Falls the Shadow (13 page)

“Nell?” She made a wordless murmur, and he said, “What are you thinking of?”

“Our marriage.” Nell propped herself up on her elbow. “We must not delude ourselves, Simon, must be prepared for much unpleasantness. Even after we have the dispensation in hand, there will still be those to disapprove, to charge we bought my freedom. And indeed, we will have to do just that; such a dispensation will be very costly.”

Simon was cautious with money; he had to be, for he had so little of it. But now he found himself saying recklessly, “No price could be too high for you,” and meaning every word of it.

“Money will be no problem,” Nell said and smiled at him. “The lands Henry settled on me as my marriage portion give me two hundred pounds a year. My dower rights in William’s Irish estates come to four hundred pounds a year, and I am entitled to another four hundred from my share of his English manors.”

Simon was impressed, said so quite candidly, and Nell smiled again, with complacent pride. “So you see, my darling, I am indeed a marital prize. And that is why we shall have such a hard row to hoe. We must fight a war on two fronts, first with those who are appalled that I should have forsaken my vow, and then with those who are no less appalled that I should want to marry you. How jealous the other lords shall be, Simon! You are one of them, your estates are modest, and you’re foreignborn, which seems to matter more and more these days. Those who fault Henry for showing too much favor to his Queen’s foreign kindred will see our marriage in the same harsh light. There will be a loud and bitter outcry, none more so than from my brother Richard and my detestable in-laws. Richard will be sorely affronted that we would dare to wed without his approval…and with reason; he is Earl of Cornwall, after all, the second lord of the realm. And my brother-in-law, that wretch Gilbert Marshal, will do all he can to give us grief. So, too, will the rest of the Marshal clan. They know how shamefully they cheated me when William died. His estates are worth at least thirty-five hundred pounds a year, and my dower incomes fall far short of the one-third to which I am lawfully entitled. So they have uneasy consciences, and they will fear that you shall speak up for me, protect my rights as Henry failed to do.”

“That you may rely upon, Nell,” he said, and there was in his voice a grim resolve that did not bode well for the Marshals. Nell reached up, kissed him passionately on the mouth.

“Simon, tell me the truth. Do you truly believe we can prevail?”

“We will, Nell. We do belong together. But we’d best wed first and seek the dispensation after. It would be easier to thwart wedding plans than to untie a nuptial knot.”

Nell at once saw the sense in that, and she nodded vigorously. “But there is one we must take into our confidence, Simon. Ere we wed, ere we petition the Pope for a dispensation, we must confide in my brother Henry.”

“You would have us go to the King?” Simon sounded dubious. “Would he heed us, Nell?”

“Why should he not? He is right fond of you, and he loves me well. I cannot believe he would begrudge us happiness. But if we deceive him, he will not easily forgive us. I know my brother, Simon. He is not vengeful, but he can harbor a grudge. And where would we be without Henry’s favor? Henry has never formally invested you with the earldom of Leicester. What if he declared your estates forfeit? And what of my dower lands? Are you willing to risk their loss?”

“No,” he said, “of course I am not. We will need those incomes for our sons. You are right, Nell, we must have Henry as our ally. Who can afford to have the King as an enemy?”

“ ‘Our sons,’ ” Nell echoed. “Simon, how wonderful that does sound to me. And it must come to pass, it must!”

“It will,” he promised. “It will, my heart.” He began to kiss her, and she rolled over into his arms.

“Make love to me, Simon. But first tell me again that we will be wed.” She put her hand on his chest, over his heart. “I could not bear it should I lose you now,” she said, and he sought to reassure her with kisses and caresses, to reassure them both that their marriage would indeed come to pass.

Henry Plantagenet was an attractive man of middle height, with his grandfather’s reddish-gold hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and vivid blue eyes; his left eyelid drooped slightly, giving him an endearingly drowsy look. King John’s eldest son, he had been crowned at the age of nine, in the midst of a bloody civil war. He was neither as clever nor as ruthless as his father, and he suffered in comparison with his younger brother Richard, who was shrewder, more practical, better able to deal with Henry’s overbearing barons. Henry would have made a superior abbot for a wealthy Benedictine abbey, for he was urbane and pious and beneficent. But it was his misfortune to be a King whom few took seriously, and it was his greater misfortune that he knew it. In consequence, he was abnormally sensitive to slights, and although he was generous and kind-hearted by nature, he could also be capricious, petulant, his the perverse obstinacy of a weak man called upon to wield authority beyond his capabilities.

Henry loved pageantry and ceremony, and the Christmas season afforded him ample opportunity to indulge his passion for fêtes and revelry. On this chill night in mid-December, he was in good spirits, having at last selected his New Year’s gifts for his young Queen: a heartshaped silver brooch, a sapphire ring, and a reliquary containing a fragment of the True Cross. He was well pleased with his choices, already anticipating Eleanor’s delight, and it was with pleasure that he watched now as Simon de Montfort and his sister Nell were escorted into the privacy of the Painted Chamber.

Henry looked from Simon to Nell in disbelief. “Is this a jest?” he said, as if hoping it was, and Nell knelt by his chair in a flurry of silken skirts.

“Dearest, we are very much in earnest. Nothing has ever meant more to me, Henry. Simon and I love each other, and we wish to wed. We know that—”

“Are you mad? What of your vow?”

“We would not have Nell forsake her vow,” Simon said hastily. “We intend to seek a dispensation from the Pope.”

“What makes you think he would ever grant one?”

“I will make it worth his while,” Simon said, saw Henry stiffen, and realized he had erred. He’d lived in England long enough to acquire some English prejudices; most Englishmen, no matter how devout, were convinced that the Pope saw England as a milch cow, one to be milked dry on behalf of the Roman Church, and few doubted that the papal court was a market place, where justice was dispensed to the highest bidder. But Henry had an impassioned reverence for the papacy, for he believed the Pope’s support had helped to secure his throne for him during those first troubled years of his reign. He looked deeply offended now by Simon’s cynicism, and said curtly.

“This is a pointless discussion. I see no reason why His Holiness would ever agree to set aside a vow of chastity. Such vows are not undertaken lightly, are not to be—”

“Henry, I was but fifteen! I did not know my own mind.” Nell was becoming frightened, for she knew how stubborn Henry could be. “I know the Church teaches us that chastity is an exalted state, second only to virginity. But not all of us are destined for so holy a life. And marriage is an honorable state, too. What sacrilege could there be in a sacrament, Henry?”

It was a weak joke, failed to amuse her brother. Henry heard three Masses a day without fail, and he was genuinely shocked by his sister’s irreverence, by her willingness to profane her oath. But she was looking at him so imploringly that he sought to soften his refusal somewhat. “Nell, I am sorry. But what you ask is impossible. Once you’ve had time to think, you’ll recognize this request for what it is, a whim of the moment that could never be, that—”

“Henry, I love Simon! This is no whim, it is my very life!”

“I can make her happy, Henry, I swear it. And once we have the dispensation—”

“No!” There was anger in Henry’s voice now, the anger of a man ensnared in a web not of his making. He did not want to hurt his sister. Nor did he want to hurt Simon. “You cannot marry my sister, Simon. Even if she were free to wed, that would change nothing. I could not give my consent to your marriage.”

They looked so stunned that he winced. Why must they ask of him what he could not possibly give?

“I thought,” Simon said, “that I was your friend.”

“You are my friend. But that does not make you a fit husband for my sister!” Why was he having to do this, to elaborate upon the obvious? “My father and grandfather were Kings of England before me, Dukes of Normandy and Anjou. My grandmother was Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine. My sister Joan is Queen of Scotland. My other sister Isabella is Empress of the Holy Roman Empire. Need I truly say more, Simon? The very idea is absurd. In truth, you can be thankful for my friendship, thankful that I have not taken offense at your effrontery.”

“I should be grateful that you think my love demeans your sister?”

“I did not say that, Simon! Or if I did, it was only because you forced me to it. I have never faulted you for your ambition. But this time you have over-reached yourself. And that is a warning you’d best take to heart. Have you no idea of the scandal this would cause in council? The King’s sister and the Earl of Leicester? Christ on the cross!”

“I see,” Simon said. “Then it is not Nell’s oath and not my lineage. It is that you do not want to be discomfited before your barons. You’d truly sacrifice your sister’s happiness for that? Because you lacked the…will to defend her?”

Henry flushed darkly. Like many timid men, he was morbidly quick to suspect slurs upon his courage, and Simon’s pause had been a telling one. “This discussion is done,” he snapped. “And so are your high-flying dreams of glory. You are not to see my sister again.”

Nell had been listening, horror-struck. With that, she gave a choked cry. “Simon!”

He turned toward her, and she saw on his face her own despair and disbelief and a very dangerous rage. “I will have Nell as my wife,” he said tautly, “with or without your approval.”

Henry was accustomed to arguments and protest; even with the inherent powers of kingship at his command, he had never learned how to compel unquestioning obedience from other men. But such outright defiance left him speechless. He gasped, sputtered incredulously, and then shouted, “You marry Nell and you’ll pass your wedding night in the Tower!”

Nell’s fear suddenly gave way to fury. “If you imprison Simon, then you must imprison me, too!”

Henry had an inordinately strong sense of family; the thought of his sister in a prison cell was horrifying to him. “Jesú, Nell! Do you truly think so little of me, that you could believe me capable of that?”

For once, she was indifferent to his pain. She moved to Simon’s side. “I think Simon is right,” she said. “I think you do shrink from facing down your barons. It is easier for you if we do not wed, and you’ve ever been one for taking the easy way, Henry.”

“You are fortunate, Nell, in that I do understand your anger, your disappointment. For I shall overlook your heedless words, shall do my best to put them from my memory. But you cannot marry this man, and I’ll say no more on it. My patience is at an end.”

Nell looked at her brother, seeing him suddenly with a stranger’s eyes, seeing him with utterly unsparing clarity. She reached for Simon’s hand, entwined his fingers in her own, for she knew now what she must do.

“No, Henry, you do not understand,” she said, and was surprised that her voice could sound so calm, so cold. “You are right when you say there would be a great scandal if I wed Simon. But there will be an even greater scandal if I do not.”

She felt Simon’s hand tighten on hers; for a startled moment, his eyes sought hers, but he was quick to comprehend—and to approve.

Henry had yet to absorb the full impact of her words. “What do you—Nell, no!”

He sat down abruptly, the color draining from his face. But Nell felt no pity, no remorse. “Yes,” she said, “I am with child.”

It was a gamble of absolute desperation, a lie that risked all—perhaps even Simon’s life—upon how well she knew her brother. “How could you?” Henry cried. “How could you shame yourself like that?”

“I love him,” she said, as if that explained and excused all, and Henry wondered suddenly if she could be bewitched, so unrepentant was she, so defiant.

“It must be true,” he said, “what men say, that blood will tell. For God help you, you are indeed Eleanor of Aquitaine’s granddaughter.”

From the first Sunday in Advent until Epiphany no marriage Masses could be said. It was on the following day, January 7, that Simon and Nell were ushered into the Painted Chamber at Westminster Palace. There were no servants, no wedding guests, only the King of England to act as witness to their marriage. Henry had a private oratory in one corner of his bedchamber, and it was here that Simon and Nell knelt to be joined in wedlock by the chaplain of St Stephen’s chapel.

When the Mass was said, the deed done, Simon poured wine for his King and for his bride. Drawing Nell aside, he gave her then his bride’s gift, a ruby pendant set in heavy gold.

“Thank you, beloved!” Nell raised up, gave him a lingering kiss. “Mayhap Henry is right, mayhap I am shameless,” she confided softly, “for I feel no more your wife now than I did that first night at Odiham. That was our true wedding night, Simon.”

“You do not mind that our wedding was so hurried, so lacking in ceremony? I wanted more for you than this, Nell.”

“I would willingly have wed you in a stable, Simon; do you not know that?”

“There was a time,” he confessed, “when I thought we might be wed in a cell!” and they both laughed, the unsteady, exultant laughter of those who had wagered against all odds and somehow won.

“I will be such a good wife to you, Simon. I swear I will. But…but I doubt, beloved, that I can be a very dutiful one.”

She looked so troubled that Simon burst out laughing. “I doubt it, too,” he said. “I doubt it exceedingly.”

“Simon, I will try, in truth I will. But I do not want to lead you astray with false promises, promises I cannot keep. I know my faults too well, you see. I am more willful than woman has right to be, and I am lavish with money, and I do not always think ere I speak; my tongue can be right sharp. We’ll quarrel, Simon.”