The Wounded Hawk. Sara Douglass
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Compline, the Feast of the Nativity
of the Blessed Virgin Mary
In the first year of the reign of Richard II
(evening Thursday 8th September 1379)
—ii—
In the evening, Richard hosted a celebratory banquet in the Painted Chamber to which all the nobles who had witnessed the signing of the treaty were invited together with their womenfolk who had been excluded from the more serious business.
Neville and Margaret both attended the evening, not as invited guests, but in their capacity as attendants to great nobles.
The evening was a splendid affair: Richard proved the most generous of hosts, de Vere behaved with the utmost gentility, Isabeau de Bavière shone with the brilliance of the evening star at Richard’s side, and no one minded that King John had refused to attend.
The talk among the guests was of many things, although most topics were generally concerned with the treaty and the current situation in France. Could Richard enforce the treaty? And what was the now-formally-declared-bastard Charles doing? The latest intelligence had him still ensconced in la Roche-Guyon, dithering about what to do and how to take advantage of the sudden deaths of Edward III and the Black Prince. Once the Black Prince had abandoned Chauvigny, Philip the Bad had left Chatellerault and rejoined Charles at la Roche-Guyon, no doubt to keep a closer eye on the Dauphin and see what advantage he could wrest from the situation. Rumour also spoke of this Joan of Arc, and her spine-strengthening effect on the Dauphin. What if Charles did rally the French behind his banner, and. did manage to retake all English holdings in France? Would Richard counter such a move, or sit fuming on his throne in Westminster waving about his useless scrap of a treaty?
The Abbot of Westminster had been sharing Bolingbroke’s plate and cup during the banquet, but when the dishes were removed, he excused himself saying he had matters within the abbey to attend to.
As soon as he’d gone, Bolingbroke waved Neville to take his place.
Bolingbroke checked to make sure that the man seated to his left was engaged in conversation elsewhere, then leaned close to Neville and spoke quietly.
“Richard is to send Isabeau de Bavière to Charles with a copy of the treaty. It is a good plan, for it may further demoralise Charles … and Isabeau’s black witchcraft may act to counter this saintly—” Bolingbroke spoke the word with utter loathing—“Joan we hear so much prattle of.”
Neville glanced at the High Table. Isabeau de Bavière was leaning back in her chair, her brilliant eyes glancing about the hall, her mouth curled in a small smile … perhaps in contemplation of the pleasures of deceit.
“Isabeau is merely a woman rather than a witch,” Neville said, “and one who has been clever enough to make her weakness a powerful weapon for her ambition.”
“Tom! Are these admiring words for a woman I hear you speak? This is not like you at all. Ah, I think marriage has mellowed you.”
Neville’s face took on a reflective aspect at the indirect reference to his wife. “Hal … you know I have suspected Margaret of demonry.”
Bolingbroke’s own face became very careful. “Aye.”
Neville’s eyes lost focus as he remembered what had passed between him and Margaret several nights previously. “She is not what she seems,” Neville said slowly, “and she has lied to me on many occasions.”
Bolingbroke was now very, very still, his eyes fixed solely on Neville’s face. What had happened?
“I could bear it no longer. I confronted her the night we first arrived in London. Sweet Jesu, Hal, Saint Michael told me she had to be destroyed!”
“What happened, Tom?”
Neville gave a small humourless laugh, and, focussing his attention on Bolingbroke, suddenly realised how tense the man was.
“I threatened to kill both her and Rosalind,” he said, “if Margaret did not replace all her lies with truths. Lord Saviour, Hal, I think I would have done it, too, I was so beside myself with anger and doubt.”
He shook his head. “I cannot believe that I was so out of my mind that I would threaten Rosalind’s life.”
Bolingbroke was pale. “You threatened to kill a child? Tom, tell me what happened!”
Neville met Bolingbroke’s eyes. “I was angry with Margaret, not only because I thought her a demon, but because I thought she might be your lover.”
Bolingbroke stared incredulously, then erupted in loud and completely unfeigned laughter, surprising Neville, who had expected any of a hundred different responses but not this.
People glanced at them, and Bolingbroke managed to bring his laughter under control, although tears of mirth slipped down his cheeks and his face went stiff with the effort to keep his chortling muted. “I cannot believe you thought … I … and her Nay, nay, Tom, never fear that!”
Although Neville’s doubts regarding Margaret and Bolingbroke were finally and completely laid to rest, he now felt slighted on her behalf that Bolingbroke should prove so immune to her charms.
“Margaret is a very beautiful woman,” he said.
“Oh, aye, aye!” Bolingbroke continued to chortle, wiping away the tears from his face with a hand. “But … I … she …” He stopped, took a deep breath, and finally managed to gain complete control of himself. “Tom, I do beg your indulgence and forgiveness for any slight you felt I delivered to your wife. Margaret is truly an utterly desirable woman, but she is your wife, as she was once Raby’s woman, and I have too much love and respect for you, as I did for Raby, to even consider her a possible companion for bedsport. But tell me, what did she say to your other charge? That she was a demon.”
“She spoke strangely,” Neville said, “but with such a heavenly anger in her eyes that I was forced to believe every word she spoke.”
“And …?”
Again Neville focussed his gaze on Bolingbroke’s face. “She told me she was not a demon, but was also not a mere woman. She said she was of the angels.”
Any merriment still remaining in Bolingbroke’s eyes and face vanished completely. “And what else did she tell you?” he said softly.
Neville told Bolingbroke what had passed between them, and also detailed for Bolingbroke, as he had not done previously, the curse that Neville had heard from both Roman prostitute and demon. “Hal,” he finished, “she had such a look in her eyes that I was forced to believe her.”
“Such a look?”
“A look that I have seen only in one other being’s eyes—Saint Michael’s. She spoke truly when she said she was of the angels.”
Bolingbroke considered a long while before he spoke again. “Then Margaret is a remarkable woman indeed. Tom, even though she has told you she has been sent to provide the temptation to test you, can you truly resist her?”
“I must,” Neville said, “and I will. I shall regard her and treat her with the respect and pity she deserves, but I will not love her. She understands this.”
Bolingbroke reached out a hand and placed it on Neville’s shoulder, forcing Neville to look directly into his eyes.
“And when the pyre is lit, Tom, will you truly be able to throw her on it? Will you? Will you?”
Neville met Bolingbroke’s stare easily. “Margaret’s honesty has proved a blessing, for I can see that she is resigned to her fate and is prepared to sacrifice herself so that mankind will be spared Satan’s rule. Can I sacrifice her? Yes, I can, for both her sacrifice and my strength will surely see her live with the angels for eternity.”
“You couldn’t allow her