The Silken Rose Page 29

  He pointed to the Abbot’s large manor house on the opposite side of the river. ‘My guards shall lodge there, as will members of Lord Edward’s household, but the Queen remains within the abbey walls, close to the infirmary, with our son. That is my final word on the matter.’

  With impatience, the King swept his cloak over his arm. Ailenor noted his eyelid drooping. Henry was near to losing his temper with the Abbot. She stepped between them. ‘My husband, the King, has urgent matters in Wales to which he must attend and I. . . I am returning to my son’s bedside.’

  Stiffly, she withdrew from the silent group by the abbey gateway. The Cistercians signed with hands and expressions. With the exception of the Abbot, who only spoke on rare occasions, there was no conversation spoken. Ailenor walked sedately through an archway, past groups of monks with fluttering hands, and entered the cloisters with Lady Willelma hurrying after her. Not a word was spoken until they reached the abbey’s guesthouse. She was aware of shuffling, of bees humming, of the breeze catching at foliage, and of Edward’s coughing. She had done the right thing.

  Henry came to say goodbye to them before his departure. He was brief. Out of respect for the abbey’s silence, he lowered his voice. ‘He’s agreed to your stay and is readying a chamber for you. Guard our son well.’

  ‘You would consider,’ she confided to Willelma when Henry had gone, ‘that after two days of Beaulieu Abbey having been overrun by noisy courtiers, the Abbot would be relieved that the court no longer invaded his palace or occupied his Hall and bedchambers, eating fish from his ponds and mutton provided by his sheep.’

  ‘Well, he’s agreed, if with reluctance,’ Willelma said.

  ‘Thank God for that.’

  Ailenor well knew her responsibility. Henry trusted her to bring Edward to full recovery and she would. When Willelma relieved her watch, Ailenor hurried through the shady cloisters to the great church where she found a chapel dedicated to Lady Mary. ‘You, at least, are permitted ground here,’ she murmured to the stone figure.

  Falling onto her knees before the Madonna, she prayed for her son’s recovery. Using her amber beads, she counted off Pater Nosters.

  A week passed during which Edward sometimes lapsed back into fever, too weak to speak coherently. The Abbey’s apothecary wanted to bleed the Prince, but Ailenor insisted that blood-letting would weaken her son further and forbade it.

  Willelma comforted her. ‘God is watching over him. His saint smiles upon him. Lord Edward will recover. Look how the warmed wine with poppy, honey, aloe saffron, balsam, and cloves helps him sleep and soothes his cough. His fever is gone.’

  Ailenor gave her friend a fragile smile. ‘Whilst the herbalist is without doubt in possession of good sense, make sure you know precisely what he has put into his unguents and potions.’

  She leaned over Edward and discovered his breathing to be easier. He was cooler. She left him with Willelma and entered the Abbey chapel to thank the Lady Mary. Edward was sleeping peacefully, thanks to the herbalist’s soothing paulinum.

  Edward’s tutor came to visit Edward later that day hoping he was well enough to travel to Winchester. He diligently crossed the bridge daily from the Abbot’s manor to the Abbey guesthouse to visit his charge.

  After he had glanced at the sleeping prince, Ailenor drew him out into the cloisters and said in a low voice, ‘Edward is still too weak to be moved.’

  Monks walking to Vespers avoided them, taking a longer route than they normally chose. None came to her to ask how the Prince was today. ‘You’d think they would care,’ she said.

  They watched the monks enter the chapel and the Abbot flying after them.

  The tutor shook his head and smiled a cynical smile. ‘He’s late for his prayers.’ After they’d all disappeared through the chapel door, he laid out his mantle on a stone bench for Ailenor to sit upon. ‘Tell me, your Grace, can Lord Edward eat? He’s still pale as a root in the ground.’

  ‘Sips of broth only. Not much else. Goat’s milk with honey today.’

  ‘Try mashed mutton and ask for possets of hyssop and juniper. My mother swore by such remedies.’ He thought for a moment and added, ‘Your Grace, are you keeping up your own strength?’

  ‘The Abbot sends us fine dishes but I lack hunger.’

  ‘You must eat for your child’s sake and for your own. Take air in the garden? The weather is fine, not too hot and not too chill. There’s a gentle breeze today to lift your spirits. Summer is here with all its pleasant scents.’

  ‘I shall think on it.’ She knew she would enjoy the herbal garden but would the silent monks condone her presence there or avoid her as they did if she entered the cloisters? Would hands flutter with outrage that she had disturbed their peace?

  Another week crawled by. By its end, Edward was able to sit up propped with pillows. She had listened to the tutor’s advice and took Edward into the sweetly scented herb garden every day. In the pleasant garden, she read to him from her psalter and pointed out flowers that grew amongst the herbs. Three weeks after she entered Beaulieu Abbey, Edward was recovered. Relieved beyond words, she sent a monk to fetch the tutor from the Abbot’s residence. They could travel at last.

  When her carriage and escort arrived, the Abbot said, ‘Your Grace, Lord Edward is fortunate to have such a mother. The Lady Mary could not have watched over our Lord as well as you have your son. God be praised.’ Even though his words were kindly she knew he was relieved they were taking her recovered son away because she and her lady would leave too.

  ‘Lord Abbot, remember there is no love like a mother’s love and nothing heals as well as a mother’s prayer.’ The Abbot’s face was inscrutable, his smile insincere. Well, thought Ailenor, he did not like being told this, even by his Queen.

  She hurried them, Willelma, Edward, and his tutor, into the royal wagon that was curtained and painted vividly with the lions of England. Her only words were, ‘Time we were on our way.’

  Last to enter the comfortable cushioned carriage, she inclined her head to the Abbot and pleased to leave Beaulieu at last, Ailenor did not look back once at the silent, bowing monks.

  29

  Summer 1249

  Wales settled down. Henry returned to his building projects. Ailenor pored over designs for a pleasure garden she was designing for Clarendon Palace which Henry had granted to her as a new residence.

  She was lost in thought when Henry burst into the closet where she was working. At once she swept her plans to one side and glanced up. Henry was red-faced and irritable. What was it this time?

  ‘What’s the matter? Come, tell me outside,’ she said in a quiet voice as if she were speaking to a miserable child. Snatching up her cloak she suggested they walked in the gardens below. He nodded without a word and followed her down the outer staircase.

  They strolled along the perimeter of the new Hall, admiring its silver-grey patterned windows. During the previous winter, Henry had ordered a major refurbishment at Clarendon especially for her to use as a residence second to Windsor. As well as a new hall, Ailenor enjoyed a newly decorated chapel, three chambers, and an enormous wardrobe chamber, as well as a two-storey privy chamber adjacent to her spacious private apartments. After approving plans for the garden Henry said, his eye twitching and anxiety creeping into his voice, ‘I shall have to return to Westminster, Ailenor. There’s trouble in Gascony. The Solers and Columbines draw family connections into disputes. . . Again!’ He buried his head in his hands and sank onto a stone bench. ‘I need money. And I want Earl Simon to crack down on these rebels and in Bordeaux. He’s not agreeing.’ Unsurprised, she raised an eyebrow. Henry was so ungrateful for Simon’s help. Henry raged on, his face redder and redder. ‘They are fighting in the town. It must stop. They are destroying trade, destroying Gascony!’

  ‘Insist that Simon goes there and stops it,’ she said calmly, sinking down beside him, dabbing at her forehead with her veil. It was a hot day and she could do without Henry’s tantrums. The veil fluttere
d around her plait as her hand flew to her mouth. She had remembered that which Henry had forgotten. ‘Simon and Nell have taken the Cross. That’s the reason he hesitates. They plan to join King Louis’s Crusade.’

  ‘What!’ He turned to face her. ‘You must persuade Nell that Simon goes to Gascony.’ As Henry became more insistent, she moved along the bench to avoid his spittle. ‘Edward’s inheritance, remember! Write to them. Hunting at Windsor this September. That’s it. Simon enjoys hunting and you can work on Nell’s cooperation. I’m counting on you, Ailenor. We shall make their stay persuasive.’ He reached for Ailenor and took hold of her arm, pressing hard. There would be a bruise. ‘Simon enjoys feasting too. We’ll discuss Gascony with them.’

  She gently removed his hand. ‘It would be pleasant to have Nell’s company. She can bring her boys. Edward and Hal can hunt together. Did you know, your son butchered a stag yesterday. . . out in the forest? He’s ten years old! Hal’s only a year older and I believe he’s keen on the hunt.’

  ‘I have heard.’ Henry shook his curling locks. She smiled. Her husband, a handsome healthy man still in his prime, was not a great huntsman. However, Edward, well, he was already tall, long-legged, and strong, Longshanks they called him with affection. She was sure he would be an impressive king one day, though not for decades yet. ‘And Nell?’ Henry added, his voice, already insistent, rising a few notes. ‘You’ll write to her?’

  ‘Of course. I won’t mention crusading.’ She fingered her plait and gave him a firm look. ‘This means, Henry, you need to fund Simon if he agrees to govern Gascony, provide him with troops if he has to besiege their castles.’

  ‘He will have a commission to keep order there. I want him in Gascony and Bordeaux for seven years.’

  ‘Seven years is a very long stretch. Henry, be careful. Simon is much loved by Louis. Never forget he is French.’

  ‘If he values his English properties and if he loves my sister, he knows where his fealty lies.’ Henry rose abruptly, saying, ‘I leave for Westminster tomorrow. Write to Nell today.’ He swept off, his curling hair, grey sprinkling the brown, dancing on his collar. At least, she posited, he was in a better mood than when he’d interrupted her earlier. She would write the letter this afternoon. The pleasure garden must wait.

  ‘I’ll only go to Gascony if assured I can finish the job I set out to do,’ Simon insisted as he cantered alongside Henry. Ailenor riding behind with Nell nudged her mare forward into a faster canter and said, ‘I believe you will have complete control.’

  Henry said, ‘You will manage the province’s revenues. I can grant you a thousand sovereigns and fifty knights a year for service. You’ll be reimbursed for anything you spend on castles and fortifications. The tenure would run for seven years. You will make decisions for me and you’ll be Viceroy in complete control of Gascony.’

  Simon drew a deep breath. Ailenor held her reins tightly and her breath. She noted that Nell smiled her approval. Nell had not wanted to go on the French Crusade. It was Simon’s idea. He had been successful in the Holy Land years before and he was much loved there. Nell confided to Ailenor that it would be a harsh place to take their children. She would miss them if parted from her boys. At last Simon exhaled.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘what do you think, Nell? Shall we accept? Gascony is not so far away and we can return to Kenilworth from time to time. We’ll send the older boys to Lincoln for their education.’

  ‘Aye, it is for the best,’ Nell said.

  Henry looked joyful. Ailenor said, ‘I’ve planned a feast for tonight for Michaelmas. Now this is agreed, Nell, you must tell me how Rosalind fares? Do you think she would accompany you to Bordeaux? I imagine Thomas, now he’s a knight, will accompany Simon.’

  ‘I’d like to have her company.’ Nell said.

  Simon and Nell sailed to Gascony in October and returned in December. That year, Christmas was held in Winchester. Henry was pleased with Simon. Ailenor was even more pleased to pass relaxed, pleasurable hours with Nell and Rosalind in her bower at Winchester Castle, knowing that Edward’s inheritance was safe in Earl Simon’s care.

  She drew them to her embroidery frame and shooed her women away to work on Christmastide favours. When they were settled with their work baskets opened, she asked about Gascony. ‘So how did you find Bordeaux? How was the shadowy palace, Nell? Rosalind, did you enjoy meeting the embroideresses you knew from all those years ago?’

  ‘So many questions, Ailenor,’ Nell said as she took the stool nearest the window to get the best light. ‘What lovely work,’ she exclaimed. Rosalind agreed and approved the design. Ailenor smiled widely, enjoying their approval. Ailenor and her ladies were working on an intricate hanging for her chapel depicting the miracle of loaves and fishes. She may be a queen but she was also a woman who loved to create beautiful things. Nell threaded her needle and pulled a silver thread through a fish’s gill. ‘So many fishes to stitch and so much silver. It will take many Christmases to finish. You answer first, Rosalind. Gascony? What do you think?’ The way Nell said it implied the Palais des Ombres in Bordeaux was not an easy place to be these days.

  Rosalind snipped a silken length from a long string of gold thread. She threaded her own needle before replying, ‘I did, Your Grace. I met them all. They are seven years older now, of course, and many have babies and husbands. They thrive, though in truth, they are all frightened by the disputes between the Soler and Columbine families. Husbands belong to these families but, Your Grace, the women do try to rise above the disputes which often are over family castles, land, and vineyards.’ She looked earnest. ‘They avoid the quarrels but it’s hard if a member of one family is killed by one of the other. When that happens the atmosphere in the city is revengeful and the women are not permitted to speak to each other. If their lords are enemies, they are at odds.’

  Rosalind smiled. ‘However, when they all came for a celebration at the palace, dining on cakes and wine, quarrels were forgotten and it was as if they united over embroidery.’

  Ailenor fiddled with her needle. Rosalind leaned across and threaded it for her, a gentle gesture that touched the Queen.

  Resuming her work, Rosalind said, ‘Thomas accompanied Earl Simon into the countryside where barons are waylaying travellers. He locked some of them up. Thomas says they deserved it.’ She smiled. ‘They didn’t get out for Christmas without paying ransoms.’

  ‘Yes,’ Nell added. ‘Ailenor, he is ruthless. Simon wants permission to crush all your other enemies in the province when we return to Gascony.’

  ‘I thought terms were such that Simon has total control. Surely, Henry trusts him,’ Ailenor said, making a dainty stitch into her fish. She smiled. ‘Let’s give these fish popping eyes.’ She found she was giggling like a girl. ‘Black thread, Rosalind, for the eyes.’

  How pleasant it was to be in the company of women again, these women whom she loved. She found herself blinking back tears, ‘You will both go back there too soon. That saddens me. As for me, I shall have to entertain Henry’s half-brothers from Poitou. They are coming for an Eastertide visit.’

  ‘All of them?’ Nell said.

  ‘No, just Aymer and Geoffrey and Guy.’ She lowered her tone so her ladies across the large room could not hear her. ‘They are loud and arrogant, just like Gilbert Marshal used to be, God rest his soul. Last year, when they visited us, they sought quarrels. I pray that they never come here indefinitely.’ She shuddered at the memory of how Guy had tried to challenge Richard de Clare to a tournament and Henry forbade it, not out of concern for Richard de Clare, but for his half-brother, Guy, because he was not as able a horseman. ‘I hear that the older one, William, is the worst of those nephews.’ She grimaced. ‘I hope he never comes to us.’

  ‘They might all descend upon Henry’s court one day. Their father has joined Louis’s Crusade,’ Nell said as she pulled a length of black thread from a spool. ‘We shall have to keep William of Lusignan busy fighting for Simon. If he doesn’t fight for Gascony the
y’ll lose their castles. The White Queen is regent now Louis is gone on Crusade. She has long had her eye on Lusignan castles in Poitou.’ Nell had set her face with a determined look.

  This was news to Ailenor. ‘But Simon extended the peace with France in November. You even went to Paris to catch Louis before he departed for Marseilles. Would Blanche dare penalise Henry’s brothers?’

  ‘She has a way of taking property on very slight pretexts. And, after all, Poitou is not Gascony. The Lusignans do homage to France.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Ailenor said pensively. ‘Henry thinks by entertaining his half-brothers, he is keeping them loyal to him. I wish they were less unruly and selfish. They manipulate Henry.’

  ‘We shall endeavour to keep them out of England,’ Nell said. She glanced towards the bench close to the fire where Ailenor’s ladies were busy making pomanders. ‘Something smells good. There’s the scent of oranges and cloves.’ She breathed deeply. ‘How I love Christmastide.’

  But Ailenor could not let the conversation leave those detestable brothers. She said with anger, ‘At least we can celebrate this one without those awful brothers playacting here, upsetting our children with their swearing, imbibing too much, and making crude jokes.’ She knew in her heart one day they would come, stay for ever, and steal away her husband’s affection. He adored them. He never had a proper mother so Isabella’s second family was important to him. Ailenor lived in dread of them disturbing her peace.

  Nell said, ‘They are my half-brothers too. My mother is their mother. Even so, I feel nothing for them.’

  ‘As well you don’t, Nell. They are trouble.’

  Spring arrived. The Lusignans came and went. Ailenor was glad to see them sail away. They had imposed themselves on the court for several months and their presence felt as if they were an invading army rather than three arrogant coltish youths.