and her mother started impatiently tapping her foot, glancing round for the servant bringing the wine.

  Johanna tried to make up for their lack of enthusiasm. “And have the rest of the rebels been rounded up then, my lord?”

  “Plenty of ’em, my lady. A lot of the small fry have been sent to my lord Archbishop’s prison in Ripon and the king has authorised a bounty for any dead rebels brought in as well. Mind, I tell you it is a mite hard to tell which are rebels and which are not when the corpses have been stripped mother naked. And, my lady, you would not believe the amount of booty brought in—not just horses and armour but beds, furs and buttons, a haunch of venison, even a couple of bacon pigs. No wonder the poxy fools never made much speed.”

  Johanna was aware that Gervase was standing still as stone while her mother was fanning herself as if to indicate that such conversation was inappropriate in mixed company, but the older man blithely continued.

  “Most of ’em panicked. Some knights hacked their hair short so they would be mistaken for lower ranks. Even seized women’s gowns, some did, an’ would you believe they found one man dead of cold from hiding in the river behind one of the fisher’s cottages.”

  “God have mercy on all their souls,” Father Gilbert murmured.

  “So, in a nutshell, Lady Constance, I am here with orders from York for Lord Alan to arrest any strangers on his demesne. You may be sure that there will be a few of the cunning devils still in hiding, lying low until matters quieten down. What would you do in their shoes, Sir Gervase?”

  Johanna observed that Gervase’s eyes had turned as hard as lodesterres. He seemed in no hurry to answer, as if he was giving the matter much thought. “Make for Whitby perhaps,” he replied finally, “or some other port. Anywhere there is a plethora of taverns and stews along the quays that would shelter a man and ask no questions providing he has sufficient coin to buy off curiosity.”

  “Aye, good point, sir, but you may be sure the king will have officers poking into every dark hole from Tynemouth down to Winchelsea.” The wine finally arrived. “Choice Bordeaux, eh? Ah yes, our lord king has had enow of treachery and wants every poxy rebel stifled once and for all even if the entire kingdom must be searched. The leading traitors are to be sent home to their shires for hanging.”

  “Do you know which rebels are still missing?” Johanna asked.

  “Aye, now the interrogations are over, we do, although there are a few we are not certain about. Take Sir Roger Mortimer’s heir, for instance. We know he brought a company to Lancaster’s side at the Trent so chances are he headed north as well. There is a price on his head for the nonce.” He took another mouthful of wine, scratched his nose and continued. “Like father, like son, eh? In my opinion, Sir Roger is fortunate to have been in the Tower this last week. Had the rogue been at large, my life upon’t, he would have thrown his hand in with the rebel side and now stand to lose his head—Oh, Lady Edyth, I did not see you.” He bowed over the proffered hand.

  “I am very pleased to see you, Sir Ralph. I assume you are here to search out the outlaws who are terrifying women and robbing Holy Church in these parts, and I take it my brother notified you about this other disgraceful business—”

  “You are interrupting, Edyth,” Lady Constance admonished swiftly. “Our guest is far more interested in beating the Boroughbridge rebels out of the thicket than rounding up a few scurvy outlaws. More wine, Sir Ralph?”

  Edyth tossed her veil back over her shoulder. “Well, perhaps Sir Gervase is a rebel. He only arrived two days since.”

  Johanna gazed at the woman in horror. Like a hangman at a public execution, Edyth clearly enjoyed tightening the noose. “It is an interesting coincidence, do you not think?”

  “Since your brother’s interests are in enmity to mine, I think you are speaking out of malevolence, Lady Edyth,” Gervase answered calmly, his glance seeking a man-to-man rapport with the deputy sheriff. It was brilliant sangfroid on his part considering his voice ought to be echoing in his head like a bell clapper.

  “Where have you come from, Sir Gervase?” Edyth countered and flashed an exultant look at Johanna.

  Geraint made his displeasure audible. “As I said before, Westminster.”

  Perhaps that had been a foolish choice but he could not go back on it now. The Saints protect him! Was Sir Ralph invited to dine? The servants were setting the trenchers on the high table and the Conisthorpe knights were gathering in the porch with Sir Ralph’s men. If he had to make an escape, by what means? Up the staircase to Lady Constance’s bower where at least he could pick them off one by one as they mounted the stairs. Perdition! His sword was still in Jankyn’s care. Had there been any weapons on the wall of the great chamber?

  “Indeed?”

  “Your pardon, Sir Ralph?”

  “I said ‘indeed,’ sir. Westminster, eh?” The deputy sheriff’s interest had clearly deepened. He sniffed, his moustache twitching. “So, with Lord Alan temporarily indisposed, shall you be performing his knight’s service for him, Sir Gervase? My lord the king has ordered us to recruit knights for a summer campaign against the Scots. I do not know if you are already acquainted with the High Sheriff, Sir Roger de Somerville, but I assure you he would welcome any experienced knight right willingly.”

  “Does he embrace experienced traitors too?” hissed Edyth.

  Geraint ignored the jibe and drew Johanna closer to him. If he dragged her up the
stairs with him as a shield, they would not risk harming her. “This request places me in a ticklish situation, Sir Ralph. You appreciate the delicacy of my circumstances with my marriage in dispute.”

  “The case is yet to come before a court,” Lady Constance explained.

  The high sheriff’s officer returned to his purpose. “Aye, but this sort of case can be heard in your absence, sir knight, and it would be as well to earn the king’s favour.”

  Was that a warning? He must convince this officer he was a man in love. “Had this been a matter of civil law, Sir Ralph, my lord high sheriff’s company would not lack my presence, but I have been in performance of knightly service ever since I last saw my dear lady here.” He gave Johanna a squeeze that nearly knocked the breath out of her ribs, and kept her tight against him. “And I do not think it were politick to leave her again.” He set a finger beneath her chin, and before the lady could draw back, impulsively brushed her lips with his.

  Startled, witnessed and therefore compliant, her mouth was soft and enticing, her breath sweet. Although it was the merest touch and he was in danger of his life, Geraint found ridiculously that he had enjoyed it. If Sir Ralph had glimpsed the look of lusty satisfaction in his face, it was to the good. He might be offending the older man’s sense of propriety, but he was supposed to be in love.

  “No,” he declared, “I shall not go. At least, not until the dispute with Sir Fulk is lawfully resolved.” He rearranged a blushing Johanna, who had gone stiff as a cloth left out in the frost, against him so that his arms enfolded her and tried not to wince as she stealthily ground her heel into his toe, hard.

  “You see what a smooth tongue this imposter has,” Edyth snarled. “He should be in irons. ’Twere a pity that not more time is spent in maintaining law and order in this shire rather than mustering men-at-arms. A usurper can stride in here and lay hands on another man’s lady and out there in the forest a virtuous woman can be assaulted and—”

  “Assaulted!” exclaimed Johanna vehemently, discreetly struggling to break free. “If you are referring to that pitiful attempt to rob us by those two numbskulls, Edyth . . .”

  Abruptly, Geraint let go of his armful, aware that Fulk’s sister might suddenly see his similarity to a certain outlaw if he continued holding Johanna that way.

  “Lady Edyth speaks wisely,” he agreed swiftly. “I intend to ferret out these brigands.”

  Edyth looked mollified at his support; it blew some of the vindictiveness out of her sails.

  “Did either of these outlaws make any attempt on your person, my lady?” Sir Ralph inquired of Johanna.

  She hesitated. “They took my rings.”

  “One of them held you indecently,” her sister-in-law prompted.

  “Yes, that is true,” Johanna agreed, her blushing deepening, and remembered to glance with apologetic sweetness at her supposed husband. She would deal with him later; by the Saints, how dare he kiss her on the mouth before all this company.

  “Indeed, I will thrash the rogue when I catch him,” Gervase uttered coldly.

  “But I did manage to kick him,” she boasted proudly, adding, “Could they have been rebels?”

  Fulk’s sister snorted. “Lord, only a fool would think so. They were far too cowardly to go within a league of any battlefield.”

  Lady Constance glanced uncomfortably about her. “Dear me, I find this talk of outlaws very alarming. I just thank God that those wretched Scots have not ventured down to raid us yet this year.”

  “You forgot to include the rebels, madam,” Edyth reminded her waspishly. “Or are some of us trying to steer that boat in a different direction?”

  “That will do, Lady Edyth,” Lady Constance admonished. “Since you are here on sufferance, kindly keep a still tongue from now on.”

  Their guest tactfully took charge of the conversational boat, but evidently some of Edyth’s remarks had kindled his suspicion.

  “So tell me, Sir Gervase, where did you first meet Lady Johanna then?”

  Her supposed husband gave her a fond glance. Thank God they had resolved that, his eyes told her.

  “At my lord Hugh Despenser’s house in Bristol, my lord.”

  The deputy sheriff’s gaze examined the patterned transom of the window to their right. “Ah, near St. Thomas’s church.”

  They were being tested. At least Gervase was confident. “No, sir, you mean St. Nicholas’s.”

  “Was the burgage with the arras of King Arthur in the great hall?” Oh, this was most definitely an interrogation.

  The scholar hesitated and Johanna, now on ground she knew, answered, “No, not when I was last there, but it has an arras of Judith slaying Holofernes—”

  “Yes, you are right,” Gervase exclaimed, “and was there not a smaller wall-hanging of a hart and hunters to the left of the minstrels’ gallery?”

  Sir Ralph began to lose his solemn look.

  “And it has a very pretty garden,” Johanna added. “Remember the trellised arches and that secluded pathway behind—”

  Their guest coughed. “Hmm, well, I do not think we need to dwell on that.”

  “Do we not?” Geraint decided it was time to be more assertive. “A private word, my lord, with my lady’s permission, of course.”

  Lady Constance nodded graciously and Geraint, amazed at his own audacity, drew the older knight down the dais and across to the long stone bench that ran beneath the windows. The rumble of laughter among the knights had grown louder and Sir Ralph’s men were eyeing him with curiosity.

  “Do you not believe us, sir?”

  “No, no.” The older man waved his hand. “It is not that at all, but—”

  “Let me be plain, Sir Ralph, I have returned in the nick of time. You can see with your own eyes that Sir Fulk has made Lady Johanna’s life a misery. I will own she can be wilful at times, but to beat my darling so cruelly because she cannot conceive a son . . . Surely God’s punishment is evident. The man is still childless because it was a false marriage and now my Lord Alan is stricken also.”

  “Stricken?”

  He had not meant to be so explicit. “Well . . . not exactly stricken . . . but ill.”

  “Yes, I see he is not here. My lady will think me rude that I have not—” He grunted at the sudden hand delaying him.

  “My lord, I beg you, do not ask to see him, not today. My lady has been at great pains to make him rest. Now as to the dispute betwixt myself and Sir Fulk . . .”

  The other looked reluctant to be drawn into the domestic brawl or make a rash comment on God’s way of handling the business. “Aye, well, I know Sir Fulk and his reputation. I should not like to be the one to decide this matter.”

  Geraint stared down gravely at the older man. “My lady is fearful that Sir Fulk may use force or venal means to influence the law.” As luck would have it, Johanna looked the part at that very moment, standing watching the two of them, her brow furrowed.

  Sir Ralph raised a tolerant eyebrow. “Since it is a matter of canon law, young man, I cannot speak for the honesty of the church. As for mine own part, I try and see justice done—in all matters.” His eyes perused Geraint thoughtfully.

  Enough said! “Come, wife!” It was a relief she came to his side with seeming meekness.

  “Wife! You are living now as man and wife?”

  Johanna stole her arm around his waist and tucked her fingers into his belt. “No, we await the court’s decision but, upon my very life, my lord, Sir Gervase was my husband in word and deed before ever Sir Fulk sought my hand.” She peeped up at him and nestled closer into the protection of his arm. “Now I have my true lord back, I want no other.”

  Perfect. Geraint lovingly rested his chin against the pearled crepinette which covered her pinned braids.

  “If the court should decide against you—”

  “How can it when we speak the truth?” Geraint answered.

  Sir Ralph noticed Edyth glaring down at them from beyond the high table. “You never mentio
ned where you have been serving these last few years, Sir Gervase.” Again, the explorative thrust.

  “Overseas, my lord.”

  “What will become of Thomas of Lancaster, Sir Ralph?” Lady Constance had swept down to join them, cutting across the bows of the conversation as if it was of no consequence.

  Geraint expelled a quiet breath of relief and cleared his throat. “Aye,” he asserted, “it is an unfortunate business, Sir Ralph. I will warrant there is not a man in England can deny that the earl had served England well for the most part.”

  The knight was mercifully diverted. “Certes, but to lift his sword against the king, cousin or no cousin. You cannot have that, Sir Gervase. Next instance you will have any lord reckoning he can rule more ably, or even worse, the Commons might decide they can govern better than our lord king. Imagine that gorgon’s head of hissing snakes. They would all want their say and never agree.”

  “But, for hypothesis, my lord, what if you have a king who is ill-counselled?”

  “You rid yourself of the advisers just as we did with Piers Gaveston.”

  “Forgive me if I seem to play advocatus diaboli, but surely that was what my lord of Lancaster proclaimed he was doing, ridding the king of his evil counsellors.”

  “Ah, I can see you enjoy a good argument, young man, but there is a fine line between treason and what is best for the kingdom.”

  He had to ask it. “What is the difference between the rebel Lancaster ridding the world of Gaveston and his taking arms against the Despensers?”

  Lady Constance stiffened, her gaze not exactly a glare but the deputy sheriff wobbled with laughter.

  “Method, my lad. To go into battle against the king is treason, but to arrest his favourite when he is not with him is not.”

  Geraint smiled, albeit it pained him much to do so. “I retire from the lists, Sir Ralph, you have unhorsed me there.”

  Johanna was absorbing all the arguments avidly. “But it is all greed, is it not?” she exclaimed.

  Unexpected, her words fell with a thud between the two men. For an instant they regarded her like an interloper and then her so-called husband deigned to smile benignly as if he had just remembered to keep looking besotted.