Walter of Hereford lay in the open staring up at the slowly lightening sky and chewing a bitter cud. He was wet and cold, but he made no attempt to go to his tent where there was a fire and dry clothing. The physical discomfort added to his misery, and he was savoring its bitterness to the full. Twice now they had raided small keeps of the king's according to Hereford's plan, striking just before dusk when the guards were at their evening meal and coming off nearly scatheless with much booty. At full light they would be away northward to strike again and gain another rich prize. There could be no doubt of it, Roger had accurate information and advised him for his own good. Walter turned his head and spat. Roger always advised him for his own good; Roger did everything right, he was perfect. But it was Roger's good too—always Roger's good. Roger sat with a fat army and gained praise and honor for doing nothing while he fought in the dark and ran in the dark like a rat and was called thief. With what I know and what I guess, Walter thought, I could hang him. Hang him like a common thief on a gibbet for being a traitor. Walter laughed without mirth or pleasure.
How my mother would weep, he thought. Seven others of us she has and none of us worth a hair on dear Roger's head to her. I need only go to the king, the bitter thoughts continued, to gain booty far richer than what I could gain by ten years' fighting. Even the earldom of Hereford would be mine. His lips drew back in another mirthless smile. Mine, but with what dishonor! Mine, to be known as the man who sold his brother. Mine, but not long to keep with Chester on the north and Gaunt to the west. They love Roger too well to let his murderer go scot free. Roger, Roger, the whole world loves Roger.
He rose and kicked his master-at-arms awake and gave the orders for carrying out the next step of his brother's plan. The sky was blue and the clouds golden in the early light. Walter did not notice them, but if he had even they would have reminded him of Roger, for his coloring was dark and he envied his brother even that accident of birth. They did not ride far but beyond their objective to the east so that it might seem that they had come from that direction. This assault too prospered, as all of Roger's plans seemed to do with Walter; the treasure chests of the main dwelling house quickly found, quickly taken, and they horsed again and away before the stunned guardians of this previously peaceful town knew what had befallen them. This time they did not stay to divide the booty but rode hard, still northward, until long after dark. In a keep at Oundle they would hide for a day or two to lick their wounds, refurbish their armor, and count their gain.
Roger of Hereford did notice the clear blue sky and golden clouds, but only as another factor in his tactical plans. All his energy was bent upon reaching Devizes, and his mind was busy with men and horses and supplies. Too soon. He had hoped to begin the assault himself. In a week or two more with the forces at his disposal he could have fortified several small towns along the line of march to harass Stephen so that he would need to break up the mass of his army or at least slow his advance. Now he was not sure whether it would be better to disperse his army into the various strongholds and make sporadic attacks with no danger of any serious loss, retreat westward to draw Stephen beyond hope of any aid, and then attack, or stand the ground he had now, which was well known to himself and his men, and take the chance of gain or loss that came with a major engagement of two nearly equal enemies.
The balance was in his favor anyway. His men were near friendly strongholds that would receive them in case of defeat; they were rested and well fed; and for a good many of them their homes lay behind them in the direction the king would pass if they did not beat him back. They would fight hard to keep Stephen out of Gloucestershire, even the mercenaries, many of whom now had wives and children in the towns where they had been stationed for so many years. Hereford calculated from the date the messenger had set out that he would have sufficient time to order his battle and make all ready. Retreat was repugnant to him personally too. They would stay, he decided, and face the king unless his reconnaissance parties brought back reports of an overwhelming force.
Hereford released a long breath of relief; for good or ill his decision was made. He looked up at the sky again. If the weather held they would have dry ground to fight on, but it would not hold unless it grew colder. Tomorrow, Hereford thought, let it rain tomorrow, and rain and rain. Mayhap we will be wet and slip in the mud, but Stephen's men will need to ride through the mud and drown in the swollen fords. That will teach him to trust an English spring and chance attack before the first thaw dries.
In the late afternoon of the second day out, Alan of Evesham was looking at the sky. He, however, was not pleased in the least to see it graying over, not knowing that rain suited Hereford's purposes. Thus far they had made a really remarkable distance for a troop traveling with women. Her ladyship, he thought, rode as well as any seasoned trouper, cared nothing for the comfort of her attendant ladies, and was plainly anxious to reach her destination. She had ridden, that first day, from dawn until after dark without a murmur of complaint and was up and ready to ride again at dawn the next day. Nonetheless, if it rained they could go no farther than Geddington that night. It would make a long ride to Corby the next day and a miserable one if the rain continued.
When Elizabeth felt the first drops she bit her lips with nervous chagrin. She had long since recognized her folly and bitterly regretted it, but it was more dangerous now to go back than to move forward. She desired only to reach the safe haven of Corby so that when Sir Alan asked if they should return a half mile to Kettering she said that the wet was nothing.
"Let us press on, Sir Alan, I beg you. I am not made of salt."
The knight looked up at the sky. Dusk was gathering quickly now over the gray clouds, but Geddington was only a few miles ahead. "Very well, my lady," he replied.
A mile further down the road, however, he would have given much to have made a different decision. Behind them he could plainly hear the sound of a large body of mounted men coming. They were gaining steadily on Alan's troop and, having no way of determining whether they were friend or foe, he had no desire to meet anyone at that hour and in such an indefensible place.
"My lady—"
"Who is that coming?"
"I do not know, my lady. Mayhap it would be well for us to move off the road."
"You know best, Sir Alan, but look, there are only open fields. Where can we hide?"
"There is a small copse ahead. See that shadow? Let us spur forward. It may be that we may reach that shelter in time."
Walter of Hereford wiped the wet out of his face and expended a good part of his not inconsiderable store of obscenity. He was miles and miles from Oundle and separated from his companions. He cursed the stag he had been coursing; the dogs that had lost the scent and, finding a new scent when his horse was too tired to follow, had left him; the weather; and himself for being so absorbed in the chase as not to realize how far it had taken him. He was not even sure just where he was, but plainly there was a road ahead. At least he had a purse heavy with gold and was, as his habit was, well armed. There was nothing for it but to take to the road and seek the first shelter he might find. He walked his tired horse slowly toward the opening in the trees and then pulled it up suddenly. Just below him were the unmistakable sounds of battlethe clash of arms and the hoarse cries of men. Walter edged closer cautiously. It was most unlikely that anyone would notice him even though it was not yet completely dark, and he was curious.
A small troop was engaged with a much larger one—that much was clear—and the larger group were plainly well-drilled soldiers fighting under a banner. Walter shrugged and began to back his horse. He could not make out whose banner it was, and the outcome was clear although the small group fought well and desperately, clustered about a central point as if protecting something precious. It was dangerous to stay longer, Walter thought, and of no real interest to him until a girl's voice rose over the sound of the fighting in a shrill scream of pure terror.
"Help! Lady Hereford, help me."
"Hew them down to a man if you must," was Ralph de Caldoet's harsh reply, "but do not harm the women. One among them is Hereford's bride. Our lord will make us all rich if we bring him this prize."
Walter pulled up so sharply that his horse nearly slipped. Lady Elizabeth! What was she doing here? He began to laugh, but carefully and silently. So the omniscient Roger had at last made a mistake. Good for him, let him win his own way free of it. He moved back into the shadow of the trees, and the sounds began to fade, but his mount moved ever more slowly as an unconscious guilt made his hand heavier and heavier on the rein. Finally the horse stopped. Who was the lord of whom they spoke? What did he want with Hereford's wife? Hereford's wife. Hereford was his name also and his father's. Roger said always that he brought shame upon his name. What shame? He touched his horse with his spurred heel. All men gained what they could for themselves in these black times. So he was worthless and shameful. Then let Roger mend the shame of sending his wife ill-protected through a country hostile to him. Fool. It was more shame to be a fool than a thief.
With a soft-muttered oath, Walter of Hereford turned his horse again and moved to the edge of the wood. It was his name and he would do as he liked with it, but no other man would smirch it under his very eyes and go scatheless. Now he could do nothing—one man on a tired horse—nothing but follow and see where his enemies went.
William Beauchamp yawned and rubbed his eyes. He wondered why, just because his master had given up sleep, he too must do so. They had ridden a day and a night, stopping only for an hour or two to rest the horses, from Wallingford to Devizes. After that it was true they had slept—for three hours. William could not even remember clearly the passing of the following days. They were full of scribes writing messages and riders going forth and returning. Men accoutered for war poured in from all sides and camped on the downs around Devizes, small parties riding forth day by day to spy out the countryside and to discover what they might about the king's advance.
Something had apparently delayed Stephen, possibly the rain that Hereford had wished for and which had certainly come in abundance. William wished that the elements had not been so thoroughly at the service of his master; he was tired of being wet and cold. He lifted his head, which had dropped to his breast, as Hereford's voice rose in argument against some proposal of Lord Radnor's. Great leaders of a great army—William shook his head. No one looking at them now could tell the difference between the leaders and the meanest landless knight. Both were unkempt and unshaven with surcoats and chausses so splattered with mud as to make the original color unrecognizable. No, William thought, smiling grimly to himself, there was one way to recognize them. The lesser knights did not have eyes sunken an inch into their heads; they got to sleep once in a while.
He looked at his master consideringly. Sunken or not those eyes were bright and clear now as they had not been since the return to England. For all the hard labor, discomfort, and anxiety, it was plain that his master had recovered his spirits. He was ready to be merry whenever he had time, and nothing but outright disobedience to his orders seemed to have the power to discompose him. Perhaps it was the prospect of the fighting. William was looking forward to that himself because fighting behind Hereford's banner was thrilling and inspiring. He did hope, though, that he would be able to get some sleep before the battle took place; his head dropped forward onto his breast again.
Moments or hours later, he never knew which, he woke with a shock as a man-at-arms stumbled over his feet and fell headlong into the tent, crying out as he fell. William was on his feet at once, sword drawn to protect his master. For that there was no need, the man made no effort to rise; it was clear that he was at the end of his endurance.
"My lord," he gasped, "your lady is taken."
CHAPTER 8
THE FROZEN SILENCE FOLLOWING THOSE PAINFULLY ARTICULATED
words endured only for a moment. Hereford was on his knees beside his man, turning him face up roughly to recognize with horror that it was Alfred of the Southfield, truly one of the men sent to escort Elizabeth.
"By whom? Where?"
"Easy, Hereford, you will throttle the man and he is sore wounded already. Beauchamp, wine. Lift his head and pour it down his throat."
"Where was she taken? By whom?" Hereford insisted, blind and deaf to all else, shaking the fainting soldier.
"I know not by whom. It was nearly dark and they set upon us so suddenly— It was near Kettering, a mile or two north."
"Kettering! You lie!"
That gave the wounded man more strength than the wine. "My lord, I am your faithful servant and have ever been. I do not lie. Lady Elizabeth commanded us to go to Corby to your sister, and thither were we riding."
Hereford had turned a ghastly color, even his lips white.
"How long since?" That was Lord Radnor, almost as pale but less disabled by shock.
"I do not know. They left me for dead, else I had not been here. I know not how long I lay beside the road nor how long I have been in coming hither. There was no other man alive there and no horse within sight or call. I crawled along that road till I came to the nearest cot. There I waited for night, stole a horse, and I have ridden since, when I could for weakness, stealing other mounts when that I had fell or wandered away."
"My God, my God," Hereford moaned, "what possessed her?" Before Radnor could protest that this was no time for useless lamentation, however, he was in full control of himself. "Go call Elizabeth's and my own vassals to arms, Beauchamp. Let them take riding food only. We do not stop day or night until we come to Kettering."
"Wait, Hereford," Radnor said, laying a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Is it not possible that this is some trick to drive you and your men from a position of strength to where you may be easily destroyed?"