Rhuddlan, Page 3

Chapter 3

  April, 1171

  Elstow Abbey, Bedfordshire

  Eleanor had endured a fitful rest. It was the fault of the nightmare she had had just after falling asleep, which had been so terrifying that she’d fought against closing her eyes again. As was usual with dreams, the details had ebbed quickly away. She had lain awake trying to convince herself that she couldn’t possibly be afraid of something she couldn’t even remember, to no avail. The apprehension had persisted and the remainder of the night had passed torturously.

  The morning was cold and damp but the birds sounded cheerful and the air smelled of rich earth. By the time she emerged from the church in the company of the other novices, the sun was there to blind her, promising a bright spring day. She noticed that everybody’s spirits seemed to be lighter, and her own tiredness was soon forgotten…as was her fear.

  She had been a novice at the abbey for almost nine months, having arrived in the waning days of summer, escorted by two of her father’s guards. Her father himself did not come, nor had Eleanor expected it of him. Sir Thomas Bolsover rarely ventured past the gate of his well-fortified manor a day’s ride to the north. And Sir Thomas had little regard for his only daughter. Indeed, it was a wonderful miracle to Eleanor that, fifteen years after her birth, he had managed to remember her mother’s deathbed request: that the newly born Eleanor should be promised to the church. Eleanor had been a quiet, obedient child and she had entered her adolescent years in increasing dread that Sir Thomas, who took so little notice of her, would forget that he had a daughter for whom he must make some sort of provision.

  Gwalaes, her inseparable companion in her father’s house, had encouraged her to speak up. There was no worse fate for a woman than to go unmarried and most girls of good family were betrothed long before their thirteenth birthday. Of course this date had come and gone without attracting the attention of Sir Thomas. That was when Gwalaes, who was as outspoken and stubborn as Eleanor was shy and dutiful, had started pressing her in earnest to confront her father or at least the steward who had his ear. Eleanor refused. Sir Thomas, remote and severe, terrified her and his steward wasn’t much nicer. The prospect of an empty future was horrible but at least not yet so horrible as the thought of confronting her father.

  And there was no other person at Oakby to do it. Eleanor’s mother had died in the effort of giving birth to her and Gwalaes’ mother, a pleasant Welshwoman who had raised the two girls together, had succumbed to a fever when they were twelve. After that tragedy, they were left to themselves.

  “There’s only one thing for it,” Gwalaes had announced one day. “When Robert returns you must ask him to speak to your father.”

  Eleanor had considered the idea. Her brother was eight years older than she was, blindingly handsome and too busy to take any notice of her. Besides, she was almost in as much awe of him as she was their father. “Could you do it?” she said to Gwalaes. It was no secret that Gwalaes was madly in love with Robert Bolsover.

  “All right,” Gwalaes had sighed, as if resigning herself to some brutal task that nevertheless must be done. Of course, her little grin gave her true feelings away.

  It happened that Gwalaes hadn’t had to bother. Just before her fifteenth birthday, Eleanor was summoned to the hall and informed by Sir Thomas that she was to be sent to Elstow Abbey in a fortnight. No marriage for her; she was to be a nun. It was her mother’s dying wish.

  “She probably didn’t want you to go through what she did,” Gwalaes had theorized when Eleanor had shared the news. “Being married to a man as disagreeable as your father and then dying in childbirth. Do you think you’ll miss it?”

  Eleanor had shaken her head emphatically. “As long as I can be a nun, I wouldn’t want to marry. I’ve never met a man who wasn’t disagreeable, have you?”

  “Robert,” Gwalaes had answered promptly.

  It was true; Robert Bolsover wasn’t disagreeable. He was charming, humorous and gallant. Yet there was something about him which frightened Eleanor nonetheless and she knew she wouldn’t want to marry someone like her brother either.

  She hadn’t realized how unhappy she would be to leave Gwalaes behind. But Gwalaes was a servant, supposedly Eleanor’s personal attendant although they were more like sisters, and she was to remain at Oakby. She hadn’t realized, either, how much she would miss Oakby. She had never before ventured out of its boundaries and even though Elstow was only a full day’s ride away, it was like another world. For the first few months of her novitiate, she was incredibly homesick.

  But gradually she came to love Elstow and then she embraced wholeheartedly the prospect of becoming a nun like the ones there she so admired. At Elstow, a Benedictine house, the nuns were Norman gentlewomen; they spoke with modulated voices, they conducted themselves with dignity, they treated the abbey servants with a benevolent condescension. They were a breed with whom Eleanor had had no previous experience. She imagined that this was what her mother must have been like. They were encouraging and kind to her; they did not ignore her as her father had but took great interest in everything she did. She wanted nothing more than to be like them. She longed for her novitiate to be over so that she could be received into the order as a full, adult member.

  After supper on that fine April day, she was summoned to the abbess’ quarters. She was nervous because she couldn’t remember committing any transgression but the abbess came forward to greet her with outstretched hands and kissed her on either cheek. “I had visitors this evening,” the abbess said. “Four men from your father’s house. They’ve come to escort you back to Oakby.”

  Eleanor knew silence and obedience were highly prized virtues in women and in particular nuns, but the question was blurted out before she could stop herself. “Why, Mother Abbess?”

  “I don’t know. Removing a novice from an abbey is a serious undertaking. Of course I asked them but they professed not to know.”

  With a sudden rush of horror, Eleanor remembered the dream she’d had the night before. She knew something terrible awaited her at Oakby. “I don’t want to go, Mother Abbess!” she said desperately. “Please, please tell them it’s impossible!”

  “Nonsense!” the abbess said brusquely. “It’s highly irregular but not impossible. You will go and then you will come back.”

  But the icy fingers of the nightmare clutched at her heart. She felt that if she went, she would never return. “What if I refuse?”

  The abbess stared at her with an astonishment which rapidly became anger. “You cannot,” she answered in a cold voice. “This isn’t a matter open to discussion. You must do what you’re bid.”

  Another sleepless night and then a hard day of traveling. Eleanor wasn’t used to riding and the last horse she’d been on was the one that had brought her to Elstow nine months earlier. Her muscles soon ached from the constant effort of having to cling to the belt of the groom in front of her and trying to keep her balance. She was too shy to complain, with the result that they did not stop often for rest. But the physical discomfort was nothing next to her mental anxiety. What on earth did her father want with her? She could not possibly imagine. If she had been Gwalaes, she thought self-critically, she would simply have questioned the guards or the groom despite the abbess having told her she’d already done so and received no answers. Perhaps they would tell her what they wouldn’t tell the abbess. But she couldn’t.

  They reached Oakby shortly after dusk. Eleanor was exhausted and when she was helped to the ground, almost collapsed because her sore legs very nearly did not support her. Sir Thomas wasn’t in the ward to meet her but his steward was; or rather, the man glanced in her direction to content himself that the correct girl had indeed been fetched back and then he disappeared into the hall.

  She stood for a moment and looked around. Only half the torches supported by rusty iron sconces which lined the perimeter of the ward were lit and the stench of dung filled the air, leading her to believe the shadows were hiding what the careless stableh
ands had overlooked. It was quiet. The abbey was usually quiet as well, but not in this cheerless, cold way, as if the buildings were deserted. She shuddered. She wished she could steal a horse and fly straight back to Elstow.

  “Eleanor?” She whirled around and there was Gwalaes. Even after all the months that had passed, Gwalaes looked exactly the same. She was an immensely comforting sight. Eleanor’s lip started to tremble and tears came into her eyes.

  “Gwalaes!” she exclaimed.

  With a little laugh, Gwalaes ran down the steps and into Eleanor’s arms. They hugged each other happily. “You looked so different, I didn’t know if you had become another person,” Gwalaes told her. “It seems ages since you went away. How was it? Did you like it? Have you missed me? Oh, I’ve missed you so much! You don’t know how boring it is without you!”

  Eleanor was pleased by Gwalaes’ delight in seeing her again. She decided there was no reason to let the other girl know that once she’d fallen into the routines at Elstow, she had stopped thinking about anyone or anything at Oakby.

  “I love the life at the abbey, Gwalaes,” she said. “But I wish you could be there with me.”

  Gwalaes made a face. “Me a nun? Not in a million years! At least, not as long as your brother walks the earth.”

  “Still harping on that chord, are you?” Eleanor shook her head, smiling.

  “I can’t believe what I’m doing!” Gwalaes suddenly exclaimed. “You must be hungry—come inside! Go up to your chamber. I’ll bring you water to wash and a meal. The seamstresses are coming tomorrow—two of them, can you believe it? And your father is actually spending money for musicians! Oh, Eleanor, it’s going to be marvelous. I envy you!”

  Eleanor felt cold. “What are you talking about, Gwalaes? What’s going to be marvelous? And what do I need with seamstresses and musicians?”

  “Your brother specifically requested musicians. I’m sure your father wouldn’t have them otherwise but you know he can’t refuse Robert the least thing. And—oh!—I forgot!” Gwalaes’ expression turned dramatic and she took hold of the other girl’s arm. “Eleanor, your cousin arrived three days ago. Alan d’Arques is his name. He’s squire to Robert and almost as handsome! I promise as soon as you’re settled, I’ll bring him up to meet you. He’s so much fun to talk to!”

  “Gwalaes, stop! Please . Just tell me why my father summoned me back to Oakby.”

  Gwalaes stared at her in confusion. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Alan brought word that Robert and a small party will arrive in a fortnight. Robert gave your father specific instructions about fixing up the manor, hiring musicians, cleaning out your chamber for his guest, having a wardrobe made for you…things like that.” Eleanor’s face was still blank and she added, “They’re all preparations for you, Eleanor. For your marriage!”

  There didn’t seem to be anything she could do to prevent it. Neither Sir Thomas nor his steward came forward to make a formal announcement to Eleanor; it was left to the girls to glean what information they could from servants’ gossip and Alan d’Arques’ scant knowledge.

  Her brother had arranged everything but it was her father with whom Eleanor was impotently angry. After all, Sir Thomas had assured her he would honor her mother’s dying wish. She had always known that he doted to excess on Robert and hadn’t even begrudged it because her brother was his heir but she had never expected it to infringe on her life. From the distance of the abbey, she’d come to realize that she had endured a childhood bereft of his attention and affection and although it hadn’t bothered her at the time because Gwalaes’ mother had been there, now she felt it. But when, at last, he’d made an effort on her behalf—the first and only one—he was taking her back. Now she felt betrayed.

  “At least,” Gwalaes said consolingly once they had glimpsed the man Eleanor was to marry, “he’s not old and decrepit like your father.”

  From Eleanor’s window, they watched a train of horsemen trot sedately into the small ward and surmised that Eleanor’s betrothed was the knight riding next to her brother.

  “My God!” Alan d’Arques exclaimed. “It’s the earl of Chester!” He looked at Eleanor with new respect. “You couldn’t make a better marriage alliance unless you married a son of the king himself!”

  Eleanor wasn’t at all impressed. “It probably isn’t him. It’s probably that dark, angry man behind him.”

  Gwalaes turned to the two of them, horrified. “No! Say that’s not true, Alan!”

  “I keep telling you I don’t know anything! Sir Robert gave me a sealed letter and told me to make haste to Oakby—nothing more!”

  “Hmph!” Gwalaes snorted. “You might have opened the letter. This is practically a matter of life or death!”

  That started friendly bickering over the morality and legality of breaking seals. Eleanor was aware of something more than mere words flying between the two and felt uncomfortably in the way. She thought with dismay that Gwalaes spoke easily with Alan; indeed, now that she thought back, Gwalaes had always had the knack of chatting to young men. She herself hadn’t. How, then, could she make a successful marriage? And to a man whom she’d never before seen? The very idea made her shiver. She told herself it was impossible; she could not marry. She would have to somehow convince her father to return her to the abbey.

  But she never had a chance. Earl Hugh had much to recommend him as a potential husband; aside from his obvious attributes of wealth and position, Sir Thomas thought his finest one was his willingness to accept Eleanor sight unseen. Still, Elstow had been promised a good deal when it took Eleanor in as a novice and Sir Thomas had no doubt the abbess would make a determined attempt to collect or appeal to the king. So even though the match was overwhelmingly favorable to the Bolsovers, he wouldn’t have agreed to it if Robert hadn’t endorsed it.

  Although what she was bringing to the union, the marriage portion given to Hugh by her father, was paltry, Eleanor Bolsover didn’t come cheap. Her brother had negotiated a handsome cash price for her hand which Hugh was to pay to Sir Thomas at the time of the wedding ceremony and the earl also agreed to invest Robert with property worth two knights’ fees. Sir Thomas was happy to see his son making his fortune in the world. A marital connection with one of the most powerful men in the kingdom could only augur good for Robert Bolsover.

  After Mass the morning after his arrival, Sir Thomas summoned Eleanor to the hall to meet the earl. Despite the feverish work of the seamstresses, she was dressed in the same plain woolen gown in which she’d traveled from the abbey. He was annoyed. Robert would think that he hadn’t followed the instructions in his letter.

  She barely looked up when she entered and hung hesitantly near the rear stairwell so that he had to snap at her to move further towards the group of men. Robert presented her to the earl and she curtsied.

  “For God’s sake, Eleanor, raise your head!” Sir Thomas said sharply. “Perhaps Earl Hugh would like to see what he’s getting!”

  “Oh, women’s faces don’t matter to the earl, Father,” Robert laughed, winking at Hugh. “Only their ability to churn out heirs.”

  “Of course, of course,” Sir Thomas agreed instantly. “Well, Eleanor was just sixteen, my lord, and you can see for yourself she’s in excellent health. Very strong.”

  “Aren’t you going to say anything, Eleanor?” Robert asked. There was a hint of humor in his voice, as though there were some joke being played that only he knew about. “So high an honor…Earl Hugh could have had any woman he wanted but he chose you.”

  Eleanor’s eyes crept up to the earl’s face with a slight, puzzled frown. The men stared at her, obviously waiting for her to express her fervent thanks. She opened her mouth and stammered: “I’m—I’m most honored, my lord…” Then her gaze shifted to her father and she added, in a rush, “But I’m promised to the church. The abbey at Elstow. It was my mother’s dying wish—” She broke off with a cry of pain. Sir Thomas had stepped quickly forward and s
lapped her face.

  “How dare you shame my house like this!” he shouted at her, his own face blood red with fury. Eleanor’s hand flew to her cheek in disbelief. Her father had never before hit her. “You haven’t taken any vows! You’re still mine to dispose of! Your brother has arranged a tremendous opportunity for you; you ought to be grateful. Do you think if your mother was alive she would hesitate one instant to seize it? Do you?” She shook her head mutely. “Pay your respects to Earl Hugh again and get out. You can remain in your chamber until the day you’re called to Chester!”

  Eleanor curtsied to Hugh and fled the hall. Sir Thomas turned to his guest. “I must apologize, my lord—”

  “Don’t worry, Father,” Robert said cheerfully. “The earl likes pious women, don’t you, my lord? They’re less likely to get in his way and are easier than others to persuade to perform their procreative duties.”

  Gwalaes jumped up with excitement when Eleanor entered the room but her hopeful grin died away after one glance at her friend’s pale face. “Is he older than he looked from afar?” she asked.

  “No,” Eleanor answered shortly.

  Gwalaes didn’t like her morose expression. “It is the earl, isn’t it? It’s not that angry man you pointed out yesterday is it?”

  “It’s really the earl.”

  Gwalaes peered at her. “Well…did he say something nasty to you?”

  “No. He didn’t say anything at all.”

  “Why not? Can’t he talk?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s wrong with you, Eleanor? He’s not old, he wasn’t nasty to you, he’s an earl and you’re going to be countess of Chester. It’s absolutely wonderful!”

  “I’d rather be a nun than a countess!” she retorted bitterly. “It’s what was promised me!”

  Gwalaes took her firmly by the forearms. “Eleanor, your fate has changed. It’s not going to go away unless something horrible happens to the earl on his way back to Chester so you might as well make the best of it. Maybe you only liked Elstow because it wasn’t Oakby. Chester won’t be at all like Oakby, either. Alan says it’s a great place—”

  “Has Alan ever been there?”

  “Well, no, but the earl’s right hand man, Sir Roger, told him much about it. It’s huge and built of red sandstone and when the setting sun hits it, it glows as though it’s on fire. Doesn’t that sound pretty?”

  Eleanor stared at her, mouth downturned, unconvinced. Gwalaes jiggled her arms. “All right, then, think of this: I couldn’t go with you to Elstow, but I can go with you to Chester. We can be together! You must promise to take me, Eleanor. I’ve been absolutely miserable here on my own!”

  A small smile bent the corners of the other girl’s mouth. “You just want to go where Robert goes…”

  Gwalaes dropped her arms and wrinkled her nose. “I’ve given up on Robert. He talks too much.”

  “Alan’s quieter,” Eleanor said innocently.

  “Not as handsome but at least he speaks to me,” Gwalaes grinned. “But, Eleanor, let me come to Chester so I can look after you. It’s what my mother wanted, remember? She told me to take care of you. After all, I’m your elder by two months.” She watched Eleanor’s face intently, saw her expression soften at the suggestion that at least one mother’s dying wish would be fulfilled and pressed her advantage in a casual voice. “Surely there must have been something pleasing about the earl…”

  “There was,” Eleanor agreed shyly. “He has the most beautiful blue eyes.”

  Hugh stepped outside, alone, for a breath of fresh air. The hall, crammed with trestle tables and benches to accommodate his extensive bodyguard as well as the dozen-odd residents of Oakby, had grown stifling hot and loud by the time supper had ended. The temperature took a decided drop on the other side of the massive door and the noise abated abruptly. Hugh breathed deeply. The chill of the damp April air cooled his face.

  He glanced uninterestedly down into the little ward below. It was empty and unkempt; symptomatic, he thought, of the master of Oakby. Sir Thomas was a spare man, like his son, of medium height. His hair, which must have shimmered golden in his youth as Robert’s, had thinned and dulled with age, as had the zeal and fire which had driven him to fight on the side of Empress Maud. It was almost as if having achieved the prize to which all knights aspired—land—he was content to sit back and permit the world to go on without him. He had paid the shield tax to the king instead of personally serving in the garrison until Robert had been old enough to perform this duty in his place. He rarely left Oakby, preferring to pass the time discussing the status of his estate or playing chess with his steward or reading in the alcove adjacent to his bedchamber, but all the while looking forward to the day his son might return for a visit.

  Robert had told Hugh this enroute to Oakby, laughingly, as if it were a joke. Hugh did not have the feeling that Robert cared very much for his father; he simply exploited Sir Thomas’ infatuation. It made, Hugh thought, the older man appear faintly ridiculous.

  Hugh’s estimation of Thomas Bolsover was reinforced at supper. Sir Thomas hung obviously on Robert’s every word, encouraged his stories and laughed louder than anyone at his jokes. He poured Robert’s wine himself and offered him the tastiest bits of meat from his own plate. Whenever Robert leaned over to speak to Hugh, Sir Thomas’ lips pursed together in annoyance until he was able to gain his son’s attention again. And when supper ended, Sir Thomas swept Robert away for a private discussion with barely a word of apology to his guest. Hugh had been angered by such rudeness but Robert’s exaggerated wink as his father had dragged him away had mollified him tremendously.

  That was when he had gone outside for a breath of air. He’d meant to stroll the perimeter of the grounds until Robert joined him, as he was certain would happen, but the ward was small and he suspected that the shadows along the wall were clumps of animal waste no one had bothered to rake up.

  He heard loud, sudden footsteps behind him, recognized them immediately and didn’t bother turning around. “My lord,” a voice said at his ear. “Could I talk to you?”

  “What is it, Roger?”

  “How long do you mean for us to remain here, my lord?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But surely, my lord, you can’t mean to stay more than one or two nights,” Haworth protested. “There’s no room—”

  “I have business here, Roger,” Hugh interrupted. “If it takes one, two or ten nights, that’s how long we will remain.”

  “Business with Robert Bolsover?” Haworth asked cuttingly.

  Hugh whirled around. “Is that a problem?” he inquired.

  Haworth’s glare faltered. “No, my lord.”

  “Good. Because you know if you have problems with any of my decisions, you’re free to leave my service. I don’t own you, Roger. You’re a free man.” He spoke sharply because he was angry at Haworth’s jealous interference. He almost wished he’d told his captain to ride ahead to Chester.

  “You know I don’t want to leave you,” Haworth said. His dark eyes burned so intensely that Hugh felt his face grow hot. Suddenly he couldn’t stand Haworth’s anguish. He looked away.

  “Sir Thomas and I have to set a date for the wedding,” he said, relenting. “And his steward has persuaded him to get me to pay off the abbey since he was content to leave the girl there. I’ll wrangle a bit over that but I’ll probably pay it. I’m not particularly comfortable staying here, either.”

  “It will be good to get home again,” Haworth said with feeling.

  “Yes…Six months away from Chester is five and half months too long.” He added casually, “I’m looking forward to showing it to Robert.”

  Haworth was stunned. “Bolsover is coming with us?”

  “Of course,” Hugh laughed. “It will suit him. It’s simply amazing, isn’t it, how a place like this and a father like his managed to produce so fine a man as Robert Bolsover.”