Rhuddlan (22 page)

As for Ralph de Fougères—well, the man would
not let him be. The Breton had no friends at Falaise, nor his own
attendants, and being a garrulous man consequently sought Hugh’s
company, imagining there was still some bond between them because
of their previous alliance. Although the other man didn’t speak of
it, preferring to rehash their escapades in Avranches before
William Longsword had made his appearance, Hugh knew that de
Fougères was even more apprehensive about Henry’s intentions than
Leicester. The Breton had been a constant thorn in the king’s side
since the latter had come to the throne. If Brittany had the
reputation of instability, it was largely due to de Fougères’
warmongering.

Hugh wasn’t so worried. It was true he had
much to answer for but the countryside he had ravaged had been his
own traditional lands; he still held the title of viscount of
Avranches. He had surrendered immediately when challenged by the
king and the royal forces in England had never been confronted by
the men he’d left behind to defend Chester. He believed that if
Henry had intended to execute the three of them for treason he
would have done it already and made an example of them, but he
didn’t know how the king could have justified such an action
without similarly punishing the primary instigator of the
rebellion: his own son.

Still, he hadn’t expected their imprisonment
to last this long. Every other rebel had already been released and
he could find no reason why the king should have decided to hold
onto them. Falaise was one of Henry’s favorite castles; it was
large and comfortable and Hugh had been accorded several chambers
for his personal use and treated with due deference by the king’s
servants and retainers. He was not prevented from meeting with
Leicester or de Fougères and for exercise was permitted to hunt
whenever he desired. Yet, he sometimes wondered if it were not
easier on the mind to be shut up like a common criminal in some
sterile enclosure. His imprisonment had the semblance of normal
life but Falaise wasn’t Chester. He missed his castle and he missed
England.

He thanked God Roger was with him—he would
have gone mad if Haworth had opted to return to Chester. Hugh,
always generous to his knights, hadn’t required any of them to
share his confinement when the king released them upon the end of
the war. But Haworth had insisted over Hugh’s admittedly lukewarm
protestations on remaining. The earl often suspected that he was
the burly knight’s only passion in life, an idea which was highly
flattering but occasionally constricting. Haworth would sulk but
otherwise turn a blind eye to Hugh’s sporadic flirtations with
other men; it had only been Hugh’s lengthy affair with Robert
Bolsover that had stretched his capacity for jealousy almost to its
limit.

Not that there was anyone at Falaise in whom
Hugh had the slightest interest anyway. It was just as well that
Haworth had stayed.

He was a great source of information.
Everyone seemed to like the silent, solid man and no one minded if
he was present when political matters were being discussed. His
simple allegiance to the earl was admired by most of Henry’s
garrison at Falaise, even if it was considered misplaced. He was
asked to join in sword practice sessions because his style was
heavy and blunt and provided a good challenge. When he sat in the
hall alone with a cup of wine, he was invariably joined by a group
of younger men who wanted advice on how to swing a sword to its
greatest advantage. And Leicester’s men accepted him as a comrade
in arms. With all his contacts, it was easy enough for him to
discover what was going on inside and outside Falaise. That was
how, in December, Hugh had learned about the rumor of his imminent
release.

But it wasn’t until the middle of January,
when his hope had already died, that it proved true after all. King
Henry had arrived at the castle in time for the Christmas
festivities and afterwards closeted himself with his counselors for
several days. Hugh saw the Young King arrive as well but whether
out of a desire to prove to his father that he had nothing anymore
to do with the rebels or whether he was simply ashamed of what had
happened, he didn’t seek out any of the three prisoners. Haworth
reported that there weren’t many of the king’s men who liked the
Young King; he said that although they understood the king’s
parental weakness for his son, they didn’t think that this foolish,
complaining wastrel was fit material for the throne and they
shuddered to imagine what would have happened to Henry’s carefully
constructed empire if he had won the war. Hugh had been as
surprised as anyone when it had become clear that the Young King
was to remain his father’s heir. From the point of view of both the
allies and the rebels, then, the war had changed nothing. Hundreds
had died and countless properties destroyed, the king of Scotland
humiliated and Hugh himself imprisoned for almost four years so
far—all for nothing. Perhaps that was the most crushing defeat.

Hugh, Leicester and de Fougères were informed
by the king of his verdict on January 16th. Hugh left Falaise the
very next day with Haworth but he was too numbed by shock to even
feel the slightest elation that he was leaving Ralph de Fougères as
well.

Chapter 16

February, 1177

Stroud Manor, Oxfordshire

Haworth found Hugh standing motionless in
front of the unshuttered window. The temperature of the chamber was
freezing; the heat thrown off by the modest fire in the brazier
couldn’t compete against the raw wind pouring in opposite it. The
earl was wearing only linen drawers. Haworth was shocked to see how
much weight he’d lost in the month since the king had released
him.

Hugh remained still as if he hadn’t heard the
quiet knock and the door swing open, staring through the open
window at the frost-tipped fields of Stroud’s demesne, arms crossed
over his bare chest. He was not a tall man and once he’d reached
his mid-twenties had found it more and more difficult to keep his
weight down. The mostly inactive years at Falaise had not helped
matters. But now Haworth could plainly see the outline of his
shoulder blades and the absence of the roll of fat that used to
encircle his waist. He had been watching the earl very closely
after hearing the king’s verdict and knew he was drinking more and
eating next to nothing. Although he ached inwardly with every fiber
of his being, he hadn’t the slightest idea what to do or say to
Hugh to help him through this time. It was worse, much worse than
when that damned Bolsover had died. Haworth feared for his
sanity.

And now the man was standing almost naked
before winter’s icy breath! What were they doing at Stroud, anyway?
Hugh hadn’t seen his mother since he’d been formally invested as
earl of Chester on his eighteenth birthday. As far as Haworth knew,
he hated her. Why, then, had he insisted on making this stop?

The earl had traveled the entire distance to
Stroud in almost total silence. Haworth, never a fancy
conversationalist, hadn’t known how to cajole him into speech.
Because of unfavorable weather they weren’t able to cross to
England as soon as they’d galloped into Barfleur and were forced to
seek rooms at a small, common inn close to the port. It would have
been less expensive and more comfortable if they’d taken refuge at
the royal castle nearby but Hugh had dismissed the idea in a short,
clipped tone which Haworth had dared not challenge. He’d similarly
refused his captain’s hesitant offer to hire half a dozen men for a
proper bodyguard. Instead they’d spent the weeks waiting for the
tide to turn and the winds to die anonymously and on their own.

“My lord—” Haworth began, but his voice was
strangely low and Hugh seemed not to have heard it. He cleared his
throat and spoke louder. “My lord!”

Finally Hugh turned around. There were black
circles under his eyes from having little sleep since leaving
Falaise and a month’s growth of reddish-brown beard on his chin.
That and the clear morning light gave the earl a haggard appearance
which Haworth found unbearable to behold and he had to fight an
urge to fall at Hugh’s feet and beg to know the words or actions
that might miraculously banish his anguish.

Instead he averted his eyes, staring at the
ground. “My lord, I was informed that the countess awaits you in
the hall.”

“I’m sure she wishes she were still countess,
Roger,” Hugh said with a thin, humorless smile. “But she isn’t,
thank God.”

“I’m sorry, my lord; that was how her steward
referred to her.”

“Doesn’t matter. Why don’t you tell the both
of them I’ll join them when I’ve dressed?” In no apparent hurry,
Hugh turned his back on Haworth and returned his attention to the
window.

After a pause, Haworth quietly closed the
door and took a few steps forward until he was in the middle of the
chamber. It was a small room and almost as austere as a monk’s
cell, he thought with distaste as he looked around; a bed, a
brazier, a table holding a wash basin and a splintering wooden
chest were the only furnishings. The dowager countess was quite a
wealthy woman and Haworth couldn’t believe that she was unable to
provide something a bit more lavish than this for an important
guest, even if he did happen to be her son.

Hugh hadn’t moved. Haworth came up next to
him, reached out to grasp the wooden shutters and pulled them to
securely.

“Why did you do that?” Hugh asked him,
frowning.

“Because it’s colder than a tomb in here and
you’re wearing next to nothing,” Haworth said calmly.

“I don’t care.”

“Can I help you dress, my lord?”

Hugh’s frown deepened. “What’s wrong with
you? We’re alone, Roger! Stop calling me ‘my lord’!” He went to the
unmade bed and sat on it. “Anyway, I don’t want any breakfast.”

“But you haven’t eaten since mid-morning
yesterday, my lord,” Haworth protested.

Hugh shrugged indifferently.

There was a heap of clothing on the floor,
dumped where Hugh had stripped off before collapsing into bed
half-drunk the night before. Haworth muttered to himself. The chit
who’d come in to light the brazier only a few hours ago should have
picked it all up and arranged it neatly on the table or the chest.
He bent down to do the job himself, shaking each piece out and
draping it over his arm. He looked at Hugh and held out a
long-sleeved linen tunic.

The earl hesitated and then
took the garment reluctantly. “I’ve been trying to decide which is
worse, Roger,” he said, pulling the tunic over his head. “What the
king did or having to tell
her
.” He took the proffered surcoat,
sleeveless and of finely woven wool and put that on as well, and
stood so that Haworth could kneel before him and adjust the
clothing until it fell to mid-calf. He sat again and put on thick
woolen stockings and finally his boots, which he deftly laced, the
crisscrosses of leather reaching almost to his knees.

“Without a doubt the first one, my lord!”
Haworth said fervently.

The earl snorted. “I’m not
so sure. Do you know, the story goes that after my father’s death
she paid Henry handsomely for the right not to remarry even though
she was still a young woman and wealthy? It was always
my
belief, however, that
her reputation for a vicious tongue made it impossible for Henry to
find someone to take her on.”

“Then why have we come here? You’re in no fit
condition for this…”

A brief smile flickered across Hugh’s mouth.
“She’s probably wondering the same thing, Roger. But I had to come.
The king’s judgment is something she must know and I’d rather she
heard it straight from me and not twisted up by one of her spies,”
he said. He rose and lifted his arms. Haworth wrapped a long
leather belt around his waist and threaded the loose end into a
kind of knot so it wouldn’t slip free. “I suppose I’d better take
the sword, Roger,” he said with a grim expression. “Who knows what
she’ll do when I tell her…”

By the time Hugh descended the stairs to the
hall breakfast was over, which suited him fine. He had no desire
for a public meeting with his mother. Her steward was waiting for
him and directed him to the solar but not before looking askance at
his bearded face. Haworth had offered to shave him but he’d thought
the procedure too bothersome. He’d gotten used to the beard and if
it served the purpose of annoying his mother then all the
better.

He couldn’t have predicted his reaction upon
seeing her. For the past month he’d felt so completely numb inside
that it seemed no emotion would ever penetrate his mind again. But
the closer he and Haworth had drawn to Stroud, the tighter the knot
of apprehension and fear in his stomach had become until it had
overwhelmed even the deadness. He hated her and knew she despised
him but he needed allies now and with her familial connections, she
was a strong one.

For some reason, perhaps because he’d always
half-suspected there was something unnatural about her, he was
surprised at the changes twelve years had wrought. Fifty-one she
was, he calculated rapidly; the hair not hidden by her veil was
mostly grey and her face had lost the smooth skin of youth and
gained wrinkles in its place. She sat stiffly upright on a
cushioned bench seat beneath a large, oil-clothed covered window
which permitted a dim yellow light to enter the room. One thing had
not changed. Her bitter, unsmiling countenance.

A thousand memories flashed through his head
when he saw her. Mostly she reminded him of the brief time he’d had
with his father. Hugh had greatly loved and admired Earl Ranulf, a
charming, wild man who’d always lavished attention on Hugh when he
wasn’t out fighting for his personal interests during the
devastating war between Henry and his uncle Stephen. By contrast,
Maud was argumentative and insufferably superior. She had resented
her husband’s indifference to the political situation and never
passed up the opportunity to tell him so in the most disparaging
terms. She was the daughter of the earl of Gloucester and believed
that Ranulf should have supported her father’s, and hence Henry’s,
faction in the war. But Chester had cared less for politics than
for building up his own power and increasing his lands. He’d
switched his considerable allegiance from one side to the other
depending on who offered him the better deal and seemed able to
back it up, and had occasionally taken advantage of the confusion
wrought by the war to launch some private battle. He’d finally been
persuaded to take Henry’s side in earnest when he was promised the
earldoms he had coveted for so long, those of Stafford and
Lincoln.