When Christ and His Saints Slept (52 page)

Audible ripples of approval and relief eddied about the hall. All were war-weary and impatient for the succession dispute to be settled. Maude was not the only one who resented Stephen’s barons for their stubborn reluctance to come to terms with political realities.

The venison stew was being ladled onto trenchers when a flustered youth was admitted to the hall, insisting that he had an urgent message for the Earl of Essex. Geoffrey de Mandeville rose at once, and Maude watched with interest as they conferred. So did Robert, for it had occurred to them both that Mandeville’s spy system might have unearthed information about Matilda’s whereabouts or intentions. When the earl turned around, they knew at once that whatever he’d just learned was calamitous, for the color had faded from his face, and he was not a man to be easily shaken.

Striding swiftly back to the high table, he said, “The Londoners are rising up against you, madame. They are massing in the streets, making ready to march on Westminster.”

“No…they would not dare!”

“Yes,” he said flatly, “they would. You can believe it or not as you choose, but I do. This lad’s master is a local merchant, a man who’s given me reliable information in the past, and he is not likely to make a mistake of this magnitude.”

Osborn Huitdeniers’s servant had trailed the earl to the dais, and he nodded vigorously. “It is true, my lady, I swear it,” he assured Maude solemnly. “By the time I reached Ludgate, the church bells had begun to peal throughout the city, calling men to arms. Listen…can you not hear?”

Maude and Robert tilted their heads, and indeed, they could hear the distant, muted chiming of church bells. As stunned as Maude was, she rallied fast and got hastily to her feet, still clutching her napkin. “Thank God for the warning! But we’ll have to act at once if we hope to repel them. Robert, the command is yours—”

“What command?” Geoffrey de Mandeville snapped. “We’re facing a mob, not an army. That is not a fight we can win. But we ought to be able to get away ere they—”

“Run?” Maude was flabbergasted. “Never!”

Robert was on his feet, too. “Maude, he is right. Not only are we outnumbered, but our wives and daughters are with us. If we’d been able to reach the Tower…but we could never hope to keep them out of Westminster and Christ pity us if we try!”

By now those at the high table knew of their peril. Men were pushing their chairs back. Ranulf had already reached Maude’s side, with Brien just a stride slower. Maude’s niece was leaning over Rainald’s wife, coaxing her to rise, but Beatrice seemed incapable of moving; she’d begun to make soft whimpering noises, sounding eerily like a mewing kitten. Maude saw the truth of Robert’s words in their stricken faces, but her every instinct fought against flight. “Is there not some way that we can resist?”

Robert shook his head. “Even if we could hold them off for a time, there is another army on the loose, just across the river. How long do you think it would take the Londoners to open their gates to Matilda and Ypres? No, Maude, if we stay, we doom ourselves.” He glanced around at the hall, now in a state of spreading confusion. Fear stood poised to strike, and nothing was more contagious, as he well knew. If they hoped to head off utter panic, they’d have to act swiftly. “I will tell them,” he offered, “if you wish.”

“No,” Maude said, “it is for me to do.” Wondering how she would ever find the words, she moved toward the edge of the dais. “Be silent so you may hear me,” she urged, “for there is something I must say.”

THE
retreat from Westminster was done “without tumult and with military order” according to a chronicle favorable to Maude’s cause. One much more sympathetic to Stephen described a “panic” and a “disorderly flight.” The truth lay somewhere in between.

Maude and her coterie got away safely to Oxford, but some of her adherents veered off on their own. The Londoners surged into a ghost palace: food still heaped on trenchers in the deserted great hall, chairs overturned, doors oddly ajar, open coffers, burning candles and silence. A few of the angry citizens were disappointed to have won by default; most were relieved. They celebrated by ransacking the palace, carrying off clothes and bedding and belongings left behind, and some sat down to enjoy Maude’s interrupted meal. As word spread into the city, people flocked into the streets again, to cheer and hug and marvel at the ease of their triumph, while church bells were rung with joyful exuberance, until all of London reverberated with the clamorous, silver-toned sounds of victory.

THEY
had gathered at Eastcheap to wait. At this time of day, the marketplace ought to have been thronged with people looking for bargains, moving from stall to stall, examining the fresh fish, choosing the plumpest hens, buying candles and pepper and needles. The stalls were open, but the fishmongers and cordwainers and butchers were doing no business, despite the growing crowd. The sun was hot, flies were thick, and the odors pungent; no one complained, though. They talked and gossiped among themselves, strangers soon becoming friends, for the normally fractious and outspoken Londoners had forgotten their differences, at least for a day, united in a common purpose and determined to revel in their triumph, for they were pragmatic enough to understand this might be their only one. Now they joked and swapped rumors and waited with uncommon patience, and at last they heard a cry, swiftly picked up and echoed across the marketplace: “She is coming!”

People had been clustered at the bridge, lining both sides of the narrow street. But Matilda had not expected a crowd of this size. Nor did she expect the sudden cheer that went up as she came into view. Her mare shied and the Earl of Northampton kicked his stallion forward, ready to grab her reins if need be. William de Ypres was content merely to watch; he’d learned by now that Matilda was better able to take care of herself than most men realized. Matilda soon got her mare under control, and reined in as the spectators pressed forward. She found herself looking out upon a sea of friendly faces, and she smiled at them, wishing she could thank each and every one, these Londoners who’d fought for Stephen as his own barons would not.

“We have made a beginning this day,” she said. “With your help, good people, we shall set my husband free and restore him to England’s throne.”

18

Guildford, England

July 1141

W
ILLIAM DE YPRES
was taken at once to the queen’s presence, despite the lateness of the hour. Not for the first time, Matilda found herself marveling at the Fleming’s stamina. He was past fifty, his hair thinning into a silver fringe, his skin as rough-hewn as bark from constant exposure to sun, wind, and winter gales. He was fighting age, though, as fiercely as he’d fought all his foes, continuing to expend his energy with the reckless abandon of a twenty-year-old. Matilda knew he must be greatly fatigued, for he’d been in the saddle since dawn. But she knew, too, that he’d never admit to it. Ignoring his protests, she insisted upon ordering him a meal from the kitchen and then stood over him while he ate it. It still surprised her, that she could have become fond of a man so likely to burn in Hell’s hottest flames.

Casting aside a drumstick, Ypres reached for a napkin. “Can we forget about chicken now and talk instead of crowns? I have news, my lady, about your enemy the empress. My scouts were right; she did indeed head for Oxford. But she did not tarry there for long, and she and Brother Robert were soon riding west in all haste.”

Matilda stiffened. “Bristol?”

“No…Gloucester, most likely to confer urgently with Miles.” Ypres caught the echoes of alarm in her voice and gave her a level, faintly admonitory look. “That is not a fear you ought to dwell upon, madame. It serves for naught.”

“I know,” Matilda admitted. “I have no reason to think Maude capable of outright murder. And…even if desperation did drive her to it, I cannot believe that Robert would ever agree. But such comforting certitude comes more easily to me during the daylight hours. Alone at night, I begin to hear whispers in the dark…”

“I cannot swear to you, madame, that you have no cause for fear. Nor will I deny that you have put your husband in greater peril. But had you done nothing, he’d have no chance whatsoever of regaining his throne or his freedom. Remember what he was facing: a lifetime’s confinement with no hope of reprieve. With the stakes that high, I’d willingly gamble my life on the outcome, and from what I know of your husband, I suspect he would, too.”

Matilda smiled wanly. “You do find your own way, Willem. Anyone else would have reassured me that Stephen’s life is not truly at risk. You assure me, instead, that he’ll go to his grave bearing me no grudge.”

Ypres grinned; he was always encouraged whenever Matilda essayed a jest, however tentative or forced, for he’d initially feared that she lacked any humor whatsoever. She’d moved to the solar window, gazing out at the summer darkness. After a few moments of silence, she said, “I have news of my own. I had a clandestine visit from Stephen’s brother whilst you were gone.”

Ypres showed no surprise. But then, he was the most cynical soul she’d ever met, always expecting the worst of men and rarely disappointed. “The bishop is seeking to mend fences, is he? Let me see…he did not want to forsake Stephen, but he had no choice, for he had to put the good of Holy Church above all else, however deeply it pained him.”

“If I did not know better, I’d swear you were there, Willem, for that is exactly what he said. By the time he was done, he’d even managed to make his betrayal seem almost heroic.”

He’d rarely heard her sound so bitter. “It was easy enough to guess what he would say. But what of you, madame? What did you tell him?”

“I wanted to spurn his hypocrisy,” Matilda confessed, “to curse his treachery and revile him as Cain. Instead, I made myself smile. I let him clasp my hand and I lied, I said I understood. And then I told him the truth, that we need his help.”

“We do,” he said succinctly.

“I know. And to save Stephen, I’d have made a deal with the Devil himself.” Matilda paused. “In truth, I think I did.”

WORD
soon spread of Maude’s return to Oxford. She wasted no time, conferring with her uncle David, the Scots king, and then summoning the others to the castle solar. They were heartened to find Miles at her side, for he had the gift of the best battle commanders, that ability to banish doubts and exorcise the spectre of defeat by the sheer contagious force of his own self-assurance. His presence seemed to have bolstered Maude’s spirits, too; she looked tired and thin, but resolute. “We have made mistakes, most of them mine,” she said, surprising them by her candor. “Fortunately, mistakes can be made right, and that is why I have called you here.”

That had not been an easy admission for Maude to make, but she could not deny, even to herself, that she bore much of the blame for this sudden downturn in her fortunes. She still believed that her grievances were justified. She’d not been able to argue, though, with Miles’s blunt assessment of her plight: had she paid more heed to Robert’s cautious counsel, she’d have been spared the humiliation of being chased out of her own capital by those misbegotten, knavish Londoners. They, at least, would pay for their treachery. Geoffrey de Mandeville would see to that. And she told them then of her proposed pact with the Earl of Essex, one which would grant him the sheriffdoms and justiciarships of London, Middlesex, and Hertfordshire, would promise him the Bishop of London’s castle at Stortford, and agree to make no peace with the Londoners, his “mortal enemies,” without his consent.

That was not well received. There were murmurings, disapproving frowns, and Brien said skeptically, “Is it wise to give Mandeville so much power? When I think of men worthy of trust, he is not the first one to come to mind.”

“We do not trust him, either,” Maude conceded, and Miles stirred laughter by saying brusquely:

“I’d wager that even the man’s own mother did not trust him! But we do need him. We cannot allow the Londoners’ rebellion to go unpunished. The sooner we regain control of the city, the sooner we can get our lady crowned. Stephen’s kingship has been a stinking corpse for nigh on six months now. I say we bury it once and for all.”