The Lion of Justice (11 page)

‘I do not wish to take the veil.'

‘So you wish to marry this man. You have learned nothing. Have you forgotten your fears of Alan of Bretagne?'

‘The Earl of Surrey is not Alan of Bretagne.'

‘He is a man.'

‘I want time,' said Edith, ‘time to think.'

A gleam of hope touched the stern features of the Abbess. So she had not been altogether seduced by the Earl's good looks.

‘Then think of it.' said the Abbess. ‘Think of what it means. Remember what will be expected of you. Remember that God once gave you a sign. He is testing you. Do not fail Him.'

When she had gone, Edith lay thinking of her, and she told herself then: ‘But of course I shall take him. It is just that because of what the Abbess has told me I am afraid. I could love him, I doubt not, in time. And marriage with him would mean escape from Wilton and Aunt Christina.'

The Abbess fell sick and was obliged to keep to her bed. It so happened that at this time the two suitors called once more at the Abbey. Christina was unaware that they had come, and the two nuns who acted as her deputy, knowing that these men had the sanction of the King and that the object of Eustace of Boulogne was to decide whether he wished to ask for the hand of Mary, took them to the hall and the Princesses came down to see them.

There was a man in the party who had not visited the Abbey before; and it was his presence which wrought a subtle change. He was older than the Earl of Surrey by some ten years and it was apparent from the first that both the suitors were in awe of him.

There was an air of authority about him. His black hair, parted in the centre and worn long in the fashion of the day,
fell about his shoulders in luxuriant curls, but there was nothing effeminate about him. His eyes flashed imperiously; his mouth was sensual but it could be suddenly hard and cruel. Christina's trembling deputies knew that they were in the presence of an important personage, and as soon as Eustace demanded that the Princesses be sent for they were brought.

When they came the stranger was the first to greet them, for both the Count of Boulogne and the Earl of Surrey stood aside for him.

The Count said, ‘Prince Henry has accompanied us.'

Both the girls curtsied. They knew that this man was the King's younger brother and, in the event of the King's dying before him and leaving no heir – which he certainly would not do – Henry could be King.

Edith lifted her eyes and looked into his face. Never, she thought, had she seen a man so perfect. He was neither tall nor young; he must be ten years older than she was; but there was a gleam in his eyes when they met hers which showed his appreciation of her.

‘I am pleased that I came,' he said, his eyes studying her intently as though he were trying to probe what lay beneath the black robe. ‘Come, let us sit down and we will talk together.'

William Warren was not looking very pleased. But he accompanied Henry and Edith to the window seat. Eustace and Mary followed them.

The nuns sat some distance from them, their eyes watchful.

Henry said, ‘You may leave us.'

‘My lord,' stammered one, ‘it is the wish of the Abbess and the rule of the Abbey . . .'

He waved his hand.

‘We will change that rule,' said Henry. ‘Pray leave us.'

‘My lord, the Abbess . . .'

‘It is not the Abbess who commands now,' he said.

They hesitated and looked at each other and then, curtsying, retired.

He laughed, and Edith realized how little laughter there had been in her life.

‘Now,' he said, ‘the watchdogs have gone.'

‘I should like to see you deal with the old dragon herself,' commented Eustace.

‘It may well be that I shall have that pleasure,' replied Henry.

He was smiling at Edith. ‘It grieves me,' he went on, ‘that you should be imprisoned in this place. You are worthy of a better fate. And those black robes . . . but let me consider. They are so ugly that they draw attention to your fairness by the very contrast.'

No one had ever paid Edith compliments before. She flushed with pleasure. She knew what was happening. She had had dreams. She knew now why she had so feared Alan; she knew now why handsome young William Warren had not appealed to her.

There was only one man in the world to whom she could happily go. It was strange that she should only have had to look at him to realize this. It was love, she supposed. At least she knew that nothing so completely exciting and exhilarating had ever happened to her before.

Eustace and Mary were deep in conversation. It was amazing what a difference the restraint imposed by watchful eyes could have.

‘Tell me what you do here,' said Henry. ‘How do you pass the days?'

‘In prayer and work.'

‘A Princess should not work, nor should she spend over-much time on her knees. Devotions should be brief. Do you not agree with me, nephew?'

William Warren mumbled that he supposed the Prince was right.

‘I hear the Abbess is a stern jailer,' went on Henry, leaning towards Edith.

‘'Tis so.'

‘That such a lady should be so imprisoned! It angers me. Does it not anger you, William?'

‘It shall not always be so,' said William almost defiantly.

‘Nay,' replied Henry, smiling into Edith's eyes, ‘we must be assured of that.'

‘It is for that purpose that I am here,' replied William.

‘So I understood, and because of this, nephew, I accompanied you.'

‘The King approves my coming,' William reminded the Prince.

‘Ay, and his consent will have to be given if you would succeed in your endeavours,' said Henry.

‘'Tis so,' replied William defiantly, ‘and that of no one else.'

‘Certainly not mine.' He turned to Edith with a wry smile. ‘My brother does not love me greatly. Nor I him.'

‘I am sorry to hear it,' replied Edith.

‘Do not let sorrow dim the brightness of those eyes. It grieves me not at all. As you know I am the youngest of the family. It is not good to be a younger brother. My father knew this well. He left Normandy to my brother Robert and England to William; and what of poor Henry? But he made a prophecy before he died. He said to me, “Grieve not. There will come the day when you shall have all that your brothers have and more.”'

‘You think this will come to pass?'

He had laid his hand on her arm and she had no wish to draw away from him.

‘I know it,' he answered. Then with a swift movement he did what Alan of Bretagne had done before him; deftly he threw back the hood of her robe and exposed her beautiful golden hair.

He looked at her intently. ‘'Twere a sin to hide it,' he said. ‘I must set you a penance.'

‘If the Abbess could see . . .'

‘By God's grace she lies on her sick bed. Long may He let her lie there.' He put out a hand and touched her hair, caressing it lightly. ‘You are beautiful, Princess,' he said. ‘Such beauty should not be kept from the world. I should like to see a crown set on that beautiful head. It would become it well.'

Eustace, seeing that Edith was without her hood, pressed Mary to remove hers. This she did with pleasure, and there were sounds of laughter in the old hall such as could never have been heard since the Abbess had ruled there.

It was the most enchanting hour Edith had ever spent.
Henry was gay and witty. She discovered that, apart from the fact that he was a man who loved gaiety, he was also learned. How glad she was that she had attended to her teachers; she had been chosen by Christina to follow her because she was clever; now Henry was interested in her because of it.

She understood the allusions in his discourse. She could speak to him on his own scholastic level; this delighted him and the more they pleased each other the more disgruntled became the poor Earl of Surrey.

Finally they left, much to the relief of the nuns, who were almost in tears. They knew that if the Abbess ever discovered that the Princesses had been alone with the visitors they would be in dire trouble. But who would be likely to give such an account? Certainly not the Princesses, who had been more guilty than they had.

In Edith's cell Mary talked ecstatically of the interview. Eustace had given his word that he would ask for her hand and he knew that no obstacle would be put in their way.

‘And the Earl,' she said. ‘What of him? Have you made good progress with him? I feel so happy, Edith. We are free, both of us. For I confess that it would have grieved me greatly to leave you here. And what thought you of Prince Henry? The son of the King! Eustace says that he may well be King one day. But that will not be for a long time. Rufus is not so old that he can be expected to die, though he is older than Henry. What thought you of him?'

‘He was different from the others.'

‘It is to be expected. He is the son and brother of a King. Your William is only a nephew. Eustace of course is quite different. He is a vassal of the Duke of Normandy, true . . . but he serves no king.'

‘I am pleased that you are happy at the prospect, Mary.'

‘Happy. I find it hard to wait. Oh, to be free of these hideous robes. Was it not exciting when Henry removed your hood? Eustace was happy to see my hair. He thought it beautiful. I kept laughing inwardly to think what Aunt Christina would have said. How quiet you are, Edith. Are you thinking of William Warren? And how exciting it will be to become the Countess of Surrey.'

‘Nay,' said Edith slowly, ‘I was not thinking of that.'

‘But was that not the most exciting time we ever had in our lives?'

‘Yes, there is no doubt of it,' said Edith soberly.

He came again. This time with few attendants.

Eustace did not accompany him, nor did William Warren.

He waved aside the protest that he could not be alone with her so imperiously that the two poor nuns were terrified. But what could they do when the brother of the King ordered them away?

‘It is wrong. It is wrong!' they cried. ‘No man should enter the Abbey.'

‘Of a certainty no ordinary man should be allowed in,' said Henry. ‘But I am no ordinary man.'

He laughed aloud when they had gone; he sat close to Edith; he took off her hood and ran his fingers through her hair.

‘How beautiful it is,' he said. ‘I have dreamed of it.'

‘Why have you come to see me?' she asked.

‘Because my inclinations first prompted me, and then insisted. They would not be denied.'

‘The sisters are right. It is unseemly.'

‘That which is unseemly is often delightful, you will discover.'

‘You know that the Earl of Surrey has the King's consent to become betrothed to me?'

‘I know it.'

‘And . . . yet you come.'

‘Yes, I come to say it must not be.'

‘Why not?'

‘You must know. I want you for myself.'

‘How . . . how could that be?'

Henry took her hands and drawing her to him kissed her on the lips.

She caught her breath; but she was not horrified, only delighted.

‘Would the King give his consent to our marriage?'

‘Nay. He has promised you to Surrey.'

‘Then how could we?'

‘I do not always ask the consent of the King.'

‘Should not all subjects do that?'

‘I am not his subject. I am his brother.' He leaned towards her. ‘One day I shall be King of this realm. How would you like to be its Queen?'

She said, ‘I am the daughter of a King and I should be happy to return to the state in which I began my life. But I would not wish it if a man such as Alan of Bretagne were to be my husband.'

He laughed aloud. ‘He came to woo you and you liked him not?'

‘I liked him not.'

‘He was too old for you – my uncle by marriage. I am some ten years older than you. That is acceptable to you?'

She nodded.

‘And
I
am acceptable to you?'

‘I have never seen anyone like you.'

‘That tells me little. It may be that you have never seen anyone whom you found as repulsive.'

‘No, no . . .'

He was laughing at her. He took her hands suddenly and kissed her fingers.

‘Then,' he said, ‘you like me well.'

‘Yes,' she answered. ‘I like you well.'

‘And when I am King you will be my Queen.'

‘I could ask nothing more of life.'

‘Will you be a good wife to me?'

‘I will.'

‘And love me tenderly and bear my children?'

‘I will.'

‘Why 'twould seem we are married already. Would there were a priest here who would marry us, and a bridal chamber where I could make you my wife in very truth.'

‘There is no priest and no bridal chamber.'

He looked at her, his eyes gleaming. ‘Would we could do without them.'

She was wide-eyed. ‘That is not possible, is it? How could we be married without a priest?'

‘They have taught you much from books and little from life. How could they . . . in an abbey?'

‘My aunt the Abbess told me what was expected of a wife.' Her lips trembled suddenly. ‘I . . . I hated it.'

‘I would tell you a different story. Do you believe me?'

‘Yes, I believe you.'

‘And you would be willing to learn?'

‘With you I would be willing.'

‘And there is no bridal chamber where we can begin our lessons! Alas!'

His eyes were alight with merriment. He looked round the great hall, at the vaulted ceiling, and a glint was in his eyes as though he were wondering how he could carry her off to a cell and there begin the lesson.

‘What if the King will not give his consent?' she asked.

‘The King will not give his consent.'

‘Then we are doomed.'

‘Never say that, my Princess. Happiness shall be ours. But we must needs wait for it.'