Stuart, Elizabeth (33 page)

Jocelyn
held herself very still. Her ears were roaring, her heart crowding high and
choking in her throat. Everyone was looking to her for guidance—these great
rough men, many with tears running down their faces.

She
tried to swallow and couldn't. "We will assume, then, that he is living.
That he can be ransomed. They would not dare—" She tried to finish and
couldn't. "They would
not!"

She
searched blindly through the crowd for a face that had been her savior in that
darkest moment in Belavoir's woodland when she thought she was going to die.
She saw him, steadied herself. "Sir Aymer, fetch Geoffrey to his tent. Get
him wine, food, see to aught else he needs. I will be there—"

Despite
all her efforts, her voice broke. She fumbled for words, for the courage she
knew Robert would expect. "I will be there to see to his wounds myself...
after a bit."

She
moved through the crowd, praying to make it inside without fragmenting before
these men—men who so desperately needed to hope.

One
of the men knelt, whispered
"Lady!"
as she passed, as if the word
were both adulation and prayer. Another sank to his knees with the same word
and then another. And then all Robert's men were kneeling around her while
golden lions fluttered crimson against the brilliant sky overhead.

Jocelyn
fought a suffocating rush of tears. It was an effort to breathe, almost
impossible to speak. "I thank you for your loyalty. We will get him back,
I swear. Someone send to Stephen. And find de Lucy. Tell Richard de Lucy all
that has passed." Then she turned and stumbled into the dark and quiet of
the tent, into a rushing, drowning swirl of memories.

Outside
in the sunlight, Aymer put his arm around Sir Geoffrey. "Here, lean on me.
She's right, you know. Chester will know he can seek a king's ransom for
Robert. They won't be fool enough to kill him. He's far too rich a prize."

Geoffrey
groaned and shook his head. "I didn't tell her the worst, Aymer. I... I
could not!" He leaned heavily against his friend and stared back toward
the tent. "Before God, Aymer, I know not whether to pray that Robert be
living or dead. Henry of Anjou was on that field. I did see his blue and gold
myself."

Aymer
stared at the fluttering lions, the hope dying out of his eyes. "An ill
day for us, then," he said softly. "An ill day."

Somehow
Jocelyn got through that terrible afternoon. She managed to gather herself
together enough to clean and treat Geoffrey's wounds and to take in what he had
to say about the Angevins. Though Robert had always refused to discuss the
matter, she knew the enmity between her husband and Henry of Anjou was of a
personal nature. And from the despair in Geoffrey's voice, she realized he knew
as well.

Richard
de Lucy came at once, assuring her everything possible was being done, that the
king stood ready to offer almost anything to see his friend released. Then a
courier was dispatched to Ranulf of Chester to inquire after Robert and begin
the delicate matter of arranging a ransom.

Those
next days of waiting and wondering were terrible for Jocelyn, worse even than
those darkest hours when Brian had held her in Belavoir. She went on as before,
mending her husband's clothing, sewing with her maid, smiling at anxious lord
and worried man-at-arms alike— lying awake half the night, beseeching all the
saints in heaven for Robert's life.

Then
the messenger arrived from Chester with a curtly-worded message. Yes, Robert de
Langley was alive. No, he would not be ransomed. There was nothing beyond that.

Jocelyn's
spirits surged. At least Robert was alive. But alive for what? To be held
prisoner, caged at his enemy's pleasure? She knew a bit of that now herself,
knew such a life would be worse than death for a man like Robert. Doubtless his
enemies knew it as well. She'd heard stories of terrible cruelties on both
sides in these wars. Was that why they kept Robert alive?

And
then de Lucy came, bringing hope yet
again. "Ranulf does but toy with
us, swine that he is, seeking to raise the price. Tutbury has fallen and they
are all to go to Warwick. We will send to him there."

Again
the couriers rode forth and again returned with a message. Only this time de
Lucy came, grim-faced, to Jocelyn's tent. He held out a roll of parchment and
she took it, staring at the unfamiliar seal with a sense of dread.

"It
is for you, madam. From Anjou," he said softly. "That is the devil
seal of Anjou."

Jocelyn
moved instinctively to the table and sat down, staring at the seal as if it
possessed some dread power of its own. Then she broke it, spread the page with
trembling fingers.

The
words dipped and swam, bold slashing letters that writhed like blackened snakes
across the page:
My
Lady de Langley, I do commend myself to you. I write to tell you that your lord
husband was sore wounded as you must know by now. I have taken him from the
earl of Chester and placed him under my protection. My personal physician is in
attendance. Your lord is a man of much determination, as you must know by now
as well. He is recovering.

I
write to tell you this so that you will not grieve unduly, so that you may send
clothing, letters, any personal items you wish with this messenger. You may
trust me to see them safely to your lord without interference.

It
is my very great regret to inform you, however, that your lord is my prisoner
and will remain so... for so long as this land is torn. You may say to that
Stephen who does call himself king of England that the only ransom I will accept
for Robert de Langley is a crown.

Jocelyn
lifted her head, staring blindly as the words swam together. "He does
say," she said bitterly, "that he will never let Robert go."

De
Lucy stepped forward and snatched up the letter.

Jocelyn
reached for her wine cup and swallowed without tasting, without even realizing
what she did. Henry of Anjou held her husband—that same Henry who had ordered
Robert and a half-dozen men burned alive. And there would be no ransom... no
ransom that could ever be paid!

She
would send Robert's things as Henry had
suggested, but she would send something
else with that messenger tomorrow. "I'm going myself," she said
rising to her feet. "I'll plead for Robert. I won't let the duke deny me.

De
Lucy was frowning. "That might not be wise. This Angevin's mind is
difficult to fathom. If he does, indeed, hate your husband, it might be best
not to put yourself in his power as well."

Jocelyn
shook her head. "He won't dare hurt me. I'll travel with his courier under
a flag of truce. If he dares touch me he'll be condemned by the Church and by
every honest lord in this land."

"I
wonder," de Lucy said, "if he would even care."

***

Jocelyn
readied herself quickly for the trip to Warwick. She would take only Geoffrey
and three other knights. She thought of taking her maid but discarded the idea.
She had no idea what they would be riding into, didn't want a creature who
would be weeping and complaining at every turn.

She
spent the evening writing letters at a furious pace, letters she would have de
Lucy dispatch for her on the morrow. She might say with confidence that Henry
wouldn't touch her, but in her heart she wasn't sure. She wanted everyone to
know of her mission, to know that she went to plead for her husband, to beg
them to intercede for him as well.

She
wrote first to Adelise, asking her to entreat Pelham to speak for Robert. That
was the easy letter. She and Adelise had continued to correspond and even
Robert and Edward had sent a few cautious and carefully worded messages back
and forth.

Next
she wrote to every prince of the Church, even the archbishop of Canterbury,
begging his personal intervention on behalf of so ardent a man of faith as her
husband.

Then
came the princes of the realm, every lord she had ever heard Robert speak of
with a kindly word. She even wrote to the earl of Leicester, a short, carefully
worded missive designed to prick both his conscience and his pride.

She
steeled herself for this last one, a letter to her
father—the man she
did still think of as her father despite all Brian had said. She had never
asked William Montagne for much, not even a trinket. Now she asked, begged,
that he would do what he could for Robert, for the sake of a daughter he had
ignored all his life, for the sake of the blood bond they shared.

Last
of all, she went through her husband
's things, forcing herself to keep her
wits about her, to think what Robert would most wish to have. And deep in the
bottom of his coffer, she found something she hadn't expected. The topaz ring
he had given her. The ring she had flung at that woman at Leaford in a rage of
jealousy and hurt.

She
sank back on her heels, gripping the ring so tightly the edging about the stone
cut her hand. Then she kissed it and slipped
it back onto her finger where it
belonged.

"He
will not keep you," she murmured. "That devil of Anjou will not keep
you, Robert. Not if I must move heaven and earth and all that does lie in
between!"

***

They
left
at dawn the following morning with Henry's messenger, a proud, curt man dressed
in the new style from across the Channel. "I cannot stop you from
coming," the man said in his heavily-accented French, "but I tell you
I will not slow my pace for a woman. My lord prince does require his couriers
to travel as swiftly as he does himself."

He
grinned, looked her up and down rudely. "You may find that too quick for
your taste, lady, though if you drop behind you'll be left to fend for
yourself. Without a safe conduct from my lord, you might find it difficult to
travel in the places we'll be."

Jocelyn
swung her fretting mount
in
a tight circle about the man, thankful Geoffrey wasn't near enough to have
heard such insolence. If this was the behavior to be expected from the
Angevins, England might soon be a sad place. "Look to yourself," she
said sharply. "We will see which of us it is who falls behind."

They
traveled as swiftly as the man had boasted, and by virtue of the dry roads and
fine June weather reached Warwick by late afternoon. Jocelyn stared at the
tents of the army spread like a vast undulating sea along the
river Avon, at
the great wall and towers of the castle rising just above the town. It was a
lovely place, Warwick, but she couldn't help thinking of its treacherous
countess, of the shamed death of the proud old earl.

She
scanned the town and the castle eagerly. Robert was held here somewhere, at
least she prayed to God he was. She hoped she would soon see that for herself.

They
rode along the river and into the huge city of tents. The courier had told her
the duke kept a fine pavilion in the center of his men as well as a bedchamber
awaiting him up at the castle. He was often back and forth between them at all
hours of the day and night. With all his lord's restless energy one never knew
exactly where he might be found, the man bragged.

Jocelyn
dismounted with Geoffrey's help, watched with misgivings as their weary,
lathered mounts were led away. She was gambling their freedom—possibly even
their lives —on Henry's honor. But she hadn't a choice. Robert's life was worth
that and more.

The
messenger grunted and motioned for Geoffrey to follow him. "We must find
the duke, see what he wants done with you. The rest of you wait here."

"I'll
ask for Leicester," Geoffrey whispered as he left. "I saw some of his
men as we rode in."

Jocelyn
nodded and watched the men stride away, longing for a drink to wash the dust
from her throat. But no one had offered even so much as a stool to sit down on.

Idle
soldiers were beginning to gather around her little group, to stare and murmur,
though there were none of any standing to take charge. One man did drag out a
bench and Jocelyn thanked him with a smile. "I'm here to speak to Duke
Henry," she said. "His man has gone to see where he can be
found."

"He's
out hunting," a familiar voice said from behind her. "You'll not find
him tonight."

Jocelyn
jerked to her feet, spinning about so quickly the bench was upended.

"I'm
glad I see you well, sister," Brian said with a wide false smile.
"You must come with me now. We have much to discuss."

"No!"
It was only one word but Jocelyn said it so
sharply her men sprang instantly into
readiness, swords drawn.

The
loitering soldiers began to shout and draw weapons, and Brian stepped forward
into the confusion, a sure and confident authority backed by his status of
birth and knighthood. "This lady is my sister and I will take her under my
care. As for these men, hold them. They are knights of Stephen seeking to spy
out our camp."

Jocelyn
didn't wait to hear any more. Kicking the bench against her brother's legs, she
turned and fled between the tents. If Brian took her, she might not live to see
Henry.

She
heard Brian's favorite curse quickly bitten off, the sharp clatter of swords
coming together, more men shout
ing. Someone was trying to slow her brother at
least. She only hoped Robert's men didn't give their lives in vain.

She
raced past two other tents, saw a rough soldier look up from the cooking fires
he tended. "Leicester?" she called desperately, speaking the one name
she dared claim. "Where is the earl's camp? Please, it is urgent!"

"There
to the right. Across the pasture." The man gestured. "But I doubt he
is..."

Jocelyn
turned and raced on. She could hear men behind her, shouting. Brian must have
more men in pursuit. God, she hadn't even thought of her brother, hadn't
dreamed he would be here in the Angevin camp. All her thoughts had been focused
on Henry, on what she would say, how best to approach so mercurial and powerful
a lord.

Across
a wide grassy space, hobbled horses were graz
ing. She could see the earl of
Leicester's standard fluttering over a cluster of tents.

"There
she is. Stop that woman!" someone shouted behind her. "She's a spy...
Stephen's spy!"

Jocelyn
caught her skirts higher, racing between the startled, nervous horses, sending
them milling and plunging between herself and the men. How dare he say that!
How dare Brian set these men on her with such a tale!

"Spy!
Stop that spy!"

Some
of Leicester's men were trying to intercept her. If only someone might
recognize her, speak for her. If only Leicester were here!

She
ran gasping, feinted once as a man grabbed at her,
then ducked
round two horses.
God, please God let Leicester be here!

One
of the men caught her, jerked her roughly toward him and gave her a sharp slap.
She struck back. "Robert... Robert of Leicester! she screamed. "I
demand to see Leicester."

"Let
her go! You have a lady, fool, can you not tell?"

The
man obeyed, releasing her so quickly Jocelyn stumbled and almost fell. She spun
toward the voice, was surprised to see a man standing just to one side of Leicester's
tent—a short man flanked by several others. She took in his short cloak, his
close-cropped hair and trim, reddish beard, his arrogant air of command.