The Marriage Prize (50 page)

appointed by Simon de Montfort when he had ordered that al

royal castles be surrendered to him. De Leyburn relished the

confrontation, and the new castel an soon bowed to the

commanding authority of the dark, powerful steward. That

night, the man wisely departed, convinced his life would be

forfeit if he remained at Worcester Castle one day longer.

forfeit if he remained at Worcester Castle one day longer.

Rodger de Leyburn had little time for reflection or even sleep

these days, but when al was in readiness to receive Edward

and his growing army, he stood alone on the battlements of

Worcester Castle and looked longingly toward Pershore, only

seven miles away. He tried not to let his thoughts dwel on

Rosamond, but in quiet moments like this, it wasn't just his

body that ached for her, it was his heart.

The desire to see her, hear her laugh and sing to their baby,

enfold her in his arms, touch her golden hair, and brush his lips

against her satin smooth skin became so intense, he

clenched his fists and smote the stone parapet before him. He

decided that Pershore was far too close for him to keep his

distance; he would go to her now. Before he reached the

stables, however, doubts assailed him. Never again did he

want to see Rosamond recoil from him; never again did he

want to watch the color drain from her face along with her

hope. What if her lovely violet eyes were fil ed with accusation

when she looked at him? What if her lips trembled at the

unbearable pain he had caused her? What if her heart was

closed to him forever?

Rosamond had said she needed time alone to sort out her

thoughts,

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so reluctantly Rod resolved to give her the privacy she

needed. He knew their future together hinged on what

Rosamond decided, and he was loath to jeopardize that.

Rosamond decided, and he was loath to jeopardize that.

Crushing down his longing to ride to her, he summoned Griffin

and sent him off to Pershore with a note inquiring after his

son's health. He worded it succinctly, politely, so that it was not

intrusive, but at the same time it let Rosamond know that their

headquarters were now at Worcester, should she need him for

aught.

When Rosamond saw Griffin ride into Pershore's bailey, her

heart jumped into her throat with apprehension. If there had

been any question about how deeply she loved her husband,

the truth was brought home to her when she thought harm had

befal en him. When Griffin smiled, she felt her knees wobble

with relief.

"Sir Rodger sends you greetings, my lady." Griffin handed her the note and she slipped it into her bodice so that she could

read it in private later. It was doubtless a love letter tel ing her

how much he missed her, and that he could no longer live

without her. Just the thought of his impassioned words on the

folded paper warmed her heart and brought a delicate blush

to her cheek.

When a groom came forward to take the squire's horse,

Rosamond tucked her arm through Griffin's. "Let me show you

the hospitality of Pershore; the place is much improved since

you were here last. Both you and your horse must have a wel -

deserved rest before you undertake the long ride back to

Ludlow."

"Nay, my lady, we are now headquartered at Worcester."

"Worcester?" she exclaimed with surprise. "Could my lord not ride the seven miles himself?"

"He is busy from morning til night, my lady. He is Lord

Edward's right hand. Sir Rodger is indispensable!"

Rosamond suddenly felt dispensable. In the hal , while Nan

was making a fuss over Griffin, Rosamond pul ed out the note

and read:

Kindly inform Griffin of my son’s health. R. Worcester Castle.

It was so brief, it was insulting. Its tone was so cool y polite, it

might have come from a stranger. Rosamond was also

offended that

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he had written "my" son, rather than "our" son. "Griffin has been sent to learn of the baby's welfare," she told Nan. "I shal go and pry him from the hands of the maids so you may

inspect him," she said self-righteously to Rodger's squire.

Rosamond returned shortly carrying her son, with two young

maids fol owing close upon her heels. She handed the child to

a startled Griffin, who had never held a baby in his life. The

look of pure panic that suffused his face was so comical, the

maids began to giggle. He threw Rosamond such a look of

desperate supplication that she took pity on him and

laughingly relieved him of his terrifying burden. Her anger at

her husband melted away, but she decided to answer him in

kind and word the reply to deliberately annoy him. She wrote:

Your son thrives! I am amazed that you could spare Griffin

from the duties that overburden you, day and night. Worcester

and Pershore are so close, that next time you want to know

about your son s health, I suggest that you go to the window

and look out and I shal hold him up for your inspection! You

wil be happy to know that I have chosen a name for your son.

Rosamond folded the note with satisfaction. She didn't tel him

the name she had chosen, of course. He was arrogant

enough, and if he wanted to know the name, he would have to

come and find out! But before Griffin departed, Rosamond

needed to reassure herself that Rodger was in no immediate

danger. "I know Lord Edward is gathering an army; do you

think the fighting wil start soon? "

"There is no danger of that, my lady. Simon de Montfort has

taken his army to Glamorganshire in Wales."

******************

swel ed to a formidable size. He was both amazed and

gratified at the speed and fury with which royal sentiment had

swept the West, but he was determined that this time he

would not make the mistake of overconfidence. He spread his

forces al along the interior side of the River Severn from

Worcester al the way to Gloucester. Then Gilbert de Clare's

forces were used to patrol the river from Gloucester al the

way down to Bristol, where the river emptied into the Bristol

Channel.

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The prince was wary and watchful, and he made liberal use of

spies and scouts. He knew that Simon de Montfort had to

cross the Severn at some point to get back into England, and

when he did, Edward intended to be ready for him. He gave

orders that al the boats used to cross the river be captured or

destroyed. He also dispatched scouts to locate young Simon

de Montfort and track the movement of the men-at-arms under

his command.

Edward and his lieutenants were gathered around a map

table in the war room at Worcester Castle when a courier

arrived from Gilbert de Clare. The prince unsealed the

dispatch and read it. "Gilbert says Simon de Montfort

intended to cross where the Usk and the Wye rivers meet and

flow into the Severn, but there were no boats, and when he

saw the great force that awaited him on the opposite bank, he

had no choice but to turn his army north."

"It is obvious that Bristol was his intended destination," Rod declared. "If he had reached Bristol, he would have dug in and

waited for us to come to him."

"Exactly!" Edward agreed. "He would have chosen the

battlefield and strategical y deployed his men-at-arms to best

advantage, as he did at Lewes. Then he would have waited

for his son Simon to move against us from the east, and

trapped us between the two armies."

"He would have waited in vain." Rodger flashed his dark grin.

"Young Simon received orders to meet his father at

Kenilworth, and he is moving his troops north at a leisurely

pace."

"Splendor of God, I don't know how you do it, and I don't want

to know. This gives us the advantage over both armies. The

old warlord wil head up to Hereford, on the wrong side of the

Severn, of course, and with young Simon at Kenilworth,

there's no chance in hel of them uniting the baronial forces."

"Not with us squarely between them," John de Warenne

agreed. "Our position at Worcester gives us the military

advantage."

"My men have been busy," Rodger de Leyburn informed

Edward. "Not only have they tal ied our own numbers, they

have managed to tal y the numbers of both baronial armies."

"And?" Edward demanded impatiently.

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"With Gilbert de Clare's men, our numbers are greater than

the whole of theirs. We wil be victorious against either army!"

A great cheer echoed round the war room. Edward hastily

wrote an answer to Gilbert de Clare's dispatch, ordering him

to bring his men-at-arms to Worcester immediately. When the

courier departed, Edward signaled to Rod, and the two men

climbed to Worcester's ramparts.

Edward paced the wal , stretching his long legs, then he

returned to stand before his friend. "It wil be a fight to the

death, you know. It is fight and win, or fight and die, and I

intend to win, at any cost."

"Are you prepared to kil Simon de Montfort? " Rod asked

quietly.

"Oh yes ... by any means open to me. I just wondered if you—"

"There is no need to ask. I am your man, no matter what."

Edward ran his big hand through his golden hair and spoke

reflectively. "Simon is in his fifties, and must be tired of the

long struggle, though he is stil fil ed with passion for the

cause, and passionate hatred for me."

Rodger nodded. "He is the last of the old chivalrous order."

"He taught me al he knew of war, but I also have my own

modern ideas, none of which is chivalrous! It is old-fashioned

to rely solely upon cavalry in heavy body armor to fight the

battle, while the foot soldiers are left miles behind to handle

the baggage carts. Every man in my army is wel armed and

has been taught to fight. The rules that say that it is unfair to

attack at night, and that common soldiers must keep their

distance from the mounted knights, are stupid! In war there is

only one rule that counts—kil more of your enemy than they

kil !"

"Then take their weapons and horses," Rod added grimly.

"Exactly!" Edward said with relish. "When wil young Simon arrive at Kenilworth?"

"He has the Earls of Oxford and Suffolk in his train, and at the

rate they are lumbering along, it wil take at least two more

days. Then they wil have to spend long hours setting up camp

and tents; there is not room for an army of four thousand

inside Kenilworth."

"A wager, my friend, that we wil be there before them!"

"I have more good sense than to bet against you, my lord,

once you have set your mind on a goal."

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* * *

patiently for Edward Plantagenet's order. Rod knew it would

not come until the hour before dawn, when most of the enemy,

encamped in the fields around the town of Kenilworth, would

be sleeping. As he waited he reviewed the incredible events

of the day.

The moment Edward's scouts had spotted Gilbert de Clare's

men arriving from Gloucester, Edward had cal ed in the

mounted patrols from along the Severn and taken his whole

army, numbering about six thousand, out of Worcester,

marching them north to Kenilworth. They covered the thirty

miles in twelve hours, a feat never before accomplished, and

arrived at dusk, just before the unsuspecting enemy. They took

cover to watch and wait, heaving a col ective sigh of relief

when the entire baronial army pitched their tents and made

their camp outside the town, rather than behind the

impregnable wal s of Kenilworth Castle.

With great decisiveness, Edward gave his lieutenants the

signal to attack one hour before dawn, and they in turn,

relayed the order to their men. Rodger de Leyburn donned his

helmet, mounted his destrier, then drew his sword and raised

it high. It was the signal for which his men had been watching.

With Griffin at his back, he thundered down the hil alongside

hundreds of other mounted men, and thousands of foot

soldiers armed with bil s, pikes, and axes, in a surprise attack

that caught the enemy completely off-guard.

It was a raid in the dark, rather than a battle. The unexpected

attack made it a one-sided slaughter. The sleeping enemy

emerged from their tents and either scattered before the

onslaught or died where they stood. In the mad foray, coals

from the campfires set the tents ablaze, further terrorizing the

baronial troops. Hundreds were butchered, while thousands

ran, fleeing into the surrounding countryside, or tried to swim

Ke-nilworth's mere in a desperate attempt to reach the

sanctuary of the castle.

In an attack, Rodger de Leyburn never kept count of the men

he kil ed. He simply focused on the enemy before him,

knowing Griffin covered his back. His sword and his right arm

became one bloody weapon, slashing, thrusting, smashing,

slicing, piercing, cutting, and stabbing. His left arm held his