Gwendolyn's Sword Read online

  “Thank the queen,” one of the women said matter-of-factly and gestured for her to step outside, where yet another maid waited for Gwendolyn, holding a pair of embroidered boots and a comb of whalebone.

  Gwendolyn’s hair was combed out, but it was not braided, as she preferred, nor was it pinned up in coils, as was the custom for married women. As her hair dried with the rough combing, the curls became ragged and disorderly. Before long, Gwendolyn realized that her hair was taking on the appearance of a wild mane. The young woman holding the comb sighed, stood up, and fetched a jar from one of the shelves lining the walls of the massive kitchen. Working from one side around to the other, the maid rubbed scented oil into the long strands of Gwendolyn’s hair, smoothing the bristling curls into soft waves that finally tumbled gracefully around her waist.

  “Come on, then. I’ll take you to the armory.”

  Gwendolyn followed the maid and found herself out in the sunshine as they crossed the Tower yard to a stone building whose anvils and forges were shared by the blacksmiths and the armorers. Many of the laborers in the yard paused to look at her respectfully as she passed, and she wondered who they thought she might be—a marriageable heiress under the wardship of the crown, perhaps, or maybe the widow of a well-situated baron, coming to plead for her future position. Whatever they were thinking, she was confident that “descendant of King Arthur” was nowhere in their musings. William and Nigel were already inside, dressed in their new shirts and leggings, with oiled leather boots that reached to their knees. Nigel’s astounded expression at the coif, hauberk and leggings that were being fitted to him brought a smile to her lips. William was occupied inspecting the new rivets in his mail tunic approvingly, as the man beside him pointed out other repairs and improvements made to his armor. William was the first to notice her arrival, and his mouth froze in mid-sentence as he recognized her.

  “By the blood of—” he began under his breath.

  “Shut up,” she said quietly as she walked past him and turned again to watch Nigel. The armor that Eleanor was giving him cost more than every penny he could have earned in three years as a mercenary. It meant much more than protection in battle. This armor elevated him to a different circle. It visually identified him as a man of means and property. When he was presented with a new surcoat bearing the de Cardinham colors, he looked up and saw her watching him. She nodded back to him and nudged William beside her.

  “He’s your man now, William.”

  William regarded Nigel with unmasked reservation. “If you say so.”

  They were brought back before Eleanor not long after midday. This time, they were brought into a separate room behind the receiving room where she had held her audience the night before. Here, Eleanor sat up in a large, beautifully carved bed, supported by a pile of cushions behind her. A tray of cheeses and dried fruits lay on top of the blankets beside her, and not a strand of hair or article of clothing was out of place. Her eyes followed them attentively as they entered, and Gwendolyn had the feeling of being appraised like sheep at the wool market.

  Sunlight streamed in through glass-paned windows, giving the room a sense of grandeur not unlike the newer cathedrals with their high, arched windows. Walter de Coutances was in the room again, seated on a stool beside the hearth and looking tired. A second man who Gwendolyn did not recognize stood near the door that they had entered, and William Marshal entered the room behind them, looking not much better than de Coutances, but, with his quick step and lively eyes, apparently better able to tolerate his fatigue.

  “This is much better,” Eleanor said, casually reaching for a piece of fruit before continuing. “John was my husband’s favorite son, and John thanked him for it by betraying Henry on his deathbed. Richard had already won, Henry was dying, and John, for reasons known only to him, delivered the mortal blow with his disloyalty. Whatever faults John was born with, Henry’s indulgence only made them worse. And John is unfit to rule at present because of it. For the Plantagenet legacy, and for stability and peace on this island, Richard must live long enough that John, if he also survives, will have endured enough of Life’s instruction to overcome his flaws and grow into a fit and able leader of men.

  “Lady de Cardinham, I have considered your proposition, and I have discussed the matter with my counselors, but there is one thing I must know first. You have put yourself into personal danger by coming here. Why? What do you hope to gain for yourself?”

  The queen waited patiently for Gwendolyn to answer. Gwendolyn took several moments to consider her words, having learned that the larger portion of the victories in negotiations could be credited merely to knowing when to hold one’s tongue, and being comfortable with the silence that followed. However, the queen’s face remained impassive and unreadable while she waited for Gwendolyn to respond, and Gwendolyn realized that the queen would have learned the same tactic long ago.

  “The mercenaries that I intercepted were only the first. Brutal men loyal to John continue to cross Penhallam on their way to St. Michael’s Mount. They have attacked our farms and my tenants, and they have stolen our livestock. I realized the rumors of who I am could put an end to it if I came to you so that you could use me to bargain with John.”

  “You want nothing else, then? No purse of silver or perhaps additional lands for your husband?”

  Gwendolyn looked Eleanor in the eyes. She realized that Roslyn had had her audience with the queen. “I had hoped not to lose the lands we already have to my husband’s brother and his wife.”

  “Ah. There it is,” Eleanor said lightly. “One dispute between brothers could be settled by solving another dispute between the royal brothers?”

  Gwendolyn stood silently, unsure what to say. Revealing Walter’s support for John could end badly for the entire de Cardinham family, not just Roslyn.

  “I was already aware of Walterus de Cardinham’s support for John.” The queen used Walter’s given name from his father, a relic of pre-Norman England that Walter had dropped when he came of age. “It is a strange position for a mother to be in. I cannot fault a man for being loyal to my sons—either of them. But John is wrong, and some of his supporters fan the flames of his disillusionment, playing the boy right into the hands of the King of France. Phillip would love to have an excuse to bring his armies to our shores. I am afraid Walterus de Cardinham is one of these.”

  Gwendolyn’s stomach felt light inside her. Eleanor had as much as declared Walter a traitor to the crown. For once, she felt a bit of sympathy for Roslyn.

  “And you, child,” continued Eleanor, “are still a virgin.”

  Gwendolyn gasped as the air seemed suddenly to be sucked out of the room. A quiet rustling filled the room as all of the men, even de Coutances, turned their eyes onto her. She had closed her eyes with the shock, and when she opened them again the first face she saw was that of her furious constable standing beside her. He had warned her that Eleanor could decide to use her as a reward for some baron needing compensation, and she had withheld from him the truth of her unconsummated marriage and how easily assailable her position as Robert’s wife actually was.

  Gwendolyn exhaled slowly. “How did you know?”

  “Lady Roslyn suspected it, but now you have confirmed the truth.”

  The small trace of sympathy Gwendolyn had felt for Roslyn vanished. Suddenly Gwendolyn felt ridiculous in her new dress, with her scented hair draped down her back in full, red waves. Eleanor had been preparing her, as a present that she could give away.

  “Lady de Cardinham,” Eleanor said softly. “I have no intention of taking you from Robert. Unless that is what you wish,” she added, probing whether Gwendolyn’s affection might have already diminished during Robert’s long absence.

  Gwendolyn shook her head.

  “Then I will take no action in regard to the unconsummated state of your marriage. But be warned,” Eleanor said sharply, tapping her finger against the bed, “do not persuade me to change my mind in this by failing to do as I i
nstruct you in a moment. Do we understand each other?”

  “Very well, madame.”

  Eleanor took a deep breath and sighed, shaking her head in admonishment at Gwendolyn.

  “Lady, you are in a precarious position, the dangers of which I am certain you do not fully appreciate, but your man here surely does,” Eleanor said, indicating with a nod toward William. “If I could send you directly to Robert now to consummate your marriage, I would. I am your ally, but circumstances require that I make use of you now. I cannot place your life above those duties that only I can fulfill. My life was never my own. Be glad that yours will be again, when this is over.”

  “Yes, madame.”

  “All right, then.” Eleanor straightened up in her bedclothes and stretched, leaning back against the cushions. “As it turns out, a few days ago one of our spies brought news that John has found an ally in a sorcerer, a powerful wizard. Or so he believes.” The queen rolled her eyes and shook her head. “The charlatan apparently has advised John that, according to the stars and other portents, Arthur’s heir walks now upon English soil, and the sword’s return is imminent. If John were to locate and capture Arthur’s heir, then Caliburn would also be his. Of course, both the sorcerer and John have assumed that the heir of Caliburn is a man.” Eleanor pursed her lips and gave a small laugh.

  “All three of you are to travel south to Arundel. I sent a messenger ahead of you last night. The castle there is well fortified, close enough to reach in a few days, but far enough from John and his supporters for your protection. I will send word to John that the heir of Caliburn has been found, that you are loyal to Richard, and that he must cease his rebellion.

  “You are the lamb, Gwendolyn, staked in the meadow to draw the wolf out of the woods. If I can delay John at all with this distraction, even for a few months, it will be enough time to get the ransom to Germany and free Richard. In the meantime, you must stay alive and safe. If you are kidnapped or killed, you are of no use to me. John’s belief that he has a real sorcerer guiding him has made him bold and foolish. I cannot predict what he might try in order to get to you.

  “You are to travel with reasonable haste, and you will sleep under tents that I provide to you. I am sending a dozen men-at-arms, under your constable’s command, to guard you. You shall wear your de Cardinham colors and full armor when you travel, even though it will slow you down. You cannot take any chances. And that means you cannot tell anyone else what you have shared with me of your ancestry and these prophecies. I cannot guarantee that there are not others out there who also believe these legends to be true, and who would capture you for their own use.”

  Eleanor popped a dried apricot into her mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. “When you reach Arundel, you will stay there to await my further instruction. Walter de Coutances will accompany you to ensure my wishes are received in Arundel. William d’Aubigni, the earl of Arundel, is his friend and a steadfast supporter of Richard. You can trust him absolutely. D’Aubigni will do whatever de Coutances says he must, no questions asked.”

  Walter de Coutances stiffly stood up and ran a hand through his hair, looking noticeably less composed than he had the previous evening. He crossed the room to them in long strides and offered his hand to Gwendolyn.

  “My lady,” he greeted her and then turned toward William. “Your horses have been brought up from Southwark. I will take you now to the garrison to select the men who will accompany you.” William nodded and turned on his heel to follow de Coutances out of the room, then paused and looked back at Nigel, still waiting beside Gwendolyn.

  “Soldier! To attention!”

  Nigel snapped out of his reverie and dashed to follow William, moving awkwardly under the unfamiliar weight of a full mail tunic.

  Shadows cast by the newly constructed curtain walls angled across the Tower yard in the afternoon sun by the time their group was ready to depart. In the end, over thirty travelled in all: de Coutances and his clerk; one of the Tower’s junior chaplains; William, Nigel, and the twelve men from the Tower garrison; five squires; Gwendolyn and the maid who had first woken her that morning; and lastly, a handful of staff to set up camps, prepare meals, dig latrines, and other work to make their travel more comfortable. In addition to their own provisions, they brought three carts laden with grain, meat, supplies, and equipment to be delivered to Arundel. All of the Tower guard wore surcoats emblazoned with the golden lions against a blood-red sky that was the herald of the Plantagenet family. William rode up and down the lines as they prepared to leave, calling orders to a handful of the men to take positions around Gwendolyn first in the event of an ambush. So far, Eleanor had managed to stay one step ahead of John’s plans, but where Eleanor easily dismissed John’s sorcerer as simple fraud, Gwendolyn knew that William would have allowed for at least a possibility of truth in the rumor.

  Gwendolyn sat astride Bedwyr in full armor, the de Cardinham colors of points of gold arrayed in battle formation against a background of black vivid on her new surcoat. As much as Eleanor had said to her during their meeting, there was still much that the queen had left unsaid, and it was those open questions that weighed on Gwendolyn now. What would William d’Aubigni, Earl of Arundel, have to say about the queen’s decision that he should house and keep the queen’s “lamb,” all but painting a target on Arundel Castle for John and his men? William had told her as they had gathered in the yard that William d’Aubigni was highly respected among the queen’s magnates, and that he was no fool for John. Arundel was situated near the coast, and when one of John’s boats of Flemish mercenaries had tried to make landfall at a sheltered cove nearby, their boat had been spotted by d’Aubigni’s men. All of the mercenaries but one were killed, the last one spared only to be transported to the Tower to give information and suffer execution. Now, as the seasons changed, the time for launching elaborate military campaigns was drawing to a close. But the rebellion would continue, played out as games of intrigue, politics, and shifting alliances—the surreptitious sort of battle that was John’s special, if singular, talent.

  The sound of a trumpet blowing echoed through the yard and she watched curiously as everyone who was not on a horse knelt down and bowed their heads and an expectant hush fell over them. Finally, she saw a group emerge from the Tower and walk across the green toward them, the queen walking in the center of the configuration, surrounded on all sides by guards and her advisors. When they approached, Walter de Coutances stepped to Gwendolyn’s side and nodded pointedly to her that she was to dismount. She quickly shifted to the ground and knelt beside the justiciar to receive the queen.

  Eleanor stood before Gwendolyn in an emerald gown lined with beads of dark gray pearl, unlike any Gwendolyn had seen before.

  “Your service begins now, my dear,” Eleanor said with a polite smile. The dowager queen put her hands out, and one of her attendants stepped forward with bowed head and placed a small vellum scroll onto her palms, then retreated back again.

  “Orders to William d’Aubigni to keep you safe,” she said, extending the scroll toward de Coutances.

  “Yes, madame,” the justiciar replied as he took the scroll and tucked it into his surcoat.

  “And as for your father’s letter,” she said, turning to Gwendolyn, “I will keep it safe, child. You have my word that I will return it to you when this is over.”

  Gwendolyn marveled that the queen would have guessed the one worry among all others that had weighed most heavily on her thoughts. She bowed her head slowly in a show of well-earned respect.

  “Thank you, madame.”

  Eleanor nodded her regal chin slightly. “May merciful Christ protect you and keep you safe.”

  On his cue, the bishop of London, resplendent in a silk tunic and woolen robe stitched with adornment as fine as the queen’s, stepped forward from the entourage and began to chant prayers and benedictions over the party. He walked slowly down the line of gleaming armed men, horses, and carts, gesturing the sign of the cross over them as he we
nt. As the bishop passed down the line of men, Gwendolyn saw the queen’s expression register shock for a brief moment and then compose again into her usual, impassive visage. The bishop’s head remained bowed in prayer as he slowly walked to the end of the line and then returned to the group surrounding the queen. Eleanor watched his movements with hardened, disdainful eyes, then swept around on her heel, silk gown rustling, and strode back toward the Tower. The tight configuration of men and attendants kept lockstep with her until they disappeared as one body back into the stone walls of the keep.

  Gwendolyn and de Coutances rose to their feet and Gwendolyn walked over to William, but he avoided her glance and conferred solely with de Coutances. The gesture was petty, but she realized she had underestimated either the risk she had ventured by presenting herself to Eleanor in her barely married state or how badly her omission had scared him. Either way, he was obviously still angry with her. There would be words between them about it later. She turned to walk back up the line to where a squire stood holding Bedwyr’s reins, and she spat into the dirt with irritation that, on top of everything else, she should also have to contend with the threat of being traded off to a man as property simply because she was a woman and a virgin.

  The party mounted up onto their horses and carts, and the Tower’s guard formed two orderly columns as directed by William, one on either side of the line of travelers. William took the lead, and he sent Nigel to ride in back, guarding the rear. Gwendolyn rode in the middle of the line, a guard on either side of her, their wooden shields hooked to their saddles and lances’ ends resting in leather cups attached to their stirrups. As they moved forward in formation, they were an impressive display of discipline, strength, and intimidation.

  The herald’s trumpet blew again as their procession exited the Tower grounds through a gate under construction to the west of the Tower yard and over a timber bridge that spanned the new moat. They crossed westward through London, back the way Gwendolyn, William, and Nigel had entered the day before. Gwendolyn watched the stares created by their procession, and found it amusing to exit London in such a spectacle after their anonymous and ragged arrival. They passed out of the gates and onto the open road again, where they turned southwest onto another wide road that had been excavated centuries ago by the Romans. This road would take them most of the way to Arundel, and Gwendolyn settled in for what she hoped would be an easier and more comfortable ride than the travel to London had been.