Fires of Winter (56 page)

“Very well, my lord,” Hugh agreed, after a moment's thought. “A messenger will find me in Wherwell if you wish to change this plan.”

Ypres gripped Hugh's upper arm. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to have you with us, Sir Hugh,” he said. “I will not forget this. Neither will the queen, and she will not let Stephen forget.”

“I desire no favors,” Hugh responded with a smile. “I have all I can handle—sometimes more. Also, I made a promise to Stephen to enter his service once. The king was kind enough to free me from it when holding Jernaeve became more important, but in this time of need I feel that promise still binds me. God willing we will be successful enough to free the king.”

“God willing,” Ypres echoed.

“One more thing,” Hugh said, seeing that Ypres was about to call for his horse. “Will it be safe for me to send Lady Melusine to the queen? I do not like to leave her alone in Andover. Either of the two armies might take to looting after the battle, and Andover is too close on too good a road, but to take her to Wherwell—”

“Do not leave her in Andover,” Ypres agreed. “But I am afraid it will be impossible to get her safely to the queen unless you wish to send about a hundred men with her. There are war bands, both rebel and ours, all over the area, and there have been clashes. Even with the men and luck in avoiding a fight, it might be hard to find Queen Maud, and with her Melusine might be even less safe.” He sighed. “The queen is not always willing to stay a safe distance from action. She is not so silly as to don armor or think she is a battle leader, but she rides with the troops and is often close enough to turn back any who would flee. Take Melusine to Wherwell. She will be safe enough in so small a battle.”

I almost opened my mouth to cry a protest, but I did not. I had forced myself on Hugh when he wanted to send me back to Jernaeve, now I must accept whatever place for me that he thought would cause him the least trouble. I did not want to see the battle, no matter how small, not because I feared for myself but because I was terrified that I would see Hugh hurt or Sir Gerald, or even Fechin or Merwyn. And after that first moment, I had no chance to change my mind. Hugh had followed Ypres out of the tent when he left. I heard him bidding Ypres farewell and then calling for his troop leaders and telling them to form marching order.

I do not know whether I could have kept my resolve steady over the hours it took us to come to Wherwell, but again I had no choice. Hugh rode with his captains, I suppose to make battle plans because when we came to the top of a rise below which lay the village, all seemed to know exactly what to do. Then Hugh came to where I was waiting with Edna, Fechin, and Merwyn a little way off the road and said, “You stay just here. No matter what you see or hear, Melusine, stay right here. I must know where to find you. Fechin and Merwyn will be with you, and I will come for you.” I promised readily, and he smiled at me—but I saw his heart and mind were on the coming fight.

Despite that promise and despite my terror we were all drawn forward by the sounds of battle. I watched as men struck at each other, as some fell, and those who had struck them sometimes struck again to make sure, sometimes ran forward at once to strike at others, sometimes were struck in turn and fell. In no time at all I could not tell which were our men, which the enemy. I could not even pick out Hugh, and Sir Gerald had also disappeared into the maelstrom.

I had never realized how much confusion there was in a battle. Men killed and wounded each other without ever knowing whom they had struck down or whether the blow was fatal. I understood now that I could not have been Bruno's prize for killing Papa. Even if Bruno had fought my father or brother, how would he know? A battle was not like the taking of a keep or a manor. Then the victor could know whom he vanquished. Perhaps I had been given to Bruno because he was the man who took Ulle, but Papa had died in a battle greater than the taking of Wherwell. I would never know by whose hand he died, and I was very glad of it.

I do not think the fighting lasted more than half an hour. The sun had moved very little when the noise of battle died away and weapons and shields were thrown down by the vanquished. It took longer to collect the wounded and secure the prisoners, but soon after that Hugh came for me and took me to the largest house in the village, which had been cleaned and furnished for the baron commanding the troop that had held it for the empress.

I discovered when we came into Wherwell that all the folk of the village had been driven away. There were no women, and only one leech had been sent with his troop by Sir Walter Espec. I am no great healer, but I had sewed enough cuts in my brothers' skins and poulticed enough bruises so that, having gathered what healing herbs I could from the village gardens, Edna and I were of use to the wounded. I was glad to be busy.

The next day there was more fighting. Twice there were shouts and sounds of battle outside the village. Each time a few more joined the wounded in the barn and more men, stripped of everything except their braies and shirts, were driven in to be penned with the prisoners we already had. Each time I rushed out to watch as the prisoners were examined, hoping I would recognize some man of importance who could be traded for the king, but only two minor knights were thrust into the hut with our petty baron.

Still, the news kept my heart beating hard with hope. That morning, 14 September, the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, the queen's army had attacked the force with which Robert of Gloucester was besieging Wolvesey keep and broken it. There had been heavy fighting in the town, Gloucester trying to hold back Maud's army and keep them from reaching the royal keep in the center of Winchester where the empress had been staying. Both captured knights insisted they had been sent to reinforce Wherwell to keep an escape route free, but Hugh did not believe them; he said they were just running from a battle that was already lost.

Of course it was better that the queen had won the battle than lost it, but I had not heard the news I wanted to hear. If Matilda or Gloucester was not captured, we would merely have to begin all over, and it was growing late in the year. Very soon most of my Cumbrian troop would have to go home to get in the harvest; many of Hugh's men and Espec's would also demand release. As the day passed and only stragglers were taken and brought in, my hopes waned. I was sitting outside the house I was using, trying to fix my mind on what to provide for an evening meal instead of weeping with disappointment, when I heard Sir Gerald, who had been away since the end of the battle yesterday guarding the road at Whitchurch, hail me.

“I may have brought you what you desire, Melly,” he shouted, but he did not sound or look very happy as he jumped off his horse and turned to unbind and assist down another man, so muddied and bruised that it took me a minute to recognize him.

“Sire,” I gasped, jumping to my feet and sinking to a curtsey before King David of Scotland, but I felt horror rather than joy.

His eyes were cold as he looked at me. “You have a very faithful servant in Sir Gerald, Lady Melusine. I offered him a rich estate of his own if he would come north with me, and he refused. Well, I was lucky twice. My first captor satisfied himself with my purse, my second with my armor and the jewels I had hidden—but they did not recognize me. What will
you
take for my freedom?”

I looked up, my eyes full of tears. “Oh, my lord,” I said softly, “I would gladly, so gladly set you on your way freely, only for the love my father had for you—but it is a whole realm, and my husband's life, your capture will buy.”

He looked down at me. “If you think Matilda will free Stephen in exchange for my freedom, you are sadly mistaken.” His mouth was twisted with bitterness.

Could that be true? If it were, I surely had no reason to hold King David. I desired no rich estate, no chests of gold. All I wanted was Bruno and Ulle, and without Bruno, I did not even desire Ulle. Then if the empress would not trade Stephen for David, why should Sir Gerald not have his estate? But I was not such a fool as to trust the words of a man trying to buy freedom.

“There will be time enough to speak of that,” I said. “For now, come within and rest.” He followed me silently into the headman's house and sank down on a stool. I poured a cup of the captive baron's wine and offered it, saying, as he took the cup, “I will bring you water for washing and food and clean clothing.”

Sir Gerald had been watching from the doorway, but I drew him with me and closed the door as I came out. Before Sir Gerald could protest, I said, “Let him be alone to regain his balance, but set a guard of the men of Yorkshire around the house—they have no love for David whereas our men might more easily be bought—and send a messenger to find Hugh.”

“Be careful, Melly,” Sir Gerald warned me. “Do not get so close to the man. If he seized you, he would have a strong bargaining piece.”

I nodded. “I will not go in again before Hugh comes. Merwyn can serve him.”

Hugh was no happier than I when he arrived and I told him who was inside the house. “God in heaven,” he groaned, “I almost wish Sir Gerald had taken that offer and ridden north.”

“He says Matilda will not exchange Stephen for him. Is that true?”

“Very likely,” Hugh responded, “but it is Gloucester who holds Stephen, and Gloucester is an honorable man. What I do not know is whether Gloucester will feel that he owes David the exchange. David is a king, but his importance to this struggle in England is nothing compared to Stephen's. Still, there is a chance—”

“Then perhaps we should let him go?” It was more question than statement. Compared with my desire to free Bruno, my horror at using as a trading piece one who had been a beloved overlord to my father was nothing, but I suddenly realized there was another problem. “Hugh, will there be danger for you in giving him to the queen? Close as Jernaeve is to the Scots border, it would be an ill thing to have the enmity of the king of the Scots.”

Hugh was silent for a time, then said, “We cannot let him go, Melusine. If he is the only captive of note taken, the queen must continue to pursue and try to capture the empress, or bring her to yield. For that Maud will need gold and gold and more gold. She has been draining Boulogne for months and cannot go on; there is little she can extract from England as long as Stephen is in prison. Even if David cannot be exchanged for the king, she can wring a large ransom from him.”

“But if it endangers you, Hugh—”

“He need not see me or know I was involved. I think the best way is for me to find Ypres and report who we have taken. Then Ypres can take David, you, and Sir Gerald, who deserves credit and reward for the capture, into his care to be carried to the queen. I will win considerable favor with Ypres for surrendering my captive to him; he will be blessed by the queen, but you and Sir Gerald will not lose your part of her gratitude either—so we will all profit.”

“Except poor King David,” I said softly.

Hugh hugged me comfortingly, but he did not change his mind. He beckoned to Sir Gerald and asked him to make up a troop of mounted men and accompany him. I went into the shed at the back of the house to examine the supplies. The least I could do for the poor king was to see that he had a good meal before Ypres got him. I did not think David would be mistreated, but looking at Ypres's gloating face would surely make food less appetizing than my regretful expression.

When I entered the house with Merwyn and Edna, carrying a variety of cold, sliced meats, King David was clean and attired in the best of the baron's garments. He had regained his self-possession, and we managed to find a few subjects for conversation that did not touch on the war. Later, I found a board and pieces and we played chess, but before we had finished the game, Hugh flung open the door and entered with Sir Gerald behind him, and their smiles added a glow to the candlelight that lit the room.

“Sire,” Hugh said, bowing low. “You are free! Ypres has captured Robert of Gloucester, and the empress will have to free King Stephen to have back her brother—will she nill she. No baron in England will serve her without Robert of Gloucester to follow.”

Bruno

There are tales for children that Father Anselm used to tell Audris when she was very young—to which I listened eagerly also, although I tried to hide my pleasure under scoffing—that end, “and so they lived happily ever after.” I cannot say precisely that; thanks be to God Melusine and I have not yet come to our ending, and it is not wise to claim much happiness with certainty before then. Still, there is much hope in me now for “living happily ever after,” and when the king and I were discovered by the outer gate, I had no hope of living beyond the next few minutes at all.

I felt twice the burning agony of being stabbed and hands dragging at me, but I clung to the king until there was a pain in my head, a great burst of light, and then darkness. I must have been very near dying because I fell under those blows in the middle of May and I do not really remember anything until September. I have vague recollections of pain and crying for water, but no memory at all of the passage of time until the day I became aware that something heavy clung to my ankle and made it hard to move my foot. I recall saying crossly, “Melusine, that foot is long healed. You must take off the bindings.” And then I opened my eyes to see Sir Grolier looking down at me.

“You stabbed me,” I whispered, remembering now who held the knife. I have never seen such hatred in a man's face, yet when I put an elbow behind me to push myself to a sitting position and could not for weakness, he lifted me most gently and placed something behind me so I could lean in comfort on the wall. While he moved me, his body blocked my view, but when he moved back, I saw he and I were alone in the chamber. “Where is the king?” I cried, terror giving strength to my voice.

“Curse you, be still,” he snarled. “He is in another chamber hale and well. Shut your mouth or I will be beaten again for your screaming.”

That remark astonished me so much that I fell silent. Perhaps I also slipped away for a time to wherever I had been since May, but it was not for very long. I woke to find Grolier feeding me, digging each spoonful of stew out of the bowl as if he intended to break my teeth with it but touching my lips gently so that I opened my mouth instead.

“Do you get beaten for making my mouth bloody too?” I asked.

He did not answer, but the glare he turned on me was enough. I then said I would feed myself, but I found I did not have the strength to hold the spoon much less move it from the bowl to my mouth. Grolier laughed, enjoying my distress, but when I choked on tears of rage, the petty rage of the weak, he pulled me upright and patted my back until I could breathe easily again. No one could have heard me choking, so why did he not let me strangle to death and be free of tending me? It was a puzzle I thought about while eating, and continued to think about after Grolier held a cup to my mouth and went out. I heard the scrape and clank of metal on stone as he moved and realized his ankles were chained together—so he was a prisoner too.

Over the next two weeks, as less and less of my time was lost to sudden unconsciousness, I worked out how Stephen and I had been duped into escaping and almost killed from a few furious, unguarded comments Grolier made and the facts I already knew. First, it had been Grolier's news that set escape in the king's mind, and for all I knew he may have directly spoken of escape. Second, the queen's father had destroyed Grolier's family, not helped it as he had implied, so he had a personal hatred for the king and had intended to kill him. Third, I knew that could not have been by Gloucester's orders, but Grolier could not have got into Bristol keep without some important person's authority, and the only important person foolish enough to think Stephen's death would benefit her cause rather than harming it was—Matilda. I have no proof that the empress actually ordered the king's death and never will have. I could not make Grolier speak on that subject, and perhaps she only ordered that the king be induced to do something foolish so that Gloucester would imprison him more securely. I know she opposed Gloucester's gentle imprisonment and desired from the beginning that Stephen be chained in the depths of the keep.

The remainder of the story I wrested from Grolier himself by the simple expedient of threatening to scream as if he were hurting me. He told me that my clinging to the king instead of trying to defend myself had drawn the attention of the guards, who seized him and his two servants—one the king had borne down and the other who had struck me on the head. When I was pulled away from Stephen and rolled over, one of the guards had recognized me and then the king.

William of Gloucester, the earl's eldest son, happened to be in the keep at the time. Before ordering Grolier's two servants executed, Lord William had wrenched from them the information that they had been given a description of Stephen, told to provoke him, and when he reacted, to help Grolier kill him. But he did not order that Grolier himself be executed. I had heard that William of Gloucester was a strange man; he certainly had a weird sense of the comical, and instead of executing Grolier he devised a weird punishment. Lord William had ordered that Grolier nurse me and serve the king. If Stephen was dissatisfied with Grolier's service or if I died, William told Grolier, he would be killed by slow torture, but one hour of torture would be remitted for each week I lived.

To ensure Grolier's close attention to his duties, Lord William had given him a sample of the skill of his torturers. His little toes had been removed on both feet, not chopped off but cut away slowly, a little at a time. Moreover Lord William had arranged that I be examined twice daily but at different times each day, and if I had soiled myself and had not been cleaned or if I showed sores from lying too long in one position, Grolier was to be whipped. Of course, neither Lord William nor anyone else expected me to live. Grolier was quite sure that Lord William had remained in Bristol far longer than he intended just because he hoped for my death each day so he could enjoy Grolier's torture. I do not know the truth of that. I had seen William of Gloucester a few times, but I do not remember ever speaking to him, and I could not judge the truth through Grolier's hate and fear.

I was sorry for my cruelty to Grolier after I had forced him to tell the tale. It was not important to me to know why Grolier attended me with such care when his hatred was destroying him, but I had grown spiteful in my feebleness over those weeks. I expected to gain strength quickly, and I did not. Although I felt I was starving before each meal, I could eat very little, and forcing myself was useless because I only vomited the whole meal when I tried. Second, being chained made it much harder to move so I could not exercise unless Grolier helped me, and that he would not do. Perhaps he suspected what would happen to him as soon as I could feed myself and reach for the pot when I needed it. I had managed that by the third week in September, and one day Grolier disappeared. He was a treacherous dog, but I wept when a manservant brought my dinner and told me, his purpose being ended, Grolier had been hanged.

After he was gone, I slipped back instead of improving. I was dull with weakness and despair, for I was alone all the time now except when a servant brought me food or came to empty my pot. The food was worse too—I suppose Grolier had picked out the best pieces for me because I ate so little, but the servant dumped a bowl on the floor beside me, always cold and the dregs, the meat all gristle and the vegetables rotten. I think it was the leavings, what the men had thrown away. Often it was too much bother to lift the bowl and try to eat, and I did without. The servant only took the bowl away, empty or full. I wondered sometimes why I was left in that chamber rather than being cast down into the lower dungeon. Perhaps it was because the constable had forgotten about me now that Grolier was dead.

I must have been near death again; I can remember that my last thought was whether I had strength enough to lift the pot to piss. I cannot remember whether I did or not. The next thing I knew was that the constable of Bristol keep was kneeling by my bed and calling my name and pleading with me to wake up. Behind him I saw Stephen with tears on his cheeks and rage on his face. I slipped away again, but even in my unconsciousness the sight of the king free and unguarded must have worked in my mind and given me strength. I woke again to the feeling of being washed and the sound of a woman weeping; it was the constable's wife who was weeping as her maids bathed me, and I was in the constable's bed. But even that puzzle could not hold my attention.

It was only several days later that I learned why, when I was strong enough for the king to come and visit me. He told me with huge delight that Robert of Gloucester's youngest son, Philip, had come with orders that he be released at once from his chains and with a large packet of letters. These told of the battle won in Winchester, of Robert of Gloucester a prisoner in the queen's hands, even of the part my Melusine had played. One letter had been to the constable from the queen, informing him that one of the knights captured by Lady Melusine's small army was the only son of the constable and his ransom was my life. I did not wonder then that the lady of the keep put me in her own bed and cared for me. Joy gave me some strength, but my body was slow to respond, and I still slept away most of the days as well as the nights of the next three weeks.

The king came each day to talk to me, but he had little more news, only glowing plans for the future, which included a huge army that would rise to support him as soon as he showed himself. His presence, he assured me, would reanimate the whole nation, but he would never again be tricked by sweet words that led him away from his own good judgment—or Maud's, he added grinning. I smiled in return then and as often as I could because I knew his intention in coming to visit me was kind. He wished to revive my spirit, but the truth was that the more Stephen talked about the future, the heavier grew my heart. I knew there could be no quick victory. The schism was too deep, the hurts too bitter. The war would go on and on—and I was so tired.

I looked at the fire sometimes—there was a small raised hearth in the chamber—but it was a poor thing, captive, like me, barely flickering over the charcoal that fed it. What I wanted was the roaring fire of winter that the hearth of Ulle would hold—and peace. All I had was a faint blue flickering and talk of war. So when the king left me, I slept. Then on the afternoon of the first day of November, I was wakened by a kiss—and Melusine was bending over me.

I do not remember what I first said. It was some fearful question about how she had come to be in Bristol keep, for her eyes were red with weeping. I asked her why she wept, and she said for joy—but there was a darkness in her behind her smile. I struggled upright with her help, and she raised the pillows behind me, laughing and hugging me and bidding me to be of good cheer because all was well.

“I have come with the queen,” she said, “who, with Eustace, is to be hostage for Lord Robert's freedom. But you and I are not bound to that condition, and as soon as you are strong enough, we will go.”

I was too dazed to take in everything she said, and anyway it faded to nonsense in comparison with that last word. Go, to go was to be freed. “Go where?” I asked, and then with a sinking heart I remembered my duty. “And what of the king?”

“Ah, as to those questions, I am forbidden to answer. You must wait until tomorrow or the next day.”

There was so much mischief in her smile that I knew whatever I was told on the morrow would be pleasant, and when I opened my mouth to ask another question, Melusine popped in a spoon of delicious broth, thick with minced chicken.

“I am not so weak,” I protested. “I can feed myself, and it is not time for eating.”

“All day every day is time for eating for you,” she said. “I did not marry a bag of bones, and I have always favored well-fleshed men. As to feeding you—it amuses me. I like to see your eyes bulge when I get a spoon in unexpectedly. What else have I to amuse me?”

Fortunately I had swallowed or I would have choked as I laughed at her ridiculous remarks, and I nearly did choke several times as food arrived in my mouth at odd moments. But I will say that Melusine probably got three or four times as much as I usually ate into me. All day Edna brought up a variety of small dishes, some cold, some hot, all delicious. Melusine never offered more than one spoonful of anything, but by evening, I found myself asking for the pot or bowl and eating an additional portion.

Nor did I sleep much. Melusine kept me wide awake with the tale of what had happened to the queen and to her after news came of the king's capture. I had asked, of course, for the most recent news first, but she looked mischievous and mysterious and said she could not tell me that until she had leave. And when night came, she took off her clothes and climbed into bed with me. I must have looked surprised because she laughed and asked if I wanted her to sleep on a hard, cold floor when there was a feather bed available. I had not thought at all, except that I was sick and the sick lie alone—but Melusine did not act as if I were sick, so I laughed.

“I thought you might be afraid to be stabbed by the bag of bones,” I teased.

She smiled at me as she slid under the covers and pressed herself against me. “I even love your bones,” she whispered.

It was the first time, the very first time, that Melusine had said a word of love to me. She had cared for me when I was hurt, she had coupled with me with open enjoyment, she had been a perfect wife in every way—but she had never said she loved me. I was afraid to ask whether the word was said knowingly, afraid she spoke the word only because I was sick. If it was the last word of love as well as the first, at least I had it. I would take no chance it would be withdrawn. So I took her in my arms and held her in silence until, being very tired from more activity than I had had in many months, I slept in joy.

I woke in joy also, to Melusine's merry voice. “Let me go, you monster,” she whispered, kissing my ear. “If you do not let me rise to piss, you will soon be swimming.”