At the high table Henry, with Gloucester on one side and Hereford on the other, made merry, applying every ounce of his immense energy to enjoying himself in the same way that he applied it to fighting or planning when necessary. Lacking his strength and ability, many of the men at the long tables that lined the sides of the hall had given up. Some lay across the boards, their faces and clothes stained with wine and food, some lay underneath, and the dogs nuzzled under them seeking the garbage thrown into the rushes. Some, however, still sat more or less upright watching the jugglers, acrobats, and dancing girls perform.
It was from this group of entertainers that Hereford had picked his wench, her flashing dark eyes and loose, oiled hair having caught his attention. A gold coin flipped upward and caught once or twice had drawn her closer and closer, followed by an elderly man who played the flute he held in one hand while he rattled a tambourine with the other.
"Up." Hereford laughed and gestured, and the girl leapt nimbly onto the table.
Hereford
steadied the trestle table with one hand and threw the coin, which the girl caught with practiced skill as she whirled about. He drew his sword. At that a swift expression of fear crossed her face—some of the lords were unbelievably cruel and could get pleasure only from inflicting pain. However the fear was replaced just as swiftly by laughter as he used the weapon to sweep the table clear of food and drink and not to cut her.
"Dance!" Hereford cried, making a low, slow swipe at her legs.
Laughing, the girl leapt over the blade; laughing, Hereford wielded it more quickly and still more quickly.
The bells on the dancer's ankles tinkled, her swinging skirts exposed lovely, dark-shining legs, her hair flew wide, now and again striking the faces of the watching men. Suddenly Hereford lifted and twisted his newly sharpened weapon and a whole section of the girl's skirt drifted slowly to the floor. Henry roared his appreciation, pushing aside the woman he was holding to see more clearly, and Gloucester put down his drink to watch with avid eyes.
"I'll lay you ten golden pounds that you cannot strip her naked thus without marking her skin," Henry wagered.
"Done," Hereford agreed.
"You cannot do it, Roger. You are three parts drunk and your eye is out for such fine work. Moreover that longsword is no weapon for stripping women. Hedge—take your poniard." That was Gloucester, soberer than the others and thinking it a shame to slash such a pretty wench.
The girl had stopped, and stood trembling through this exchange, and her father had come forward. He dared not protest, not when their lordships were obviously hot with wine, but he was drawn forward irresistibly. It was at that point that Hereford had lifted and drained his goblet again.
"Dance," he said to the girl, "quick." And then focusing on her for a moment so that her terror penetrated to him, he smiled gently. "Have no fear, I will not hurt you. Dance."
He did not hurt her, and as her confidence grew and more and more of her body was exposed without a prick she abandoned herself to the rhythm, hypnotized by her own movements and by the flashing blade. She did not even realize when Hereford won his wager and the last rag dropped from her, but continued to dance, the uncertain light gleaming on her fresh body, her high immature breasts and her rich rounded thighs moist with her exertion. A sensuous smile curved Hereford's mouth as he drank, watched, and drank more. Eventually the girl dropped and Hereford caught her. With his free hand he fumbled in his purse and drew two more golden coins, which he flung to the father.
"My lord," the man cried, knowing when it was safe to speak, "she is a maid."
Hereford shook his head at that and laughed. "Then you are fortunate in having a gentleman to pluck the bud."
He was too wise, even drunk, to be taken, and besides he was too drunk to care what the girl was. Vaguely he thought that he would give her a few coins more or one of the many gold chains that decked his garments if it were true. Some days later he remembered that and wondered whether she had been a virgin and whether he had suitably rewarded her, but he could not recall what had happened, and it was a very unimportant incident in the rush of events that followed.
These events were introduced in the most horrible way possible, by a hand roughly shaking a sore shoulder and a voice that pierced a much sorer head. "Roger, wake up!"
"Go away," Hereford replied thickly, burying his head in the pillows.
"Don't be a fool, Roger. Wake up. Devizes is under siege."
Jerked upright by an involuntary reaction of his muscles, Hereford gasped, "What?" and then gagged as the excruciating pain in his head really gripped him.
"I have had word, not ten minutes since."
Henry was mercilessly pressing a parchment into his hand, and Hereford, controlling his nausea with a mighty effort, took it. Try as he would, however, the words would not come into focus until he closed one eye and turned his head sideways to squint at the message. There could be no doubt about it. The short, frantic note was more than an appeal, it was a demand for help, immediate help. Hereford dropped the letter and seized his aching head in both hands, groaning.
"Pull yourself together," Henry said sharply, and then laughed in spite of his rage as Hereford painfully looked up at him.
The brilliant sunlight was a torment, but there was some comfort in Henry's own haggard countenance, which gave evidence of a discomfort similar to his own. "Wine," was all he found himself capable of mumbling and Henry, too impatient to call for a servant, brought it with his own hands. A few moments after that had gone down Hereford, wincing but rational, bent to pick up the letter again. That nearly brought disaster, and a cold sweat covered him as he fought to keep the wine down.
"The hand looks like the castellan's scribe, but” Hereford stopped and then asked, “Who brought the message?"
"What can it matter?" Henry said impatiently.
"For God's sake, keep your voice down, you are killing me. It matters because it may well be a trap. To draw us out of here in force, leaving our prize unprotected … to draw us along the shortest, best-known route to Devizes so that we may be ambushed—"
"Nay,” Henry interrupted. “Harry Fortesque brought it. Do you doubt him?"
"No. What says he?"
"Eustace!"
Hereford uttered a brief obscenity and then said, "I thought Hugh Bigod was keeping him busy."
Henry snorted. "Plainly he is not. Make ready, Roger. Fortesque tells me it is a really desperate attempt on the keep. They have every variety of siege engine and a huge force. Eustace recks no cost this time. He says he will take Devizes or die."
"How came Fortesque through the lines?"
"Ask him yourself! Do I look as if I spared the time for useless questions?"
Certainly he did not. Henry's powerful body was naked beneath a hastily corded robe, his feet bare in the rushes on the cold stone. He looked sick and angry, his gray eyes cold as granite. Devizes and Wallingford were the two keeps most fanatically devoted to his cause. Not once since 1135 had they wavered in their allegiance, and thus far no attack, no matter how vicious, had even threatened to overthrow their great strength. So many years had passed since Stephen had even cast an eye in their direction that Henry had blithely left only a token force to defend the castles when he summoned the men for the taking of Bridport, and Hereford, usually more cautious because of previous bitter experience, had agreed without a protest to this folly. It was useless to cry over spilt milk now; haste was essential, but haste with safety.
"Listen, Henry—"
"What ails you? Will you speak more of treachery? We cannot take the chance of losing Devizes even if this is a trap. We must go—now! By God's bright eyes, I will go alone if you will not."
Hereford stifled another groan. "Yes, yes, we must go, I agree, but listen. It would be madness to leave this place as naked as we left Devizes. Dare we trust him who opened without protest to you after he had sworn to Stephen? Gloucester cares nothing for Devizes and, as you know, will not fight. Let him stay here. I warrant you he will be happy enough to do so."
"Nonsense. We need his men."
"Ay. So go smile at him and wheedle him. Let him bid his vassals obey you until their service be finished or until he calls them elsewhere. Some may stay here, together with the wounded who anyway cannot ride far or be of use in heavy fighting although they may well be able to help defend this place at need."
"That is good sense." Henry's face became slightly less rigid. It was a plan he approved of in all aspects, for the present need and for the possibility of impressing Gloucester's vassals sufficiently so that they might lean to his side if a quarrel ever arose between himself and their master. Hereford was not ignorant of this and, although he did not entirely approve of Henry's ways, felt that the need outweighed any consideration he owed Gloucester. Let Gloucester be more active and see to his own vassals, Hereford thought, I am not above keeping mine on a tight rein.
"Meanwhile," Roger said, his complexion turning grayish green as he got out of bed and the movement initiated a new wave of nausea and head-throbbing, "I will see what can be done about rousing the men." He managed a wry smile. "No light task if, as I know well is true, the better part of them is no merrier than myself."
Whatever the weight of the task, it was done. In spite of their rebellious murmurings both lordly vassals and common men-at-arms dragged themselves into their clothing and armor and onto their horses. It was fortunate that a long ride faced them before it would be necessary to engage in fighting, for a more wretched army would be hard to find. The two leaders alone seemed capable of doing anything more than moaning and clinging to their mounts. Cursing and cajoling the men had cleared Hereford's head, although it still ached abominably and his stomach still occasionally heaved.
Henry, on the contrary, seemed in fine fettle, for he had thrown off the effects of overindulgence with the same resilience that he threw off fatigue or depression. He was tense and eager, anxious to rescue the only home he had in England from the results of his own error. It was well indeed that they had not delayed an instant, well that they had ridden through the night, well that Henry had protested taking any rest except a brief two-hour stop to feed and water the horses and take some nourishment themselves when they were only a few miles from Devizes.
The long ride had cleared the men's hangovers, the rest and food restored their vigor so that when they came in sight of the keep they were prepared to throw themselves upon its attackers immediately. And they were not a moment too soon. Fortesque had spoken no more than the truth. Indeed, for an agonized few moments both Henry and Hereford thought they were too late.
Smoke rose from fires through the keep where the Greek fire cast over the walls by giant catapults had set outbuildings ablaze. The moat had been filled in several places with earth and brush so that two giant
beffrois
, towers constructed of timber and covered with rawhide, could be rolled up to the walls permitting Eustace's foot soldiers to scale that height perfectly protected and attack the defenders. Great trebuchets, three of the largest they had ever seen, burled huge stones at the walls, which were already breached in one place, and, although the immense oaken gates still held, they were obviously being shaken by the blows of the battering ram.
The vision of the destruction already accomplished had almost convinced Henry that the keep had fallen, and he flew into such a rage that even Hereford, who had seen his ungovernable temper many times before and had a temper of his own, was startled. He too thought the keep was taken and briefly wondered whether it would be necessary to restrain Henry by force from throwing his life away in a hysterical, disorganized attempt to regain it at one stroke.
A moment's longer observation, however, showed that only the outer walls were breached and even these were being defended. Shrieks of agony rose from time to time from the attackers as cartwheels soaked in pitch and set aflame were tossed down into their midst. Wherever scaling ladders went up, they were cast back again, and large stones were rolled off the walls onto those attempting to mount them. Again and again, too, a whole section of wall would be cleared as huge cauldrons of pitch or boiling oil were raised by willing hands and poured down. The
beffrois
were not making much progress either, for the catapults and trebuchets of Devizes had been drawn into position against them and were firing stones or very large arrows with deadly regularity.
"Steady," Hereford said, clutching Henry's arm, his voice trembling a little with relief, "the keep is still ours. How best may we fall upon them?"
Henry grunted sullenly in reply. He had also seen the situation. Now his eyes ranged over as much of the field as was visible, hard and calculating. "It would be better if we had time to send riders around and discover if their full force is here or if more lie outside of our vision—but there is no time. Look, Hereford, while we are watching their spirits or maybe their numbers fail. The defense grows weaker; they are preparing to abandon the outer wall."
"I am not blind. Quick. I will fall upon those at the breach, you take the parties by the gate and towers."
"Accursed litter of accursed parents!” Henry bawled. “When I lay my hands upon him, I will tear him limb from limb. I will return him to his father piece by piece—"
"Let us fight, not talk." Hereford cut in.
Henry made another effort to control himself. He took a deep breath and said through gritted teeth. “Wait, I will have their camp too. I swear, not a man will go from this place alive, except he be naked and on foot.” He turned his horse back to where Gloucester’s chief vassals rode and said to them. “Let your men fall upon the camp." Giving specific orders, ending with, "Kill them—man and boy—whoever is in the camp. Cut the horses loose or slay them also. What cannot be taken or guarded—burn! They will not fall upon my keeps again, I swear it."