Knight's Honor (30 page)

In this he was successful in arranging three passes with the lance to precede the battle with sword or mace. Radnor argued long and bitterly, for Hereford was no great jouster and de Caldoet was one of the best. He was defeated finally by de Caldoet's rigid insistence and by his own principal's impatience, Hereford saying irritably that one or three made no difference, for God would protect him. Lord Radnor slammed one mailed fist into the other and gave up, muttering that even the Lord needed some help from a little good sense once in a while.

De Caldoet smiled, silently agreeing, but satisfied. Capable of judging men only by himself and his personal experience, and to a certain extent misled by Hereford's apparent physical delicacy, he was rather contemptuous of his opponent. He was not overly clever and had the stupid person's habit of forgetting what was unpleasant to him, so that at the moment he did not remember that twice the same day Roger of Hereford had almost frightened him by his expression alone. His basic reason for wishing to fight and beat Hereford, however, was far more rational and practical than a mere sop to his ego. De Caldoet believed that when he had Hereford at his mercy the defeated man could be forced to cede a handsome share of his property to save his life. This would restore de Caldoet to independent status as a war lord, the thing he wanted most in life.

The terms of the agreement finally made were essentially what Lord Radnor had proposed, and the following morning was set for the time of combat. Hereford had held out for some time for that very afternoon, but both Radnor and de Caldoet had opposed him, Radnor because he wanted Hereford to have some rest after their grueling ride and de Caldoet because he wanted a good night's sleep so as to be at his best. That was not, of course, the reason he had offered. Aloud he had insisted that he would need time to have Peverel ratify the agreement and did not propose to have the battle terminated by darkness.

"I do not desire to offer you that method of escape," he had sneered at Hereford, "and I wish all men to see clearly how you kneel before me."

CHAPTER 10

WHEN DE CALDOET AND HIS MEN HAD RETURNED TO THE KEEP AND THE
drawbridge had screamed its way up again, Hereford turned his horse toward the camp. If he had heard de Caldoet's final remark, he gave no sign. It was true that he had accepted the offered challenge in a fit of temper, but he would have accepted it even had he been perfectly cool. He could do nothing else. The captains of his army had attended the parley, and to refuse would have been tantamount to admitting either that he was personally afraid or that he knew his cause to be unjust. Hereford's hand tightened on his rein as if holding it firmly would improve his control on a situation that seemed to be slipping out of his grip. Lord Radnor had been equally silent, although he kept his horse standing beside Hereford's while the others had ridden ahead to spread the word among the men. His dark face worked momentarily as he came to a difficult decision.

"Roger."

Hereford started. Lord Radnor called him Roger only when he had something intensely personal to say or when he was emotionally much moved. "Yes?"

"You had better let me fight as your champion."

With eyes widened with shock and insult, Hereford studied the expression of the man who had made that flat, unemotional statement. "What?" he said, doubting his ears.

"Curse you, Roger, I like to say this no better than you like to hear it, but let us speak plain words without flattery. That man is a jouster that even I think twice about meeting. You cannot hope to withstand three passes with a lance against him. He will kill you."

The delicate mouth, fine and sweet despite a week's growth of beard, took on an ugly, stubborn line. "I am not so easy to kill."

"Have some sense," Radnor cried, his husky voice sharp with fear and exasperation. "This is no time to be proud. Your wife's safety and, more, the success of our venture hangs upon your life."

The earl shook his head. "No. No to all. If I am killed, Elizabeth will be safe because she will be valueless. Chester will pay her ransom—or Walter even—and Peverel will let her go. Stephen will not want her if he cannot use her to control me. About the other matter—I do not know. You know my feeling about that. Mayhap it was not meant to be, or I was not meant to be part of it. Such great things are in God's hands."

"Ay," Radnor answered furiously, repeating his previous sentiments, "but sometimes God needs a little help on earth. Man has free will, and yours seems to be directed to destroying yourself."

"Do not fret me, Cain," Hereford said miserably. "You mean to be kind, I know, but even if I desired to accept what you have offered, I could not. I agreed to fight. My men expect it of me. How will they believe in me if you guard me as if I were a helpless child? How will I face my wife, proud as she is, if you ride for me in that field?" He smiled wryly. "Nay, what is more to me—how would I face myself?"

There was a little silence. Radnor muttered to himself, but no matter how strong his impulse to interpose his own great strength and skill to save his friend he recognized the truth of what Hereford had said.

"Besides," Hereford continued, his tone becoming more brisk and animated by interest, "I am not so doubtful of my prowess as you are. That de Caldoet thinks I am nothing is all to the good. I have a lust to meet that great braggart."

In the long sleepless hours of darkness, however, Hereford wished more than once that he had accepted his friend's offer. He was afraid and desperately ashamed of being afraid. Finally, some time after midnight he went to find his brother. Walter responded so quickly to his low question that it was plain that he too was lying awake.

"Walter, I have a few things to say in private to you. Tomorrow … Do you go with the men or stay with Radnor?"

"I would not miss that sight for the throne itself, nay, not for the assurance of salvation."

The voice was hard and cold. Hereford had to pause a moment to be certain that his own would be steady before he spoke again. Whatever his aching need for comfort, he would not find it here. He suppressed the angry impulse of self-pity that urged him to leave, reminding himself that he had misjudged Walter in the past and that his brother's bitter tongue did not always accurately describe his emotions.

"Mostly I have come to ask that you have a care for our mother and our sister Catherine."

"Oh, ay, I need that warning. Doubtless you think I will wrest their dower rights from them and sell them as slaves. You alone can be fond."

Hereford sighed faintly and moistened his dry lips. He knew Walter would care for their womenfolk, he had only wished for a gentler tone even if not addressed to himself. "About matters of the estate, you will find written instructions if you wish for them, but I do not feel that I have the right to leave orders. As for the political matters in which I am involved, heaven only can tell whether I have done well or ill. With you as a man, I have certainly done ill, yet I know not wherein I have failed. I only pray you, Walter, if you know where I have trod amiss that you guide Miles more kindly."

Hereford waited, but there was no reply. He could hear Walter's steady breathing, nothing more. He continued to sit for some time after all expectation of an answer had passed, simply because he did not wish to be alone, but finally his pride asserted itself. There was one thing more only that he had to do, for he had already arranged with Radnor about Elizabeth's ransom. He touched Walter's face, briefly and gently, and went out to seek quietly through the sleeping camp for a priest to whom he could make confession.

Freed by his brother's departure from the self-imposed necessity of denying emotional reaction, Walter of Hereford clenched his jaws and cursed silently. Roger was a devil, he thought, a devil. No one else could devise more subtle tortures; no one else could so wrench the soul in his body. He had been contemplating with self-satisfying amusement the vision of Roger overthrown and humbled, it was true, but such a vision had no reality for him. Walter had for his elder brother, in spite of his struggles against it, an admiration that amounted almost to worship.

He could not really believe that Roger could be defeated by anyone, and to dream of his humbling up to that moment had been only a childish act of rebellion against his brother's authority and a sort of emotional revenge for the many times Roger had curbed his actions and desires. Hereford's words, presupposing his death, had brought sudden reality to Walter's conception, and the violence of his reaction made him turn on his face and bite the mail-clad arm his head rested on. When Roger was dead, he, Walter, would be the Earl of Hereford. He would have everything that was now Roger's, the wealth, the respect, the position, the power. Roger would be gone—gone forever, never again to say him nay, never again to chide or shame him.

Walter clung to those thoughts desperately, but tears came anyway. Roger would be gone, never to laugh again, never to hunt with him, fight with him, play chess with him, never again to praise him for a clever thrust when they fenced, or, with eyes clear and shining with amusement, to give him advice on how to manage a recalcitrant mistress. Walter was torn apart. From the depths of his being he desired Roger's position, but in those moments of agony he admitted for the first time since childhood that he loved his brother. He did not know whether he wanted him dead.

Morning brought him no closer to a resolution as to which desire was uppermost, and Walter's face was more haggard than Roger's when they ate a meager breakfast and prepared to mount up. Hereford himself had slept well for the remainder of the night. Confession had calmed him and absolution brought him comfort. His affairs were in good order, and, best of all, the bright sun, the first they had seen in days, brought him confidence, shining on him like an omen of good will. He was able to smile easily and naturally at Radnor's absorption in testing the girthing of his destrier and the sharpness and soundness of three jousting lances. The only shadows he had to contend with were his natural fear of death and his regret that he might not be able to keep his promise to support Henry's try for the throne. Radnor moved away to give last minute instructions to his men. Hereford glanced at the sun to judge the time. Walter stared stiffly at Nottingham Castle across the burnt-out fields.

Within the keep, morning brought good spirits too. De Caldoet, sure of his victory, armed and checked his harness with grim exuberance. In a few hours he would be free of his servitude. The knowledge that he might be hurt did not depress him at all. A little blood was a small price to pay for the wealth and security he expected to win. Peverel, too, was well content. He was relatively sure that his man would conquer and had given instructions to the men who were to guard Elizabeth and Hereford's retainers that he felt sure would relieve him of the necessity of keeping his part of the bargain even if de Caldoet was defeated. He had everything to gain and nothing to lose.

In a decided mood of triumph he went personally to fetch Elizabeth. Peverel told himself on the way to her prison that he was very glad now to have resisted the temptation to take her to his bed. He had convinced himself that his attempt on her was a mere feint to frighten her and that, had he been in earnest, he would have had her, but his complacent mood was shaken when he saw her. Elizabeth was smiling, her eyes glowing like live coals, and she replied to his order that she put on her cloak and accompany him only with a look of contempt and assurance.

There was not the faintest remnant in her bearing of the shaken and trembling woman he had parted from two nights previously. Peverel could not bear it; goaded beyond endurance he described what she was going to see and even his plans for violating his agreement with Hereford in case of an "accident" to de Caldoet. She did not even deign to look at him. She went, apparently willingly, lightfooted, even gay, but only her great courage upheld her.

She was not yet afraid that Roger could be defeated or that Peverel could succeed in holding her; fortunately she did not know much about de Caldoet and was spared a little pain. What she feared then was her reunion with her husband. In the two nights and a day that had passed since her thanksgiving, she had time to realize what Roger's rescue must have cost in terms of disruption of his plans, and what it might yet cost.

He had been forced out of a position of great security where he had every hope of engaging and damaging Stephen's army seriously, possibly even bringing it to complete defeat and disorder. He was now in unfriendly territory, country not well known to him, where his enemies might fall upon him with great advantage. If the king moved swiftly, Hereford would be caught in a ring of fires, Peverel to the north, Stephen to the south, and Stephen's loyal adherents to the west between himself and his friends. He might even be hurt in this mad trial by combat, for Peverel would not have suggested it if he had not a worthy champion. If he was badly hurt, he might not have recovered before Henry was due to arrive and total disaster might be the outcome of her willfulness.

Oh God, Elizabeth thought, lifting her proud head even higher and stiffening her back, I must be the most evil creature alive for what pains me is not the fearful destruction I may have wrought, not the pain and failure of my husband, but the fact that he will trust me no longer. That was the truth; that was where the iron bit the soul. It was the realization that she, who had spent her life rising above the normal state of women, had done something so irrational and petty—so womanlike—and for such a womanish reason that she could be held up as the perfect example of idiocy, untrustworthiness, and inferiority of womankind.

To the men, hopelessly gnawing like rats at the door of their trap, night and day were the same. They had no measure of the passage of time and it seemed that they had been years and years chipping splinter after splinter away from the lock and frame. Since the movement of arms which had taken place, no one had come near their tower. They had no food and, far worse, no water, but they worked on desperately, the knowledge that they would die of thirst and starvation spurring on the effort begun out of loyalty.