The Lion of Justice - Plaidy Jean (список книг txt) 📗

He stood up. Hazily he saw the faces of those who had been drinking with him. He was vaguely aware of the smiles changing to expressions of concern as he fell to the floor.

* * * * *

The Abbess sent for Edith.

‘I have a message here.’ she said grimly. ‘The King has given his consent to your marriage with Alan of Bretagne.’

Then Edith knew that on no account would she take this man. Yes, even a life here in the Abbey was preferable to that. Moreover if she consented to take her vows her aunt would be less harsh to her. She had been so in these last weeks because she knew of the turmoil which was going on in Edith’s mind.

‘I will not marry him. I’ll take the veil.’ cried Edith.

‘You fool.’ retorted her aunt. ‘Don’t you understand? It is too late. The King has given his consent. You have no choice.’

Edith stared with horror at her aunt.

‘Did I not warn you? Did I not tell you that God would avenge your renunciation of him? You have had opportunities given you and constantly you turned away. You could not decide. You were set against the holy life. You longed for a man and then when you saw one, some sense of decency prevailed. But it is too late. The King has decided.’

‘Perhaps I could go to the King.’

‘Go to the King? It is not possible.’

‘If I pleaded with him...If I could tell him...’

‘You do not know the King. He would not be moved by the tears of women.’ The Abbess laughed as though momentarily enjoying the situation; but she was almost immediately grim again. ‘Nay, you have been chosen and you have rejected God’s wishes. He has now decided to punish you.’

‘Oh, Holy Mother.’ whispered Edith.

‘Yes, you may appeal now. It is too late I tell you. Had you taken your vows none could have touched you. They would not have dared. But no...you would not. You deserve everything that befalls you. You have chosen. You will be handed over to that vile man and he will make sport with you.’

‘Please...’

The Abbess laughed bitterly. ‘Your ancestors are mocking you. Go. I cannot bear the sight of you.’

Edith went to her cell; she lay on the floor and trembled. Hideous images came in and out of her mind. ‘Oh God.’ she prayed, ‘save me.’

* * * * *

It seemed that God answered her prayers in a most dramatic manner.

The Abbess sent for her. Rarely had Edith seen her aunt in such a pleasant mood.

‘God has decided to be merciful.’ she said.

‘How so?’ asked Edith eagerly.

‘Alan of Bretagne, celebrating his success in getting the King’s approval, drank himself to a stupor. When he stood up, God struck him down. That lustful body is now being consumed by the fires of hell.’

A horrible image but how could she help but be grateful for her escape!

‘Come.’ said the Abbess, ‘kneel with me now and give thanks to God.’

But there was still the further problem. Aunt Christina was wrong if she thought the way was clear. Because one terror had

been removed it did not mean that the other alternative did not remain.

I will not become a nun, vowed Edith.

It would begin again, the persecutions, the taunts, the persuasions. But she would be firm. She had never given her word.

Did God in truth mean that he had determined she should become the future Abbess? Had he removed Alan de Bretagne in such a dramatic way as a sign?

She did not know, but the fact that she was saved from Alan did not mean that she loved the black Benedictine robe any the more.

The Abbess declared she had had a further revelation of God’s approval.

She was to be appointed to the Abbey of Wilton as its Abbess.

This delighted her. It was Wilton Abbey over which a member of the Atheling family had always presided.

She was to be its Abbess and she was determined to train Edith to follow in her footsteps.

The young Athelings could now return to their brother’s court in Scotland. Only Edith and Mary, she insisted, must remain behind.

The Vices of the King’s Court

The King was in his bedchamber with several of his friends. They were laughing together at Robert, a very special favourite of the King, who had come to show the new fashion he had created in shoes. Robert pranced round the room in his extraordinary footgear and coming to the King, bowed in an exaggerated fashion.

‘Get up, you fool,’ cried the King.

‘But like you not my feet now, sir King?’

‘They become you well, Robert. You must see that I have the like.’

Robert sat on the floor and drawing off his shoe presented it to the King.

‘The long points are stuffed with tow, my lord, and corned up like a ram’s horn.’

‘I never saw the like,’ laughed Rufus, giving Robert an affectionate push which sent him sprawling across the floor.

‘Get up, Horned One. Get up, Cornard.’

‘An’ you wish it,’ answered Robert. ‘But I see my lord likes well my shoe.’

‘I like it well. What say you?’ he demanded of the company.

‘My lord, we like well Robert Cornard’s horned shoes.’

Then Cornard he shall be named from henceforth. Come sit beside me, my Cornard, and tell me what adventures have been yours in the court today?’

‘Such as would make a bishop blush, lord.’

‘He is a shameful one, this Robert Cornard,’ said the King.

‘But a pretty fellow albeit.’

‘And always thinking of new fashions to amuse my King. Look, like you well my curls, lord?’

Rufus pulled Robert’s hair affectionately. It was long and had been curled with hot irons and parted in the centre, falling about his face.’

He looked more like a woman than a man. He was scented and his robes swept the floor as he walked, or rather minced, about the chamber. He had a bad reputation, for it was said that he was an adept at many evil practices known to men of his kind. The King was amused by him and although he was not the friend Ranulf was, Rufus never seemed to tire of his company.

In the hall below a banquet was being prepared and shortly the King would descend to the hall surrounded by his friends. They were all rivals for his attention, these young men, and each tried to outshine the others. Scented, their hair long and curled, their robes like women’s robes cut low at the neck, they crowded about him jostling for his attention.

Rufus could not help smiling as he watched them and wondered what his father would say if he could look into his successor’s bedchamber.

Rufus had no illusions about himself. One of his great virtues was the rare ability to see himself clearly; and an added quality was that he never shied from the truth.

Well, Father, he mused, as he looked on that scene and listened to the high-pitched voices of his friends, we cannot all be alike. My court is a gayer place than yours ever was. You had no time for the pleasures of life. For you it was continual conquest. You were known through the latter years of your life and mayhap will be known for ever more as the Conqueror. What shall I be known as? Rufus! Shall I leave behind nothing to be remembered by except my red hair and ruddy complexion?

Yet I am a soldier—not as good as you, but who could be? I have followed the laws you laid down. I have kept the country intact. And I have now got my hands on Normandy. It may well be that I shall bring it under the English crown, for how is Robert ever going to pay me back? I have built even as you did. There is this noble hall of Westminster. I have added the White Tower to your Tower of London, and I have built a bridge across the Thames. Cathedrals, monasteries and churches have been built, although I confess I have had little hand in those. There is something about the Church I cannot stomach. Perhaps it is because churchmen seem to me such hypocrites and, sinner that I am, I am not that.

There’ll be no son to follow me. I could not take to women, and marriage is too repulsive to me. I have brothers, Robert and Henry. Robert would be useless as King. I am not sure of Henry. He’s ambitious and clever, they say. But he’ll be an old man before I’m ready to go. There are the sons of my sisters. What a morbid subject! I’m not going yet. There is too much here to amuse me. I like life, Father. I enjoy it as you never could. These are my friends who amuse me—something you who were all man could never understand. The hunt...now there we are on common ground. It’s something we could always share. The feel of a horse beneath one...the baying of the dogs...the chase!