Ann of Cambray (44 page)

‘I fear for you,’ he said simply. ‘Is there no one to ride with you?’

‘Cecile,’ I said. ‘I will twist her until she will follow. And do not think of me. I have a tongue as sharp as those lords of Maneth, spilling out their poison to the Angevin court. If there is to be justice in this land, I shall claim it.’

‘Who will go as escort?’

‘There are a few left at Sedgemont,’ I said, ‘those who are most fit.’

‘Then God speed you, my lady,’ Geoffrey said. With silent, almost awkward gesture, he knelt before me, and the other men did likewise. ‘God have it that we all be free men again.’

I looked down upon their bowed heads, their thin bodies, their calloused hands. Until I sent them good news, they must live as outcasts, outlawed from their lands, their friends. And for no real cause. Yet, in panic, remembering Raoul’s closed eyes with the dark shadows under them, the red scar still etched across his face, his hands peaceful, no longer fumbling for the sword hilt above his bed, I thought, too, I should be rather on my knees to you, praying you to protect him, to save the father of my child.

So is our life made up by trust to Him who is above, to him who is below. We must each rely on each and pray God to have us to His care.

‘Amen,’ I whispered, feeling as a mother might with her children before her.

Two of them came with the serf to help him drag the sled, for we had to hurry. The night was already ending when they left us as close to the forest edge as they dared. The man and I went on alone. He helped me cross the frozen river and came with me to the side gate where Cecile waited inside for my sign. What made that old man, that serf, risk his life for us?

‘Lady,’ he said in his rough speech when I bade him farewell, ‘we wait in the forest, too, women and children, since the Lord of Sedgemont ordered us to hide. We are fifty people there. It is the second time in as many years we have left our homes and fields.’ He did not look at me as he spoke but kept his eyes fixed on the castle walls for fear of being sighted there.

‘My race was Saxon,’ he said. ‘In a hundred years, we have known nothing but war and famine and destruction. Under these lords of Sedgemont we have been safe until now. But we cannot fend for the women and children long in winter, without shelter.’

Again I felt the weight of what he said. Once, the peasants of Sedgemont seemed to live as princes compared with the lordless border people. Now, without Raoul, they were sunk as low.

‘I will do all I can,’ I promised, as I slipped inside the half-opened door. ‘Do you the same for us.’

But what was to stop him or someone like him from selling the secrets of the forest to Raoul’s enemies? I leaned my head against the inside of the gate as Cecile wrestled with the bolts to draw them home, and fought down sickness and despair.

‘My lady,’ Cecile panted behind me as we ran quietly back, past the stairs where I had hidden long ago, through the deserted kitchens, the empty rooms echoing like vaults, ‘they are preparing to go. I heard them talk of it. Three of our men are fit to ride. The others have helped them arm, saddled the horses. The Lady Mildred has made all ready for you. But hurry, hurry.’

She had had no sleep, had watched the night through by the gate to let me in. I looked at her tired face. Like Geoffrey’s, all the light of youth seemed gone, and in its place, fear and determination. I realised she was dressed for riding herself, her skirts kilted up so she could ride astride like a trooper. The Lady Mildred had warm clothes, cloaks, in readiness. She helped me change my bloodstained dress, throwing it upon the fire, and placed food and drink in front of me, although I could scarce force myself to swallow. She listened to my hasty instructions, how flimsy they sounded, depending on the goodwill of a woodcutter, a peasant, a handful of men. But we had no other help; we must cling to them. And until Raoul was fit to move, there was nowhere else he could go.

It was not quite dawn when we came into the courtyard. The French envoys were already there, mounted, waiting for the first light. Most of their men rode with them, but they left a token handful behind. Some of Maneth’s men went with them, the French ones. A few stayed, along with a half-dozen of our wounded, and a couple or so of men who had served Sir Brian at Sedgemont.

Our three men were already mounted. One still had a stained bandage about his head, but he was alert, resolute, although he slouched in his saddle as I had seen them all ride once before. I knew enough now not to mistake that for discourage. Behind him, the four greys of Cambray had been loaded as pack horses.

The Lady Mildred saw my glance. ‘Once,’ she said, ‘when Earl Raymond was given his title, he brought four such horses as gift, part of his feudal dues. I take it as omen, Lady Ann, that you have them with you now.’ She had not asked where I was going, had not sought to question me, yet her will was indomitable. And in her hands she carried, wrapped up in a sacking case that it be not noticed, a flag of Sedgemont with his crest fresh embroidered upon it. I took it without words. What words were there to answer such trust?

The French lords came up to me, riding bare-headed, their faces reddened by the wind. It was not so cold; the warmth that had started the thaw would come faster now that day approached.

Sir Gautier spoke. ‘We go east,’ he said, without courtesy. ‘Which way ride you?’

‘East, too,’ I said, swinging myself up with the help of my men. He eyed me sourly. On horseback, I was of a height with him. I could manage my horse as well, if, God willing, I did not heave my food before him as I already had done once this morning in secret.

‘Not with me,’ he snapped. ‘We ride hard. You make no party with us.’

‘The roads are free for all,’ I said, tight lipped. ‘And you may find we ride as fast as you.’

‘Not with us,’ he said again. ‘We have no responsibility for you.’

‘I do not need that,’ I said, gesturing to my three men who had closed behind Cecile and me. ‘We have no need to run like dogs in the shadow of your protection. Look for us if you wish. We shall be there.’

He eyed me, wheeled his horse round without word, and made signal. His escort jangled across the drawbridge, the blue banners laced with golden lions waving in the breeze. Beside me, one of our men spat. I gave the French five minutes’ start before we left, standing there in the melting snows, the horses shivering at our impatience.

The Lady Mildred waited at the steps at her usual place, no emotion showing, no tears. Yet below her, wrapped in his military cloak, the body of her husband lay still unburied until the ground unfroze, and nearby lay the bodies of the other men. I looked about me in the morning air. It was light now. There was a good smell of fresh things growing through the ice. The remaining men were standing in their separate groups around the wall, some leaning despondently, some expectant, all wondering. The great walls of Sedgemont rose dark above us, unguarded. The bailey was littered still with straw, with dirt, all unkempt, unwatched.

I said suddenly, addressing the three groups of them whose three separate dead lay waiting, ‘We be strange companions here, but I commend you to the Lady Mildred, who will order this castle in our name until I return.’

There was a murmur. One man cried out, ‘No one holds Sedgemont.’

‘Yes,’ I said evenly, ‘you do, until my return. Keep all in order lest your watch be found wanting. I seek justice for the rights and wrongs of us all. Else will we be like devil’s curs, snarling over bones of wood. Without a master here, Sedgemont is as dead. Honour the Lady Mildred until our return. She acts as master and mistress both.’

We turned on our heels, clattered out ourselves, a small silent group, without flag, without honour. But as my men rode by, they saluted the little figure at her place, the sharp salute of the Sedgemont guard. Then we, too, left the castle gates, went spurring after the dark shapes we could see against the white ground, already far ahead.

They rode hard but not so fast that we could not keep them in sight. And in some ways they made things easier for us, their larger numbers and heavier weights cutting a wide swath through the snow. At other times, the best we could do was to plod along in their wake. And when night fell and they sought shelter at some inn, we went there, too. Then did I see for myself the ease with which space was made for the king’s messengers, food readied, beds made available. Not that there were many other travellers at the time, and I doubt if any were displaced to make room for us. But, at least, we were not ill treated, and the French envoys were not so petty as to forbid us the same shelter that they enjoyed. And when the morning came, we were always there and mounted and ready in good time, waiting for them to ride out before we followed. It was a hard ride. Nothing to Raoul’s men, who wrapped their cloaks around their chins, and lowered their heads against the elements, solid as rocks.

Not for Cecile, who set her head high; white and determined she rode without complaint. Strangely enough, I think it was I who suffered most, and who had thought least about the difficulties, having endured them all before. But, for some reason, my body now seemed determined to betray me when I wished it most unsexed, to behave as any man would. My back ached, my very bones seemed to stretch with weariness, and the dizziness and sickness that had begun to plague me threatened at times to overwhelm me before them all. I forced those things aside as resolutely as Cecile did her discomfort. No weakness of mine would make us lose place. And if it was the effect of pregnancy, well, I was not unlearned about that either, although so ignorant of its effects upon myself. There would be time to think of that, hold it to its true account, when Raoul was free again.

Unaided by our three men, we would have foundered for certain. Without complaint, without fuss, they did all that I should have ordered them to do but had not the wits or strength to think of at the day’s end. I often remember them, dark and sombre in their unembroidered cloaks, who once had proudly worn the red and gold of Sedgemont. And twice did they save our lives; loyalty again, although through what strange means, what purpose, God knows and will set down to their credit. Once, as we crossed a rivulet the frozen ice gave way beneath us. We would all have been swept downstream, forced under, had not they sat their horses in the midst of the current to their waists in ice and mud and held the line by which the other horses could be led across. I managed to ford it by myself, my thick woollen skirts so wet and clinging that they made more weight than all my body did together. Cecile they finally bore before them, patiently taking yet another wetting in the icy water. On the farther side, we all stripped in silence, and warmed ourselves about a fire until we were thawed enough to go on. That night it was so late before we found the lodging place that we all stumbled into bed without thought of food, every muscle crying out for rest. But the next morning, the horses were saddled and we were waiting before the French rode out.

The second time was more dangerous. Yet, without it, I think much that happened afterwards would not have been possible. I have said there were few travellers abroad, the weather being in part to blame, but also the uncertainty, that people were unwilling to stir from their homes. By now we had come far enough from the forest of Sedgemont to have left most of the snow behind, although the sea of mud that replaced it was no more agreeable. I had taken little heed of where we rode, concentrating more on survival than curiosity, but I had noted how, for the last few hours, we had been picking our way through a new stretch of woodland, made up of scantily spaced trees and wide stretches of brush and shrub. Later I recognised it was one of those great game preserves that the Norman kings have set aside for their own hunting grounds; then I knew only that it made easier riding than we had known before. Suddenly, the man who rode in front pulled back his horse so that it sank upon its haunches and stretched his arm out behind him to bid us hold back. We waited silently, the great horses pulling at their lead reins to crop the grass that grew there, the first we had seen in many days.

‘Ahead of us,’ he said softly, ‘men are waiting. In that clump of trees.’

‘Friends?’ The other two spoke as one.

‘I doubt it. I caught a glimpse of weapons. No friend hides thus.’

‘How many?’

‘They let the French go past. Less than they. More than we.’

They had already turned their horses round, heading to a more open place.

‘Should we not spur right through?’ I asked, not yet certain what we fled from.

‘Nay.’ Raoul’s men looked grim. By now their swords were out, their shields unhooked from the saddles, their eyes scanning on either side.

‘They are waiting for us,’ one explained, the youngest, a cheery fellow, his wounded knee that had kept him at Sedgemont after Raoul’s escape still unknitted, yet he smiled at the thought of danger again. ‘Ride through with surprise, stand firm with attack. Do not be afeard, Lady Ann. It is only a group of ruffians thinking to have an easy game of us.’

We circled at the first convenient place, where the trees were set far enough apart not to give cover. I loosened the little knife at my belt. For a moment, panic took me as I saw the figures slipping behind us, on foot, with a horseman or two at their back. I felt my vision sway and blur as I remembered that morning by the stream when Giles and his men had awaited such an attack. Our men tightened their girths and stirrup straps, watching closely while we put Cecile and the grey horses on the inside, I with my knife to guard them. When the first men came sliding into the open, I heard their rally cry like a bird’s call, and the answering echo from the farther side where others had come round to trap us. Our own knights stood up in their saddles, as Raoul had taught them, straight legged, stiff, although it must have been agony to lean on a wound scarce healed, and waited until the filthy, bearded group had advanced from the trees and came loping towards us. Then did they swing out towards them, two of them moving on together neck and neck, their arms outstretched above their heads to sweep down on either side like a storm, slashing through to the bone with all the weight they had, while the third, a length behind, cut past obliquely to turn the attack from the rear. They swept back, their sword tips crimson now, their faces beaded with sweat, and I heard the shout they gave, ‘Sedgemont, Cambray,’ echo through the forest like a trumpet blast. Three more times did they sweep out and cut our attackers down as they came. Three times they wheeled back without hurt to themselves, although had there been bowmen in the group, we would all have been dead long since. Before we could launch a fourth charge, I heard another cry, the thunder of hooves, and swinging round to right and left of us through the trees came the blue trappings of the Angevins. Thus were our men relieved, although they gave no outward sign, except to shout once again, as now all three rode out, knee to knee as one man, charging through the underbrush into the midst of the outlaw gang. These, in panic, had started to throw down their weapons and begun to run for the shelter of the deeper trees, whilst their leaders, seeing that there was no hope, had already turned and galloped away. I watched as a head spun off in a gush of blood, like a bird’s wing against the grey trees, and, sick and shivering, turned my face aside to vomit away all the fear and relief. When it was done, I tottered to the side of the clearing and sat upon the muddy grass turfs and waited for the men to rejoin us. They came back, as joyful as from a hunt, the youngest one whistling through his teeth, for all that his bandaged leg ran red, and his eyes were rimmed with dirt and fatigue.