Fires of Winter (52 page)

“I do not know the name,” Stephen admitted. “What does the man look like?”

I described him, but the king shook his head. “I do not know him, not by word anyway. If I saw him, perhaps—”

“I do not know where he went,” I said. “He acted as if he did not want to draw notice, and if that is true it would be a mistake for me to seem to be seeking someone.”

“He found you once,” the king said, “he will find you again if necessary.” He seemed to have lost interest in Sir Grolier, and looked away from me, but he murmured to himself again, “So London refused her.”

The king was quite correct that there was no need to seek Sir Grolier. A few days later, he found me again while I was pacing the wall. He had more words of hope. William of Ypres had never wavered in his loyalty to Stephen. Ypres now had Kent under firm control and mercenaries were coming from Flanders.

“Can you not come to the king?” I asked. “I left him in his chamber, and I am sure he would wish to thank you himself for your kindness in bringing this news.”

His mouth twitched. “You are generous,” he said. “Most servants prefer to carry good news themselves and only invite the bearers of ill tidings to speak directly to their masters.”

I do not know why that struck a sour note with me. It was, I suppose, true for some, and as I have said, Sir Grolier had the look of a disappointed man, but I told him, “There is no need to call me generous. The king said he would like to see you himself.”

“Then I will gladly go, but I do not think it would be wise for us both to walk in together. If you will give me your cloak, I doubt any will look carefully enough to see that it is not you.”

That made me uneasy, but why should I doubt the man? What purpose could he have other than seeking favor with the king? And if he sought favor, was that not a hopeful sign? Surely the king could do him no favor until he came into power again. Then Grolier certainly must hope and possibly even expect that Stephen would he restored. We went into the shadow of a tower and exchanged cloaks, and I stayed there, leaning against the wall so I would be out of sight. Sir Grolier was not long away, and when he had given me back my cloak I went down to the bailey before I returned to Stephen's chamber, as if I had carried a message to the kitchen so that none should wonder why I went out twice.

Because I was uneasy, I asked as soon as I came into the king's chamber whether Sir Grolier was Maud's man.

“No,” Stephen replied, smiling broadly but speaking in the same hushed tone I had used. “He is sworn to Gloucester and left Estaple many years ago, but for old deeds done by Maud's father, he says, he feels obliged to do for me what he can. Is it not excellent to find a friend amongst our enemies?”

This answer made me no easier. Could we trust a man who, in a way, was betraying his master? Yet did he think of the news he brought Stephen as a betrayal of Gloucester? Likely he thought it could do his own master no harm, or did not think at all. Probably I was again drawing too fine a line, and I could not bring myself to mention my doubts to the king. This second dose of hope had affected him more than the first. Why should I be a black crow and spoil the brightness for him by mouthing suspicions for which I had no real cause? Stephen's eyes were bright, but he was sensible enough to keep his voice low as we discussed the chances Ypres and Maud had of protecting London and thus preventing Matilda's coronation.

I must admit the talk did not lighten
my
heart much. If Queen Maud was successful in her resistance and the war continued, Stephen, and of course I too, had no hope of being freed until the rebels were desperate—and from the way the war had gone until the battle of Lincoln, that might be many years. Stephen was not thinking about that problem yet. I do not believe he was really thinking about the military situation he was talking about. At this time what was most important was that he had
not
been abandoned by all.

Over the next few days, Sir Grolier came twice more, each time speaking to the king alone by coming to him while I was out. That did not trouble me, although now I think I should have wondered why a man in Gloucester's service should be so eager to speak alone with the king. Then I did not think of it; I was accustomed to the fact that men who wished to curry favor with the king preferred to present their cases in private. Each time Sir Grolier brought the king a few tidbits of fresh hope, as if he spent his time fishing for news and brought in his catch every few days. One time he had discovered that the earl of Surrey and the earl of Northampton had gone to the queen and pledged their support; another time he reported that William Martel had refused to yield Sherborne Castle even in the face of excommunication.

After that visit the king had begun to think in terms of waging war rather than in terms of being still loved by those he had uplifted and enriched, and he soon came to the unpleasant conclusion I had reached immediately. “I am glad I still have friends, Bruno,” he said, frowning, “but unless some great victory is achieved very soon, you and I are likely to grow old here.”

Since it was highly preferable to me to have a lively and hopeful companion than one who lay and looked at the walls or wept and raged, I temporized rather than agreeing. “That may be true, my lord,” I admitted, “but it is also possible that some other medium of exchange—”

Stephen cut me off with a sharp negative. “There is too great advantage in keeping me. They have a leader; my force has none. Even the faithful grow weary when there is no symbol around which to rally. Time will favor them. There is only one answer. We must escape.”

Every particle of my being leapt up in response to those words. I am sure the king saw my eagerness because he gripped my arm so hard his fingers left marks. God knows for me it sounded like salvation. I had never been asked to give my parole—I do not know whether Gloucester had simply forgotten me or considered me unimportant or believed I would be bound by the king's vow; whatever the reason, he had not asked me to swear to accept captivity in lieu of physical chains. But the king had so sworn.

“My lord,” I whispered, “you know I am willing, but you will have violated your assurance to Gloucester that you would not seek to gain your freedom. If we are not successful, I think you will be made to pay.”

“Pay what?” Stephen asked, his voice hushed but his eyes alight. “My life? That will not be so high a price. Can what we live here be truly called a life? And even if I die, there will be gains. Matilda will then hold no pawn that can be used to blunt an attack on her. Eustace is nigh old enough to rule, and betrothed to Constance as he is, he can call in the full power of the king of France. No, Bruno, I am not afraid to die. Are you?”

When he spoke like that, gaily and proudly in the face of danger, a finger of the old magic that had bound me to him touched me—but it was only a finger, not a hand that could grasp me and hold me. I loved him, for he had great courage and it was true he did not fear death—but that was only because, like a child, he did not really believe it could happen to him.

“Yes,” I said bluntly, “I am afraid to die, but I am not much worried about dying. Remember that Gloucester never threatened death. You said yourself, my lord, that you are worth too much alive. He said chains. If you are caught, they will make you suffer, not kill you.”

“Well, that will have a benefit too.” He grinned at me. “If Maud hears that I am ill-treated, she will move heaven and earth to free me at once. She is cautious by nature and might delay long waiting for the best time if she believes I am safe and comfortable.”

Later that remark added to my anxieties, for I knew what the king said was true, and if the queen was made desperate, she might attack and fail. But at the moment Stephen named his wife, all I could think of was my own. I had not thought about Melusine by day for a long time—I was not quite so successful at keeping my fears and my desires out of my dreams at night and woke quite often sobbing, my pallet all wet with tears. At first I had spent a great part of my many idle hours recalling our times together. However, as my captivity lengthened, I found it necessary to stop myself from thinking of Melusine. It was not only my desire for her that tormented me—I would have welcomed that torment gladly—but I was afraid.

I knew that it was only Maud's fear of Stephen's displeasure that had protected Melusine and forced the queen to keep her among her ladies before we were married. Perhaps Maud had come to suspect Melusine less, but would she welcome my wife as a companion in this dreadful time? Was it not more likely that the queen would use her as a scapegoat for the real enemies she could not reach?

I told myself again and again that Maud was a kind and sensible woman and that she must have come to like and value Melusine, but with each piece of bad news I grew less hopeful. I had visions of Melusine abandoned without money, without a single man to protect her—for I thought then that Fechin, Cormi, and Merwyn had been killed or taken prisoner in the battle. What would Melusine do? How could she make her way across a war-torn country to the safety of Jernaeve? When I imagined what might happen to a woman traveling alone through a country infested by outlaws and marauding war bands, I beat my fists bloody against the wall.

After that, I knew I would have to give up the joy of thinking of Melusine or go mad. But when Stephen spoke of Maud, I was off guard. Maud's name instantly brought into my mind what I had seen so often in the past: the queen in her chair by the fire and Melusine close by, sitting on a stool with her embroidery on her lap, looking up and holding out a hand to me. I was seized by so violent a pang of longing that my eyes filled with tears and I turned away. Stephen seized my arm.

“Have you changed your mind at the thought of chains? Do you fear them worse than death?” he asked with a sneer.

Rage leapt up to burn Melusine out of my mind. How dare Stephen sneer at me? It was not I who wept like a babe with hopelessness and blamed everyone but myself for my ills. “Yes, I fear them worse,” I told him coldly, “since they are more likely to be my fate than death, but I fear nothing so much I will not perform my duty and obey you.”

As soon as he saw he would get his way, Stephen was all smiles again. He had not even noticed that he had hurt me and that I was angry. He thought his sneer had erased my doubts. “You worry too much,” he said. “We will not be caught. When shall we go?”

Did he expect me to say, “Now” and lead him out of the keep and through the city of Bristol? If so, he was sadly disappointed. I pointed out the difficulties and the need of making plans. “The guards may have grown less watchful than they were at first, but even blind guards would notice if we just walked out.”

He laughed and struck me lightly with his fist. “Then let us make plans if we must, but they must not delay our freedom too long lest the rising hope of which Grolier speaks be crushed.”

Stephen's idea of making plans was suggesting that we enter the forbidden armory, seize weapons and armor if we could find it, and fight our way out. When I remembered the dead around him at Lincoln, the idea did not seem quite as ridiculous as it would have been for another man; however, as I reminded him, numbers would pull down any man at last, no matter how strong.

“They did not pull me down,” he said pettishly. “No man could come so close. My helm was lost, and I was stunned by a stone. There are no stones here.”

“No,” I snapped, “but there are clubs and knives and spears. And even if we could fight free of the keep, there is the whole city to traverse. How can we do that if a hue and cry were raised?”

“How can we escape without a hue and cry being raised? I did not mean that we should start a fight here in the keep. I thought we could go quietly, kill the guards at the gate, and run. You said yourself that we cannot simply walk out.”

“We cannot walk out as ourselves, but if we were disguised as serfs who have come in to do a day's labor, we could walk out. It is possible that none would notice we were missing for some hours, and by then we could be out in the countryside. Who would notice two poor hinds trudging from one task to another?”

Stephen looked at me as if I had grown two heads, but after some discussion he began to see the merits of the idea—or to think that it would be an amusing adventure. Anyway, he entered into my attempts to obtain disguises for us with an enthusiasm that grew greater with each of Grolier's continued tidbits of hopeful news. The first step was to get my hands on money—that did not have to be done secretly; I could pretend I wanted it for the games of chance I had often been invited to join.

It was easier than I expected. I was able to sell, as a keepsake, one of Stephen's shirts embroidered by Maud with the arms of England. I think the man who bought it believed I had stolen it from my master, but it was Stephen who had suggested that I sell everything I could. He pointed out, we could not take anything with us so we might as well get what we could from the garments we would have to abandon. Unfortunately I could not sell much because I was afraid that would arouse suspicion.

The next step was to steal from the serfs. I hoped my depredations would arouse no outcry because I left a silver coin for each ragged garment I took, and that hope was fulfilled. In less than a week, I had collected two ragged cloaks and two dirty tunics. Such garments were often laid aside for mornings were cool in May, whereas hard work warmed a man in the afternoon when the sun shone. The tunics gave me the most trouble because there were few serfs who were as large as Stephen and me. I could not get braies or shoes and stockings at all. Men do not take those off, and I could not get into the outer bailey where the huts of the demesne serfs were. Finally I realized I could make those from our own garments by tearing and befouling them with water and soil.

I had to be careful in gathering and bringing in the soil, but there was still some awe of the king and I think Gloucester had ordered that he be treated with respect. None came into his chamber without invitation, so I could hide both what I did and the besmirched garments without danger. It was just as well for another reason too. Once Stephen had got over the shock of the idea of wearing torn and soiled garments, he seemed to find it a novelty. Twice I came in to find him trying them out to see which filthy tunic and ragged cloak better befit him. I warned him of the danger to us if anyone at all saw him, and I thought he looked guilty and that there was an uneasy note in his laugh when he assured me that no one knew of the disguise. I suppressed my doubts. I could not believe he would lie on so important a subject.