Excerpts: Volume III
<excerpt from Volume Three>
The mood at Durham House was yet more abysmal than the lowering black clouds of the interminable summer storms. Then one morning the sky opened, blue and clear. Behind the house the rank grass that the Bishop of Durham’s two bleating, sodden pet sheep laboriously nibbled short to a fine lawn was drying. The earl walked with his squire down the gentle green slope that stooped to the Thames and a boat landing. Simon had lived at Winchester House, also with a garden and a boat landing on the Thames, but that house was in the City. Durham House had a larger garden, and the only dock as yet between London and its suburb of Westminster.
Simon breathed the fresh air deeply and looked about with pleasure. “I will work out here today.” His somber spirits were lifting in the fine weather.
Peter eyed the blue sky untrustingly. “I’ll have a tent set up for you, my lord. If it starts to rain, you’ll be protected.
Simon laughed at his cautious squire, “Very well, let’s have a tent.”
This was the first sign of good cheer Peter had seen in his master since they had been at Winchester. A pavilion was erected, with flaps that could be lowered in case of wind or rain. The earl’s worktable and chair were moved outside to the pavilion’s shade.
Through the afternoon, Simon sat with a clerk, dictating letters to the castellans. The breeze bore the sweet scents of roses, privet, honeysuckle and Madonna lilies. Beds of flowers of May, June and July all bloomed at once in this first dry, warm day. Bees hummed everywhere. It was as if spring and summer’s sunlight, scents and sounds had been distilled into an essence for this single afternoon.
Beyond the lawn’s foot the Thames seemed to borrow the sky’s blue and lapped with brilliant sparkles. Boats moved by, little river lighters heavy-laden with Londoners come out to bask under the splendor of the sun.
But gradually, as if so rich a day were too much of a gift, wisps of cloud slipped overhead dragging their cold shadows, and the breeze gained force. Peter hurried from the house to lower the pavilion’s flaps ,just as Simon’s clerk got up to do the same to keep the earl’s papers from blowing away. A roll of thunder grumbled in the distance. Then closer. The first raindrops began to pat against the tent.
On the river, a gaily painted barge was slowly passing by. It oarsmen changed course and started rowing toward the shore.
With a loud crack, the darkening river was washed with white light. Thunder rumbled as if the broken shell of the sky were falling in an avalanche.
The barge touched the boat landing and four men leapt ashore. As the clouds opened, letting down the rain in a torrent, they ran to the pavilion. A hand pushed open the pavilion’ flap.
Simon looked up, surprised.
King Henry stumbled in. Pushing back his dripping hair, he mopped his face. Mansel, Walerant and Darlington followed in after him.
Astonished, the earl rose from his chair, but promptly bowed. “My lord, please have comfort of my hospitality.”
Henry glanced around, startled. As he saw Simon, a look of utter terror came over his face. Reaching for the tent flap, frantically he thrust it open. Almost falling, he turned and caught himself, then darted out, running down the lawn through the pelting rain. His three clerks turned and ran too.
“My lord!” Simon cried. Knocking over his chair, he ran out after them, down to the boat landing. The oarsmen were fumbling with the soaked lines, trying to set the barge free as the earl caught up.
“My king, what frightened you?” Simon called. “This little storm will pass!”
Henry, clutching himself, sat on the barge’s seat, his hair streaming with rain. He brushed a wet lock from his cheek, his eyes fixed on Simon across the growing distance as the barge moved out. “I fear the lightening and the thunder beyond measure. But, by God’s Head, I fear you more than all the lightening and the thunder in the world!”
