Twin Passions - 1. Chapter 1

The stone walls of Auen Castle had dominated the skyline of Claremont for 300 years. It looked very much the same as it always had; eight high walls with two drawbridges surrounded the castle and protected the inhabitants who lived inside like rabbits in a burrow afraid to venture forth. But there were no wolves outside the walls, not any more.

They needed protection once, Auen Castle had been overtaken before, it had changed hands from one family to another; but today it seemed an immovable bulwark. That's the thing about castles, they never change. They grow tired and erode with time; but they remain. Life exists not in the building's foundations; but inside and within the walls, Auen was a living creature.

Its brain was Earl Ralph's chamber – a place where he made cold, calculated decisions that impacted not just Auen Castle, not just Claremont, but often the nation and the future of England. Ralph was powerful, a man who's thoughts were listened to, who's opinions were heeded and who's whims were served. Ralph was not a bad or malicious man; he was just an important man.

Auen's arms were its stables where able-bodied knights worked tirelessly to extend Claremont's grasp. The expansive stables were inside the first of the walls and a team of men-at-arms and hired stable-boys worked to care for the horses. Auen would have been worthless if it didn't have the ability to reach out and take more land and influence.

The larynx of Auen Castle, like all castles, was its chapel. God's voice always carried far and resonated with acute strength in the walls of Auen . There was no force, no authority greater than that of God.

The castle never had legs, of course, it was never meant to move anywhere; but its heart was the Great Hall. It was there that business was discussed, meals were eaten and it was in this massive room that the knights, men-at-arms and the servants all slept. After dark it was a cacophony of sounds as people snored and consorted under night's cloak. And, it is in the heart of Auen, that Roland and Robert could be found.

Roland and Robert were Earl Ralph's eldest sons, twins born in the Auen Castle in February 1383. Roland was Ralph's heir and carried himself with the confidence befitting his status. Ralph had another son, Rupert, who was born in 1393 to Ralph's second wife, Lady Maud. Succession went from Roland to Robert to Rupert. The three boys were close; but there was a special bond between the twins – who affectionately called each other Rollo and Robbie.

This day, in 1397, seemed like any other. Roland and Robert were playing chess by the open fire in the Great Hall. The flames danced over the burning wood which sent cascading shadows across the stone floor. The room was teeming with life as servants brought beer and food to the noblemen and merchants waiting for an audience with Earl Ralph. The people waiting were boisterous and loud; but the servants moved from one to the other with the poise and confidence that comes from years of practise. Being a servant to an earl was a status symbol, even amongst servants there were classes, and those who worked for Ralph led better lives than they might otherwise have. Through the chaos, it might have been easy to have overlooked any other lads who were so focused on their game; but Roland and Robert were never overlooked.

Dressed in expensive wool clothes with vibrant colours and intricate patterns, Roland and Robert sat across from each other; mirror images. Their dark hair lay flat against their heads, curving out at the fringe forming a frame around their angelic faces. Their skin was tanned and darkened from the sun; but not in the way that farmer's skin was dark and cracking like old leather. Their skin was taut and hard against their bodies which, despite their youth were beginning to show the strong and dignified physique of noble men. There was something different about the two, they had a certain air about them, it was the kind of indescribable confidence that exudes from the nobility. They were here, amongst the common people in the hall, yet somehow they rose above them. They stood out even when sitting down looking not out at the world that buzzed around them, but at the exquisitely carved chess set. Onlookers simply couldn't dismiss the pair whose eyes were set with such focus on the game.

'I think I've got you, beat,' Roland said with a confident smile.

'Vainglory is a sin, Rollo,' Robert said without taking his keen eyes away from the board.

'It's only vanity if the boasting is unfounded,' Roland retorted struggling to keep his joy contained.

A sly smile slid across Robert’s lips as he moved his rook to the middle of the board and said: ‘Then Peter came up and said to him, “Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven'.

'Matthew 18: 15-16?' Roland said, looking concerned for the first time.

Roland smiled triumphantly and the fire reflected off of his white teeth, 'Close, but Matthew 18:21-22,' he replied in triumph, 'that's a cider you owe me and I believe you will find that's checkmate. We can end the game now, or we can play another 4 rounds; but either way will have the same result.'

Citing biblical passages was a game the two of them had played for the last few years: one would quote the bible and the other would guess the book, chapter and verse. If the guess was incorrect, the twin would have to get the other a measure of cider, if he was right, he received one. Roland wasn't nearly as upset to have to fetch Robert a cider as he was to concede defeat. The lads were expert chess players and could beat anyone, regardless of their age, but their real challenge was, and always had been, the other.

'Well played, Robbie,' Roland said extending his hand across the table and toppling his king with the other.

'I know,' Robert replied smiling, 'I'm off for a walk, we have been sitting here for almost two hours and I can't feel my feet. Want to come?'

'No, I think I will stay here and wallow in the indignity of losing to such a git.'

'I would feel poorly if I lost to someone like me too. I hope you can come to forgive yourself.'

Roland smiled at Robert as he got up and walked out of the hall. He looked at the board again, shook his head and stared into the fire. He felt its warmth against his face as he replayed the match in his head. He could remember each move from the beginning and tried to see where he had gone wrong and, more importantly, what he would do differently next time.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a dark figure with greasy hair and a clerical robe slink up the worn stone steps to his father's room. Excitedly, Roland walked over to Sir Charles, Earl Ralph's most trusted knight, who was sitting at the end of a long wooden table speaking with some distinguished looking men.

'What's Thomas Langley doing here?' Roland asked.

'Surely you mean to say “Dean Thomas” don't you, young man?' A merchant in a red cloak with a scraggly beard said to Roland before Sir Charles could answer.

'I would be happy to call him Dean Thomas if Thomas Langley was, indeed, the Dean of York. However, am I incorrect in thinking that it is Roger Walden who should be addressed as Dean Roger of York? Please,' Roland said in a tone tinged condescension, 'tell me if Pope Boniface IX has permitted Thomas Langley to take up his position and if I have misspoke. I apologise if I have.'

The man with the scraggly beard mumbled inaudibly in response to Roland's calm and collected outburst.

'I'm sorry, what was that you said? I couldn't understand your mutterings.'

'I do believe you are correct, Viscount Roland.'

'Well,' Roland said, 'Perhaps next time you will not interrupt me.'

'One should learn not to cross word, or swords for that matter, with young Rollo if you wish to keep your tongue,' Sir Charles said laughing, which prompted the other men around the table to join in the rousing guffaw.

Roland was not particularly concerned about besting a merchant; his mind was trying to make sense of Langley's arrival and audience with Earl Ralph. In many ways, Roland admired the shrewd Thomas Langley, who used his position in the Church to gain political clout. As the eldest son of an Earl, it was natural for Roland to develop a taste for politics and there was no one better at politicking than Thomas Langley. To say that Roland idolised Thomas would be to take things too far, there was something about Langley that was impossible to like. Langley was a snake: if you felt him one way, he was smooth and slink, but if you ran your fingers in the other direction, you feel the sharp resistance of scales. Roland didn't like Thomas Langley; however he thought he thought there were things he could learn from him.

'No, Rollo,' Sir Charles said after the laughter had died down, 'I haven’t the foggiest idea what he is doing here. Your guess is as good, if not better, than mine.'

As his father's eldest son, he was entitled one of Ralph's lesser titles and, in the most formal of occasions, was called: ‘Viscount of Pomona’. Like his father, he preferred to be called by his Christian name and the notion that he would one day be Earl Roland of Claremont and his eldest son would be the Viscount of Pomona filled him with pride; but not arrogance. For the time, he was just happy to be called 'Roland'. Sir Charles was one of the few people who still called Roland by his nickname: 'Rollo'. The two had discussed it once, and had agreed that old habits were simply too hard to break. It was comforting to have acquaintances who have known you long enough and loved you enough to have pet names for you anyway.

'I don't know what he is doing here, either,' Roland said looking up at the locked door, 'but he isn't the kind of man to just pop in on a social visit.'

*          *          *

'Wait, is that Robert or Roland?' Gelinda asked.

'Shhhhh, not so loud. You can't tell until they talk to someone anyway.'

The three girls crouched down in the shrubbery and watched the boy who was lying in the grass. His dark hair flared up around the sides and his shoulders were surprisingly broad for a boy who was not yet a man. Every girl dreamed of marrying a prince, and Robert and Roland were the embodiment of that dream to the girls who spent their time preparing food and washing dishes.

The best job the girls had was on the few nights in the year when Earl Ralph hosted large banquets and more of the servants were out of the kitchens and in the Great Hall to serve food and see to the guest's needs. It was on these nights that the girls could see Roland and Robert up-close. Gelinda swore that on one such night, Robert walked in front of her, was jostled by another guest and put his hand on her shoulder to steady himself; but the other girls didn't really believe her (or were just secretly jealous of Gelinda's luck).

The only way the servants could tell the two apart was by their smile. Unlike most nobles, the twins took the time to acknowledge the servants (much, it was rumoured, to Earl Ralph's chagrin). They would look you in the eye, no matter who you were, peasant or prince and smile; but it wasn't with the same smile. When Roland smiled, his lips remained touching and he gave you a polite nod with his head. When Robert smiled, you could see his straight, white teeth which always seemed to glisten in the candlelight. The servants all hoped that it wasn't a habit the boys would outgrow because some day one of them, presumably Roland, would be Earl and it was always good to have a master who acknowledged you.

It was hotly debated amongst the servant girls which of the twins was the more desirable; but the conversation always returned to their eyes, and since their eyes were the same, there were never a definitive winner. They had their mother's eyes, it was said, and they were blue; but they were not really blue. They had a vibrancy, a luminosity, that was not like anything else. To say 'blue' was too common, too generic. Loads of people had blue eyes, eyes the colour of the sky or the colour of the sea; but their eyes had a vitality about them that made the sky and the sea pale in comparison. The girls loved days like these, when they could steal minutes and look at the boy who would grow up to be their lord. Almost without their noticing, two of Earl Ralph's squires approached the boy, who was sitting in the grass looking across the river. Boys usually became squires when they were aged 14, so the pair who walked up to the boy were older than he was, but Robert and Roland were tall and with their broad shoulders and the poise, you wouldn't have known that they were younger than their father's squires.

'Robert?'

'Hey,' Robert said standing up, 'How are you, Jack?'

'Yeah, I thought that was you. I'm good, we were going to play stoolball and I came over to find you. You want to join?'

'Only if I am on your team,' Robert said with a broad smile and a slap to Jack's back.

Jack was 15-years-old and had an unruly mop of blonde hair. He was about an inch taller than Robert and he a similar build. The two had grown to be friends since Jack had become one of Ralph's squires almost a year ago. Jack, like most squires, came from a wealthy family; not nearly as wealthy as Robert's family, of course, but Jack hoped one day to show his bravery fighting for the king and be rewarded with a knighthood and become lord of a village. Jack loved his life, which consisted of learning how to fight, how to ride a horse and playing games with the other squires. Of course, the games were all about becoming stronger and a better knight; and he loved that too. He was enamoured with the twins. He had come to see amiable Robert as a friend and looked to loquacious Roland with certain amount of deference. He loved spending time with both of them; but it was Robert who he preferred to play games with.

The girls suppressed their giggles; they loved to watch the boys play sport, and slowly crept towards the pitch.

'Remind me,' Galinda said, 'is stoolball the one where they all have those bent sticks?'

'No, you're thinking of shinty. Stoolball is the one where they go to a clearing and hang two stools from two trees that face each other and have about 15 metres clear between them. One team stands in between the trees and someone throws the ball and tries to hit the stool that is hanging from one of the trees while someone on the other team is there with a bat and tries to hit the ball before it strikes the stool. If they hit the ball, they get points and then try to run between the two trees until someone throws the ball against one of the stools.'

'Boys are really stupid sometimes,' Galinda mused.

The three girls reached the clearing where the boys had congregated. Naturally, Robert had assumed leadership and divided squires into two teams.

'Okay, I am thinking of a number between one and ten,' Robert said in a clear voice, 'whomever guesses closest gets to decide if their team is fielding or batting first. Jack, you guess first.'

'Six,' Jack said.

'Okay, Samuel?'

'Five,' Samuel, who was 16-years-old and had a bulky and beefy build, replied.

'It was six exactly,' Robert said smiling, 'are we batting or fielding, Jack?'

'Fielding. And we already decided that you're bowling first, Robert.'

The two teams split off with Samuel's team going behind the tree and Robert's team spreading out in the clearing between the two facing trees, both of which had a stool hanging about a teenage boy's shoulder-height off the ground. The flat surface of the stool, where you would usually sit, was facing towards the other tree.

'Couldn't Robert have lied about what number he picked?' one of the girls asked.

'Robert would never lie or cheat anyone,' Galinda answered indignantly.

Robert stood on the crease about 10 metres in front of Samuel, who was his team's first batsman. Samuel had a thick piece of wood, which had originally been carved for a table's leg, in his hand. They had been using this table leg as a bat for the last few months and it had been Roland who said it would be best for them not to ask where, or how, the squires had obtained it. He said it would be best for them not to put the squires in the position of having to lie to the twins and, consequently, having to put the twins in an awkward position of being told that it had been stolen from their father and having to do something about it. Sometimes, Roland had said, ignorance is bliss.

'You ready?' Robert yelled.

Samuel didn't answer audibly; he just lifted the bat above his head and positioned himself in between Robert and the suspended stool. Robert took careful aim at the wicket and threw the ball, underhanded, towards the flat wooden surface. The ball left Robert's hand, soared through the air in an arc, Samuel swung the bat haphazardly and the ball smacked against the flat wooden stool. Robert smiled triumphantly.

'One, us!' Robert said.

He threw the ball again and again, soon it was: 'six, us!' Robert's athleticism was self-evident and after each bowl, his team mates came and slapped him over the shoulders. The seventh time he threw the ball, it left his fingers too soon. Samuel swung and the ball sailed through the air and landed well outside the boundary.

'Ouch!' came the scream from the bushes.

'That's six runs for us,' Samuel said punching the air.

'Did you hear something?' asked Jack.

Robert walked over to where the ball had landed and found the three girls. One was rubbing her head and all three where white as flour. Galinda could feel her heart beating in her chest and her head was throbbing. She was terrified to have been found spying on them and had no idea what would happen.

'Are you okay?' Robert asked, 'what are you doing back here?'

'I'm sorry,' Galinda said preying that something coherent would come out of her mouth, 'we, ah, we wanted to come and play.'

'You wanted to play stoolball?' Samuel asked sceptically.

The other squires had all crowded around the girls now.

'Well, that's brilliant,' Robert said smiling, 'we don't have enough and I have always said Jack plays like a girl anyway.'

Robert extended his hand and helped Galinda to her feet. Galinda hoped that he would not notice how sweaty her palms were.

'Anyone who can get hit with a ball that hard and still be okay is welcome on my team any day.'

*          *          *

Because Auen was built in the 1100's, it didn't have the spacious private rooms that became fashionable 300 years later. Ralph had always meant to redesign his home, it was a passion of Lady Philippa's, but he supposed his ideas for modernising Auen had died with her; and as it was, the building suited his needs. In some ways, he had found the walk up the worn stone staircase that lead to his antechamber, the place where he conducted most of his business, to be comforting. When he compared it to the homes of his peers, he was struck by its surprising intimacy. The antechamber could comfortably hold 5 men and when they were all sitting around the table in their marvellously carved leather chairs, there was an air of civility in the chamber. He couldn't really put his finger on why he had come to like it; perhaps it was simply because it was home.

Above the fire was a tapestry with a large red letter 'R' stitched in contrast to the vibrant blue background. Green vines and leaves wrapped around the letter and inside the oval was Mary, looking adoringly into the baby Christ's eyes. It was a gift from King Richard II for Ralph's marriage to his second wife, Maud. In between his meetings and appointments, he would stare at the elaborate image and wonder what Mary was thinking. He took his eyes from the tapestry and looked at Thomas Langley, who was standing next to the fire.

Thomas' long black tunic made him look even slimmer than he was; but he kept his head high and his shoulders back, which imbued him with a stifling sense of authority and. His nose was thin and pointed and his skin was a sickly pallor. He wasn't exactly pale; but somehow his skin seemed opaque, except for in the deep hallows around his eyes which were black from the constant shadow.

'I know you worry about fractions within your family, Earl Claremont.'

'How many times must I ask you to call me Ralph?'

'At least once more, Earl Claremont.'

'My friends call my Earl Ralph. If you continue to refuse me this, I will think there is something seditious in your words.'

'I mean you only the respect you are due,' Thomas said with a slight nod of his head, 'and I do not believe you asked me here as your friend; but as a counsellor.'

'Keep thy tongue from evil, and thy lips from speaking guile,' Ralph said.

'Your sons do that too.'

'Do what?'

'Yours sons,' Thomas said with a smile, 'also interject biblical passages into their normal conversations. That was from the Book of Psalms, was it not?'

'I have not observed them doing that.'

'I have,' Thomas said, 'I have taken an interest in them. And would like to talk to you about their future.'

'I didn't ask you here to talk about my family. I want to discuss the relationship between Henry Bolingbroke and the King and no man has more knowledge than yourself.'

'Well, as you know, the relationship is strained. Henry and Richard are cousins and were childhood friends, and I fear that King Richard II will not take kindly to the possibility of a second uprising. The King was generous after Henry rebelled against him the first time; but there are rumours of a quarrel between Henry and the Duke of Norfolk. You see, the venerable duke, Thomas de Mowbray, believes that something Henry said to him constitutes treason. I am sure it has all been misconstrued; but de Mowbray has challenged Henry to a duel. The King will intercede, I would think, but I believe his only choice will be to exile his cousin Henry.'

'How many people know about this?'

'Oh, precious few, Earl Claremont. Isn't it amazing what can happen, even between families, over a few words?'

'I suppose it is.'

'But don't you fear something like this might happen here in Auen Castle,' Thomas asked as he sat down in the seat across from Ralph and leaned forward, 'with your twins?'

'It is my greatest fear,' confessed Ralph, 'but I was told long ago that it is beyond my control.'

'Indeed, God's will be done, but that does not mean you are powerless.'

Ralph said nothing; but his eyes floated up to the tapestry over the fire.

'It is not uncommon for noble families to send their children to monasteries,' Thomas said, 'it is often done to avoid squabbles over inheritance.'

'I have no intention of sending my sons away, if that is what you are suggesting.'

'It is, Ralph, precisely what I am suggesting,' Thomas said, his eyes narrowing, 'think of the possibilities. Your sons are clever; beyond clever, Roland and Robert are brilliant. Think of what they can accomplish'

'And that is exactly why the very thought of disinheriting them both is ludicrous and depraved.'

'But it isn't. Think of the power and influence they could have if they were stationed in the Church? Look at me, my influence is second only to John of Gaunt.'

'One might think it treasonous to suggest you have more influence than the King.'

'If we say that we have no sin, we are deceiving ourselves, and the truth is not in us,' Thomas replied, 'I am sure you understand.'

'It is well known that I am not a close friend of the King's and I concede your point. Go on.'

'Well, I was sent to St. Mary's Abby at the age of twelve and consequently attended Corpus Christi in Cambridge University. It was there that I began to cultivate all of my contacts and friends.'

'Tell me what you are suggesting.'

'Donate a village to York Cathedral and ask them to take Roland and Robert in as novice monks.' Thomas leaned back in the leather chair, 'I might not be enthroned; but I have influence there and I will see to it they are cared for. If they stay in the Church they could become Archbishops and young Rupert will become the Earl of Claremont. Instead of having one powerful son fighting with a twin brother, who might justifiably claim to be the heir, you will have three influential descendants.'

'It's strange,' Ralph thought aloud, 'but I suppose sending Roland and Robert away, could keep the family together.'

'The Lord works in mysterious ways.'

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