Eleanor shuddered. She could never celebrate another woman’s suffering, and yet the woman had brought it upon herself. She had hated the Londoners long before they had hated her.
“How long do I have before he goes from me?”
“Two days perhaps. You know how thorough he is. All is ready.”
“Then let us go down to dinner. I want to spend what time is left to me at his side.”
48
Simon de Montfort acted with speed and fury. His forces and those of his barons descended upon Oxford, then struck westward to secure command of the Severn River and the Marches of Wales. Bristol and Gloucester immediately opened their city gates to him. Hereford, which was known to be Royalist, was plundered and the magnates of Hereford were imprisoned. Any who supported the king had their fields burned and their livestock seized to feed de Montfort’s army.
He wasted no time besieging castles. He knew London must be secured, then the Cinque Ports, which meant command of the sea. In a panic, Henry wanted a peaceful settlement and sent for his brother Richard, now King of the Romans, to handle negotiations. Richard Plantagenet and his men rode furiously to Oxford, but they were too late. De Montfort had not allowed the barons to pause. Richard then rode to Reading but again he was too late. All he got was dust in the face raised by the barons’ marching feet.
De Montfort avoided London and instead drove straight into Kent, which was supposed to be a stronghold of the king. The earl had calculated well, for the men of Kent came out to welcome his army and the barons of the Cinque Ports rallied to his side, as Hubert de Burgh had promised him. Simon now had control of the English Channel.
Many of the king’s adherents fled to France and the continent. The London mobs now openly defied the king, and the royal family did not dare to leave the Tower. Simon de Montfort, ever shrewd and decisive, took only three days to set up a provisional government. He appointed a new chief justiciar and took custody of the great seal. Foreign owners of all castles were ordered to vacate.
The Pope lost no time condemning Simon de Montfort. A legation was sent from Rome excommunicating the Earl of Leicester and condemning the barons’ action. Simon met the delegation at Dover and threw the papal bull into the sea.
Then finally Louis of France offered to arbitrate between Henry and his people. After long thought Simon agreed to this because he saw some of his younger men break away to form a party of their own in support of Henry’s young son, Edward.
Simon de Montfort took this respite for a quick visit to Kenilworth. He cared not one way or the other what King Louis of France decided. If the decision was favorable to de Montfort and the barons then there was an end to it, but if the decision favored Henry then it meant all-out war.
When the decision came, England and especially London was stunned. Louis was favorable to Henry on every point. He declared the Provisions of Oxford null and void and that the King of England might rule as he saw fit and appoint his own ministers.
Simon de Montfort had no intention of accepting the ruling. He knew that this diplomatic defeat of the barons would again unite them. The city of London would not be dictated to by France, and the Cinque Ports were up in arms over the decision.
When Simon rode into Kenilworth, Eleanor was alarmed that he had received a wound in his leg. The war lord was a veteran of such minor hurts, which he considered no more than a scratch. Her alarm lessened somewhat when she saw his wound did not impede him in any way, but when he immediately began to undress her, she protested firmly and told him such outrageous activity was out of the question.
“Splendor of God, Eleanor, I can still copulate!” he shouted.
She sent his squires to fetch in the bath. “When you have bathed and I have dressed the wound, I will decide if you will indulge in sexual athletics,” she informed him firmly.
He stood with legs firmly planted apart until the bath was filled and all the servants had departed. Then she saw him sag and rushed to his side to aid him. “You were just putting on a show of strength before the others,” she scolded. “Sit while I undress you.”
Simon was secretly amused. She seemed to have no idea how ridiculous it was for a six-and-a-half-foot man to lean upon a woman who stood less than five feet tall in high heels.
His squires had taken his armor, so she gently eased him from his padded gambeson and wool tunic. Her eyes examined his bared chest for more wounds, then just to be certain she ran her fingers through the thick, dark pelt.
“Ah, that feels so good,” he said huskily, and she wondered if his voice masked unbearable pain.
Her eyes sought his. “You must rest, Simon. Promise me?” she implored.
“I shall stay abed all day tomorrow,” he offered weakly. His face was a careful mask, hiding his wicked intent. He really was weak at the knees, but it was her closeness that was doing it to him. Each time she bent to aid him he was given tantalizing glimpses that made his fingers itch to play with her delicious breasts. Some intoxicating fragrance wafted over him. He did not even try to identify it; to him it was woman. She always smelled and tasted like a creature from an exotic paradise. Sometimes he suspected she had been bestowed upon him by the gods. He managed with a grimace to remove his sword and scabbard, then fell back to allow her to remove his boots, unbuckle his belt, and ease him from his chausses. He carefully observed her reaction through lowered lashes. She had forgotten that he always wore the black leather sheath to protect his large genitals whenever he spent days in the saddle.
He saw her eyes widen and her cheeks grow pale with desire. Her pink tongue came out to moisten her lips and he had to stop himself from ravishing her then and there. “I’m sorry, darling, I really thought I was strong enough to make love,” he teased.
She forced her eyes from the black leather sheath and lifted them to his. He saw they were dilated with pleasure.
“You weren’t eager for bed play, were you?” he asked.
“No, no, of course not,” she assured him.
He threw back his head and the laughter rolled out. “Liar! You haven’t even glanced at my wound. Your eyes can’t get past my swollen cock.” He whooped.
“You devil!”
He picked her up and dropped her into the tub.
“You bugger! You … you Frenchman!”
He said with a leer, “I can’t think of a faster way to get you out of your clothes.”
She pretended outrage, but she was relieved that his wound was minor and excited that they would be able to spend the night making love in the wide bed.
They exchanged places and Simon bathed while Eleanor removed her wet clothes and rubbed herself with a big towel.
“You shouldn’t have done that yet. I like you all wet and slippery-”
“You like me heated before the fire, you like me under you, over you … admit the truth, you’d like me stood on my damn head,” she said, laughing.
He was out of the water the moment he had scrubbed himself. He refused to allow her to tend his wound because it would mean a further delay. He poured her a large goblet of wine, picked her up in his arms, stood her upon the bed, and held it to her lips. “Drink deeply of the dragonsblood, my darling,” he ordered.
“I hope you know what to expect if I drink the whole goblet,” she warned him.
“Insatiable?” he whispered hopefully.
Over the rim of the cup her eyes sparkled like sapphires and devils danced in their depth. When she drained the cup he tossed it over his shoulder and she launched herself into his waiting arms. Their mouths fused, her legs twined about his strong body, and they slid to the bed, not separating for the next twelve hours. Both of them knew he could not remain long. The barons had decided upon all-out war, and Eleanor knew once her husband departed he would be engaged in many battles.
The darkly beautiful princess shivered beneath her transparent robe as she stepped into the privacy of the castle bedchamber. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw her lover naked upon the great bed. One st
ep closer and the whisper of her garment would have awakened him, for he had the disciplined sleeping habits of a hardened soldier, falling asleep and awakening instantly to meet any challenge.
She paused just inside the arched portal and let her eyes avidly enjoy his male beauty. He lay supine with one arm thrown above his head. His shoulders were so impossibly wide they took up most of the bed. The column of his neck was thick with corded muscle and the strong slant of his jaw was shadowed blue even though he’d shaved that day. The firelight turned his deeply bronzed skin to flame, accentuating every muscle and sinew of his powerful torso.
The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. The fire was a concession to her; he needed none, but since it enabled her to walk about in a finespun bedgown, he tolerated it. His tousled hair upon the white pillow was black as a witch’s cat, even darker than his black magnetic eyes that could lure a woman to commit any sin.
He was much more than her lover, he was her strength and her weakness, her wisdom and her folly. He was her hero … her god. She would never tell him; he’d be too big for his britches. She smiled at her choice of words and her sapphire eyes were drawn down the superb flanks to what nestled between them. How innocent and harmless it looked in repose, but make no mistake it was a weapon, one he wielded with exquisite expertise. She shivered but it was not from cold.
He was a man in a million, towering over other men, yet it was not only in size. Most of England thought him a godlike hero—the barons, the masses. For one brief second a stab of fear pierced her heart. Tomorrow meant another battle. Of course he would emerge victorious. The fear vanished; she was incapable of doubting him. Still, she must take care not to awaken him for if she did and he saw her within arm’s reach, he would spend his magnificent strength bringing pleasure to her body.
He would laugh at her protests that he must conserve his strength for the battle. He was a war lord … a warrior god. He had laughed at her protests since the day they had met. Oh, how she had protested! He had conspired with Fate itself to make them lovers. When had it all begun? She closed her eyes and her mind took wing.
“Come and lie with me.”
Eleanor’s eyes flew open. How long had he been awake, watching her daydream? “Sim, no. We were at it all night. I’m not saying no to tease you.”
“Kathe, please love, come and lie with me.”
She had learned to obey him in all things. She stretched her tiny body beside his and he stroked her hair. “I must be gone within the hour,” he told her softly. “This time the fighting won’t cease until they are my prisoners. I shall demand total capitulation. The royal standard will be torn down.”
“I know that, Sim,” she said softly. “We are equal partners in this.”
“I want your signature on all state documents.”
She closed her eyes and lifted her mouth to him. His kiss was so tender it filled her with awe. “When you return, for all intents and purposes, you will be king.”
He held her against his heart. “And you will always be the King’s Precious Jewel.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
After the Battle of Lewes, Simon de Montfort ruled England for over two years. During that time he realized his dream of seeing plain men sit in Parliament. From each city and borough he had summoned two to four good and loyal men to sit with the peers, the barons, the bishops, and the knights to discuss the business of the realm.
The story of Simon and Eleanor is one of the great love stories of the thirteenth century. They had five sons and then a daughter.
After the Battle of Lewes men wrote poems in praise of Simon de Montfort.
Earl Simon’s faith and faithfulness all England’s peace secure.
He smites the rebels, calms the realm and drooping hearts makes sure.
And how does he keep down the proud? I trow ’tis not by praise
But the red juice he squeezes out in battle’s stubborn frays. He felt he must fight for truth or else must truth betray To truth he gave his right hand brave, and trod the rugged way.
Read, read, ye men of England, of Lewes’ fight my lay; For guarded by that fight ye live securely at this day.
Published by
Bantam Dell
a division of
Random House. Inc.
Copyright © 1991 by Virginia Henley
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eISBN: 978-0-307-56741-3
December 1991
v3.0
Virginia Henley, The Dragon and the Jewel
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