A Tapestry of Dreams (3 page)

“Have you not heard that all the north has come over to King David and the empress?” Summerville shouted, a note of anger coming into his voice. “Only a few fools in Wark denied my summons, and they soon yielded.”

Sir Oliver raised and dropped his hands in a gesture equivalent to a shrug, for Summerville could hardly have seen the movement of his shoulders. “I think Sir Walter Espec will not be pleased, for Wark is his. But Espec is well able to see to his own affairs. As for me, if you did not know, I hold Jernaeve for my niece, Demoiselle Audris. Thus, I am not free to do my own pleasure but must think first of what is best for her.”

There was a brief hesitation, and Summerville’s horse suddenly backed a step and sidled, indicating that his master’s hand had moved incautiously on the reins. Sir Oliver knew the hint of uneasiness had nothing to do with the fact that he did not hold Jernaeve in his own right. Summerville would discount Audris’s nominal possession as of no importance. Walter Espec’s displeasure was another matter.

Espec was one of the great men of the area, regarded as
dux et pater
by the other barons of the northeast, although he had no great title. Apparently Wark castle had capitulated easily, and from that Summerville had assumed that Espec either favored Matilda’s cause or would prefer David as an overlord to either Stephen or Matilda. Oliver could see that his remark had raised doubts in Summerville’s mind. Sir William knew that if Espec supported Stephen, Espec could rouse Yorkshire, Durham, and Northumbria to fight for the new English king, and it would be far more difficult, perhaps impossible, for King David to hold Northumbria.

It was easy for Oliver to follow Sir William’s thoughts that far. He could not determine the result the doubts would produce. Summerville might decide against expending time, blood, and money in attacking so impregnable a place as Jernaeve if David could not hold the shire. It was equally possible for Summerville to feel that possession of Jernaeve would be sufficiently valuable in controlling Northumbria to merit an instant, overwhelming attack. It might depend on whether Summerville knew how strong Jernaeve was; Oliver could not remember him, but he hoped Summerville might have accompanied King David, who had guested at the keep more than once.

Summerville’s reply, however, did nothing to encourage the hope that he feared Jernaeve’s impregnability. “It will not be best for Demoiselle Audris to have a war going on about her,” he snapped, harkening back to Oliver’s remark that his behavior was constrained by Audris’s best interests.

“Let us hope it does not come to that,” Oliver said, but Summerville made no answer aside from turning his horse and signaling his troop to ride away.

Sir Walter’s chief squire, Hugh Licorne, happened to be in Wark when Sir William de Summerville and his army arrived, and he had no intention of yielding tamely, although he had no power to prevent the castellan of Wark castle from doing so.

Hugh Licorne was no boy in training. Measured by age, skill, and experience, he should long since have been knighted, but Hugh had neither family nor patrimony—nor even a real name of his own, for there was no one he had ever heard of called Licorne—or “Unicorn,” in the common tongue—and he could see no reason to assume honors he could not support. In fact, Hugh could have had his spurs and a fief as Sir Walter’s vassal if he wished. Sir Walter had generously offered those to Hugh when he turned twenty years of age, but Hugh had said, quite truthfully, that he preferred to stay and serve as his lord’s squire.

Thus, when Summerville’s demand came that Wark yield and declare for Matilda, the castellan had little choice but to include Hugh, who had come as surrogate for Sir Walter, when he convened a council of the officers of the keep to discuss the Scottish threat. He had summoned the men into the keep itself instead of meeting with them in the hall in the lower bailey. If that was a device to create a sense of urgency in those gathered around him, it did not work with Hugh. The dimness of the building, lit only through the open door and the arrow slits in the walls, gave Hugh a sense of security rather than oppressing him by implying they were reduced to a last hope, and Hugh spoke out boldly against yielding.

“I have no choice,” the castellan had answered angrily, glaring at Hugh. “We are not manned to fight an army.”

“But you are victualed to withstand a siege,” Hugh urged. “If you think them too strong, at least make one foray so that some men-at-arms can ride to warn Sir Walter. He will—”

“Ride all the way to London?” the castellan interrupted, sneering. “And who knows if Sir Walter is there? He might be anywhere. A man could be weeks, even months finding him. And then, having found him, it will doubtless be only to discover that Hugh Licorne is less clever than he thinks in his understanding of Sir Walter’s intentions. Sir Walter is not a man who breaks his oath.
I
think it more likely that he has decided to hold by his homage to Matilda. And even if Sir Walter has done homage to Stephen, as you seem to believe, Wark could be destroyed before he could return north and gather an army.”

Hugh’s bright blue eyes blazed, and his lips parted as if to speak again, but he did not. He dropped his eyes and closed his mouth in a hard line. Hugh knew his protest against yielding was not misplaced, for he had not been alone in his opinion of Wark’s ability to resist; the castle marshal had said he felt Wark was strong enough to hold out for several weeks, at least, and the steward reported that they were well supplied. But the castellan had brushed off the advice of his own officers, just as he had more angrily rejected Hugh’s more direct suggestions. He was now pointing out that if a keep were yielded in good condition, it could always be returned intact, whereas if it were destroyed by attacks or even razed for spite, great expense would be involved to restore it.

Hugh’s wide, mobile lips thinned even more as he held back a hot rejoinder. Seldom was a yielded castle returned without a stiff payment of ransom. It was a moot point whether it would be more expensive to rebuild or buy Wark’s freedom, but the question was irrelevant. Sir Walter was the kind of man who would gladly pay double the cost to rebuild rather than pay ransom for what had been meekly delivered into enemy hands.

And Wark keep was no fragile house of cards. The huge logs of the palisade and the strong wooden keep, two feet thick at their bases, were well sunk into the motte on which the keep was built and the rampart above the ditch that surrounded the lower bailey. The logs were soaked with winter rain and snow and could not easily be set afire. As far as Hugh had seen, the Scots had brought no mighty siege engines to batter down the log wall, and even if they had, the stones shot from mangonel or trebuchet lost so much power coming across the deep ditch and up the rise on which the wall was set that it would take a long time to damage the fabric. And that was only the outer wall. The keep was set even higher and surrounded by an even more formidable palisade.

Hugh also knew it was useless to argue when he had no power to enforce his opinion, and he saw that the castellan’s mind was made up. In fact, it seemed to have been made up from the first sighting of the Scots… or had it been made up even before Summerville’s army appeared? The idea should not have occurred to Hugh; for a castellan to yield a castle entrusted to him because he believed it would best benefit his overlord might be excusable, but to arrange in advance of any threat to hand over his trust to an enemy was deeply dishonorable. Nonetheless, Hugh wondered. There had been oddities in the castellan’s behavior from the time he had arrived.

Hugh had come to Wark to collect the lord’s share of the produce of the demesne and the rents of the tenants. Usually Sir Walter came himself, using the opportunity to examine the property, listen to any complaints, and look over the men-at-arms and the defenses of the keep, as well as go over the accounts. This time, because of the urgent political situation, Sir Walter had sent Hugh to take back to Helmsley what was owing to him. Instead of producing the tally sticks and giving orders to make ready transport for the cheeses, salt meat, and other items due Sir Walter, the castellan had claimed to be too busy to attend the matter that day or the next. He had told Hugh jovially that a few days’ delay could not matter. Hugh was to amuse himself, and on the Monday he would make up the accounts.

At the time, Hugh had accepted the excuse, feeling only mildly irritated by the castellan’s assumption that he would be glad to take advantage of his master’s absence to idle away a few days. Now, in conjunction with the castellan’s fixed intention to accept Summerville’s terms, the reluctance to fulfill his commitment to Sir Walter took on suspicious overtones. And one suspicion bred others. Doubtless, Hugh thought furiously, the terms of yielding would contain an agreement that the castellan would continue to hold Wark—or would be adequately compensated, perhaps with an estate of his own in Scotland. Whether the terms would be equally generous to those who had urged resistance was questionable. Possibly, also, the castellan would not be eager for Sir Walter Espec to learn too soon that Wark had been yielded to King David. In that case, Hugh thought, Sir Walter’s most trusted squire was unlikely to be allowed to leave soon—or, perhaps, at all.

Hugh dropped his head as if abashed by being made a fool by the castellan’s reasoning. Then, pretending his embarrassment made him wish to be less conspicuous, he eased his way back in the group surrounding the castellan’s chair until he was in a patch of shadow. Just now, Hugh knew, the man was intent on justifying his own actions, and perhaps almost had himself convinced; however, Hugh did not think the castellan was really a fool. When the man reconsidered what had happened, he might well become suspicious of Hugh’s quick capitulation and realize that Hugh had not been convinced and still intended to warn his lord that Wark was lost.

Quietly, while the castellan talked about the terms he would demand for yielding, Hugh moved farther back and then down the hall until he was able to slip out the door. To his relief, the drawbridge was still down between the wooden keep atop the motte and the bailey below. He had not heard the castellan give orders to have it raised, but he might have done so secretly. Since he had not, it was probable that he had not given any other special orders. Hugh came down the steps and crossed the bridge without signs of haste, although he was moving as quickly as he could, and made his way to the large hall in the bailey where he had been quartered among the men-at-arms.

In the hall, he swung off his cloak and undid his belt as he walked toward the chest where his arms and armor were stored. Opening it, he lifted out his hauberk. It was the finest mail, and his hand stroked it lovingly as he thought of the giver. For a man born as he had been, Hugh thought, he had been singularly blessed. As if to make up to him for having no father in blood, he had been granted two fathers of the heart.

His hauberk, a costly work that he would have been hard pressed to pay for, had been a gift from Thurstan, archbishop of York, into whose care he had been given when only a few hours old by his dying mother. An odd gift, some would have said, from one like Thurstan, who was not one of the fighting warrior bishops but a truly holy man, but to Hugh it was a mark of his foster father’s true goodness. Thurstan would not twist his ward’s nature to satisfy his own desires. Having seen that despite gentle persuasion Hugh had no inclination for a religious life, he had not forced the child in his care into the Church. Instead, Thurstan had placed the boy in Walter Espec’s household, where Hugh could become what he wished to be—a fighting man.

His lord’s name reminded Hugh that this was no time for memories, no matter how dear, and he straightened the hauberk and laid it front down on the chest so he could lift the back and slide his head and shoulders into it. Having drawn in his arms and worked each upward, Hugh stood, feeling for the armholes. The weight of the mail pushed the garment down as soon as his arms were through the sleeves. No one paid any attention to him. With an army forming outside the keep, there was nothing surprising in a man’s arming.

He reached into the chest again, brought out his spurs, and pushed them into the belt pouch, which he slid onto his sword belt, then belted on his sword. That, too, was a finer weapon than a man of his status would ordinarily have. Sir Walter had given it to Hugh when he had said he would like to remain in his lord’s household and serve him. Hugh’s fingers moved to the silverbound hilt and caressed it fondly, but a faint frown formed between his wide-spaced eyes. Aside from his love for his master, his reason for remaining a squire had been to quiet the envy Sir Walter’s open affection for him bred in other members of the household, and even in Sir Walter’s nephews. The gift of the sword, which had been made for Sir Walter’s dead son, had rendered virtually useless Hugh’s rejection of knighthood and an estate. In some ways, the situation had become even worse. There had been nasty insinuations that Hugh’s action was the first step in a campaign to become Sir Walter’s heir.

Each time this thought occurred to Hugh, he felt sick with fear that Sir Walter would hear and—even if he did not believe—be hurt. The solution to the problem was extremely simple: leave Sir Walter. But to leave without a reason after saying he wanted to stay would also hurt his dear lord. So, as he had done each time before, Hugh thrust both problem and solution out of his mind. Immediately, other problems—practical difficulties concerning his escape from Wark—flooded in to take the place of the nagging worry he had dismissed.

An armed man afoot is at a great disadvantage, but Hugh knew that even if the castellan were willing to let him go, which he doubted, to ride across the drawbridge of the lower bailey would simply deliver him into Summerville’s hands. Hugh’s mobile lips twisted briefly into a grimace. The alternative was managing to hide in the keep until dark, going over the wall at night, and stealing a saddled horse or a horse and saddle separately from some knight in the Scottish army. The chance that he would succeed in escaping and getting to Sir Walter was growing slimmer and slimmer as he thought about what he must do, but Hugh’s stubborn chin just set harder. There
was
a chance, and that was better than sitting in Wark for months… or dying here.

Hugh took up the cloak he had laid aside while he donned his armor, and another problem, minor but irritating, made him draw up the hood. Hugh had the misfortune of having a remarkably distinctive face. No one failed to remember him, even after just glimpsing him briefly once. The flaming red hair, so red that occasionally some simple soul touched it to see if it were hot, was bad enough since it drew attention, but it was his eyes that really marked him. They were large, bright blue, and set so wide apart under a broad brow that they appeared unfocused. A strong Roman nose and a mouth a bit too wide for the long, stubborn chin below completed an appearance that seemed to make many uncomfortable and was totally unforgettable.

Thus, if he did not use his hood to conceal his face, every person he passed would mark his doings. And, of course, if he did shadow his face enough to hide his eyes, there was a chance someone would remember that. Still, of the alternatives, the concealing hood seemed better to Hugh because the serfs in this keep did not seem overly curious or likely to run to their master to report an oddity. He had one piece of luck, too. Although Summerville’s herald had brought his demands soon after sunup, the castellan had not called the council to discuss the problem until after they had eaten dinner. Thus, there was no particular place that Hugh would be expected to appear, and his absence might go unnoticed altogether until the evening meal was laid out.

When Hugh came out the front door of the hall, he was relieved to find that there was more defensive activity in the bailey than he had noticed when he entered the back. Serfs and men-at-arms were soaking hides in troughs of water and dragging the hides up to the walkway built about four feet below the top of the palisade in the areas considered most vulnerable to fire arrows. Other soaked hides were being laid over the roofs of essential storage sheds. Arrows for the short bow and quarrels for crossbows were being piled at intervals around the wall, as were strong poles with forks or hooks at one end for toppling scaling ladders. Last-minute repairs were being made to arms and armor by the harried smith in the small smithy. Men hurried from place to place, carrying items demanded by the smith and by the master-at-arms.

In the shadow of his hood, Hugh smiled; no one would notice one more hurrying figure. He made his way quickly to the storage sheds, glancing in and passing by one and then another. The third held what he wanted, and he entered and took a coil of rope, which he looped over his shoulder where it was hidden by his cloak. He then walked purposefully to the palisade and climbed to the walkway.