"No. I am to keep my father in the north and against the king if possible. You …" she hesitated, studying Roger's face. He had aged ten years, no twenty, in the past months and even after several days of rest showed silvery shadows below his cheek bones and mauve-ringed eyes. "You will be careful too, will you not?"
"As careful as duty and honor permit. Our cases are not the same, Elizabeth. Well, that is all, I think. Have courage …” he hesitated and smiled. “But not too much, dear heart."
CHAPTER 16
ELIZABETH HEREFORD TOOK ONE LAST LOOK AT HERSELF IN THE MIRROR
and smiled at what she saw. Her heavy braids were looped up and pinned as close as possible to her head; the russet homespun tunic and bliaut she wore were nothing like her usual luxurious garments and in no way flattered her dark skin, which looked rather sallow. She removed her earrings and added them to the rest of her jewelry in the coffer before her, then began to tug at her betrothal ring. It resisted her first effort to take it off and Elizabeth desisted, suddenly pushing it back over the knuckle of her finger with an odd sinking sensation. Not that. She would not remove that, ever. She turned the stone in toward her palm and pulled her riding gloves over it. With her hood up, she might easily be taken for a boy of no high degree.
Her last act at Hereford Castle was to seal her note to Roger and give instructions to the messenger. She had said her good-bys to Lady Hereford, Catherine, and Roger's daughters the evening before and would not repeat them now. There was nothing left to do and nothing left to linger for. Without a backward glance or a backward thought, for with Roger gone there was nothing dear enough to bind her to Hereford, Elizabeth mounted her mare in the courtyard and ordered her troop northward.
Knowing her father's habit of indecision, Elizabeth had decided to move as quickly as possible to Yorkshire. It was very likely that Chester was still there, unable to decide whether to make overtures to Stephen or attack his forces. She had already sent out foreriders to Chester Castle who had instructions to meet her near Winsford in case her father had gone home, but she wished to pass well east of Shrewsbury to avoid danger and because the roads were better in England than in Wales. Roger would approve of that, she thought with satisfaction, and did not realize how different her point of view had become since December.
At the moment, however, Hereford had not a single thought to spare for his wife. He was about ten miles north of Bristol, vibrantly alive with the expectation of an early, easy, and unplanned end to the conflict. He and Henry found, when they arrived at Gloucester, that they had misjudged Earl William. That gentleman was not at all perturbed by the setback in the north and the only reason they had not heard from him was that they had outrun his messengers, who were still seeking them around York and Chester.
Actually they had found William fuming because he had made a little plan of his own that seemed about to fall through because of their absence. He had expected them two or three days before—and had his couriers caught them they would have arrived in time—so that they could be at Dursley as he had informed Eustace they would be through a common confidant. Revealed, the simple plot made Henry and Hereford nod in agreement.
Eustace had arrived in Gloucestershire according to his father's orders, and William had greeted him and readily given him the right to ride through the lands to seek for whatever he would. Then he had dropped the hint into ears he knew would carry the tale that the prize Eustace sought was at Dursley. He could not mention it to Eustace himself, he had murmured, because his father's friends still faithful to Henry's cause would kill him, and he was afraid.
"And that is where you should be," Gloucester said in his silky petulant tones, ignoring the averted eyes of his listeners who were horrified to hear that a man had made such an admission to one whom he knew would carry the tale.
Gloucester could barely stop himself from laughing at them, the proud fools. "We can only hope that you can beat out his foreriders and spies,” he went on, swallowing his contempt. “Bristol is already raised in expectation of your coming and a large force is ready and waiting at Almonersbury. Once Eustace is sure you are at Dursley you need only pretend to flee south to the greater security of Bristol. My men will not open the keep at Dursley but will say that you have gone on to Bristol. Eustace, God willing, will follow, young and hotheaded as he is, unless Rannulf of the South Riding can stop him. If you can lead him to Almonersbury, you will have him."
"My dear William," Henry praised, flashing his most charming smile, "if we take him so easily, you will not be sorry."
"If I thought I should be, I would not have made the plan, my lord," William replied smoothly. "Nor do I wish to seem inhospitable, but if you intend to be in time, you had better go."
Mounted and riding, Henry asked again, "Is it a trap?" And this time Hereford shrugged in reply, because he could not even guess what was in William's mind.
Nonetheless, suspicious as it sounded, thus far everything had run smoothly. They had waited at Dursley almost until the van of Eustace's force was in sight and then slipped out about midnight with only the small force they had arrived with. They had refused the castellan's offer to augment their troop, partly because they did not wish to carry possible traitors with them, but also because it was possible that Eustace would stay and attack Dursley. In that case they felt that it would be unwise to reduce the number of defenders so much that the keep would be unable to hold out until they could return to protect it.
William's spies had warned them well in advance of three separate ambushes set on the southward road and had led them safely around Eustace's men so that they had made contact with the army sent out from Bristol without difficulty. Any moment should bring their pursuers into sight. Hereford stroked the back of his purple and gold gauntlet with the bare fingers of his left hand, an unconscious nervous gesture. Even Henry's tongue was stilled as they listened.
At last there was the dull thunder of hundreds of horses coming at a quick walk. Hereford's breath quickened, his mouth set hard into the cold, merciless smile he wore when fighting, and his eyes brightened to a pale, burning blue as he drew on his left gauntlet, tightened his helm, and fixed his shield. A low-toned order brought William Beauchamp close up behind his master to receive whispered orders, which he transmitted.
"Take Eustace." The word passed from mouth to mouth. "It matters not whether we win or lose, so long as the prince be taken, alive and if possible unhurt. Whoever has him, let him break for Bristol, risking no chance of rescue."
Take Eustace. The sentence was more easily said than the deed done. It was plain from the moment the forces joined battle that Eustace and his men had little trust in their informants. Usually the prince, a brave and hardy knight, fought well to the front of his army. Not so this night. Eustace held back or was held back, surrounded by the best of his men, and obviously the whole troop had been on their guard against just such a surprise as was planned.
The first rush, led by Henry while Hereford held about half the force in reserve, did not demoralize the oncoming men as expected. Eustace's army closed ranks and struck back fiercely. The rear guard, no doubt instructed in advance of what to do in such a case, fanned out at a gallop and, bursting through fields and woods, attacked Henry's flank with determination. Henry's forces wavered and fell back under the impact at first, but the shouts and curses of their leader, who was setting them a brilliant example by hewing down every opponent within his reach, and the knowledge that reinforcements were at hand rallied them.
Hereford became more and more nervous, straining his ears to pick out single sounds in that cacophony until his eyes started. Amid the crash of underbrush, the clangor of metal on shield and hauberk, the shrieks and groans of the wounded and dying, and the fierce shouts of encouragement from the captains of both parties, he was terrified that he would miss Henry's voice calling him into action. The only reason he held back at all, once it became apparent that his men would not be used to pursue the fleeing or cut down a last-stand guard around Eustace, was that he knew Henry to be very jealous of sharing the glory of a victory.
Hereford did not miss the call when it came, but Henry's pride had delayed until almost too late. By the time Roger led his men into the fray, they could prevent Eustace from forcing Henry to retreat, but they could no longer turn the tide into anything less than a major defeat. Much blood was shed before this became apparent to the embattled leaders of both parties, for they were too busy fighting for their own lives to consider the general situation.
With the coming of full day, however, the stalemate became obvious. Eustace had the stronger force, had suffered fewer casualties, and had a little advantage in the ground, but Henry's troop was on friendly territory only a few miles from a major stronghold that could resist a far greater army than Eustace's. One more desperate charge was rallied by Henry in a last attempt to take Eustace prisoner, but the young prince defended himself ably and his men made a solid wall around him that even the ferocity of the Angevin could not pierce.
That attack nearly spelled disaster for Henry. His men followed him in a thin wedge through Eustace's line, and, while he tried to break the guard around the prince, his own path of escape was very nearly closed off. Hereford launched himself personally at the group closing in behind his overlord, his vassals following closely and desperately, and they hewed a new opening through which Henry was finally forced to withdraw.
That was the end as far as the rebel army was concerned. They had suffered far greater losses than the king's men, and the objective of their struggle was unobtainable. To stay and fight longer was senseless; they could not win, and they could lose all. Obedient to the new orders being shouted from troop to troop, they broke contact and retreated in good order toward Bristol. A brisk rear-guard action was fought while Eustace's men still thought that they could turn a retreat into a rout, but Hereford had excellent control over his forces and the prince soon abandoned the pursuit because he had no desire to come any closer to that passionately rebel city.
"He knew," Henry panted furiously, "he knew. He was prepared to meet us. That ambush was no surprise."
"Mayhap." Hereford was depressed, aching from the battering he had taken, "But I think not. Eustace has been under arms for several years now, with his father and alone. Stephen is a fool, but not in matters of war, and taught his son well. He would need to be very foolish indeed to come so far on such information as William's and not guard against attack. The fault is mine, if there is a fault, in being too eager to think all would fall as we desired. I should have known it was too easy."
"Holy Mother, I am sore all over. Can we bring more men out from Bristol and fall upon him again?"
"We can try. You will not find him, I think. Eustace planned to take us at Dursley, which is not specially strong, or hoped to catch us unprepared on the road. He will never attempt Bristol. Stephen did that with the whole army and failed. I suspect he will make the best speed he can back to Oxford now. He has suffered less loss than we, but he still needs time to lick his wounds."
"Curse you, Roger, let us turn and try again then."
"If you will, my lord, but the men are tired, and their hearts, I fear, will fail them."
"It is your heart that fails—"
Hereford turned with blazing eyes. "That is the second time you have called me coward. If I do not suit you, find another who will so readily shed his blood and spend his substance in your cause."
Henry was not angry at Hereford but at the failure of their plans. He controlled his temper with an effort, therefore, not desiring to inflame his equally frustrated companion any further. "Nay, I know it is not your failing. I do but strike out at you because I am enraged and you are dear to me. What is now best to be done?"
Dully, Hereford stared between his horse's ears for a while. Finally he spoke in a dead voice. "I will send to Bath, Devizes, and Shrivenham and urge our men there to take him if possible or at least to harry him. The more men he loses, the better will be our chances of seizing him."
Eustace, as Hereford knew he would, won safely back to Oxford and gave his opponents every reason to regret his escape bitterly. He remained at that stronghold, instead of returning to London, issuing out to raid the countryside often enough to keep both Hereford and Henry continually occupied with protecting what was theirs. Everything they desired to accomplish, such as the taking of Faringdon, hung mid-air while they first raced southward to aid John FitzGilbert protect Marlborough, then north again to reinforce Devizes from which they had drawn the troops to aid John. Possibly it was just as well that Hereford was too busy to think, or his courage might well have faltered under the accumulation of failures. Even the news from the north, which at first had been hopeful, began to grow worse.
Elizabeth's couriers arrived with good regularity, seldom failing a day unless Hereford outstripped them. She had accomplished her purpose so well that Chester agreed to attempt a defense of the position Henry's adherents held in Yorkshire. Unfortunately his forces, even augmented by Elizabeth's men, were not sufficient to stop Stephen, who, once aroused to action, was a very adequate warrior. First one and then another stronghold fell.
Chester was no man to remain steady in the face of adversity, and soon Elizabeth's letters took on a note of weariness and desperation. She could not hold her father longer, she wrote to her husband one blazing day in July, he would return to Chester. "I have prevailed so far over him," her letter ran. "that he will offer Stephen no truce, nor will he travel south to aid or hinder your efforts. More I cannot do. Not knowing your wishes, I ride to Chester with him and, unless you have further commands for me, I will stay, endeavoring to stiffen his purpose toward your cause. Sealed under my hand on this 12th day of July, Elizabeth Hereford."