THE EARL (A HAMMER FOR PRINCES) (24 page)

“This morning.
Derby
and I rode around it.”

“Good.” Henry leaned forward. “Tell me what you think. I have my own opinions, of course.”

“May I sit?”

“Yes. Martin, bring another stool.”

The page trotted forward with a three-legged stool and set it down in front of the prince. Two other pages burst out of the back of the tent, screened off with several silk curtains, and ran giggling out the door. Henry glanced at them and turned to look back at the curtains.

“I noticed two weak points where we might be able to break the wall,” Fulk said, and stopped, because the prince was not listening. He drank his wine. Henry’s jaw line, lightly fuzzed with red beard, tightened and relaxed, and he jerked himself straight again.

“Your pardon, my lord. What did you say?”

"That I saw two places where we might break the wall. The south gate is awkwardly placed because of the way the ground falls off there and the defenders could not easily keep it under covering fire. That is a double gate. On the river side of the castle the wall was built too close to the bank on a poor foundation and the wall is showing cracks. We could sap under it and drop the whole wall into the river very easily.”

Henry’s eyes never blinked; in their center, the light from the door shone reflected. “The river side? I never thought of it. How can we attack from the middle of a river?”

“My lord, breaching a wall isn’t necessarily a means of attacking through it. They would have to place so many of their men there to make certain we didn’t enter through the breach that we might be able to force our way in somewhere else.”

The two pages rushed in again, still giggling, and bolted into the rear of the tent, and the prince’s eyes followed them. “What are they doing in there?” he said softly. The curtain was trembling all its length; streamers of sunlight colored by the red and green silk shifted across the floor.

“God’s eyes,” the prince said. He looked back at Fulk. “Do you think I’m mad?”

Fulk met his eyes and said nothing, but only smiled; he remembered the black-haired girl he had seen the night before.

“I am mad,” the prince said. “I am. What did you say about Crowmarsh, my lord?”

“That we might sap the river wall and attack the south gate when the wall is breached. If we can place men on the wall of
Wallingford
opposite Crowmarsh.”

“I’ll have to think about that. I’m sorry if I seem—not myself. Would you bring me more wine?”

Fulk took his cup and walked around him to the table, and the prince swiveled to face him, but his eyes were on the curtain. “I thought of sending Sir Thierry your uncle to make reconnaissance to Crowmarsh, but I doubt he has the craft. What do you think?”

“My uncle is an excellent fighting man, my lord, but to my knowledge he has never laid siege to a castle.”

“You laid siege to Sulwick, didn’t you?”

The red wine streamed into the cup. Fulk listened to the rising musical note it made. “We stormed Sulwick, my lord.” He heard a girl laugh, an arm’s length away, behind the curtain.

“Someday you must tell me of that, it must have been interesting.”

What does he want me to say? Fulk poured his own cup full. He could feel the prince’s eyes on his back, but he knew if he looked the young man would be watching the curtain. He knows I hate Thierry. Why did he mention him? He went around the prince with the cups and sat down again. As if he had been told, he knew that Thierry had already given the prince his own version of the march to Sulwick.

“I see you’ve rid yourself of your slings, though, my lord. How does your arm feel?”

“Uncertain.”

“Then you won’t fight in the tournament?”

Confused, Fulk set his cup on the ground between his feet. The pages came out and began to set the tent straight. “I didn’t know if you had agreed to it, my lord. If it’s held, I’ll fight.”

“Just for the few of us. I doubt there will be any danger. King—Stephen of Blois is a chivalrous man, that I know. He wouldn’t arrack men in their sport. It will be good exercise for us, we are all very sour from the sieges.”

He seemed to talk to convince himself, and yet a moment before Fulk knew that the prince had laid some deep and subtle trap for him, talking about Thierry, His confusion rose. He said something about Stephen’s known chivalry and picked up his wine.

“But you shouldn’t fight is you don’t feel strong.”

“By then I’ll be hale, my lord. It’s not so weak even now.”

“The tournament is in three days,” Henry said. “They say they can’t face another siege—before they settle down to the siege, they say, they want the tournament. I think it’s mad.”

“Everybody hates sieges.” It was impossible to discover what Henry wanted him to say; he was floundering in a morass.

“Certainly. It’s long and hard and the rewards are slight. Thierry will win the tournament. He’s had so much experience. Don’t you think?”

“Probably.”

“Of course, nobody but you has ever actually seen him fight.”

“He’s a good fighter, my lord.”

“Yet there are certain rumors around the camp. I—”

The curtains parted, and a black-haired girl came out, dressed in bright green, with a gold belt and gold embroidery on her sleeves and skirt and bodice. In her hair was a garland of flowers in place of a coif. The two pages trailed her. Fulk stood up; the prince stared at her as if he’d never seen her before.

“Good day, Madame," he said, finally.

The girl came forward, smiling; her skin was white and pink like apple blossoms, and her bright blue eyes shone. She made a deep bow before the prince, who caught her hand and bent to kiss it. Fulk backed rapidly toward the door. Over the curly red head of the prince, her brilliant blue eyes met his, bold and hard and old.

“My lord,” Fulk said, and went out into the late sunshine. The memory of Red Alys of Dol rushed into his mind. It was the eyes, he thought. But now he had an idea, a way to counter Thierry with the prince. He could not soften the hammering of his heart, and he took his horse from the groom that brought it and rode hard toward
Chester
’s part of the camp.

Chester
was just sitting down to eat a dish of meat when Fulk came to see him. At his shouted orders, his servants cleared a space on the table and laid out another trencher and a cup. The table was heaped with clothes, armor, weapons, and papers; other piles of goods crowded the rest of the tent and hid every piece of furniture in it. Fulk found a stool under a beautiful, filthy brocaded coat and sat down on it.

“Well,”
Chester
said, his mouth full. “What have you done today for the cause?” He was eating as fast as he could put food in his mouth. Two deerhounds prowled around him, waiting for scraps.

“I saw Prince Henry’s prettiest spoil of war.”

“Did you. You’re very fortunate. Very fortunate indeed. He won’t allow her into the presence of any other men. I saw her, just briefly. She’s charming, isn’t she? Empty-headed, of course. Damn you, villein, put it where I can reach it.”

The servant placed a roast on the table close to
Chester
and went away. Fulk cut himself slabs of meat. It felt odd to use his right arm, and he remembered once again that it had healed properly and once again exhilaration filled him. He cut up the bloody meat.

“And I rode around Crowmarsh,” he said. “Not all the way, of course. I had to take a boat part of the way.”

“South gate,”
Chester
said. “It’s the only way.”

“I agree. I did that before I saw Henry. And before I did my reconnaissance, I and Leicester met the Bishop of Winchester.”

Chester
turned his eyes on him; his jaw champed steadily. “What?”

“Did you know the tournament is in three days?”

“What is this about
Winchester
? What did he say? Why wasn’t I there?”

Fulk ate a bite. “Where is Rannulf?”

“Out. Tell me, you little swine, before I break your neck. You know I will.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t.” The meat was tough, and he spat out a pad of gristle. The deerhounds lunged for it.

“Was it about the king? Of course. Is he going to treat? No. The prince will never do it. Is that it—is it about a settlement between them?”

“I think we can make the prince agree,” Fulk said.

“You may think so. I don’t. Prince Henry has come so far without it, he will go to the end without it. He’s that sort.”

“My sweet lord, if you can explain to me what sort Prince Henry is, I shall listen to you for once. We are to convince him that he has to treat.”

“Why should he? Why wasn’t I consulted in this? I was first to join him.”

“You were among the first.”

Chester
tossed a bone down to the dogs and kicked them away. “But
Leicester
. Why did
Winchester
talk to Leicester rather than me?”

“Leicester is a
Beaumont
. Don’t be a fool, sir.”

“If I had been born a
Beaumont
, I—”

“Either of us would have done far better than
Leicester
has. The settlement is that Stephen remain King until he dies and Prince Henry can succeed him.”

“He’ll never agree.”
Chester
thrust the remains of the roast into a heap of silk drawers and pulled a meat pie toward him “Ah.” He broke the crust, absorbed, and stuck his nose close to it to catch the escaping aroma.

“He has to,” Fulk said mildly. “He doesn’t have enough men of his own to face King Stephen, without us and our armies.”

“I should have been consulted.”

“I know.”

“Did you come to me first. Did you?”

“Of course. Without you, nothing succeeds.”
Derby
had agreed to it during their boat ride that morning.

“Yes,”
Chester
said, pleased. “Without me, you know, you could never sway the prince.”

“With you, however, it is only a matter of bringing it up before him.”

"You’ve undoubtedly messed this all up already. You and Leicester.” The meat pie was hacked to pieces and devoured; vegetables swam in the last juices, and
Chester
speared them with his dagger and lifted the dish to his lips to drink the gravy. The dogs leaned heavily across his thigh, sniffing.

“If we have, you can tell us.”

“I will,”
Chester
said.

“Where is Rannulf?”

“Your miserable son is with your miserable uncle, and I would you consigned them both to perdition. Byzantines.”

“Thierry, perhaps.”

“He’s back in the prince’s confidence, did you know that? You’re a fool, you’ve mishandled the entire business, letting him make himself out to be a hero, when the whole army knows he isn’t.”

`”If the whole army knows he isn’t, I haven’t mishandled it.”

“The prince doesn’t know. Or doesn’t care. You aren’t eating. Here.” He whacked a capon in half and gave one piece to Fulk. “I used to scare my own son into eating by telling him he’d be as small as you when he grew up—did you know that?”

“I think you’ve told me before.”

“Your father was a small man.”
Chester
’s dagger actually paused; he stared into the dusty air. “What a man that was. You never knew him, did you?”

“He left for the
Holy Land
when I was a baby.”

“Your grandfather loved him above his own salvation, never left off talking of him—Thierry hated him. Your father. One Christmas, I remember the old man talking of William, how brave, how noble, on and on, and Thierry—it's difficult to believe they were brothers.”

“I think I’ll go find Rannulf.”

“Oh, aye, find Rannulf. I’ll talk to
Leicester
tomorrow. You two will bungle this if I don’t tell you how to approach it. Neither of you knows the prince.”

“No,” Fulk said. “Not at all.” He thought of his meeting with Henry earlier that day.

“And I shall have to see
Winchester
, You arrange that, Fulk.”

“I shall. Thank you for the share of your dinner. I hope you don’t starve for want of it.”

“Ah.”
Chester
waved him violently away, and Fulk went out the door.

The sun was burning off the dawn haze, but patches of mist still clung to the ground beneath the trees, and on the river fog trailed along the quiet water. A dozen knights had already reached the field, with their squires and grooms and friends. Each of them had set himself up in a miniature camp under one of the trees that lined the field, and they were working up their horses, sorting out gear, and walking around visiting when Fulk and Rannulf and their men rode up. Roger was going to fight too, and he had brought two of his younger cousins to squire him.