“You two can quit speaking of me as if I’m not here.”
“Are you here? We thought you were off somewhere dreaming about your lady’s sweet tight ass.”
“Go to hell, Roger.”
“I will. I am certain of it. And I hope the road to purgatory is lined with naked and wicked women. I care not if their asses are tight.”
Merrick looked up at his friend. “I hope that road is lined with their husbands.”
“Cease this,” Edward said, standing up. He began to pace in front of Merrick.
It made Merrick dizzy and his head light, so he stared at his feet. “You both are giving me a headache.”
“We must think,” the Icing said, still pacing. “You need to do something to placate the fair Lady Clio.”
“Falling on my sword would not do it?”
Roger and the king laughed.
But Merrick did not find this amusing. He knew he could not have humiliated his betrothed any worse than he had.
Yet she had said nothing. But just sat there while the room laughed at her. He knew her pride well, and knew it had taken a hard blow, one struck by him alone.
He was ashamed.
She had been right about him. He was an oaf.
A stupid oaf.
He took a deep breath and stood, staring up at the sky for a moment while his mind drifted toward some way he could show her the respect she deserved, the same respect his words had stolen from her that very night. He looked down at his feet for a moment and thought back over all of their conversations. Then he stilled.
“I’ll be back,” was all he said to his friends, and he strode away from the battlements without another word, leaving Roger and the King of England staring at his stiff back.
Chapter 30
Two days later, in the late afternoon, while the men were off hunting again, Lady Clio had her small tight ass situated on top of a straw pallet in a windowless alcove off the solar. She pushed a needle through the tambour in her hand, not paying one bit of attention to the size and quality of her stitches. All she wished for right then was solitude and a blessed moment’s peace and quiet.
As any good chatelaine would have, she had given her bedchamber to the king and queen, while she and many of the court ladies spent their few hours of sleep crammed together like orphans in the small and airless stone room that was usually kept for visiting nuns or noble pilgrims.
The problem was they spent their waking hours together, too. But Clio did not know these women well, not like they knew each other. She did not fit in with them. When she was with them, she felt like a heathen in a room full of Christians.
“God’s red blood! I am bored.” Lady Sofia, a young cousin of the king’s, a girl barely twelve years of age, tossed down her needle and plopped atop a pile of thin woolen blankets with her skinny arms crossed stubbornly over her chest.
“Do not swear, child,” Queen Eleanor scolded her. “You know Edward would not approve of such language from you.”
“Why not?” Sofia said petulantly. “Besides teaching me to swagger and spit, I’ve learnt my most masterful and inventive swear words from him.”
“He is a man. Great men are expected to swear.”
“I wish I were a man,” Sofia said. “Men can hunt and swim naked and bask for hours in the sunlight. I want sun-bronzed skin,” she said, pinching the pale skin on her forearms and frowning. “I look dead.”
Another lady with long red hair and milky skin looked up and said, “Last eve, when I was out walking with Sir Roger FitzAlan, he told me that the Roman Church has disallowed women to stay in the sunlight for any length of time.”
“Aye,” a black-haired lady added. “Sir Roger, who took me for ride atop his warhorse yesterday, claimed that the pope himself said the sun bleaches the hair and since hair grows from the brain, it can damage our minds.”
“How stupid,” young Sofia said with disgust. “Surely you do not believe that drivel? If hair truly grew from the brain, all men would be bald.”
Every woman in the small room laughed at that bit of youthful candor.
“From the mouths of babes,” muttered the queen with a sweet smile that showed she, Eleanor of Castile, had a fine and charming sense of humor, unlike the other Eleanor, her ferocious mother-in-law.
“I wish I were a king,” Clio said wistfully, staring at the flickering flames of the candles next to her.
“So do I,” Sofia said. “Then I could do as I wished. If I were king, no one would
dare
tell me what to do.”
Eleanor laughed. “If you were king, my child, everyone would tell you what to do.”
“I do not care.” Sofia’s chin shot up proudly. “I would not listen and do as I pleased.”
“Ah, I see. Just as you do now,” Eleanor said.
They all laughed, for it was well known that Lady Sofia was a spirited girl who drove the king mad with her defiance.
Even Sofia had to bite back a small smile.
It was not lost on Clio that this Queen Eleanor did not banish the exuberant Sofia from court for her youthful follies.
Her own court visit had seemed so very long ago. Time seemed to have taken forever to pass, and yet she could not say exactly where all the time had gone. Clio felt as if she had been waiting forever for something important to happen in her life.
She grew quiet and just plied her needle without care to the size of the stitches or the pattern. ’Twas something for her to do so she wouldn’t feel as if she were a rock in a room full of jewels.
The queen turned and cast a quick glance at Clio, then took a few stitches in the cloth she was working.
While the other women chattered freely about men and freedom, riches and weddings, and the latest scandals, the queen stood calmly and moved over to stand near a bright branch of tallow candles, where Clio was silently working on her stitchery.
Clio looked up and gave the queen a weak smile.
Eleanor straightened and clapped her hands. “Leave us be, ladies. Go out to the solar and do your gossiping there. I long for some quiet time with the bride.”
The women left, all but Lady Sofia, who was watching both Clio and the queen from eyes too bright for a young girl of only twelve. “Can I stay?”
“No,” the queen said sharply.
“Why not?”
“I have to speak to Lady Clio about her marriage.”
“Why?”
“’Tis none of your concern.”
“Oh. I understand. You are going to talk about the bedding.” Sofia stood then and gave them a wicked smile.
“Out!” Eleanor pointed toward the door.
“I do not know why it must a secret.” Sofia marched toward the doors. “I have heard all about it from John and Henry.”
“I must speak to my sons,” Eleanor muttered.
“I have decided to take the veil.” With that pronouncement, Sofia gave a sharp nod of her head. “I would rather wed God and live in a nunnery than let a man do that to me.”
Eleanor laughed then. “Edward will have to wed you to someone other than the Lord, my child. Although I suspect there are times when my husband would feel that God does deserve you. However, I suggest you forget any nonsense you have concocted about locking yourself away in a nunnery. It will not happen.”
“You would not like it, Sofia. I’ve been in a convent,” Clio admitted. “’Twas more boring than being in a ladies’ solar and doing stitchery.”
“Nothing could be more boring than stitchery,” Sofia grumbled and skulked across the room. She paused in the doorway. “If my cousin Edward is to choose a husband for me, then he had better choose well. A man who is my equal, for I’ll not take just any man. He must be gallant and brave and chivalrous. He must adore me.” Sofia disappeared, then poked her head back around the corner. “And I still say not even a husband hand-picked by the King of England will stick me with his privy member.”
“Sofia!”
The girl disappeared again.
Eleanor just stood there, shaking her head.
Clio was laughing. She could not help it. She could remember thinking those same thoughts.
Eleanor sat down next to her. “She is young and headstrong. Edward swears she will drive him insane with her romantic ideas and independent ways.”
“I remember feeling that way,” Clio admitted. “All that youthful belief in chivalry and honor and gallantry.”
Those thoughts did not seem so important to her now. There were other things she wanted from her husband. Things that were important, like love and respect.
“You are unhappy.” Eleanor stared down at her.
Clio shrugged. She did not know what to say. She was unhappy. In fact she was scared and confused and miserable.
“Do you not care for the earl?”
She shrugged again.
“You may forget I am queen and tell me the truth. Please. This is important.”
Clio tried to think of some positive things to say. “He is brave and rich and he can be handsome when he is not shouting orders.”
“I see.” Eleanor looked as if she wanted to smile, but she did not. “What else?”
“He rides well.”
“I see.”
“He saved me from some Welsh outlaws and he nursed me back to health.”
Eleanor nodded, appearing to listen intently. “Do you think you could love him?”
“He kisses well,” Clio admitted, flushing at the thought of his lips on her … everywhere.
“What do you not like about him?”
“He is a stubborn, arrogant, pigheaded, unfeeling lout.”
Eleanor nodded thoughtfully. “I see. So you do not wish to wed him.”
“Aye,” Clio agreed, then paused. “No. That is not the truth.” She sighed. “Oh, I don’t know what I want. Aye, I do. I want to wed his lips.”
Eleanor threw back her head and laughed out loud. Then she took her hand. “I think I understand.”
“Do you?”
She nodded. “Edward and I were wed when I was ten and he was fifteen. We had not met before. It was an alliance between Henry and my brother Alfonso.”
“You had no say in your marriage either.”
“My brother loves me. He is an educated man and a contemporary thinker. Our home had a library that was full of Arabic papers charting the stars. He supported poets and musicians and physicians. The castle was filled with the latest of inventions—astrolabes, sun clocks, water clocks, even a mercury clock. So many fascinating things to see. Anyway, he told Henry he would not agree to the marriage until he inspected Edward.”
“Inspected him? The prince?” Clio giggled.
Eleanor was laughing, too; then she leaned closer to Clio and said quietly, “The truth is, he wanted me to get a look at him and to agree to wed him freely. He did not want to see me given to a man he could not respect. My husband’s family …” she paused, searching for difficult words.
“I understand,” Clio said. “John was a bad king and a horrid man, too.”
“Aye, and Edward’s father, Henry, had trouble keeping his word. He broke an alliance with my mother in favor of Eleanor of Provence. My brother was concerned for my happiness.”
“You agreed to marry the prince.”
“Aye. I thought him the most handsome young man I had ever seen. He rode into Burgos on a Spanish charger, looking so tall and long-legged, with his flaxen hair clipped close below his ears and those clear blue eyes. He rode tall in the saddle. I think he was the tallest man I had ever seen. His back was straight from a stiffened tabard and he wore long boots of the finest leather. He spoke with such emotion and fire.” She sighed. “I agreed. Oh, I agreed so quickly. And I have never regretted that decision.”
“It is well known that the king adores you.”
“It was not always so.” She watched Clio closely. “You look surprised.”
“But I thought it was always a great love match.”
Eleanor shook her head. “What does a ten-year-old girl know of love, or for that matter, a fifteen-year-old prince? While he waited for me to grow into a wifely age, he was a roistering leader of bachelor knights. I bore him two children before he fell in love with me. I was twenty and I knew the day it happened. I arrived in Dover and as soon as I stepped ashore, I could see it in his face.”
She grew quiet with her memory, and Clio stayed silent, waiting to hear what she would tell her next. This story fascinated her.
“That is what I wanted to tell you. Love does not always come the moment you meet someone. In fact, many times it is just the opposite. Life is not like those childhood dreams we have of knights and gallantry and courtly love. Those are just stories we are told, but that is not what love is. It is so much more.”
“I don’t think I understand,” Clio told her.
“Love grows from something else. It is hard for me to explain. But I know it in here.” She placed her hand over her heart. “It is not a simple thing for a man to love a woman. It is easier for us, I think, because we do not have to understand a man to love him. We can love him for who and what he is, even if we do not like it. Women are capable of loving men with all their faults.”
“And men are not?” Clio asked.
“It is different for a man. Someday I think you will understand.” She stood up. “But I have said enough. By now Lady Sofia is probably telling the world about her plans of chastity. I’d best go find her before Henry gets wind of her foolish chatter. He’ll betroth the girl to his next enemy.”
Clio stood and reached out her hand to the queen. She sank into her deepest curtsy and bowed her head in respect. “Thank you.”
Eleanor stopped, then looked at their joined hands and nodded. She pulled Clio to her feet and took both of her hands. “I would like a friend, Lady Clio. Even at court when it is full of women, I have few I can speak freely to and even fewer I can trust.”
Clio smiled, and a lifelong friendship was born.
The Maid of the Green Forest
(Fourth Stanza)
But ere I become thy wedded wife
Thou a solemn oath must make,
And let hap whate’er thou must not dare
That solemn oath to break.
—from “The Legend of King Alaric’s Wife,” ancient Welsh folktale, first put into written verse by John F.M. Dovaston, 1825
Chapter 31