CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

September 12th in the year of Grace 1217, a day to go down in History. Prince Louis with an irritated sweep of his pen on a sheet of parchment at Kingston on Thames, acknowledged his ultimate defeat. His ambitions towards the English throne were ended. All the exertion, all the planning all for nothing. Kingston on the Thames, as good a place as any for signing away months of toil.

“William Marshal smiled benignly on his vanquished foe. The terms were not harsh, the Regent was too kind a man for that and also a shrewd politician to boot. Better get the French out of the land as quickly as possible rather than bicker endlessly about conditions. That suited Louis fine. His next difficult problem was to confront his father, the astute Philip Augustus, King of France. Yes that would be a difficult experience indeed, still the Throne would be his some day. The English crown was now out of reach but the French version, his real heritage should not be scorned.

Isabella, the Queen Mother, was pleased with what had transpired. Her son Henry was now seated firmly on the throne and her resumed love with de Marché had its obvious benefits, political as well as emotional. Louis had lived for a time on the moral support of the enigmatic Comté, his steadily disinterested approach was just one factor wearing away the Dauphin’s own enthusiasm. Such was life!

There was a greater lightness of mood than the Nation had known for some time. People slapped each other on the shoulder, and joked merrily as if there was to be happiness and joy for ever. Many of the personnel who had figured closely in these past events were here to celebrate. Abbot Roger was talking quietly to Reasea with Brother Endfeld nodding sagely. The lovely Reasea was looking as beguiling as ever laughing in relaxed fashion. Soon they were joined by Sir Simon of Norwich and his wife the Lady Eggertrude, two stalwart defenders of the crown. The cool early Autumn breeze did little to dampen the spirits of the participants in this enactment of all that was great and mighty in this fiercely proud Island.

“And where is the Lady Athelfreda?” demanded young King Henry looking disdainfully at the rings on his fingers.

“I see her but a short distance away, my Liege” responded Hubert de Burgh.
“Allow me to bring her to you.”

The King nodded his head in agreement. The celebrations, associated with the successful signing of the Treaty, made him feel more confident than he had done throughout his short reign so far. Even so he did not always relish some of his more irksome duties. He felt himself above his subjects, young as he was he was already imbued with a spirit, if spirit it could be called, of considerable self-esteem.

“Your Grace desires to speak to me?”

The King was shaken out of his meditation to see the beautiful figure of Athelfreda standing before him. Well she certainly had class about her, part Saxon, part Norman he was led to believe. Hubert had rehearsed him as to what he had to say. He would be better pleased when he had reached the age of majority and could make his mind up for himself. Still Hubert was a kindly soul, not a bad teacher and guide by all accounts, probably too generously inclined, that was another matter anyway. For the moment he would be guided but steadily be preparing himself for the time when he would really reign himself. Let people beware then, he would show them what a real King was, more pious than his late father but a monarch nonetheless.

“Ah yes the Lady Athelfreda” enunciated Henry. “We are pleased to announce your betrothal to a gentleman well-esteemed by us.”

“Indeed, sir?” half-gasped Athelfreda “I thank you but why do you pay such attention to but a humble subject?”

“We are a generous monarch, Lady” retorted the King. “We have in mind for you the Lord of Wark. It has been our wish to crowd favours and lands upon him for his services to our Self. We have decided that a further benefit to him should be your hand in matrimony. What with our Royal favour you can count yourself well blessed.”

“Have I no say in my own future, Lord?” gulped Athelfreda “I never intended to marry for position or wealth. God only knows that I have seen enough of life to know that they are of no real account. Let me be freed from your kindness, Your Grace, and at such later date marry for love.”

“My Lady Athelfreda folk such as you and I - although of course I stand alone in many respects - folk such as you and I do not have that luxury. When I marry, for
instance, doubtless it will be to some hateful French princess that I have never seen - and all for reasons of State.”

“I sympathise dear Lord” answered the Lady. “But I am a poor thing, no where near the throne ....”

“You are a very enterprising woman, Athelfreda, a highly articulate and intelligent person, admired by many, do not underestimate yourself.”

“Is there no respite from this request of yours sire?” begged the beautiful woman.

“My Command, Lady!” stormed the King. “Present yourself to William the Marshal instantly he is but a few yards away engaged in discussion. He will inform you of what we require of you, our good and loyal subject I would hope!”

Henry swung away leaving Athelfreda nonplussed and in a state of near panic. Pleasure, sheer happiness associated with the way that recent events had turned out were now transformed into anxious forebodings. Walking ever so slowly she made her way to where the Regent, the aged but able William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke was standing.

“My good Lord” commenced Athelfreda. “The King commands me to wait upon you.”

“Ah yes, my child” beamed the Marshal. “Your forthcoming betrothal.”

“On that subject, my Lord I am not all that happy.”

“Do not let me read your thoughts too deeply, good Lady” beamed the Marshal. “I know what you must be thinking. To have to spend your life with a gouty old man with an irritable temper, thinning hair, no teeth, declining eye sight - for a fine young woman such as yourself .....” The Earl spread out his hands in sadness.

Athelfreda’s head was starting to pound, the more she heard about this terrible match, the more disastrous it seemed. She wanted to be physically sick, never in her entire life had she been so distressed. What had she been let in for? Was this how her life was to turn out? The play-thing of a rich, embittered, sick old man.

“Why Athelfreda you look so pensive. What has transpired on this day of days that should make you seem so wan and sore distressed?”

The lovely young woman stared bleakly ahead, barely taking in this question.
When she looked more closely she saw the laughing visage of Rolf de Claimont in front of her.

“Rolf is it you?” gasped Athelfreda “Oh God I have heard the most dire news, even your presence here will do little to compensate for such a tragedy.”

“Tragedy lady?” queried Rolf. “Strong words, what indeed has transpired here to deflate you so.”

“Why Rolf I am, at the King’s royal command betrothed to a rich old man.” William the Marshal who had remained quiet during Athelfreda and Rolf’s discourse interjected sharply.

“Why madam when I was talking earlier I was only philosophising I did not mean to imply that your intended was ancient in years, or in a state of mental and physical deterioration. I was only speculating on the possibilities, and problems of arranged marriages.”

“Then he is reasonable?” enquired Athelfreda.

The Marshal rocked on his heels and laughed heartily until the tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Even were he reasonable” resumed the Lady “I could never accept. It is love or nothing, wealth means nothing to me.”

The Earl of Pembroke continued to laugh until it seemed that he would collapse with exhaustion.

“My Lord, you are in high spirits while I am close to weeping. What kind of sympathy is this?”

“My dear young lady” roared the Marshal. “Please meet the Lord of Wark.”

Athelfreda followed the Regent’s pointing hand and stared open-mouthed as she noted his index finger in direct line with Rolf de Claimont.

“But .....” began the fair-haired beauty.

“I am the Lord of Wark, so designated by the King” explained Rolf “For services to the Crown. I have had my knighthood restored and these new titles and offices bestowed on me. I am sad to learn that you would wish to reject my advances.”

“Oh, my dear Rolf” almost screamed Athelfreda “I don’t know what to say.”

“Well is it ‘yes’ or ‘no’?” queried de Claimont.

“Why you foolish oaf of a man of course its ‘yes’. I could kill you for teasing me so, and leading me on .....”

“Pardon, lady but as you can see all of us are equally culpable myself, Hubert de Burgh, even the young King. I can see, however, that you are a woman of spirit, I wish there were more like you.” This was the kindly Marshal speaking.

“My Lord I accept your apologies” beamed Athelfreda.

“And do you accept mine, my Lady?” enquired Rolf.

“Yes, my lad but don’t put me through anything like this again. Oh what a relief to know that you are the Lord of Wark.”

Rolf pulled Athelfreda close to him and kissed her long and passionately. What a woman, that lovely soft, supple body, Lord he was in paradise once more. Surely there was nothing on Earth to compare with this. He felt himself desensitised, floating on a thousand clouds into and beyond Eternity. Nothing else seemed important, time had no meaning.

“Captain.”

De Claimont turned round to see the smiling face of Hugh his comrade in arms. The determined warrior, and staunch friend winked playfully at his chief.

“Can I be the first amongst your old rascals and pirates to shake you by the hand and wish you a thousand happinesses?”

“You certainly can my dear Hugh” grinned Rolf.

“And you too dear lady. It is a joy to see you two so unitted” resumed de Claimont’s friend.

Rolf placed his arm round the beautiful Athelfreda and led her away from the crowd, he wanted to spend a long time with her solely in his company. Even a lifetime with her was going to seem far too short, she was that delectable. What joy awaited him! He stopped to kiss her eyelids and felt again that overwhelming sensation as his legs almost seemed to buckle and he felt transported again into another world. This was really living. Was there a woman like Athelfreda anywhere? Just one moment with her was sheer Heaven, a lifetime was more than any human being merited, God, life was good!

Go to Chapter 48 | Back to Chapter 46 | Index

Front Page | Home Page for individuals | Business Services Index | Site contents & internal links | Email the Author