Beloved Enemy (69 page)

T
HE NEXT MORNING BELLEBELLE
woke before Prime, feeling as if her head were stuffed with goosefeathers. A protective veil enclosed her, like the dull gray mist of a Southwark dawn where nothing seemed real. Not unpleasant, it was a welcome relief from the black despair of the night before. Although distant, she could sense that anguish lurking quietly in the dim corners of her mind, like a wild beast in hiding, ready to spring without warning.

Setting about her morning chores in a mindless fashion, Belle-belle decided she would go to Tower Royal and beg Henry to allow Geoffrey to come home.

By now Henry’s anger would surely have lessened. All she need do was explain that Geoffrey was the whole of her life, except for him—Henry. She accepted that Henry was lost to her, unless he would allow her to make it up to him in some way. But if she lost both him and her son she would have nothing left to live for. She instantly rejected that possibility. Of course, he would allow Geoffrey to come home. She was sure she could persuade him.

If she couldn’t, she would appeal to her idol, Queen Eleanor. She was a mother, after all, and would surely understand. An image of Henry’s contorted purple face and thrashing body whisked across her mind, but she hastily retreated from the terrifying picture. Today he would be his old self once again. He would let her son come home.

“Geoffrey be—is coming home today,” she told the hounds as she fed them.

Filled with confidence now, Bellebelle hummed a tune as she put on her best clothes: a new green kirtle over a cream-colored gown, the fox-fur cloak Henry had given her, woolen stockings, sturdy black boots, and a dark blue shawl to wrap round her head and neck. Underneath her chemise she tied a small cloth bag containing some of the silver and copper pennies she had saved. After a moment’s thought she took the silver-and-gilt chess set and ivory figures and placed them on top of Geoffrey’s bed. They would be the first thing he would see when he climbed up to the bower.

In the early morning hours carts left for London with produce to sell, and Bellebelle hoped to catch a ride with one of them. She broke her night’s fast with a thick slice from a wheaten loaf and a chunk of sheep’s cheese washed down with mead, then wrapped the rest of the loaf and cheese in a clean white cloth and put them into a straw basket to take with her. At first light she let the dogs loose in the garden. She carried the hens one by one into the back shed with the goats, bolted the garden gate, and started down the path that led to the village.

After a quarter of an hour’s walk the path curved; the trees grew sparse and Bellebelle could see the distant ploughland shrouded in a heavy silvery-green mist under an arching gray sky. The air was chill and moist but there was no sign of rain. Just the thick swirls of mist. A few yards further brought her in sight of the oak roof of the mill, whose blurred outline jutted up above the vague shapes of a few cottages. Before she reached the village green, where the road to London forked, she heard the sound of bleating kids and the wheels of a cart rumbling by, although she couldn’t yet see anything.

“Can you take me anywheres near Tower Royal?” she called out. “I can pay.” She heard the cart pull to a stop.

“Aye. Hop in—if ye can find room,” said a cracked voice. “Tower Royal be my first stop as it happens. Cold as a witch’s teat this morning, not a day to be walking.”

As she approached, Bellebelle could see that the voice belonged to the driver of the cart, a white-haired old man from the village who made regular trips into London. She made a place for herself in the straw, pushing aside stacked wheels of white cheese, tubs of butter, and covered wooden buckets of milk. In addition to three kids tied together, there were ten geese in large crates and a sow in pig. She petted the kids, who stopped bleating.

“What be ye going to Tower Royal for, lass?”

“To see me son. He’s been visiting his father and I’m going to bring him home.” Still surrounded by that protective veil of fog, the words came easily, increasing her feeling of confidence. “He wants to send him off to school at St. Paul’s, but I think he be too young to leave his mother. In time, of course, I know he have to go, but not yet. When he do go to be educated proper arrangements can be made for me to see him regular.”

The old man turned and gave her an odd look but only grunted in reply.

“Here we be, lass,” said the driver. “Tower Royal. Lower bailey near the kitchen.”

Bellebelle, who had dozed off, now woke with a start, rubbed her eyes, and looked up. A pale sun shone through gray clouds. She had a hazy impression of a garden with fruit trees, vines, and a small fishpond. Crates of squawking hens and other birds were stacked against one white-washed wall. The old man was unloading tubs of butter and buckets of milk, half the cheeses, and all of the geese. An important-looking man with a gold chain around his neck marked off the items on a wax tablet while servants carted off the goods. The man paid no attention to Bellebelle in the cart, and left as soon as everything was unloaded.

“Not yet Terce so’s we made good time,” said the driver. “If ye wants a ride back I be leaving from Smithfield just after Nones.”

Bellebelle jumped down from the cart, gave the driver a copper penny, and thanked him. The clamor of noise had brought her fully awake, but she still felt dull-headed. The courtyard was a beehive of activity: scullions washing utensils in an outside trough, grooms sweeping horse-droppings off the flagstones, servants emptying pots and basins, others catching fish in a net from the pond. Bellebelle saw a laundress pounding sheets in a huge tub of water; another picked up dried sheets and clothes from a grassy plot, and folded them into a large wooden crate.

A few of the servitors eyed her curiously. Fearful lest someone ask her to leave, Bellebelle approached the laundress folding the sheets.

“Can you tell me where the children be?”

The laundress turned and glanced at her. “The older ones be at their lessons, the wee ones with their nurses.” She stared at Belle-belle’s breasts and frowned. “Not the new wet nurse, I hope?”

“Oh, no.”

“Well, that’s a blessing. The poor babe’d fair starve if ye was. Are ye here to help with the young ones? I doesn’t recollect seeing ye ’afore, but then so many comes and goes, I can’t hardly keep tally, now can I?”

“No,” said Bellebelle, avoiding a direct answer.

The laundress gave an indifferent shrug and picked up the crate of dried laundry. “I’ll be taking this lot up to the chambers. Ye can follow me.”

Bellebelle followed her through a back door and down some steps into an enormous kitchen. Kitchen boys turned carcasses of beef and mutton on a spit, while others stirred long spoons into great iron cauldrons hung by huge hooks and chains over the fire. Cooks chopped vegetables at long tables, drenched slabs of meat into wooden bowls of salt, or plucked feathers from a mountain of dead birds. The floor was covered with blood, offal, feathers, and vegetable rinds. The air was filled with the pungent odor of roasting meat, animal flesh, and ordure, and the babble of many voices talking all at once.

Bellebelle had never been inside a castle before, and if she hadn’t been in such a hurry to find Geoffrey she would have liked to spend more time looking about. Instead, she hurried after the laundress through the kitchen, then a room where casks of wine were stacked on wooden racks and loaves of bread neatly laid out on tables. Soon she was in a dark passageway, up a winding staircase, down another passage.

“There be the children’s quarters, where they has their lessons,” said the laundress, pointing to a door. “In the chamber next to it you’ll find the little ones.” She continued on her way, turned a corner, and disappeared.

Through the open door, Bellebelle could hear the chanting of the children’s voices. She noticed the door was open a crack and cautiously pushed it open further. Inside a large chamber, a young boy with curling golden hair, a girl, a smaller boy, and Geoffrey were seated round a long table. A cleric stood at the head of the table over a gilded psalter. He read aloud in Latin; the four children repeated the words after him.

Geoffrey looked content and at home, quite at ease in these surroundings. In truth, he and the girl—who must be Henry’s oldest daughter, Matilda—had the exact same solid build, russet hair, and wide-set gray eyes. The golden-haired boy must be the second son, Richard, the small boy Henry’s youngest son, also Geoffrey. No one looked around or appeared to have noticed the open door. Bellebelle watched for a moment, noting that her Geoffrey repeated the Latin phrases with great ease while the other children spoke haltingly, stumbling over words. She could not bring herself to tear Geoffrey away when he was doing so well, outshining the royal offspring. She would see Henry first, she decided, then come back for her son.

Bellebelle gently pulled the door almost shut, paused, uncertain what to do next. The Tower was such a warren of passageways and winding stairs she had no idea where to look for Henry. The laundress had turned a corner at the end of the passage; she would follow in her footsteps.

The passage was freezing cold and Bellebelle shivered, pulling the fox-fur cloak closer about her shoulders. She rounded the corner and from the far end of the passage heard raised voices.

Something about the clash of those voices—angry, bitter, accusing—warned Bellebelle that a violent quarrel was in progress, and not to approach. But she was drawn to the sound like a homing pigeon. She crept silently down the passage and almost stumbled into the chamber, pulling back just in time.

The door was flung wide. Bellebelle had a fleeting impression of a large chamber, green wall hangings spangled with gold and silver, a table, stools, and a huge green-curtained bed. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the two people in the center of the room. One was Henry, his face twisted into a scowl. Facing him was Eleanor, whom Bellebelle had worshipped as the Queen of Heaven ever since she had seen her face on the statue of the Virgin in St. Mary Overie’s. She had glimpsed her at the coronation, even kissed her hand for a brief ecstatic moment, and seen her a few times thereafter when she happened to be in Bermondsey as the queen rode by. Each time she had thought Eleanor the most beautiful creature she had ever seen, her radiant vitality blazing like the summer sun.

The queen, slightly older now, was no less lovely, but not the gracious, smiling woman that Bellebelle remembered. Her face, framed in an ivory wimple covering her hair and neck, was deathly pale; her tall slender body clad in a purple tunic decorated with pearls and feathers visibly trembled. With rage, Bellebelle realized.

“How dare you ask me to take in this bastard and raise him as if he were my own son! How dare you!” The voice, husky and vibrant, penetrated every corner of the room. “Where is he now?”

“He is at lessons with the other children. I had him with me at Westminster last night, then rode over with him this morning.”

“He is
here? Now?
Without my permission?” Her voice rose in disbelief.

“Where else could I bring him? It will not be for long. Soon the boy will go away to be educated at St. Paul’s.” Henry paced back and forth. “In truth, Eleanor, I do understand how you feel—”

“If you understood how I feel, you would never ask me to do this thing. Never, never, never!”

Holy Mary Virgin, they must be speaking of Geoffrey! For a moment Bellebelle felt faint and had to lean against the wall.

“I refuse to abandon this child,” Henry suddenly shouted. “I will not throw him into the gutter!”

Eleanor crossed her arms over her chest. “Give him back to his mother, this—this London harlot. He must leave here at once.”

Her cheeks burning, Bellebelle felt as if she had been slapped across the face. The queen might have been speaking of a hound-bitch that roamed the London streets.

“I cannot. She has betrayed my trust, lied to me. Geoffrey has promise; he deserves better.”

Eleanor shrank back as if she had been dealt a physical blow. “Why—why you truly care for this mongrel, don’t you?”

“Of course I care. What do you take me for?”

“I don’t think I wish to answer that. And the mother? This vile whore?”

“I care for her too. Or did.” Henry stopped pacing and glared at his wife, his jaw thrust forward in a threatening manner. “Do not speak of her in such terms.”

“How touching. In what terms should I speak of her? What makes you think the brat is even yours?”

“He’s the image of little Matilda.”

“What?” Eleanor’s voice was incredulous. “Do you dare to tell me this whore’s brat resembles
our
daughter? I refuse to believe it. This conniving creature has somehow convinced you the brat is yours.”

Henry approached the queen and held out his hands. “If you would only see him for yourself—”

“Don’t touch me!” She took a deep trembling breath. “Never! I will never set eyes on this misbegotten vermin. Or on any of them!” She gave him a look of such contempt that Bellebelle found herself shrinking from it. “How many bastards do you claim now, or have you lost count?”

Henry put his hands up to his temples. “Jesu. What does it matter? That’s not the issue, is it?”

He looked ill, Bellebelle thought. Henry’s red-rimmed eyes had a haunted expression; his clothes were rumpled, as if he had not slept in weeks.

“It’s not the boy’s fault, Eleanor, none of this coil is his doing. Don’t punish him.”

“What is that to me?” Eleanor walked over to Henry and viciously slapped him back and forth across one cheek. He did not flinch; her hand left a crimson welt on his face. “You still have the effrontery to expect me, the queen of England, to care for your slut’s by-blow!” Eleanor’s arm drew back as if she would strike him again. “Does my humiliation mean nothing?”

This time Henry caught her hands and held them in a grip of iron.

“Of course it means something!” He swallowed. “Let me remind you that I could order you to do this and you would be forced to comply. Instead I have humbled myself to ask you to be charitable. But do not push me too far.”