The Silken Rose Read online

  ‘The wafers are fresh from the kitchen.’ She proffered the plate and watched as Rosalind visibly relaxed on a stool by the fire and bit into a wafer.

  Ailenor sank back into a pile of silken cushions and began with casual conversation. ‘I believe that Lady Willelma has shown you over the palace. Do you think you can oversee the embroidery work here? It’s not too overwhelming?’

  ‘With the help I am promised by Lady Willelma, the work will take a few months to complete. I suggest we make you a complete new set of bed curtains.’ She smiled. ‘My father can’t make them this time but we’ll find someone who can.’

  ‘Good.’ Ailenor lifted the jug and refilled their cups. She lifted the letter from the side table. ‘This letter you bring me carries a warning. It says you overheard treasonable words when you visited the Bishop’s palace. Can you tell me what exactly you overheard?’

  Rosalind recounted the incident. She added, ‘Your Grace, it may mean little or, possibly, it is very serious. Prioress Elizabeth said you needed to know.’

  ‘Indeed, she is right. You did not see these two men’s faces?’

  Rosalind shook her head. ‘They had their backs to me. There was an arras.’

  Ailenor was pensive. She said, ‘We cannot identify anyone in particular, but we can be vigilant, especially of the clergy, and in particular of the English bishops. Bishop Fulk is not our friend, Rosalind. He may not be at fault or even knowledgeable about this, though the merchant was either negotiating a wine sale or delivering it. Yes?’ Rosalind nodded. ‘It suggests the monk at least works for Bishop Fulk. His palace is a nest filled with vermin. I’ll have it watched.’ She leaned forward. ‘The King and I shall retire to Blaye for a few months with a small court and a large guard. Keep your eyes and ears open. Note who comes and goes. Let my clerk, John Mansel, know if your hear anything suspicious.’ She frowned. ‘There are always plots against the King. Generally we root them out. I shall leave John Mansel, Lady Margery, and Lady Mary with you. Both my ladies can be trusted. You must not speak of this to anyone else and Lady Mary will know what to do if you are suspicious of anyone or recognise either of those two men, as will my clerk.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Grace. I know Master John. I am happy to report to him.’

  Ailenor smiled. ‘It is truly good to have you here, Rosalind. Are you happy with your bedchamber?’ It would be foolish to mention the squire so she did not.

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Come with me now. I have a gift for you.’ She called for her ladies. John Mansel could see himself out.

  Lady Mary and Domina Willelma gliding behind, Ailenor led Rosalind down a private staircase to the courtyard and across it into the stables. She pointed to a stall where a brown and white palfrey was munching hay. ‘She is for you. Lady Mary and the squires will take you riding. Besides, you must get out and about the town seeking out new fabrics.’

  ‘For me?’ Rosalind’s eyes widened. ‘What is her name?’

  Ailenor had no idea of the palfrey’s name. She shook her head.

  ‘Luna,’ the groom said. ‘She answers to Luna.’

  ‘Moon. She’s beautiful. Thank you, Your Grace.’

  ‘A fitting reward for a service given.’

  Rosalind’s face filled with joy and Ailenor’s heart warmed to see her eyes shine. After sending Rosalind away, she crossed the courtyard to John Mansel’s office in the great hall. They must inform Henry there could be a plot to poison him and relate their suspicions without involving Rosalind. Ailenor did not want to draw Henry’s attention to her. John Mansel could have had such information from anywhere.

  24

  1243

  New tasters were employed for the royal court in Bordeaux. Henry dismissed all talk of a Templar plot as foolish. He had more important things on his mind. Despite the threat of poison, he still dipped his hand greedily into plates of marchpane and Ailenor found herself whipping the little dishes containing sweetmeats away. She banished marchpane from their chambers unless she saw it tasted first. Henry was not permitted the Gascon wine he adored unless his wine jug was rigorously sampled before he quaffed it down.

  He raised his hands in frustration. ‘I cannot live freely in my own castle. Send those wretched tasters away.’

  ‘Just think of the poisoning of Roman senators or Greek princes. Let us give this regime another month, my dear. Make sure there’s no danger.’

  Henry stumped off, saying he was dining with the Bishop of Bordeaux at his palace and he’d not drink anything the Bishop didn’t, but he’d drink plenty.

  Peace was signed between England and France in March, promising a new five-year truce between them. After Christmastide, Ailenor received a messenger from Nell who had given birth in the south. Her third child was another son.

  They call their towns bastides. They are fortified. We are safe. The communes are cooperating with Simon. He is collecting tax into coffers to send north as soon as roads are open. There have been heavy snowfalls which makes the land silent and soft as if covered with a furred mantle. When the sun shines it is silver. Our lodgings in Pau are more than satisfactory. The castle is as beautiful as those of legend, with rich hangings, turrets, and views towards the mountains. I was most comfortable here during my laying-in. We have named this son Amaury. Harry and Simon have met their brother and are delighted with him. . .

  ‘I hope they return to us soon,’ Ailenor confided to Henry as she folded away her letter.

  Henry looked down his long nose. His praise was almost begrudging. ‘He has assiduously managed those warring merchants. He extracted tax from them all.’

  ‘You should reward Simon, Henry,’ she said with just a little caution in her tone, because although Henry seemed pleased with Simon, one could not trust Henry’s moods.

  ‘I am purchasing some of his debts in lieu of payment. He still owes money to your Uncle Thomas in Flanders. He can have Kenilworth back.’

  ‘Henry and Nell can return to England at last.’ Ailenor patted the little dog by her feet, a descendant of the dog, Beau, she’d brought to England years before. She smiled to herself and whispered to her dog, ‘Well, Snip, it looks like I shall have Nell’s company after all, as well as my mother and sister once they arrive for Sancha’s wedding.’

  In the spring, Earl Simon and his family returned to Bordeaux. Earl Simon rented a merchant’s house in the town rather than taking up residence in the newly decorated palace. He said he was better placed to control the warring merchants if he dwelled amongst them. Ailenor thought to herself, Pah! An excuse! He’s avoiding Henry. That’s the nub of it.

  She first encountered Earl Simon’s squire in the rediscovered garden behind Palais des Ombres. It was weeded and planted with herbal beds. New pathways were freshly laid. Gardeners created rose arbours. She had ordered banks and benches carefully placed amongst hedging so her ladies could take their rest there. As Nell admired these innovations, Ailenor noted how Simon’s squire who attended Nell stared at Rosalind who was walking with her attendants, and although the girl discreetly lowered her head, she raised it to occasionally glance over at the squire. Ailenor’s heart beat faster. The pair were in love. They longed for each other’s company. This much was obvious. She watched Thomas from the edge of her vision.

  As they lingered by a mulberry tree, the squire excused himself with a bow and crossed the broad pathway to Rosalind. He fell onto one knee and said some words Ailenor could not make out, but the girl was crying. He then rose and took Rosalind’s hand. When her party began to walk into an adjoining cherry orchard, stepping one by one through a latch gate, the couple fell back. Ailenor glanced over her shoulder. The couple walked as far as they dared behind her ladies. Rosalind was smiling, her tears vanquished like a sudden summer storm.

  The tiny court meandered back into the garden. As their company broke up into smaller groups near a statue of St Francis, Ailenor noted how Thomas drew Rosalind to one of the new stone benches. For a moment the pair held hands. She held h
er breath. Rosalind stood, smiled down on the youth, and rejoined Ailenor’s ladies, slipping into place beside Lady Margery. She saw Lady Mary squeeze Rosalind’s hand and turning to listen to Nell enthuse over her three olive trees that grew beside the garden walls, she found she was smiling too.

  To Ailenor’s delight, romance flitted about the palace halls, colourful, light, and darting. It filled the dim corridors with laughter and secret assignations. She laughed at how love chased the couple through the corridors of Palais des Ombres, spreading into the gardens and through the courtyards. For the first time in years, she wrote a romantic poem in which Thomas was one of Launcelot’s knights and Rosalind attached to Queen Guinevere’s train. She would present it to the couple on their wedding day.

  Ailenor praised Rosalind’s desire to marry Thomas. ‘They are meant for each other, don’t you think, Nell,’ she would say. ‘We must make the wedding happen without delay. Speak to Simon, dear Nell. After all, we supported your marriage, a love match.’

  ‘Look at the trouble that followed.’

  ‘It was worth it.’

  ‘It was. It is,’ Nell said. ‘I shall do my best.’

  Nell persuaded Earl Simon to assent to his squire’s wedding. Ailenor worked on Henry and in a jovial mood her king bequeathed his blessing on the union. He approved the squire’s knighthood. Earl Simon wrote to Thomas’s uncle, promising to knight Thomas for his valour at Saintes. Ailenor read the letter before it was sent out from John Mansel’s closet.

  Simon wrote My squire, Thomas Beaumont, forthwith is to take possession of his inheritance.

  Simon received a terse letter back from Thomas’s uncle. Nell brought the letter to Ailenor who took the letter to Henry.

  The uncle was disgruntled. He claimed reimbursement for Thomas’s broken betrothal with another party. With reluctance he wished the couple well since Thomas was of an age to take possession of his lands.

  ‘They must wed at once,’ she said to Henry as she waved the letter in his face. ‘We shall pay Thomas’s uncle for the broken betrothal from our own coffers. More expense but it cannot be avoided.’

  Henry grumbled, ‘You would have me pay a dowry to Richard for Sancha and bear the expense for that wedding. Now you want me to find money for a squire’s wedding to an embroideress with dubious ancestry and a Cathar mother.’

  ‘A queen may petition her king and this queen has rarely done so. This embroideress is my friend and my lady and no Cathar, as you know well.’ Ailenor knew how to be persuasive. She entwined her arms about Henry’s neck, drew him to her bed and whispered into his ear. ‘It’s not the same. It’s less expense. It’s a squire and a maiden, not a prince and princess.’

  Henry, lying on her coverlet fully clothed, complained, ‘My Council will not like all this money we spend on your family and servants.’

  She knelt and tugged off his leather shoes. ‘They will not complain if we provide another son, my love,’ she said knowingly and, kneeling by him, stroked him into arousal.

  By morning Henry agreed to pay for the broken betrothal and for the squire’s wedding.

  Thomas and Rosalind married in the Queen’s chapel in June, the blue skies filled with midsummer birdsong. Nell elected to attend Rosalind. Simon stood in for her father. The Queen’s ladies were present. King Henry appeared later at the bridal feast dressed elegantly in a fine green satin gown studded with gems. Ailenor took his hand, ‘Look at how joyful they are. Be happy for the happiness of others, my love.’ Henry smiled back. He enjoyed a festivity, the pageantry, the gorgeous clothing, and most of all the many dishes for a feast provided from his kitchens.

  25

  Nell

  1243

  Nell poked around the herb beds in the garden of their rented townhouse. It was not as grand as Ailenor’s palace garden but she loved it, the scent of basil, of rosemary, and thyme, and miniature pink roses climbing a trellis by the wall. She could almost be in England. Hal was at the palace that day playing at sword fights with his cousin Edward. Young Simon was learning to sit his own pony, trusted to a groom’s care in the meadow beyond the palace courtyard. Baby Amaury was dozing in his cradle, a serene child, perhaps destined for the Church, she thought as she looked down on his fat little face with love.

  By the time Simon joined her just before Vespers, all was quiet except for birdsong and the humming of bees. Simon was particularly vigilant of a particular merchant whom the Queen’s clerk, John Mansel, had asked him to watch. Apparently, Rosalind had alerted Master Mansel’s suspicions to the merchant’s presence in the City after her wedding to Thomas. Simon needed a detailed description of the man.

  ‘You’ve asked Rosalind to speak to me today, as we agreed?’ he said as he sank down onto the roundel bench surrounding a mulberry tree opposite her own. Baby Amaury slept on, oblivious to his parents.

  ‘I said a quarter before the Vespers hour.’ Nell glanced towards the still room door where Rosalind had been squeezing lemons for a cooling drink using a recipe her father’s cook used and Nell enjoyed. The girl was emerging with a jug covered with cloth on a tray and three beakers.

  The garden was the perfect place for them both to speak with Rosalind who, after a week with Thomas, had only returned briefly to Ailenor’s service. Beatrice and Sancha of Provence were due in Bordeaux and would be accompanied by a huge retinue. Ailenor had suggested Rosalind should live with her husband. If her services were needed as a queen’s lady at court, Ailenor would send for her.

  ‘Rosalind, sit down beside me,’ Nell said when Rosalind arrived in the garden, apologising for her tardiness. She took the wooden tray, poured their drinks, handed a beaker to Simon and one to Rosalind. Taking a sip from her own beaker, she said, ‘Sit, Rosalind. Earl Simon only wants you to describe the merchant you thought you saw at the Bishop of London’s palace and at your wedding feast.’

  Rosalind sat on the edge of the bench, looking uncomfortable and thoughtful; her blue eyes were troubled. Perhaps, Nell thought, she should have kept Simon away and questioned Rosalind herself. Simon could be so intimidating with his dark eyes, his black hair, his height, and most of all his reputation as a hard man. She, herself laughed at that because with Nell Simon was as soft as newly churned butter.

  Nell gestured to Simon. ‘I just want to tell Earl Simon what you saw at your wedding feast. Earl Simon knows all the Bordeaux wine merchants and wants to get to the bottom of this. You know John Mansel, Rosalind?’

  ‘Yes, Lady Eleanor, I do. I told him about the merchant I saw on my wedding night and before in the Bishop of London’s palace.’

  Simon leaned over. ‘There’s no need to be nervous, Rosalind, but if you could describe him to me I would be grateful.’

  Rosalind thought for a moment before saying, ‘Well, he’s not easy to describe. It was the gown that caught my eye. The hall was crowded for my wedding feast. Thomas was laughing and he threw an arm around me. I said I saw the man I’d seen in London. I pointed him out to Thomas. It was his gown. It was silk and embroidered with a border of serpents. He was also tall like the man in London, but I couldn’t see his face then, because I was listening by the arras. He had his back to me.’ Rosalind frowned. ‘Thomas just said, “As well it is just a gown you noticed, wife of mine. He’s one of the Soler merchants.” He chucked me under the chin. “I expect he has been about the palace. The Solers are one of the most prominent families in Bordeaux. In fact, my lord’s house belongs to them.”

  ‘“No, it’s not here, I saw him.” I said to Thomas. “It was in London. That time I told you about, what I overheard in Bishop Fulk’s palace. It is him.” I said, “Look, Thomas, look down at the deep border around the hem of his gown. The serpents!”

  ‘So Thomas looked more closely. “He’s a Bordeaux merchant. That’s all. If he is the man you think you saw in the Bishop’s palace, I can assure you he’s not plotting now. He won’t risk his trade. . . or his neck.”

  ‘I said, “Prioress Elizabeth thought the cleric he spoke
with was associated with the Templars.” Thomas said I should tell Master Mansel.

  ‘So, my lady, I thought to myself, could there be two such gowns? I couldn’t fathom it at all, so I told John Mansel the very next day. Is he plotting against the King, my lady?’

  Nell looked at Simon who smiled and said, ‘I know not, Lady Rosalind, but I shall discover it if he is. I have business tomorrow with the Columbines. If he is a Soler, I shall find out and question him. The Solers and Columbines are competing wine merchants and they won’t want any part in plots, or plots, let us say, involving Templars. Lady Rosalind, you have been helpful. Are you comfortable sharing the rooms above the stable with Thomas? I can move you into the manor house.’

  ‘Thank you. We have all we need.’

  Nell thought, as she watched Rosalind hurry back to her stable abode, how happy they were. How will Ailenor do without her when we return to England? She’s a treasure.

  Nell was in the still room with a heap of lavender for drying when Simon unexpectedly arrived into her domain. He plonked down on the bench and wiped his forehead with a cloth.

  ‘What brings you here?’ Nell said, surprised.

  ‘Those wretched merchants, Nell.’ He sniffed. ‘Smells like a linen chest in here.’

  She hung a bushy stem from a line. ‘Well tell me, since you intend to anyway.’

  He stretched his legs out, contemplated his boots for a moment and began to recount his conversation with one of the Columbine merchants. ‘I was looking into the description Rosalind gave us of that merchant with the serpent trimmed gown.’

  She sank down onto on a stool by the long plank table, piles of lavender in front of her.

  ‘The first Columbine I spoke with identified the man who had been delivering wine to the palace for the wedding. Mind you, I almost gagged as I entered his cellars to inspect the wine - more intense than this.’ Simon waved around at the hanging lavender. She frowned. ‘And access the tax he owes. Later, over a cup of wine his tongue loosened. “Soler wine.” He complained, “Time the King favoured my wine.”’