"Upon your kind invitation, O avowed dweller in a dung heap, we will come. But we are the masters here. We will come in our own time and in our own way. Tell your master for me that Roger, Earl of Hereford, comes to reclaim his jewel from the dross." His face grew suddenly so grim that even de Caldoet was a trifle shaken. "He may save his life and his keep by sending her out to me with my men, but if there is one stain of his filth upon her, I shall not leave one stone standing upon another to mark this place, nor will gold or blood buy either his freedom or his death."
All three turned and galloped away, the arrows they had vainly expected before singing around them now. Fortunately they took no hurt, and when they drew up out of bowshot, Hereford laughed again. He clapped his brother heartily on the shoulder. "Good for you, Walter. You pricked the fool and he showed us the gateway to our desire. Let us mark the place well. My heart, too, is lighter, for I had almost thought they were under some evil enchantment."
In a way Hereford was correct and the keep was enchanted. The spell of Peverel's fear was spreading, paralyzing the defenders and filling them with despair and the expectation of defeat. That was the price paid when men fought largely for reasons of personal loyalty. Since they had no goals of their own to strive for, they responded to the slightest sign of discouragement or weakness in their leaders.
De Caldoet could have given them confidence, for he certainly was not yet afraid, but he did not care to stiffen their morale before he was sure whether fighting or yielding would pay him better. He climbed rapidly back up to the battlements to watch the three companions ride off around the keep to return to their camp. Then with a half smile he went to bring Hereford's message to Peverel.
Partially he wished to judge whether Peverel really did know anything more of Hereford's strength than was apparent, and partially he simply wished to enjoy watching Peverel squirm. He had that pleasure, but not to the degree he had expected, and the information he gained was of an entirely different sort. Peverel had spent the night hatching a plan for saving his skin in any event and one that he hoped would gain his ends without endangering his keep. To this plan de Caldoet listened and agreed, although he would be the one to take what risk there was. He would also stand to gain a good deal, and from his point of view the risk was small.
Peverel's chief squire was armed and sent as a herald to Roger of Hereford's camp. His message was brief. If Hereford would agree to his safe coming and going, de Caldoet would meet him in the field before the drawbridge to discuss terms of peace before useless damage be done to Hereford's men and Peverel's. The herald was instructed to cry his message aloud in the camp, not to give it to Hereford privately. Peverel knew that this would force Hereford to come to the meeting even if he was unwilling to do so, because he could not chance that his men would think he was afraid or that he would sacrifice them needlessly.
"It is a trap," Lord Radnor said.
"The coward will yield us all," Walter laughed.
Hereford pulled the lobe of his ear, a worried frown wrinkling his brow. He did not believe either of his companions to be wholly right or wholly wrong. It did seem likely that Peverel was afraid, from his behavior, but that a man so completely devoted to his own self-interest could mean to yield so easily seemed impossible. Nor was it likely that even a treacherous brute like de Caldoet would take the chance of attacking him in the full sight of his army with his friend and his brother free to direct a fearful retaliation. De Caldoet's death in such an event would be certain, and he was too self-interested a creature to take such a risk.
"What surety of safety does de Caldoet ask?"
The herald was primed for that one and he called the answer loud enough for many of the armed men pressing close to hear. "None but your vaunted good word. Lord Peverel holds your household guard. If you betray his man he will send you a piece of each prisoner he has. So tender a master as you are reputed to be would not sacrifice your men and your honor for one stroke which could gain you nothing."
"Tell your master that I will come and be as tender of his emissary as if he were my own flesh and blood. But he can gain nothing by talk. He would do better to send out my wife and my men at once. I will make no peace for lesser terms."
Hereford turned away, rubbing his unshaven chin. Everything that had happened in the past three days had the quality of his constantly recurring nightmare, even though the events that had taken place and those he dreamed were not related. There was the same sense of pursuing an unknown goal in the midst of events that were totally inexplicable and beyond his control. Once again he felt like a stuffed puppet performing antics directed by someone else's will.
"If you go, Roger, I go too." That was Lord Radnor, for once breaking impatiently into Hereford's thoughts.
"I also."
"No," Hereford replied slowly. "One of you at least must remain behind to lead the men in the small chance that Peverel does intend treachery. I ask you, Walter, to take that duty. You are my heir. Miles is too young to avenge us. Peverel could look for no greater temptation than that you and I should come under his hand together."
Walter burst out laughing. "You are a fool, Roger. How do you know this is not set between Peverel and myself? The temptation you offer me is greater than that you offer him. You are giving the earldom of Hereford into my hand."
"If you want it on those terms, Walter, you are welcome to it. Much joy may you have of gain so gotten." Hereford dismissed that comment without a thought. "Radnor, you should have more sense. Why stretch your neck for the ax blow when there is no need?"
"Have you never taken your head in your hands for my sake? Besides, I am curious to see this de Caldoet who even William of Gloucester could not stand. His brother was hung two or three years since and this one is reputed to be a worse man yet."
Hereford smiled slightly acknowledging Radnor's mild jest. "You are old enough to know your own mind and too big to manage. Well, then, let us go. We have nothing to wait for." Radnor moved aside toward the horses and Hereford turned to his brother. "I charge you, Walter, as you would have me rest in peace, to have my wife out of that keep whatever happens. And have a little sense; do not loose arrow or sword upon them unless it be really needful."
A few moments after they arrived at the meeting place, the drawbridge groaned its way down and the gates opened briefly to let ten full-armed men ride out. Radnor glanced briefly at them and leaned toward Hereford.
"I could have saved myself the trip. The foul-mouthed oaf at the postern was de Caldoet."
For once Hereford did not respond to his friend's effort to lighten the tension. He was too caught up in the sensation of being whirled along against his will to an unknown destination. Seldom had he striven against a more unpleasant feeling, for although he had had as many fears and more worries than most men of his age, previously he had always felt that he controlled his own life within the limits of God's will.
"You are de Caldoet?"
"And you the earl of Hereford?"
"Is your master sending out my wife and my men?"
"You have no right to ask that. You are a rebel against your king, and your wife was taken as a prisoner of war. You have further outraged law and justice by willfully burning Lord Peverel's lands without even due notice of hostility. My lord is generous, however; he does not wish to bring needless suffering to anyone."
Lord Radnor made a low sound of contempt between a snort and a snicker but Hereford, expressionless, did not even shift his eyes. De Caldoet, speaking formal words that everyone knew were empty of meaning, cast one glance of envy and hatred at the pair and hurried on.
"Therefore, if you will withdraw your forces and pay for the damage you have done and, of course, a reasonable ransom, Lord Peverel will be happy to restore your wife and men to you."
Hereford lifted his rein preparatory to turning his horse. "I will pay nothing. I have come to take what is mine and avenge the insult done me. If this is what your lord sent you to say, you have wasted my time and your own. If anyone has suffered damage, it is myself, for whatever I am, no man has the right to make war upon a woman and you have attacked and injured the men of my household who offered you no provocation."
"High words and mighty, Lord Hereford, but hard to put to the proof. Nottingham is not so easily taken, and you dare not wait, for my lord's messengers have gone to the king and he will be upon you long before you can hurt us. Furthermore, Lord Peverel bid me say that if you attack us, he will kill your wife."
Hereford's bowels tied themselves into knots. Fortunately he was already so pale that his color could not change, and he had full control over his expression which remained totally impassive. The faintest indication that he could be moved by fear for Elizabeth's safety, that his attachment to her was emotional rather than financially and politically expedient, would have changed the entire course of the interview.
"If one hair of Lady Hereford's head has been discomposed when I come into your keep, I will spare no living thing in this county—except mayhap yourself and Lord Peverel. He, at least, I will keep alive—parts of him—for many, many years."
The tone was so pleasant, so even and measured that the men behind de Caldoet instinctively drew closer together for comfort. De CaIdoet himself felt cold, and, experienced as he was in brutality, he had to repress a shudder. There were things far worse than death that could happen to a man, and Hereford was known for keeping his promises. There was a tale of how he had gained information some years before, using methods that had caused that old-time persuader, Chester, to plead for mercy for the victims. De Caldoet's emotion was fleeting. He knew, of course, that Peverel had not the slightest intention of harming Elizabeth in the first place, and in the second he was secure in the knowledge that he could change sides if things did not work as he expected and save his skin that way.
"You are stupid and stubborn as an ass," he snarled at Hereford. "You would do well to accept an offer so generous. Lord Peverel, however, expected no less, so he has empowered me to make one more offer out of mercy to your men and his, who are innocent of wrongdoing but who would be the sufferers. You say you are injured; he says he is. Let God decide between you. The Constable of Nottingham offers you trial by single combat to decide who is in the right."
Of all the offers Hereford had expected, this was to his mind the least likely. His mouth dropped with surprise. "Peverel offers to meet me in single combat?"
De Caldoet laughed. "No doubt that would just suit your courage—to meet a man thirty years your senior and long out of practice in feats of arms." His tone was deliberately, insultingly contemptuous. "At that, even at his age and in his condition he would probably beat you for your successes are well known to be between sheets of linen not of steel."
Hereford's pale face flamed with rage. He knew he was being baited deliberately, but his response was instinctive, not intellectual, and was beyond his rational control.
"No, my little lordling," de Caldoet continued, sneering, "I have offered myself as his champion. Ah, that you like less. Nay, I told him you would have no lust to meet a
man
in the field and that, unprotected by an army, you would shrink to your proper size. Come now, pay his price and you may go scatheless."
Radnor had hold of Hereford's forearm. "Do not do it, Roger. You cannot—"
"Done!" Hereford gasped, restraining himself with difficulty from falling upon his tormentor then and there. His hand clenched upon his sword hilt. "Where and when you will. Name your time and place."
"Wait," Lord Radnor protested, "will you trust that snake? Say you fight and win, what surety do you have that he will open his gates?"
"And what surety do I have that when I win the little lordling's men will not fall upon me? We take even risks."
The scars on Lord Radnor's face turned from white to red with fury. There were few men who dared openly question his honor. He pushed back his helmet and mail hood violently so that de Caldoet could see him clearly. "Do you know who I am?"
"Certainly. You are the devil's spawn who has taken the name of Gaunt. So what? I do not fear you, be you man, beast, or demon."
"You may have cause therefor some day."
Radnor mastered his temper with an effort, realizing that the angrier he and Hereford became the less chance they would have of making an arrangement which would protect Hereford's interests. Plainly de Caldoet was trying to enrage them to the point that they desired nothing but to kill him. A better revenge for his insults was to bring him to their terms.
"Let that craven beast who shames a once honorable name send out the Lady Elizabeth and Lord Hereford's men under guard—up to three hundred men—to the east side of the keep wall on this field. I will bring an equal number—my men, not Hereford's, so they will not fight unless I order it—to the west side. The army will withdraw beyond that ridge so that they are no danger to you. You can fight between us."
The bargain was not readily made, for Peverel had indeed hoped that Hereford would, in his rage, fall into the trap of agreeing to fight without such precautions. He had every intention under those circumstances of doing exactly what Lord Radnor suspected. He was reasonably sure his henchman would win, but he could see no reason to take any chance at all. Furthermore, even if Hereford won it was likely that he might be too badly hurt to pursue his attack on the castle, so that if he kept Elizabeth within he would have lost nothing.
Radnor could not be moved by any argument however, and Hereford by this time had cooled sufficiently to agree with him.
De Caldoet then began to play for time, attempting to put the day of combat off for a week. It was possible that for once Stephen would be spurred to rapid action and would arrive before that date, in which case Hereford would probably be defeated or forced to retreat. In this too de Caldoet failed, largely because he really did not care to be adamant on the subject. He was very certain that he could beat Hereford without great difficulty, and his personal interests would be more fully served by that than by having the king intervene. He was already looking forward with pleasure to seeing the Earl of Hereford crawl and weep and beg for mercy and could see no reason to wait a week for that pleasure. Therefore he did not really become insistent upon his own terms until the actual method of fighting came under discussion.