On one such evening, drifting from a deep reverie, I heard the click of the door latch behind me as Alice returned. I had not noticed the water had cooled, and I rose, asking her to pass me my robe, which lay on the chair across the room. I could feel the warmth from the fire before me on my naked body sharpening the chill on my back from where she had closed the door on the cold corridor.
The click of the lock snapping into place startled me. I turned.
Montmorency.
He secreted the key into the pockets of his cloak, surveying my nakedness.
‘What are you doing?’ Standing in the high-sided bath, I could not move quickly to grab my robe. Gauging my thoughts, he did just that.
‘Oh, no need for such modesty, m’lady. I believe there are those who have already taken their pleasure on your intimate delicacies.’
‘Get out!’ I shouted, hoping Alice would hear.
‘The kitchens are empty, m’lady. Do not strain yourself. You are alone now.’ Placing the robe in the far corner of the room, he moved closer. Walking slowly around the bath, his breathing quickened. His eyes burned into my body, defiling. The cellar was deep, isolated. I felt something brush my rump. I turned, slapping at his hand, but he had withdrawn.
‘Apologies, m’Lady. A slip of the hand,’ he smiled.
‘I will tell Strongbow of this.’
‘Oh, spare me, m’lady,’ he said casually. ‘You won’t . . . and we both know why.’
I hesitated.
‘Exactly.’’ He resumed his slow walk around me. ‘M’Lady, you and I should be more friendly. We have a lot in common, don’t you see.’ There was almost a pleading tone to his voice. ‘For our own reasons, we both want to bring an army to Ireland. However, I think you have more of a pressing need than I do, if I’m not mistaken. Happily, I can help you with that with my relationship with the king. I think we can help each other.’
I felt the chill creeping up my back, over my shoulders. I said nothing.
Watching my reaction, he continued slowly. ‘I see you agree,’ he nodded. ‘I, for my part, would be delighted to help.’ Then weaving his fingers and purposefully turning his focus to my body. ‘On your part…’ he hesitated, 'if only we could be a bit more intimate.’ He stopped.
‘Get out! Never. I would rather die.
He sighed as if dealing with a wayward child who would, in the end, succumb to the way of things.
‘That, m’Lady, would be an awful tragedy. An outcome none of us would wish for. But without our army, I fear it would be inevitable.’ He held my gaze. ‘Worse still, your brother Eanna would perish, along with your other brothers, your father…your entire family, possibly.’
I knew the brutal truth in what he said. No member of the MacMurrough family would survive if our enemies secured their hold on our kingdom; alive, we would forever be a threat.
‘And the saddest thing of all, m’Lady, is that it is completely avoidable. If you could only see your way to being more…cooperative.’
Gathering my robe and handing it to me he said. ‘However, this time, I do understand that you need to reflect on things. I would not want any reluctance when we eventually come to an understanding.’
I took the robe and covered myself quickly. ‘Can you leave now…please.’ I said, turning my back on him.
‘Certainly, m’Lady. Good evening.’
Chapter ElevenREVEALING THE EARL
Chepstow Castle, Wales
October 1168
As the winter gripped the sodden land, autumn leaves in her wake, the campaign season ended. Armies could not march on mud. Horses needed fodder, men their meals. When the Goddess withdraws from the dance of life to rejuvenate in the warmth of the earth’s core, winter’s barren lands could provide neither. Soldiers retreated behind well-provisioned palisades or turned their faces homeward. Cold earth was seldom doused with the warm blood of battle. Men preferred to kill and die in the sun.
Myler and his uncles, the Geraldines, had appeared one evening as the early dusk settled on the castle. Riding from the northwest, I saw their silhouettes sharp against the fading glow of the sunset. They seemed to pause there. The lights of the town glimmered, dominated by the flaring torches of the castle courtyard, the swaying lanterns placed at regular intervals along the battlements. I made regular use of their light to stroll the walls in the evenings and early mornings.
Beyond earshot, I saw them break forward down the gentle slope towards the castle dell, the deep ravine which ran the length of the southern curtain wall of the castle. It provided a natural defensive feature to complement the sheer, unassailable drop from the northern wall into the River Wye. The turf scattered from the pounding hooves, splashing skyward. The gradual rise of the drumbeat was followed by the rhythmic snorting of galloping horses, needing little urging from their riders—a horse knows its home. The men laughed, shouted and cursed in their banter. A race home.
They jostled for position as they rounded the southeast tower and charged for the gates. Although large by any measure for a castle, the gates could not accommodate two charging Norman warhorses. I could hear Le Gross shouting for everyone to pull up; at least someone was sensible. When Myler and others did, he paused . . . then charged forward, iron-shod hooves skidding on the cobbled stone under the arched portcullis. Galloping into the courtyard of the lower bailey, he turned, performed a flamboyant bow and declared himself the winner. The faux outrage of the others could not stem their laughter.
It had been a successful campaign, hence their good spirits. The king had expressed his thanks to Strongbow for their service in restoring the peace in Northumbria. He was grateful, and Myler sensed their fortunes were turning with the improved favour of the king. This was good news for everyone. There was real hope that the king would now let them sail for Ireland.
However, there was doubt in Strongbow’s mind as to the wisdom of risking his armies in Ireland. The disaster of my father’s early return to Ireland had infuriated him. The chances of success were now significantly diminished, with the element of surprise wasted. Added to this, his improved relations with the king meant that his prospects here in Britain were now more favourable.
I had spoken to Myler’s uncles of my father’s renewed offers of land and wealth to any man-at-arms who would come to his aid. From that, I knew they remained eager that Strongbow should stay committed to his plan to come to Ireland. Myler explained that this would remain the case, as Britain was not a land short of Norman knights with little prospects and less opportunity.
Nonetheless, despite all this, they would not act without Strongbow. He would need to be persuaded first.
‘So I must speak to him, Myler,’ I said. ‘Where is he?’
‘He turned for Pembroke on our way.’ He paused. ‘I believe he will return to Chepstow in a few weeks.’
Pembroke was another significant castle held by Strongbow, several days ride to the west of Chepstow. Strongbow visited it frequently, tending to the affairs of his lands, I had presumed. I never had cause to visit the place.
‘Myler, we don’t have that time. If we are to go in force in the spring, we must begin the preparations now. Time is short,’ I insisted. ‘I will ride to Pembroke and talk to him. He is reasonable; I can persuade him.’
Knowing Myler as I did now, I could tell he was uncomfortable, uncertain.
