Chapter 27

Dover Castle

The morning of Maria and Richard's arrival at Dover began dull and grey, though by mid-day the clouds had lifted until only a wispy haze clung to the narrow road. The gentle farmland which covered so much of Kent had gradually given way to treacherous terrain unlike any Maria had ever seen. Thickly forested hills, unbroken by fields or towns, surrounded the pack train which struggled up a roadway breathtaking in its steepness.

With each passing mile Maria felt more isolated from her family. Upon their return from London she and Richard had stopped at Fordwich where Blanche and Little Tom were now staying rather than at Deerhurst. Her visit with Hugh and Eleanora had been strained. Though Fordwich was a day's ride from Dover, Maria was relieved to know they would never visit.

"'Tis my life to do with as I please," she'd told Eleanora when her twin had broached the subject. Her sister's disapproving remarks and looks not only made Maria uncomfortable but awakened guilty feelings she was determined to ignore.

"Where did you get such a foolish notion?" Eleanora pursed her mouth disapprovingly—a mannerism shared with their mother. "No one can do as he pleases, certainly not a woman. Show me the law that gives us such a right."

"I am not the only woman who has ever been part of a lord's household."

"Aye. But introduce me to Lord Sussex's wife whom you would serve or his children for whom you would care. Tell me your legitimate title, sister." When Maria did not respond Eleanora shook her head. "The only title you'll be known by is leman to the earl of Sussex."

I will not think of Eleanora or anyone, Maria told herself as they neared Dover Castle. My lord promised to send soon for Blanche and Tom rides beside me, and I'll ask for nothing more.

Covertly, she studied her son. Throughout the trip he'd tried to act grown and unimpressed but as he looked at the alien hills, rattled off questions to anyone within range, or cared for the stocky black palfrey Richard had given him, his face shone with excitement and happiness.

"I am going to be a great knight, Maman," he repeatedly assured her. "I canna wait to begin my apprenticeship at Walmer Castle. Lord Sussex said that my lord Gloucester's men will escort me there in three days' time."

"Aye," said Maria, hiding her bleakness over Tom's pending departure with a smile.

"You and P-papa will be so proud of me."

"I am already proud of you... And I'm certain Papa will be, too."

Richard made it a point of treating Tom with deference and respect, as if addressing an equal. Maria was grateful for the earl's kindness and discretion. Neither by word nor deed did he betray their intimate relationship and if Tom overheard or surmised otherwise, he gave no indication. He was too busy commenting on the trip, asking questions about his new home and prodding Richard for bloodthirsty tales to worry about anything as uninteresting as his mother.

When Maria's heart softened toward her husband, she hardened it with the knowledge that Phillip had neglected their son. It had been her father who had taught Tom to read and write, and she who had helped him struggle through the Arthurian tales, the Trojan War and Julius Caesar. Deerhurst's steward had taught Tom checkers, chess and backgammon and it was his liege lord, not his father, who was teaching him how to play the lute and the art of fencing with a blunted sword. Richard had also stressed the importance of daily mass in a manner that had changed Tom's indifference to something approaching devoutness.

"God is our ultimate lord, Thomas, and we must strive to serve him as honorably as we do our King Edward here on earth." Richard had instructed him. "Remember that honor is the most important attribute a knight can possess, and his word the most solemn oath he can give. All is lost without honor."

The earl's words near stuck in his throat.

What right have I to prattle about honor when I have broken faith with Tom's father and continue to break it, when I am sleeping with Tom's very mother and usurping Phillip's place as a father?

Such questions increasingly plagued the earl's mind, bringing such unhappiness and self-loathing they sometimes threatened to overshadow his love for Maria. But now as he approached Dover Richard's only thought was to share his pride in Dover Castle, which was his favorite residence.

"Round the bend you'll catch sight of the castle," he said, pointing. "'Tis a picture I promise you'll not forget."

The trees alongside the road abruptly ended; the land on either side fell away and Dover Castle revealed itself, jutting above a low hanging mist. The wind blowing off the Strait of Dover caused the Sussex banner, situated above the castle's massive keep, to stretch taut like a pointing finger.

"Look, Tom!" Maria reined in Facebelle to better view Dover's forbidding majesty. Every powerful line, every thrusting tower mutely proclaimed its military function. 'Twas not just a fanciful phrase that declared Dover to be "Key of England." Thirty miles across the sea lay France—visible on a clear day. From Roman times some sort of fortress had guarded the channel from the troublesome French as well as a host of other enemies.

Tom stood in his stirrups, his face flushed by excitement and cold. "'Tis fine, M-maman, is it not?"

"Aye." Neither saint nor sinner, nor all of Satan's legions, she was certain, could ever bring this mighty fortress to its knees.

Richard smiled at Tom. "I thought you would be well impressed. Come along. I am eager to give you both a closer look."

Pulling her cloak closer round her shoulders, Maria shivered against the chill from the sea, kicked Facebelle and began the last steep ascent up Castle Hill.

* * *

Dover Castle had been built for war, not love or comfort. Its brown-grey walls of Kentish rag were twenty-one feet thick in some places; its four angle towers topping the keep afforded an excellent view of the small town and port, as well as the sea and surrounding countryside.

The keep's lower area was used as a barracks for Richard's soldiers. The upper level contained a small chapel, as well as a gracefully proportioned banquet and great hall. Their bedchamber was large, brightly painted and comfortable, though for appearance sake, Maria had her own tiny bedroom which had been cut into the stone of the walls. While softened by rugs and tapestries it was still bleak and cold, and Maria spent as little time there as possible.

Rumors of impending invasions, either by Isabella or the king of France himself, were so constant that after the initial fear she learned to ignore them. In the ensuing weeks, Dover took on the demeanor of a second court with royal messengers forever arriving and leaving and magnates closeting themselves with Sussex for hours on end. Maria herself knew very little about official business.

"If 'tis important I'll tell you," Richard assured her. "Otherwise I would not needlessly worry you."

Events seemed to totter back and forth, with nothing really changing. Because of increased communication between the exiled rebels and his subjects, Edward had ordered a general commission, covering England's most important ports, to stop the flow of correspondence in and out of the country. Though some rebel letters were confiscated, many more reached their destinations in bales of cloth, the false bottoms of barrels, or even by bribery of Edward's officials. In France Isabella's affair with Roger Mortimer had become so flagrant that her brother had forced her to withdraw from Paris. She found refuge in the low and monotonous plains of the Netherlands, with its splendid cities made prosperous by industry. Count William of Hainault, also lord of Holland and Zealand, welcomed her to his castle near the city of Valenciennes, and there she, Mortimer and young Prince Edward enjoyed his hospitality.

When Richard was closeted with visitors or merely out hunting or hawking along Dover's cliffs Maria spent most of her time in the castle's small chapel, part of which overlooked the inner entrance to the castle. From here Maria always awaited Richard's return. It was a secret game between them. No matter how busy, he always managed a glimpse to the chapel opening and a private smile of greeting, which made the loneliness of Dover bearable.

This early April day Maria ran to meet Richard in the narrow hall connecting the chapel to the banquet hall. They embraced as passionately as if their separation had lasted years, not hours.

"Your lips are cold," she said when they parted.

He smiled and put his arm around her, steering her toward their bedchamber. "'Twas chilly along the cliffs. Did you miss me?" They sat down to a continuing game of backgammon.

"Aye. 'Tis lonely without you."

"I wish that we didn't have to be so secretive, that I could fill Dover with people so you would never have to be alone."

Maria reached across the board to stroke his knuckles. Strange that Richard would think her lonely for others when he was enough to make her happy. She shivered as the thought struck her: Might happiness, like life itself, be transitory—even as is the Cherry Fair?

* * *

By Midsummer's Eve, Maria was certain of what she'd previously just suspected. "I am pregnant, sire."

Richard blinked and then stared at her as if she were a stranger. "Pregnant?" He repeated the word as if it, too, were unknown to him. "How can that be?"

Maria smiled. "I think you would know how a woman conceives a child." Richard continued to stare. "I could not be certain before, but now I have no doubt and we must discuss it."

She had found the earl in Dover's barracks, where his men were readying for Midsummer's activities. Some were already intoxicated, and the noise was not conducive to private conversation. Laying her hand atop her lover's arm, Maria pulled him through an archway into the lower chapel where his soldiers attended mass. Here, at least, they could talk more quietly.

Was it her imagination or had he followed reluctantly? "I know 'tis an... unusual situation, and we must decide how best to approach it." She searched his face, trying to gauge his reaction. She wasn't certain what she'd expected, but at least some expression of pleasure, surely...

"You have picked a poor time to tell me," Richard said, craning his head back toward his men, who were beginning a game of dice. "Midsummer is supposed to be a time of pleasuring, not for mourning."

Maria stiffened. "I think we have naught to mourn, my lord, and I only wanted to tell you now, so that we might have some time alone tonight. With the rest of Dover enjoying Midsummer, I thought 'twould be the perfect time to talk."

Richard looked down at her hand, which still rested upon his arm, then shrugged it off and walked away.

* * *

Dinner was a noisy affair. In anticipation of the later revels, most of Richard's men had already ingested heroic amounts of wine. Midsummer festivities would last until sunrise the following day. Because tonight, June 24, was the shortest night of the year, it was the safest time for souls to leave sleeping bodies for places where deaths were fated to occur. Bonfires were built throughout England and peasants threw herbal wreaths into the flames as protection against witches and other evil spirits.

A strange night, one better made for staying behind closed doors, Maria thought. She noticed plaited, garlanded and bundled thistles, which was a plant believed to provide protection against the powers of darkness, around Dover's great hall.

Maria returned her gaze to Richard, as she'd done throughout the evening. He was in deep conversation with Michael Hallam, heads bent close together. She was not fooled; he was purposely avoiding her. This was the first time since Christmas that his behavior had been anything other than loving, which was both puzzling and troubling. But Maria could not just pretend that nothing had changed. Decisions must be made about their future before her condition became apparent to everyone.

As the banquet hall began emptying and it was more difficult for Richard to ignore her, she leaned against him and whispered, "Come, my love, let us retire."

His eyes wandered beyond her to his exiting men. "What is there to discuss? Words will not change reality."

"I know that, but I want to know what you are thinking and—"

"I've a mind to watch the festivities, my lady. We have months yet to ponder our actions."

Maria opened her mouth to protest, but she did not want to risk a public disagreement. And she suddenly felt so weary, as if her body were urging her to sleep rather than deal with this or any other troubling matter. Instead, she said, "I will wait for you in your chamber. Please do not forget."

All night she waited, but Richard did not come. Despite her exhaustion, she was unable to sleep and spent much of the night gazing out a window into the darkness. Bonfires blazed atop every mountain and dotted the shoreline for as far as she could see. Their orange flames leapt to the velvet blackness of a night blanketed with stars. A soft night, a night made for dancing and lovemaking. From beyond Dover's curtain drifted shouts and laughter and the eerie wail of bagpipes.

"Do not forsake me now, my love," Maria whispered.

Tired from standing, she shifted position. Every babe sapped her strength early on, and this one was no different.

But it is. 'Tis a bastard who will suffer because of the sins of its parents. Perhaps it will be sheltered because of Richard's power, but the stigma will still be there.

With Blanche, at least, no one could roll their eyes, count on their fingers and dismiss Phillip as father. All of England would know the heritage of this child.

Dover's keep was quiet with only an occasional sound drifting from the barracks below. Most of the knights were probably out neath the moon, tumbling some giggling maid.

And what are YOU doing?

The room was dark save for a night light set in water beside their bed; outside the bonfires seemed to float above invisible mountaintops. Strange things indeed happened this night. Faeries were said to be able to speak with human tongues. To see them you need but gather fern seed at midnight, rub it on your eyelids and become invisible.

Shivering, Maria placed her hands across her gently swelling stomach. "You are safe within, my wee one," she whispered. "And no matter what mistakes your parents have made we will love thee well."

Dawn streaked the eastern sky before Maria finally fell asleep.

Alone.

* * *

Richard didn't appear for his customary sop of wine, and Maria attended morning mass alone. She questioned several people as to his whereabouts but received contradictory replies from servants and evasive responses from knights. When Richard still hadn't returned by mid-afternoon, she decided to retire to her room. To her astonishment she found Michael Hallam and another of Richard's men, Anthony Hawkwood, posted on either side of her chamber door. Her travelling trunks were stacked between them.

"What is the meaning of this?" Maria cried. "Why are my trunks here? Where is my lord?"

Michael's brown eyes flicked over her. He forced his expression to blankness. He was here to execute his lord's will, not to feel pity for Maria, though she was indeed a pitiful sight. "My lord asked that we bid you good-bye in his place. We are to escort you to Fordwich."

"Fordwich? I do not understand." Maria turned to Anthony Hawkwood, who was peering down at his boots. "Lord Hawkwood, you have always been kind to me. Will you please enlighten me as to what is happening?"

Looking exceedingly uncomfortable, Anthony rubbed his blunt hands over his red beard. "'Tis as he says. We are to provide you escort." He raised his faded eyes to her. "We must do as our lord wishes, m'lady."

"But I cannot go home. Not now. Where is my lord Sussex?" Maria's voice rose to a shrill. "If he means to kick me out like a common whore he will at least explain his actions."

Hallam moved toward her trunks. "If we leave now we can be to Barfeston 'ere nightfall." He swung a small trunk upon his broad shoulders.

Maria's knees shook. She felt lightheaded. Once again, she addressed Lord Hawkwood. "Would you please tell me where my lord Sussex is?"

He hesitated but after a glance at Michael Hallam, whose face remained impassive, he said, "Down by the pharos, m'lady."

Maria hurried from the keep for Harold's Earthwork, where the pharos was located. Striding across the green, treeless stretch, Maria reached the horse-shoe shaped promontory where sat the lighthouse and the church of St. Mary-in-Castro. A gentle breeze blew off the channel. Fog, like wisps of smoke, undulated along France's distant shoreline. Ships edged toward the harbor, their sails billowing, their painted masts vivid against the washed-out afternoon sky. She approached the pharos, which had once been a Roman lighthouse but was now used as a bell tower for St. Mary.

Heart pounding, Maria neared the entrance of the pharos.

I do not understand what is happening.

'Twas like another spirit had entered the body of her gentle lover. This was not the man she'd lain next to these many months, who swore his undying love. How would he ever explain his treachery?

Maria leaned against the rough flint wall of the pharos until her heart ceased beating in her ears. Slowly she pushed open the door.

"My lord?"

She blinked in the dimness. Pigeons, nesting in the framework, fluttered about. One glance assured her the earl was not there.

Maria retreated. Her gaze swept the English Channel, the cruciform church, and to the south, a stone windmill with its slowly rotating vanes. Beyond, she spotted Richard leaning against an outer wall, gazing toward the sea. He looked so lonely that her anger evaporated.

"My lord," she said, upon reaching him.

Richard turned. Like a curtain, arrogance descended, hardening features that had been open, even yearning. "What are you doing here? You should be on the road to Fordwich by now."

"Why did you mean to cast me out? I do not understand."

The wind tugged at his hair. In the distance smoke from a still smoldering bonfire drifted upward, dancing and swaying before disintegrating in the breeze.

"Where were you last night? I waited for you until dawn."

"I did not say I'd come. And I thought it better this way. Just to have you leave."

The last was said in such a rush of agony that Maria reached out to embrace him. He twisted aside. When he faced her his eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"What is wrong? Why are you so upset?"

"'Tis a fine mess we've made, isn't it? A bastard begetting a bastard. God must truly mean to punish us that he would so afflict us."

"Afflict us? A babe is not a plague. And I'll grant I'd rather not bear a natural child, but I'm not the first woman to do so. Despite everything, 'tis our creation, and I love its father more than life."

A muscle twitched in Richard's jaw. "You talk as if love is the end all, but it is not. Love does not explain to my friend that I have cuckolded him. Love will not explain to my son why he must wear a bend sinister upon his coat of arms or to my daughter why she cannot marry as well as others beneath her in wealth. Love is but a small part of life."

"It may be a small part to you, but it is all I have left. If you should cast me out now I cannot return to Fordwich. Think you Papa and Eleanora would welcome me? And Deerhurst is so very isolated. And lonely." Maria again wrapped her arms around his waist. This time he did not pull away, but neither did he respond. "Your position is all that protects me from full shame, and I do not care. As long as you love me, I will risk it all."

Richard raised her chin so that she looked into his eyes. "If you stay, you will no longer come to my chamber."

Maria gasped. "What are you saying?"

"We'll not lie together. I can exercise at least that much restraint. I must. The babe is punishment, Maria, I know it. For my treachery."

Fear chilled her heart. Hurriedly, she crossed herself. "Do not say such things. You might make terrible things come to pass."

Reaching out Richard cupped her cheek. "If only I did not love you so much."

"If only I were not Phillip's wife," she said wearily.

"Aye, if only."