The Marriage Prize (53 page)

Simon's severed head. "Hold!" Edward commanded. "Stand

back on penalty of death!"

Mortimer realized he had aroused the wrath of the

Plantagenet who would now rule England. "My lord, they thirst

for vengeance," he explained.

"I wil never condone barbarity! Rodger, see that the great

warlord's body is col ected and prepared for burial. We wil

take him ourselves to Evesham Abbey and see that his bones

are decently laid to rest."

Bassingbourne rode up to Edward to make his report. "My

lord, of the one hundred and sixty barons and knights who

stood with Simon de Montfort, only twelve are alive."

Edward crossed himself. "May God's grace have mercy on

their souls. There wil be no more blood spil ed over what

happened today at Evesham; no prisoner wil be executed

—let it be known that I stand for moderation and leniency."

******************

able to hear the battle had it not been for the terrible

thunderstorm that rattled the windows and sent the maids

scurrying into cubbyholes. Pershore also got the pelting rain

that missed Evesham, keeping everyone indoors. Rosamond,

who knew Rodger would soon be riding into battle, immersed

herself in bringing her herbal remedy book up to date. It was

the only thing she could think of that would prevent her

imagination from running wild. It suddenly occurred to her that

she soon might have to put these remedies to use.

She cal ed together al the women of the castle and set them

tasks. She sent the laundry maids to tear up sheets for

bandages, then took the dairymaids into the stil room and

showed them how to grind dried roots, bark, and seeds into

powder with pesde and mortar. Certain plants were used to

kil pain; others, when mixed into ointments, took

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the sting from wounds and al owed them to heal. In the kitchen,

they boiled animal fat, beeswax, and yarrow, then poured it

into pots to cool into a salve that eased pain, lessened

bleeding, and cured inflammation. Then Rosamond cal ed the

sewing women together to thread al the needles they could

find.

The fol owing day, the guards who patrol ed Pershore's

battlements sent an urgent message below to their lady, that

Sir Rodger and a horde of mounted men, including one who

was large enough to be Lord Edward himself, were less than

a mile away.

Rosamond had just changed her gown and washed the yel ow

yarrow stains from her hands. She took up a snood set with

turquoise to match her gown, then thought better of it,

remembering the one she had lost on her wild ride to

Worcester. Instead, she tossed her hair back over her

shoulders, hoisted her skirts, and began to run. She went

through the bailey, ignored the road, and cut across a

meadow dotted with stacks of new-mown hay. "Rodger!

Rodger!" she cried, unmindful of anyone but her beloved

husband.

With his right arm, Rodger hoisted her up before him in the

saddle, his green eyes devouring her exquisite beauty.

Already breathless from running, she now panted from the

close proximity of her dark warrior. She searched his face. "Is

it over?"

"Aye, the past is over and done. The future starts today."

As she turned to look at Edward, the sun shone down upon his

golden head and upon the golden lions on the fluttering

pennons. To Rosamond he looked every inch a royal prince.

Rodger was right, it was Edward Plantagenet's birthright to

become the King of England, and he had been determined

that no one would ever take it from him. As she gazed at him

she clearly saw his invincibility. He would be their king, and in

her heart she believed he would achieve greatness, both for

himself and for his people.

Edward grinned at them. "Rod de Leyburn, you are a lucky

man!"

"Where are your wounded?" Rosamond asked. "Pershore is

in readiness to tend injuries and offer what succor we can,

Lord Edward."

"We are extremely fortunate to have the monks at Evesham

Abbey tending those most grievously wounded, but our

knights have plenty of

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broken bones and superficial wounds that you can minister to.

Our greatest need is food, and in a weak moment your

husband offered to provide it. Our destriers wil make short

work of yonder hay too."

"As royal steward, it is my responsibility. Fortunately,

Pershore's farms are grazing abundant herds of cattle."

The moment they arrived at the bailey, Rod was out of the

saddle, organizing the men about him and issuing orders. The

grooms were put in charge of taking the horses out to pasture,

the men-at-arms who had not already bathed were sent to the

river, and Master Hutton was at his elbow, advising him which

farms had the largest herds. "As soon as I've seen my son,

we'l ride to the farms," Rodger informed Pershore's steward.

Lord Edward dismounted and lifted Rosamond from Stygian.

"At last, I get to see my godson. Let us hope he has his

mother's golden beauty."

"Alas, my lord, he has his father's dark visage." Rosamond

dimpled, revealing just how much that pleased her. She put

Lizzie Hutton in charge of tending the wounded and directed

her to set up an infirmary in the hal . Nan stood by proudly with

the baby in her arms. Rosamond took him and was about to

lay him in his father's arms, when Rodger shook his head in

refusal. "I cannot."

For the first time, Rosamond noticed how stiffly Rodger was

holding his left arm. She thrust the baby back to Nan. "Sit

down," she ordered her husband. "Let's get rid of this bloody chain mail," she said to Edward, who immediately lifted off his

friend's mesh tunic. She examined the arm, her heart in her

mouth. She did not think it was broken, but either the elbow,

shoulder, or col arbone was dislocated; perhaps al three.

"Why the devil didn't you say something?" she scolded.

"It's been numb since the battle; I've not felt much pain."

"Wel , you'l certainly feel pain now," she informed him.

Edward held him immobile while Rosamond manipulated his

arm. The pain was so sharp and sudden, Rod howled like a

hound that had been kicked by a stal ion. Then she lifted his

arm and rotated his shoulder. Again he cried out, but

miraculously the arm was restored to its normal state, except

for an ache deep in the bones.

"Where did you learn that gentle touch?" Rod asked with irony.

"I learned it from the nuns," she said, laughing.

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Notoriously cruel bitches!" Edward laughed irreverently.

"Rosamond wil soon wipe the smile from your face when she

stitches the ragged gash on your arm," Rod said with

satisfaction.

" 'Tis merely a scratch, it doesn't need stitching," he protested.

"Off with your bloody chain mail, my lord; you don't want to

repulse Princess Eleanora with ugly battle scars, do you? I'l

get my needles, and you can go and find yourself a

comfortable seat outside where the light is better."

Rosamond emerged into the bailey carrying a goblet of

brandy-wine she had laced with rue. She was in time to see

Rodger and her steward leave for the farms. "Master Hutton,

be sure you get a good price from Sir Rodger for our beef.

The crown is paying for it, and I warrant now that Lord Edward

is in charge of the realm, he wil soon have the royal coffers

overflowing."

Edward, who was sitting on a hay cart, threw back his head

and laughed heartily. He took the goblet Rosamond handed

him and drained it. "Ah, it feels so good to sit in the sunshine

and laugh, and be tended by such a beautiful, capable

chatelaine. You know, Rosamond, Rodger is—"

"I know, I know"—the corners of her mouth lifted—"Rodger is a lucky man!" She took a needle from the pocket of her

smock.

Edward suddenly became serious. "No, Rosamond, I wasn't

going to say that at al . My dear, you are the lucky one. Once

Rodger de Ley-burn gives you his pledge, nothing on earth wil

make him break it; he is pledged for life. He has been with me

from the very beginning, since I was a wild, irresponsible boy. I

know I sometimes do things that make his gorge rise, but his

steadfast loyalty and his belief in me have never wavered. I

truly could not have done it without him."

Rosamond gazed at him and listened with rapt attention as

the prince revealed his innermost feelings, and she realized

the rue was loosening his tongue.

"When we were youths, he was the only one who came close

to matching my strength. But Rod had an inner strength too,

and I thank God that I have at last acquired it. Our friendship is

precious to me. There is no deception, no falsehood between

us, only total honesty and truth ... and now I must share a truth

with you, Rosamond."

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Their eyes met and held as he made his confession. "Your

brother, Giles, died by my hand at Ware. It was an accident, of

course, a bloody careless accident on my part!" His blue eyes

darkened as he remembered that terrible time. "I was already

in serious trouble—I had a violent argument with another youth

which came to blows, and to my horror I realized I kil ed him

with my bare hands. The boy was a commoner; I breached the

laws of chivalry even to chal enge him, and his death brought

shame upon the royal name of Plantagenet."

Rosamond licked her suddenly dry lips as she realized

Edward was tel ing her the absolute truth.

"At the joust, when I saw another had died by my hand within a

month, I went to pieces. That Giles was my friend and

companion made it al the more devastating. Rodger stepped

in immediately to take the blame and shoulder the

consequences, whatever they might be. No boy or man ever

had a more faithful or devoted friend."

Tears flooded Rosamond's eyes, and she swal owed the lump

in her throat as she slipped her hand into Edward's. "Thank

you for tel ing me the truth, my lord, but I beg that you never let

Rodger know you have told me." She saw his brows draw

together in a question, and gave him her reason. "What

Rodger did was so noble and self-sacrificing ... we must never

take that away from him!"

Edward squeezed her hand. "So be it. Can you forgive me?"

Rosamond nodded. "It was an accident; I have final y come to

terms with it."

Edward raised her fingers to his lips. "Rodger is a lucky man."

With neat stitches, Rosamond closed the long, ragged gash

that stretched from the prince's shoulder to his elbow. She

knew he would heal without a lasting scar, and now, so would

she.

"'Promise me you wil both come to Windsor? I cannot

manage without Rodger, and I know my Eleanora wil be much

happier if she has your company and your friendship,

Rosamond."

As Rod had pledged to Edward Plantagenet for life, so she

had pledged to Rodger de Leyburn. "You honor us, my

dearest lord."

A fortnight later, a smal cavalcade arrived at the Abbey of

Evesham. Eleanor de Montfort had asked Lord Edward for

permission to

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visit her husband's grave to say her last goodbye, and her

nephew had granted her request.

Rosamond stood at the back of the abbey with Rodger and

Edward, keeping a silent vigil as the monks led Lady Eleanor,

two of her sons, and her daughter to the place where the

shattered bones of the great warlord had been laid to rest.

Simon de Montfort had been buried beside his eldest son,

Henry, and Rosamond knew that Eleanor's pain must be

unendurable.

Rodger slipped his arm about his wife and bent his head to

whisper, "Simon once told me that you held a special place in

his heart, and he admonished me to take good care of you."

His words touched Rosamond so deeply, she could not reply

for the lump in her throat. Instead, she slipped her hand into

his.

Guy de Montfort, with his wounds bound up tightly, and his

brother Simon stood beside their mother and sister with their

heads bowed. Only Eleanor held her head erect, and the pride

evidenced in her smal figure was so poignant that Rosamond

was moved to tears.

Young Simon, fil ed with grief and remorse for arriving too late

to aid his father, fel to his knees, sobbing for forgiveness. His

mother touched his shoulder. "Get up off your knees, my son.

Never forget that your name is Simon de Montfort."

Twenty-nine

Twenty-nine

Lady Rosamond de Leyburn, holding her baby son in her

arms, stood beside Princess Eleanora in Windsor's

beautiful y arcaded chapel. The priest in his gilt robes stood

beside the carved stone christening font, waiting respectful y

for the gentlemen to take their places. Rosamond swept

Prince Edward, Harry of Almaine, and her husband, Sir

Rodger, with a disdainful look of disapproval for their late

arrival. The men had arisen at dawn to indulge in their second