- Le Roman de la Rose, 13th c.
The day before the assize brought William and his retinue to Strathcombe, trundling carts into the bailey, horses whinnying, and chainmail rattling, breaking the usual calm of the castle grounds.
“Milady,” William said, grasping her hand in his, his fat lips lingering overlong on the back of her hand. Ugh! Eleanor thought, fighting the impulse to wipe her hand, as usual.
For Eleanor, the day turned into a relentless dance of avoiding William. It was all she could do to foist off his groping paws, reaching for her at every possible opportunity, at bowls, even, horrifyingly, at chapel. He had run his hand up and down her back in the Great Hall during the meal before she had quickly moved away in shock at the affront. How dare he! She was aghast at his boldness. He had only leered at her, and kept positioning himself so he could look down her bodice when she reached for her wine. Next meal, she would take care to wear a high-necked gown.
He had brought Henry with him, too, and Eleanor warily watched Mary and Henry all day. They seemed to spend every waking hour together, heads close, laughing, playing the lute, playing chess, and even bowls in one of the gardens. She passed several times through the antechamber looking over the garden where they were bowling, just to ensure that they were behaving themselves, although Mary was so naïve, she would not be capable of any deception or anything more serious than a little flirtation. Perhaps an embrace? Yes, Mary might do such, but nothing else, she knew. What could she do about the young couple? Mary was so obviously taken with Henry and he with her, they were rushing headlong toward disaster, she feared.
She summoned Osbert to the Great Hall, relieved that she had business to tend to and could avoid the lecherous William and his unwanted attentions.
“What have you for me?” Eleanor asked Osbert, after he’d bowed to her. She watched his expression carefully, but saw not a trace of his earlier longing. Perhaps that was done, she thought, and he’d accepted truly that she was his lady and not his love. She thought of poor Agnes, who loved Osbert and could not have him, and then Osbert who loved her and could not have her. Life was so complicated.
“I…I believe I am close to making an arrest, Milady,” Osbert said, his forester’s cap in his hands.
“You are?” Eleanor exclaimed. “Osbert, this is excellent news! Who are the knaves? From what village are they? Who is involved?”
“Nay, Lady Eleanor, I dare not say until I have made the arrest and have the poachers in my custody.”
“But why?” she asked. “’Twould help at the assize!”
“I shall bring the miscreants to the assize,” he promised. “I also might be wrong and I do not care to falsely accuse someone until I have the proof. That I hope to get today.”
“Aye,” Eleanor said. “I thank you, Osbert, and commend you for your trustworthiness and your loyalty.
Osbert colored, but averted his eyes. The servant relationship had apparently been reestablished, she thought gratefully. She was certainly curious to know whom he suspected, but, out of respect for him, did not question him further.
He took his leave and left Eleanor musing about who Osbert suspected. She could be free of part of her awful dilemma, if indeed the poachers were caught. Hugh could no longer arrogantly accuse her of mismanagement, nor could William use the poaching as leverage against her. Oh, how she hoped Osbert was right!
That night, Eleanor slipped into her bed, shivering against the cold, despite Agnes’s placing the warmer at the foot of her bed and settling her down coverlets over her. What she needed was more warmth, perhaps a warm body to hold her close, perhaps, perhaps someone very like Hugh. No! What was she thinking? Most definitely not like Hugh, who would come tomorrow for the assize and treat her condescendingly, embarrassing her by questioning and distraining her loyal Osbert. Most definitely not like Hugh, who wanted to wed her own dear sister. Most definitely not like Hugh, who mayhap have ordered the murder of his own wife. Thoughts running swiftly through her head finally dissipated, and she drifted into a deep sleep, for once, mercifully with no dreams of Hugh’s arms encircling her.
The morning of the assize dawned and Eleanor rose and dressed, her heart filled with dark forebodings about the day ahead. She felt out of sorts and wondered if it was because she hadn’t dreamed of Hugh, after all. She always felt so uncomfortable, blushing in secret, remembering the dreams about him the next morning, but, now that she hadn’t dreamed of him, she felt something was amiss. She sighed and turned her thoughts to what would happen this morning.
At the assize today, William would hear the crimes, approve assoigns and issue amercements, and dispense justice as needed to the peasants from the surrounding hamlets and villages. The first and foremost crime, though, and the talk of everyone coming to the assize, was the poaching.
Hugh had not yet arrived at Strathcombe. What was delaying him? Was he not going to come for the assize, after all? Had urgent business at Wykeham taken precedence? Would she gain a reprieve from his arrogance and high-handedness and his bullying of her about the poaching? Or, she wondered, was it truly a reprieve, since she did so want to gaze on him once more? How had she allowed herself to think thus about Hugh? All in all, there were too many questions that hung in the balance for the day, too many mysteries were unresolved, and Eleanor dreaded what the day might bring.
Weighing on her mind was the most urgent question of all—would Osbert have the poachers bound and ready for trial as he had said he might, or, if Hugh came, as he said he would, would Hugh humiliate her in front of the assembled company,
