Lady of the English (41 page)

The tension was palpable. This wasn’t the end, Will was certain, because appeasement was not control, and no one in this room was satisfied.

ttt

Will lay in bed beside Adeliza, lazing in delicious warmth, the furs drawn up to his chin. He did not want to move to get ready and go to the Christmas court at Windsor, but knew he must. Stephen was expecting him, and he was to kneel and pay homage for his replacement earldom of Sussex. There was 323

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a bitter taste in his mouth over the arrangement, although in truth, it made sense and should have been given to him as his earldom from the outset.

He could hear the nurse in the anteroom cooing to their son as she changed his wet linens. Against his body, Adeliza’s womb was round and full with their second child. She was soon to go into confinement, and it gave him pleasure to feel the baby kick against the palm of his hand. Adeliza had said nothing about his change of title, and he was grateful for her silence even if her looks had been eloquent and knowing.

Eventually, aware of his duty and prodded by the increasing sounds from the antechamber, he left the cosy nest of their bed, shoved his feet into his shoes, and, scratching and yawning, ambled to use the latrine. Then, wrapped in his fur cloak, he went to see his son. Wilkin squealed and held out chubby arms, demanding to be picked up. Will swept him into his embrace and nuzzled the baby’s pale brown curls. He smelled of fresh, warmed linen and sleep. “Pa!” he said and pulled his father’s whiskers.

“Well, my little man,” Will chuckled, “what shall I bring you from court? A silver spoon? A golden cup? Bright silver bells? Or perhaps a new earldom, hmm?”

“Sire…”

He glanced up to see Milo Bassett, one of his senior knights, hesitating in the doorway. “What is it?” Will beckoned him into the room.

“A messenger’s just ridden in.” Milo’s expression was tense with two fine creases between his eyes. “William de Roumare and Ranulf of Chester have just gone the full distance and declared for the empress. They’ve closed Lincoln against the king.”

Will stared at him. “I knew this would happen,” he said grimly. “I told Stephen he should not trust them, but he would not listen. He gives too many the benefit of the doubt.”

“You’re summoned to meet the king at Lincoln, not 324

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Windsor,” Milo continued. “I’ve set the grooms to harnessing more packhorses and told the steward to increase the provisions.”

Will nodded briskly. “Give me a moment to dress and I’ll attend you. Find Adelard and tell him I’ll need my hauberk and weapons.”

As Milo strode off, Will returned the infant to his nurse and went to tell Adeliza he was not going to Windsor as planned, but north to Lincoln and war.

ttt

Matilda was holding court in Gloucester when a hard-travelled messenger brought her the news about Lincoln, together with the information that Stephen had abandoned his Christmas court at Windsor and was riding north to deal with the situation.

“Now is our chance to take on Stephen and bring him down,” Robert said, his eyes full of a hunter’s light. Ranulf of Chester was his son-in-law and he had long been working at dividing him from Stephen.

Matilda frowned and pursed her lips. “Ranulf de Gernons and William de Roumare are wily dissemblers and they will exact a high price for their loyalty. Just because they have seized Lincoln does not mean they have had a complete change of heart. All they see is their own opportunity.”

“But if they can run Stephen off, then by coming to their aid we gain at least a nominal hold on Lincoln. Hugh Bigod is wavering in his support of Stephen, for all that he was one of the first to swear for him. It will only take another push. It might be worth offering him the earldom of Norfolk to secure his help. He’s an untrustworthy self-seeker, but if we can work on him to abandon Stephen, then to the good.”

Matilda rubbed her aching forehead. Even though the news held promise, she still felt as if she were trying to swim across a cold, dark lake with weights on her ankles. There was never enough money, and she was well aware that men who knelt to 325

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her and smiled one day would as likely stab her in the back and abandon her on another. Those who stayed with her had nothing left to lose. Sometimes she wondered if it was all worth it, but would then shake herself. This was for her son, and for his sons (God forbid they would be daughters), stretching in a line that travelled so far she could not see the end of it, and if she gave up, that line would not exist. “Do whatever you can,” she said.

Robert pressed his hand to her shoulder and left the room.

Brian, who had been listening silently, a little to one side, said,

“You will win this, domina.”

“Will I?” She went to stand before the hearth, rubbing her arms.

“Assuredly, domina.”

“Your voice carries platitudes,” she said irritably.

“I hope not, because then I would be deluding myself.”

She turned to him. “I want to succeed, Brian,” she said, vehemently. “I want this so much that I could set the world ablaze with what I feel inside.” She pressed her hand to her stomach in emphasis. “Sometimes I think it will consume me and there will be nothing left. You tell me ‘assuredly’ and I want to rage at you because it is the slick word of a courtier.”

“That is all I thought you wanted from me,” he answered woodenly. “If you desire me to say I will go through that blaze for you, I will do so, gladly.”

Matilda retreated behind her shield again. What she desired of him she could never have, and she was far too sensible to ask what he desired for himself. “Do you not have matters to deal with outside of this chamber?” she asked curtly.

There was a taut silence. Then he said, “Domina,” and left the room, the cold air lingering on the tail of the closing door.

She stared at the hearth for a long time; then she moved away from it, and set her mind to the matter of Lincoln and what defeating Stephen might mean.

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Thirty-eight

Lincoln, February 1141

W ill stood amid the throng of Stephen’s barons in the nave of Lincoln Cathedral where they had all gathered to celebrate the Feast of the Purification of the Virgin Mary. It was so cold that his breath emerged as white vapour. The only difference between here and outside was the absence of the bone-chilling wind and occasional flurries of icy rain. The interior of the cathedral blazed with the light of numerous candles and lamps as befitted a celebration of light. The honeyed scents of incense and beeswax overlaid the musty smell of winter stone with the haunting, evocative perfume of God.

King Stephen had been besieging Lincoln Castle for several weeks, and was making slow progress, but each painstaking advance was costly in terms of time and finances. With his architectural and building skills, Will had been commanding the siege machines that had been pounding the castle walls.

Thus far, the garrison was holding out. No great breaches had been made in the defences and it was clear that Chester and de Roumare had used the time to hoard men and supplies and were not for yielding.

This celebration of the Virgin’s churching had a deeper resonance than usual to Will because he had recently heard that Adeliza had been safely delivered of their second child, a LadyofEnglish.indd 327

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daughter this time, christened Adelis. As he joined the procession to carry a lighted candle down the nave to the altar, he fixed his prayers upon his wife, his new baby, and his small son.

In front of him, Stephen stumbled upon the trailing hem of his cloak. Molten candle wax dripped over the king’s hand and he dropped the candle on to the stone flags of the nave, where it broke in two and extinguished itself in a pale thread of smoke.

Men glanced at each other with unease. A young knight darted forward and handed his own candle to the king, and a chaplain hurriedly removed the broken one, but the damage was done and although Stephen shrugged it off as nothing, the tension was palpable.

The sense of doom was compounded moments later when the delicate silver box holding the communion wafers fell from its hanger chain, struck the side of the altar, and tumbled on to the steps, scattering the wafers abroad and breaking many.

Several members of the congregation crossed themselves and a low mutter of unease percolated throughout the nave. The hair rose on Will’s nape because this was God’s own house and the communion wafers were the body of Christ. He was not given to flights of fancy, but he was perturbed. Stephen, however, acted as if nothing had happened. He remained calm and prostrated himself before the altar in submission while priests hastened to rescue the pyx and the fallen wafers and bring new ones.

The remainder of the service continued without incident and the tension eased, but did not entirely dissipate. As they emerged from the cathedral into the bitter February weather, William D’Ypres remarked flippantly that Stephen should think about shortening the length of his cloak, but no one smiled.

Will returned to the siege machines and quelled the speculation among his troops. “A candle broke, and so did the link in a chain,” he growled. “Such small things happen around us every 328

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day and if we saw portents in them all, we would be paralysed by our fears.”

A squire brought him bread and cheese and he ate while watching the men setting up the trebuchet, their fingertips and noses red with cold. He imagined a roaring fire and Adeliza reading to him from one of her books in her gentle voice, or singing a lullaby to their son and the baby, and he felt heartsick and wished he was at Arundel.

A horn sounded on the town battlements, and then another, and another, all along the walls. Will swallowed his mouthful of food and sent the squire to find out what the noise was about.

He was buckling on the sword he had removed to attend mass when the lad returned in a high state of excitement.

“Sire, it’s the Earls of Gloucester and Chester. They’ve been sighted across the Witham looking for a fording place.” The youth’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “It’s the whole Angevin host—cavalry and Welsh levies and all!”

Will stared at him. It was foolhardy to risk all on a single battle, but perhaps Robert of Gloucester felt it was all or nothing.

“It’s a sign from God,” one of the siege-machine crew gabbled. “First the candle and the pyx; now this.”

Will rounded on him. “Gloucester was bound to come here; the only question was how soon. Get back to work until I say otherwise.”

Lowering his eyes, the man turned back to the trebuchet.

Having given interim orders to the men, Will went to join the king at Bishop Alexander’s lodging. By the time he arrived, a heated discussion was already in full flow. Stephen wanted to ride out and face the approaching Angevin force and bring them to battle. His barons did not.

“Sire, it is unwise,” counselled William D’Ypres, shaking his head. “Their numbers are greater than ours. Surely it is better to withdraw or stay behind the town walls and wait them out.”

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“No!” Stephen snapped. “I will not yield an inch of ground to Robert FitzRoy or Ranulf of Chester and his hellspawn brother. I am the anointed king and I am sick of these men.

Let God decide.”

“Sire, even God needs help,” said D’Ypres to nods of agreement from the other barons. “Perhaps what happened in the cathedral is a warning. You should reconsider.”

“I said no!” Stephen banged his fist down on the trestle.

“We will fight and put an end to this insurrection once and for all. I am the anointed king of England and I will be listened to!” His gaze flashed around the room, striking each man and nailing him to his duty. “Are you weak, superstitious fools and women that you baulk? Go and ready your men. If they cross the Witham, then we will meet them.”

As the barons left the chamber to begin the muster, Stephen called Will to him. “I want you to stay back with the siege machines and prevent the garrison from assaulting from the rear…”

“Sire,” Will said and, with a grim set to his lips, left for his position.

ttt

“He’s going to make a full fight of it then,” said Adelard le Flemyng, Will’s senior serjeant, as Stephen led his assembled army away from the siege camp and towards the city gates.

Will grimaced. “It appears so,”

Adelard looked dubious. “Is that wise?”

Will shrugged. Stephen had never been one to sit and ponder the wise alternatives. They were the realm of his brother the Bishop of Winchester from whom the King had become estranged. When something bothered Stephen he would up and deal with it in a physical way. “Perhaps not, but Gloucester is taking a similar risk. His Welsh levies may give him advantage of numbers but they are not seasoned and they won’t stand.”

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“Even so, to risk so much…”

“The king will not retreat because of his father,” Will said.

“His father?” Adelard looked bemused.

“He was accused of cowardice while fighting in the Holy Land—of fleeing from a battle and not standing his ground.

Stephen would rather die than have such an accusation levied at him. Whatever happens, he will not yield.”

“But what if he loses?”

Will gazed round his camp. He had been thinking that himself. He was no deserter, but he was pragmatic and he had a responsibility to the men under his command, not all of whom were wealthy enough to be worth ransoms, should it come to that pass. It was as well to be prepared. “Tell the men to have their weapons and equipment to hand,” he said. “Make sure they have food in their packs and that their water costrels are full.”