Authors: Roberta Gellis
Louis looked at him for a moment and then said, “You have
written already? I had not expected you to write to Raymond before you had my
leave to marry.”
“I am very sorry if I offended, sire.” Alphonse was surprised.
The king was not ordinarily proud and did not ordinarily demand ceremonial
politeness. “I hope you will forgive my eagerness. As I explained, I have
waited many years and I am impatient of delay now. I sent my messenger as soon
as I could because Barbe insists that if you agree she must still obtain her
father’s consent. She knows it is not his right to interfere, sire, but she
loves him and he her. And considering her reason for coming here, I will not
allow her to go to England alone.”
“I am not offended.” Louis paused and then added, “In fact,
both problems—I mean that of Madame Barbe’s desire for her father’s approval
and that of your brother’s thin purse—might be solved if you are willing to
undertake a task for me.”
“I am always ready to serve you, sire.”
Louis laughed. “You almost look as if you mean it, but I
know you too long and too well, my dear Alphonse. I can smell the wariness in
you. I will not force this duty on you. I do not believe you could perform it
if you were reluctant. I will say only that it concerns Prince Edward and
depends somewhat on my remembering that he admired your skill on the tourney
field. Is my memory correct?”
“Yes, my lord, it is,” Alphonse replied. “And I liked the
prince. He is young and rash—or was before so many misfortunes befell him—but I
thought him clever and practical also and not likely to make the same mistake
twice.”
“Would he trust your word if you told him something?”
“Yes, sire, he would.”
Louis laughed again. “Do not look so troubled. I am not
going to ask you to tell Edward any lies. In fact, quite the opposite. I want
you to tell him the exact truth and discover his private feelings.”
“But, sire,” Alphonse protested, “my exact truth may not be
the same as yours.”
“I understand that. I will tell you what I want you to say
to Edward. Then you may add what you like.”
“If I may say I am your messenger and only repeat your
words, I am very willing,” Alphonse said. “But I am not at all sure I will be
allowed to see him.”
“You will have the best chance of anyone. Edward is in the
keeping of Leicester’s eldest son, Henry de Montfort, whom you also know.”
“Yes. We often companied together with the prince. God help
them. It must be a bitter cud for both to chew for the friend now to become the
gaoler. Edward has too much pride to swallow his fate easily, especially since
he has no one but himself to blame, and Henry must feel the rage and anguish
because he is a fine man and, I believe, truly loves Edward.”
Louis nodded with satisfaction. “You have made a point that
has been troubling me. Leicester is clever, but I am afraid he has
underestimated the prince’s stubbornness and temper. No doubt one of
Leicester’s reasons for choosing his eldest son to be Edward’s gaoler was his
trust in young Henry and his desire to be sure that Edward was carefully
watched without being mistreated. But another reason for Leicester’s choice may
have been his hope that their past affection would make Edward more inclined to
listen to Henry. What I fear is just the opposite, that Edward has taken as an
insult what was meant to be a kindness.”
“That is by no means impossible,” Alphonse agreed.
“You understand that King Henry is not a young man and the
trials that he has undergone may have affected his health. There is no sense in
mediating a peace between the king and Leicester only to have King Henry die
and Edward repudiate everything because he is too bitter to accept any terms
except the earl’s abject surrender. I want to know how deep the gall has eaten
into the prince’s soul, and I want him to know that I will make no peace if he
cannot accept peace. I will trust you to judge how much you may say if you
cannot speak without being overheard.”
Alphonse nodded. “I will do my best. As a friend of both, I
can ask Henry de Montfort to let me visit Prince Edward. He will allow it,
unless Leicester has ordered that the prince be refused all visitors. As
betrothed of the daughter of Norfolk, I might be thought favorable to
Leicester’s party, so I might be allowed to see the prince in private. But I do
not see,” Alphonse smiled, “how this can help my brother’s thin purse. Most
likely I will need to extend my stay in England to see Edward, which would cost
Raymond more.”
“I will remit the fine for freedom to marry in return for
service rendered.”
Alphonse met Louis’s eyes squarely. “Barbe could be of help
to me. I know she was allowed to speak to Edward at court, and she has been
serving Princess Eleanor. She could give Edward assurance as to the princess’s
and his child’s well-being as well as of the kindness you have shown them.”
Louis smiled. “And for that you would expect me to remit
Madame Barbe’s fine also.” Then he frowned thoughtfully. “Actually, it is well
thought of, Alphonse. Edward cares deeply for his wife. To have small, intimate
questions answered might well ease his heart and make him more patient of other
troubles.” The king nodded. “Very well. Cruas is only a manor and I will not
lose much by remitting that fee also.”
Then Alphonse had bowed and thanked Louis sincerely. Now,
remembering, he frowned out at the sea, noting absently the black dots that had
appeared as some of the fishing boats made their way in. He had made a good
bargain with King Louis, but if Barbe was a strong rebel she might well be
angry, not so much over his undertaking a commission from King Louis but
because he had committed her without asking. Surely she would understand that
he had had to make the suggestion just then. Later, Louis would probably not
have agreed, only at that moment, when he had already decided to remit one
fine, would he be swept along and remit the other.
He had planned to tell her, but there had been no time for
explanation. Having acknowledged his thanks, Louis had announced that a
betrothal ceremony would be carried out before dinner and he and Barbe should
be ready to leave for England the next morning. Alphonse remembered the king’s
shrug and the hand he had raised to stem any protest. The quittances for the
fines and a letter requesting that he be allowed to travel freely with his betrothed
wife in England would be brought to his lodging.
Once more Alphonse sighed. He should have told Barbe on the
boat, he thought. Why had he been so reluctant? Now she would be angry unless
he could somehow use his other task to explain how he had become involved in
gathering information for Louis. He had not left the king when Louis plainly
expected to end the interview. Despite the moment being wrong, Alphonse could
not neglect his promise to John of Hurley.
“There is another favor I must ask if we are to leave
tomorrow, sire,” he had said reluctantly.
A short pause followed, then Louis said, “Ask.” But his
voice was less friendly.
“This is not a great matter, sire, and will not touch your
purse,” Alphonse began somewhat apologetically. “My brother’s father-by-marriage,
Sir William Marlowe, was taken prisoner with Richard of Cornwall. My brother’s
wife is making herself sick over her father’s well-being. Would you write a
letter requesting permission for me to see Sir William and pay his ransom?”
“Raymond cannot pay your marriage fine but can pay Sir
William’s ransom?” Louis’s question was sharp.
“The ransom is nothing to do with my brother, sire,”
Alphonse assured him hurriedly. “I doubt Sir William would accept any offer to
pay his ransom. He and Richard of Cornwall are childhood friends, and Sir
William has been allowed to remain with his lord. I know he will not accept
freedom until Richard himself is set free, unless Richard has some task for him
and orders him to go. In that case, of course, Richard will pay Sir William’s
ransom.”
Louis frowned. “Then what is the purpose of this letter I am
to write?”
“To pacify my sister-by-marriage, sire. Her father almost
died of wounds taken in battle some twelve or fifteen years ago and she has
never gotten over it. I can send her a copy of your letter, which will convince
her that Raymond and I are doing all we can for her father.”
The king’s frown cleared. He now recalled that the Comte
d’Aix’s wife did not come from a great family. Sir William had little wealth or
power of his own and was not even King Henry’s man. A request for favorable
treatment for him could be made on humanitarian grounds and would have no
political overtones.
“Very well,” Louis said, “so long as I am not made
responsible for the ransom and Sir William, if he is ransomed, swears to take
no action against Leicester’s party, you can have your letter.” Louis put up a
hand as Alphonse bowed. “But Prince Edward and Richard of Cornwall will not be
kept together. You are to do my business first if you can—even before you go to
visit Norfolk.”
One of the black dots had changed to a cockleshell of a
ship. Alphonse watched it disappear into the town dock. He felt one of the
guards move closer and turned his back on sea and dock to walk around to the
other side of the tower, which overlooked the outer wall and the great ditch.
Because of the height of the outer wall, Alphonse could not see the ditch, only
the edge of the road that went around the keep and trailed dustily over the
headland until it disappeared in a small wood.
He had done his best to obey King Louis’s order, Alphonse
thought. He had written to Henry de Montfort at the same time Barbe had written
to Norfolk and Grey had accepted his letter, but he had had no more answer than
Barbe had had from her father. Because all the letters had been sent on to
Leicester himself? That seemed— The thought broke off suddenly as Alphonse
sensed movement and turned sharply, his hand on his sword hilt. The sword was
half out of its sheath when the intruder stopped abruptly and said, “Alphonse!”
“I beg your pardon, my love.” He laughed. “That is not the
weapon I wish to brandish at you.”
Color flooded into her face, and then, to his delight, she
said, “Your chance to show me your pride and joy may be coming closer. There is
a messenger come from London, and he had a large packet. I have a letter from
my father and there is one for you from Henry de Montfort.”
“What does your father say?”
Barbara looked at him meaningfully. “I do not yet know. The
clerk who was sorting the packet put those two aside. I came to fetch you at
once so you could read both letters.”
She meant, Alphonse thought, that the clerk did not realize
she could read and therefore did not try to hide the contents of the packet
from her. And she had come away partly to let him know and partly to give Grey
a chance to open and read the letters addressed to them if he wished to do so.
“How clever you are, my love,” he said. And then with
spurious innocence, “How strange it is that all our answers should come at the
same time.”
“Not so strange,” she answered, the angry slate gray of her
eyes suddenly brightening to a lighter blue with amusement at the game they
were playing. “My father,” she went on sententiously and most untruthfully,
“would never think of inviting us to come to him without gaining the Earl of
Leicester’s approval. And I am sure Sir Henry de Montfort would wish to let his
father know that a close friend of his had come to England and was taking the
daughter of an ally to wife.”
“True,” Alphonse agreed. “How unfortunate that Leicester was
called away to Wales just when King Louis was brought to agree to be mediator,”
As he spoke, the jest lost its humor for Alphonse, and his
lips thinned. Even if Norfolk’s letter was an invitation for him and Barbe to
come to him, it might not be honored, and Leicester was just as far away as
ever. There might be more weeks of waiting before Norfolk’s consent could be
obtained.
Barbara saw his anger and put a placating hand on his arm.
She was in no doubt as to the real cause of his bad temper and was growing
frightened by the way he had begun to avoid her over the last few days. Had she
taken the right path when she insisted on being a wife before she gave Alphonse
the right to love her? It was true that their betrothal had been hasty, but it
had been complete and formal, announced in the chapel of the castle and
witnessed by King Louis, Queen Marguerite, Queen Eleanor, and Princess Eleanor
as well as her uncle Hugh Bigod and the king’s half brothers, Lusignan and
Valence.
God knew few betrothals had more illustrious and more
conscientious witnesses. She had no fear that Alphonse would fail to marry her,
but when he had taken her to a sheltered spot in the garden and began to caress
her, she had had to fight him off. It was either that or tear off his clothes
and leap atop him. Even a whore would not do that, nor would the boldest and
lewdest of his mistresses. Her lust for him was shameful and would surely
disgust him. Or if it did not, it would expose her need for him and remove any
check on his interest in other women.
“Leicester did not go to Wales to spite us,” she said, her
eyes pleading for patience. “It is not the earl’s fault that the lords of the
Welsh Marches did not honor the oaths they swore when they were freed after
Lewes.”
Alphonse put his hand over hers and became aware that it was
trembling. Why was she so concerned? “The fault may lie with neither Leicester
nor the lords Marcher,” he said, deciding then and there that he would tell her
nothing about his plan to meet with Edward until he could wean her away from
what he considered too great a sympathy for Leicester’s cause.
“But when Grey explained why we were to be held here at
Dover, that Leicester and the Earl of Gloucester too were in Wales, did he not
tell us that the Marcher lords had refused to give up the prisoners taken at
Northampton and had attacked Leicester’s allies in the west?”