The Dragon and the Jewel (46 page)

T
he king welcomed Simon back to the fold with the same rejoicing as the biblical father who killed the fatted calf. The barons had been adamant in their refusal to fight in Poitou, for as usual Henry was penniless and the barons knew he would try to squeeze them for the money for this war.

Henry knew de Montfort was his only chance and made it plain to the Savoys and his Lusignan brothers, who hated Simon, that they had better be cordial to the war lord who now sat with them in council. Simon convinced Henry that he never had any money because it was being mishandled.

Winchester and de Montfort had faced off in front of the king, and Simon had drawn steel threatening to rid England of those who sucked her dry. Henry had no choice but to order an investigation of the bishop. The king asked Peter des Roches for an accounting of all funds that passed through his hands in the multiple offices he held. Winchester knew this would be his downfall. Even if only a part of his machinations came to light, he would be accused of treason.

Winchester appealed desperately to the council. “Why do you allow this man’s will to dominate? If I am investigated, who will be next?” he cried.

Simon de Montfort fixed every member of the council with his smoldering black eyes and gave them Winchester’s own words. “There are two groups of people, the pitiful and the pitiless. I have no doubt to which group you belong.” At long last he had decided that since Henry was a puppet king, from now on it would be Simon de Montfort who pulled the strings.

Accounting for monies was not Winchester’s only worry. Rickard de Burgh had made a quick trip to Ireland and secured a copy of the incriminating letter ordering the latest marshal’s demise. Realizing he could be blamed, and ever a coward, Henry pointed to the man who had use of his privy seal. By the time an order was signed for Winchester’s arrest, he had fled the country, but his son Peter des Rivaux was seized and thrown into the Tower.

Simon de Montfort knew it was time to press for Hubert de Burgh’s reinstatement. England’s barons and citizens were outraged at the injustice done to the noble English leaders by the foreigners Henry had clasped to his bosom. Simon was loath to use blackmail and instead persuaded the king that if he pardoned Hubert, the fighting men of the Cinque Ports might be amenable to fighting in France.

Simon could not believe how much he had accomplished in such a short time. The elements hostile to Henry had turned to him for leadership. They seemed to revere his ability and soldierly gifts. Here was a man who was not afraid to stand up to the king. He was ever willing to take heavy risks in the name of justice, and more and more rallied about him. With seeming ease he had assumed the leadership.

Eleanor resolved to return to England within the month. She fed her lusty son Simon whenever he showed the least signs of hunger, outraging his nurses. She rode every morning and walked on the beach each afternoon until she was positively glowing with health. Without hesitation she asked her brother-in-law Frederick for a ship to transport her. She met with its captain and pored over maps and charts with him until she was satisfied he would sail the quickest route, taking her all the way up the Bristol Channel into the River Severn, only fifty short miles from her beloved Kenilworth.

Her days were overfull, but her nights provided long, lonely hours that she filled with plots of revenge. Her imagination worked overtime, picturing de Montfort and his slave girl. She swore that if she found the nameless creature at Kenilworth, she would kill her, then she would turn her knife upon de Montfort! Nay, better yet, she reasoned, since he had wed her only for ambition, for her royal Plantagenet connection, she would get her marriage set aside. Half of England believed her marriage was invalid anyway. She would have no trouble bending Henry to her will if she was determined enough. Had not de Montfort gifted her with Kenilworth? She smiled cruelly. If he set foot in the place she would have the guards turn him out. She would set the dogs upon him!

Eleanor whipped her thoughts to the boiling point so she could get through the unbearable dark hour from three to four in the morning when she often thought she would die if she did not soon feel his strong arms about her.

Grudgingly the barons and the lesser nobility committed to fighting in France, but they told de Montfort bluntly their allegiance was to him and not to Henry and the half brothers the wanton Queen Isabella had spawned. Most were reluctant to squander the lives of their knights and men-at-arms on French soil and offered only a token number. To make up for it however, they pledged money.

Tirelessly Simon visited every county, even traveling to Ireland and Wales to muster sufficient men and money for the king’s latest cause. He had committed himself to Henry in exchange for a voice on the council and a position of leadership in the country. His staunch loyalty made him keep his end of the bargain since the king had kept his.

Roger Bigod was confirmed as the new Marshal of England and added his weight to Simon’s efforts. In all the king spent over a hundred thousand crowns to outfit the army his mother had asked for, half of which had to be paid to buy mercenaries because the barons would not commit more than a fraction of their men.

Simon de Montfort warned Henry of France’s might. He had spent over half his life fighting there and never underestimated
Louis of France. He gave the king his best advice, which was to postpone sailing until they had recruited more men. Henry, however, was adamant. He insisted they were only aiding his mother in Poitou. Her husband, the Count of La Marche, had united the provinces of the south and west and all the Gascony barons were committed to the rebellion. Henry insisted that England was not expected to win this war single-handed.

The campaign proved a disastrous failure. When Hugh La Marche found himself confronted by the superior French army, he became convinced it was a lost cause and began negotiating a peace treaty. King Henry found himself in the uncomfortable position of having to return home with absolutely nothing to show for the hundred thousand he had wasted. The wrath of the half brothers he had failed was nothing compared to the dangerous mood of the barons. They had had enough. A parliament was called for the following month and a rallying cry went up. “We already have an army, we already have a leader; let us utilize both!”

Simon de Montfort knew what lay ahead. He was determined to visit his beloved Kenilworth to arm and fortify it before the serious trouble began. He took with him twenty of his knights who were married and whose wives now resided at Kenilworth. They took only two days to cover the ground between London and the River Avon.

It was springtime and the beauty of the countryside made him wish fervently that Eleanor could see every hillside dotted with lambs, could smell the heavily laden hawthorne blossoms, could taste the salt of the seabreezes that swept inland up every valley, and could feel the raindrops of a fresh spring shower. He had a deep and abiding love for England and Englishmen. He felt good because he knew what he did was right. The short term might well be horrendous and he was glad that Eleanor was safely out of it, but in the long run he would be instrumental in restoring England to the English. He would bring justice and good government back to the people. He smiled to himself, knowing he had become almost fanatical in his devotion to the cause of better government.

In the late afternoon the Earl of Leicester and his men were
silhouetted against the sky as they approached the causeway to Kenilworth. A great cry went up from the walls the moment the earl was recognized. As soon as Eleanor heard the clamor, the hair on the nape of her neck stood on end. The joyous cries could only be for one man, Simon de Montfort.

She had ridden out to inspect the spring planting and was wearing her scarlet woolen cloak from Wales. She took a firm grip upon her riding whip and ran as fast as she could toward Kenilworth’s two-story gatehouse, her cloak and her hair flying about her wildly. She flew up the stairs of the gatehouse and breathlessly faced the guard on the portcullis. “Do not raise it!” she commanded.

“’tis himself, the war lord,” the guard explained, his grin
splitting
his face.

“I know damn well who it is. Have I not eyes in my head? I forbid you to allow him entrance here!”

The guard gaped. “Lady … I dare not deny the master entry to his own castle.”

She brandished her whip in his face. “I am master here … I, Eleanor Plantagenet!”

The riders had drawn rein and stood below looking up to the gatehouse. The earl’s deep voice rang out. “Eleanor, Splendor of God, what are you doing here?” he demanded.

The breeze whipped her scarlet cloak and her black hair about her as if it wanted to play its part in this delicious confrontation. “Defending my castle against a traitorous, lecherous Frenchman!” she threw down at him.

Simon shaded his eyes to learn the identity of the man who worked the portcullis. “Jock, raise the grate, man, we’ve just ridden a hundred miles,” he ordered impatiently.

As Jock’s hands reached for the wheel, Eleanor lashed out with her whip. “You will obey my orders under penalty of death,” she vowed.

As Simon glared up at her she stood proudly like a wild young animal, as unattainable as the moon. De Montfort swore an oath, which she heard clearly. His deep voice always aroused a queer little shiver in her. She focused all her will in her eyes as she looked down upon him. “Be gone from this place.”

What madness possessed her? “This time—this time I really shall beat you, Eleanor,” he threatened.

“Guards, to me!” she cried, summoning the soldiers who walked the crenellated outer walls of the ward. They came, not daring to disobey Eleanor Plantagenet. “Ready your longbows,” she ordered. Again, yet more slowly, they obeyed and notched their arrows.

“Shoot!” she ordered. They looked down into the dark face of Simon de Montfort and did not dare to obey Eleanor Plantagenet.

Lord God, de Montfort thought, if that other Eleanor, her grandmother, so infuriated Henry II, ’tis no bloody wonder he imprisoned her.

Eleanor turned from the guards, determined to have her way. She ran to the guards of the inner ward and commanded, “Arrest those men, they refuse to obey me.” As her guards rushed past her to the gatehouse, she went down to the hall. She passed a dripping haunch of venison that always stood roasting by the fire as a symbol of Kenilworth’s hospitality. The people of the castle were gathering for the evening meal, and the tables were filling up both above and below the salt.

She walked proudly to the dais and sat down regally, keeping her eyes upon the entrance. Her blood was high, devils danced in her eyes, turning them a deep sapphire. She forced herself to breathe slowly to calm herself. She had seldom admitted defeat even when it stared her in the face. She had no doubt but that he would come. No castle had ever held out against him, so there was no chance his own would do so. But she would hold out against him. “My will is as strong as yours,” she said aloud, and every head turned in her direction. She had bravery enough to flaunt every convention—he had taught her well.

There was safety in numbers. Simon would not dare lay hands upon her here in the great hall. He paused at the vaulted entrance as if for dramatic effect, filling the doorway. He came in his leathers, dusted and begrimed from the hard ride. He strode a direct path down the center of the hall and stood towering before her. Though she sat upon the raised dais, their eyes were on a level.

“Explain yourself, woman!” he ground out.

Her eyes traveled slowly and insolently up and down his huge frame. “I don’t explain myself to any man, least of all you!” she said with contempt.

No one had ever dared speak to him in such an insulting manner before. He put one great hand upon the table and vaulted across it. She rose quickly to flee, but he had her by the shoulders and shook her like a rag doll. She knew she was driving him to violence, yet she could not prevent herself from retaliating. The moment his hands stopped shaking her, she pursed her lips and spat upon him.

For one moment his black eyes stared at her in disbelief, then he threw her over his shoulder like a sack of grain and carried her up to their bedchamber. He said not one word, and his grim silence told her she could expect the beating he had always promised. Struggling was futile with his cast-iron arm about her, so she cast about in her mind for words to throw at him that would wound and bring pain. As he ascended the stairs she fancied that her heart and his kept time with each other.

Simon’s mind was also busy. This is what I get for loving her too much. When a man marries for love his woman thinks to lead him about by his member. His brain cast about for a reason for her behavior. It could only be because he had forced her brother Henry to his will. She had such a keen intelligence, she knew where it would all end, as did he, and blood was ever thicker than water. By the time he reached their great bed, he had already jumped to the conclusion that she had chosen sides between him and the king. The hurt in his heart demanded an outlet. His reasoning was on a much broader plain than hers. He did not realize that her motives were on a much more personal and intimate level.