Lady of Fire (35 page)

"You believe so?" she asked hopefully.

"I know so."

"You can trust my brother Rufus." Henry cleared his throat and spoke from the doorway where he had heard Eleanor's fears. "But there's little he can do—little you would have him do ere a decision is made by the bishops. His intervention may be unnecessary, you know, and if he were to speak up in your behalf just now, it could do more harm than good. You must remember that his own relationship with Holy Church has not always been cordial."

Eleanor stepped back self-consciously and Roger released her. "Have they dismissed for the day?" he wanted to know.

"Aye, and I came to tell you what was said."

"More lies," Eleanor stated flatly.

"Not all of it. After you left, the abbess spoke of Belesme's violence to you at Fontainebleau and told of the bruises he inflicted on you. Unfortunately, she assumes that he forced you."

"And he did not."

"She also told of your stubbornness, Eleanor, and of your steadfast refusal to take your vows to Holy Church. I think that will help show you capable of resisting coercion from Belesme."

"But they will condemn me for being impious."

"That was not the impression she gave," Henry continued. "She spoke of your goodness and of your ability with the sick. She condemned Robert's behavior at Fontainebleau."

Eleanor stared in disbelief. "But she never liked me."

"Well, she likes Belesme less. Her testimony was as favorable as it could be under the circumstances. She told of the bond between you and Roger and of his many visits there."

"And did they listen?" she demanded.

"Not to that," he admitted, "but you have to remember that they consider marriages between the nobility to be matters of policy and they expect a woman to love where she is given."

"Nay, they cannot expect her to love Belesme! God's teeth!" Roger exploded. "Would they give
their
sisters to him?" He turned to the narrow arrow slit that lit the cramped tower room. "We should not have come to this travesty."

"I tried to tell you," the prince reminded him grimly. "But enough of that—Gilbert has arrived here."

Eleanor resumed her restless pacing. "Of what good is that to me?" she asked no one in particular. "My father does not care if I am sent to Belesme! Indeed, he wills it!"

"Well, do not despair too soon," Henry advised, "for you can have your say tomorrow. Rufus overheard the archbishop tell the papal legate that they would hear your father and examine the marriage contract in the morning, and then they would question you in the afternoon."

She came to a halt at the prince's side. "My lord," she asked quietly, "what can I expect from all of this?"

"God willing, Eleanor, you can go home to your husband in peace." Henry avoided meeting her eyes.

"But you do not really think so."

"I do not know," he answered truthfully. "I hope it will be so."

"Sweet Mary, but I'll not go to Belesme—they cannot make me!" she cried out. "I'll take the veil first!"

Roger placed his booted foot in the arrow slit and rested his elbow on his knee. "Nay, Lea—we fled once and we can flee again," he announced matter-of-factly. "I did not win you to lose you."

"You could not do that to your father—not when he welcomed you as his heir," she told him sadly.

"Nay, I loved you long before I knew my father. I told you once—I will take you to Byzantium and offer my sword to the emperor before I'll let you go to Belesme."

"It will not come to that," Henry promised. "I have already sent to the Holy Father asking that any promise you made to Belesme be set aside because of coercion and that your marriage to Roger be declared valid."

"You do that much for us?" Eleanor's eyes bright-ened hopefully and then she remembered their adversary. "Nay, if Count Robert suspects, he will have your messenger killed."

"My man left this afternoon in Rufus' colors," Henry continued unperturbed. "Since Robert believes him either sympathetic to him or else indifferent, he will not interfere. It is not uncommon, after all, given my brother's delicate relationship with the Church, for him to complain to Rome. Once my man gets there, he will wear my badge when he asks for audience with Victor III. I have no quarrels with the Holy Father."

Impulsively Eleanor stood on tiptoe to kiss the prince's cheek. "My lord"—she smiled through tears of gratitude—"there is no way we can ever repay you for your kindness."

"One day I may need your husband's standard raised in my behalf, Eleanor, and I will not hesitate to ask. Now I have nothing to fight for, but that might not always be the case."

"I am your man," Roger promised. "Aye, I am pledged to Eleanor and then to you."

"But what of tomorrow?" Eleanor's attention focused now on the more immediate concern. "What if they do not believe me?"

Roger stepped in front of her and caught her elbows. "Look at me, love," he commanded. "You will tell the truth, and we will call witnesses to attest to your virginity at the time of our marriage. Rannulf saw the sheets and will say so. If we can but catch Robert in this one lie, we can cast doubt on all he says."

She nodded. "Aye, if we can but do that."

It was early and the frost still clung to the browning blades of grass. The air was still chilly as Eleanor walked the Tower Hill in solitude before Roger rose. Her leather slippers were spotted with the melting frost, but she did not seem to notice. Instead, she found a spot sheltered against the wind and, spreading her woolen cloak beneath the skeleton of a big oak, she sat down, drew up her knees, and wrapped the heavy wool around her. She had come to escape the confines of the small chamber, to clear her head, and to think.

She looked up in annoyance at the sound of boots crunching on the grass, and found the king staring at her. She reached out to balance herself and rise, but he shook his head.

"Nay, do not." He seemed almost as irritated as she felt.

"Your Grace," she managed as they stared at each other.

When she did not waver, his face broke into a slow smile, and then he burst out laughing. "God's teeth! 'Tis no wonder my father liked you, little Eleanor—art as brave as a man!"

Taking his words for a compliment, she smiled back. "And I liked your father, Your Grace."

"You are out early and alone," he observed.

"I could not sleep, and I would sort out what I would say this day."

"Aye." He frowned soberly and surprised her further by sinking to the ground beside her. "Henry tells me you were nearly my queen."

"So he told me, Your Grace, but I did not know it at the time."

"Well, you are prettier than Harold's Edith of the Swan Neck," he decided, "but I want no queen. I have as little use for women as my mother had for me."

"Queen Mathilda?"

"Aye." He settled against the tree and nodded. "My mother bore eight of us that lived and had eyes only for Robert."

"Curthose?"

"Curthose." He gave a derisive snort. "Short-legged and stupid as he is—and faithless, too—yet she thought him perfect. She called me too red, but at least I grew to my full size."

"Aye, I know how it is," she sympathized. "My parents hated me because I was not a son. Gilbert scarce speaks to me."

"He is here."

"Henry told me, but I have not seen him. No doubt he comes to support Belesme's claim."

"Aye." He crossed his heavy boots and nodded. "He and Curthose were both fools if they thought you a match for Robert. Even my father recognized that someday something would have to be done to curb him."

"Yet Holy Church seems to stand with him and his lies," she muttered bitterly.

"The Church is full of old fools—though this pope is more reasonable than the last. God knows I quarreled with
him
often enough."

"It is unjust—surely you can see it is unjust!"

"Curthose is a fool," Rufus repeated, "if he would allow Belesme to unite with Nantes. One day, the man will grow fat enough to challenge him and he will have helped it come about. My father taught 'tis easier to rule when all vassals pull against each other equally."

"He needed Count Robert's troops in the Vexin," she observed simply. "I doubt he likes Belesme any better than anyone else, but he would not quarrel with him and try to fight the French both."

"My brother sided with the French against our father and led French troops there. Now that he is Normandy, he finds they still foment unrest. What Curthose needs to do is lead his troops himself."

"I care not for politics!" Eleanor cried out passionately. "All I want is to live with my chosen husband in peace!"

"And I will support Roger de Brione in this," Rufus told her, "but not because of justice. I will stand with him because he is Harlowe's son and I would keep Harlowe loyal."

"But you support justice!"

"I am like Henry—I support what serves me best. We have already sent to His Holiness for you to thwart Belesme."

She hugged her knees tighter for warmth and looked at her unexpected benefactor. "Will it help?"

"Belesme is no match for Henry's guile. Aye, His Holiness will remember Henry is the better friend—and Henry may well wear England's crown one day. The Church will weigh that." The king stopped to study Eleanor's profile. "I admit I find Henry's interest in this intriguing—'tis not like him to do so much for nothing. I am surprised that he did not take you for himself."

"He is Roger's friend."

"We have no friends." Rufus shivered in the wind. "You ought to be inside, Lady Eleanor." He caught a low-hanging branch and pulled himself up. "And I would see to my hawks—I feed them myself when I am here."

She struggled up and brushed the damp grass from her cloak. "Wait—there's something I would know."

He turned back impatiently. "What?"

"Queen Mathilda—was she really smaller than I am?"

He nodded. "Aye, by nearly an English foot, I would say. Why?"

"I just wanted to know."

William Rufus noticed the pendant of her necklace as it slipped out the opening in her cloak. " 'Tis strange—what is it?"

She fingered the object self-consciously. "It holds a lock of St. Cuthbert's hair, your grace. Dame Gytha, my lord's grandmother, gave it to me in hopes that it would make me fruitful."

"Saxon nonsense."

She watched him go and shook her head. "Nay—I have to hope," she told herself as she started back.

"Your name, my lady?" The clerk's manner and voice were impersonal.

"Eleanor, daughter to Gilbert of Nantes and wife to Roger de Brione," she answered proudly as those around her gasped at her audacity.

"Do you swear upon this relic of St. Catherine that you tell the truth as you know it?"

She reached out to touch the golden box he held and nodded. "Aye, I so swear."

"So help you God at the peril of your immortal soul?"

"So help me God at the peril of my immortal soul."

"You may be seated, Lady Eleanor." With her head held high and proud, she took the chair he indicated and faced the panel of churchmen on the dais. She straightened her full velvet skirt and smoothed the fabric over her lap before folding her hands carefully. She raised her eyes expectantly toward the dais and waited for her ordeal to begin.

"Lady Eleanor," the Bishop of Durham addressed her, "we have heard much testimony to support Count Robert's claim to you. Your father and your father's liege lord contracted for a marriage between you and Robert Talvas, did they not?"

Her mouth was dry as she answered, "Aye, but I was not consulted. I knew nothing of the contract until he came to Fontainebleau and told me we were to wed."

"And you consented then?"

"Nay. At first I could not believe it when he told me, because he and my father were enemies."

"But he convinced you?"

"Aye." She stared at her father across the chamber and nodded. "I came to realize that Gilbert did it to save himself. Count Robert told me that he had fought my father with the intention of forcing a marriage with me."

A buzz of interest spread through the audience. The bishop frowned irritably and raised his hand for silence. "Would you have us believe, Lady Eleanor," he proceeded, "that you defied your father's wishes and refused the marriage?"

" 'Tis the truth! He came to me cold and arrogant and forced me to disrobe, excellency, saying he would see what his sword had bought him. I thought…" She faced the bishop squarely before continuing, "I thought he meant to ravish me and I was afraid, but I would not bow to his will. He told me he was in full armor and that he had not the time, and he demanded my pledge. He told me what he would have me say, and I refused. He beat me until I fought back, and for some reason, that stopped him. He told me that we would pledge in Rouen on the first of July and then he left."

"That was all?"

"That was all."

"You swear that you did not lie with him—that he forced you not?"

"I swear."

"And that you did not promise to wed with him?"

"I swear."

"Lady Eleanor, do you understand the gravity of perjury?"

"Aye."

"And yet you would have us believe that you refused the Count of Belesme when he came to you at Fontainebleau, that you were still virgin when he left?"

" 'Tis the truth, I swear."

"The abbess, Mother Mathilde, stated that she found you unclothed, bruised, and crying after Robert Talvas left you, yet you would have us believe that you resisted him."

"Because I did!"

"Did you not tell her you were accursed? Did you not take to your bed after he left?"

"Aye—but not because he forced me and not because I was pledged to him! I cried because I could see no way to escape being betrothed to him at Rouen except by taking my vows to Holy Church!"

"And then the man Mother Mathilde believed to be your brother came to Fontainebleau and you planned to marry against your father's wishes."

"Nay! We were as brother and sister, and he would not let me be forced to wed against my will. He offered to help me escape to England."

"You were his leman."

"I was not his leman. I thought he was my brother until we were safe in England and he came in search of his father. Only then did he reveal that we were not of the same blood, and he asked me to wed with him."