The Dragon and the Jewel (37 page)

The wine that came from Wiltshire was decidedly iron-flavored and Eleanor ordered that it be discontinued. In its stead she ordered expensive, imported wine be brought in. She ordered hens from Buckingham, eels from Bristol, and herrings from Yarmouth. The amount of food eaten daily grew steadily as Kenilworth expanded. Eleanor appointed a stewardess rather than a steward to keep a tally of kitchen supplies and
expenditures and went over the accounts with her each month. Eleanor did not bat an eye that over 3,000 eggs were consumed in a week as well as 188 gallons of ale at a half pence per gallon, with 80 skins of Gascony wine.

Merchants, Franciscan brothers, scholars, artists, and mercenary soldiers all began to flock to Kenilworth. Eleanor began to compile a library with the works of Aristotle, Ptolemny, Thomas Aquinas, and Roger Bacon.

Whenever Simon noticed that something had been changed or something new had been acquired for Kenilworth and he questioned someone, he always got back the same answer. “The Countess of Pembroke ordered it.” He would grit his teeth and correct them. “You mean the Countess of Leicester, I believe.”

When de Montfort found the armory and guardrooms deserted one day, he was informed that Tuesday was now market day. The Countess of Pembroke had established it and it was thriving. The last straw came for Simon while he was holding a Court of Justice. His eyebrows rose a little when he saw Eleanor arrive gowned in an extravagant creation of green and gold, interwoven Syrian silk edged in sable. She sat quietly enough while he held court—until the last case. Apparently the brewer in Banbury had died, and there were two applicants for the position. One was the brewer’s brother, which seemed right and proper to Simon since he did not have a son to fill his shoes, but the other claimant for the job was the brewer’s widow. Simon heard them out and decided in the brother’s favor, explaining to the woman that brewing was a job for a man.

Eleanor swept forward with her challenge. “Not so, my lord earl! This woman knows all there is to know about brewing ale. She has helped her husband for years and in fact has done all the brewing during her late husband’s illness. His brother, on the other hand, has been a farmer all his life. Surely you will not discriminate against her because she is a woman, my lord? In my judgment I think we should have a breweress in Banbury.”

Simon’s anger was aroused. Why couldn’t she have had a private word with him about this matter? Why did she find it necessary to try to overrule him in his own court? He almost made the wrong decision purely and simply to teach Eleanor a
lesson. However, his sense of justice saved him. It was only logical to appoint a breweress
since
she had the requisite experience.

Simon de Montfort was looking for his wife within half an hour and was told the Countess of Pembroke was in the kitchens. It seemed to him this day that his household was overfull of women. He was forever tripping over cooks, bakers, washerwomen, maids, nannies, and stewardesses. He entered the kitchen, took one look at the excessive display of new copper utensils, and demanded, “Who the hell ordered all this?”

The head cook, a red-faced country woman, full of her own importance in the pecking order beamed. “The Countess of Pembroke, my lord.”

Simon booted a stool across the kitchen, which sent a copper cauldren rolling after a pot-boy. “Christ Almighty,” he exploded. “Once and for all time, she is the Countess of Leicester. The next person to call her Countess of Pembroke gets chucked in the bloody mere!” He looked about him in frustration at the gaggle of women. “All hens and no cocks … too many women in this household for my taste!” Simon strode toward Eleanor and with hands firmly planted upon her hips she met him halfway.

Simon’s voice was dominant as it rang round the high-vaulted ceiling. His arm swept over the sea of burnished copper. “How much did this lot cost me?”

“I know not and I care less,” Eleanor said, tossing her black curls impudently.

“You simply order whatever you fancy without a thought to cost?” he asked incredulously.

“Surely you do not expect me to haggle over pennies like a fishwife?” she demanded haughtily.

“Forgive me,
Princess,”
he replied sarcastically. “I thought you were the chatelaine of Kenilworth. Perhaps you had better wear your crown and have your pot-boy hold up your train to remind us all of who you are.”

“Oh!” She gasped as his dart found its mark. “I am the chatelaine. Remove yourself from my kitchen. I do not interfere in your affairs.”

Simon thumped the table and the kitchen staff became invisible.
“Do not interfere? What the hell was that all about at the court I held this morning?”

“I remained inconspicuous at the back of the hall.”

“Inconspicuous? In that gown?” he demanded.

“I don’t understand what you are angry about,” she spat.

“You never do when you are in the wrong, madame. This morning even before you interrupted my court and tried to make my decisions for me, everyone in the hall was watching your very expressive face to see whether you thought my judgments wise or stupid. I let you get away with this breweress business, but in future I will not tolerate your interference.”

The tone of his voice warned her she had done and said enough, but heedlessly she railed, “May I inquire why you canceled my order of Gascony wines?”

He thought the answer to that ridiculous expenditure was obvious. He reached out his powerful hands to her waist and removed her from his path. Then he quit the kitchen. The very air in the room shuddered as he slammed the door.

S
imon avoided her the rest of the day and did not climb the stairs to the Caesar Tower until after compline. This was usually the hour they set aside to enjoy their baby. All three of them rolled about the massive bed, laughing and playing, and then she would feed him. Simon would watch her face grow rapt with love and Eleanor would know her husband’s hungry needs were greater than those of her son.

Tonight, however, Eleanor was not in their bedchamber. Simon, in no mood to tolerate womanish behavior, set out to find her. On the far side of the nursery was a chamber that Eleanor had decided to use for herself. She had furnished it with delicate small chairs and tables suitable only for use by a female. The bed was narrow and not designed to hold a couple.

Eleanor sat at a tiny desk making entries in her journal. Gone was the green and gold gown. In its stead she wore a finespun bedrobe of pale lavender sarcenet. Her beautiful hair had been brushed until it looked like a black cloud of smoke billowing about her shoulders.

Simon’s mouth went dry at the sight of her. His anger was quickly dissipating and in its place arose a searing desire. His black magnetic eyes burned into hers as he spoke. “Since you
seem disinclined to join me in our chamber, I decided to join you in yours.”

She ran a provocative tongue over her lips. “I have to make some journal entries.”

“I’ll wait,” he said implacably, and lowered himself into a delicate chair. An ominous crack was followed by a total collapse and splintering of the chair.

“Lud, I swear if you brought your destrier in here it would do less damage,” she said, rising from the desk and affording him an unimpeded view of her body through the transparent gown.

“You are right,” he acknowledged, feasting on her naked beauty, hinting at the violence he was barely holding in check. Since he had no alternative he sat upon the bed.

Eleanor was thoroughly enjoying herself. She reveled in the power her beauty exercised over him. Simon had shown her the hidden depths of her passion, and she intended to goad him until he took what he wanted so badly. Since she’d had the baby it was never painful when Simon made love to her. It was still a very tight fit, of course, because of his size, but now it was like a sheath fitting the sword for which it was designed. Now she did not need over an hour of arousal before they made love. She experienced instant arousal whenever she saw his hungry eyes linger on her breasts or her mouth. Sometimes she feared her needs would become greater than his, for often when he was gone from the castle she longed for the sight of him, the smell of him, the taste of him. Quite often even picking up one of his garments or even an object that his attractive hands had touched would arouse her, and she would begin to fantasize about the things he would do to her that night in the delicious privacy of the Caesar Tower. The thought of his hands or his mouth on the secret, intimate parts of her body made her pulses race and a low moan escape from her throat. Her silken undergarments rubbing against her ruched nipples or the swollen bud between her legs sometimes made her want to scream. She dare not take wine in the evenings anymore lest it make her so wanton she threw off all her clothes and spread her legs in abandoned invitation.

She lifted her chin defiantly and said, “I don’t know what you are waiting for.”

“I am waiting politely to take you to bed,” he ground out. “I’m not sleepy,” she threw at him.

“I don’t intend to sleep, I intend to fuck. I guarantee you will be sleepy when I am finished with you.”

“If you think I’ll let you make love to me tonight, think again, Frenchman.”

“You are my wife and I am going to bed you now!” She had dared to come just a tiny bit too close, and his powerful arm snaked out to grab her.

Her throat filled with heartbeats. “I shall fight you!” she vowed passionately.

“Good. If it’s rough you want, I recommend a Frenchman every time.” He tore the flimsy gown from her and plunged a hand between her tempting thighs. His fingers found her hot, wet, and creamy with desire for him. She struggled for the pure pleasure of having him breach her defenses. He soon had her pinned beneath him, imprisoned exactly as she had longed to be. The anticipation of having him fill her made her want to scream with excitement.

Suddenly the small bed collapsed beneath them and Eleanor cried impatiently, “Oh, bugger!”

Simon ignored the collapsed bed. It mattered little what was beneath him save the feel of his wife’s body, which told him plainly he was the only one who could satisfy what he alone had awakened. He intended to use the floor for his next bout of lovemaking. Then he would begin ail over again in his chamber, which was where she would be from now on. It was his woman’s place to be in his bed and from now on he would keep her in her woman’s place.

From that day on she teased and tempted him, denied and refused him, flouted his authority and disobeyed his orders, but he knew he gave her exactly what she wanted every night behind the closed door of their chamber. He forbid her women access to the Caesar Tower after the hour of six at night. Each evening he lit a fire so that she could walk about naked for him, and sometimes he even fed her dragonsblood for the sensual pleasure of watching her lose all control.

He was always amazed that such a savage passion lurked just beneath the surface of one so tiny, so dainty, so young. There was never any question that he could satisfy her; the miracle of their mating was that she could satisfy him so deeply, and yet he always wanted more. He longed for all of her, body and soul, but there was always a small part of herself that belonged to her alone. Eleanor was her own woman, who made decisions no matter how much he showed her her woman’s place, yet he knew he would not be consumed and enchanted by a simpering wench and thanked heaven for her.

Kenilworth was a hub of activity. Travelers came and went continually and brought all the news of the outside world to their doorstep. They learned that the king had dismissed the council and appointed a new one consisting entirely of the queen’s relatives, who in turn were ruled by Winchester.

At last the queen was pregnant. Henry decided that England and the barons would pay through the nose for this heir they had demanded of him. Rumor was rife that the king was about to impose a tallage on the barons amounting to one-third of all their wealth. His new council had already agreed to such a measure, but the common council of England was demanding that a parliament be called. The barons began to arm themselves secretly.

Simon de Montfort wanted to protect Henry from the destruction that his false counselors were preparing. When he arrived in London he was appalled at the angry tone of the common man in the street. The queen was openly reviled and hated, and she dare not go into the streets for fear of the mob. The only safe way any member of the royal household could travel was by barge down the River Thames. There was now even an outcry against the Jews because they financed Henry’s insatiable demands for money, which in the end the country must pay back with high interest.

Henry welcomed Simon, but he was hated by the queen’s uncles, the Savoys, and by Henry’s half brothers, who now ironically were also Simon’s half brothers by marriage.

The queen flaunted her long-awaited pregnancy, even wearing gowns that exaggerated her swollen shape. The heir to the
throne monopolized every conversation, and the queen acted as if she was the first woman ever to give birth.

Simon de Montfort could not help comparing her self-aggrandizing behavior with that of his beloved wife. Poor Eleanor had hidden her pregnancy in fear for as long as she could, then she had worn flowing, loose garments to conceal her condition from all prying eyes. A growing anger took possession of him as he recalled she had given birth not even knowing if her child was legitimate.

He took special pleasure one evening in removing the smug look from the queen’s face. She had just pointed out to a large court gathering that her child would be the first of a new generation of Plantagenets, the first grandchild of King John and the first great-grandchild of illustrious King Henry II. “You are mistaken, your Grace,” Simon said blandly. “I believe Richard and Isabella have a well-kept secret who will be arriving any day. Your child won’t be born until late June, I believe.”

The queen turned an unbecoming shade of purple and almost choked. Clearly she had been so full of herself she had not known of her sister-in-law’s expected child. Her tone was icy as she spoke loudly to all who cared to listen. “And you, sir. When will the little nun be providing you with an heir?”

“Ah, she has already done that, your Grace. By the time you and Henry are parents she will probably be carrying another son.”

In that moment the queen decided to join Simon de Montfort’s enemies, and together they would poison Henry’s mind against him.

It was difficult for Simon to get Henry alone, but they spent one day together while Henry showed off the new additions he’d been building at the Tower and at Windsor. Simon knew his passion for architecture and let Henry exhaust the subject before he spoke to him of more serious affairs. “Your Grace, the barons will never agree to pay this tallage you are about to impose. You have been ill advised by your new council. I believe they urge you to arbitrary extremes.”

Henry denied it hotly. “The old council bound and gagged me and kept me penniless. I have long anticipated the gratifications of personal rule.”

Simon suspected he was more a puppet now than he had ever been. The demands for larger amounts of money were being instigated by the Queen’s Men. “Sire, the barons are arming themselves secretly. If it comes to war you will have few adherents. If you reinstate Hubert de Burgh, you would immediately regain the support of the men of the Cinque Ports.”

“That is a brilliant idea, Simon. Come back to Windsor, I need advisors like yourself.”

“Henry, all you need do to hold this great country together is adhere to the provisions of the Great Charter. The men who hold high office must be Englishmen. Remember how smoothly things ran when your justiciar was Hubert de Burgh and William Marshal was head of the military?”

Henry nodded solemnly, remembering. Simon sighed. It was so easy to sway Henry; he was a boy in a man’s body. Trouble was, the moment he listened to William of Valence or Winchester his mind would be changed again.

“Give Hubert a royal pardon. Confirm William Marshal’s brother Richard as Marshal of England. If you are always without money, then your chancellor of the Exchequer is not doing his job. He is supposed to be a humble priest, but I know for a fact he holds at least three hundred church offices and collects fifteen thousand marks per year from them for himself, not for you.”

“Is that so?” Henry asked in amazement.

Simon tried to hold his patience at the king’s ignorance. “Why do you think the barons are so outraged? You propose to tax them, but not the greedy churchmen who are raping England.”

Henry listened intently. “I’ll take the matter up with Winchester, Fifteen thousand a year, you say?”

Simon groaned inwardly. Henry was fixated on the sum of money he’d mentioned but was blind to the fact that Winchester was worse than all of the others rolled together. Simon realized in that moment that the king had been reduced to a servant of the Winchester party.

The Earl of Leicester rode back to Kenilworth, taking with him two dozen knights and men-at-arms, some of them actual members of the king’s own Welsh Guard. He had not recruited
them, in fact he had discouraged them since he could ill afford more fighting men, but all they asked was space in the knights’ quarters and room at Kenilworth’s board.

The weather turned hot and sticky on the ride home. They bedded down in a hayfield at dusk and were entertained by a display of sheet lightning that lit the sky for hours. No thunderstorm came to clear the air, however, and the next day was even hotter. By the time Kenilworth’s crenellated towers were in sight, Simon could think of nothing but removing his sweaty clothes and visiting the bathhouse.

When he learned that his wife had taken one of the small punts onto the mere to catch the afternoon breezes, he changed his mind. He looked down eagerly from the Caesar Tower to pinpoint her exact location and decided to swim out to the little boat to try to surprise her. She had filled the punt with cushions and lay back drowsing away the summer afternoon. In an effort to keep cool, she wore only a white linen smock with nothing beneath it.

The small boat had drifted beneath some weeping willows at the edge of the mere, and she trailed her fingers in the water as she closed her eyes drowsily. At the edge of the lake Simon threw off his clothes and plunged into the cool water. He cut smoothly across the mere to the spot where the weeping willows dipped to kiss the waters. As he neared the punt he tred water quietly and positioned himself so she could not see him. With finger and thumb he nipped lightly at her fingers that trailed in the water.

“Oh.” She gasped and withdrew her hand, thinking a fish had bitten her. She looked about, but when she saw no ripples of any kind, she lay back and closed her eyes. Simon took a long reed and tickled her nose. She wafted what she imagined to be an insect from her face with a mild “Oh, bugger!”