ASilverMirror Page 42

They did not need to talk at all that night, he decided, as Clotilde removed Barbe’s clothes and Chacier helped him disrobe. Barbe was already in the warmed bed, staring at the gathered curtain, as the servants went out, and he reached for her before she could speak. She stiffened, as she always did. Against her resistance, Alphonse pulled her close. She tried to turn her back, but he held her, stroking her shoulder and arm, kissing her ears, nibbling on the lobes, tickling them with soft breaths. He did not think about what he was doing, he was a practiced lover. He began to touch her breasts at the first sign of yielding, and she warmed further, not even so slowly that she tried his patience. Still, he could have wept. She was in every other respect perfect. Why must there be this bitterness underlying the sweetest part of their marriage? Why did she not come to him willingly? Why?

  On January 10, Thomas de Clare left to return to his duty in St. Briavels. The same day, Barbara and Alphonse set out for London with their host. Gloucester had his own house in London and was not worried about lodging, but Barbara had written to her father and hoped to spend some time with Norfolk before the full business of the parliament began. The morning was clear and not cold, although a little damp. However, as they rode north, the mist thickened rather than clearing, and by noon it was raining. Gloucester politely asked if Barbara wanted to find a place to stay, but she and Alphonse were both eager to go on. As it grew colder, Barbara said, the rain could change to snow. If that continued for long, they could be trapped in some small village.

  The decision was fortunate. Although the snow did not begin until late that night, the rain started to freeze on the ground as they entered London. They were all grateful to find fires blazing in every hearth in Gloucester’s house when they arrived. The next day was worse, all hail and sleet, with snow again during the night. To walk was difficult, one could never tell when a foot would go through the top layer of snow and slide on ice. To ride a horse was to court disaster. Barbara was disappointed to find that her father had not arrived before the weather changed, but glad when he did not come while traveling was dangerous.

  The cold held for five days longer, packing the ice and snow hard. Gloucester was disturbed because so few of those summoned—especially the northern lords—had appeared to attend the parliament, but he pushed the worry aside to enjoy the winter sports with his guests. They played like grown children, fastening bone runners to their boots and sliding about on the frozen swamps near the city and careening down snowy slopes on wide boards.

  Norfolk arrived in London on the seventeenth, and Barbara, who claimed she was one large bruise from falling on the ice and off her sled, was content to spend most of the next two days with him by the fireside in his lodging. He told her he was not happy with the settlement Leicester was forcing on the king and prince. The king needed restraint—Norfolk had no quarrel with that—but the prince was another matter. Aside from provisions to protect those who had fought to prevent the king from ruining the country, Norfolk did not agree that Edward should be bound to the new form of government. He had answered Leicester’s summons to the parliament only because its purpose was to liberate Edward from his confinement—and, he said, he had told the king exactly what he thought.

  “Leicester intends to liberate Edward?” Barbara repeated. “But Papa, the moment the prince is free he will—”

  “I am not a fool.” He laughed at her. “There will be eyes on him, and his household will be of our choosing. But he will be free to walk around where he likes—he has been locked up since that business at Wallingford—and ride out to hunt or to visit a fair. We will one day have a madman for king if Edward is kept in prison too long.”

  “So Alphonse says,” Barbara murmured thoughtfully, and then quickly, before she told more than was safe about what she suspected the lords Marcher might be planning, she turned the subject and asked how the king had responded to what her father had said.

  She felt sick with guilt over concealing anything from her father—but she knew nothing for a fact, and she would be betraying Alphonse’s confidence if she spoke. Bitterly she thought that half her pleasure in her father’s company, the last she might have of it for years, was being ruined by Leicester’s hope for good government. So far, from what she could see, Leicester’s victory had produced more grief and trouble than the hope of better government was worth. But she was somewhat comforted by her father’s response to her question about the king’s reaction: Henry was less inclined to view Norfolk as an enemy now than he had been in the past. She was also somewhat surprised by the number of times her father began a statement with “Joanna says”.

  Over the course of their conversations, her guilt about being eager to leave England and its troubles behind her abated. She put together the “Joanna says” with the fact that her father was pleased to see her but did not, as he often had in the past when she had been at court, complain that he had missed her. Although she did have to suppress a twinge of jealousy, she was truly glad to learn that he was not pining with loneliness. Discreet questions elicited the information that he had spent much of his time with his heir, young Roger. And Joanna, softened by his obvious fondness for Hugh’s eldest son, gave him as much female company as he desired. Despite feeling just a bit left out, Barbara was greatly relieved to know that her departure for France would not leave her father alone and sad.

  Leicester himself appeared in London the next day, accompanied—unfortunately, for Barbara and Alphonse—by young Simon and Guy. She avoided the court—which was no sacrifice, because none of her special friends had come—but one day, by sheer bad luck, was accosted by the brothers right outside her father’s lodging. No harm was done, little more than salacious teasing on Guy’s part and insults on Barbara’s passed between them. Then Norfolk, hearing their voices, came to the window, saw Guy reaching for Barbara’s rein, and her whip hand rising. He roared with anger, and the brothers departed with more haste than dignity.

  Barbara was not afraid for herself, but she realized the situation could easily become dangerous. She managed to prevent her father from pursuing Guy and Simon, but she was not sure that good sense would prevail if Norfolk should see her insulted again or, worse, if Guy should attempt physical persuasion where her father could see him. The incident left her badly shaken, and she made the mistake of flying into her husband’s arms and pouring out the story as soon as she returned to Gloucester’s house, without noticing that Gilbert had entered the hall soon after she did.

  Naturally Alphonse and Gilbert wanted to rush out immediately, find the brothers, and bring them crawling to kiss Barbara’s feet as they begged her pardon. Only by bursting into tears—an event so unusual for her that both men were shocked into agreeing to do anything she wanted if she would only stop—was she able to get them to listen. Even then, it took considerable time for her to make them agree that the simplest solution would be for her and Alphonse to go away.

  “It is ridiculous to have a confrontation with Leicester over what his foolish sons probably think no more than a merry prank. I do not like it. You do not like it. But Simon and Guy hardly realize they have done wrong.”

  “Then they should be taught,” Gloucester said.

  “Someday,” Barbara pleaded, “but not now, just when a parliament is called. Do you think Guy or Simon will admit what they have done? Will they not claim that you and my father seek some political end by missaying them? And may not their indulgent father believe them—not because he wishes to believe ill of you, Gilbert, but because he cannot bear to believe ill of his darlings?”

  “Perhaps Gilbert should not involve himself,” Alphonse conceded, “but I am your husband. I do not like to look like a fool or a craven, which is what I will look like if I run away.”

  “Look like to whom?” Barbara snapped. “Who will ever hear of this if we ourselves do not spread the tale abroad? Do you think Guy or Simon will admit they insulted me in front of my father’s door and ran away like frightened children when he shouted at them? And how can anythin
g you do fail to involve Gilbert? Are you not a guest in his house—”

  “Yes,” Gloucester put in. “You have said it yourself, Barby. I am already involved, so there is no sense trying to keep me out. I—”

  Barbara put her hands to her head, and Alphonse took her into his arms, burying her face against his chest and saying hastily, “No love, no. You are quite right.”

  Meanwhile, he winked over Barbara’s head at Gloucester, who said grudgingly, “Oh, very well. Tomorrow I will send someone to inquire about a ship.”

  Gloucester clearly expected that Alphonse would talk her out of her intention, but in fact he did not try. He knew it was wrong to force Barbara into a situation in which she must constantly fear being a cause of conflict, but he resented violently not being allowed to teach a lesson to those two spoiled cockscombs. Moreover, he was eaten with curiosity about whether the poor response to Leicester’s summons to parliament was owing to the bad weather or to some deeper reservation in the barons of the realm that portended ill for Leicester’s hold on England.

  Thus nothing more was said about the subject of leaving England. Gloucester went out soon after he agreed to find a ship to take them to France, and the next day Norfolk came to tell Barbara he was going home. He said it was plain that no valid decisions about Prince Edward or anything else could be made, since only Leicester’s closest allies had responded to the summons. He had more important things to do, he told Gloucester, and better ways to spend his money than idling away his time in London.

  When Norfolk was gone, Alphonse realized that whatever was to happen in England could not take place soon. Meanwhile, he could not force a confrontation with Simon and Guy without causing trouble for Gloucester, and unless he did that, Barbe could not walk the streets or visit a friend without fear. So he sought out Gloucester and told him that he now thought he and Barbe should go. And when Gloucester protested, he pointed out Barbe’s situation. Gloucester opened his mouth to say something else, but flushed and clamped his jaw. Then he shrugged and nodded and went down to the lower floor where his men-at-arms were quartered. Alphonse was disturbed by his young friend’s expression, but when Gloucester came up, he seemed to have cast off his worries.

  Any doubts Alphonse might have had about whether to stay in England to stand by Gloucester in any trouble were put to rest on Saturday, January 24, when a messenger from the king’s court delivered an order bidding him to leave the country within a week. Because he had already decided to go, he told no one about the order and swallowed his outrage until Monday, when Gloucester came in with a sheet of parchment in his hand and a grin from ear to ear on his face.

  “You and Barbara cannot go away to France,” Gloucester said. “Barby is forbidden to leave the country.”

  “What!” Alphonse exclaimed. “That is impossible!”

  Gloucester shrugged and handed over the parchment, and Alphonse read aloud from the list of those prohibited from taking ship at any port, “‘Barbara, the natural daughter of our beloved Roger Bigod, Earl of Norfolk—for that she would be at risk of falling into enemy hands—is forbidden to travel abroad’.“

  “But an order expelling me as a foreigner with ‘no known purpose in the country’ came on Saturday,” Alphonse protested.

  “Expelling you?” Gloucester repeated and then burst out laughing. “Those puling cowards!”

  “What puling cowards? What are you talking about?”

  “I am talking about Simon and Guy. They are the only ones who have any reason to be rid of you. They must be at the bottom of the order expelling you, from whomever it comes. Why did you not tell me?”

  Alphonse’s lips hardened with anger. “I guessed it might be their doing, through some complaint to their father. Why I did not tell you is simple enough. It seemed foolish to cause more bad feeling when you had already sent your man to see about a ship.” He paused, then added softly, “But I will not leave England without Barbe. Not if I have to—”

  Gloucester took a deep breath, as if a weight had fallen off his shoulders. “Of course you will not go without Barby. As of today you have a purpose in this country. You are a member of my household, and you are the marshal entrusted with the arrangements for my party in the tourney to be held at Dunstable on Shrove Tuesday.”

  The rage disappeared from Alphonse’s face, and he began to laugh. “So that is why Simon and Guy wanted me gone now, without delay. They did not wish me to fight in your tourney. Am I right?”

  Gloucester nodded. “Oh, yes, you are quite right. Simon and Guy de Montfort will lead the party opposed to mine in the tourney.”

  A grin as broad as Gloucester’s split Alphonse’s face. “If you have challenged them, Barbe will flay us both,” he said.

  “It was not a challenge,” Gloucester stated, his blue eyes as wide and innocent as a baby’s. “It was a mutual agreement.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Barbara was very angry when she heard that she had been prohibited from leaving England while Alphonse was to be expelled. She was so angry, she was almost as enthusiastic about the tournament as Gloucester and her husband. Her fear that Alphonse might be injured in the fighting was, in this case, overmastered by her knowledge of his skill. She herself had seen Guy fleeing him down the road, and she was certain Alphonse had spoken the exact truth, or less than the truth, when he said he had dropped Simon on his head in a practice encounter at Kenilworth.

  Nor was Barbara much worried about the political repercussions of Gloucester making Alphonse a member of his household to circumvent the order to leave the country. Like Gloucester and Alphonse she had concluded that the two orders had not come from Leicester, although he might have set his seal on them. She did not mention her thoughts aloud, lest the men think her vain, but she was convinced the orders had somehow been arranged by Guy so that she would be left open to his advances. Not that she believed Guy had the smallest sexual desire for her any longer. By now his only purpose was to humiliate her and Alphonse.

  At first she could hardly wait to see Alphonse and Gilbert beat Simon and Guy to bleeding hulks. She stopped hiding in the house and went out, even to court, although never alone. With Gloucester or Alphonse beside her, she looked calmly down her handsome nose or lifted her lip in a sneer if either of the brothers approached, knowing she was giving as much pleasure to her male escorts as she was herself taking. After the first few meetings, however, she grew a trifle uneasy because she detected a kind of gleeful satisfaction under Guy’s fury. On February 2, she discovered the basis for that glee. Four men-at-arms came to Gloucester’s house to arrest “Alphonse d’Aix, a foreigner who had overstayed his time in England”.

  They never got inside the house, of course. Gloucester’s men, who had been warned this might happen, laughed in the captain’s face, and Gilbert’s master-at-arms brought out an impressive document, written boldly on a large sheet of parchment and sealed heavily with Gloucester’s personal seal and the great seal of England, which stated that Sieur Alphonse d’Aix was a servant of the Earl of Gloucester and had the right to remain in England and travel throughout the realm freely on his master’s business and his own for a year and a day. The parchment was handed over, it being only one copy of many, to be passed upward to whoever had ordered Alphonse forcibly deported. Another copy, Gloucester’s master-at-arms informed the surprised captain of the arresting officers, was in Sieur Alphonse’s possession, and still others were deposited in secure places to be ready in case of complaint.

  When the attempted arrest was reported to Alphonse and Gilbert, they nodded wisely at each other and began to discuss what Simon and Guy would try next to ensure their victory at Dunstable. That was when Barbara began to have second thoughts. She realized that, unless Alphonse and Gilbert killed them, the result of the tourney would have little effect beyond increasing the Montforts’ hatred. Far from ending their efforts to get their revenge, defeat would only make those efforts more furtive. Thus, it was almost a relief to her when, two days later,
Gilbert received an invitation to speak to Leicester.

  “I wonder who was cozened—or bribed—to complain to Leicester that you did not obey the order to leave,” Gloucester said to Alphonse after he told Leicester’s messenger that he would come and sent him back to his master. “Or do you think the complaint will be that I have taken a foreigner into my household?”

  “I will come with you, if I may,” Alphonse said mildly. “You will be able to defend your right to choose your servants, of course, but I would like very much to speak for myself on the subject of the attempt to separate me from my wife.”

  “I want to come, too,” Barbara said. “I want to make very dear that I approve the separation no more than does my husband.”

  Gloucester looked from one to the other and smiled. “I do not need protection,” he said, but his expression was grateful.

  “I will be no protection to you,” Alphonse remarked dryly. “To speak the truth, what I have to say may grate most unpleasantly.”

  “That is exactly what I am afraid of,” Barbara interrupted sharply. “You are both going to stalk into that audience like dogs with your hackles up. I like what was done no better than either of you, but I am not so blind with bad temper. Remember that Leicester himself may be quite innocent. Who knows what tale has been told him? I think it is time that I complained of Guy’s persecution.”

  Both men, who had started to protest during Barbara’s first few words, reconsidered. Gloucester, who did feel uneasy about confronting Leicester for taking Alphonse into his service after a writ against him had been issued, was aware that Barbara’s argument would deflect any blame from him—whether Leicester believed her or not. Alphonse felt a spurt of pleasure in her willingness to back him in any argument and, particularly, in her willingness to speak aloud her affection for him. Plenty of wives would be overjoyed if their husbands were exiled. Barbara hoped that her complaint against Guy would induce Leicester to revoke the prohibition against traveling so that she and Alphonse could leave England, which would eliminate any chance for future mischief by his sons.