"They are young, and it is my fault also. I should have watched her more closely. Sir Giles, it is foolish to regret the harm that is done. If you will approach my lord with the offer, I believe he will be willing to consider the matter at least. I tell you he sets no store by the girl, and—"
"And nothing. What am I to say? Am I to suggest that I had the temerity to look so high for my penniless brother? I have children, Catherine—what can I give him? Or am I to suggest to the earl of Soke that his girl is so depraved that she would not be trustworthy were my brother denied her?"
Catherine laughed at his heat while she sighed at his reluctance. "The sad fact is that she is not overtrustworthy in this. She has a grudge against her father, not all unmerited, that makes her long to disobey him. If she could find another protector, I would not put it beyond her to urge him to take her without her father's consent."
Sir Giles shook his head, his eyes dark with anger. "If my brother so dishonors his name and his house, I will hunt him down myself. Let him go make confession to your lord, and whatever punishment is visited upon him, I will applaud it. I will lift no hand to help him steal what he has no right to."
How I hate men of honor, Catherine thought, looking after Sir Giles as he walked away. For honor he will destroy the brother he loves. It is fortunate that women are more wise than honorable. I will plead Andre's cause without concern for honor, thereby making two young people happy, giving my lord a strong and loyal son-by-marriage, and providing a blood connection of influence for Sir Giles. Where is the wrong in this pleading?
*
*
*
Andre, however, was pleading his own cause, all the better for not thinking of it once. No son could have been more tender and devoted, more impervious to insults and blows while nursing the irascible earl. He and Geoffrey had formed a strong conspiracy to keep Rannulf abed, forbidding all visitors for days and screening carefully the bits of news that were passed on to him. Both would have liked to carry Rannulf off to Oxford or some other safe keep, for his wound festered badly and would not heal, but Rannulf would not agree nor would the king, to whom Geoffrey had appealed, override Rannulf's order with his own.
All too soon the situation was taken out of their hands, Rannulf being summoned to the king's council. Soke grumbled so much at the order, wondering peevishly what a council could be needed for in the middle of a nearly successful siege, that Geoffrey and Andre had hopes he would refuse to go out of pure perversity. However, when Geoffrey, hoping to encourage that spirit in him, urged that a king's summons must be obeyed to ward off ill consequences, Rannulf turned on his son.
"If I followed my own inclinations and my own advantage, I would be sitting at home in my own keep and guarding my own lands. God knows," he said all the more bitterly because of his uncertainty, "that if a few more men were willing to do their duty without regard to their own good or ill consequences, we would not be snarling and snapping and leaping at each other's throats."
Rannulf's generally ugly mood was by no means improved by his trip to Stephen's tent, for he stubbornly refused to be carried in a litter. The distance was short, but for a man who had spent most of the preceding two weeks on his back, it was exhausting to walk even so far and the movement caused the half-healed wound to open in several places. He replied, therefore, with ill-natured grunts to those men who were unwise enough to greet him, and settled himself as comfortably as possible to listen to the business in hand.
"As you know," Stephen began, "I have received offers of a new truce from the earl of Hereford."
"I did not know," Rannulf muttered irritably to himself, "nor was I aware that he had broken the truce and could offer a new one."
"You do not call his constant attacks on us a violation of the truce?" Stephen asked sharply.
Rannulf laughed. "Truth, it seems, is not a matter of fact, but a choice of words. I would have said that Hereford was defending his allies against our attacks." He gestured indifference. "Say what you like."
"Hereford," Stephen continued, allowing his eyes to dwell on the earl of Soke, "proposes that our forces be united to wrest Worcester keep from Waleran de Meulan and destroy him."
A severe pang made Rannulf bite his underlip hard. "In the name of God," he growled, "surely you did not need to call a council to refuse so mad a proposition. Come to the root of the matter so I can get back to my bed."
"What is mad about the proposition?" Stephen asked stiffly
.
"I did not think it mad, nor did the rest of the council. You alone seem to know better. You have changed your tune strangely, Soke. But a few short months since, you urged us most straightly to keep the truce with Hereford. You even went to his keep to discuss the matter. Did you discover something there you do not choose to tell us? At that time you said Hereford was a truth-teller and an oath-keeper. Have you discovered different?"
Rannulf, aware that Stephen's attitude toward him had altered strangely but hoping it was mere irritability, ignored most of what the king said. He looked around the circle of seated men. "Did you all, indeed, agree to this?"
"Why not? Northampton asked.
"Why not?" Rannulf roared, at the end of his patience. "Waleran is Leicester's twin brother. Is it safe to infuriate Robert at this time by attacking de Meulan when he has not offended us? If that is not sufficient reason, we are almost successful here. Why should we raise the siege and run off on some harebrained plan of an enemy's choosing?"
"Calm yourself, Soke," Simon replied without heat. "We will thrust the blame for the attack on Waleran onto Hereford, naturally. Also, we said nothing of raising the siege. You know how we have been bedeviled by Hereford's attacks. Because of them, we did not dare assault Wallingford, leaving our backs naked. Let Hereford but take his men off to Worcester, and we will use the chance to assault Wallingford."
"With what force? More than promises will have to be given to Hereford before he will draw his men away. Do you realize that the terms of service of many of the men here are drawing to a close?"
"Money will be found to pay the men to stay here longer," Stephen put in, "and we will be rid of Waleran who is a curse of the worst sort."
The mention of money brought an expression of uneasiness to many of the faces of the council. Northampton frowned. "It is getting less and less easy to find gold, my lord. Let us borrow the time from next year's service. If we can but put down the rebels firmly once, there will be no need for fighting men next year. Besides, it will not matter even if they do not stay. So much of our strength has been taken up in guarding our rear from Hereford that scarce a tithe of difference will be made by what we send to Worcester."
A younger voice added eagerly, "It is true that Waleran is in Worcester keep. So much we have made sure of, and also that William Beauchamp is his prisoner."
"Then let Hereford go to Beauchamp's aid alone," Rannulf snapped. "Then we will be sure he, not we, enrages Leicester, and we will be eased of his annoyance as well as if we lent him aid. He is bound to help Beauchamp for his honor's sake."
There was a restless murmur from the younger men, and Rannulf rubbed his head, which ached with fever. His hand was so cold on his own forehead that he shuddered, The impatience of Stephen's younger vassals was comprehensible to him; a siege was weary, dreary work. It was depressing to think of the brave men within the keep, of their women and children, starving and thirsty. Besides, the lands around Wallingford had been so ravaged that food was scarce for the besiegers also, and even the sport of raiding was withdrawn.
That the younger men should desire action was understandable. What was incomprehensible was that men like Northampton and Warwick seemed to agree with the young hotheads. Rannulf wondered if his illness and his ever-growing desire to be free of this war were clouding his mind, and he addressed himself to Warwick who had been silent throughout the previous exchange.
"You, too, agree to this? But wherefore? Where is our profit? We divide our forces, send them to another siege or exhaust them with another hard battle—for what purpose?"
"So that all men may see that Hereford had need to come to the king for help," Stephen snapped before Warwick could open his mouth. "They can see also that even the worst rebel receives that help when it is humbly asked. Will that not shake Hereford's supporters?"
Stephen glared at Rannulf and continued, "Do you not see profit in that? Or do you see it too clearly? You were eager enough to have me offer clemency to Hereford before he asked it, thereby, perhaps, showing that we feared him. Now that he sues humbly, you oppose the making of terms. Perhaps you are unwilling for all men to perceive the rebel's weakness."
The reasoning was good and Hereford was an honorable man; in spite of this Rannulf's body was braced as if to face an unseen danger. Stephen had all but accused him of treason. Rannulf met his lord's eyes steadily, but he was heartsick. There was a trap here somewhere, he could feel it, almost smell it as one could sometimes smell men hidden in ambush, and he dared not argue because Stephen in this mood would only become more obstinate.
Northampton looked uneasily from the king to his friend. "My lord, there is no harm in a just caution. The earl of Soke is right to question, and it is better to be sure his fears are groundless than to quarrel among ourselves. Rannulf, we are all in agreement that it would be expedient to accept Hereford's submission. We do not intend to send more than a token force to support him. Indeed, we are come together now to take thought for the best disposition of our forces to accomplish our purpose."
A general murmur of approval drove home to Rannulf the hopelessness of his position. The argument of who should go and who should stay rose and fell around him unheeded, until, at last, a question asked directly aroused him.
"Since I cannot stand against the full council, nor yet bring myself to agree with it," Rannulf replied wearily, "I must seek to salve my conscience as best I may." He turned to Stephen, and the memory of years of kindness, of unasked favors freely bestowed, of genuine affection, made him purposely blind to the look of fear and suspicion in his overlord's face. "Do not ask me to decide what is best on a matter of which I disapprove. Give me orders, and I will obey."
The weary weeks dragged into months, the warm rains of September yielding to the bright, nipping days of October. Time proved to Rannulf, who had been told that since he favored the siege of Wallingford he could abide there, that his instinct had been right. Worcester did not fall to assault, even though Stephen drew more and more men from Wallingford, and in the end, Wallingford did not fall either.
The forces were spread too thin; time and again breaches were made in the encircling camps of the besiegers and supplies were brought in to the keep. Not much, perhaps, and not often, but enough to keep life in the bodies of the defenders. At last it became a moot question whether the besieged or the besiegers would die first of starvation. No good was to be gotten from the ravaged land, and what supplies were sent from other counties went to the king at Worcester.
Nothing went well. Rannulf's health was not much improved for he had an intermittent fever and the thigh wound still drained, although most of his strength had returned. Far more important was that the news Rannulf had from Leicester concerning the campaign in France grew steadily worse. Henry, as if merely stimulated by the defeat at Neuf-Marche, ravaged the valley between the rivers Isca and Andelle, took and burned the castles of Baskerville, Chitrey, and Stirpiney. With hardly a pause for breath, he added Brueboles and Ville to the score of keeps destroyed. Then he besieged and conquered Mount Sorel, bringing to heel his brother Geoffrey who had joined Eustace and Louis in a fit of dissatisfaction.
With his customary indulgence to those he loved, Henry promptly forgave Geoffrey and enlisted him in his own service. Together they turned upon Louis, who was attacking in Normandy, driving him off before he could complete the destruction of Bourg Reguliar.
"That is all the matter of fact I have to recount," Leicester wrote, "but I have heard rumors as strong as these facts. It is said that Louis will compound with Henry in spite of Eustace's will and that Henry, who in the flush of his successes might profitably refuse a truce, will accept the terms. I have heard that he will do this because Hereford has sent letters and messengers plainly stating that if Henry does not come now, he will have nothing to come to—all matters moving themselves to consort to Stephen's will."
Rannulf blinked and laid down the letter for a moment. That last sentence—the first part so horribly true and the last a flat lie. It did not sound like Hereford, but . . .
He read again, "This does not sound like Hereford's way, but he may be desperate, and his actions tend to confirm it, in that he has withdrawn the major part of his forces from the action at Worcester. So much as this I have written to Stephen, begging him to leave Waleran to his own devices and leave me to manage him and bring him to depart from Worcester in peace. Whether Stephen will act upon it, God alone knows. For the love I bear you, I add this: in spite of the near-success of most of Stephen's ventures, the temper of the barons is very bad. The tenacity of Henry's desire to have the English throne, added to the increase of his power from marriage with the Poitevin she-wolf, has convinced many that there will be no peace until his desire is satisfied. If Henry comes, it will be necessary to take him or kill him
at once
in one great battle. Should he withstand or defeat Stephen even once, there will be a rush to his standard. Take heed, Rannulf, and God keep you."
Rannulf was torn as he had never been torn before. If he thought he had reached the ultimate in pain when Catherine had shaken his confidence in war, he now knew better. In a way, it mattered very little to him what happened, for he was a loser whether Henry came to the throne or Stephen held it. These new defeats would turn Eustace into a ravening wolf, and if Louis made truce and Henry came to England, Eustace would follow.