The Knight And The Rose

by Isolde Martyn

  His sorrowful little witch looked as though she was about to cry into the great cauldron. “It-it seems to be the only solution. But if you will not escort me, then I think you and Jankyn should leave as soon as you can. Fulk will have men watching the drawbridge so you could go over the walls after dusk.” A foolish female suggestion barely thought out; it sounded too suspiciously easy and either plan would give Fulk the opportunity to pursue them like adulterous lovers and destroy them, alleging their flight was proof of guilt.

  Johanna sniffed miserably and groped for more mordant, peeping up at him guiltily through her dark lashes as she scattered it in.

  His chin was haughty. “Thank you for your trust, madam wife. So I am to be paid and plumblined from the wall and there’s an end to it. No, my darling dear, it will not wash!” His gaze skimmed the urine jar. “I am not a flux that you can eject from your castle bowels when it suits you.”

  “Dear God, I do not want to lose your company but your safety is—”

  “My safety! What about the hostage for my good behaviour?”

  She lost the pole. It bobbed unpiloted on the ugly sea between them until she grabbed it again defiantly. “I do not know what you are babbling about, sir.”

  He leaned forward, facing her across the vat. “The third man, my dear sweet ignoramus. Jesu, Johanna, leave the dyeing be, will you! The wounded youth your mother has used to earn my compliance.” He spoke slowly, insultingly, as if she was a child. “Even a dullard can see, of course, I cannot leave without him.”

  “Third?” An owlet could not have looked more round-eyed with astonishment.

  “You mean your conniving mother has not confided in you, Johanna?” She had the nestling’s hunger on her now and, satisfied, he shrugged and walked to the door only to find her blocking his passing, the pole brandished like a quarterstaff before her.

  “Tell me!” she demanded fiercely.

  “But I should not like to distract you, saint of the dyeing. Your priority is for the bubbling colours of Conisthorpe—if your men have time to wear them. See me as but a passing cloud, Johanna, that lit upon your hills.” With a fast movement, he jerked the staff from her before she could whack the end into his toecap, and holding it horizontally beneath her breasts, pushed her firmly against the door.

  “Cloud!” retaliated Johanna with a bitter laugh. She watched that mobile mouth curl menacingly.

  “Very well, a foolish conceit. How about clown, since you and your mother want to make a jape of me? How admirable you are! You will turn lily-livered and leave poor little Agnes to her fate.”

  “No, no, Gervase! Believe me, I seek to save her life by this.” She tried to push the pole away but it pleased him to keep it between them. God curse him! She was being honest. What other way was there to save poor Agnes? She swallowed at the anger still flickering in his eyes. “Who is this other hostage?” she whispered.

  “A companion-in-arms.”

  “But . . .” She hated the chill in his face. Tomb effigies stared at church ceilings with more feeling.

  “We escaped the battle together. Jankyn fell in with us later.”

  “By Heaven, sir,” she exclaimed evasively. “Why did you not tell me before? Where is he?”

  “Lady, how should I know?” His voice was a snarl. “Your mother will not tell me. I am just a poor minion paid to mind my manners. But no matter,” he muttered scathingly and scowled down at her, “go your ways to Shaftesbury, Lady Johanna, and hide these playthings out of men’s temptation.” His gaze slid provocatively over her breasts. It was as if he touched her and her body flamed of its own volition to his summons. She felt the pole slide and swayed involuntarily. “Think on the pleasures you are missing when you lie alone in your cold, bare cell.” He raised his hand imperiously to touch her lips, but his words belittled her. “And, siren of the cloister, do keep your sandals on in bed. It will save you fumbling for them when you rise at two for matins and lauds.”

  Johanna, bereft of experience, grazed by his sarcasm, could only shield herself with sincerity. “Please listen. If I could hold back the sea of time, I would. Do you not see I have to end this? Not just for Agnes’s sake, but for all of us. I am falling in too deep, Gervase. Your friendship has been the best, the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me and whether it is tonight or within a month, I have to let you go back to your own life before it is too late.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He knew perfectly well, curse him! He was too clever not to understand, but the reckoning had come and she had to make him see that it had to be finished as cleanly as possible.

  “Because, to be frank, sir, if we do not part . . . Oh, Devil take it!” She hammered her fists against the door. “Dickon!” The latch against her shoulder blade shifted in a thrice and the door inched open.

  Businesslike, Johanna grabbed the pole from her disconcerted husband and thrust it at her servant. “I cannot keep my mind on this, Dickon. Give it a little longer. You know what to do.”

  Hastening out into the day, she tried not to think about the confusion bubbling up within her or the rejection she must endure. Her costly truth was out now like spilt perfume. An instant more and she would have been babbling incoherently of love. And love hurt. Fulk would take everything she loved. And in any case, her paltry love would be the last thing this stranger wanted. Belatedly the hard truth hit her and she halted, her lips parting, her breath short. What a fool she was! Gervase de Laval had only stayed because her mother had forced him.

  “I begin to understand,” she exclaimed angrily, unwrapping the headclout and shaking out her hair. Curse Maman! Why had she not been honest!

  “Understand what?”

  Geraint watched as Johanna pulled one shoulder of the spattered surcote over her head and wriggled it down over her hips with innocuous allure. Then she thrust the garment into his hands, treating him like a servant, and charged off towards the stairs up to the ramparts as though a horsefly had bitten her.

  In a few bounds, he had planted himself beside her. Both deprived of breath, they stared at one another. She was worth a kingdom, this thorny briar rose; thought Geraint.

  “Go away!” Jabbing her elbows on the wall, Johanna glared ferociously across the valley at the knot of villeins busily repairing the banks. Realising he was not going to give her privacy, she smote her palm fiercely upon her forehead. “What a jape! All along I thought you were here for the wages but then you said no, it was not so, and I hoped . . .” The words fluttered unspoken into the void between them. He watched her face harden. “How foolish of me. It is because of him, this other man. You cannot leave without him and he is too ill to ride.”

  “Not anymore.” He turned her to face him, taking her hands in his.

  “You must go,” she affirmed, her voice brittle, hating her vulnerability. He had almost had her soul and if she stayed . . . The vital flesh, the golden haze of hair, was sensuous beneath her fingertips.

  Geraint heard her breathing grow more ragged as she refused to meet his gaze, and guessed the turmoil seething in her. His body was giving him answers to questions he could not frame. He knew the urge to plunder and protect, to torment yet to treasure. And she, unready, was trying to tidy up the unravelled ends between them, as if it was that simple.

  “I will make all right, sir, I promise you. Mother shall surrender your friend to you and you must carry him to safety.”

  “My lady.” Why was it this brave, bedraggled urchin with her large beseeching eyes could reach unfathomed depths in him? She was right; it should be over.

  Her fingers struggled now for freedom. “Be merciful, Gervase. Please let me run away and hide.”

  “Johanna. Look at me!”

  She noted him now, adorably perplexed.

  “Johanna, if I flee now, with or without Edmund, all the world will know me for a rebel and a fornicator, and you for a liar and an adulteress, and I will not have that so. Can you not see this is what Fulk wants, to panic us?�
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  “But—”

  His arms fastened about her in full view of the castle and he pressed her head against his breast, his thumb stroking her neck. His clothing, clean and new, smelt fresh against her face. She wanted to keep those strong arms about her and imagine herself treasured and loved.

  I am wading in too deep, she thought. Warlock! Manipulator! But was there no way to snare the magician himself without the gift of her body and soul?

  “Can you not see the other dangers?” she whispered into his velvet jupon. Could he not guess she was trying not to love him?

  For Geraint, last night was unfinished and he was unsatiated, desirous of punishing her for bewitching him. The wench was right; if he stayed much longer, she would have him as besotted for her as the king was for Hugh Despenser. Siren, indeed! He needed to tie himself to the mast like Ulysses and block his ears.

  “Brace yourself, Johanna.” He plundered her mouth but with subtle gentleness, his lips telling her he wanted nothing but submission, that he could perform miracles if she would let him. He sensed the softening in her and laughed quietly at his power.

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to,” he said against the corner of her mouth, and then to finish the embrace and bring them back to earth, he deliberately provoked her. “And for appearances. You need reassurance.”

  “Reassurance!”

  He anticipated her furious struggle but she might just as well have tried to overturn a rooted oak.

  “I tell you this!” she swore defiantly, when he finally gave her air. “I am leaving tonight and will welcome the cloister!”

  “No, lady, enough! You and your meddling mother will do as I—”

  “Sir! Sir!” Jankyn’s bawl reached them from the yard below.

  Geraint set his armful aside and tore down the steps. The bell of Conisthorpe began to ring a warning and suddenly there was shouting everywhere.

  “Have they found Agnes, Jankyn?”

  “No,” he managed to gasp.

  “Dear God protect us, a Scots raid!” Johanna exclaimed in horror, hastening down.

  “No.” The jester’s eyes were on her companion; the news was for him. “My Lord Despenser is arriving at Conisthorpe within the hour.”

  Twenty-five

  JOHANNA WATCHED GERVASE go ashen.

  “God ha’mercy!” she whispered. Grabbing his hand, she dragged him like a blind man to the hall. He seemed distracted, and well he might. Despenser must be nosing out the rebels.

  Within the hall, her mother was issuing orders. “Into the great chamber!” she exclaimed on seeing them. Gervase ignored her, his whole stance a proclamation of rebelliousness, until Sir Geoffrey urged him through and he threw himself upon the windowseat in a sprawl of limbs that challenged her mother’s authority.

  Her mother closed the door on the hall, a half-dozen oaths spending beneath her breath. “Poking his nose in. God curse the man! Lent too!”

  Johanna bestowed a cautious look on Gervase and tried to throw some common sense into the situation. “Well, Mother, there are plenty of sweetwater fish but we could make the illustrious Hugh eat stockfish and mock eggs like the rest of us. What does the wretched man expect if he arrives at short warning?”

  “Oh, do you not see, Johanna! I need to convince him that Conisthorpe is managed well and that your father is but briefly incapacitated. Oh, a pox on Despenser, and with the wretched hearing going on, as if I have not enough to suffer. Poor Agnes missing. Oh, there is so much to do, the bed linen needing airing—and your pig. Who knows what else may have been poisoned in the last hour?”

  Johanna halted her in mid-pace. “We shall manage, madam. But there are more important worries. What about Gervase’s safety and this other man you have been hiding? And I cannot understand why you never told me. Where is he?”

  “Oh, do not worry about him now.”

  Sir Geoffrey intervened. “My lady, I must protest. This is treason we are discussing.”

  Father Gilbert stepped forward beside him. “Madam, we are harbouring rebels and King Edward’s right hand is bearing down on us. The man has been hanging traitors all over the kingdom and you tell us not to worry.”

  “No, chaplain, I sent the other lad out of the shire to Sir John before the hearing started.”

  “Godssakes!” seethed Gervase, thrusting himself to his feet. “Who in poxy Hell is drawn in now?”

  Johanna pushed between them. “My sister Petronella’s husband in Lincolnshire. No, your friend will be safe, I promise you. Have you received word, Maman?”

  “Yes, yes, it is taken care of. He is mending well, though Petronella says he never stops complaining.”

  At her words, a little of the fight seemed to leave Gervase but he flung himself away from them and leaned upon the mantel of the fireplace, his back heaving.

  “We have to hide you.” Johanna set her hand upon his hanging sleeve.

  He shook his head. “Too late. Despenser will have heard about the hearing and your father’s illness from his agents.”

  “From Fulk even,” Sir Geoffrey suggested. “They have met enough times.”

  Johanna whirled round to face the older man. “You think Fulk has summoned him to influence the verdict?”

  “Do not be ridiculous!” exclaimed her mother. “Despenser is far mightier than Fulk. No one can summon him save King Edward. He is coming for Conisthorpe.”

  “My lady!” The steward’s voice sounded urgently outside the door.

  “Agnes?” whispered Johanna, letting him through.

  “No, my lady, but another messenger from my lord Despenser has just arrived at the postern.”

  “I will go and see,” snarled Gervase. “Come with me, Sir Geoffrey.”

  “How dare he give orders!” snapped Lady Constance, whirling round upon Johanna. “He needs slapping down to size again. Who does he think he is!”

  “Yes, mother, who does he think he is? So you forced Gervase to act as my husband. Dear God, it explains everything. And this other man, who is he?”

  “Insignificant.”

  “Really?” she sneered, looking to Father Gilbert for support. “And Hugh Despenser is coming here to admire the view! What a coincidence! I do not understand what is going on but I mislike the whole stink of it.”

  Her mother shrugged and refused to answer.

  Johanna was still glowering by the window when the two men returned.

  “Sir Geoffrey?” Her mother disregarded Gervase.

  “Well, my lady, it is thus: my lord Despenser has changed his plans and travels directly to my lord of Brittany’s at Richmond and we are bidden to meet with him there. All the local lords have been sent for.”

  “Wondrous news!” exclaimed Johanna. “You may remain here, sir.”

  The men exchanged looks.

  “My lady Johanna, Sir Gervase is ordered by name to Richmond.”

  Johanna sank down upon the stool beside the fire, cursing. “This is unbelievable. Hugh Despenser knows I have two husbands?”

  “Yes, and that,” warned her younger husband, “is only the beginning!”

  THICKLY MANTLED IN tunics and cloaks lined with coney fur, for the wind was mean enough to threaten snow even though it was April, they rode north at dawn. Their breath formed vapour and they spoke little, their throats and lips scarved. Although Sir Ralph de Middlebrough’s party had joined with theirs, the Conisthorpe men-at-arms were in half-armour, on guard lest the Enderby men made an assault. Without litters, and with the ground hard in the dales and the moor roads still passable, they rode swifter than sumpter pace and made good progress.

  At Thornleigh, the Priory of White Canons gave them a night’s lodging, but the fare was meagre since the prior was away at Easeby Abbey, the hosteller was bedridden with a disease of the joints and a Scots raid had deprived the good brothers of their plate. Next day the going was easier but it was not a journey for revelations; a questionable future hung over all their heads like the sword of Damocles
.

  Johanna found the riding painful. The saddle chafed her bruises and Gervase was too deep in his own thoughts to cheer her. She feared for Agnes and for him. The lonely wastes, unlit by the gorgeous sun, were in harmony with her sadness. The touch of his hand as he silently brought her a cup of gill water whenever they drew rein to rest the horses was both bitter and sweet to her bruised spirits.

  Geraint was keeping his distance. Better so. He did not want to hurt her any more than was unavoidable and his lifespan might be merely a hand of days.

  Only one person was cheerful. Miles came with them. Lady Constance had received word he might return to Helmsley, but it was hazardous to let him from their sight with Fulk so vengeful and mayhap the Lord of Helmsley would be at Richmond and could take him back with him.

  Johanna was thankful to sight the candlelit windows of Richmond Castle beaconing the grey hillside and she felt a sense of coming home as they crossed the Swale and passed through the Bar. The Honour of Richmond was a prosperous one, its ancient holding coveted. She knew its history well, that the land had been granted by William the Conqueror to his companion-in-arms, Alan the Red, and here she had spent some happy years of service. She would have shared that confidence with Gervase but he rode gloomily at her side, his chin sunk into the folds of his mantle. He had barely exchanged a brace of words with anyone for the last hour and Johanna’s courage began to falter. Of a sudden the castle’s familiar keep seemed ominous, the persistent stallkeepers at their stirrups were a plague and she shivered in the bitter wind as it whined around the market cross.

  There was only one Despenser flag fluttering from the castle walls, its black diagonal bar cutting through the argent and gules quarters. Geraint noted it with a cynical lift of eyebrow.

  “Are we likely to forget who owns this holding?” he muttered at last, tersely eyeing my lord of Richmond’s coat of arms. The blue and yellow chequerboard flanked by prancing golden lions, and the argent powdered with miniver adorned the fluttering pennons and decorated the gatehouse.