The Serpent’s Tale

Peering under the bed, Adelia saw the bottom half of the queen and all of Rowley kneeling in front of her. His hands were tied. Mailed legs-she recognized one pair as Schwyz’s-stood behind him and, to the side, Montignard’s fine leather boots, one of them raised for another kick.

“Leave him, my lord,” Eleanor said icily. “This is the language I have come to expect from the Bishop of Saint Albans.”

“It’s called truth, lady,” Rowley said. “When did you ever hear anything else from me?”

“Is it? Then the question is not what I do here, but what you do.”

It’ll come in a minute, Adelia thought. The appalling coincidence of this forgathering must seem sinister to a queen who’d just been attacked.

Cautiously, she began undoing the strings of the purse hanging from her belt and feeling for the small roll of velvet containing the surgical instruments she always carried when traveling.

“I told you. I came on your behalf.” Rowley jerked his head in the direction of the writing table. “My lady, rumor is already blaming you for Rosamund’s death…”

“Me? Almighty God killed her.”

“He had help. Let me find out whose-it’s why I came, to find out…”

“In the dark? This night of nights?” Montignard interrupting again. “You come and same time a demon rush out of the wall to stab the queen?”

Here it was. Adelia’s hand found the tiny, lethally sharp knife in the roll and loosened it so that its handle protruded. What to do with it she wasn’t sure, but if they hurt him…

“What? What demon?” Rowley asked.

Eleanor nodded. “The housekeeper, Dampers. Did you hire her to kill me, Saint Albans?”

“Elean-oor.” It was the protesting growl of one old friend to another; everybody else in the chamber was diminished by the claim of a hundred shared memories. It made the queen go back in her tracks.

“Well, well,” she said, more gently, “I suppose you must be absolved, since it was your leman who pushed aside the blade.”

Adelia’s hand relaxed.

“My leman?”

“I forgot you have so many. The one with the foreign name and no manners.”

“Ah,” the bishop said. “That leman. Where is she?”

Using her one good hand, Adelia pulled herself up by the bed frame and stood where everybody could see her. She felt afraid and rather foolish.

Awkwardly, Rowley looked round. He had blood on his mouth.

Their eyes met.

“I rejoice that she served such a mighty purpose, madam,” the Bishop of Saint Albans said slowly. He looked back at the queen. “Keep her if you will, she’s of no use to me-as you say, she has no manners.”

Eleanor shook her head at Adelia. “See how easily he discards you? All men are knaves, king or bishop.”

Adelia began to panic. He’s abandoning me to her. He can’t. There’s Allie. I must get back to Godstow.

Rowley was answering another question. “Yes, I have. Twice. The first time I came was when she was taken ill-Wormhold is part of my diocese; it was my duty. And tonight when I heard of her death. That’s not the point…” Being bound and on hisknees wasn’t going to stop the bishop from lecturing the queen. “In the name of God, Eleanor, why didn’t you make for Aquitaine? It’s madness for you to be here. Get away. I beg you.”

“‘That’s not the point’?” Eleanor had heard only what was important to her. Her cloak swished across the floor as she retrieved Rosamund’s letter from it. “This is the point. This, this. I have received ten such.” She smoothed the letter out and held it out. “You and the whore were in league with Henry to set her up as queen.”

There was a moment’s quiet as Rowley read.

“God strike me, I knew nothing of it,” he said-and Adelia thought that even Eleanor must hear that he was appalled. “Nor does the king, I swear. The woman was insane.”

“Evil. She was evil. She shall burn in this world as in the next-her and all that is hers. The brushwood is being put in place, ready for the flame. A fitting end for a harlot. No Christian burial for her.”

“Jesus.” Adelia saw Rowley blanch and then gather himself. Suddenly, the tone of his voice changed to one that was wrenchingly familiar; it had got her into his bed. “Eleanor,” he said gently, “you are the greatest of queens, you brought beauty and courtesy and music and refinement to a realm of savages, you civilized us.”

“Did I?” Very soft, all at once girlish.

“You know you did. Who taught us chivalry toward women? Who in hell taught me to say please?” He followed up the advantage of her laugh. “Do not, I beg you, commit an act of vandalism that will resound against you. No need to burn this tower; let it stand in its filth. Retire to Aquitaine, just for a while, give me time to find out who actually killed Rosamund so that I can treat with the king. For the sake of Christ crucified, lady, until then don’t antagonize him.”

It was the wrong note.

“Antagonize him?” Eleanor said sweetly. “He had me imprisoned at Chinon, Bishop. Nor did I hear your voice amongst those raised against it.”

She signaled to the men behind Rowley, and they began dragging him out.

As they reached the doorway, she said clearly, “You are Henry Plantagenet’s man, Saint Albans. Always were, always will be.”

“And yours, lady,” he shouted back. “And God’s.”

They heard him swearing at his captors bumping him down the stairs. The sound became fainter. There was a silence like the dust-settling quiet that comes after a building has crashed to the ground.

Schwyz had stayed behind. “The schweinhund is right that we should leave, lady.”

The queen ignored him; she was circling, agitated, muttering to herself. Shrugging resignation, Schwyz went away.

“He’d never hurt you, lady,” Adelia said. “Don’t hurt him.”

“Don’t love him,” the queen snapped back.

I don’t, I won’t. Just don’t hurt him.

“Let me take out his eyes, my queen.” Montignard was breathing hard. “He would assassinate you with that demon.”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” Eleanor said-and Adelia let out a breath of relief. “Rowley told the truth. That woman, Dampers…I had inquiries made, and it is well known she was mad for her mistress, ugh. Even now, she would kill me ten times over.”

“Really?” Montignard was intrigued. “They were Sapphos?”

The queen continued to circle. “Am I a killer of whores, Monty? What can they accuse me of next?”

The courtier bent and picked up the hem of her cloak to kiss it. “You are the blessed Angel of Peace come to Bethlehem again.”

It made her smile. “Well, well, we can do nothing more until the Young King and the abbot arrive.” From downstairs came the sound of furniture being overturned and the slamming of shutters. “What is Schwyz doing down there?”

“He puts archers at each window ready to defend. He is afraid the king will come.”

The queen shook her head indulgently, as if at overenthusiastic children. “Even Henry can’t travel fast through in this weather. God kept the snow off for me, now he sends it to impede the king. Well then, I shall stay here in this chamber until my son comes.” She looked toward Adelia. “You too, yes?”

“Madam, with your permission I shall join the-”

“No, no. God has sent you to me as a talisman.” Eleanor smiled quite beautifully. “You will stay here with me and”-she walked over to the body and snatched off its covering cloak-“together we shall watch Fair Rosamund rot.”