ASilverMirror (43 page)

Over the course of their conversations, her guilt about
being eager to leave England and its troubles behind her abated. She put
together the “Joanna says” with the fact that her father was pleased to see her
but did not, as he often had in the past when she had been at court, complain
that he had missed her. Although she did have to suppress a twinge of jealousy,
she was truly glad to learn that he was not pining with loneliness. Discreet
questions elicited the information that he had spent much of his time with his
heir, young Roger. And Joanna, softened by his obvious fondness for Hugh’s
eldest son, gave him as much female company as he desired. Despite feeling just
a bit left out, Barbara was greatly relieved to know that her departure for
France would not leave her father alone and sad.

Leicester himself appeared in London the next day,
accompanied—unfortunately, for Barbara and Alphonse—by young Simon and Guy. She
avoided the court—which was no sacrifice, because none of her special friends
had come—but one day, by sheer bad luck, was accosted by the brothers right
outside her father’s lodging. No harm was done, little more than salacious
teasing on Guy’s part and insults on Barbara’s passed between them. Then
Norfolk, hearing their voices, came to the window, saw Guy reaching for
Barbara’s rein, and her whip hand rising. He roared with anger, and the
brothers departed with more haste than dignity.

Barbara was not afraid for herself, but she realized the
situation could easily become dangerous. She managed to prevent her father from
pursuing Guy and Simon, but she was not sure that good sense would prevail if
Norfolk should see her insulted again or, worse, if Guy should attempt physical
persuasion where her father could see him. The incident left her badly shaken,
and she made the mistake of flying into her husband’s arms and pouring out the
story as soon as she returned to Gloucester’s house, without noticing that
Gilbert had entered the hall soon after she did.

Naturally Alphonse and Gilbert wanted to rush out
immediately, find the brothers, and bring them crawling to kiss Barbara’s feet
as they begged her pardon. Only by bursting into tears—an event so unusual for
her that both men were shocked into agreeing to do anything she wanted if she
would only stop—was she able to get them to listen. Even then, it took
considerable time for her to make them agree that the simplest solution would
be for her and Alphonse to go away.

“It is ridiculous to have a confrontation with Leicester
over what his foolish sons probably think no more than a merry prank. I do not
like it. You do not like it. But Simon and Guy hardly realize they have done
wrong.”

“Then they should be taught,” Gloucester said.

“Someday,” Barbara pleaded, “but not now, just when a
parliament is called. Do you think Guy or Simon will admit what they have done?
Will they not claim that you and my father seek some political end by missaying
them? And may not their indulgent father believe them—not because he wishes to
believe ill of you, Gilbert, but because he cannot bear to believe ill of his darlings?”

“Perhaps Gilbert should not involve himself,” Alphonse
conceded, “but I am your husband. I do not like to look like a fool or a
craven, which is what I will look like if I run away.”

“Look like to whom?” Barbara snapped. “Who will ever hear of
this if we ourselves do not spread the tale abroad? Do you think Guy or Simon
will admit they insulted me in front of my father’s door and ran away like
frightened children when he shouted at them? And how can anything you do fail
to involve Gilbert? Are you not a guest in his house—”

“Yes,” Gloucester put in. “You have said it yourself, Barby.
I am already involved, so there is no sense trying to keep me out. I—”

Barbara put her hands to her head, and Alphonse took her
into his arms, burying her face against his chest and saying hastily, “No love,
no. You are quite right.”

Meanwhile, he winked over Barbara’s head at Gloucester, who
said grudgingly, “Oh, very well. Tomorrow I will send someone to inquire about
a ship.”

Gloucester clearly expected that Alphonse would talk her out
of her intention, but in fact he did not try. He knew it was wrong to force
Barbara into a situation in which she must constantly fear being a cause of
conflict, but he resented violently not being allowed to teach a lesson to
those two spoiled cockscombs. Moreover, he was eaten with curiosity about
whether the poor response to Leicester’s summons to parliament was owing to the
bad weather or to some deeper reservation in the barons of the realm that
portended ill for Leicester’s hold on England.

Thus nothing more was said about the subject of leaving
England. Gloucester went out soon after he agreed to find a ship to take them
to France, and the next day Norfolk came to tell Barbara he was going home. He
said it was plain that no valid decisions about Prince Edward or anything else
could be made, since only Leicester’s closest allies had responded to the
summons. He had more important things to do, he told Gloucester, and better
ways to spend his money than idling away his time in London.

When Norfolk was gone, Alphonse realized that whatever was
to happen in England could not take place soon. Meanwhile, he could not force a
confrontation with Simon and Guy without causing trouble for Gloucester, and
unless he did that, Barbe could not walk the streets or visit a friend without
fear. So he sought out Gloucester and told him that he now thought he and Barbe
should
go. And when Gloucester protested, he pointed out Barbe’s
situation. Gloucester opened his mouth to say something else, but flushed and
clamped his jaw. Then he shrugged and nodded and went down to the lower floor
where his men-at-arms were quartered. Alphonse was disturbed by his young
friend’s expression, but when Gloucester came up, he seemed to have cast off
his worries.

Any doubts Alphonse might have had about whether to stay in
England to stand by Gloucester in any trouble were put to rest on Saturday,
January 24, when a messenger from the king’s court delivered an order bidding
him to leave the country within a week. Because he had already decided to go,
he told no one about the order and swallowed his outrage until Monday, when
Gloucester came in with a sheet of parchment in his hand and a grin from ear to
ear on his face.

“You and Barbara cannot go away to France,” Gloucester said.
“Barby is forbidden to leave the country.”

“What!” Alphonse exclaimed. “That is impossible!”

Gloucester shrugged and handed over the parchment, and
Alphonse read aloud from the list of those prohibited from taking ship at any
port, “‘Barbara, the natural daughter of our beloved Roger Bigod, Earl of
Norfolk—for that she would be at risk of falling into enemy hands—is forbidden
to travel abroad’.“

“But an order expelling me as a foreigner with ‘no known
purpose in the country’ came on Saturday,” Alphonse protested.

“Expelling you?” Gloucester repeated and then burst out
laughing. “Those puling cowards!”

“What puling cowards? What are you talking about?”

“I am talking about Simon and Guy. They are the only ones
who have any reason to be rid of you. They must be at the bottom of the order
expelling you, from whomever it comes. Why did you not tell me?”

Alphonse’s lips hardened with anger. “I guessed it might be
their doing, through some complaint to their father. Why I did not tell you is
simple enough. It seemed foolish to cause more bad feeling when you had already
sent your man to see about a ship.” He paused, then added softly, “But I will
not leave England without Barbe. Not if I have to—”

Gloucester took a deep breath, as if a weight had fallen off
his shoulders. “Of course you will not go without Barby. As of today you have a
purpose in this country. You are a member of my household, and you are the
marshal entrusted with the arrangements for my party in the tourney to be held
at Dunstable on Shrove Tuesday.”

The rage disappeared from Alphonse’s face, and he began to
laugh. “So that is why Simon and Guy wanted me gone now, without delay. They
did not wish me to fight in your tourney. Am I right?”

Gloucester nodded. “Oh, yes, you are quite right. Simon and
Guy de Montfort will lead the party opposed to mine in the tourney.”

A grin as broad as Gloucester’s split Alphonse’s face. “If
you have challenged them, Barbe will flay us both,” he said.

“It was not a challenge,” Gloucester stated, his blue eyes
as wide and innocent as a baby’s. “It was a mutual agreement.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Barbara was very angry when she heard that she had been
prohibited from leaving England while Alphonse was to be expelled. She was so
angry, she was almost as enthusiastic about the tournament as Gloucester and
her husband. Her fear that Alphonse might be injured in the fighting was, in
this case, overmastered by her knowledge of his skill. She herself had seen Guy
fleeing him down the road, and she was certain Alphonse had spoken the exact
truth, or less than the truth, when he said he had dropped Simon on his head in
a practice encounter at Kenilworth.

Nor was Barbara much worried about the political
repercussions of Gloucester making Alphonse a member of his household to circumvent
the order to leave the country. Like Gloucester and Alphonse she had concluded
that the two orders had not come from Leicester, although he might have set his
seal on them. She did not mention her thoughts aloud, lest the men think her
vain, but she was convinced the orders had somehow been arranged by Guy so that
she would be left open to his advances. Not that she believed Guy had the
smallest sexual desire for her any longer. By now his only purpose was to
humiliate her and Alphonse.

At first she could hardly wait to see Alphonse and Gilbert
beat Simon and Guy to bleeding hulks. She stopped hiding in the house and went
out, even to court, although never alone. With Gloucester or Alphonse beside
her, she looked calmly down her handsome nose or lifted her lip in a sneer if
either of the brothers approached, knowing she was giving as much pleasure to
her male escorts as she was herself taking. After the first few meetings,
however, she grew a trifle uneasy because she detected a kind of gleeful
satisfaction under Guy’s fury. On February 2, she discovered the basis for that
glee. Four men-at-arms came to Gloucester’s house to arrest “Alphonse d’Aix, a
foreigner who had overstayed his time in England”.

They never got inside the house, of course. Gloucester’s
men, who had been warned this might happen, laughed in the captain’s face, and
Gilbert’s master-at-arms brought out an impressive document, written boldly on
a large sheet of parchment and sealed heavily with Gloucester’s personal seal
and the great seal of England, which stated that Sieur Alphonse d’Aix was a
servant of the Earl of Gloucester and had the right to remain in England and
travel throughout the realm freely on his master’s business and his own for a
year and a day. The parchment was handed over, it being only one copy of many,
to be passed upward to whoever had ordered Alphonse forcibly deported. Another
copy, Gloucester’s master-at-arms informed the surprised captain of the
arresting officers, was in Sieur Alphonse’s possession, and still others were
deposited in secure places to be ready in case of complaint.

When the attempted arrest was reported to Alphonse and
Gilbert, they nodded wisely at each other and began to discuss what Simon and
Guy would try next to ensure their victory at Dunstable. That was when Barbara
began to have second thoughts. She realized that, unless Alphonse and Gilbert
killed them, the result of the tourney would have little effect beyond
increasing the Montforts’ hatred. Far from ending their efforts to get their revenge,
defeat would only make those efforts more furtive. Thus, it was almost a relief
to her when, two days later, Gilbert received an invitation to speak to
Leicester.

“I wonder who was cozened—or bribed—to complain to Leicester
that you did not obey the order to leave,” Gloucester said to Alphonse after he
told Leicester’s messenger that he would come and sent him back to his master.
“Or do you think the complaint will be that I have taken a foreigner into my
household?”

“I will come with you, if I may,” Alphonse said mildly. “You
will be able to defend your right to choose your servants, of course, but I
would like very much to speak for myself on the subject of the attempt to
separate me from my wife.”

“I want to come, too,” Barbara said. “I want to make very
dear that I approve the separation no more than does my husband.”

Gloucester looked from one to the other and smiled. “I do
not need protection,” he said, but his expression was grateful.

“I will be no protection to you,” Alphonse remarked dryly.
“To speak the truth, what I have to say may grate most unpleasantly.”

“That is exactly what I am afraid of,” Barbara interrupted
sharply. “You are both going to stalk into that audience like dogs with your
hackles up. I like what was done no better than either of you, but I am not so
blind with bad temper. Remember that Leicester himself may be quite innocent.
Who knows what tale has been told him? I think it is time that I complained of
Guy’s persecution.”

Both men, who had started to protest during Barbara’s first
few words, reconsidered. Gloucester, who did feel uneasy about confronting
Leicester for taking Alphonse into his service after a writ against him had
been issued, was aware that Barbara’s argument would deflect any blame from
him—whether Leicester believed her or not. Alphonse felt a spurt of pleasure in
her willingness to back him in any argument and, particularly, in her
willingness to speak aloud her affection for him. Plenty of wives would be
overjoyed if their husbands were exiled. Barbara hoped that her complaint
against Guy would induce Leicester to revoke the prohibition against traveling
so that she and Alphonse could leave England, which would eliminate any chance
for future mischief by his sons.

They were all so certain that Leicester intended to
reprimand Gloucester for shielding Alphonse that they were considerably
surprised when he merely acknowledged Alphonse’s and Barbara’s presence with
courteous nods. Peter de Montfort, who was standing with his cousin, also
smiled at them. Barbara and Alphonse glanced at each other behind Gloucester’s
back. The looks questioned without words whether it was possible that Leicester
had not even known of the orders concerning them.

“I asked you to come, Gilbert,” Leicester said, pleasantly
but with a kind of authority that implied Gloucester could not have refused,
“because I thought it only right to tell you in person that the king has
forbidden any tourney to be held at this time.”

“But this is the best time of year for a tourney,”
Gloucester protested, so bewildered by the unexpected tack that he answered the
literal words rather than the meaning. “The crops are all harvested, there is
yet no young growth in the fields to be trampled, everyone is idle and looking
for entertainment…”

“Yes, yes,” Leicester said as Gloucester faltered to
silence. He sounded impatient, like an adult explaining something obvious to a
child. “But do you not see that the gathering of a large crowd of idle armed
men is the last thing we want when we are negotiating for the prince’s release?
I cannot permit it.”

“
You
cannot permit it?” Gloucester’s voice rose until
it cracked.

“Now—” Leicester began.

“I thought you said the
king
had forbidden it,”
Gloucester interrupted, his voice lower now and steady.

“Do not act like a spoiled child, Gilbert,” Leicester said.
“You may have your amusement another time—”

“The king has a right to command me.” Gloucester’s face was
now as red as his hair, but an unfortunately ugly clashing shade. “You, my
lord, have not. I never heard or agreed that one of us was to be set above the
other. I have deferred to you in the past because I felt you to be wise and
impartial. No armed men under my command will prevent Edward’s release. I will
have what you call ‘my amusement’ on Shrove Tuesday, the date set by agreement
with your sons, and I will cry craven on any man party to that agreement who
does not come.”

“My sons will have no part of this tourney because that is
my order and because they have more care for the peace and good management of
this realm than you.” This time it was Leicester’s voice that was rough and
angry.

Gilbert laughed harshly, his mouth ugly with tension. “If
you believe that, you are the only man in the realm who does. I will be at
Dunstable on Shrove Tuesday—”

“You will obey my order!” Leicester bellowed.

“Simon!” Peter de Montfort protested, coming forward and
gripping Leicester’s arm.

Simultaneously, Alphonse had come closer and said in
Gloucester’s ear, “A good jouster does not lose his temper. Anger leads only to
a fall. Turn your back on him and walk away. He will look a helpless fool
yelling after you.”

As he spoke, Alphonse gripped Gloucester’s shoulder and
tugged at it lightly. The young earl resisted for a moment, but on the last few
words he turned smartly about and marched down the hall toward the door.

Behind him Leicester shouted, “I warn you that you and any
man who comes with you and disobeys the writ will be cast into a place where
you will enjoy neither sun nor moon—”

Barbara, who had been following close on the heels of her
menfolk, looked back as Leicester’s voice stopped abruptly. She saw him drop
his head as if ashamed and shake it when Peter de Montfort asked a question.
The tightness in her throat and chest eased a trifle. She was not certain
whether Peter had asked if he should go after Gloucester to apologize or if he
should order them taken prisoner, but clearly Leicester had decided no action
should be taken.

Then she hurried on again, fearing to be left behind because
Alphonse did not dare remove his attention from Gloucester to look for her.
They found their horses in the courtyard, saddled as they had left them, ready
for trouble—although they had not guessed the kind of trouble they would
find—with Chacier and Gloucester’s master-at-arms alert at their heads. Without
exchanging a word they mounted and rode out of the gate, through the middle
bailey, and over the drawbridge across the moat.

Only when they were on the road that led to Candlewick
Street did Gloucester say, “I never knew what cowards Guy and Simon were. I was
not surprised when they tried to strip my party of you, Alphonse. I was sure
they thought that having you gave me an unfair advantage.” He smiled. “I was a
little worried about that myself, and wondered if I should ask you not to take
part in the melee.” Then he frowned again. “But to run whining to hide under
their father’s gown to save themselves a few bruises…I would not have believed
that.”

“Nor should you,” Alphonse said. “Do not confuse vanity with
fear. It is their pride that is tender, not their flesh. I think Guy and Simon
would fight to the death without quailing or turning tail—but a tourney is not
to the death, and they would have to live with the sneers over their defeat.
Their fear of being laughed at, not any fear of being hurt, was the cause of
telling Leicester.”

Barbara was grateful to Alphonse for trying to quiet and
warn Gloucester, who was still very angry at having his chance of revenge on
the young Montforts for many petty slights snatched away. If Alphonse had not
helped Peter de Montfort cut short the quarrel with Leicester, such bitter
words could have been said as to throw Gloucester into the Royalist camp with
no more ado. But if both men had lost their tempers enough to utter threats,
Leicester could have had them all arrested right then.

Gloucester’s high complexion still flew storm signals, and
Alphonse was urging him to save the rest of what he had to say. Once on
Candlewick Street, with its shop counters protruding into the road and crowds
of buyers, hawkers, and walkers, they had to ride single file and would have
needed to shout at each other to be heard.

Barbara followed, thinking hard. She did not underestimate
her husband or believe he wanted a true reconciliation between the two earls.
Alphonse wanted to find for Gloucester a safer and less violent path to the
prince’s party than an open quarrel with Leicester. She was shocked to discover
the thought gave her a strong sense of satisfaction. That would never do. If
Gloucester changed sides, active war would break out. She did not want that.
She had better suggest that the blame for canceling the tourney did not lie
altogether on the shoulders of the Montforts.

As soon as they had reached Gilbert’s house and were in the
large hall, before Alphonse or Gloucester could speak, Barbara asked, “Why are
you so sure Simon or Guy told Leicester to stop the tourney?”

Both men turned faces blank with surprise to her,
Gloucester’s hand arrested in the act of pulling out his cloak pin.

“You did not make any secret of the tourney,” she went on.
“And anyone with a flicker of sense could see there would be trouble when armed
men with grudges met. More than one must have told Leicester it was dangerous
to allow a tourney at this time. Likely the fault was mostly mine for coming to
court apurpose to tempt Simon and Guy into immoderate behavior while clinging
to you for protection.” This time Barbara shook her head to silence loud
exclamations of protest and continued, “What I did made the bad feeling between
you apparent to all. I do not love either Guy or Simon de Montfort, but I know
they are not cowards—except in one thing.”

“And that?” Gloucester asked, his head cocked to the side as
he finished pulling the pin from his cloak.

“They are terrified of their father’s disapproval, not because
they fear to be punished but because they are aware of his love—and aware they
are unworthy.”

Gloucester looked as though he had had a heavenly
revelation, but he did not speak at once. He gestured for Barbara and Alphonse
to come with him nearer the fire, swinging off his cloak and handing it blindly
behind him. A servant caught it as he opened his hand.

“It fits,” he muttered, “and it explains many things.”

Barbara had pulled off her gloves and passed them to
Clotilde, who had come running up. She rubbed her hands briskly together and
held them out to the heat as the maid removed her cloak, but her eyes flicked
from Gloucester’s thoughtful face to Alphonse’s. They stood in a small
semicircle, Gloucester by his great chair, which had been placed before the
high-leaping fire, Barbara beside the bench to the right of the chair, and
Alphonse between them. Barbara noted that her husband wore his “court face”,
his lips faintly curved in the hint of a smile, the whole expression alert and
pleasant but totally unreadable.