Rebellious Love Page 11

  "It is. Stephen knows there must be action soon or we risk losing everything. Yet he is as reluctant as myself to provoke a showdown right now. Our emissaries in Rome are just beginning to make some progress with the Pope. In a few more months, they may have been able to convince Innocent that our cause is just."

  Verony privately doubted there was a possibility of that. Whatever the Pope might think about the wisdom of restraining royal power, he had no particular reason to side with the barons. At least not as long as one of their principal leaders was Stephen Langton, the man Innocent had so vehemently supported for Archbishop of Canterbury only to later turn against. Innocent was not likely to forget that Stephen had dared to restore the sacrament to England without papal approval. Brilliant though he undoubtedly was, the Pope was also an egotistical man who did not easily forgive a slight to his authority. Verony suspected those who challenged the king would have to do so without his help.

  Recognizing that the d'Arcys expected, even welcomed, debate in their midst, she might have voiced her thoughts. But some hint of the earl's profound concern stopped her. He was more worried than he cared to admit. Looking round the table, she saw that the family shared his doubts. Even Arianna's lovely face was grim as the meal finished in silence.

  CHAPTER 9

  "Don't misunderstand me," Lady Emelie said as she drew her horse closer to Verony's. "I don't dislike Isabella. It's just that whatever principles or beliefs order her life are so different from my own that I can never understand anything she does."

  "You are being unduly gracious to suggest she even has principles or beliefs," Arianna insisted. "Isabella thinks of nothing but her looks, her wardrobe and her latest lover."

  Verony had heard other references to the queen's faithlessness, but she still found it hard to credit. After sixteen years of marriage, John remained infatuated with his former child bride, though that in no way stopped him from pursuing countless affairs of his own. Yet surely any man, no matter how enamored with a woman, would not ignore infidelity?

  "I know Isabella likes to flirt, but does she really go so far as to take lovers? After all, what if she were to conceive by one of them? How could John stand for even the possibility?"

  Lady Emelie and Arianna looked at her tolerantly. They were both already very fond of the newest member of their family, but they thought her education sadly lacking in certain respects.

  "The queen," Emelie explained patiently, "is very careful not to get pregnant, by the king or anyone. She values her figure far too much to have another child. If she ever has slipped, I'm sure she wasted no time getting rid of the problem."

  Verony blanched. From her contact with the serf women, she knew that miscarriages could be induced. But the Church bitterly condemned such action, even when the mother was likely to die. Despite the recent weakening of faith, few were yet bold enough to deliberately end a pregnancy. Isabella, however, was not known for inhibitions. Petted and spoiled since childhood, betrothed to a great lord only to be willingly stolen from him by the besotted King John, she assumed a natural right to her own way.

  "Even so . . . wouldn't John be jealous? He can't much like the idea of sharing his wife with others."

  "On the contrary," Emelie declared, easily maneuvering her palfrey through the narrow street. Riding three abreast, with guards front and back, the women had to go carefully to avoid passers-by and rubble. Two-story townhouses of stone and plaster loomed above them, their gabled roofs almost touching across the cramped passage. Little sunlight reached the streets, but even so piles of garbage, carcasses of animals and bundles best left unidentified could be seen. Winter was both a blessing and a cur&& to London. The chill weather kept down much of the usual stench, but it also turned the city raw and depressing. Dank winds blew off the Thames and Fleet, leaden clouds hung over all, and even the great bays and arches of St. Paul's Cathedral looked sullen and unwelcoming.

  "Strange though it may sound, there are some men who enjoy sharing those they bed. I have no idea how that can be, but Garrett suggested once that having the same woman might be a substitute for an even more unnatural form of intimacy." Emelie frowned in distaste. "He could be right, for Richard was a great one for sharing the boys who warmed his bed. John won't go quite that far, but he seems to like nothing better than to take another's woman, and he certainly raises little quarrel when his wife strays."

  "Sometimes he does," Arianna cautioned, smiling sympathetically at Verony's stunned look. Coming from a household of well-informed, outspoken women, Mark's wife had little difficulty adjusting to his mother. But for Verony it was quite different. In the last few minutes, she had heard more about the darker side of human nature than she had ever thought to know. It would take some time before her equanimity returned.

  "Why, just last year," Arianna went on, "John lost patience and had Isabella's current lover killed. I forget his name, but he was a pleasant young man . . . skilled with the lute, I believe. Anyway, Isabella woke up one morning to find his head dangling from her bedpost. Her only response was to look annoyed and complain about the bloodstains on the curtains. Didn't waste any time replacing the hapless gentleman, either. Although I imagine the next one was a bit harder to persuade."

  In deference to the passers-by, Arianna kept her voice down. Despite the early hour, London was already bustling. Merchants, sailors, vendors, priests, students and all those come with business at the court crowded the twisting streets. Along the river bank, the huge public cook shop was in full swing, its aromas making Verony's temperamental stomach reel.

  Feeding most of the city's visitors and a good portion of its permanent residents, the covered arcade of stalls offered fish, pork, beef and chicken prepared in all manner of dishes as well as breads, pies, wine, cider, ale and even a few precious vegetables.

  Along with the teeming horse market just beyond the city walls, it was London's favorite meeting place. People came as much for the cock fighting, bear baiting and gossiping as for the food and drink.

  Holding tight to her reins, Verony prayed she was not about to disgrace herself. Having recovered from one bout of sickness that morning, she was determined not to succumb to another. Only by concentrating fixedly on her surroundings was she able to control her spinning senses.

  They were passing the outskirts of the Jewish Quarter, a warren of tiny lanes and nondescript houses that looked out over the frozen marsh north of the city. As London itself was guarded by seven double gates, the Quarter had its own entrance behind which all its occupants were expected to be by the eight o'clock curfew.

  Verony knew nothing about the Jews, although she had often heard her father rail against them. That alone was enough to make her look favorably upon the people who somehow managed to endure despite the lack of a homeland. They were frequently blamed for every sort of calamity, but Verony doubted they were ever truly responsible. Far from being the perpetrators of evil, they seemed more often the victims. Well within the memory of many was the terrible outbreak of violence against the Jews that occurred at Richard's coronation. Uncounted hundreds, perhaps even thousands, had died in London, York and elsewhere. Their homes and shops were burned and their goods seized by a vengeful populace.

  Since John's ascension, the Jews had faired a little better, but only because he found them so useful as a source of financing for his endless wars. Discriminatory taxes and legal burdens were heaped upon them in return for grudging tolerance.

  Gesturing toward the Quarter, Verony asked: "Have you ever been in there?"

  Emelie hesitated, glancing at Arianna before saying: "Occasionally. Why? Does it interest you?"

  Despite her queasiness, Verony managed a smile. "Anything I don't know about interests me."

  That won an approving nod from the formidable countess. "Then perhaps Garrett and I should arrange for you to meet some friends who live in the Quarter."

  Verony was still puzzling over the oddity of a peer of the realm and his lady counting the despised Jews among
their friends as they crossed the final distance to the royal keep.

  Built on the east side of the city near a turn of the Thames, the massive White Tower of William the Conqueror commanded vital approaches by both water and land. Flanked by four turrets and surrounded by other, smaller towers with such picturesque names as Bloody, Belfrey and Broad Arrow, the tower was an unparalleled fortification. Not even Baynard and Montfichet Castles on the opposite side of the city could equal it.

  Given the uncertain mood of Londoners, who were as likely to throw stones as to cheer, John's fondness for the tower was understandable. There he felt safe, if uncomfortable.

  Dismounting before the main gate, Verony rubbed the small of her back surreptitiously as she followed the other women. It would not do to let them think her lagging. Lady Emelie had already suggested once that morning that she would be wise to remain in bed. Though the advice was kindly meant, from one who remembered well the discomfort of early pregnancy, Verony was not disposed to accept it. She was far too impatient to get to court, where she would at least be part of all that was happening.

  Upon first entering the White Tower, up a steep wooden staircase and through a guard post, it was difficult to believe anything of great importance could occur there. Verony's initial impression was of chaos, with dozens of nobles, men-at-arms and

  servants milling about in seeming confusion. The sheer volume of noise almost overwhelmed her. With so many people, it was impossible to be heard without shouting. Certainly there was no opportunity to exchange confidences, but there was no such hindrance to arguments. As Verony watched in astonishment, one lord drew his sword on another as the crowd blandly drew aside to give them room.

  This was hardly the way she remembered the court, where men at least did not fight each other in the king's own house. As the lords lunged at each other, both quickly drawing blood, Lady Emelie touched her arm.

  "We will go upstairs. It is quieter there."

  The second floor of the keep was given over to private family quarters and the women's solar. A few ladies already occupied the spacious room warmed by a large fireplace and scattered braziers. They nodded carefully at the new arrivals, but made no effort to join them.

  "No one is quite sure who it is politic to speak to," Lady Emelie explained as she sat down on a bench. She removed her cloak, revealing a magnificent scarlet satin tunic and gold-embroidered surcoat. It was a costume befitting a queen, and Verony doubted even Isabella had anything as grand.

  She and Arianna were dressed with equal care, if somewhat less regally. Their different coloring—one with a tumult of red-gold waves falling beneath her waist and the other with straight sun-washed strands worn in plaits—made them the perfect foil for each other, while their similar size had allowed them to combine wardrobes with good effect.

  Arianna had brought Verony a delicate azure tunic she claimed did nothing for her complexion but would suit her new sister perfectly. In return, Verony had insisted Arianna wear the pure white wool she said made her look sallow. On Arianna, the mantle assumed angelic grace, an impression somewhat dispelled by a ready grin and gleaming eyes.

  "Each lady hopes the others will talk first," she hissed in Verony's ear. "Rarely has a bunch of women been so reluctant to gossip."

  "They never manage to hold out long," Emelie commented. "See, even now we are being approached."

  A venerable matron copiously swathed in wimple, veil and mantle smiled at the countess with surprising warmth. "How nice to see you, my dear. And so early. Didn't Garrett get back from Canterbury?"

  Matching the lady's assessing look, Emelie said smoothly: "May I have the honor of presenting my newest daughter-in-law, the Lady Verony. Verony, this is my old friend and sometimes ally, Lady Barbara. Her husband fought with Garrett in the Holy Land. You already know Arianna, don't you, Barbara?"

  Emitting a sniff Verony took as agreement, the lady scrutinized her carefully. "You're de Langford's girl, aren't you? How did you end up married to a d'Arcy?"

  "Mutual interest, ma'am," Verony said promptly. "We are both deeply attached to the same land, I through birth and he through possession. It seemed sensible to combine forces."

  "Hrrmmph. I'd guess Curran stopped feeling sensible the minute he got a look at you. When you came to court last year with your father, you were quite beautiful. But now ..." Lady Barbara allowed herself a slight smile. "I see your second son keeps his sire's ways, Emelie. If the other two fall no further from the tree, you will have more grandchildren than you can count." "A pleasant fate. I always liked children." "I seem to remember you were quite upset the first time you found yourself breeding," Lady Barbara intoned, adding her ample girth to the bench.

  "Only because I wasn't married," Emelie retorted, ignoring Verony's start of surprise. "Nor did the prospect of matrimony please me."

  Lady Barbara cackled. "Until Garrett talked you round. Is the dear man still as eloquent?" Her voice dropped. "Is he making any progress?"

  "The situation is so complicated," Emelie hedged, "that it is difficult to tell exactly what constitutes progress."

  "Don't bandy words with me. You know I'm not one of those simpering idiots who keeps her head neatly buried in the sand. Can he keep it together?" "He thinks so," Emelie allowed. "Garrett, the archbishop and certain others are working very hard to make sure the lords stay in agreement, and that no one acts precipitously."

  "I don't envy him," Lady Barbara muttered, "trying to keep those hotheads under control. The old ones waffle back and forth, unsure if they want to fight the king or each other, and the young ones don't particularly care as long as they get to fight someone. Garrett will need all his skill to pull this one off."

  "Where does your lord stand?" Arianna asked softly. "Last week he was firmly with us, but is that still the case?"

  Lady Barbara sighed, a mournful sound well suited to the atmosphere. "He is one of the wafflers," she admitted. "But I am determined to hold him firm. We cannot turn back now."

  "Have courage, old friend," Emelie murmured, patting the dowager's veined hand. "We have been through worse times."

  "We were younger then," the lady snorted. She nodded at the two girls. "It should be up to alluring young things like that to see this out, not to weary travelers like you and me. Surely in the sunset of our years we deserve a little peace?"

  Emelie choked back what sounded as though it might have been a very unladylike guffaw. "Careful, Barbara, or you will have me weeping. Is this the same shrinking flower who went marching off with the crusaders in a white silk tunic with feathers in her hair?"

  The dowager smiled nostalgically. "It was a fetching outfit. Though I wager the tunic looked better on you than me. You had the hips for it." Glancing down, she added ruefully: "Still do."

  "Garrett didn't find it appropriate at all," Emelie sighed fondly. "In fact, he wasted no time getting it . . ." She broke off, suddenly aware of the two younger women listening avidly. "Never mind. This is hardly the place for reminiscing. Does Isabella intend to remain in bed all day?"

  "I doubt it," Lady Barbara chortled. "Not without someone to keep her company."

  Emelie raised her eyebrows. "You know perfectly well she will be here for better reason than that. Isabella has no more faith in our sovereign than the rest of us."

  "At least her boy's different," Barbara admitted grudgingly. "Smart little bugger, doesn't miss a tiling."

  Arianna shook her head sympathetically. "Poor child, though, to have such parents. Young as he is, I don't imagine Prince Henry has many illusions."

  "Nor should he," Emelie said emphatically. "Not if he is to be a good king, please God. It's his father's illusions that have gotten him into so much trouble. John thinks the treasury is bottomless, the people's patience endless, and his lords paragons of endurance and selflessness. Has any man ever more deluded himself?"

  "His misconceptions don't stop there," Barbara muttered. "Here comes the greatest of them all."

  The women turned
, in time to see Queen Isabella and her ladies enter the solar.

  At thirty-one, the petite, fine-boned woman retained much of the incandescent beauty that had long ago won her the title of the loveliest lady in Christiandom. That sobriquet was always an exaggeration, yet looking at her Verony could understand why men had waxed so eloquent.

  Thick, gleaming hair pale as moonbeams tumbled from a well-shaped head set off by large, tawny eyes and milk-white skin. High cheekbones framed a delicate, straight nose complemented by a ripe mouth and a small chin.

  Her almost unlined throat was proudly displayed above an emerald tunic and scarlet mantle worn rather daringly low on alabaster shoulders. Isabella's breasts were still as high and firm as a young girl's, her waist small and her hips slender. She moved gracefully, and her voice, as it reached Verony, was soft and pleasant.

  Given such attributes, Verony wondered why she did not find the queen attractive. Puzzled, she looked closer to see the faint tightness around Isabella's lovely mouth and the flinty hardness of her eyes. Her expression was haughty, and there was an air of condescension about her that seriously undermined her charms.

  When she spotted Lady Emelie and her companions, the queen's manner became even more remote. Political realities forced her to nod stiffly, but they in no way gentled her tone as she demanded: "Are we expected to feel honored at such a plenitude of d'Arcys, madam? First I spy your husband downstairs with his sons in tow, all busy conspiring at God only knows what evil. And now I discover you in my own solar, stirring mischief I cannot bear to contemplate."

  "No mischief, my lady," Emelie said placidly. "I came merely to present my new daughter-in-law. As for my lord, he hardly needs to conspire. Rather it is all he can do to keep order among those who seek to enmesh him in their own plots. Your court," she advised coldly, "is a veritable beehive of conspiracies, though I doubt the honey will prove sweet."