Consoling Maud de Clare
Hugh had the strangest feeling of being totally disconnected from the scene before him. Maud sat in the middle of the solar at Tewkesbury manor, surrounded by her sisters in law, his father, Badlesmere and Deyverille who were all trying to give her comfort. He considered that they would have done better to clear Gil’s belongings from the room. The cloak lying across the bed, his gauntlets beside it and a goblet that must have been his – these things could only serve to remind the woman that he husband’s body had just been delivered into the cold earth beneath the floor at the nearby abbey.
On the other hand, those objects hadn’t got there by themselves or been left lying around since his departure for Scotland: the servants would have seen to that, would have tidied them away into the wardrobe. No, Maud herself must have fetched them here – rubbing the salt of his memory and his scent into the newly raw wound of his death.
He had never got to know his sister by marriage. He had met with Gil often enough and spent time in his company, but Maud had always been strangely absent, staying in her chamber with the excuse of having some ailment or other. Eleanor had managed to see her on the odd occasion but all she would say was that the young woman was fragile in health – and in spirit, the last part of the remark added with just a touch of acidity. If it was one thing the de Clare women were famous for, it was their spirit and they thought poorly of any woman who lacked it, especially if that woman sought to bear their family name. So Hugh had never got to speak more than polite courtesies to Maud which was why he felt totally unqualified to give her any more than that now.
He watched her, head bowed, avoiding eye contact with those clustered around her. Despite the fact that she was a couple of years older than Eleanor, she seemed so much more immature like a little girl in a woman’s body. No, not even a woman’s body – more like a boy’s, slight and thin. No wonder she hadn’t borne Gil any living children: it was hardly a vessel capable of nourishing his seed.
He noticed now that Eleanor, too, was crying but still he could not move from the window seat. It was all beginning to feel like a waking dream in which nothing was real. His father looked around at him and frowned before putting a comforting arm around his daughter in law. Eleanor had been, perhaps, the closest to Gil out of all the three sisters and his loss had hit her hard. But Margaret stood dry-eyed, almost like a statue. Almost as if, like Hugh, she felt herself to be in a place where she did not belong.
Badlesmere now squatted down beside Maud and took one of her hands in his. ‘My lady, you can take comfort at least in the fact that both Deyverille and I – and the younger lord Hugh were at your husband’s side when he died.’
Hugh’s eyebrows shot up at this blatant lie. None of them had been anywhere near Gil when he led the rush forward. If they had then they wouldn’t have been here now. But Badlesmere seemed to reweaving a history of his own, making the battle shine in glory whereas Hugh only remembered screams and blood.
‘He was a true knight of God and the king, my lady and as such he died as a brave man.’
‘Died as a fool, you mean.’ Hugh had now sprung to his feet, mobilised by an anger that hadn’t been there even second before. They all turned and stared openmouthed at him. Badlesmere started to rise to his feet.
‘You may as well give her the truth.’ Hugh crossed the space between the window seat and the group in seconds, a flush rising in his cheeks. ‘He died because he wanted to prove a point – to de Bohun and to Edward. He allowed himself to be stirred up so much that he forgot to wear his surcoat, which would have saved him from the axes. It was ‘bravery’ such as that which got so many men killed on that day and for what – the glory of God and the King? The king, who, may I remind you, left the battlefield while his men were dying.’
‘As did you.’ Badlesmere was now standing face to face with him, breathing hard with anger.
‘I am not the king.’
‘Christ’s blood, Hugh, you know full well none of this was Edward’s fault. No one expected Bruce to attack – or from that direction. He’s always run before. Gil did well to block the advance. We all did.’
‘For what good it did.’
‘This is not the place to talk of this, in front of ladies.’
‘So instead we give them a sweetened tale of valour and honour?’
‘Yes, because that is the way it was. Do not demean Gilbert’s death in front of his wife, Hugh or I’ll make sure you answer for it later.’
Hugh felt unable to breathe, wanting to smash his fist into the face in front of him and yet some vestige of controlled remained and instead he walked straight past him and out of the door. Out in the privy garden, he sunk onto the grass and buried his head in his hands. Why did everyone want to talk about that day as if it was somehow a reckoning of heroes? He wished that he could see it that way too, but he could not get past the piles of English bodies, the screams of horses and the stink of blood.
The sound of footsteps made him look up. Margaret had followed him outside. Company was not something he welcomed at the moment and, in particular, that of his sister-in-law was something he would have rather avoided. He could feel her staring at him and could imagine the look of disgust on her face, but he did not want to give her the satisfaction of responding in any measure. Eventually, she was forced to speak:
‘Proud of yourself brother? What on earth did you think you could achieve by that outburst other than upsetting both Maud and your wife.’
‘And you? Are you upset too, because you do not look it?’
‘What I feel does not matter – I was never particularly close to Gil. But Eleanor was, and even if you do not care for Maud, I thought that you would have controlled your emotions enough for her sake.’
‘Would you rather I joined I with the deceit?’ he glared.
‘For the sake of their feelings, yes. Although from the way you’ve been acting I don’t think that you really care about anyone else’s feeling but your own.’
Hugh stood up and faced her, his tall frame blocking the sun and casting her in shadow. ‘Have a care sister in what you say. These things cannot be undone.’
‘Precisely my point. And do not think to threaten me. I may be without husband but that does not mean I can’t drop you from whatever royal favour you may have with one word.’
Hugh considered her. She was right. Eleanor was Edward’s favourite niece, no doubt about it – but Margaret too had his ear, since Gaveston’s death.
‘Then I apologise,’ he said coldly. ‘I had not meant to sound so harsh.’
She smirked. ‘A little bit more effort and you could almost have convinced me that you meant it.’
‘Have you finished lecturing me on manners?’
She gave a strange little smile. ‘Almost, brother dear. In some ways I can understand the strain you’re under. After all, the question of Gil’s lands are at stake. You stand to suddenly become quite rich, courtesy of my sister. Of course the question is, what portion will she get, what estates?’
‘And you will gain too, as will Elizabeth – so what are you getting at?’
‘It may be that none of us get anything of course…’
‘What do you mean? Has Edward said something to you about these matters?’
She arched an eyebrow and started to turn away. ‘Did you know that Maud is pregnant?’
He grabbed her arm. ‘What?’
‘I see that you didn’t then. It looks as though dear Gil left little Maud with a gift before he went to Scotland. Now, wasn’t that thoughtful – almost as if he knew.’ She gave a little laugh at Hugh’s dumbfounded expression and, pulling her arm free, returned indoors.
He stood alone again, trying to take in the news. This changed everything. He had not hoped for Gil’s death; he had not even thought about it. In life Gil had been the closest thing to a friend he had among the other barons – and he had genuinely admired him. But he still stood by his words in that the earl had died a fool’s death. And in doing so he had left behind the seeds of a simmering family rivalry. The lands would now be taken into Edward’s hands until when – if – Maud gave birth to a son. A daughter would mean the inheritance would revert to the sisters as now, but a son – a son could mean the ruin of all his new dreams.
He shook his head trying to clear it and looked back towards the door. He knew he should go back in and offer his apologies, say that Gil’s death had affected him adversely and ask their forgiveness. But he could not force himself back over that threshold – not even for Eleanor. Of course that would mean a whole evening of reproving stares and silences from his wife, and more than likely a lecture from his father too. Even so, he’d rather face the jaws of hell than see Maud, her stick-thin body concealing a possible thief of his future. . He headed out of the garden’s far gate in the direction of the stables, planning on a short ride to the abbey. If he were going to apologise to anyone, then it would be Gil – for somehow not stopping him and his prideful, fatal charge on that day.
Hugh had the strangest feeling of being totally disconnected from the scene before him. Maud sat in the middle of the solar at Tewkesbury manor, surrounded by her sisters in law, his father, Badlesmere and Deyverille who were all trying to give her comfort. He considered that they would have done better to clear Gil’s belongings from the room. The cloak lying across the bed, his gauntlets beside it and a goblet that must have been his – these things could only serve to remind the woman that he husband’s body had just been delivered into the cold earth beneath the floor at the nearby abbey.
On the other hand, those objects hadn’t got there by themselves or been left lying around since his departure for Scotland: the servants would have seen to that, would have tidied them away into the wardrobe. No, Maud herself must have fetched them here – rubbing the salt of his memory and his scent into the newly raw wound of his death.
He had never got to know his sister by marriage. He had met with Gil often enough and spent time in his company, but Maud had always been strangely absent, staying in her chamber with the excuse of having some ailment or other. Eleanor had managed to see her on the odd occasion but all she would say was that the young woman was fragile in health – and in spirit, the last part of the remark added with just a touch of acidity. If it was one thing the de Clare women were famous for, it was their spirit and they thought poorly of any woman who lacked it, especially if that woman sought to bear their family name. So Hugh had never got to speak more than polite courtesies to Maud which was why he felt totally unqualified to give her any more than that now.
He watched her, head bowed, avoiding eye contact with those clustered around her. Despite the fact that she was a couple of years older than Eleanor, she seemed so much more immature like a little girl in a woman’s body. No, not even a woman’s body – more like a boy’s, slight and thin. No wonder she hadn’t borne Gil any living children: it was hardly a vessel capable of nourishing his seed.
He noticed now that Eleanor, too, was crying but still he could not move from the window seat. It was all beginning to feel like a waking dream in which nothing was real. His father looked around at him and frowned before putting a comforting arm around his daughter in law. Eleanor had been, perhaps, the closest to Gil out of all the three sisters and his loss had hit her hard. But Margaret stood dry-eyed, almost like a statue. Almost as if, like Hugh, she felt herself to be in a place where she did not belong.
Badlesmere now squatted down beside Maud and took one of her hands in his. ‘My lady, you can take comfort at least in the fact that both Deyverille and I – and the younger lord Hugh were at your husband’s side when he died.’
Hugh’s eyebrows shot up at this blatant lie. None of them had been anywhere near Gil when he led the rush forward. If they had then they wouldn’t have been here now. But Badlesmere seemed to reweaving a history of his own, making the battle shine in glory whereas Hugh only remembered screams and blood.
‘He was a true knight of God and the king, my lady and as such he died as a brave man.’
‘Died as a fool, you mean.’ Hugh had now sprung to his feet, mobilised by an anger that hadn’t been there even second before. They all turned and stared openmouthed at him. Badlesmere started to rise to his feet.
‘You may as well give her the truth.’ Hugh crossed the space between the window seat and the group in seconds, a flush rising in his cheeks. ‘He died because he wanted to prove a point – to de Bohun and to Edward. He allowed himself to be stirred up so much that he forgot to wear his surcoat, which would have saved him from the axes. It was ‘bravery’ such as that which got so many men killed on that day and for what – the glory of God and the King? The king, who, may I remind you, left the battlefield while his men were dying.’
‘As did you.’ Badlesmere was now standing face to face with him, breathing hard with anger.
‘I am not the king.’
‘Christ’s blood, Hugh, you know full well none of this was Edward’s fault. No one expected Bruce to attack – or from that direction. He’s always run before. Gil did well to block the advance. We all did.’
‘For what good it did.’
‘This is not the place to talk of this, in front of ladies.’
‘So instead we give them a sweetened tale of valour and honour?’
‘Yes, because that is the way it was. Do not demean Gilbert’s death in front of his wife, Hugh or I’ll make sure you answer for it later.’
Hugh felt unable to breathe, wanting to smash his fist into the face in front of him and yet some vestige of controlled remained and instead he walked straight past him and out of the door. Out in the privy garden, he sunk onto the grass and buried his head in his hands. Why did everyone want to talk about that day as if it was somehow a reckoning of heroes? He wished that he could see it that way too, but he could not get past the piles of English bodies, the screams of horses and the stink of blood.
The sound of footsteps made him look up. Margaret had followed him outside. Company was not something he welcomed at the moment and, in particular, that of his sister-in-law was something he would have rather avoided. He could feel her staring at him and could imagine the look of disgust on her face, but he did not want to give her the satisfaction of responding in any measure. Eventually, she was forced to speak:
‘Proud of yourself brother? What on earth did you think you could achieve by that outburst other than upsetting both Maud and your wife.’
‘And you? Are you upset too, because you do not look it?’
‘What I feel does not matter – I was never particularly close to Gil. But Eleanor was, and even if you do not care for Maud, I thought that you would have controlled your emotions enough for her sake.’
‘Would you rather I joined I with the deceit?’ he glared.
‘For the sake of their feelings, yes. Although from the way you’ve been acting I don’t think that you really care about anyone else’s feeling but your own.’
Hugh stood up and faced her, his tall frame blocking the sun and casting her in shadow. ‘Have a care sister in what you say. These things cannot be undone.’
‘Precisely my point. And do not think to threaten me. I may be without husband but that does not mean I can’t drop you from whatever royal favour you may have with one word.’
Hugh considered her. She was right. Eleanor was Edward’s favourite niece, no doubt about it – but Margaret too had his ear, since Gaveston’s death.
‘Then I apologise,’ he said coldly. ‘I had not meant to sound so harsh.’
She smirked. ‘A little bit more effort and you could almost have convinced me that you meant it.’
‘Have you finished lecturing me on manners?’
She gave a strange little smile. ‘Almost, brother dear. In some ways I can understand the strain you’re under. After all, the question of Gil’s lands are at stake. You stand to suddenly become quite rich, courtesy of my sister. Of course the question is, what portion will she get, what estates?’
‘And you will gain too, as will Elizabeth – so what are you getting at?’
‘It may be that none of us get anything of course…’
‘What do you mean? Has Edward said something to you about these matters?’
She arched an eyebrow and started to turn away. ‘Did you know that Maud is pregnant?’
He grabbed her arm. ‘What?’
‘I see that you didn’t then. It looks as though dear Gil left little Maud with a gift before he went to Scotland. Now, wasn’t that thoughtful – almost as if he knew.’ She gave a little laugh at Hugh’s dumbfounded expression and, pulling her arm free, returned indoors.
He stood alone again, trying to take in the news. This changed everything. He had not hoped for Gil’s death; he had not even thought about it. In life Gil had been the closest thing to a friend he had among the other barons – and he had genuinely admired him. But he still stood by his words in that the earl had died a fool’s death. And in doing so he had left behind the seeds of a simmering family rivalry. The lands would now be taken into Edward’s hands until when – if – Maud gave birth to a son. A daughter would mean the inheritance would revert to the sisters as now, but a son – a son could mean the ruin of all his new dreams.
He shook his head trying to clear it and looked back towards the door. He knew he should go back in and offer his apologies, say that Gil’s death had affected him adversely and ask their forgiveness. But he could not force himself back over that threshold – not even for Eleanor. Of course that would mean a whole evening of reproving stares and silences from his wife, and more than likely a lecture from his father too. Even so, he’d rather face the jaws of hell than see Maud, her stick-thin body concealing a possible thief of his future. . He headed out of the garden’s far gate in the direction of the stables, planning on a short ride to the abbey. If he were going to apologise to anyone, then it would be Gil – for somehow not stopping him and his prideful, fatal charge on that day.