The Falcon and the Flower (28 page)

Estelle was never more relieved in her life to see the high turrets of Pontefract Castle looming in the distance. De Burgh had bidden one of his men ride at her side and assist her to mount and dismount. She was thankful for the strong arm to lean upon as he helped her into the women’s quarters and carried her boxes for her. She ordered a tray for herself, for there was no way she was going to drag herself to the hall to sit through a three-hour bout at table with the king and his host. She put on a warm bedgown, for the autumn nights this far north had a definite nip to them, and fell asleep almost instantly.

She blinked owlishly as a young page shook her awake. “Dame Winwood, please awaken, the king has need of your services, ma’am.”

“Damn the king!” she said, visibly shocking the young errand boy. “It must be close on midnight, what the hell can he want at this hour?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. I was told to sleep outside the royal chamber. All at once King John came out and kicked me awake and told me to hurry and fetch you.”

“Well, mayhap he’s had a fit,” she murmured to herself.” Then she added, “And by God if he hasn’t, I’ll give
him one.” She took out a bottle of distilled lily-of-the-valley and said, “Lead the way, lad, then get to bed. A child should be in his bed at this hour, not sleeping in doorholes.”

She found the king’s chamber locked, so she rapped lightly. The door was opened a crack. “Are you alone?” asked John.

“Of course I’m alone. Who else would be about at this ungodly hour?” she demanded. He opened it only partway and said, “Come inside quickly.”

She scrutinized him and saw that although he wasn’t in a fit he was deathly pale and extremely agitated. There was definitely something odd about a man who would wear a bedrobe and a crown.

He jerked a thumb toward the great bed. “Something has happened to her … you’ll have to revive her.”

Estelle could see no one in the great bed. She went closer, then turned back the cover. “Mother of God,” Estelle cried, crossing herself, a thing she seldom did. The small, naked body of the twelve-year-old Mathilda FitzWalter lay whiter than death. In contrast, her brilliant red hair spread across the pillows as an omen of what Estelle would see when she pulled the covers down all the way. Crimson blood pooled the bed where the child had hemorrhaged. Her thighs ran with it and a pillow had been stuffed between them in a futile attempt to stem her life’s blood.

John wrung his hands. “Give her something to restore her.”

Estelle’s accusing eyes burned into his. “I work miracles, but I do not resurrect the dead!”

“She’s not dead, woman, she’s not dead I tell you!”

“She is dead. You have killed her.” It was a dangerous moment for Estelle. One missed step, one word wrong as she diced with death could seal her doom. She quickly
told herself that in any encounter between two people, one is dominant, one submits. The difference is fear and John was certainly afraid.

“We’ll have to get rid of her,” he said, linking her to the conspiracy. “What will we do with her?”

“It’s best you don’t know. Leave all to me,” she temporized. This was one body that was not going to be conveniently disposed of, Estelle decided. She would send it home for burial. She thought of de Burgh, then dismissed the name instantly. She didn’t want him connected to this. Likely he would never compromise his integrity and could lose his head as a result.

She washed the small body until it was free of blood, then she gathered the sheets and pillow and took them to be burned. “Don’t open this door to anyone until I return,” she instructed the king.

He nodded solemnly and fingered his crown nervously.

She hurried along the hall to Will Marshal’s room and drew him outside into the hall. “I want you to get a wooden box with a lid and fetch it to the king’s chamber,” she told the young man.

He looked puzzled. “How large?”

“Large enough to hold the body of a child,” she said softly. “Take it home to the FitzWalter family at Dunmow.”

Will closed his eyes. “Sweet Mary and Jesus.” Then he added, “I’m going to tell my father what he’s done. I can remain silent no longer. I’ll never be back, Estelle.”

She nodded her head. “William Marshal is the only man who would dare call him to task. When a child’s life has been frittered away the heart cries out for justice, justice.”

John spent an unquiet night. He wished he’d brought along Orion to cast him a new horoscope. Surely his Fate was not taking a turn for the worse? By morning, however, he had a firm grip on himself and the incident was
forgotten, at least by John, as more urgent matters plagued him.

All the way north he had sent recruiters ahead of the party to gather support for his armies. The men had fanned out reaching into every northern county and shire held by his barons. None had escaped the king’s request, be they vast landholders or owners of a single castle. He needed the support of his northern barons if he ever hoped to regain what had been lost across the sea. He needed it to keep peace in Scotland and Wales, and when he thought of the savages in Ireland who knew only tribal patriotism, he ground his teeth that anarchy ruled.

Although the barons’ service was supposed to be assured to the king, one by one the answers were coming back
no!
The northern barons were not willing to have their knights and men-at-arms sacrificed by an ineffectual leader who could have nothing but losses against a king as strong as Philip of France. They could not help but compare John to his great father and to his brother Richard, and he came up sadly lacking in all things. One baron put it rather aptly when he described the king as all cock and no balls.

When they reached their destination, Falcon de Burgh was glad to be quit of John. He looked at his friend Salisbury, amazed that the two men were actual brothers. He did not for one minute doubt that the Earl of Salisbury was Henry II’s son, but doubt began to creep in about John. Had Eleanor of Aquitaine palmed off a bastard on an unsuspecting Henry? Poor Henry must be writhing in his grave to think that his favorite youngest son was squandering everything he had strived for in his lifetime.

The host, Eustace de Vesci, who had gone on crusades with Richard, did not quite know what to make of this king. John openly coveted his wife Margaret and did not even try to keep his hands from her. At first Eustace
pretended to laugh it off and treat it as a joke, but when John made it plain that he expected Margaret would be his bed partner, Eustace stopped laughing.

Margaret had retreated to the women’s quarters of the castle, but she knew full well that when a king commands, a subject obeys. Eustace came to her there in a high temper, venting it on any hapless female within earshot. Dame Winwood, seeing Margaret burst into helpless tears, offered the couple a little advice. “These parts are famous for a very strong liquor they brew, are they not?”

“Aye, ’t is a liquor distilled from grain and malt, but I don’t believe ye’d care for it, dame, ’t is not exactly a lady’s drink. One swallow steals yer brains, two swallows steal yer legs, and a whole cup knocks ye on yer arse!” Eustace exclaimed.

“King John likes his drink,” she said smoothly. “If you plied him with enough, you could easily put a substitute for Margaret in his bed and him be none the wiser.”

Eustace hurried off to find a large keg, while Margaret took herself off to the knights’ sleeping quarters in search of a whore.

Dawn’s light brought a courier with a message that knocked all prurient thought from John for days. Old Hubert Walter, the Archbishop of Canterbury, was dead and the canons in England who had seen the teeth drawn from canon law wanted more power. Without consulting the king, they chose from among their own ranks Stephen Langton and sent him to Rome posthaste to be consecrated by Pope Innocent. John became so angry he fell to the rushes and had a seizure. Estelle was sorely tempted to dose him with a substance that would worsen his condition. She had an almost uncontrollable urge to see him suffer, but common sense prevailed. All knew she medicated John, and if anything befell him, the finger would point to her. Throughout history since the Garden
of Eden men had put the blame for misfortune upon women. No, if she ever gave John a potion she would make sure it was a lethal one, for his revenge was terrible.

John ordered Falkes de Bréauté to Canterbury to seize the estates of the archbishopric and the land of all the other bishops of the province of Canterbury.

He ordered Salisbury to go to Rome to “straighten out the Pope.” William was horrified at the prospect. “John, I’m no churchman. To me the Church is all bells and smells and popery! I’m a plain soldier. This delicate business calls for a diplomat such as William Marshal. I’ll go immediately to Chepstow and brief the marshal. You may trust him to do the right thing.”

“Let’s get this damned treaty signed so I can return south. I don’t trust anyone with a northern accent,” urged John.

“I’ll leave Eustace de Vesci up here to see that the peace is kept, and don’t forget you are taking the two little princesses of Scotland to ensure their brother Alexander keeps his word,” Salisbury said.

“Ha! They don’t call Alexander the Red Fox of Scotland for nothing! How far can I trust him?” asked John.

Salisbury grinned. “About a tall man’s pissing distance!”

John said, “I’ll have his sisters hostages. I’ll take them to Nottingham.”

A warning bell went off in Salisbury’s head. Estelle had told him straightforwardly why John was not to be trusted with little girls. William cleared his throat and said firmly, “These are such important hostages, John, I think they should be entrusted to Hubert de Burgh, who does such a fine job with all your other political prisoners. I’ll send young Falcon de Burgh with them for safekeeping until he puts them into his uncle’s custody. He’ll need only a few of his men for that; the rest can give you safe escort again to Nottingham.”

“And by the bones of Christ I’ll need it in this unfriendly northern clime. So far every northern baron has refused me service, so instead I’ll command every last one of them to pledge me a son as hostage for their good behavior.”

Salisbury thought this a bit drastic and tried to lighten John’s heavy hand. “In faith, you’ll have to give Hubert de Burgh more castles to house them all,” he said, laughing.

“He has Corfe, Sherborne, and Wallingford as well as Dover and the Cinque Ports, I gave him the Roumer lands and Causton in Norfolk before I was ever king,” John pointed out.

“I was jesting,” said William. “Don’t be so serious. Go to Nottingham and relax.”

“I’ll not stay in Nottingham, ’t is too damned far north for my liking. I won’t rest easy until I’m on my own broad acres in Gloucester.”

William kept a wise silence, but inside he chuckled to himself. “You’ll be looking over your shoulder, terrified, every step of the way.”

Queen Isabella had developed an amuse-me-or-else attitude. As a result, Jasmine and Orion were hard-pressed to trot out every skill they possessed in connection with the occult.

Today Orion was describing the personalities of those born under various signs of the zodiac. Isabella naturally insisted he begin with Leo since it was her sign, and Jasmine had to hide a smile behind her hand when she heard
him try to be diplomatic and not give offense. It was a tricky business trying to please a vain, childish girl who had the power of a queen.

What he said was “You are the center of your universe and attract many people to you. You have considerable ability and power to influence others and have them carry out your ideas. You have very little fear in your nature and you can present a forceful, dynamic, and commanding attitude when necessary. You have a great amount of pride. You must guard against your temper, but you have good willpower and an independent nature when it comes to doing your own thinking and working out your own ideas. You have quick perception, which allows you to grasp facts quite rapidly.”

What Orion did not say about Leo was “You will achieve personal success no matter whom you have to step on. You are too egotistical and self-important, you can be rash, sharp-tongued, and unpleasant. You indulge yourself in all things. You are stubborn, obstinate, and headstrong. You are prejudiced in your views, narrow and intolerant.”

Isabella was pleased with what Orion said and did not say. “Now tell me the character of one born under the sign of Scorpio,” she bade.

Orion, no fool, knew she had King John in mind. Again he chose his words carefully, sticking to the truth but eliminating all that was negative. “Scorpians can be attractive, magnetic, and dynamic, but they are sometimes difficult people to understand. This is because they have a tendency toward being secretive. They are capable of influencing others to a great degree. They are consumed by desire for the luxuries of this world and must guard against overindulgence. If the Scorpios exercise proper control, they will attain great success in life. At times they can be generous, loyal, and will receive many appeals from people for understanding when they must
face situations and personal problems. Their powers of observation are keen and they will not take another’s advice. They have a most powerful will and determination.”

What Orion left unsaid was “There is no fury like a Scorpio temper. They not only get angry, but are extremely obstinate and headstrong with it. They speak bitterly and cuttingly. No consideration is given to others. They are cynical, self-willed, and selfish. They will be the cause of their own downfall in life. They are temperamental and highly nervous. They have intense emotions, which can cause them to lose all self-control.”

Isabella had stopped listening. Her whole attention was now taken by a monkey on a chain who was trained to do little tricks such as beg with its little hat in hand and play dead.

On impulse Jasmine asked Orion to tell her the personality of one born under Aries. The moment the words were out of her mouth, she wondered why she had asked such a thing. Just because she knew Falcon de Burgh’s birth date did not mean that she had any personal interest in the man. But perhaps she would learn something to help her with him should Fate frown upon her and make him her husband. “Orion, do not leave out the bad traits; I would know all,” she said.