Falls the Shadow (69 page)

Simon’s parliament was in session from January until mid-March. Its major accomplishment was the formal recognition of peace terms, but the moment men would most remember was the bitter, public clash between Simon and the Earl of Gloucester.

Gloucester’s grievances were numerous. He was outraged that Simon had forbidden an upcoming tournament at Dunstable, for he had been eager to face Simon’s sons across the length of a lance. He was resentful of Simon’s unilateral decision to appoint his son Amaury as treasurer of York, that post having become vacant by the January death of John Mansel. He was still vexed that Simon had spurned his demand for ransoms, and he was alarmed by the arrest of the Earl of Derby. Derby had been plundering his neighbors, taking advantage of the country’s civil strife to indulge in outright extortion and robbery, and few pitied his plight. Yet when Simon cast him into the Tower of London, Derby’s fellow barons were genuinely shocked. While a lord might expect to pay for political transgressions, it was unheard of to punish one for criminal offenses, and by imprisoning Derby, Simon seemed to be setting a dangerous precedent. But above all, Gloucester begrudged Simon his supremacy, castigating the French-born Earl as “an alien interloper who deprives Englishmen of their due rights and keeps England’s King in servitude.”

Simon’s response was predictable: withering sarcasm that evoked laughter throughout Westminster’s great hall. He had a grievance, too, for Gloucester was harboring the Marcher lords, in defiance of his own government’s expulsion edict. Gloucester struck back with the hyperbolic rage of one in an untenable legal position; unable to offer a valid defense for sheltering men ordered to abjure the realm, he chose, instead, to withdraw to his estates in the Marches.

Parliament then took up the question of Edward’s continuing captivity, and it was agreed that he should be freed in return for his solemn oath to adhere to the peace terms. No one, least of all Edward, expected this freedom to be more than an illusion. But although still under Simon’s surveillance, he did gain a small measure of autonomy, and Edward was not about to scorn any advantage, however slight. Like many in England in that spring of 1265, the King’s son was playing a waiting game.

Nell was exhausted, for the normal routine of Odiham had been thrown into turmoil. Just two days ago, Harry, Edward, and Hal had arrived, accompanied by a sizable escort, and that very afternoon Simon had ridden in with an even larger retinue. As delighted as Nell was to see her husband, she knew Odiham’s larders would be hard-pressed to accommodate these new arrivals. The stables now held three hundred thirty-four horses, instead of the usual forty-four. And the men would be no less hungry than their mounts. Nell’s cooks normally baked one hundred thirty loaves of bread a day; by dark this Thursday eve, more than eight hundred loaves had been devoured, and consumption of wine soared from ten to seventy-four gallons. Simon had missed dinner, and supper was, in consequence, an elaborate affair, as Nell’s cooks labored to produce a tempting Lenten menu: seventeen hundred herrings alone, so much pike and mackerel that Odiham’s fish ponds would soon be emptied. On the morrow she’d have to send some of her servants to fish the stews at neighboring manors.

Supper may have been a culinary triumph, but it had not been a festive occasion, even though all the de Montforts were gathered under one roof; Bran alone was missing, off besieging Pevensey Castle again. Family reunion notwithstanding, the tension at the table had been thick enough to slice and serve up on trenchers. Harry and Guy were sulking; they’d been as hot as Gloucester to hold that Dunstable tournament, and they resented their father’s interference, agreeing among themselves that he too often treated them like green striplings with no sense. Edward was also in a surly temper; his leash was proving to have less slack than he’d hoped. Thomas de Clare was obviously ill at ease, caught off balance by his brother’s latest tantrum. Even the younger de Montforts—Amaury, Richard, and Ellen—were unusually subdued, ever a barometer for their father’s moods. Simon had been withdrawn and silent throughout the meal, distracted by thoughts that seemed none too pleasant; moreover, he looked so tired that Nell’s heart ached for him.

Nell’s ladies, Christiana and Hawisa, had assisted her in undressing, then discreetly disappeared, leaving her alone to wait for her husband. But Simon had lingered in the hall, giving Hal additional instructions; their nephew was to be dispatched again as an emissary to the French court, in consequence of which he alone had been in cheerful spirits that night. Nell was drifting drowsily toward sleep when she finally heard Simon’s footsteps on the stairs, a low murmur of voices. Reaching for the bed hangings, she was surprised to find that Simon was accompanied not by a squire, but by Colin, their farrier.

Simon crossed to the table, searched for pen and parchment as the blacksmith watched anxiously, twisting his cap in huge, hammer-scarred hands. “There you are, Colin,” Simon said. “I’ve written: ‘Let it be known, lest sinister suspicions arise hereafter, that the right ear of Colin the farrier of Odiham, son of Elias the farrier, was torn off in an alehouse brawl.’ Keep it in a pouch around your neck, and show it the next time someone thinks you might be a runaway serf or a maimed felon.” He waited until Colin backed out, stammering his thanks, then sank down in the nearest chair.

Nell grabbed for her bedrobe. “Could that not have waited till the morrow?” she chided. “And where are your squires? You look half-asleep on your feet.”

“I sent the lads off to bed. No, stay there, Nell; you’ll catch cold.”

Nell ignored him, swung her legs over the side of the bed. “It could not be any more chilled up here than it was down in the hall tonight. I’ve rarely seen Edward so sullen. Is he still brooding about the cancellation of the Dunstable tournament?”

“I daresay our idiot sons are,” Simon said, so acidly that Nell’s eyes opened wide. “But I expect Edward has weightier matters on his mind; last week he had to surrender six royal castles. They were too strategic to leave in untrustworthy hands: Dover for certes, Nottingham, Corfe, amongst others. We had Henry turn them over to Edward, and he then yielded them to our control for a period of five years. It was all I could think to do, Nell, that would safeguard the government whilst still preserving Edward’s titles and rights to them. But I cannot blame Edward for being disgruntled about it.”

Nell leaned over his chair, began to massage his neck and shoulders. “I want to ask you about an unlikely story Harry told me, that when Mayor Fitz Thomas swore fealty to Henry, he dared to lecture Henry about a king’s duties! Did that truly happen, or was I taken in by another of Harry’s infernal jests?”

Simon’s sudden grin belied his fatigue. “No, by God, Fitz Thomas did indeed do that. After pledging his fealty to Henry, he added, ‘My liege, so long as unto us you will be a good lord and King, we will be faithful unto you.’ The way Henry choked, I thought he was going to swallow his tongue!”

“Where does Fitz Thomas find his courage?” Nell marveled. “So meek and mild he looks—until he opens his mouth!” Leaning over still farther, she kissed his cheek. “Simon, I’ve seen drawn bowstrings less taut than you are. For pity’s sake, love, come to bed.”

He nodded, got stiffly to his feet, and began to extinguish the candles; it was the first time in many months that she’d seen him limp. She shed her robe, climbed, shivering, into bed, and rolled over to make room for him. “I hate sleeping alone,” she confessed. “The bed feels so empty when…” She paused, frowning, for as her fingers slid along his chest, they’d encountered a patch of chafed skin. “Simon, why did you not tell me you had a rash? I’ve some orris root salve in my coffer—”

“You need not bother,” he said, and when she would have risen, he reached up, caught her arm. “Nell, let it lie.”

He expected her to argue. Instead, she grasped the sheet, jerked it back. He might have quenched all the candles, but the hearth fire still burned. Her eyes moved slowly, searchingly, over his body. His chest hair was soft and springy, easy to entwine around her fingers, faintly shadowed with silver as it slanted down toward his groin. Her fingers hovered, from habit, above his ribs, where an old scar traced a sword’s jagged passing. But she saw only the telltale red blotches.

“I’d wondered why you suddenly wanted to undress in the dark,” she said. “You did not want me to know you were wearing a hair shirt.” He confirmed her suspicion with silence, and she bent down, impulsively put her lips to the abraded, scraped skin. “But Simon, why? You have God’s favor, need not offer proof of your faith. Wearing a hair shirt is a gesture of truly admirable piety, but it is also a penance, and beloved, you have nothing to atone for!”

“I am not so sure of that, Nell, not any more. I no longer know what the Almighty wants of me, fear that I am failing Him. In truth, much of the time I feel like a man clinging to a rope that’s dangling over a sheer cliff. I can neither go up nor down, can only hope to hold on.”

“I’ve never heard you sound so disheartened. Is it Gloucester? Surely you do not think his envy would spur him to out-and-out rebellion?”

“No,” he said, without hesitation. “He truly does believe in the Provisions, in the need for reform. No matter how much he hates me, how could he betray his own conscience? He’ll not abandon the Provisions, but it will not be easy to coax him back into the fold. I sometimes think he’s more trouble as an ally than he would be as an avowed enemy!”

He slid his arm around Nell’s waist, drew her into an embrace comforting in its very familiarity. Pillowing her head in the crook of his arm, she was silent for a time. “Simon…why are you still so angry with our lads? I grant you that their idea of a tournament was sheer lunacy. Ere it was over, blood would have been flowing in earnest. But I’m sure they did not think—”

“Ah, Nell, it is not just the tournament. They never seem to consider the consequences of what they do. They bait Gloucester at every chance, race blindly ahead, churning up great clouds of dust and giving nary a thought for what lies around the next bend in the road. Did you know that men now call Harry ‘the wool merchant’? When I entrusted him with enforcing the prohibition against exporting wool, he took the charge too much to heart, auctioned off the wool he seized and kept the proceeds. He meant well, used the money to pay his men-at-arms, but he ought to have seen the folly of it. And Bran has been even more reckless. As soon as I appointed him as Constable of Portchester, he set his sailors to patrolling the coast, where they were soon preying upon Channel shipping. I had to intervene personally on behalf of a Bayonne merchant, order Bran to release his ship!”

“The young make mistakes, Simon. You’re right, of course; they chase after danger the way they do whores, and at times they can be foolhardy beyond belief. But they are good lads at heart, and they love you well, as few fathers are ever loved.”

“I know,” he said. “I know, too, that much of the blame is mine. If I had reined them in as I ought, if I’d not turned such a blind eye to their hell-raising, mayhap they’d not now be balking at the first prick of the spurs.”

“You’re overly tired,” she said. “That’s why you’re so dispirited. But this, too, shall pass, my love. You’ll be able to smooth Gloucester’s ruffled feathers, and—”

“And then what?” he asked, and there was something chilling in the very quietness of the question. “I patch up an uneasy peace with Gloucester, succeed in exiling the Marcher lords, and mayhap even manage to bring our sons to their senses. Yet nothing will have truly changed. How long can I hold Henry hostage? How long ere Edward breaks loose? We’d best face it, Nell. I’m fighting a war that cannot be won.”

“That’s not so, Simon! Once Edward can be made to see the need for the Provisions—”

“That would take nothing less than a miracle.”

Nell was not put off by his sarcasm. “I’ve been told that God is good at miracles,” she shot back, and coaxed from her husband a reluctant smile. She was not surprised that he’d failed to mention the most obvious option open to him. If he’d truly despaired of winning, why not withdraw to France? Other men would; she knew that. But she knew, too, that he could not, knew he’d see flight as a betrayal of those who’d come to believe in him, who’d made his cause their own.

“Simon, there is a question I must ask of you. Have you lost faith in the Provisions, in—”

“Jesú, no!”

“One more question, then. If you had it to do over again, would you still have sailed from France last spring?”

“I’ve thought on that—long and hard—and each time the conclusion is the same. I’d do it no differently. If it be God’s Will that the Provisions prevail—and I do believe that—how could I refuse to fight for them?”

“Then, my love, you’ve no reason to despair. You’ve done what you had to do, have no cause for regrets. Our Lord may test you, but this I do know—He would never forsake you, never!”

“Nor would you, my heart,” he said, and although his face was in shadow, she knew he was smiling. “Of all the manifold mercies that the Almighty has seen fit to bestow upon me, I am most grateful for you. You’ve done me a great service tonight, for you’ve made me see that I was in danger of doubting the Lord’s intent. The answer is so simple, Nell; Thy Will be done.”

Nell’s relief was beyond expressing, so thankful was she that she had found balm for her husband’s troubled spirit. “Thy Will be done,” she echoed gratefully, and would have sworn that she meant every word of that softly breathed prayer. But such was her faith in Simon that it colored her faith in God; unable to conceive of defeat, she never doubted that the Lord, too, willed Simon to win, and falling asleep in Simon’s arms, she did not dread the morrow, so secure was she in the strength of her yesterdays.

Simon parted from Nell on April 2; in the company of his sons, Henry, and Edward, he reached Gloucester at the end of April, soon moved on to Hereford, where he learned that William de Lusignan and John de Warenne had landed in South Wales. But he was able to “patch up a peace” with the Earl of Gloucester. On May 12, the young Earl came to Hereford, renewed his homage to Henry, and on the 20th, a proclamation was issued, declaring that the Earls of Leicester and Gloucester were now “of one mind and harmonious in everything.”