ASilverMirror (56 page)

“My lord,” Roger Clifford said, “I know that place. The
crossing at Cleeve is not far north of it.”

Edward smiled. “Well, God does not wish us to be lost and
has provided two who know their way.” He nodded at the squire. “It is too late
for you to rejoin your master in time to fight with him, you know. So, since
you know the road to the Offensham bridge, lead Gloucester to the fields you
spoke of.” He raised his hand as the young man rode off, then looked at
Clifford again. “Now I need a man—”

“My lord,” Alphonse interrupted desperately. “I—”

Edward looked over his shoulder and after a minute pause
beckoned Alphonse forward. “Never mind, Clifford,” he said, “I will send
Alphonse. He was over that road only a few days ago. You may ride ahead,
Alphonse, and tell Mortimer the new order of march. Bid him do his uttermost to
keep Leicester from crossing the river and tell him to send me word if I must
come south to support him instead of crossing at Cleeve. If you find any trace
of Leicester’s army on this side of the river before you meet Mortimer, you
must let me know. If there is no need for haste in your return to me, I give
you leave to place Lady Barbara in whatever safekeeping you think best on your
way back.”

Edward did not seem aware that Alphonse might wish to thank
him. He turned his horse at once, and Alphonse started forward, shouting for
Chacier, who had been riding with other squires and armsmen behind the group of
noblemen. Alphonse had little attention to give to anything else until he had
disentangled himself from the advance portion of the army. Once he and Chacier
were free and cantering south, however, he began to distract himself from
worrying about Barbe by thinking about what Edward had done.

The prince certainly knew how to get the best out of any
man. Because he wanted the squire to lead Gloucester, Edward had taken the time
to explain that the young man would be useless to Mortimer if he tried to
return to him. It was also possible, Alphonse suspected, that Edward did not
trust the squire to ride back to warn him if he found Leicester’s forces east
of the river instead of trying to find his master.

Then Alphonse’s lips curled mischievously. The prince knew
when he had met an irresistible force too. Edward had gracefully given him
permission to do what Edward knew he
would
do—with or without
permission—thereby giving him cause to be grateful and willing to serve rather
than sullen and resentful. And, Alphonse thought, the smile turning into a
grimace, by giving his permission Edward had also placed an obligation of honor
on him. If Leicester had broken through Mortimer’s forces, he would have to
carry back that warning—leaving Barbe to whatever fate could overtake her in
the tail of a beaten army.

Alphonse had to fight a terrible desire to rake Dadais with
his spurs and gallop south at top speed. He could not set so wild a pace
because there were other travelers on the road, ordinary travelers—merchants
with loaded packhorses and farmers with cattle and sheep or a wagon loaded with
hay. They pulled aside, sometimes with curses but not with unusual fear, when
they heard his horse thundering behind them or saw him coming. That had to mean
they were not aware of any army or any preparation for battle nearby. He was
comforted, and he found more comfort still when he saw that the same was true
of two villages he passed, tiny places where men looked up gaping from their
work and women clutched their children to them to be out of the horses’ way but
had yet no reason to flee their unprotected homes.

More people crowded the road as he neared Bidford, and
Alphonse had to moderate his pace further, but he was not so frantic now and
his patience was not tried by going through the small town. Even from a
distance he could see that the bridge over the Avon was carrying travelers in
both directions. Then there was no fighting within miles of the town. Even
foraging parties or foreriders would have sent frightened fugitives scurrying
to the stronger place for safety. The traffic on the bridge would all have been
going into the town.

South of Bidford the road turned west as much as south, but
the next village was as peaceful as the others Alphonse had passed farther
north. The first sign that there might be something to fear was that the gates
of a religious house he passed were shut. That must be Cleeve, Alphonse
thought. If Barbe was there, she was safe and would be safer still when Edward
brought his army south to ford the river at Cleeve. Fleeing the temptation to
seek her out, he dug spurs into Dadais and sent him down the road at a full
gallop. The road beyond the closed priory gate was deserted as he expected.
That did not trouble him or make him cautious. Because he desired it to be
true, he assumed that the abbot of Evesham would have sent warning to another
religious house.

He did find Mortimer without incident, and called his name
in answer to a challenge.

“Are there new orders?” Mortimer asked.

“None new. To hold the bridge as you said you would,” Alphonse
replied. He reported the proposed movement of Gloucester’s troops and told
Mortimer that Edward would come south as far as Cleeve. If Leicester had not
crossed to the east bank, the prince would ford the river to the west to join
Gloucester’s army there. Finally he asked about Leicester’s action since the
squire had come to the prince.

“I have already sent another messenger to Edward,” Mortimer
said. “I sent some men creeping into the lands around Evesham Abbey and one
came back to say that, having heard mass, Leicester has given order that the
men…” He stopped and then went on as if he did not believe his own words.
“Leicester’s party has stopped to eat and rest.”

“To eat and rest?” Alphonse echoed. “Without securing the
bridges? At Evesham? But the river bends so they are trapped on three sides.
Oh, doubtless they have settled on the ridge to the north.”

“No,” Mortimer interrupted, looking worried and puzzled. “If
God has not smitten Leicester with utter madness, I do not understand what he
is doing. His army is in the fields near the abbey. The king and the noblemen
are in the abbey. I would judge Leicester does not yet know that we destroyed
the army his son had gathered. But if he hopes to trap the prince between his
army and Simon’s, should he not be driving northeast as fast as he can?”

“In such matters I am no judge,” Alphonse said. “But if you
think Leicester is setting a trap, I should go to Cleeve and tell the prince
not to cross back to the west side of the river.”

“What trap can Leicester be setting?” Mortimer asked. “I
have sent men east and south and set lookouts on the hills. There is no sign of
any army moving but Prince Edward’s. I suppose you must go back and report to
the prince that Leicester is still sitting still, but—” He stopped suddenly and
said, “Cleeve?” then laughed. “I had almost forgot. I met your wife.”

“Your squire mentioned her,” Alphonse said stiffly.

Mortimer shook his head. “Women are fools, but she meant
well and has caused no harm. She is safe. I remembered her when you mentioned
Cleeve because I sent her there and bade her strictly stay there so you would
know where to find her. Well, then, you need not trouble your head about her.”

Alphonse vaguely heard Mortimer say something about not
knowing the river was fordable at Cleeve and mention the bridge at Offensham,
but his mind echoed “I bade her strictly…” He nodded when Mortimer stopped
speaking and said a proper farewell, but he felt like choking the man instead.
Imperious orders had the unfortunate effect of making Barbe contrary. But not
at such a time, Alphonse told himself. Barbe might often be rebellious, but she
was not a fool. She would not, just to spite Mortimer, go wandering around the
countryside when she knew armies were marching. And he had not seen her on the
road going north to Alcester, so she must be safe in the priory.

He started north, more annoyed with Mortimer than with
Barbe. To Alphonse it was disgusting that one should wish to force obedience
rather than induce another to obey and to enjoy obeying. By the time he rode
past Offensham a while later, the irritation had faded. His way of using people
differed from Mortimer’s because of their different duties and places in life.
He was accustomed to persuading those more powerful than himself to do what he
wanted and had come to enjoy subtly bending others to his will. Mortimer was
accustomed to taking and giving direct orders, and very properly too. In war
there was no time to convince or be convinced, only to act at once.

The thought of war made Alphonse uneasy all over again so
that when he came to the gate of Cleeve Priory and saw that the prince’s
foreriders were not yet in sight, he hesitated. He had time enough to make sure
Barbe was at the priory before riding on to meet Edward, he decided. If he did
not, he would be worrying about her all through the fighting. However, when the
porter told him she was, indeed, within, he felt ashamed of his desire to see
her. He would have turned away, but the porter begged him to enter, asking
whether Lady Barbara’s news was true and gesturing to Chacier to lead the
horses in so the gate could be shut. The man was so terrified when Alphonse
told him that Prince Edward himself would soon be at Cleeve, that Alphonse
began to soothe him lest he start a panic. While he was speaking, Lewin came
out of the stable, saw Chacier, waved, and rushed off before Chacier could
speak.

Alphonse, knowing Lewin had run to tell his lady that her
husband had come, hesitated and had to ask what the porter had last said. The
man wanted reassurance that the battle would not spill over onto the priory.
Alphonse said he did not believe it would, since the prince intended to cross
the river, but admitted that no man could foresee all that would happen. Just
then Barbe herself came running across the courtyard and flung herself into his
arms. He held her as he said, with clear and growing impatience, that prayer
and keeping the gates shut was the best advice he had, and at last the porter
turned away.

“I cannot stay,” he said to Barbe when the man was gone.

Her eyes were like slate, dark and dull. “Do not be angry
with me, not now,” she begged and pulled at him.

“I am not angry,” he said, but he felt her hand tremble and
he followed where she led. Just inside the garden wall he stopped. “Barbe, I
swear I am not angry, but Edward will be here very soon, and I must go with
him.”

She stopped and turned to face him. Her face was bone white,
the only clearly visible part of her now, because the clouds were so heavy. In
the brief silence while she looked at him, thunder growled in the distance. He
bent and kissed her.

“I love you,” he said. “I will not be long away. By dark, I
will be here again.”

“Or never come.”

He smiled. “Oh, no. You will not be rid of me so easily.”

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his lips, his
eyes, his cheeks, his lips again. “You fool! I would as soon be rid of the
heart out of my breast as be rid of you.”

He flicked the tip of her elegant nose with his finger to
show he was teasing and asked, “Then why will you not tell me why you hid from
me my own gift to you?”

He wanted to remind her of her success in beating him at his
own game, in keeping secret information from an expert at extracting it. Most
of all he wanted to make her smile. Instead she looked stricken.

“Forgive me, husband,” she whispered. “I am a sinful woman,
so jealous that I have hurt you because I love you too much. I did not want you
to know I was enslaved—but not for pride, at least not that. I only hoped you
would more eagerly seek the doe that fled than the dull cow in your own byre.”

“Barbe!” he cried, but before he could express his joy a
voice like a trumpet rang out. Alphonse looked over his shoulder toward the
outer gate, shocked, realizing that the dull, distant roar he had mistaken for continual
thunder had been the noise of the army passing down the bank of the river
beyond the priory. “I
must
go.” He smiled. “Now, do not fear for me. We
are so much the stronger that I may never even strike a blow.”

That was a lie, but hope eased the strain in her face and he
felt such a lie could be no danger even before a battle. It could be no sin in
the eyes of man or God to soothe the fear of a loving woman. Then he kissed her
hard, took her arms from his neck, put her hands together and kissed them,
pushed her away, and ran—more to escape her haunted eyes than to save time. He
did not look back, afraid that he would return to comfort her if he saw her
following him out of the garden, weeping, even though he felt her anxiety was
foolish. As he mounted and rode out the gate, he shook his head. Barbe should
trust his skill and strength. But with love came fear. He understood. Did he
not fear for her when he knew she must be safe?

He could not bear her suffering, yet what could he do? He
was a man, not a milksop, and he had to fight. And then he remembered that
Barbe had been only enough concerned when he intended to fight in the tourney
to urge him to do nothing foolish. It was war she feared, he thought. Poor
girl. If Leicester had delayed a day in crossing the Severn, instead of sitting
down to eat a meal at Evesham today, he and Barbe would have been on their way
to a port. He had finished the arrangements for the ransoms and had decided to
tell Edward he would leave when news of Leicester’s move had come. But if they
lost this battle, he would not be able to abandon Edward—if he and the prince
were not bound together literally by prisoners’ chains.

The thought made him start a brief prayer to preserve him
from such a fate, but he never finished. His way was blocked by a river of
footmen cutting him off from the water. God alone knew how long it would take
him to cross, he thought, and then recalled Mortimer telling him of a bridge at
Offensham. He turned Dadais away from the men and rode south again. After being
stopped for identification several times, he crossed, turned north, and was
challenged once more, this time by a troop wearing the colors of the Earl of
Gloucester.