"No! Grant him confession and send him to God? No! With such an easy end, who would not dare to try the same. What has he lost, a man without family, without honor? The shame can be nothing to him. I say it is too easy."
"Brother, be calm,” Chester said. “I care nothing what you do with him. He has done me no hurt. Whatever you say, I will agree to and Elizabeth also, doubtless."
Terrified to the borders of insanity, de Caldoet struggled for a moment more fiercely and then fell quiet. Strangely, he did not look either at Chester or Lincoln but at Elizabeth, whom he associated with her husband. He made no attempt to plead for mercy, but in the pause in which Lincoln was obviously considering the most painful and lingering death he could demand, the doomed man began to laugh weirdly.
"Confession? You need not worry. Confession will not save me, but it will not save you, Lady Hereford, or your accursed husband either. The longer it takes me to die, the longer I will have to call on the master I have served so well. So faithful have I been, surely Satan will grant my one wish. I will come back, I swear it by the Evil One Himself. I will come back and foul the fruit of your womb and destroy Roger, Earl of Hereford."
Elizabeth turned livid, speechless. Instinctively Lincoln thrust his shoulder before her, as if his bulk could shield her from the curse, and Chester took his rigid daughter into his arms.
"You need not die at all, de Caldoet," Lincoln said, his voice shaking. "I cannot think of an end fit for such as you. Take him out," he snarled to his men, "and lop off his right hand. Cut off his ears and his nose, and his hangars, and brand him as a thief and a runaway serf. See that he does
not
die. Then turn him loose."
"No!" de Caldoet shrieked. "No! Let me die and I will recall my curses. Let me die and I will pray for you and her, even for Hereford, with my dying breath." But the men were already dragging him away.
Elizabeth drew herself upright. "Satan is a notably ungrateful master," she managed to say steadily with an attempt at lightness. "We must hope that he will fulfill his promise in his usual way—by ignoring it." A brief shudder passed through her body. "God, what an evil thing it is! Mayhap we should have destroyed it altogether."
"We have destroyed it," Lincoln replied. "Without a right hand, he cannot wield a sword or defend himself. No honest man in the land will even give alms to a man so marked, and not even a band of outlaws will harbor him. What good is he to them who cannot fight or work or spy?"
Regaining complete control of herself, Elizabeth apparently dismissed de Caldoet with an impatient gesture. "Yes. No doubt you are right. What is much more important is what we are next to do. It is true, Uncle William, that your keeps are your own again, but their condition makes it beyond hope that they will yield you anything this year. As long as the city of Lincoln holds against you, then, you are in bad case."
"Those fat burghers! I will roast them over a slow fire and watch the fat drip off and then eat them like roast suckling pigs."
"Ay," Chester put in wryly, "if you can get at them. Elizabeth is right. While they hold your strongboxes we are somewhat pressed for money—that campaign in the north sucked me nearly dry, and Hereford is in the same case. If those pigs hold firm against us, I do not believe we have a force strong enough to take the town. We need money to buy more men."
Lincoln growled and bit his nails. "For money, there is another way: Why should I waste my substance on lessoning them? Look you, hard by is Tuxford whose master holds by Stephen. You have no love for him. We may refill your coffers and mine—which is only right, since it is his fault yours are empty and his promised support of those rebellious hogs of mine that has given them courage to withstand me."
Chester hesitated somewhat because he was still not decided upon his future course, but his half brother's persuasion was hard to resist. Especially when Lincoln pointed out how easy the taking of that previously peaceful keep would be and that it would serve the double purpose of terrifying one of his own recalcitrant vassals who counted on his unwillingness to cross the lands of Tuxford, Chester began to waver. By the time they had dined and been well fortified with reasonably good wine, Elizabeth could see that her influence would scarcely be necessary to prod her father into action. If they were successful in this first raid, her men would not be needed much longer either, and she would be able to move south as Roger had ordered.
***
Hereford looked up from the letter that recounted this information with a faint sense of satisfaction. He would feel much easier when Elizabeth was safe behind the stone walls of Hereford Castle. Less and less as the days passed and the rains of late summer gave way to the golden days and nipping nights of autumn, did he like the idea of her being out in the open.
"Your wife is a most faithful correspondent," Henry said indolently, shifting his body so that another portion of it would be toasted by the fire.
"Yes. She writes that all progresses as we would desire. Lincoln having regained his own now proposes to swallow what is Stephen's, as I supposed he would, and Chester has agreed to help him and share the profits."
Henry's mouth hardened somewhat. "I suppose I am glad enough of their help now, but what I am to do in the future with that pair, I know not."
Gilding gleamed briefly as Hereford slowly rotated an elegant shoe, his eyes following the movement of the light on the toe and instep. The weeks of quiet they had enjoyed since Walter had given Stephen something to think about had permitted Hereford to return to his normal sartorial magnificence. That had been a mistake, however, for the brilliant, gemlike colors, the gold and silver embroidery, the furs and jewels only made more noticeable the change in the man so adorned.
Rest had not improved Hereford's appearance much, although he was now perfectly clean, but that was possibly because he had taken no real rest. A sense of urgency so extreme possessed him now that sitting still, even when there was nothing he could possibly do, was a torment. He knew, somehow he knew, that time for something was drawing to a close. With a carefully controlled slowness, Hereford rotated his foot in the other direction. His hands resting on the arms of his chair quivered constantly although almost imperceptibly because of their tenseness.
"I know not either," he replied to Henry in a slightly bored voice. "But I can give you the comfort that they are no true-loving pair. You look too far ahead. If Stephen responds to this by turning north, as I hope, where shall we strike?"
There was a long pause as Henry pretended to consider while he really watched his companion. Nothing about the rigid control Hereford was exercising over himself, from the flat, bored tone of voice to the careful, slow movements, was lost. Henry had seen plenty of men pushed to their breaking points and knew the signs well, but week after week Roger of Hereford did not break, and as far as Henry knew there was nothing serious enough weighing upon him to account for his condition.
"Roger, how long have you been under arms?"
"Eight months, one week, and three days. Do you want to know the hours?"
"It is too long. Oh, be quiet, Roger, your answer alone shows it is too long. What man, except he be overworn and thinking overmuch of his home counts the days and hours he has been absent from it. You need rest—real rest, not this idling on tenterhooks waiting to attack or be attacked. Look you, Eustace is in the east battling Bigod. Stephen is likely, as you say, to turn northward again. I think you should go home for a few weeks, even a month or more. This is a good time for it, and I can summon you if there is a sudden need."
"I cannot deny that the rest would be welcome," Hereford replied in the measured tone that was more unnatural to him than a scream. "Mayhap there is reason to what you say."
"You will not desert me entirely?" Henry said, half laughing, and then as Hereford's face whitened still further, "Nay, Roger, it was but a jest. If you abode with me when all went ill, why should you part company when every thing promises well for us? I will make no more bad jokes. Go home and—"
"No!" Hereford leapt to his feet and began to pace the hall nervously. "No. Do not tempt me, my lord." He shuddered and came up to lay a hand on Henry's shoulder. "The devil himself must have put our parting into your mind, and some good angel made you say I should not desert you. No, by God, even at your urging, I will not yield to that dream—"
"What dream, Roger? Of what do you dream?"
Hereford passed his hand over his face, hesitating, and then said slowly in a shaking voice, "Of desertion, but by whom and of whom I do not know. The dream is ever the same—a great battle and through the fighting there is a—a feeling of joy, of success within the grasp of my hand. Then suddenly I am alone, riding through a strange, ravaged countryside with the feeling of failure and despair heavy upon me, but I do not feel like myself, I feel strange and distant as though, perhaps, it is not my body but my spirit that rides so. And all the time that I ride a voice calls, perhaps within me, perhaps to me, 'Do not go … Do not go now.' But still
I ride on and I know that I am alone, all alone, with no other human thing ever to come near me, and it is because I have deserted someone … or have been deserted. I do not know …"
"Only that?"
With an impatient gesture Hereford turned away and began to pace again. "How can I say what feeling oppresses me. What— Nonsense, Henry," he added suddenly with a slightly shaken laugh, coming back and sitting down. "It is nothing to do with us, I am sure. I have always had such dreams. Ever since my father died I have dreamt of being too late or making some mistake that has cost me and those I love dear. I feel lighter already for having spoken of it. I tell you," he said forcefully, as Henry stared at the fire with a troubled frown, "it is all nonsense. This talk can profit neither of us. We would spend our time better planning what move next to make."
"You say nonsense, yet you believe it enough to refuse to go home. Roger—"
"I do not believe in tempting fate when it is not necessary," Hereford replied firmly in a much more natural tone of impatience. "Besides, it is mad to abandon such an opportunity to make great gains. If Stephen takes his army north—and belike the fool will take those vassals from the south who are still under arms with him north alsohe will leave this area virtually naked of protection. What idiots we would be to take such a time to rest."
"Ay, that is true." Henry's natural optimism was already shaking off the uneasy superstitious fears Roger's tale had engendered in him. "What we should do is bid Gloucester to join us and strike hard."
"Good. Where?"
"Bridport."
"Why Bridport? Why not Faringdon?"
"Because a good port in our hands is always valuable and because I have had some strong indication that the castellan of the keep that guards the port is not all unfriendly to us. If we make a strong enough show of force before the gates, I am told, he will open to us without battle."
"But Henry de Tracy—"
"That is the rub,” Henry put in sharply. “We must prove to Bridport that we are stronger than de Tracy, and how to bring de Tracy to battle is more than I know. The man is wily as a fox, and very few of his keeps are as weak as Bruton. Particularly near the coast he has taken pains to make them nearly impregnable. I doubt that we could take anything near enough to Bridport to make an impression without great loss of time and men."
"Never mind that now,” Roger said. “Let us take one step forward at a time." Action, any action was so necessary to Hereford that even sensible planning paled into insignificance before his need. "For this we need Gloucester so that much depends upon his willingness. Let us go to him—we are doing nothing here anyway. I will lay you a small wager that he will think of a way to tempt de Tracy out. In such matters he is very keen."
Hereford would have lost that wager, although Earl William fulfilled every other expectation. When they arrived they were welcomed with knowing smiles, and William confirmed positively what they had only surmised, that Stephen had gathered his forces and already turned north.
"How do you know?"
"Ah, my lord, that would take too long to explain," William said smoothly, "but you may be assured that I am right. I know. I am so sure that I will offer, before you ask, to summon my vassals and join you in the field." His eyes wandered from Henry to Hereford. "Roger, my dear boy, you do not look at all well. I will be very cross with our dear overlord if he is pressing you too hard. To furrow such a brow with care is almost too great a price to pay—even for a crown. I would not treat you so."
"If Stephen of Blois is already gone northward," Henry said hurriedly, nobly casting himself into the breach he saw opening, "we had better set ourselves at once to the task of readying our own men. There is no time to lose."
"Certainly. My clerks have a list of the vassals whose military service is due and you may have it at once. But really, my concern is for the Earl of Hereford. You are with him constantly and perhaps have not noticed how pale and thin—"
"Do not concern yourself for me, William” Hereford interrupted. “However I look, I am no delicate flowerlet."
Gloucester restrained himself with a mighty effort from laughing. It was true that he had once approached Hereford with the idea of winning him sexually because of his beauty and his delicate appearance. He was far too clever a man, however, to need more than a slight hint that his attentions were unwelcome. It was just because Hereford reacted so violently that Gloucester could not deny himself the pleasure of tormenting him.
"But you will be ill if you continue to drive yourself," William murmured dulcetly. "Come, I will show you to a quiet room."
"I am never ill," Hereford snapped edgily.
"A good meal and a fresh wench would do him more good than quiet," Henry interposed, digging his elbow surreptitiously but painfully into Hereford's ribs. 'The only trouble with Roger is that he is like a hound, straining so eagerly at the leash in his desire for the hunt that he is near strangled. If you would improve his state, give him work so that he will cease from fretting at doing nothing. Give Hereford those lists, William," Henry said, taking Gloucester by the arm in a caressing manner and turning the full force of the charm he had inherited from his father upon him, "and come with me. He will have the benefit of a task that calls for little effort and will yet occupy his mind, and I need the benefit of your advice upon certain matters."