The Falcon and the Flower (29 page)

Orion rubbed his nose hard, and Jasmine thought perhaps that was why it almost turned a corner. He said, “Aries is the first sign. They are the leaders of the world because of their active and dynamic personalities. They are very fond of being looked up to by others. They are courageous to the point of daring. By nature they are restless and fond of all sorts of activity. They should guard against engaging in risky and hazardous adventures. They can be affectionate, courteous, and generous, but they are also quick-tempered, and if crossed they can hold a grudge until they are able to take their revenge. They are aggressive and determined and have the personality
and temperament that will make or break their own destiny. They are very impatient and in a hurry about everything. They live for and love action and follow their own judgment. Their mental capacity gives them the ability to grasp a situation before others have even thought about it. They have excellent coordination between mind and body, and they usually enjoy a lifetime of action and accomplishment. However, those about them often wish they would not try to impose their strong will quite so often.”

He has described Falcon exactly, thought Jasmine. Impulsively she asked Orion, “What mate is best for an Aries?”

“There is only one true mate for an Aries, and that is a Sagittarius. Their life together will not be smooth, rather it will be an invigorating tiger ride, a clash of brilliant personalities; sometimes dangerous and frightening, but always exhilarating. Both will strive for the upper hand so that sometimes you are the driver and sometimes you are driven. But in the end Sagittarius will submit to the stronger Aries.”

Surprise etched Jasmine’s lovely features for she was a Sagittarius. Quickly she chided herself for being a fool. This astrology stuff was all nonsense, or was it? “Thank you, Orion. Tell me, which of the twelve signs produces the most perfect personality?”

“Ah, child, that is an easy one. If you need a friend choose one born under Cancer. Cancers exert a very fine soothing influence upon others. They are never egotistical or vain. They are very deep thinkers with a true depth of feeling. They are sensitive and easily hurt, but they hide this well from others. They have the ability to make other people happy. They are straightforward, generous, upright, and very loyal to friends or causes that interest them. They can be trusted with important secrets and you can totally rely on them for any duty, commission, or
work. They dislike any small or petty act. They view the people around them with a maternal or parental attitude as though they were children, and in their noble yet silent way they guide them. They are sympathetic, understanding, and very practical. They have keen powers of observation and enjoy reviewing facts, ideas, and theories in their reflective minds. They are meditative with unusual powers of concentration, and there is very little that escapes their attention. They are cautious and prudent and analyze thoughts and impulses. Their faculty of imagination is very active and they enjoy musing about the past. They have the ability to improve everything they touch.”

Jasmine smiled at him. “You yourself were born under Cancer?”

He pretended astonishment at her perception. “However did you guess?” he replied, twinkling.

The next day it was Jasmine’s turn to use her talent to amuse. She decided she would do a little palm reading. Her audience numbered so many overeager ladies who sat with their hands spread out before her awaiting her revelations that it took her hours to explain the meaning of the myriad lines and signs on their palms.

When she had finished Jasmine drew a deep breath and turned to see if Isabella was pleased or displeased. However the queen, like everyone else in the hall, was peering into her hand with a puzzled look of concentration upon her countenance.

Suddenly a male hand was thrust before her eyes and a persuasive voice said, “Princess Jasmine, what do you make of this appendage?”

She turned to see Chester towering at her side. “My lord earl, I have no such title,” she protested, unsure of his motive.

“You are Henry II’s granddaughter, are you not?” he asked quietly. “Yes, milord,” she said softly.

“Then you are a princess. Would you like me to tell you of your grandfather?” he offered.

“Why, that would be most kind of you, milord. Did you know him very well?”

“Come, let us walk while I tell you of him,” he said, formally extending his arm so that she could place her hand upon it. “Henry considered me one of his bright young men. He was like that—he took a keen interest in those who served him. He trained me himself in his ways and in his conception of law administration. Henry was a generous man to those who served him well. He gave me Brittany to govern; he rewarded me well for my loyalty. I am the last survivor of the aristocracy of the conquest. Bloodlines are very important to me, Princess Jasmine.”

“Oh, please call me Jasmine.”

“If you will call me Ranulf?” he asked.

“Ah, milord, I could not,” she protested.

“You will in time,” he said gently, happy that she was in great awe of him.

“The rewards from your grandfather have made me the wealthiest noble in the realm,” he said with pride, “and yet I am a plain, blunt man. I do not parade my wealth upon my back like some of the flashy peacocks at court. I have no claim to beauty, and yet I appreciate beautiful things more than any man I know.”

Jasmine wondered why he was telling her these things. “Everyone speaks so well of my grandfather, and yet because I am a woman I find it incomprehensible that he would imprison his wife.”

“Ah, it was her vast power as queen that he had to contain. She bred him four sons and then used those sons like young wolves to pull down an old lion, so that hers was the power and the glory! Eleanor was very strong and willful and grew ever more so with age. That is the reason he turned to your grandmother, the beauteous and
gentle Rosamund Clifford. Now, there was a love match.”

Jasmine deliberately insulted him. “Ah, I had no idea you were so old, milord earl, you must be senior to my father.” She looked at him with pretended innocence and saw that his eyes were remote and malignant, and she shivered as if a goose had walked over her grave.

“I am not yet forty years old, mistress,” he said bluntly. “Your grandfather insisted I marry into his family. He always intended I should have a wife with royal blood,” he added pointedly.

Jasmine could not quite bring herself to insult him about the royal bride who had divorced him as soon as she was able.

Ranulf de Blundeville’s eyes dropped to her breasts and he said thickly, “I once spoke to your father William about needing a young wife.”

Jasmine knew they were on dangerous ground indeed, so she again deliberately misinterpreted his words. “Perhaps one day we shall be related through marriage then, for I have two sisters who are not yet betrothed. Excuse me, sir, I have duties that cry out for attention.”

“We will be related through marriage all right,” he said under his breath, relishing the thought of having the exquisite, delicate body at the disposal of his own body’s demands.

As the days stretched out, Jasmine found that Isabella was throwing her and Ranulf de Blundeville together on the flimsiest of excuses. Jasmine began to miss Estelle’s
support and wise words of advice and longed for the older woman’s return. Of course this also meant King John’s return, but it would almost be worth it to have the security of her grandmother’s presence.

King John’s foul reputation preceded him, once Mathilda FitzWalter’s still body was returned. The gossip and rumors spread like wildfire and were on every tongue until a pall hung over all Nottingham. Whispered plots of revenge were overheard and hushed up, and the ranks began to thin out. It became dangerous to venture anywhere near the forest lest a terrible accident befall those connected to the royal court. Wives urged their husbands to put a distance between them and the king and return to their own safer castles.

The Lady of Hay, Mathilda, was outraged and insisted her husband William de Braose leave Nottingham immediately. They would return to their own estates, which bordered those of her good friend Avisa, and wouldn’t she have a thing or two to pour into her ears. John was a cold-blooded child murderer. Hadn’t he disposed of his own nephew Arthur because he posed a threat to the throne? Something must be done, she told everyone she encountered.

It did not take King John twenty-four hours in Nottingham to learn which way the wind blew. He ordered the queen pack up the royal household to remove to Gloucester and gave her one day to accomplish the impossible. He insisted that he wished to be in Gloucester by September. If she was not ready, he informed her, she would have to follow, but it would be at her own peril because he needed his soldiers at his back and was willing to spare her a mere token escort.

John sat down with Ranulf for a serious tête-à-tête on their favorite subject, money. De Blundeville offered him a hundred thousand crowns for Jasmine. John promptly accepted and invited the earl, his best friend, to accompany
the royal party to Gloucester where Isabella would be able to indulge herself planning a secret wedding.

Estelle sat in a bath of Epsom salts, bewailing the fact that she had no nipbone plant to add to the water. A quiet knock on the chamber door sent Jasmine quickly to stop any from entering while Estelle was naked. She opened the door a crack to see a young page. “The court is ordered to Gloucester. You have one day to ready yourselves,” he piped.

“God’s love.” Estelle moaned. “I’m tempted to poison all the horses. My arse will never be the same again.”

“Why don’t you ride in a litter, Grandmother?” Jasmine asked with concern.

“What? And admit I’m an old woman? ’T is a good thing my backbone is stronger than my backside.”

Jasmine couldn’t hide a smile. Pride kept Estelle in the saddle. Pride was what she herself had inherited from Estelle. Pride was a luxury that came with a high price, but oh, how she scorned those without it. “I’ve warmed this towel at the fire. Let me dry you and you can slip right into bed,” soothed Jasmine.

“Thank you, darling, but it can’t be done. I have to go down to the tents and give Gervase a sealed message from de Burgh.”

“Didn’t he return with the king?” Jasmine asked, surprised.

“No. He took the Scottish princesses to his uncle, Hubert de Burgh, for safekeeping.”

Jasmine didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed. “Well, that’s good. The wretched man is forever threatening me with marriage.”

Estelle began to dress. “There are men about far more wretched than de Burgh.”

“I know,” admitted Jasmine. “I hope Ranulf de Blundeville goes back to Chester.”

“Don’t count on it,” advised Estelle. “He and John are close as copulating dogs.”

“Grandmother!” Jasmine exclaimed, shocked at her language. “Don’t be obscene.”

“I abhor obscenity!” said the old woman. “Bar this door while I’m gone.”

As it turned out, Queen Isabella was nowhere near ready to depart at the end of the twenty-four-hour ultimatum John had issued. Thinking only of himself, as he was wont to do, he left for Gloucester, taking the lion’s share of the knights and men-at-arms. The Earl of Chester was stuck escorting the queen and her ladies. This, however, gave him ample time to discuss the plan for the secret wedding. Isabella was extremely excited by her own cleverness for she had thought of the perfect cover to blind everyone to her plotting.

It was the upcoming wedding of Falkes de Bréauté to Joan, the widow of the Earl of Devon. Joan had provided the thirty thousand crowns King John demanded for her hand in marriage, and the wedding was to take place as soon as de Bréauté reached Gloucester after he had done the king’s dirty work of dispossessing the bishops of their Canterbury holdings. So all the talk was of “the wedding.”

Much to Jasmine’s annoyance, Chester seemed to enjoy her company. For the most part she remained silent while Ranulf impressed upon her his exalted ancestry, his importance to the realm, the number of cities and towns he ruled, the jewel of these being Chester, an ancient, walled Roman city.

When the weather turned cold and nasty for traveling, which was unusual for autumn, he described the sun-warmed coast of Brittany around the Gulf of St. Malo, an area he had governed for her grandfather. She knew the stark and graceless earl was wooing her. She tried being
cold and distant, but he did not seem to notice. Next she told him pointedly, “My lord earl, I do not think it is wise for us to be seen so much together. I am promised in marriage.”

He was amused. “No man is more aware than I that you are promised in marriage,” he said enigmatically.

She relaxed a little, offering a silent prayer for Falcon de Burgh. He served as a powerful barrier between her and men’s unwanted attentions. But Ranulf de Blundeville seemed impervious to the implied wrath of her betrothed.

To Jasmine the journey seemed endless as mile after weary mile they walked their horses at a snail’s pace toward Gloucester. She was tired, irritable, and a small knot of apprehension was growing inside of her because of Chester’s insidious presence. She was picking up vibrations from the man that frightened her. He was almost like a predator circling his prey in ever smaller circles, and she had the feeling that she might be trapped if she didn’t proceed with caution. At last the spire of Gloucester Cathedral could be seen in the distance. It had taken them over three weary weeks to make the journey.

Falcon de Burgh and a dozen of his best fighting men were playing nursemaid to Alexander of Scotland’s two little sisters and their personal servants. The hard-bitten Norman soldiers had set out with tight-lipped anger and disgust at their assignment. Everything that could possibly go wrong had done so. The little girls cried because they were leaving their dogs and pets behind, then their horses became lame and de Burgh had to purchase new mounts for them at Newcastle.

The children and their servants spoke with such a thick Scots’ burr that communication was almost impossible, resulting in one misunderstanding after another. The weather had a will of its own and chose to be perverse
until de Burgh’s men were at their wit’s end. Finally the whole debacle degenerated into farce. Falcon was relieved that his men’s high spirits broke out in hilarity. The horseplay and heels-in-the-air laughing fits were infinitely preferable to a volcanic erruption of frayed tempers.