The Sword and The Swan (2 page)

An expression of dumbfounded amazement covered the heavy, rather handsome blond face of the man addressed by those furious words. With the physical agility and instinct of a man of war trained by many battles, he caught the roll of parchment tossed at him by the mailed figure who had rushed in from the far door, scattering men-at-arms and serving men from his path, and who now stood panting with rage before the high table. Stephen of Blois, king of England, gaped with surprise and looked toward the dark, middle-aged woman who sat at his left hand. There was no visible surprise on the woman's face, for Maud of England, Stephen's wife, had absolute control over herself.

It was not that the words of the harsh, grating voice were rude, nor that both words and tone were scarcely those that a subject should address to a king. Rannulf Tefli, master of Sleaford, was always rude, and, Stephen suspected, would address God with as little ceremony as he used toward his earthly ruler. What had dumbfounded the king was that he had honestly sought a reward suitable to the deed, and, until this moment, had been highly pleased with what he had proposed. Rannulf had a sour temper, but what fault he could find with an offer that would more than double his possessions and make him an earl was beyond Stephen's imagining.

Now the king's eye ranged across and beyond the laden high table at which he sat in helpless bewilderment, as if he sought counsel from the great hall since there was none to be had from his wife. Ninety feet long and forty wide, the great hall of the White Tower had been built by his grandfather, William the Bastard, but the spirit of that mighty man who had ruled his barons with a hand of iron had never infused Stephen. The noblemen sitting at the long tables nearest to the high table grimaced and fell silent at this most recent exposure of the king's indecisiveness.

No one was shocked by Tefli's rudeness. Most of the barons knew Rannulf well, and it was every man's right to stand up to the king and protest treatment that he considered unfair. The king could force the subject to his will or yield to the subject's protest, both without losing face; but he had to decide something quickly and act forcibly if he wished to retain his men's respect.

In this, Stephen of Blois had failed again, as he had failed time after time since he had assumed the throne of England in 1135. By the year 1150, the men who had fought for and against him through the thirteen bitter years of the recent civil war expected no more. The grimaces on the faces of the lords and barons of England were ones of disgust, not of tenseness or fear.

"We thought it a most meet and fitting reward, Sir Rannulf. It would double your riches, bring you an earldom which you greatly deserve, and, moreover, give you a young and beautiful wife to comfort your lonely estate."

The person who spoke was not the king but the woman who sat beside him. No expression of surprise moved the watching men, although in general, it was the place of a woman to hold her tongue unless bidden by her male master to speak; but they knew that, if there were a ruler in England, Maud was that ruler.

Her tone held no anger at what might well be considered an insult. It was pleasantly reasonable and suited her appearance, which was soft and matronly. Rannulf of Sleaford shifted his gaze to her, and while there was little change of expression on his hard face, the anger in his eyes lessened and the set of his lips softened somewhat.

"Aye, I should have known. Every woman goes about to make every other woman in the world a wife, be it to the pleasure of the man so trapped or not." He waited while the burst of laughter that greeted his words died away, and spoke again more seriously. "Madam, you know, I made no secret of it, that I have no lust for the married state. I have heirs to my lands and need no more issue. As for the land—land is always good, but I have of that also sufficient for my needs. The title, any cur in the street is welcome to. I am Rannulf Tefli, master of Sleaford, and no title can lend me honor."

No change marred the pleasant expression of the woman at this further insult, but she rose from her seat and edged around behind her son and daughter-by-marriage so that she could enter the space before the table in which Rannulf stood. As she approached, she held out her hand to him and a warm smile parted her lips.

The gesture was graceful, surprisingly so, for one did not expect grace from that dumpy body, and the smile lit up a face which, without being ugly, was decidedly plain. There was no answering smile, but Rannulf took Maud's hand and kissed it with more eagerness than could have been expected from his angry words.

"How foolish we all are to stand here. A good greeting to you, my good lord. You are welcome to us glad or angry, but it mends nothing and mars all to talk when you are thus cold and muddied from your long ride. Bid your men come to table and refresh themselves, and do you come with me. When my women have bathed you and you have filled your belly, it will be time enough to quarrel if we must."

"I would have the matter settled without delay”

"I too," Maud said softly, laying her hand on his arm, "but is this a fitting time or place? These are not matters of state for all men to speak their minds upon but private things."

To a great extent Rannulf agreed with Maud and was already regretting the fury that had driven him to expose his affairs and the king's weakness in public. He glanced quickly at the table, hoping Stephen would redeem himself by some decision, but the king only smiled encouragingly at him. He might have stayed anyhow to prod Stephen, but Eustace, the king's eldest son, growled and started to rise and Rannulf quickly turned away.

Eustace had never forgiven Rannulf for tearing him by force from a lost battle, and took every opportunity to insult his father's liege man. In his present temper, Rannulf could not trust himself to hold his tongue and, being too loyal a vassal to provoke his overlord's heir, sought safety in absence.

His progress down the hall, however, was slow, for many men at the top of the room, great noblemen though they were, rose to greet Rannulf of Sleaford. Many of the greetings he acknowledged with no more than a curt nod, a few hands he pressed quickly—he was in no mood for civilities—but at the middle of the center table he stopped.

"May I ask, Leicester, what you are doing in this fine company?"

Before the heavy, deliberate man to whom the remark was addressed could answer another voice intervened. "Is that meant for me?"

The retort was quick and hot in reply to the bitter sarcasm of Rannulf's tone, the voice clear and youthful. Maud's hand tightened on Rannulf's arm and she drew a hasty breath, but there was no need to speak, for the harsh laugh of her escort forestalled her.

"Nay, Hereford, you are an honest enemy and, though our swords may cross on the field in the future as they have in the past, I will break bread with you and welcome when we have space to breathe."

Leicester had glanced up at Rannulf but still said nothing.

"Sit down, my cockerel.” William of Gloucester interposed in his silken purr. "The barb was meant for me. But he who is well-armored by righteousness need fear no feeble shaft of wit. I hope your arm is still stronger than your tongue, Tefli. Besides, I am no enemy to any man—"

"Except him who has a wife or a daughter or a young son—"

"My lord," Maud pleaded softly, cutting off Sleaford's choking voice. "We are all at peace now. Let us not unearth buried sorrows to bring us new grief."

Indeed, there was little sympathy, even among his companions, for William of Gloucester's wanton provocation of Rannulf. Perhaps Tefli had not been civil—he never was—but it was no secret, considering his manner of entrance into the hall, that he was out of temper and the insult, if insult there was, had been directed at Robert of Leicester, who was well able to take care of himself. The earl of Hereford cast a glance of passionate dislike at Gloucester and stepped across the bench he had been seated upon.

"I give you thanks for those just words. I am not sorry to see you, Sir Rannulf, for I have long desired to tell you that I bear you no ill will for the trick you played us at the battle of Devizes."

For the second time in a few minutes, Rannulf wished he had controlled his hasty tongue. He should have known better than to play at talk with William of Gloucester, and he should, by now, have been able to control the inexplicable loathing he had for the man, who, after all, had never done him any more harm than to prick him with words. He turned now, almost smiling with relief to Hereford.

"Nay, why should you? I did my duty as you did yours. That we see our duty in different lights is no cause for ill will between us as men when the battle is over."

"True. Moreover, I hope for the future that our paths will lie side by side rather than at cross-purposes."

Rannulf looked at the young man who was now walking beside him and the lightness died out of his face. "I do not think of the future, nor of the past, my lord Hereford. As each day comes to me, so do I live it, looking neither forward nor back. I am too old—"

"That you are not, and it is needful in these times to look forward." Hereford checked his own hasty tongue, suddenly conscious of the silent woman who kept pace with them. "Do you stay long in London? As my lady the queen says, it is useless to talk of any matter when the mind is clouded with weariness and the body restless with discomfort. I will leave you that you may take your ease, but I hope we will speak together again at a more suitable time.

"Here I am at leisure," the older man replied in a more normal tone of caustic indifference, "if you wish to speak; no doubt I will be constrained to listen. I know not how long I will stay, except that it be until my … private matter is settled."

As Hereford left, Maud sighed. "Alas, I do not know whether it is easier when they are in open rebellion or when they come here in 'peace' to breed more war in those who are yet faithful to us."

"Save your speech for those who have need of it, madam. From me you will get neither more nor less than I have ever given since the day I gave sword-oath to your husband."

"Nay, my lord, I know you cannot be turned from the true course, nor did I think of you when I spoke," Maud said hastily, standing aside while Rannulf opened the heavy door to her quarters on the floor above the hall.

Only she did doubt, because Maud doubted everyone, and Rannulf had been seriously provoked by Eustace's behavior. He had shown his consciousness of Eustace's hatred only by withdrawing from court, but to Maud it seemed essential to bind the vassal with new chains of obligation.

Maud did not believe in oaths; she had broken too many herself, and there were signs and portents throughout the court. Leicester was more friendly than ever with the rebel lords, and Leicester was Rannulf's foster brother. If Robert of Leicester loved any man other than himself and his twin, he loved Rannulf of Sleaford; if he attended to any man's opinion, it would be to his. Maud did not really fear that Rannulf would turn on them, but he might slip into neutrality since he had no personal quarrel with the rebels.

Maud had guessed Rannulf's attitude toward the rebels accurately. True, it was Robert, the first duke of Gloucester, who had started the civil war when the barons of England had invited Stephen of Blois to take the throne in preference to Gloucester's half-sister Matilda, but Rannulf did not basically object to that. It was fit that each man should fight for what he believed to be right, and it was senseless to carry political grudges over into private life; the way things were, a man would soon have no one with whom to exchange a word.

As far as Rannulf of Sleaford was concerned, war was the natural state of living, and it was in no way dishonorable to sit down at table, when the battle was done, with the man with whom you had just been crossing swords. It mattered very little to him whether one fought over political ideals, to conquer new territory, or to suppress the people one had already conquered. War was war, and, one side or the other, Rannulf hated no man who fought it honestly.

Shifting purposes Rannulf of Sleaford also understood, although he despised them. He despised them more in men like Gloucester than in the queen, being guided by emotion more than he realized; for their behavior was almost exactly the same and for similar reasons. But in most things, Rannulf did not permit his emotions to run away with his reason.

Just now, though, he had done so, cherishing his rage until it had overflowed in a. way that was almost as detrimental to Stephen's cause as was the behavior of the rebels of whom Maud complained.

The feeling was beyond his ability to express, however, since he was far more given to suppressing all thought of emotion than to discussing it. He took refuge, therefore, in a sullen silence, allowing Maud to direct her women to prepare a bath for him. With eyes stubbornly lowered and lips grimly set, he allowed the women to undress him and wash him in the hot, scented water. At last, as the maids wrapped him in a soft cloth for drying, feeling a difference in the atmosphere he looked at Maud and found her considering eyes upon him.

"Do you see something upon me that interests you, madam?"

Maud transferred her eyes from her guest's body to his face. "In a way. To Hereford, below, you said you were old, yet I find you to look both fresh and young." She rose and, without more embarrassment than if he had been her son, pulled loose the cloth to stroke the smoothly rounded, heavily muscled shoulder. "Look here. This is not the stringy strength of active age. What are your years, my lord?"

Knowledgeable as he was in the queen's ways, and knowing that she loved her husband with an all-consuming passion that left no room for extramarital desire, he reasoned that there must be a purpose to this admiration; even so Sir Rannulf was still flattered. His voice was as harsh as ever when he spoke, but involuntarily his eyes dropped.

"I have passed my fortieth summer. However I look, I am not young."

"To one who has passed some few years more, that sounds most melancholy. I would that I appeared as fresh as you do. You hold yourself too cheap, my lord—" she laughed "—and I will think twice before I leave you in my maidens' hands when I am not by. Did you not see their eyes upon you?"