Fires of Winter (23 page)

My next notion was audacious rather than silly. The bishop of Winchester virtually owned the town. Who would be more able than he, or one of his servants, to help me? So instead of turning aside, I continued toward him as quickly as I could. Winchester almost walked past me, and if I had been able to absorb his expression before I spoke, I would have held my tongue. However, the words, “My lord bishop, a moment, please,” were out of my mouth before I realized that Winchester's whole face looked frozen. I began to back away, but he had stopped and turned toward me, staring at me somewhat blindly. To continue to back away now that I had his attention would be stupid as well as rude, so I dropped a deep curtsey.

Winchester's expression softened into a smile. “You are the new married lady—Sir Bruno's wife.”

“I am Lady Melusine of Ulle,” I replied, somewhat tartly I fear, as I rose from my bow. I had little taste for becoming a mere appendage to any man, even my husband.

Although the smile remained on Winchester's lips, his eyes now looked wary. “Life is as God directs,” he warned.

I realized immediately that my denial of Bruno's name made the bishop believe I had accosted him to complain about my forced marriage and was at a loss for what to say. I would not say I was content, and I could not say outright that I knew complaining to him would be useless because he was only the king's and queen's tool. Then I was glad the thought had not leapt unbidden from my lips—as sometimes happened with me, spoiled as I was by my loving father and brothers, who would defend me even when I was wrong and not punish me themselves—because the bishop added, very kindly, “But if I can help you I will.”

Dismissing my ugly thoughts, I admitted ruefully, “I do not think the favor I will ask is the kind one can request of God, and I am afraid it is a great presumption to ask it of you, my lord, but I hope you will at least direct me to whom I should speak.”

“Any favor can be asked of God,” the bishop murmured in automatic response, but curiosity had almost replaced the wariness in his face.

“My lord,” I said, laughing, “I will gladly pray for a horse and cart and some men to drive it and guard it and my maidservant if you think that is the best way to obtain them, but I do hope you can suggest some more direct and practical method because I need them very soon.”

“A horse and cart,” Winchester repeated, blank with astonishment.

“I hope I have not offended you, my lord,” I said quickly, fearing that he had the kind of pride that regarded as an insult being asked about any common matter.

A burst of laughter followed. “No, no, my dear, you have not offended me,” he assured me, “but I feared you were about to…to pose some weighty problem to me and—” He uttered a small sigh, then smiled. “Well, let me say I am glad your trouble is so simple.”

“Not to me, my lord,” I pointed out, smiling too. “My husband, who is bound to close attendance on the king, has bidden me find cart, horse, and men—no, he said nothing about the horse, so possibly he means to obtain the horse himself, but—”

“The horse and cart are for Sir Bruno?” Astonishment again raised Winchester's voice.

“I am so sorry,” I exclaimed, “I began in the middle of the tale and have confused everything. Please allow me to begin at the beginning—if you have time to listen, my lord?”

“This tale I must hear whether I have time or not,” he replied, grinning.

“It is not nearly so interesting as I have made it seem, I fear,” I said. “Simply, the king has ordered Sir Bruno to carry certain messages north and has given his permission for me to go also—”

“North? Bruno is carrying—” His voice had been above normal with surprise, and he checked it abruptly and spoke lower. “Is Bruno carrying messages to Scotland?” He looked eager and excited.

“He told me nothing of the messages, my lord,” I answered carefully, “but I do not think he expects to go into Scotland. He intended, I know, to bring me to the people who raised him in Jernaeve keep. That is in Northumbria.”

I realized that I had been foolish beyond measure. In a court everything has ten meanings more than should be conveyed by simple words. God alone knew what Winchester had read into what I had said. My slow, careful words and direct gaze at least caused his expression of eager expectation to be replaced by puzzled thoughtfulness.

“Ah, yes,” he murmured, “you said you were to go also and needed a horse and cart. The messages, then, cannot be very urgent if Bruno is to go no faster than you do in the cart.”

“I ride, and I will cause no delay to Bruno's business,” I told him, and then was furious with myself, pride having again driven me to speak before I thought. “But I think you judge correctly that no urgency attends the messages,” I added, hoping to retrieve my second mistake. “Bruno is given two months leave.”

Winchester nodded understanding, smiling and seeming more at ease although still very thoughtful. “That is why the cart is needed.”

“Yes, my lord,” I agreed. “Since the court will move on before we can return, we must take our possessions with us, and also my maidservant, who cannot ride.”

“And when do you leave?” he asked.

“On Monday, I believe, my lord,” I replied.

“Very well, Lady Melusine,” Winchester said, “a cart will be ready early Monday. And you may tell Bruno that I am very happy to be able to be of help, and will be happy to serve him in any way I can in the future.”

He smiled at me again and turned away. I was appalled, but I could not say a word for my throat had closed with fear. Apparently Winchester believed Bruno had sent me to him. I had no idea what I had done for good or ill, and I was left in that state until the morning we left because Bruno did not come to bed that night nor the next.

Saturday night I was half mad, terrified one moment and raging the next. The terror came first when Bruno did not come at his usual time. I was seized by the idea that Bruno was being questioned about my unwise disclosure and perhaps would be punished for it. But as the hours passed, I knew he could not have been detained so long and rage overwhelmed fear and regret. I became certain Bruno had made some assignation with Edna because I had not yielded to him the night before.

On Sunday morning I learned that Bruno had not slept with Edna, wherever else he had been. I spoke to the woman in charge myself and discovered that Edna could not have left the maids' lodging in the bailey that night. One of the women had been taken ill and two nuns had sat up with her all night. Then of course my fear returned, to be supplanted by rage again when I saw Bruno at dinner in his proper place among the Knights of the Body. He smiled at me, and lifted his hands, palm up, in a gesture of helplessness. That did not amend my temper much since I felt he could have sent a message and saved me a great deal of grief and fear. My resentment was only increased when I glimpsed him later, after the evening meal, in the doorway of the king's private apartment giving instructions to a page.

Because I had not slept at all on Saturday night and had been too busy Sunday separating what Bruno and I could carry on our horses and what must go by cart, I slept so fast on Sunday night I would not have known that Bruno had not come to bed if he had not confessed indirectly by bursting into our chamber after Prime on Monday, crying in a breath, “I am sorry to be so late. Can you help me arm?”

Haste combined with that question leaves no time for scolding, recrimination, or counter-questions. I sprang toward him, catching his belt as he opened it and flinging it on the bed, bringing his arming tunic as he lifted off the one he was wearing, holding his mail so that he could slide into it with ease, and bringing back belt and sword to be buckled on.

Only then did I say, “I do not know where your shield and helmet are. Bruno, what danger threatens?”

“My shield and helmet are in the stable with Barbe, and if we do not leave at once, we may never get away,” he said, and went out before I could speak again.

Bruno

I had no idea that I had frightened Melusine nearly out of her wits when I demanded my armor and rushed out, sending two servingmen in to carry out our belongings. Nor did I realize that she would misinterpret my saying that we had to leave at once to mean that the king was furious and about to arrest me or had exiled me with only hours to escape. How could I guess she would be so silly? Had I not told her more than once that I was one of Stephen's favorites? Indeed, it was his fondness for me—or, at least, his conviction that I was more discreet than any of his other servants that nearly overset all my plans.

After I had killed that damned boar on the hunt, the king had said, half-jestingly, that I was too good a companion in sport to use as a messenger. I reminded him that it was not only to be a messenger but to bring Melusine to Jernaeve that I was going, and he said no more about keeping me, but a more serious threat to my leaving arose on Saturday afternoon. At first the canon, who had come from Canterbury, seemed to have nothing to do with me. The archbishop of Canterbury, that William de Corbeil who had anointed Stephen as king, had died less than a year later, in November 1136, and the canon had come to petition that Canterbury should be permitted to elect an archbishop when the papal legate should arrive.

I paid little attention, knowing that the king would put off any election as long as he could because the revenues of the see went to the Crown as long as there was no bishop. Stephen spouted all the usual soothing words, promising that he would obey the papal legate, who would undoubtedly have directions from the pope about many matters. It was only when the interview was over and I heard the king suggest that the canon go quietly to Netley Abbey rather than stay in Winchester's great house by the cathedral so that “no undue pressure be placed on the free canons of Canterbury” that my ears sprang to attention. Next, while the canon was being served a farewell cup of wine before his short journey, Stephen drew me aside and bade me take him to the east gate, where he could board the boat that had brought him. It would be best, Stephen said softly, that he speak to no one on the way.

When I returned and was able to report that no attention at all had been paid to the canon—and I had watched the boat out of sight on the river—Stephen took a ring from his hand, pressed it into mine, and said he could not spare me, that he would find someone else to carry his thanks and rewards north. I knew he meant only I could be trusted to be secret, and I dared not protest again that I would rather have leave than a ring, no matter how rich. Then I wondered whether my own selfish desires were making me blind to any real danger a loose mouth could do the king. I thought of that for the rest of the afternoon, but I could not see that anything the worst blabbermouth could have said could be dangerous, which brought me to the sad conclusion that Stephen had a guilty conscience and was seeing monsters that did not exist in dark corners.

That was why I felt free to catch Waleran in the king's chamber after the evening meal and tell him that my leave was cancelled. Possibly he was the cause of Stephen's guilty conscience, but I knew it would take more power than I had to raise doubts of Waleran's motives or good sense at this time, so my presence could do no good. Waleran wanted to be rid of me and I wanted to be gone; all I felt was relief when having asked Stephen jovially why I was not already gone north and hearing that I was not to go, he somehow managed to talk the king into changing his mind again.

Perhaps I should have been glad that Stephen felt he needed me so much, but I was not. I had seen others, closer and dearer, fall from favor. Because they were rich and powerful already and the king was not a vicious man who would strip everything from those he no longer trusted, they had lost little more than the ability to grow still richer and more powerful. But if the king should dismiss me, there was only the gutter of the common mercenary below. More than ever I wanted Melusine to be known and loved in Jernaeve and I wanted to see her lands and learn whether I could cozen the king into giving them to me.

I was like a man strung by the thumbs all Saturday night and Sunday. It made me a little easier in my mind that the king demanded that I sleep in the outer chamber both Saturday and Sunday night so that I could be summoned quickly if he needed me. Perhaps he thought I would feel deprived of the “service” of my wife as he felt deprived of my service, but I was doubly glad. For one thing, I hoped the king would work off his spite—sometimes he was spiteful, but the fit never lasted long. And anyway I got two good night's sleep away from temptation.

Still, I could not relax all day Sunday because Stephen grumbled all the time he was giving me my instructions and signing the writs that named the rewards for each of the principal men who had fought at Northallerton. And between attending to the king's business, I had my own to finish. I had already obtained extra blankets that we could use for camping out if we could not find a hostel and had discovered that Melusine had a horse and saddle, but I had to arrange that our traveling gear be brought from storage to the stable to be loaded and arrange with the queen's groom to bring Melusine's mount to the king's stable. I have forgotten all the small things, but Sunday was no day of rest for me.

Monday morning was worse, however. Stephen sent me on an errand to Robert de Vere that any page could have run, and when I reminded him that I had hoped to be on the road north as soon as Melusine had broken her fast, he shrugged and said it did not matter whether I left that day or another. Then I knew that although he would not openly oppose Waleran's desire to be rid of me, he intended to keep me from day to day as long as he could.

Robert de Vere, the king's constable, did not keep me waiting as he might have kept a page, so my errand was dispatched more quickly than the king expected. And Vere liked me, I think—he had stood sponsor to me at my knighting—and was no fool. He said nothing to me about Stephen's reluctance to grant leave to those he liked—Vere knew I was supposed to go from Stephen's grumbling about it—but he accompanied me back to the king and when Stephen dismissed me, Vere blandly wished me a good journey and said he would bid me farewell now as he did not expect to see me again for some time. I fled the king's chamber as if hounds were on my trail. If Vere could keep Stephen busy until I had left Winchester, Stephen might be angry but I doubted he would send after me and I was certain he would forget all about me while I was gone and welcome me back gladly. The king could be spiteful, but he did not carry a grudge.

What I had forgotten when I told Melusine that we must hurry and leave was that she knew nothing of all this. I assumed too that in eight months with the court, no matter how absorbed she had been in her own grief, she would have learned how changeable Stephen was and that one must seize an opportunity when it occurs. Of course, I also did not know that she had any private reason to be fearful.

I gave all my attention to seeing the small cart loaded so there would be room for Edna and the chests would not break loose and crush her. Then I rolled four extra blankets around the bundles of necessary clothing and other items we would need for the journey, since we would soon outdistance the cart. Inside Melusine's roll I could feel the shape of a small pan, and I blessed her silently for being a woman who knew the uncertainties of travel. From the corner of my eye I saw her take the rein of her mare from the groom, but I was busy giving directions to the driver of the cart and the two guards and seeing them past the inner gate.

When I hurried back, Melusine handed me my saddle- bags bulging full and I slung them over Barbe without really looking at her. And even when I lifted her to the saddle and she said softly, “You have found Vinaigre for me,” I hardly glanced at her but mounted Barbe and urged him forward. By then I knew there was no need for haste. If the king had decided to recall me, he would have done so at once. The only reason I can think of for feeling the devil was at my heels was that I was very weary of court life, very weary of the need to balance between offending great men or hurting small ones and protecting the king from their importunities, very weary of seeing a man I loved for his kindness and generosity act weakly, sometimes even dishonorably, under the influence of others. Until freedom was promised me and then nearly snatched away, I had not realized how desperately I needed to be free to speak my mind without fearing an unguarded word might do great harm.

The need to flee was so strong that I kicked Barbe into a fast trot as soon as I was sure Melusine was steady in the saddle. We soon passed the cart, and I paused only briefly at the gate to describe it and bid the guards let it pass. Then we were out on the road and Barbe's trot soon lengthened to a canter. I had no need to look back, for the thin head of Melusine's mare with her wicked white-rimmed eye held steady at my knee.

I know now that Melusine loves her dearly, but Vinaigre is a cursed beast if ever there was one. After we had ridden quite some time, the mare still did not need all her strength and speed to keep up with Barbe; she was surefooted enough to turn her head midstride and nip my thigh. My hauberk kept me from any bruise and I smacked her nose, but she did not slow or miss a step, only rolled that eye until I was sure she was laughing at me, and I laughed back good and hard.

“Are we safe then, Bruno?” Melusine's voice was tight with fear, and I reined Barbe in to a walk, and when we were side by side turned my head to look at her.

“Safer than most travelers,” I replied soothingly, noticing that my wife's face was white and strained. “The roads are not what they were in King Henry's time, but I do not think any outlaws would bother attacking us. I am well but not richly armed and you are dressed plainly.”

Astonishment replaced fear on her face. “Outlaws?” she echoed. “I thought we were fleeing the king!”

“Good lord!” I exclaimed. “Whatever gave you such a notion?”

“You gave me the notion,” she snapped. “You said if we did not leave at once, we might not be able to go at all. What did you mean, if the king is not angry?”

“Just the opposite,” I confessed. “Stephen seemed to feel that he could not do without my service. I am sorry to have frightened you, but why should you think I had suddenly fallen from favor so completely that escape was necessary?”

She did not answer at once, and then explained how she had obtained the cart and guards. “I thought, because of what the bishop of Winchester said about thanking you and being willing to serve you at any time, that my telling him of our journey had exposed some secret. And when you did not come back to our chamber to sleep or send me a message, I feared the king had learned of my indiscretion and lost his trust in you.”

I let her finish her tale without questions, but it woke all my uneasiness about the strain between the king and the bishops again. I must have been frowning too because Melusine added, “Then what I did
was
stupid and dangerous. I am very sorry. I could not avoid the queen, but I could have—”

“No, no.” I smiled and reached out to pat her hand, which was tense on the mare's rein. “There was no harm in your telling Winchester, at least none to you or to me, and if there had been it would have been my fault for not telling you to hold the news secret. That is what is so strange. It was not a secret. God knows, Stephen was groaning and complaining to all his gentlemen that I asked for leave at the worst time. Why then did Winchester not know?”

“You asked for leave?” Melusine repeated. “But did you not tell me that Stephen ordered you to carry messages north?”

“I did. And, I swear to you, so it was, but the king remembers things in his own way. It was Waleran de Meulan who convinced the king to send me—”

“Waleran de Meulan,” Melusine gasped, her eyes growing large with an emotion I could not read. “What have you to do with him?”

“As little as I can,” I replied, “but unfortunately a great deal. Waleran is Stephen's closest friend and advisor, so there is no way I can avoid him—and it is my duty not to do so.”

“You are not Waleran's man, are you?”

“No. I am the king's man, and the queen's, but there is no conflict in that double loyalty, for the queen desires only the king's good.”

I answered promptly and forcefully, and I watched her because the question had been asked with such intensity. Melusine's interest implied some connection between her and Waleran, but that was ridiculous and impossible—unless he had stopped at Ulle and some bond had been formed then? She had looked away so I could not read her face, but her knuckles, which had been white with the force of her grip, began to regain their ordinary color and she turned her head toward me again.

“Then why should Waleran influence the king's decision to send you north?” she asked.

I could not tell whether the question was asked out of simple curiosity or was a clever diversion to prevent me from thinking about her interest in Meulan. “He thinks that it will be easier for him to learn what the king says and does in private if I am not on duty in the chamber,” I told her. “And the surest way to keep me from being on duty when matters that might be dangerous to Waleran are discussed is to have me gone from the court entirely.”

Nothing showed in Melusine's face but bright-eyed interest as she asked, “If Waleran is, as you say, the king's dearest friend and advisor, why does he feel he must watch Stephen so closely?”

“The king has had other close friends and advisors who have lost their influence,” I said slowly, not certain of how much it was safe or wise to tell her. “I will say, in the king's favor, that in both cases those men had said or done something that was truly offensive. However, I am not sure Waleran understands this. He is no monument of loyalty himself.” I explained how he had betrayed King Henry, and she listened without any change of expression.