Sharon Penman: Devil's brood

The bishopric of Winchester was presently vacant and so it was the prior of St Swithun’s and his monks who’d gathered in the garth to bid her welcome. When she explained that she’d come to offer prayers for the success of her son’s reign, the prior personally led her toward the west door and then showed unexpected sensitivity by asking if she’d prefer to pray alone.

She would, and leaving her companions outside, Eleanor moved up the nave, pausing briefly at the font of black Tournai marble before turning into the north transept. The small chapel of St Saviour had always been a favorite of hers, for she greatly admired the vibrant biblical scenes painted on the wall above the altar. She noticed now that several of them were looking dull and faded, though. She resolved to give the prior money for their restoration, and then smiled, thinking that she’d not take her privileged life for granted again.

Kneeling before the altar, she said a prayer for Richard’s safety in the Holy Land, and murmured prayers for the repose of Hal and Geoffrey’s souls. Rising, she lit a votive candle, then, for her husband.

“I’ve been doing good for the sake of your soul, Harry,” she said, laughing soundlessly as she imagined his pithy response to that. What a twisted road they’d traveled together. “What is so very sad,” she said softly, “is that it did not have to end like this. We had chances to turn aside, to find our way again. Ah, Harry, we were so well-matched, you and I. If only we could have learned to forgive each other. ‘If only’ and ‘what if,’ fitting epitaphs for both our tombs. Well, you’ll have all eternity to learn to forgive us and yourself. Knowing you, it is likely to take that long, too.”

The candle flickered and seemed about to go out, but then it steadied and she smiled again. “At least it was never dull, my darling. And you will be remembered long after we’ve all turned to dust. But so will I.”

The sound of footsteps drew her attention then, and she glanced out into the nave, saw a monk approaching. “Forgive me for disturbing your prayers, Madame, but your son the lord duke has sent a messenger to inquire when you’ll be returning to the castle.”

Eleanor sighed, thinking her husband and son were much more alike than they’d been willing to admit. Like Henry, Richard had no patience for delays, was eager to be on the road. “Thank you, Brother,” she said. “I am coming.” And she walked with a sure step from the shadows of the cathedral out into the sunlit priory garth.