When Christ and His Saints Slept (63 page)

The man escorted into the tent was a stranger to Cecily. He was no longer young, for his brown hair was well salted with gray, and save for an ugly bruise under his left eye, he seemed unhurt. What struck her most forcefully was his composure; if not for his bound wrists, she’d never have known he was a prisoner. “Lady Matilda,” he said calmly. “It is always a pleasure to see you, although I would rather it be under different circumstances.”

Matilda was staring at him in shock. “Robert,” she breathed, so softly that only Cecily heard, and her eyes widened.

“My lady, is this man the Earl of Gloucester?”

“This man,” Matilda said unsteadily, “is Stephen’s salvation.” Her voice was muffled, midway between laughter and tears. Reaching for the Fleming’s hand, she held fast. “How good God is, blessed be His Name. And bless you, too, Willem, for you’ve given me back my husband!”

22

Near Devizes Castle, Wiltshire, England

September 1141

W
HEN
Maude’s lashes flickered, a voice said, “She is coming around.” She wondered hazily what Brien was doing in her bedchamber. The light seemed glaringly bright, and it actually hurt to look up at the sky. Sky? Her eyes opened wide, and she discovered that she was lying on the ground, a mantle wadded up under her head. “Brien…?” How far away her voice sounded, how weak. “Brien, what happened?”

“You fell from your horse. You do not remember?”

“No.” She bit her lip. “No…”

His fingers brushed her cheek, her forehead. “You’re feverish, and little wonder, after all you’ve been through these three days past—”

“Why did you not tell us you were ailing, Maude?”

Maude blinked and Rainald’s face came into focus over Brien’s shoulder. “You said it was too dangerous to stay any longer at Devizes—”

“Yes, but I had it in mind to get you to Gloucester alive!” Rainald patted her shoulder, awkwardly tender. “No matter, though, for we’ve gone only a few miles. I’ll send back to Devizes for a horse litter.”

A horse litter was used only by the aged and the infirm, the helpless. Maude’s flush deepened. “You risked your lives for me,” she said huskily, “and I’ve let you down…”

“Maude, that is not so!”

“I agree with Brien, Sister. You’ve done right well for a woman. And that,” Rainald added hastily, “is but a joke!”

“Rainald…thank you for seeing to my safety.”

He shrugged, then smiled. “I reckoned it was time I started earning my earldom. Brien, make sure she stays put whilst I see about the horse litter.”

Maude did lie still as he moved away, although her compliance was due to exhaustion. “Brien,” she said, so softly that he had to lean closer to hear, “I thank you, too. I owe you more than I could ever repay, mayhap even my life. You’ve been so loyal, and I…I did not even give you an earldom like Rainald!”

Her smile was hesitant, her jest no less tentative. But Brien knew what she was really asking—why he’d been so loyal. He even knew what she would never let herself ask—why he cared. Reaching out, he entwined the tip of her long black braid around his fingers, remembering the way her hair had looked in John Marshal’s bedchamber, tumbling loose and lush and free about her shoulders. “I admire courage above all else,” he said, “and you are as brave as you are beautiful, as brave as any man and braver by far than most. Loyalty is the least that you deserve.”

To Maude’s horror, tears filled her eyes. “What will I do, Brien, if Robert is dead?”

“You will grieve for him, and then you’ll go on.”

That was a lie, for Robert was their linchpin; without him to hold it together, her cause would falter, fall apart like her army at Winchester. But she was grateful to Brien for believing that she was strong enough to survive without Robert. “He is alive,” she insisted. “Robert and Ranulf and Miles…they are all alive. I am sure of that, Brien.” And if that was a lie, too, it was one they both needed to believe.

SLEEP
had always come easily to Stephen. He could catnap at a moment’s notice and it was a rare night when the day’s troubles invaded the safe shadow-realm of his dreams; even in sleep, he was not one for violating sanctuary. But that had changed abruptly in mid-July. The irons clamped upon his wrists had done more than chafe his skin and shrink his space; they also clanked loudest at night. Dragged down by their weight, he snatched what sleep he could, never more than skimming the surface. And so it took only the slightest sound—a stealthy footfall muffled in the floor rushes—to bring him upright in the bed, wide awake and wary. Before he could speak, though, a shadow flitted forward. “Make no noise, my lord, for I cannot be caught here. It is me—Edgar.”

Stephen’s eyes were adjusting rapidly to the dark. “For you to come calling in the middle of the night, Edgar, you must have news that is very good or very bad. Which is it, lad?”

Edgar hesitated. “In truth, my lord, it could be either.” Squatting in the floor rushes by the bed, he said, “You must know what I overheard in the hall. Lady Amabel got word tonight from the empress.”

“From Winchester?”

Edgar shook his head. “Winchester has fallen to your queen. The empress fled the city on Sunday morn, and escaped by the Grace of God and a fast horse. She reached Gloucester last night, weary unto death but luckier than many, for her army’s retreat turned into a wild rout. Men lost their weapons and shed their armor and hid themselves howsoever they could. Lord Miles and the Scots king and the Earl of Devon and Lord Ranulf—they are all unaccounted for, their whereabouts unknown.”

Stephen was quiet, taking it all in. “You omitted one name from that list of missing men. What of Robert Fitz Roy?”

Edgar’s voice hoarsened. “No one knows…not yet. He did not run like the others, fought off the Flemings until they trapped him at the River Test. But in giving the empress time to escape, he may well have doomed himself, and she fears the worst. So does his wife. Poor lady, I heard her in the chapel, weeping as if her heart would break—”

“Are you sure it was Amabel? I’d have thought she had more sense than that. Tears are a woman’s weapons and she ought not to squander them needlessly.”

Edgar was shocked by the levity, enough to venture a timid reproach. “A widow’s grief ought not to be mocked, my lord. God would not approve.”

“Amabel is no widow, lad. Robert is not dead. They’d have been loath to see him even bruised, much less mortally hurt. They took him alive, you may be sure of that, for Robert is my ransom…a king’s ransom,” Stephen said and laughed suddenly, jubilantly.

“I hope so, my lord. Indeed, I do hope so,” Edgar said, sounding so dubious that Stephen gave him a quizzical look.

“I’d not blame you if you did not, lad. I understand that you are loyal to Robert—”

“Oh, no, my lord, it is not that! I wish the earl well, admire him mightily. But…but if I had money enough, it would be your freedom I’d buy, not his.”

Hearing what he’d just blurted out, Edgar blushed, shamed by his disloyalty to Robert. He owed his lord better than that. And Stephen was the enemy, the possessor of a stolen crown. Yet none of that mattered, not anymore. “Earl Robert is my lord,” he said softly, “but you are my king.”

Stephen smiled. “Should you not be glad, then, for me? You do understand what this means? To gain Robert’s freedom, Maude will have to give me mine. She’ll like it not, but she’ll do it, for she’ll have no choice.”

Edgar nodded solemnly. “I know that, my lord. But…but what if the earl was not taken alive? What if he was struck down in the battle?”

“Then Maude’s queenship hopes were struck down, too. She cannot win without him.”

Edgar squirmed uneasily. “But…well, people without hope…they might…”

“What are you so shy of saying, lad…that I might soon follow Robert to the grave? I have more faith in Maude than that. If she were capable of outright murder, I’d have been dead months ago.”

Edgar was not reassured. He knew Stephen was more worldly than he, but he suspected that he’d had far more experience with desperation than ever Stephen had. “What if the empress was not consulted beforehand? What if some of her men took it upon themselves to rid her of her only real rival? If you were dead, my lord, I daresay most men would accept her as queen.”

Now that he’d finally confessed his fears, Edgar looked up quickly to catch Stephen’s reaction. To his amazement, Stephen seemed quite unperturbed, almost amused. “It does not pay to borrow trouble, lad. If you do, you’re sure to end up with more than your share. I am not going to be smothered in my sleep or poisoned or take a convenient tumble down the stairs.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I believe in happy endings! If the Almighty had meant for me to die, I’d have died at Lincoln. What would be the purpose of my confinement if I were slain now, with vindication just within my reach? No, lad, the Almighty would never be so cruel.”

Edgar didn’t argue, although Stephen’s benevolent Deity did not sound at all like the one he’d been taught to revere and fear, Jehovah, God of Wrath. He had a multitude of reasons for envying Stephen—his health and high birth and handsome face and devoted wife—but he found himself envying above all else Stephen’s utter certitude, his sunlit faith in what he’d just jokingly called a “happy ending.” Edgar could not imagine what it would be like to dwell in a world so free of shadows. But then his own world was one in which he was known—to all but Stephen—as Scarecrow.

“I’d best go,” he said, “ere I am missed. I’ll not see you on the morrow, my lord, for it is not my turn to guard you. But if I hear anything more about Earl Robert or the battle, I’ll find a way to get word to you.”

Stephen shoved his pillow behind his shoulders, knowing he’d never be able to get back to sleep. He had long, wakeful hours ahead, but they would be a gift, a private time alone in which to rejoice, to thank the Almighty, and to anticipate a reunion with his wife. “Edgar…think you that you might like to see London one day? If so, you need only seek out my steward, William Martel, and identify yourself. You’ll have a place in my household waiting for you as long as I am king. You have but to come and claim it.”

Edgar was mute, awed by the offer and all it encompassed. Reaching the door, he opened it cautiously, glanced back over his shoulder, grinned, and then was gone. The memory of that rapt, shining smile lingered, though, for it was the first time that Stephen had seen Edgar smile without bringing up his hand to shield his cleft lip.

FROM
the castle solar, Matilda could catch a glimpse of Winchester’s streets. People were out and about, the city slowly getting back to normal. But the damage done by the siege was even more extensive than she had first feared. On this sun-warmed September morning, she found herself dreading the coming of winter, knowing what suffering it would bring to Winchester.

Turning from the window, she studied the men seated at the solar’s table. They were tense, expectant—except for Robert. He seemed quite calm; she suspected that he’d gotten a better night’s sleep than she had, and her anger flared without warning. If not for Robert, Maude’s claim would have flickered out by now, a candle quenched and cast aside. But anger was a luxury she could not afford, not yet. Instead she smiled; she was learning to use smiles as shields.

“I trust you’ve thought about our last conversation?” she queried, pointedly but still polite. Robert smiled, too, a noncommittal smile that was as meaningless as her own, saying nothing, and her brother-in-law stirred impatiently.

“What is there to think about? We’ve made you a remarkable offer, Robert. You need only renew your allegiance to Stephen and take your rightful place in the government—as his second-in-command. How could you even contemplate turning down an opportunity like that?”

Robert glanced from the bishop to Matilda, then over at Ypres. They’d promised to give him a vast amount of power. He wondered impersonally if they meant it, if it was bribe or hoax. “As you say, Cousin Henry, a ‘remarkable offer.’ But it is not one I can fairly judge under the present circumstances. Set me free and I shall give it the consideration it deserves.”