by Ruth Kaufman
She sat on a bench amidst clumps of white-flowered bushes. A dozen or so children sat on pillows in front of her, rapt expressions on their young faces. Several adults stood nearby.
“And the dragon’s red eyes gleamed in anger,” Eleanor said. The sun sparkled off her wedding band as she raised her hands. “He reared back and drew in a huge breath—can you show me what that would sound like?”
All of the children drew in huge, loud breaths. He hid a laugh behind his hand.
“Yes, just so,” Eleanor said with a smile. “Well, the dragon was just about to breathe fire on the maiden Meridwen. His green scales glinted in the firelight as she struggled against her bonds, fearing the end was near.”
What a pleasant surprise. His wife was an expert story teller.
“‘Help, help!’ the maiden cried, though she knew no one could hear. Suddenly a knight appeared at the entrance to the dragon’s lair. A golden light surround him, making his armor shine. He drew his sword—” Eleanor stopped. Her smile widened. She’d seen him. “Oh, look! Here’s the brave knight now. Richard, come join us.”
The children turned. Some gasped with glee. One little girl hid behind a larger one.
A dark-haired boy stood and bowed. “Please help us save Maid Meridwen from the dragon, Sir Knight.”
Eleanor’s eyes twinkled with obvious delight. “Oh, yes. Please do.”
The last time he’d played with children he’d been one himself. Could he relax enough to participate? He didn’t want to disappoint Eleanor. What he did want was to share this with her. Richard drew an imaginary sword with great flourish, and raised it high. “Maid Meridwen, I shall rescue you!”
Eleanor rose, putting her hands behind her back as if she were tied to a stake. “Oh, thank you, most generous knight.”
Richard addressed a bush. “Dragon, I shall defeat you!” He swiped the air, back and forth. “Victory is mine!” He sheathed his sword as he ran to Eleanor and swooped her into his arms.
“My hero,” she cried.
The children laughed and applauded.
Richard laughed, too. When had he had this much fun?
Suddenly he saw himself and Eleanor at Middleworth with three children, two with dark hair and one with blond. Theirs? Longing pierced him.
With his wife smiling up at him from the comfort of his arms, anything was possible.
“Your Grace,” Eleanor said with a graceful curtsy despite a smile that wavered. Her ceaseless chatter as they made their way to the king’s private apartments in the Upper Ward had conveyed her nervousness. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
The skirts of her pale blue gown with its long train pooled on the tiled floor. She’d only looked lovelier alone with him. In their bed, with her hair down….
A mixture of pride and confusion swept him as the king, in a short tunic with jeweled chains across the chest and black hat, raised her. Her tall headdress almost poked Richard in the eye.
Edward bent over her hand and did her the additional honor of kissing it. “A pleasure to meet you, Countess. I hope you enjoy your time with Us at court, though I’ll be keeping your husband busy. I’m certain you’ll find many friends among the ladies.” He dropped her hand. “What news, Richard? Have you found your father’s scrolls?”
Eleanor’s smile instantly became a frown. Her gold and pearl necklace caught the light as she folded her arms.
What was this? Richard hadn’t expected Edward to bring up alchemy while meeting Eleanor. He felt torn in two. Do his duty to his king, or prevaricate to avoid Eleanor’s distaste for the subject? “I….”
“Ripley wrote that he’s working on another treatise…this one based on the search for the philosopher’s stone,” Edward said. “I’m eager to learn of his latest experiments.”
George Ripley, a prolific alchemist. The Wheel, his drawing of the planets corresponding to essential alchemical elements, had sparked much dialogue in the alchemy community.
He had to say something. “I look forward to reading his treatise.”
His wife’s frown morphed into a full glower, but mercifully she held her tongue.
Edward pulled a scroll from a pile on his desk and unrolled it. “I’ve been wanting to show you this alchemical table depicted as a genealogy, drawn by one of my alchemists. Do you see how he traces the path from souls of kings to the elements?”
Eleanor drew in a breath.
He continued, “Ingenious, though I’m not sure how this furthers the quest. It seems more a paen to curry my favor.” The king perused the scroll covered with rows of circles connected by lines and decorated with an elaborate sun and moon. “The possibilities of new scientific developments are unlimited.”
A thrill ran through Richard. So true. If he shared his enthusiasm with the king, he’d give Eleanor more fodder for her dissatisfaction with their marriage. If he didn’t, he’d be disingenuous and fail to serve to his best ability, and would disappoint himself.
“Fascinating.” Richard took a step closer to the beautiful, complex image. “I think this illuminates the relationship of your lineage to the ultimate success of the alchemical process.”
“Hmm. Yes. I think we’re getting closer. Finally,” Edward said with a smile. “I’ll have the true recipe soon. Lady Eleanor, what do you think?”
“’Tis a wonderful drawing, Your Grace. Such delicate details reflect remarkable talent.” His wife pursed her lips, as if keeping the words she really wanted to say in her mouth.
The king’s smile faded as he rolled up the drawing. “Quite the politic reply. I know your father and Richard’s were partners. What do you know of Edmund’s work?”
She sent Richard a pleading glance.
He wished he could help and sympathized with her obvious struggle. She didn’t want to disparage alchemy to the king’s face, but didn’t want to lie, either. Why hadn’t he thought Edward wanted to meet Eleanor to learn what she knew, not merely because she’d newly wed a noble on his privy council?
Eleanor had to tip her head back to look at Edward, several inches taller than Richard himself. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
The awkward silence stretched. He knew she wanted to say something like, “My father wouldn’t even tell me I couldn’t marry my betrothed. Why would he tell me about his alchemy?” Or, “My father is obsessed with the ‘science’ I think is heresy.”
“Your Grace. My father didn’t share his pursuit of alchemy with me.” Her lovely face didn’t convey a hint of her distaste for the topic or her anger at her father. “I was unaware until recently that he’d begun experimenting again after promising my mother on her deathbed to give it up for good.”
Richard released breath he hadn’t realized he held. His esteem for his wife increased several notches. Though often more outspoken than most women, she’d managed to speak true yet knew when to keep to herself thoughts that could cause trouble.
“Ah. I see. Well, I’ll ask him later today.” He turned to place the rolled drawing into a bin with other rolls. “Hearing the latest from all alchemists in the realm is most exciting. Don’t you agree, Richard?”
Fortunately Edward didn’t see Eleanor roll her eyes.
As she prepared for bed, Eleanor told herself she was glad Richard had been too busy to attend her after their meeting with the king. The focus on alchemy tarnished the honor done to her and her enjoyment of the privilege while fueling her hatred of the “science.” And didn’t bolster her good opinion of the man she was still married to, either.
Was no man safe from alchemy’s siren song? No matter her true feelings, she’d known better than to share them with her liege lord, whose face had born the obsessed look she’d seen on her father. So she’d quickly learned to play the courtier’s part, though it didn’t sit well. Yet she needed Edward’s help, not his displeasure.
Richard returned so late he didn’t even check to see if she was asleep. She wasn’t. She hadn’t intended to wait up, but she couldn’t seem to sleep withou
t him there. Or accept that she missed his soothing breathing and warmth by her side. Most annoying.
His preoccupation with the council left her free to begin her search for his better bride, determine how to pursue the annulment and keep conversation about or dealing with consummation at bay.
The next morning, Eleanor gathered five of the most promising single women at court in a room in the old Round Tower, telling them she had an interesting proposition to present. When two of their original choices declined to participate, she and Alyce put their heads together again and selected additional contenders.
The final five now sat on stools in a circle, obviously wondering why she’d asked them to this a small but elegant room draped in colorful tapestries.
She referred to the list Alyce had prepared in her precise handwriting on a sheet of vellum.
The Challengers
1. Lady Blanche Latimer, widow, no children, 33
2. Lady Isabel Buntyng, widow, 27. 2 boys 6 and 10.
3. Lady Anne Gryffyn, unwed, 18
4. Lady Rose de Breyne, unwed (betrothed killed in battle), 20
5. Lady Mary Whyte, widow, 30. 2 boys 10 and 12, 1 girl 8
All, as far as she knew, were sufficiently wealthy and of high enough birth to be matched with an earl. And there was a pleasing variety of ages, appearance and children.
“Ladies, my thanks to all of you for meeting with me,” Eleanor said. “This is a most unusual situation and opportunity. Should any of you choose not to participate once you learn of it, you are welcome to leave.”
The women leaned forward almost as one.
“There is a wealthy, quite handsome nobleman high in the king’s favor who needs a bride.”
A mélange of gasps and sighs followed, accompanied by raised eyebrows and widening eyes. Lady Anne, the youngest and prettiest with her fair skin and bright blue eyes, looked stunned, while Lady Rose, owner of the largest breasts, appeared close to drooling.
“To speak plainly, this man is already wed.” Eleanor held up a hand to quell the comments and questions she could tell were ready to burst forth. “But he needs a better bride than the one he has now. One of you could be that bride.”
Isabel gasped louder than before. “Lady Glasmere, what are you asking? That one of us commit a sin and destroy a man’s marriage? Why?”
The widow’s reddened cheeks displayed her outrage. The sturdiest of the group, she wore a cream, high-waisted gown that didn’t suit her sallow complexion.
Richard had noted details about her own gowns. He’d even suggested she acquire a new kind featuring a rounder skirt. Had she made a mistake inviting this woman to join her select group?
“Are you promoting bigamy?” This from Lady Whyte, who appeared so shocked Eleanor jumped up to fetch her a cup of watered wine.
“No, of course not.” Eleanor handed her the cup, then returned to her seat. “When the nobleman is presented with this better bride, he will choose to relinquish his present marriage and wed anew. I assure you, all will be legal and in accordance with the Church,” Eleanor replied.
“An annulment could take ages,” Lady Isabelle complained. “If you even succeed. Why not seek him a new bride when the old one is done with?”
Eleanor bristled. “Let me worry about that. Now. There are five of you and but one of him. To determine which of you is best suited for this man, we’re going to hold a bridal tournament.”
More gasps from the women. Whispers flew.
Anne stood. “This is an outrage. I don’t want to be in involved in such a scheme.” The train of her pale blue gown with ribbon trim fanned out behind her as she paced.
Mary nodded, making the row of jewels on her headdress sparkle. Her eyes were darker and grayer than Anne’s. She was the tallest and thinnest of the lot. “I agree. ’Tis not seemly. Playing games to win a husband, indeed.”
“Ladies, your attention please.” Eleanor clapped her hands. This meeting wasn’t going quite as she had anticipated. The women were wary, or worse. Even as she spoke, doubts nagged at her, too. “At least listen to all I have to say before you decide.”
Anne sat and crossed her arms, a skeptical expression on her comely face.
“If you disapprove of my plan, return to your lives and your beds. Your empty beds,” she added. “Anyone who does not wish to continue, to have a chance at wedding a wealthy, highly ranked, attractive man, please leave now.”
The women exchanged glances, but not one moved.
“As to the tournament,” she continued. “Men hold them to demonstrate their prowess to earn prizes. So shall you display your skills. Don’t fear, we’re not asking you to ply lances in a joust or engage in a mêlée with swords and pikes. But we shall keep to some standard tourney rules. For example, four judges will choose the victor.” She paused, making sure she had the full attention of each woman. “I’m sure you are all wondering who the prize is. The winner will receive Richard Courtenay’s hand in marriage.”
More gasps.
Mary’s mouth gaped in a very unattractive manner. “But he’s married to you.”
“What’s wrong with the Earl of Glasmere? Why don’t you want to keep him?” Isabel demanded.
Questions like these Eleanor had anticipated.
Before she could reply, Blanche said with a sly smile, “Nothing is wrong with Richard.”
Eleanor couldn’t stop her eyes from narrowing. What was that annoying, harsh ache deep in her chest? Surely not jealousy.
Blanche, who looked annoyingly beautiful in a green gown with fur cuffs, sounded so…knowing. They’d been betrothed. How intimate had they been? A shudder rippled through her. Surely because of an errant breeze.
“Eleanor isn’t arranging this tournament because of a flaw in Richard,” Blanche continued. “She still wants to marry Arthur Stafford, the former Earl of Glasmere. She was betrothed to him for years, as some of you may recall.”
Five heads turned, looking to Eleanor for confirmation. She hadn’t wanted to discuss her reasons for seeking a better bride, but now had no choice. Or did she? Blanche was a tricky one. Mayhap Richard had been right when he warned Eleanor not to trust her. Mayhap Blanche sought to undermine her.
Blanche smiled. “The king sent Arthur off on a mission soon after he arrived at Windsor. With so many former nobles trying to gain Edward’s good will, that was quite an honor.”
Eleanor bit her tongue, striving to keep from revealing her surprise. She hadn’t known Arthur had left court. How had Blanche learned of it? At least she understood why she hadn’t seen him, why he hadn’t tried to contact her. She swallowed to clear her mouth of the sharp taste of blood, wondering if Richard had a part in sending Arthur away.
“My reasons are of no import. All that matters is whether each of you wants to be a countess.” She stood tall, her gaze encompassing all of the women. “That each of you thinks she would make a better bride than I and is willing to participate in my tournament with hopes of winning Richard for herself.”
For an instant, brief and sharp as a flash of lightning, Eleanor wondered if she was making a mistake. It pained her to think of any of these women as better brides, whether they were better in general or specifically better for Richard. Richard, her handsome, kind, powerful, wealthy husband. The man whose kisses made her yearn for more.
But staying wed to him would make a mockery of her lifelong dream of marrying for love, of choosing her husband. She’d join countless woman denied the opportunity to make decisions.
And how could she countenance his involvement in alchemy, deal year after year with the same lunacy and devilry her father had put her and her mother through? Eleanor had overheard her mother crying too many times to risk a similar outcome.
This was the moment of truth. Either she laughed and pretended the whole thing was a delightful prank, or she proceeded with her plan. She took a deep breath, feeling as though she teetered on a precipice with a stony ravine yawning far below.
“Does anyone wis
h to leave?” she asked.
Silence.
“Very well then.” Eleanor fought back unexpected tears as she picked up the parchment on which Alyce had written the tournament rules.
She had made her decision.
“Here are the areas in which you will be judged. One: Wealth. I shall need a verifiable, detailed listing of your gold, lands, rents and other income. Please include any significant jewels and plate. The next area is Beauty, for which you’ll don your finest attire. Three, Embroidery. You will have an hour to—”
Lady Rose interrupted. “Money can be counted, lands documented. How can you measure beauty?”
“’Tis in the eyes of the judges. They shall choose the woman they feel most suitable based on her appearance and the way she presents herself,” Eleanor said. “May I continue? Three: Embroidery. You’ll have an hour to stitch the design of your choice using fabric and thread we will provide. Not that I don’t trust you, but Richard’s hand is a prize of great value, perhaps worth trying to sneak in someone else’s work.”
“Hm.” Lady Rose sniffed, either upset that her integrity might be questioned or because she’d be prevented from partaking in such a deception.
“Four is Music. Richard greatly enjoys music.” The memory of him playing the lute and singing to her flashed through her mind. How she’d melted and smiled. Yet she was handing the opportunity for future songs to another. “Thus he values considerable skill in this area. You’ll each perform two songs, singing or playing the instrument of your choice. The judges may award an advantage to the woman who both sings and plays.
“Household Management is next. This is also a difficult skill to measure. You may choose three witnesses to offer proof of your ability to run a household via a verbal report.
“The last area is ‘Overall.’ The judges may consider the best bride overall, though she may be lacking in a particular area.”
“That’s all? What about falconry?” asked Isabel.