The Dragon and the Jewel (13 page)

“I stand reprimanded,” said Richard, more bemused than ever that his sister had the Marshal of England wrapped about her little finger. He put forth his most persuasive arguments for war with France, stressing that the main objective would be to regain any small part of the territories his father had let slip away. He then gave the marshal a list of the men who would stand with them and, saving the best ’til last, he said, “We
already have Simon de Montfort aiding the Count of Brittany. He has sworn fealty to Henry.”

“Simon de Montfort?” Eleanor was unfamiliar with the name.

“I am impressed,” said William, then he enlightened Eleanor. “He is a war lord, a legend, probably the greatest warrior of our time. He is reputed to be a giant—like a massive fighting machine.”

Richard laughed, remembering. “He dwarfed Henry and me. His arms and legs resembled young oak trees; no wonder he is fearless. When the war lord descends upon a region, his methods are so severe and relentless none can withstand him for long.”

Eleanor repressed a shudder. “The Frenchman sounds odious.”

William said, “He is only half French, heir to the earldom of Leicester. You surprise me, Eleanor. I always understood you to have a fatal attraction for soldiers,” he teased.

“Not soldiers in general, my lord, just one soldier in particular,” she said, thinking him the most gentlemanly soldier in the world.

William turned back to Richard. “Even with the mighty war lord on your side, you will have your work cut out for you. You must convince the men of the Cinque Ports, also people like Surrey and Northumberland.”

“My Lord Earl, if you are with us, the others will follow suit,” Richard said with the confidence of youth.

“My guess is all will commit grudgingly. You’ll get either a token of money or men, not both, and only as little as the barons can get away with. The campaign won’t succeed because victory over France will require full commitment.”

“The king will order men to arms,” Richard began.

“Will he indeed?” William’s mouth was grim. “I will go into Wales and Ireland and
recruit
men, not order them. Soldiers forced to fight are a liability in battle, not an asset.”

“Again I stand corrected. It is just that Henry has already ordered Hubert de Burgh to gather ships at Portsmouth to transport men and supplies.”

“Hubert always did fear the danger of opposing his king,”
William said. He did not need to add that the Marshals always did what was right and honorable, not what was expedient. “You will both need to school yourselves to patience. Men won’t leave the fields until the harvest is in, so we have months to recruit. I intend to take Eleanor to Wales in any case. I don’t suppose she’ll cavil at going to Ireland as well.”

She cast him a look of gratitude and he winked back at her. Richard caught the byplay and
decided
these two people longed to be alone with each other. He saluted the marshal and thanked him most sincerely for his commitment. Then he bowed formally to Eleanor and, raising her hand to his lips, murmured, “Adieu, Countess.”

William grinned at her when they were again alone. “I do believe he was finally showing respect for the Countess of Pembroke.”

Eleanor laughed happily. “The word ‘Countess’ almost choked him.”

It had already become their custom to spend the hours between the evening meal and bedtime alone together. William pulled out his well-worn maps and charts and spread them out for Eleanor. “We’ll make a sailor of you. How would you like to go overland one way and take ship the other?”

She leaned against his shoulder as they scanned the parchments. “Have I told you how much I like being married to you, my lord?”

He slipped his hand about her waist and squeezed her. “Not nearly enough, Eleanor Marshal. You plan the journey; I’ll trust your instincts entirely.”

Her finger traced the maps and charts and her brow wrinkled in concentration as she plotted the journey, rejecting her first thoughts and starting afresh. He pulled up a stool and watched her for the sheer pleasure of it. She gave him so much, he could never give enough back. So this was love then—wanting to give only pleasure to the beloved; constantly searching your mind for love tokens that would bring a smile to her lips or a sparkle to her eyes. He deeply regretted it had come so late in life, but since his heart’s desire was Eleanor who was so much younger than he, it could have been no other way. He was grateful it had come at all.

When he saw the corners of her mouth lift in triumph, he knew she had decided exactly how it would be. “Since spring comes very late to your wild Welsh mountains, I think it would be best to sail to Pembroke first and then Ireland. At the end of the summer we can ride across Wales to Chepstowe and return to London only when we can tear ourselves away. When the harvests are being gathered in is the happiest time of the year, and fodder for the horses will be plentiful. Food as well if you recruit your army. I shall be generous and offer to put you up the first night at my estate of Odiham. That’s approximately halfway to Portsmouth where I know you anchor most of your ships.”

Unable to keep his hands from her long, he came back to the map table. Placing his fingers beneath her chin, he raised her face so that he could look into her eyes. “Enchantress, do you have the power to read my mind, or has marriage to me made you more intelligent?”

“Your head swells apace with your male conceit,” she teased.

“My head isn’t the only thing that swells,” he murmured, but the look of incomprehension she gave him made him curse his male vulgarity. He could enlighten her. He could take her hand and gently guide it to his male center. Sooner or later he would have to put an end to her innocence. The trouble was he loved her exactly the way she was. He couldn’t bear to despoil her quite yet. Her innocence was the most precious gift she could bring him, and he would savor her to the full. She was on the brink of discovery. He would not rush her first delicious, delicate steps down the road to intimacy. He would do everything in his power to preserve the magic, the mystery, the silent promise of love’s fulfillment.

He cleared his throat and went back to the plans for their journey. “All our households are fully staffed with servants so we won’t need to take any except maids for you, of course, but I’d advise you to take as few as possible. From my experience women slow you down when you are traveling and they are notoriously bad sailors. If I know you, you’d end up nursing them through seasickness.”

She would not argue with him. All men had such poor opinions of women. She’d change all that, but of course it would
take time. “I won’t need to take any maids along to slow us up, my lord.”

“Could you really manage without?” he asked, his face alight with hope.

She teased, “If I need the services of a maid, I’ll just ask Rickard de Burgh.”

“You will ask me, madame. The de Burghs will have enough to do in Wales making the annual inspection of their own castles and their father’s.” He watched her face closely. “Sir Rickard is a handsome young devil—are you attracted to him?”

She looked at him, uncomprehending for a moment, then saw the vulnerability written on his face. “William, he’s just a boy.”

Her words made his heart sing, and Eleanor hugged the wonderful knowledge to herself that her husband was jealous of her.

B
renda lost no time reporting to Winchester that the Marshals were planning a journey to Wales and Ireland. This immediately confirmed to him that the Earl of Pembroke was supporting Henry and was off to recruit. He was disappointed.

The bishop had hoped for a clash between the king and the highest peer of the realm. He was ready to step in and fill the void an estrangement would have created. However, he could see clearly that his political ambition would remain in limbo forever unless he took steps to remove the obstacle that blocked his goals: the Marshal of England, who had been his bête noire for years. The man had no vices that could be exploited, and even though impressionable Henry shifted his loyalties about like a weathercock, his respect for William Marshal remained steadfast. Now was the time to lay plans that would lead to outright elimination. He could never become the power behind the throne while the Marshal of England lived and breathed.

“Is the countess to accompany him?” the wily bishop asked.

“Yes, I have never seen her happier, though he hasn’t yet taken her to his bed,” reported Brenda, unable to comprehend such abstinence.

“If they were intimate she would be privy to his every move,
his every thought, and I’m sure you would have no trouble relaying the information to me. I have a powder that I want you to sprinkle on the earl’s food, not unlike the stimulant I provide for you. This, however, stirs an insatiable desire in a man, a craving that must be satisfied. You know what that is like. The marshal will soon have Eleanor in his bed and will be casting glances your own way, I shouldn’t wonder. However, I caution you to wait until you are in Wales before you use it. The effect will not be nearly so efficacious when traveling and taking meals at odd hours,” Winchester lied.

“My lord bishop, I don’t know how I will manage without you. I need to cleanse my soul with confession at least once a week.” Brenda moaned.

“Marshal’s old squire Walter is training a new squire by the name of Allan. He is in my employ and a most apt pupil. I will instruct him to serve you in any capacity.” He wished to reveal as little as possible to this slut. It must never be proven there was any connection between Allan and himself. He would give instructions to eliminate the wench once the other impediment had been removed. He smiled to himself as he recalled how Allan had revealed himself in the secrecy of the confessional booth as a child murderer, thereby placing himself entirely in Winchester’s power as a pawn in his political games. The booth certainly had its diverse uses.

When Brenda learned that she would not be accompanying Eleanor to Wales, she was overcome with disappointment. Learning that the new squire, Allan, was also being left behind improved her mood considerably. After Brenda invited him into her bed, she was delighted that he had been tutored by Winchester regarding her needs. She confided, “Allan, the bishop gave me an aphrodisiac for the earl. I almost sprinkled some into your wine tonight. How lovely that you don’t need it.”

Allan blanched visibly at her words. Christ, surely the wench wasn’t naive enough to think Winchester had really given her an aphrodisiac. The stuff was unsafe in her hands. “Since you do not accompany the countess to Wales, the powder will go to waste. Give it to me. I will doubtless need it on occasion if I am to fully satisfy a lusty wench like yourself.”

He would do the deed himself. It was unsafe merely to put the stuff into a decanter of wine. He had no idea if the powder worked at once or needed to be ingested over a period of time before it took its toll. The entire household could not become sick or die at one and the same time; poison would be suspected immediately. He would put the powder away for safekeeping until the marshal returned from Wales. In the meantime he would become indispensable as a trusted household servant.

Eleanor fell in love with Wales and its magnificent mountains, crystal lakes, and virgin forests. She was able to show her husband her proficiency in Gaelic, and he was so impressed by her feel for the Welsh people and their language that he insisted she sit beside him while he transacted all his business. She presided with him when they held courts of justice, and he asked her help in handing down judgments and sentences. Her fine hand appeared beside that of her husband on all legal documents as she signed Eleanor, Countess of Pembroke.

She accompanied him while hunting and hawking, and his knights soon learned that William wished to help her mount and lift her from the saddle himself at day’s end. They were both happier than they had ever been in their lives and indulged in loving little rituals. As he reached up his arms he would murmur, “Are you my girl?” and the back of his hands would brush against her breasts.

She would blush and lower her lashes. “William, you know I am.”

“Good, then I think I’ll keep you for one more day,” he would tease, and brush her lips with his own.

She learned so many things from her mature husband. He taught her patience and showed her how to look beyond the obvious to seek the truth. He allowed her complete freedom in running the households and made it possible for her to draw any amount of money she desired. The theories she had learned of being chatelaine of a household with hundreds to feed were now put into practice, and her influence was evident in the improved quality of the meals, the efficiency of the servants, the cleanliness of the castles, and the luxurious warmth of the chambers.

She made a smooth transition from Wales to Ireland, visiting as many as two-thirds of the Marshal manors in Leinster. To Will’s delight the Irish, who were more obstreperous than the Welsh ever dreamed of being, took an instant liking to his beautiful wife.

The de Burgh twins went home to Connaught to recruit men-at-arms from their father, and for the first time in years Will was free from the siren call of their mother, Jasmine. Eleanor’s fears about the legendary enchantress were also laid to rest, since William showed no inclination to visit Portumno.

Their summer had been perfect, then suddenly as they were about to return to Wales the aging Bishop of Ferns showed up breathing hellfire.

William Marshal, as was his habit these days, received the bishop with Eleanor at his side.

“I want no Plantagenet present. My business with you is a private matter,” the old man thundered.

“My wife is the Countess of Pembroke. She is a Marshal now and as such is privy to all Marshal business,” William stated flatly.

“Your father cheated me out of two manors,” the old man charged, warming to the subject and shaking his fist in anger. “I asked King Henry to return them to me and got nowhere. I ask
you
this time.”

“My father was incapable of cheating, my lord bishop, and since the man has been dead for over ten years I fail to see why you keep harping on the matter. The church is notoriously greedy for land. I have borne the upkeep of my Irish manors for years, generously subsidizing them through times of famine. If I ceded them to you undoubtedly you would cut the timber, sell off the livestock, and the tenants would find themselves without a roof over their heads. Once and for all time my answer is no,” said Will.

The Bishop of Ferns turned purple. Livid, he began threatening excommunication, which would be ineffective without the Pope’s consent. Then the bishop looked upon Eleanor Plantagenet with raw hatred. Her exquisite beauty whipped him up to the point where he became overwhelmed with the need to destroy. He pointed his long, bony finger and placed a curse upon
them where they stood. “The Almighty Marshal family will end! In one generation the name shall be destroyed. You will never share in the Lord’s benediction to increase and multiply. You and your brothers after you will die without issue and your inheritance will be scattered. All shall come about by one year from this day!”

Eleanor listened to his outrageous curse with two spots of crimson burning upon her cheeks. Will would not smite down the old sinner because of his age, but finally she could bear no more. She lifted her riding crop and flew at the old man. “Get out! Your curse is absolutely meaningless to us. I swear by Almighty God that before I am twenty I will have a houseful of children! I, the Countess of Pembroke, will negate your wicked curse.”

Late that night Will awoke to hear Eleanor sobbing in the next chamber. He went to her and gathered her into his arms. “My darling, I had no idea the old fool would upset you this much. Don’t cry, sweet, I can’t bear it.”

She clung to him, wanting to be reassured that a bishop’s curses could not touch them.

“Sweetheart, he was trying to intimidate me into relinquishing the land. These tactics of hellfire and brimstone work very well in a country steeped in superstitions.”

She buried her face in his neck and whispered, “I want to prove him wrong … I want to have a baby. Give me your son, William, please.”

He closed his eyes and held her against him so tightly she could not breathe. She was too young, too small. If she died in childbirth he would die without her.

“Eleanor, I cannot risk getting you with child until the fighting in France is done. You must see that it would be totally irresponsible of me. If I was killed you would be left alone to bring up the child.”

“Oh, Will, don’t go to France. I am so afraid for you!” Her sobs increased.

He tried to humor her. “You fell in love with me when you were five only because I was a great soldier. I was your hero because I could wield a sword better than other men. On our
wedding day your admiration for me knew no bounds when I showed you the vulnerable spots to stick in a sword.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “How you must hate tears. They are a pitiful woman’s weapon designed to rob you of your strength, and I swore I would never resort to such tactics.”

He lay down beside her and she rested her cheek against his shoulder. He stroked her hair, loving the alive, almost crackling feel of it beneath his fingers. “Let all your foolish, fanciful fears slip away. Ireland can do that to you. There is an other-worldliness about it. Once the melancholy grips you, it is difficult to shake. Let’s go home.”

“Will, don’t leave me,” she begged.

“Hush now. I’ll stay right here until you sleep,” he comforted.

But that wasn’t what she meant. “Will, don’t
ever
leave me.” She shivered uncontrollably, and he gathered her close and kissed her eyelids, tasting the salt tears that still clung to her lashes. The warmth of his body and the all-encompassing love in which he surrounded her gradually relaxed her until she was lulled to sleep.

Before he could tear himself away from her, he gazed at her for a full hour. His eyes devoured the black cloud of hair spread across the white pillow, the dark shadow of her lashes that formed crescents on her high cheekbones, the lovely full mouth, cherry-ripe and oh so tempting.

He eased the covers from her and his reaction was immediate and marked. He held his breath as he unfastened the ribbons of her sheer nightrail to allow an unimpeded view of her swelling breasts. He throbbed as he imagined himself taking a luscious pink nipple into his mouth to suck. He could almost taste her.

His swollen phallus moved of its own free will as if seeking the entrance to Paradise. Very gently and carefully he moved closer to her to allow its tip to brush against her silken thigh. He quivered with the delicious sensations her nearness aroused. He knew he could wait not one instant longer for her to touch him, so he took her hand and laid it upon his manhood. Her fingers curled in her sleep and he closed his eyes, imagining exquisitely erotic manipulations.

He sighed deeply. Fate or the gods had entrusted her to him.
He felt like Hercules must have felt when the mythic Zeus was testing him, though the difficult task of protecting Eleanor from his growing lust was like Hercules’s twelve labors rolled into one.

William Marshal recruited an army of about 250, and along with England’s other nobles gathered at Portsmouth. Henry put too much faith and money in the hands of his new relatives. When Hubert de Burgh, who was supposed to be in charge, saw the fiasco too many chiefs was creating, he complained bitterly but was always overruled. The treasury was depleted before enough vessels were provisioned, and the Bishop of Winchester was at Henry’s elbow the day some of the casks were accidentally broken open. Instead of holding weapons and supplies they were filled with stones and sand.

Henry rushed at Hubert calling him an old traitor, and William Marshal had to stand between them until tempers cooled. Marshal and de Burgh knew in their bones the venture against France would fail. They lacked men, ships, arms, money, and most of all the will to fight, but it had now become dangerous to oppose the king and the powerful Provençals.

Henry’s army went ashore in Gascony, the safe southwest corner of France that still belonged to England. Simon de Montfort, who had helped the Count of Brittany take back his country from the French, immediately joined King Henry and put forth strategic battle plans. Henry ignored his advice. He was willing to let de Montfort risk his life and men on the front lines, but he would not commit his entire army in a concerted effort.