Fires of Winter (55 page)

“Hugh will
not
go,” I said. “He has not stopped to think how near you are to your time. Whatever you desire, he will not want to leave you.”

“He does not know how near I am to my time,” Audris said, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I did not tell him when I first conceived. You remember I wrote you how ill he took it when I lost that babe last year. He wept more than I. This time I waited more than three months, until I was sure the child was well set in me, so he thinks I have yet two months to carry.”

“How can he be deceived?” I asked, looking at her.

Audris laughed. “Because this babe is smaller than Eric was even though he was born a month early. Perhaps it is a daughter. And perhaps Hugh does not really want to know, and in his secret heart hopes he will be away when I am brought to bed. I am not sure whether he is truly deceived or only very frightened, but he will go.”

She was right, of course, but I left Jernaeve in good spirits, very sure that in the end Hugh would stay with her. My faithful three rode with me, Fechin, Merwyn, and Edna. I was much surprised at Edna's steadfastness, for I did not think the life she came from would have taught that virtue. I could see no reason why the poor girl should need to face a war, however, and when I asked it Audris offered her a home in Jernaeve. But Edna flung herself at my feet and began to weep and ask how she had offended.

“You have not offended me at all,” I assured her, lifting her to her feet. “You have always been faithful and uncomplaining, Edna, and of late in a life far harder and more unsettled than you ever expected, I am sure. And now, I am afraid, there will be more danger as well as great discomfort. I do not see why you should suffer. Stay here in Jernaeve. You will be safe, and when…when I can, I will send for you.”

“I don't know what you can be thinking of, my lady,” she said. “How can you do without me? How can you think of traveling with only those two clumsy loobies, Fechin and Merwyn? Who will bring you water in the morning? Merwyn? Not without emptying the pail on your head, most likely. Who will beat the dirt and pests from your clothes each night? Fechin? No doubt he will beat them with the edge of a sword or a stick pulled from a dung heap instead of using fresh twigs. Who will—”

Laughing, I held up my hand. “Edna, I know I would miss you terribly, but I could manage—”

“Not without me, my lady,” she cried.

Audris put her hand on my arm and said very softly, “And she can cook and sew, which I cannot.”

For a moment that seemed to have nothing at all to do with Edna and I was lost, but then I remembered how on my first visit Audris had said there were many things she had never learned just so that her aunt could keep her pride in managing Jernaeve. She was warning me not to hurt Edna's pride—a strange thought to have for a servant, but Audris never distinguished very well between common folk and those gently born. And as I thought of the change in Edna over the time she had served me, I realized Audris was right. Perhaps because of her past, Edna was fiercely proud of her position. Likely she would rather dare danger and discomfort than sink into someone without importance or recognition in Jernaeve.

“Then I will be very glad to take you with me,” I said to Edna, taking her hand as I remembered that she had already dared the queen's wrath in her concern for me. “And thank you,” I added.

At least I was not wrong in my judgment of Sir Gerald. He was delighted to see me when I rode into Wyth and made no objection at all to fighting for King Stephen, saying frankly that it would surely win him a pardon and he was tired of hiding and living almost like a prisoner. Nor did he desire leadership. He was relieved rather than offended when I told him of the men coming from Northumbria and that he would command only the Cumbrian troops.

To my surprise, we made up a troop one hundred strong, and it took less than a month to assemble them. The armorers in Keswick barely finished altering Magnus's armor to fit Sir Gerald before the troop was ready. But it was a good time for gathering men. Lambing was long over, the heavy work of plowing and planting was done, the first haying finished. Harvest would not be for two months, and the boys and women could care for the fields and do the second, sparser haying of August. Even for men with farms of their own, the coin to be gathered by fighting for pay would be pure profit, not needing to be offset by loss from neglected farm work. And, one of the younger men who had no responsibilities said, grinning at me, that if one had to go marching all over foreign countries, the summer was a far better time for it than winter.

We came into Ripon, where I had agreed to meet the troops Hugh would assemble, at the end of the second week of August and the Northumbrians were not far behind. They marched in on the second day of the third week, and when I saw Hugh's great red horse I did not know whether to smile or weep. I was terribly afraid for him, but Hugh was so strong and so wise that to have him near lifted my heart despite my fear. He greeted me with a grin and a bear hug and reported that Audris had surprised him again and borne a girl while he was out gathering men. She had named the child Melusine, and she was well and the child strong. The naming upset me a little and for years I feared for Audris's Melusine, but she lived through the fevers of childhood and is still well and strong.

Aside from my fears for Hugh's safety, I was also concerned because he was so much younger than Sir Gerald, but there was no question about who would lead. Despite the difference in their ages, by the time Sir Gerald had talked to Hugh for half an hour, he was calling him “my lord” with the same respect he had paid Papa. Later Sir Gerald told me that Hugh was trained to be a great lord, not a simple knight, and understood the management of armies as well as small troops.

It was just as well he did, because we soon became an army. Hugh had brought a little more than five hundred men from Northumbria, I had one hundred, and two days later at Cawood, south of York, another five hundred sent by Sir Walter Espec joined them. I was not with the army when the new troops arrived. I had ridden separately to York to see whether there was a letter from the queen. Maud had decided to write to me in care of the Church in York because the new archbishop, William, had not attended the council that elected Matilda. It was a good choice for another reason too. Although Hugh's foster father, Archbishop Thurstan, had died—not at York but in the Cluniac priory at Pontrefact—in February the previous year, Hugh still had good friends among the churchmen in York. The new archbishop, who had been the treasurer of the see in Thurstan's time, was one who had known him for many years, and when Hugh wrote to him, Archbishop William agreed to receive messengers from the queen with news and instructions for us.

The news was all good. The townsfolk of Oxford had secretly sent word that Matilda had come to rest in Oxford keep and was gathering together her scattered supporters. But now life had been infused into those faithful to the king by the rout at London. Men who had seemed to bring only lip service to the queen had arrived with troops. Even Waleran had finally come—but he had come only to say that his lands in Normandy were in danger and he was departing to defend them. The queen did not write “Thank God,” but I could read it between the words that
were
there—good news, indeed—that Robert of Leicester had come in Waleran's place and had brought an army with him.

Best of all, Geoffrey de Mandeville had returned from Oxford. He had not knelt, weeping with shame, at Maud's feet to beg her pardon for his defection, as I thought he should have done, but he made many excuses, most to the effect that he had hoped by his taking up Matilda's cause when it seemed that Stephen's was hopeless, to help and protect the king. To me, Maud made no pretense of belief but said Mandeville was too powerful to offend. Moreover, Maud said she had made sure, through her contacts with the merchants of Oxford, that Matilda would learn Mandeville had returned to his allegiance to the king. Knowing Matilda's temper, the queen reported her hope that Mandeville would be threatened or insulted or both. As for the troops I was bringing, we were to march for Oxford as soon as we could.

Hugh was astonished at the details of the letter. It sounded, he said, as if I were the queen's closest confidant. That made me laugh.

“No, it is all warnings. She is trying to tell me that it would do me no good to betray her because events are moving in her favor.”

Hugh sputtered with anger, but I pointed out how many had betrayed her husband and that she had long regarded me as an enemy steeped in guile, which had made Hugh laugh. Naturally, once he had news of his objective, Hugh wanted me to go back to Jernaeve, but I would have none of it. I could scarcely be in any danger in the midst of the army with Hugh to protect me. I had promised to return to the queen, and return I would. After some argument, Hugh claiming that it was not so safe as I thought because we would pass strongholds held for the empress and might be attacked, I said very simply that I would go with the army or alone. Hugh cursed me for being as stubborn as Audris, but he yielded.

It was the first week in September when we came near Oxford, and Hugh sent men ahead to discover whether the city was besieged. But the men came back saying there was no army, neither that of the empress nor that of the queen, and no sign of any battle either. Hugh, Sir Gerald, I, and two knights who led troops of Espec's men took counsel together, but none had any idea of where to go until an idea occurred to me. The bishop of Oxford had sworn to Matilda, and the queen could not commit any message to his care. But Maud trusted the burghers of the towns, and I remembered from the letter that a townsman had warned Maud that the empress had come to Oxford keep.

I had her letter in my purse, and in it I found the name of that townsman and his business. I wondered then if I had maligned Maud. Perhaps she had sent all the details not as a subtle threat but because she knew my fears for Bruno and wished to cheer me with the hopes to which she clung. I said nothing of that, but I proposed that I should ride into Oxford alone and seek out that man. Hugh objected, fearing for my safety, but we called one of the men he had sent out, and he assured us that although there was an extra strong garrison in Oxford keep, the town was peaceful. Finally it was agreed that I should go.

Maud had left no written message, but the townsman had been told my name—I had been right in my guess that Maud wasted no words, and his direction had been placed in the letter deliberately—and he had news for me, again good. The king's brother, the bishop of Winchester, had been suspected of having a hand in the revolt of the Londoners. He had quarreled with the empress not only because she would not grant the Honor of Boulogne to Eustace but over Church matters, on which she had promised much and violated every promise. Thus when Maud wrote to him again and begged him to have mercy on his own brother and work to restore him to his throne, Winchester met Maud in Guildford and agreed to lift the ban of excommunication from the king's followers. Winchester did not then offer to withdraw his support from Matilda, perhaps out of shame for showing himself so light of purpose; however, the result was the same. The empress, hearing of his meeting with Maud and that he had lifted the ban of excommunication on the king's supporters, had taken her army and marched on Winchester to seize him and punish him. He had escaped and cried to the queen for help, but Matilda's army was attacking the keep Winchester held in that city.

That was clue enough. We marched south toward Winchester with a fan of fore riders to warn us of any large force we might encounter. East of Andover Hugh's men at last came upon a troop sworn to the queen making camp for the night. Again I rode forward with only my three servants, taking lodging in Andover and sending Merwyn with a letter to the leader of that troop. He must have passed the letter on as Merwyn asked, for the next morning William of Ypres himself came to speak to me. I was frightened when he first came in, for I hardly recognized him all in armor, but as soon as he spoke I knew his voice.

Ypres seemed much surprised that I had come south with the troops and laughed when I said I had promised to return to the queen with the men I gathered, remarking that he did not think she expected me to keep the promise so literally. Then he asked if my troops would be willing to join his force, and I replied that I was sure Hugh would be glad to do whatever he thought best. When he heard Hugh's name, his eyes lit; and when I told him we had a thousand men, he took my hand and kissed it.

Had there been fewer men, I think Ypres would have merely told us where to meet his troops. Because we were a force to be reckoned with by ourselves, he rode with me to the camp to speak to Hugh, who was waiting for me impatiently, also armed and ready although his tent was not yet folded away. That was fortunate because it gave Ypres a private place to talk. He told Hugh that the queen's army had come from Guildford and had split, the queen going south with the main force to attack Matilda's army, which was besieging Winchester's keep of Wolvesey in the southeast corner of the city. Ypres had led a smaller contingent of men due west, however, because the queen had had word that Gloucester had sent a strong troop to Wherwell to hold the road open for supplies. It had been Ypres's intention to attack the troop that had fortified the little village and close that route for support to the rebels. However, he was more concerned about the routes west.

“If the queen's attack on Matilda's army is successful,” Ypres pointed out, “the empress and her accursed brother will flee west, and if I have not blocked the roads by Michelmersh and Stockbridge, they will escape me again.”

“I can close Wherwell,” Hugh said, “if that is what you think will best serve the queen's purpose”—he raised his head to look at the sun—“before dark. Shall I then march on Winchester or join you?”

“No, hold Wherwell, set guards along the fords of the river—I do not know the name—that runs to Whitchurch, and close the road into Whitchurch too. I do not believe that Matilda or any major supporter of hers will flee farther east than that.”