The Royal Griffin (The Plantagenents Book 2) Read online

  The Royal Griffin

  JULIET DYMOKE

  THREE CASTLES MEDIA

  First published in Great Britain in 1978 by Nel Books

  This edition published in 2016 by Three Castles Media Ltd.

  Three Castles Media Ltd

  Copyright © 2016 Juliet Dymoke

  The moral right of Juliet Dymoke to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  The main character in this book is a work of fiction and the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Other names, characters,

  businesses, organizations and places are based on actual historical events. In such cases, every effort has been made to make such information as accurate as possible.

  Three Castles Media Ltd hereby exclude all liability to the extent permitted by law for any errors or omissions in this book and for any loss, damage or expense (whether direct or indirect) suffered by a third party relying on any information contained in this book.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For Moira and Frank Alder

  PART ONE

  THE KING'S SISTER

  CHAPTER ONE

  'I do not think I want to go,' the Princess Eleanor said and twisted her head to see her reflection more clearly. 'Would you not have been a little afraid, my lady?'

  'Of what?' her cousin asked. 'When I was your age I looked forward to my marriage. Three husbands my uncle Richard considered for me and not one did I have. I promise you I would have given half my jewels for the sight of two pillows set side by side on a bed.'

  'Forgive me, madame, I had forgotten.' Eleanor lowered her gaze, setting the silver mirror down on the table. She had not meant to offend her namesake, this old Princess Eleanor known for so many years as the Maid of Brittany, but it was impossible not to be aware of her own youth, to deny the fact of her growing beauty.

  The Maid had once been beautiful, they said, but now Eleanor could see little lines on her face, the hair beneath the stiff white wimple quite grey, and she wondered what it must be like to have been a prisoner for so many years. Curiosity as well as old memories had urged her to ask permission of her brother the King to visit this solitary lady before setting out to meet her bridegroom. Somehow the Maid was tied up with her childhood and in a few days that childhood would be over. She would lie all night with a man and while her stomach turned over with nervous excitement at the thought of it, at the realization of her new status as a wedded wife, nevertheless she was afraid, conscious that she was stepping from a spoiled and happy youth into responsible womanhood. For a moment, rather than talk of it, she asked the Maid which she would have preferred of her prospective husbands.

  The Princess laughed. 'Dear child, any that would be joined to me. Perhaps the idea of Saphadin was the most romantic, though marriage has little to do with romance, God knows. He was the great Saladin's brother, you know, and my uncle Richard- "Coeur de Lion" they called him, and rightly- wanted to settle the fighting for the Holy Places by making us King and Queen of Jerusalem. But Saphadin would not turn Christian, so that was the end of it. One of Saladin's messengers told me he was very handsome.' She gave a little sigh. 'Then my grandmother, Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, took me to Austria when my uncle was a prisoner there, hoping to wed me to Duke Leopold's son, but nothing came of that either. You are like her, my dear.'

  'Like Queen Eleanor?'

  'You have her dark hair, a look of her in the way you hold your head, but your eyes are true Plantagenet blue, as mine are. I wonder if I might have done more for you if I had married Louis of France? But then my uncle died and your father became King. He shut me up in Corfe Castle and that was where I first saw you.'

  'I wish I could remember,' Eleanor said.

  The room was littered with her bride-clothes, travelling trunks open to reveal fine silks and velvets, sendal and sarsinet, shoes and veils, golden fillets and crespines to hold her hair, belts and gloves, including a pair embroidered by the Princess herself, and there was a box with two locks to contain her jewels.

  The Maid was fingering an ell of dark green cloth, her face shadowed. ‘This is very good quality,' she remarked inconsequentially. ‘You should have a riding gown made from it. Your brother sent me a similar piece last Candlemas.'

  'Henry likes giving presents.' Eleanor, however, wanted to pursue the subject that interested her. 'Was he at Corfe when we were there?'

  'No, he was with your mother at Exeter. Your father feared for your lives, as well he might, when he was fighting the barons and Louis of France as well. But your brother Richard and your sisters were there. I used to play with them and I taught them to dance, but I was a lonely time for me, barely twenty and never allowed outside the castle walls. Corfe is so high on its rock that I could see the sea through a gap in the hills, and I used to sit there looking at it and wondering if I would ever see my own Brittany again – which I never did.'

  'You think my father was cruel? Everyone seems to have hated him.'

  'Yes, he was cruel,' the Maid said, but the years had taken the edge from her bitterness. 'He slew my brother, Arthur.'

  ‘Henry says no one ever knew for certain – ’

  The Maid laughed with sudden sharpness. 'My dear child, one thing you must learn is never to run from the truth, however hard it may be. King John murdered Arthur, or his minions did, in Rouen Castle. My Lord Hubert, de Burgh will tell you the truth of that.'

  'Then you must hate Henry, and Richard and all of us.'

  'Hate you? You were not responsible and you are not in the least like your father, except', a little smile crept into the Princess's eyes, 'perhaps you have something of his pride.' You were a mere babe when he died.'

  Eleanor nodded. She had no memories of her despised father and few of her mother Queen Isabella who had fled to France after his death and married Hugh de Lusignan, Count of La Marche. Now she was busy raising another family and Eleanor had seen her only once, but at the English court she had been petted by great ladies and her brother the King made much of her. 'I'm glad Henry sent these figs,' she said at last, selecting one from a silver dish. 'He allows you to keep a great household.'

  'Oh yes,' the Maid agreed. She too took a fig and peeled it with delicate fingers. 'He knows how fond I am of fruit, and I believe there is a case of almonds too. But you have seen, child, that though I ride out often, it is never without a suitable escort of knights who are also my gaolers. You will, please God and His Holy Mother, have a happier life than I, my sweeting.'

  Eleanor considered this for a moment. 'I suppose I shall be happy with my lord of Pembroke. I have seen so little of him since our wedding. I was only nine then and these last five years he has been in Ireland for most of the time. What did you mean when you said you might have done more for me? Isn't this a good marriage?'

  'Well enough,' the Maid agreed, 'but you are a princess, daughter of one king and sister to another, and I would have looked higher for you than William Marshal.'

  'But he is Earl of Pembroke and his father was a very great man, was he not?'

  'Old William Marshal was perhaps the best knight who ever lived,' the Maid agreed. 'My uncles all cared greatly for him and I'm sure his eldest son is as good a man in many ways, but I would have chosen royal blood for you as for your sisters. However, the
thing was done five years ago so there is no point in repining. Are you afraid of him because he is so much older than you?'

  'I don't know.' Eleanor kept her head turned away. 'My lord William is so big and so important. The few times I have seen him he has treated me as a child and now – '

  'Now he is to be your husband in more than name, eh? My dear, I can tell you little about marriage and I have never taken a lover, for that would have delivered me into my enemies' hands, but I remember William's mother. She married his father when she was no more than sixteen, barely two years older than you, and her bridegroom was in his forties then. Yet they were very happy. I am sorry she did not live to see you and William bedded.'

  Eleanor nodded. The day of her brief wedding ceremony was rather hazy in her memory; she had been too young for it to be consummated and had left her bridegroom on the same day, to live under the care of the Dowager Countess. She had grown very fond of the Lady Isabel and had grieved for her when she died scarcely a year later. Since then Eleanor had lived mainly at court and she wondered to which of his vast holdings the Earl of Pembroke would take her after the feasting. Perhaps they would be happy as his parents had been, but the romances she read telling of l'Amour Courtois had nothing, so the Maid said, to do with marriage. She had been reading a new poem, for her brother had had her well taught, called Le Roman de la Rose and her head was full of it so that the reality of becoming a wife seemed almost a mundane thing, a burden to a woman. One's husband would not, after all, sing ballads as the troubadours did to one's eyebrows or liken one's breasts to slopes of lilies, yet he would make demands, frightening demands that were a dark unknown to her.

  'I wish I could have waited a little longer,' she said impulsively, 'stayed the summer with you.'

  The Maid gave a melancholy smile. 'Youth is too precious to let slip away in waiting, dear child. Have you not heard the couplet –

  “But 'yet and yet' goes on and on

  And 'wait a little' grows too long.”’

  Eleanor smiled. At fourteen, with all life stretching before her, she could not envisage it slipping away. She glanced at the Princess, seeing the saddened eyes, the smoothness of skin gone, the figure beneath the heavy silk gown sagging a little. And this room – it was the room of a lady of high birth yet solitary. No child's rattle had ever lain discarded here, no baby clothes had ever been lovingly stitched here, nor had a new life come in the great bed that no husband had shared, no lover either if the Maid was to be believed, and Eleanor did believe her. There was a loneliness, a waning of beauty, all opportunity denied, life worn away in captivity, albeit a gentle captivity.

  And suddenly she had no more desire to stay, to dream away the summer by the slow flowing river under the willow trees. Life was for living and now she wanted the Earl and Countess of Gloucester to come, she wanted to see them riding in under the gatehouse with a train of knights and ladies and men-at-arms to escort her to Winchester where her brother would formally give her to Earl William. After the feasting she understood the Earl would take her away for their 'lovers' days', and she would begin to learn to rule one of his great houses.

  She stood up, holding the Maid's mirror at arm's length to see as much of herself as she could. This gown of blue sarsinet matched her eyes and the trimming of marten fur edging the white surcoat was not too wide to make its appearance heavy. Gold thread embroidered a pattern of leaves about the hem and sleeves and the low-slung belt was of gold chain, a gift among many others from Henry. As became a young virgin her hair was unbound but a blue fillet held her white veil in place and there was sufficient colour in her face to keep her from becoming sallow. She had never been overfond of sweetmeats, and vanity made her refuse them for she had fine white teeth and no mind to lose them. The Maid ate marchpane or sugar plums constantly and her front teeth were almost black. Eleanor nibbled another fig and her impatience grew until at last she heard the sound of hooves, many hooves, clattering over the drawbridge. She ran to the window, sucking her fingers clean. 'They are here, Madame, they have come!

  It seemed to her the bailey was alive with colour, the banners and pennons of the knights, the wedding attire of the company bright with scarlet, green, blue and gold. Men were dismounting, women being lifted down from the saddle, while servants ran back and forth with great leather jugs of ale to refresh them. The halt was to be brief for they were to rest the night at Bradford-upon-Avon, and only the Earl and his wife came up the stair to be ushered into the Maid's chamber.

  Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, was about thirty, a somewhat choleric young man, very conscious of himself and his position. He was anxious to be on the road again, to see his young charge safely in lodgings for the night, for it was still early enough in the year for darkness to come in the late afternoon, the April days bright enough in the morning to allow an early start. He bowed over the Maid's hand and gave a few formal words of greeting, but his wife was more forthcoming. She curtseyed but before she was more than half risen, she and the Princess were embracing each other. Isabella de Clare had been Isabella Marshal, daughter of the great William Marshal and had consequently spent much of her time at Pembroke, permitted to visit the prisoner with a frequency allowed to no one else.

  She turned to look appraisingly at Eleanor while the Maid called for a page to bring wine. Gilbert muttered something about time, and fifteen miles to cover before dusk, but the Maid would take no refusal and the tall and imperious Isabella said calmly, 'We shall have time enough and more, husband,' whereat he subsided, but he cast a glance at the open chests.

  'God's death, lady, did you have to unpack all your bridal gear?'

  'Of course,' Eleanor said. 'I wished the Princess to see everything. My brother has been most generous to me.'

  'Well, they'd best be carried down at once,' he grumbled, ’or we shall be here all night.'

  The Maid nodded to a hovering serving woman to see that it was done and while a couple of attendants came to struggle with the heavy chests a lad carried the iron-bound box that contained Eleanor's jewels.

  The wine, sent by the King, was excellent, and Gilbert drank in silence while the two women chattered about bridals and Eleanor sat on a stool between them, her hands clasped, as anxious now as the Earl, though for other reasons, to be gone. At last the cups were empty and the Maid rose reluctantly, embracing Isabella once more.'

  'This dear child will be your sister. Have a care for her.'

  'Of course,' the Countess said warmly. She had much of her father's natural kindness and she looked down at the eager, nervous girl with an indulgent smile. 'Eleanor will have five sisters now. Matilda is not with us, though she hopes to reach Winchester for the wedding, but Sybilla and Eva are below and Joanna will be waiting for us at Winchester. My brothers Anselm and Waiter are here too – you are part of a large family, my dear.'

  Eleanor lifted her head. 'And my husband, madame, has the King for brother-in-law.' They should see that the Marshals, great though they were, were not conferring a greater favour on her than she on them, for she was a Plantagenet and everyone knew that before he had achieved so much fame and honour the senior William Marshal had been a landless younger son, a mere nobody.

  Isabella laughed. Her own husband was, with the one exception of the Earl of Chester, the wealthiest and most powerful man in the kingdom and she could afford to indulge that little spurt of pride. 'Well, so he has. I wish my next brother Richard were here but he is always so busy about our inheritance in France. Do you recall him, child?'

  Eleanor shook her head. She did not need reminding of the extent of the Marshal holdings, but Richard Marshal had been out of England so long that she had no interest in him. She glanced at the Maid and saw a great sadness there. Young as she was, it seemed to her that the Countess's talk of her sisters and brothers only served to heighten the isolation. She went to the Maid and kissed her.

  'Dear madame, when my lord takes me to Pembroke we will come and see you. You have been so kind and I'll no
t forget.’

  The Maid held her face for a moment between her hands. 'You will have many new duties, Eleanor, but if you can visit a lonely old woman I shall be glad. I do not think your brother would deny me that great pleasure.'

  'Well,' Gilbert picked up his gloves. 'We'd best be gone. Your servant, my lady.' He gave a brief bow and opened the door. Eleanor clung for one last moment to the Princess and then was about to run out when her arm was caught and held.

  'It is not becoming to run,' the Countess said. 'Pray walk and as elegantly as you can to show off your gown. There are a great many knights and ladies waiting below to attend you and you must not appear a mere hoyden.'

  Eleanor curbed her steps impatiently but when she emerged from the door of the great hall, followed by her attendants Doll and Megonwy, and her old nurse, Ellen, who had also nursed her brother, it was as a royal princess going to her bridal. Her groom, Finch, was standing by her white palfrey and as he locked his hands for her small foot she sprang lightly into the saddle. Her two sisters-in-law, Sybilla de Ferrars, Countess of Derby, and Eva de Braose greeted her warmly. Lady Derby had her two little girls with her, riding one behind the other on a small pony, and they smiled shyly at the Princess Eleanor. Their father carried the bride's banner while William de Braose made as if to range himself on her other side until he realized that place was to be occupied by the Earl of Gloucester and reined back, somewhat red in the face.

  Then they were moving out and Eleanor turned for one last glance at the chamber above the great hall. She saw the Maid at the window and waved her gloved hand, but remembering Isabella's injunction turned it into a royal gesture. Slowly the cavalcade took the road east and her excitement began to rise, Mabille trotting well to keep pace with the Earl's black destrier, the mules laden, with her baggage left some distance behind. The countryside was bright with the green of young haw­ thorn, the buds of oak and beech ready to burst, violets and primroses in the banks. The sun had some warmth in it and by noon Earl Gilbert was sweating in his furred mantle. They halted to refresh the horses by a stream, servants bringing ale and meat and bread for the company. A peasant woman from a rough wattle cottage came out and asked if the young princess would like a drink of milk. Eleanor took the bowl gratefully. The Maid had told her that milk kept the skin white and clear and Eleanor was determined never to lose the beauty she had