The Lords of Arden (41 page)

 ‘Isobel,’ Henry sounded exasperated, ‘you
have said enough, more than enough!’

 Then Richard strode forward, fair hair silvered
in the wintry sunlight which streamed in from the window, face ruddy. ‘My Lord,
I have been issued with a challenge and must answer it; it touches a lady’s
virtue. I swear to it that there is nothing between the lady and myself that
would dishonour our ties of kinship but I cannot let it stand there. I will
meet with my accuser where and when he dictates with the weapon of his choice,
so it please you, My Lord.’ He sketched Derby a graceful bow.

 ‘It does not please me. None of this
pleases me. It would give me greater pleasure to knock both of your heads
together but that, I fear, would not mend what is between you. Richard, if John
withdraws this unworthy challenge will that suffice?’

 ‘No, My Lord, he has not only impugned my
honour but that of his lady. I cannot set his challenge aside.’

 ‘John?’

 John inclined his head. ‘My challenge and
my accusations stand.’

 ‘Johanna, my dear, have you anything you
would like to say? This quarrel touches you most nearly.’

 Johanna spread her hands impatiently.
‘Oh, let them have it out, My Lord. Look at them, spoiling for a fight! I am
guardian of my own honour and it has not been compromised. But Richard has an
old score to settle with my husband, for a life all but lost. Oh, I know he has
never sought revenge, it has not been his way, but beneath the surface it must
rankle. As to my husband – he owes his continued existence to his brother. Without
Richard, I hear, he would have had his neck stretched for him on the gallows. It
is hard to owe your life to a man you despise. So, My Lord, let them be at each
other. I care not!’ She turned from them all and moved to the window, gazing
down at the sun-dappled countryside, the debateable lands of France.

 ‘So be it,’ said Derby. ‘This afternoon
you shall meet each other in fair contest; until then I’ll have your swords.’ He
waited until they had both unbuckled their belts and laid them upon the table
before him. ‘I will return these after this dispute is settled.’

 ‘After?’ queried Richard. ‘I don’t
understand.’

 Derby said, ‘Richard’s weapon is not the
sword. Oh, he is coming along very well but cannot expect to match John’s
proficiency. The bow is Richard’s weapon but would John care to match him at
the butts?’

 ‘My Lord, you mock me!’ John flashed
angrily. ‘The bow is not a gentleman’s weapon!’

 ‘Therefore,’ said Harry, ‘we must seek
common ground. You will wrestle and we shall go for three falls. That seems a
fair enough compromise.’

 ‘Wrestle,’ said John, ‘like a common man
at a fair ground?’

 ‘Oh, you are too nice, John. I have no
time to go through the whole gamut of prospective weapons. I have made my
decision. This afternoon, in the main courtyard; I expect to see you both there
otherwise the absentee will lose by default. Now, Richard, attend the ladies. I
believe John has papers from My Lord of Warwick. Bring them through to my
closet.’ He swept out and flung himself into his chair. Wordlessly, John handed
him the missives he had ridden south to deliver.

 ‘Is there anything of urgency I need to
deal with this instant?’ Derby ran his eyes over the rolled document.

 ‘No, My Lord, I wouldn’t say so.’

 ‘Then I’ll deal with them later. Now, let
me look at you. Has it really been so long?’

 ‘Near seven years, My Lord.’

 Derby said, ‘If you had been in my
service still you would not have come to this rift with your father. Perhaps I
was too cavalier in casting you off. I might perhaps have saved you from
yourself.’

 ‘Did I need saving? I wanted teaching a
lesson.’ John smiled then for the first time since his dramatic arrival. The
pretty boy of his childhood had gone, banished forever by the shadow of the
noose, but he still had effortless charm when he chose to use it.

 ‘You were missed. You would have been
re-instated had anyone asked…’

 ‘But now you have Richard, my nemesis. Richard
was born a street Arab; I’ve never fought without a weapon in my hand but then,
you know that. Now, if you will excuse me, My Lord?’

 ‘Until this afternoon, John. And let it
be an end to whatever is between you. We have a common enemy in France that should unite us all.’

~o0o~

Johanna found Richard de Montfort in the
closet attached to Derby’s bedchamber. He was industriously polishing the
buckle of an elaborately enamelled belt.

 ‘Jeanette! Girl, you shouldn’t be here. John
will eviscerate me.’ But he gave her a rueful grin.

 Checking over her shoulders she pulled
the arras across behind her and sat down on a carved bed chest. ‘About this
afternoon, Richard; I’ve just come to wish you luck. You’ll beat him, of
course.’

 ‘Then its John who needs your prayers –
sister.’

 ‘I came because I also have a favour to
ask.’

 ‘Oh?’

 ‘About this afternoon.’

 ‘Yes?’

 ‘John – my husband – I’d rather you
didn’t mark his face. He has rather a nice face, don’t you think?’

 Richard laughed. ‘I’ll do my best – but
if he’s a dirty fighter, he’ll get short shrift.’

 ‘And if,’ Johanna was not looking at him,
she was pleating the velvet of her skirt, ‘if you could see your way to
ensuring you don’t do any damage – well, you know where I’m thinking about… Oh,
don’t laugh at me, Richard. You know what I’m trying to say!’

 ‘No low punches where it will do harm to
future generations of Montforts?’ he hazarded.

 ‘Yes. No! I wasn’t thinking that far
ahead.’

 ‘Ah,’ said Richard, ‘just as far as
tonight perhaps? You are a little schemer. He doesn’t deserve you. But go now,
please!’

 She wriggled down from the bed chest,
kissed him chastely and slipped out again the way she had come.

~o0o~

The sun was long past his noon zenith but
in the courtyard they were sheltered from the winter winds. A sizeable area had
been marked out with flags and Henry of Derby set himself to preside from the
top of a wooden mounting block. There were various household officials and a
number of squires and pages clustered about the improvised ring but the ladies,
Isobel and Johanna, out of feminine modesty, were forced to watch from an upper
window. Such sports were not deemed acceptable viewing for the fair sex.

 Johanna looked mutinous. ‘He is my
husband, madam, should I not lend him my support?’

 Isobel patted her hand. ‘We shall do well
enough here. Your task is to offer succour later, should he need it. If Dickie
is as good as Harry thinks he may be then you might find yourself
indispensable. I hope you’re not too squeamish; the techniques are quite
ruthless.’

 Johanna shot her a dismayed glance. Then
the two protagonists appeared, stripped to their hose. They matched each other
now, height for height, Richard fair and gilded after a summer in France, John,
auburn hair ablaze in the sunlight, skin translucent as fine ivory; of the two
he was the slighter in build, belying his swordsman’s muscular strength.

 Harry said, ‘You’ll give each other your
hands before we begin and you will not engage until I drop my handkerchief. Three
falls will signify victory and that will finish it and therefore end your
enmity. Is that clear?’

 They both nodded. Richard held out his
hand and they shook briefly. He gave his brother a quizzical smile. John’s only
answer was a slight raising of his eyebrows. Harry loosed his scarlet kerchief
and they circled each other.

 John had the impetus, the desire to win,
to prove mastery over this tiresome young brother who had succeeded, if unwittingly,
in tearing his own life apart. Richard, one time leader of the Bishopsgate
apprentices, was well-used to sticking up for himself and had the technique
John lacked.

 John brought up his right hand to grab
Richard by the throat but was countered by a powerful chop inside his elbow
from Richard’s right hand, followed by a swift kneeing in the groin and an arm
bar which almost had him down.

 There was no room here for the sleight of
hand, the quick responses of the swordsman. John was outclassed and had the
sense to know it. He managed to break a rib-crushing bear hug using the heel of
his palm against Richard’s face but his brother claimed the first fall,
flinging him over onto his back after a powerful arm-lock and all but knocking
the breath out of him.

 ‘Your husband,’ said Isobel, ‘doesn’t
stand a chance. I don’t know why Harry suggested anything so barbaric!’

 The second fall followed after a
back-breaking knee drop and Richard had to stand back to allow his brother to
gather his wits. Harry was on his feet.

 ‘Two falls. John, will you end it there?’

 The world was spinning but John managed
to shake his head. ‘Three, you said. Let him try for another if he can.’ They
were foolhardy words for he was no longer in a state to inflict much damage on
his sibling and Richard, glancing upwards and mindful that the object of the
whole exercise had been protecting Johanna’s honour, finished with his most
spectacular move yet. Getting his brother’s right arm over his shoulder he used
the ‘flying mare’ to throw him to the ground from shoulder height.

 He did not need Harry Derby to signify by
a frantic waving of the handkerchief that it was finished. He stood back,
breathing hard, dusty, oiled with perspiration but wearing his victor’s laurels
in the smile of satisfaction which wreathed his face. He looked up to Johanna
at her window and gave her a sweeping bow then he turned to his brother who was
too groggy and sick to rise unaided, stooped down and gave him his arm.

 ‘I’m sorry,’ said Richard, ‘that wasn’t
fair.’

 ‘No,’ said John, ‘but you must have
enjoyed it enormously.’

 Harry was striding over. ‘Well done,
Richard. John, you can give him a return bout with the sword another time when
there’s less at stake than your lady’s virtue. Now, are you reconciled? Let’s
go indoors and drink to brotherhood! We’ve all earned it.’

~o0o~

Johanna had a small chamber in one of the
surviving turrets, near enough to be on call should Isobel Derby require her
services; there was no question but her husband should share it with her. After
the bout with Richard he had retired early, leaving his wife to sup with the
Earl and Countess but Johanna had excused herself as soon as politic. Isobel
had caught at her sleeve as she made to leave the solar.

 ‘Sweet dreams, my dear.’

 It was chilly in the tower room and pitch
dark. The shutters were closed against the winter’s night, blotting out the
stars. Johanna arrived with a little page who slotted two torches into sconces,
lighting up the small space quite adequately. She sent the boy off to bed and
closed the door firmly.

 John lay under the fur coverlet,
invisible save for the auburn hair. For a moment Johanna remembered her wedding
morning and panic took hold but she fought it down and took two steps to the
bed.

 ‘Husband, I am here as a wife should be,
to minister to your needs.’ She yanked back the bed covers. ‘Merciful heaven,
what has he done to you?’

 ‘It’s only bruises, they’ll fade,’
murmured John into his arms. ‘I need nothing, madam, you may go.’

 Johanna replaced the covers. ‘You are in
my bed, remember?’

 ‘Do you want me to move elsewhere?’

 ‘Why should I? There is room for two.’ She
began to divest herself of the blue velvet gown and, struggling with the
lacing, stripped off her kirtle. The long fair plaits which had been coiled
into a jewelled crespine came down and she deftly unbraided them until her hair
covered her shoulders in a shimmering, golden mantle. John, she was aware, was
watching her covertly from the pillow of his arms. Down to her shift she
climbed into bed beside him and pulled the coverlet decorously over them both.

 John said, ‘You can’t sleep in your
shift.’

 From beneath the golden cloud Johanna
said, ‘it serves to cloak my maiden modesty.’

 ‘Take it off!’

 ‘Is that an order?’

 ‘Yes, I suppose it is. There’s something
I have to ask you.’

 Johanna was sitting up, dragging her
shift over her head, exposing beautifully rounded breasts, perfectly tipped
with rose-brown nipples. John swallowed hard.

 Johanna sat, mermaid like, amongst the
fur-lined covers. ‘You had something to ask of me?’

 ‘Perhaps - it doesn’t matter.’

 ‘Oh, ask away, sir, I should have no
secrets from my husband.’

 Wincing, John raised himself upon one
elbow. ‘You and Richard, did you?’

 ‘No, we didn’t. I thought I was married
to you.’

 ‘And Windsor, and Westminster? You were
with the Court. Did you…?’