Authors: Roberta Gellis
“It is not pleasant to need to ignore the bruising and
insult to my wife by a man—”
“Louse—”
This time Alphonse chuckled. “Very clever, my dear. You mean
to imply I can do no more about Guy’s marks and insults than I can about those
inflicted by a louse and should pay them no more mind. But you know that even
if I wished to follow that advice it would be impossible. After what took place
in Leicester’s chamber, I dare not allow you to visit the court alone without
giving you the reputation of a wanton and myself the name of cuckold. Yet, if I
attend you everywhere—which, let me say I am willing, even eager, to do—sooner
or later we will meet Guy.”
“We could stay here,” Barbara said.
“You mean be imprisoned in these rooms?”
“There is the town, and the countryside—”
“I am not so sure we will now be allowed to ride out as
freely as we did yesterday,” Alphonse pointed out. “And the town is small. We
would be almost as likely to meet Guy in the market or inns as in the court.”
He smiled. “I have only promised not to challenge him myself, not to try to
stop him from challenging me. However, I do not think I will have that
satisfaction. Young Gloucester needs time to think, but when he has it, as I
said, he is no fool. He suggested that we accompany him to his keep at
Tonbridge.”
“Without telling Leicester?”
“No, of course not. Did I not tell you I had warned him about
stepping on Leicester’s toes by giving us an order to visit Sir William? He
will propose the plan to Leicester, offering to make sure that we will not
return to France or see what we should not see. Since Tonbridge is only about
eighteen leagues from Canterbury, he will be able to produce us within a day if
Leicester needs us.”
Barbara laid down her work and cocked her head. “Why?”
“Why what?” Alphonse asked, half amused and half annoyed by
the astuteness of her understanding.
“Why all,” she replied, her brows going up. “Why did
Gloucester offer to take us to Tonbridge, since he cannot wish to protect Guy?
Why do you wish to accept his offer? And why do you think Leicester will grant
Gloucester’s request?”
Because he could never resist the little tent that formed on
her forehead with two bright eyes peering out, Alphonse jumped up and kissed
it, then laughed as she pushed him away and demanded that he answer and not try
to cozen her. His gesture had been quite genuine, but her accusation made him
remember that she suspected him of Royalist sympathies, and to a certain
degree, she was correct.
Alphonse had no intention of playing any active role against
Leicester, but he felt that Leicester’s wresting of power from King Henry was a
violation of the natural order, despite the man’s nobility of purpose and
character. So he had not struggled to find a polite way of refusing the young
earl’s invitation to Tonbridge, though he saw trouble could arise from it.
Nonetheless, he had honestly warned Gloucester of the danger of a rift between
him and Leicester. There was no need to point out any of the details to Barbe,
however. Having bent swiftly and stolen another kiss, which his wife yielded
but punished him for by nipping his chin, he answered.
“Gloucester issued the invitation because he is young and
impressed with my skills on the tourney field. I think he wishes to practice at
jousting and swordplay with me. I wish to go to Tonbridge because I have no
more to do here and will soon be bored to death. Moreover, I am sure that, as
the troops summoned to repel the invasion that never took place go home, and
Leicester realizes I cannot be used to bribe Edward, he will become indifferent
to where I go and forget me altogether. Then I can take Gloucester’s order to
Kenilworth and see Sir William. That will fulfill all the pledges I made, and
we can go home.”
“But why should Leicester agree to let us go to Tonbridge?”
Alphonse shrugged irritably. He had hoped she would not ask
that question again, but he answered it. “Because he wishes to be rid of
Gloucester, whose skill he trusts on the battlefield but not in matters of
state.”
To his relief Barbe nodded acceptance to that without
comment. She did not seem to realize that Gloucester’s proposal held an
inherent threat to his relationship to Leicester no matter how Leicester
replied to it. If Leicester refused Gloucester’s request, the young man would
be offended because the earl did not trust him. If Leicester agreed, Gloucester
would no doubt feel he was not wanted here in Canterbury. As Barbe stared
thoughtfully right through him, Alphonse’s relief dissipated. Gloucester’s
invitation held promise of good too, Alphonse thought, preparing an argument
against future wifely accusations. If Gloucester was away from Canterbury, he
would not be constantly irritated by being thrust into the background, and his
resentment against Leicester would subside.
“I will be very glad to be out of town, away from the court,
and at a country manor again,” Barbara said, sighing and focusing her eyes on
him. “I was just thinking how strange it is that when I am in the country, I am
so eager to come to court,” she laughed suddenly, “and when I am at court, I am
eager to go to the country.” Then she looked down at her work again. “Of
course, this has not been a happy court for a long time.”
Not desiring that she apply her memories of the past to the
present, Alphonse remarked that boredom in Louis’s court was likely to have the
same effect, so she would not have to change her ways. She laughed again at
that, held out her hand to him, and set her work aside. Something in her
expression stirred Alphonse into instant heat, but when he used the hand he had
taken to pull her to him, she broke away from his kiss, denying heatedly she
had intended an invitation to make love. Then as swiftly as she had become
angry, she recovered her gaiety, but she slipped from his arms, shaking her
head, called him a lecher, and insisted she had only wanted his help to rise so
they could go out to dinner.
Alphonse responded smoothly, but he wondered if he was going
mad. He had never in his life misread a woman’s expressions and gestures as
often and as badly as he did with Barbe. Had love so warped his judgment that
he saw only what he wanted to see and thus interpreted her indifference as
desire for him? The idea was sufficiently painful that he did not really hear
what Barbe was urging on him and only realized that he had agreed to take her
to the castle to dine with the court when she bade Chacier tell her men she
would not need their company because her husband would attend her.
“I know I seem to have changed my mind,” she said, turning
to Alphonse again and clearly finishing what she had been saying. “I was the
one who first suggested that we stay here so as to avoid Guy. However, if
Gloucester thought you desired restoration of your position with Edward so
ardently that you would send me to Leicester to beg for it and beg for it from
him yourself, will not others think the same? We must show ourselves and show
our indifference.”
There was nothing at all in the dark eyes that stared at her
so intently and no meaning to the nod or the smile that curved Alphonse’s
beautifully shaped mouth. Barbara felt like wailing aloud. Her desire for him
was so strong and so natural that she had not even realized she was offering
herself until he drew her up and kissed her. Terror had made her angry until
she saw how she had hurt him. She had tried to soothe him with teasing, but he
had withdrawn behind a blank mask and she could not tell whether she had
succeeded or not. And it hurt to hurt him. It was like stripping the skin from
her flesh each time she pretended indifference to his love. Yet it would be
more painful to lose him altogether if he became bored with her devotion—or
would it?
To remain in the lodging was to confront that agonizing
question anew every moment. Barbara was afraid to join the court, afraid that
Guy, bad-tempered, arrogant, and convinced of his right to dominate, would
accost her in Alphonse’s presence. If so, she knew Alphonse was clever enough
to get around his promise not to challenge the young man. But much as Barbara
feared the consequences of Guy fighting Alphonse, she was growing more afraid
to spend a whole day alone with her husband. And then it occurred to her that
Leicester would never permit his son to fight a stronger man. If Alphonse did
manage to tease Guy into challenging him, she and Alphonse would be sent
away…but that was what they wanted. So she pressed the point about dining at
court and got her way.
Since Barbara was not completely convinced by her own
reasoning, she was not very happy with the lesser of the two evils she had
chosen until they reached the castle and Alphonse almost collided with Peter
the Chamberlain, who was leaving the hall as they entered. He turned about
promptly, said Claremont was eager to speak to Alphonse, and led them toward
the window embrasures on the opposite wall. There Simon de Claremont greeted
them both politely and asked at once what reason Leicester had given for dismissing
Alphonse from Edward’s service. Barbara hardly listened. She was content. In
the French envoy’s presence she and Alphonse would be safe from Guy. A fool he
might be, but not fool enough to provoke Alphonse under Claremont’s nose.
Her attention was caught when the envoy hawked crossly and
said he could not understand why Leicester had bothered to plead with Louis to
send emissaries if he intended to present peace proposals that were little more
than ultimatums.
“Some peace must be made,” she said seriously. “With the
king and prince his prisoners, one must expect Leicester’s terms to demand
approval of what he fought for in the first place.”
Claremont looked down his aristocratic nose. “I did not know
that so many nobles and commons of England took the field and risked their
lives to obtain a settlement of Leicester’s claims against King Henry for his
expenses in Gascony twenty years ago.”
“Oh, dear.” Barbara sighed, then smiled. “Has that problem
reared its hoary and ugly head again? But it has been put aside so many times.
Surely that cannot really be a sticking point.”
“The arbitrators Leicester has suggested are also too
one-sided for King Louis’s taste.”
Barbara’s reply was interrupted by a clatter of activity as
the servants began to set up the tables for dinner. People moved toward the
outer edges of the hall to be out of the way, and Claremont, not wishing to be
trapped in the deep window embrasure, drifted toward the long wall on the
north. This, to Barbara’s distress, brought them face to face with Leicester,
who came from the large chamber on the north, followed by his cousin Peter de
Montfort and his sons Henry and Guy. Seeing Claremont, Leicester stopped and
bowed politely, sparing a nod and smile of recognition for Barbara and
Alphonse.
Barbara was relieved when Leicester only exchanged a few
words with the French envoy before bowing again and moving away. Guy had sidled
around toward her when Henry began to talk to Alphonse, but he retreated with a
grimace when his father looked back over his shoulder and summoned him and
Henry somewhat sharply. Nor did Guy approach her again that afternoon, but she
was not certain whether that was because Claremont graciously invited Alphonse
and her to join the envoys’ table for dinner or because his father had noticed
his intention and reprimanded him.
After the meal was over, several false alarms—when a loud
voice or a tunic the same color as Guy’s seemed to be approaching—brought
Barbara’s heart into her mouth. Each fright made her more and more resentful,
and there seemed to be no relief in sight. Gloucester was nowhere to be seen,
and Barbara jumped to the conclusion that he had been sent away. She later
discovered her conclusion to be wrong, but at the time she felt as if a door to
escape had been slammed in her face. So the next time the slow circulation in
the hall brought her and Alphonse into company with the French envoys she
mentioned their desire to leave Canterbury.
Claremont only nodded and shrugged, remarking with a cynical
curl of lip that he, too, would prefer to return to France, which made Alphonse
explain hastily his promise to his sister-by-marriage. Perhaps Claremont
listened more closely than it appeared and presented their complaint when he
spoke to Leicester later. Barbara and Alphonse could never decide whether
Claremont had supported their case out of pure good nature or simply to annoy
Leicester—or whether he had mentioned them at all. It was equally possible that
the earl had not needed Claremont’s prodding and had, for reasons of his own,
been glad to accede to Gloucester’s request to let Barbara and Alphonse move to
Tonbridge. In any case the very next morning a messenger brought written
permission from Leicester for them to leave Canterbury in Gloucester’s company.
Chapter Seventeen
In the weeks that followed, Alphonse and Barbara had good
reason to congratulate themselves on having escaped Canterbury and the constant
reminders of a hopeless impasse. When they first left, Gloucester had believed
that some basis for a firm peace would soon be found. The hopes, however, were
fruitless. Whether the papal legate’s violent antipathy to Leicester and the
Provisions of Oxford had influenced the French king or, as Barbara and Alphonse
suspected but did not say, some of the emissaries’ hearts were not truly in the
negotiation, Louis would not support a peace on the terms offered. According to
Gloucester, who came and went while Barbara and Alphonse amused themselves at
Tonbridge, Leicester made several attempts to find common ground. New names
were submitted as arbitrators—men less blatantly supportive of Leicester—and
arrangements for the eventual release under adequate sureties of Prince Edward
and others were offered. Nonetheless, by the end of September, although
negotiations were still being talked of, even Gloucester acknowledged that
little hope remained of reaching an accommodation approved by Louis of France
and by the Church.
This less than surprising news was thrust at Barbara and
Alphonse by a mud-splashed, thoroughly out-of-temper Gloucester. The young earl
had been summoned to Canterbury to consult on the latest changes in the peace
terms. On his return to Tonbridge, he said no more than that at first, but the
fact that he had clearly ridden away from the town and continued through a
dark, wet day implied to Barbara that Gloucester had been offended. She rose
from the bench on which she had been sitting with Alphonse and held out her
hand in a warm welcome.
Barbara had become truly fond of the young earl. He had made
a firm place in her heart not only because he was good-natured and had an
earnest desire to do what was right but because his marital situation was not
unlike her father’s. He had been married while still a child to the king’s
niece, Alice of Angoulême. Barbara knew the woman slightly. Lady Alice had
spent more time at court than her husband. Barbara had met her now and again
while serving Queen Eleanor and did not like her. She found in Lady Alice many
of the worst aspects of the pride and contempt for everything English displayed
by her father, Guy de Lusignan, King Henry’s half brother.
Nonetheless, Barbara appreciated the fact that Gloucester
spoke no ill of the lady, who had borne him two daughters. All he had said when
she asked, rather apprehensively, if Lady Alice would join them at Tonbridge
was that he and his wife now lived apart because she could not bear his
association with the Earl of Leicester, her loyalty being more strongly bound
to the king than to her husband. There was an unspoken hurt under the stiff
statement that called to Barbara to offer comfort, and she did.
For his part, Gloucester seemed to return Barbara’s
affection. Fortunately, he so plainly regarded her as an “older woman”, beyond
the pale as much because she was like an aunt or older sister as because she
was the wife of a friend, that even a far duller husband than Alphonse could
not have been jealous. Barbara found Gloucester’s attitude both amusing and
comfortable.
Gloucester, who had been stamping across the floor as if he
were treading on enemy heads, took Barbara’s hand and nodded to Alphonse, who
had also risen to greet him. Then, in a calmer voice, he said that Louis’s
emissaries had been recalled to France, and so it was now or never for peace.
Barbara nodded sympathetically and Alphonse remarked blandly that it was
impossible to get an idea out of King Louis’s head once it was in. Soothed by
the pretense of his guests that his ill temper was all owing to the probable
future rejection of the peace terms, Gloucester sank into the chair by the
fireside and said that Leicester planned to make one last effort.
Returning to France with Louis’s emissaries, whose advice
had been asked, if not always taken, about the new peace terms, was a new group
of negotiators. These men had been empowered to bargain, barring a few
conditions.
“Which are?” Alphonse asked, pouring wine into a cup from a
flagon on a side table and carrying it to Gloucester, who nodded his thanks.
“Security for Leicester, me, Norfolk, and all of our
adherents.”
“Of course,” Barbara said. “Louis could not object to that.”
“Then there will be four arbitrators, the Archbishop of
Rouen, Peter the Chamberlain—”
Gloucester looked at Alphonse who had made an indefinable
sound as he imagined how Peter would “enjoy” having so onerous a duty thrust on
him. Then, when Alphonse, still wordless, shook his head, he continued and
named the Bishop of London and Hugh le Despenser as the other two arbitrators,
with the papal legate to have a fifth and deciding vote in case the four
arbitrators could not agree.
“Louis will not accept those arbitrators,” Alphonse said.
“The Archbishop of Rouen, while not quite as prejudiced as Despenser and
London, is known to favor Leicester strongly. The only truly neutral man is
Peter the Chamberlain, and he will be outvoted three to one every time he
disagrees with one of Leicester’s proposals.”
“Oh, I know it is hopeless,” Gloucester snarled. “I do not
understand why we, the victors, should go crawling for approval to—” He stopped
abruptly and flushed. “I beg your pardon, Alphonse. Louis is your king.”
“But by no means faultless in my eyes,” Alphonse said,
smiling.
The words were perfectly true, but Barbara knew that they
did not mean Alphonse disapproved of Louis’s stand with regard to the peace
terms. She had no more inclination than her husband to explain this to
Gloucester, however. What did concern her was that Alphonse might be classified
as an enemy after negotiations ended.
She said, “I am sorry to hear this. Will not the breakdown
of negotiations make it impossible for Alphonse to redeem his promise to Lady
Alys to visit her father?”
“Good God, I had forgotten all about that,” Gloucester
exclaimed. “But this last effort for peace will be no overnight matter. Our
envoys will be in France for some weeks, I believe. There will be time enough
to ride to Kenilworth and see…”
“Sir William,” Alphonse offered, as Gloucester hesitated,
having forgotten the name.
“The man has no political importance,” Gloucester went on,
frowning thoughtfully, “and I am sure you would not use permission to visit him
to work any harm.”
“Indeed, I would not,” Alphonse agreed heartily. “To speak
the truth, I would gladly be rid of that promise and go back to France with the
envoys if I could find any other way to ease my sister’s mind.”
“Nothing but knowing him free and well will truly ease his
daughter’s heart,” Barbara said. “That is how I would feel if my father were a
prisoner. But since that is not possible, I think it more important than ever
that you see Sir William with your own eyes, Alphonse, so you can tell Alys
whether he was thin or stout and the color of his skin and whether his eyes
were sunk… You know what she will need to hear to believe him well.”
Alphonse sighed. “Yes, I know. And unfortunately Alys is not
one easily deceived. To lie and be caught in it would be worse than admitting I
could not visit him.”
“There is no reason why you should not visit him,”
Gloucester said. “I can see no harm in it at all. I will give you a letter to
young Simon de Montfort, who is his gaoler, and a letter allowing you freedom
to travel.”
“I would be most grateful, my lord,” Alphonse said, then
grinned and added, “and you will be free at last of guests whom you may have
believed had taken root in your household.”
Gloucester laughed. “I wish you
had
taken root. I
will sorely miss being black-and-blue from being dumped on the ground by your
jousting lance three times a week.”
Alphonse laughed also. “And I will miss my lessons on how to
manage an army. My brother will approve most heartily of what I have learned.”
Although the young earl was clearly pleased and flattered by
Alphonse’s remark, he made a dismissive gesture. “Seriously, I will be very
sorry to see you go and would gladly have offered you a place in my household,
but I know your duty is to your brother and that you have lands in France.”
Alphonse acknowledged his reluctance to consider leaving
France permanently, then tactfully changed the subject by asking whether
Gloucester thought it best to send a letter ahead to Kenilworth and what would
be the best route to follow. Barbara listened idly, indifferent because she was
not, as she usually was, avidly looking forward to any change that would
relieve boredom. She had enjoyed being in Tonbridge, yet she had no regrets
over leaving either, so it was not Tonbridge that had held her interest.
Just then Alphonse remarked that he thought Kenilworth was
Leicester’s main seat and asked whether the earl or members of his family other
than young Simon were likely to be there in the next few weeks. The pleasure
the mere sound of his voice gave her reminded Barbara why she had not been
bored. Then the sense of the question Alphonse had asked penetrated and drove
out both the pleasure and the anxiety that pleasure had generated.
“There is a small problem,” she said. “If Guy should happen
to be at Kenilworth, it would be better if I did not stay there.”
“That had occurred to me,” Alphonse agreed, voice and face
equally expressionless.
Gloucester looked startled at this seeming eagerness to
avoid any cause of a quarrel with Guy and then rose quickly and went to the
side table, where he refilled his cup. When he turned back toward his guests,
his face was as expressionless as Alphonse’s. Unfortunately for Barbara’s peace
of mind, she could see the bright gleam in his eyes from where she sat. He knew
from practice fights that Alphonse could not be afraid of Guy. Did Gloucester
believe that Alphonse would find it easier to chastise Guy when she was absent?
If so, he was wrong. She would remind her potentially bellicose spouse of his
promise not to challenge Guy, and she would make him extend that promise to
include not prodding Guy into challenging him.
“You must stay here, Lady Barbara,” Gloucester offered.
And leave my too attractive Alphonse to wander around the
country with his rod at the ready
? Barbara did not voice the thought. What
she said, smiling, was “You are very kind, Gilbert, but I am afraid that would
provide too much fodder for the beasts of rumor. You know they will never
believe you and I are only friends. They will grow fat chewing over whether
Alphonse encouraged me to lie with you to gain your influence or whether
grasping at your favor is my idea and he is so stupid that I have managed to
seduce you—or you me—and cuckold him under his very nose.”
“The wife of a friend?” Gloucester exclaimed in horror. “I
would never—”
“You know it and I know it.” Barbara shrugged. “But you are
no longer a gangling boy to be discounted. You are a man of power and presence,
desirable to many as a lover.”
Gloucester gulped his wine and turned around quickly, but
his ears were bright red. Alphonse bit his lips, and managed not to choke on
laughter over Barbara’s skilled refusal of the young earl’s invitation. He
would not have hurt Gloucester for the world. At the moment, filled with joy at
Barbara’s clear intention not to be parted from him, he would have been
generous to his worst enemy—even to Guy de Montfort.
However, the problem remained, discounting any trouble Guy
might make, the main stronghold of the Earl of Leicester was not a good place
for the beloved daughter of Norfolk, whose behavior toward Leicester might be
considered ambivalent. Young Simon had also pursued her and might think it a
double coup to hold Barbe as a guarantee of her father’s good behavior.
Moreover, if Louis’s rejection of the peace terms came sooner than expected,
Alphonse thought his own safety would be much enhanced by Barbe’s freedom to
complain to her father and to Gloucester if he should be detained.
Meanwhile, Barbe had said, “I cannot go to Strigul. My
father’s wife, Lady Isabella, is there and would doubtless hang me sooner than
let me in.”
“She might indeed,” Gloucester said dryly, “since she is
strongly suspected of supporting the lords Marcher.”
“A plague take that woman,” Barbara exclaimed. “I do not
think she cares a pin for the right or wrong of the matter. She acts only to
spite my father and make trouble for him.”
“Perhaps,” Gloucester said, “but to be fair, Strigul is
surrounded by Prince Edward’s friends, and she may have been afraid to appear
opposed to them. In any case, I do not think it would be wise for you to seek
shelter at Strigul, it is much too far southwest, several days’ travel from
Kenilworth. You would be safer and more comfortable at Warwick with my vassal,
John Giffard, who is castellan there. Warwick is less than two leagues from
Kenilworth, and John Giffard is no particular friend of the younger Montforts.
He has some hard feeling against them for taking prisoner Alan de la Zouche,
who was his prisoner first and whom he had released with safe conduct… Ah, no
matter. It is done now and must be forgotten.”
The very mention of the affront made clear that it had not
been forgotten by Gloucester. Probably he was reflecting his vassal’s
resentment, Alphonse thought, and if so, Warwick would indeed be a safe place
for Barbe and a refuge for him too. Alphonse agreed eagerly that Barbe be John
Giffard’s guest if he would have her, and Barbara concurred as eagerly. It had
occurred to her that since Warwick was so close to Kenilworth, Alphonse could
stay with her there and could ride over to see Sir William of Marlowe when he
was allowed to visit.
Barbara was unfeignedly delighted with the arrangement
Gloucester offered. It would be safer for Alphonse not to need to spend much
time in the company of young Simon—and Guy, if he should decide to visit
Kenilworth at that time—and safer for her too. She found that she suffered no
pangs of jealousy over what Alphonse did during the day as long as he occupied
her bed at night and gave such delightful evidence of his pleasure in his
place. If he slept elsewhere, she was not certain she would be equally
indifferent to his activities. She could imagine herself asking bitter, hurtful
questions no woman, wife or not, had a right to ask—since men did not bear
their heirs to property, their sins were irrelevant, except to their souls and
God’s judgment. And that was the answer pride would drive Alphonse to give her
if she questioned his faithfulness, whether he was innocent or not.