“In any case,” he said, “you may count on the harbors below Wick and Tarring. Unfortunately, they are not large, but we can give succor and supplies to a few ships—so long as Daubeny and his men commit no outrages. I do not wish to exchange one set of reavers for another.”
Pembroke accepted that with a shrug. “That is another reason why Daubeny comes here. It will be best if all is clear and open—what help he may count upon and what obligations he will be under.” His eyes wandered across the hall to where his son was still talking with Arundel. “I wish he would decide one way or the other and be gone,” Pembroke said softly. “If Daubeny must wait too long, doubts may be raised in him.”
The wish was fulfilled with surprising promptness. Even as the words left Pembroke’s lips, young William moved away from Arundel and gestured for his father to take his place. The next day Arundel returned home to discuss matters with his own vassals. He had no doubts about their enthusiastic reception of his change of heart. They, too, had become more and more dissatisfied with their relationship with the French prince and his followers. So sure was Arundel of his men’s reaction that he had already made a definite date for his reception and swearing to the young king. Pembroke sighed with relief and dismissed the matter from his mind. Arundel would not break his word.
The meeting with Philip Daubeny took place little more than a week later, and its conclusion was equally satisfactory. By the end of February, Eustace was no longer having things all his own way. Daubeny could not muster as many ships as the Monk, nor were his as large, but many of the men who sailed them were bitter victims of Eustace’s raiding and they fought ingeniously as well as hard. More merchantmen ventured into safe English ports as their confidence increased that they would not be attacked when they sailed out again. Lone ships of Eustace’s fleet did not return to their home port with increasing frequency. The narrow sea was no longer a safe and private road for them.
Moreover, the English coast grew less and less hospitable. At one time any of the Monk’s ships could sail into almost any port east of Portsmouth and demand supplies. Now, if the ships were not well manned and very wary, they were sometimes refused with contumely; sometimes the ships were attacked as they tried to sail out of the harbor; sometimes they were welcomed with apparent friendliness, and, when suspicion was lulled and stores were being loaded, they were attacked.
The truce with Louis ran out at Easter, but Louis was still in France and his men were still roistering in London. Pembroke did not waste this opportunity. He took nearly all of the castles held by Louis’s adherents in Surrey, Sussex and Hampshire, including Saer de Quincy’s own stronghold in Winchester. Pembroke did not deceive himself that he could hold all these places, but they were stripped of supplies and gold and everything else of value, which went to buy more men for the young king. “Besides,” Pembroke said to Adam and Geoffrey, who had gone with him for “something to do”, “I prefer the war be fought on the ground of Louis’s vassals rather than Henry’s.”
Gilliane was again frightened, but Adam’s letters came every few days without fail and the dreadful terror that choked her life came only in little spurts now and again. At the beginning of April, Geoffrey and Adam returned, unhurt and completely delighted with the good time they had enjoyed, as well as with the loot that bulged the bags and baskets their pack animals carried. Word had come that Louis was on the coast of France, preparing to return to England. The temporary holders of the castles Pembroke had taken were all warned. They were to exact as high a toll in life and goods as they could from Louis’s men, and then yield up the places. Stripped as they were, with the new crops barely in or only a few inches high and winter stores exhausted everywhere, the keeps would be as much a burden as an asset to their new captors. Men like Geoffrey and Adam had been dismissed to attend to their own concerns while Pembroke waited to see what Louis would do so that he could lay his own plans.
In London, Osbert was not sure whether or not he was glad Louis was on his way back. His funds were running dangerously low, and he had found a growing reluctance among the resident lords to receive him as a guest. Thus, he certainly needed the prince’s patronage. Louis had not received him before he left England, having far more pressing business. Osbert was reasonably sure that the information he had about Adam being the one to blacken FitzWalter’s name—although it was very stale news by now—would bring some reward. The lack of funds had also impressed upon Osbert the absolute need to get Tarring back into his hands. It was the only source of income available to him. He knew that it was impossible to return to France. Now that his father was dead, his brother would be far more likely to kill him than to support him. Tarring it must be, even if he must fight for it.
At that idea, Osbert shuddered and his mind squirmed away from the images of pain and terror inherent in an assault. Oh, he would not mind watching. There was pleasure in watching others scream and writhe. But when Osbert felt himself endangered, his sense of enjoyment failed. There must be some other way to regain what was rightfully his. Yet, he knew there was not. If Adam had left the old mercenaries, there might have been a chance of bribing them, perhaps by allowing them to raid and loot the port town. The information from the whores had closed that door, however. Alberic’s men were proud of their master, their discipline, even of the respect in which they were held by the townspeople. There might be one or two bad apples in the contingent that held Tarring, but…
Osbert’s mind swung back to the thought of bad apples. Surely there must be some way to take Tarring by trickery. But what good would one or two men be? Most of the troop believed the sun rose and set on their master. Besides, even if a traitor should allow a few men in by a secret route, the others would fight bitterly and Osbert wanted no part of that. In addition, Osbert was not at all sure he trusted his informants or those who said they did not love Adam. Perhaps they would take a bribe and then run with the information to their master-at-arms. Then a trap could be laid for those entering, and if Louis’s men fell into that trap… Osbert shuddered.
Still, the idea of getting men into Tarring by trickery lingered. Only, as often as it recurred, the knowledge that it would not prevent a battle from taking place and that, since it was his keep, Osbert would be expected to lead that battle, dimmed the luster of the notion. Two conditions had to be fulfilled before treachery could work to Osbert’s satisfaction. First, he had to be out of the battle itself. Second, Adam’s men had to be immobilized somehow, so enough of Louis’s soldiers could get into Tarring to win a battle. In fact, the best solution would be to find a device that would force Adam’s men to yield without fighting at all.
That was it! The first answer that proposed itself was that Adam should be taken prisoner and used; that is, the men should be told Adam would be tortured or killed if they did not yield. Osbert dwelled on that lovingly for a time, especially on what he would do to Adam when his men had yielded and left the keep. He would not kill him…no. But Gilbert de Neville would be considered whole of body and mind compared to how he intended to leave Adam. Unfortunately, practicalities imposed themselves on this lovely daydream. Taking Adam prisoner would be as near impossible as taking Tarring single-handed. In addition, the thought of Adam anywhere near him, even in chains, terrified Osbert so much that his bowels loosened and he had to seek the waste shaft.
Fear of Adam sparked memory. Legally, Adam held Tarring only as Gilliane’s overlord. Osbert was stupid but not stupid enough to believe Adam would yield Tarring if Gilliane were dead, however, certainly Adam would prefer to keep her alive. The Church was a powerful enemy, and Osbert believed the Church would support his claim because of the marriage contract he possessed. Thus, if he could take Gilliane prisoner, Adam’s men would have to yield to save her.
Osbert realized this plan was as full of holes as an aged cheese, but there was a seed of hope in it because it did not make him sick with fear. He turned the ideas over and over in his mind until they began to look more and more hopeful. First,
he realized it would not be necessary to bribe any of the men-at-arms to get into Tarring. He could get a few of his own men into the keep with very little difficulty. Tarring was not under attack, and, although the guards at the entrance were alert, they did not closely inspect the merchants who entered or the serfs from the outer farms bringing in supplies.
Entrance would be easy, but where the men would hide, how they would seize Gilliane and what they would say to the men within the keep was near impossible to devise. Even Jean would not be able to do what needed to be done. Besides, Osbert did not really trust Jean anymore. Ever since Gilliane had escaped from Pierre, and Pierre had somehow been killed, Jean had been different—sullen and suspicious. Then, a really brilliant notion came to him. He could enter Tarring himself. Fear flicked him, but it died down quickly. The thing must be done while Adam was away, of course. There was no chance of discovery by Adam’s men, for none of them had ever seen him. He knew where to hide. He knew the keep well. He knew just how to handle Gilliane. Had she not been quiet and docile all the time he was near to control her? That fool Pierre had somehow relaxed his vigilance and lost his power over Gilliane. Osbert was not at all sure how it had happened, but he was certain it was Pierre’s fault. Gilliane was nothing.
Another brilliant flash came to Osbert. Everyone would consider it a very brave act to enter Tarring with only a few men. The ugly rumors about him, the nasty looks and contemptuous remarks would be stilled. He giggled. For those lame-brained oxen who were good only for hacking each other apart, it would be dangerous. Those idiots would not know how to get into the women’s quarters without being noticed or how to frighten or hurt a woman so that she would consent to call the guards away from the small postern. Two of Osbert’s men could then pretend to guard it and, instead, let in Louis’s troops. Again he giggled. If he had to get to the women’s quarters without being noticed, he could not wear armor and could not be expected to join the fighting.
A frown replaced the smile of delight that had been wreathing his features. There might be some danger after all. He was sure he could get in and force Gilliane to obey him, but what if Adam’s men did not care about whether he killed her and refused to yield? They could not sneak a whole army in through that postern. Then he smiled again in relief. With Adam gone and with no fighting in the vicinity, there would not be many men-at-arms in the keep. Also, with no alarm, only the guards would be armed. Louis’s men could fall upon the others before they could protect themselves. Really, only a small troop would be necessary.
Osbert thought and thought, refining his plan until he grew so fond of it, so secure in his belief that he could do the thing, that his confidence carried over to Louis when he finally obtained audience with the prince. Louis was beginning to regret heartily his treatment of the English barons. It had lost him the young William Marshal, Arundel, Warrenne, their vassals and a number of lesser knights. Although he was still not ready to see any power pass into English hands, he had sharply curbed the tongues and manners of his French adherents and was eager to do anything he could to please FitzWalter, de Quincy, and the others who still held by their oaths to him.
Thus, he listened more attentively to Osbert than he might otherwise have listened to so contemptible an individual, and actually gave some thought to the idea he proposed. He summoned FitzWalter and told him Adam Lemagne had been responsible for the insult done him. More, he assured FitzWalter that he would do all in his power to obtain vengeance for him and urged him to listen to Osbert’s suggestion. Again Osbert detailed what could be done and his confidence grew stronger because of Louis’s belief in him. Then Louis proposed that if Osbert succeeded he would give the overlordship of Tarring to FitzWalter, if FitzWalter would accept Osbert as his vassal to hold Tarring.
Everyone was happy with this notion. Osbert would have Tarring—he thought. FitzWalter knew he could remove Osbert and put his own man into Tarring at a few hours’ notice any time he decided to do so. Louis thought that it would not even be necessary to remove Osbert. He could send a knight along to “help” Osbert in case he could not lead into battle the troop that took the keep. The knight would remain and “help” Osbert manage Tarring so that Louis’s will rather than FitzWalter’s would be done—in case a difference of opinion should arise between him and FitzWalter. All thought hungrily of the good, if small, port below Tarring. Secure ports were growing harder and harder to find on the southern coast.
FitzWalter raised the first practical objection. He pointed out that Osbert’s scheme depended upon Gilliane being alone in Tarring. According to what Osbert had said, she was not now in the keep, and how did they know that Adam would not accompany her when she returned? Louis agreed that they would have to wait until Gilliane was alone in Tarring but, he added with a smile, if Adam should return with her, he would not long remain.
“From all I have heard of Lemagne, he is a man of war. There will be war enough in this realm to draw him away from Tarring—that I promise you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
When Adam returned from amusing himself with taking keeps from Louis’s supporters, he found a good deal of business awaiting his approval. Sir Richard had been left in Wick. When he had seen Adam apparently fall under the onslaught of Sir Matthew’s hidden men, Sir Richard had been determined to avenge his young overlord. He was so full of the rage of grief that he hacked his way through Sir Matthew’s guard and killed the man outright, even though Sir Matthew was injured, weaponless, and could not defend himself. Later, when the fighting died down and the dead were pulled off the living, he found Adam at the bottom of the heap, gasping between pain and laughter but quite unwounded. Adam had gone down deliberately and his men had been instructed to kneel above and around him with their shields raised to form a near invulnerable defensive “turtle”.
In his joy at finding Adam unhurt—except for the bruises caused by Cuthbert and another overenthusiastic man kneeling right on top of him in their desire to be sure he was safe—Sir Richard did not question the stratagem. It had served its purpose excellently. Sir Edmund and Sir Andrew had had time to enter the keep over the drawbridge; he and Sir Philip had rushed from the towers without loss, while all attention was on subduing Adam and protecting Sir Matthew. Only later Sir Richard wondered whether the stratagem had been even cleverer than he first thought and designed to accomplish a deeper purpose. Adam knew his men loved him. Adam knew Sir Richard hated Sir Matthew. Had Adam wished to be sure Sir Matthew would be killed and therefore allowed everyone to believe he was dead? Did he not expect that rage and grief would drive someone to kill Sir Matthew without thought of ransom or giving him a chance to yield?
It was not a question Sir Richard had any intention of asking his overlord. Again, it was something that, possibly, just skirted complete honesty. Nonetheless, added to the performance in falsetto voice, the whole thing gave Sir Richard a great feeling of confidence. It seemed to him that it was scarcely necessary to worry about the future. Quite aside from the fact that the king’s party seemed in a fair way of gaining the upper hand, Sir Richard was growing quite sure that Adam would find a device to keep them all safe, no matter who eventually won the war.
Thus, when Adam had settled what to do with Sir Matthew’s wife and children and had seen the loot divided properly, Sir Richard had been willing to remain at Wick, sieve out the hired men-at-arms to find a new troop to hold the castle, and, in general, arrange for the administration of the land and the port that Wick controlled. Sir Edmund and Sir Philip had been freed to return home with their share of the booty. Sir Andrew promised to stop at Glynde and make sure that Sir Richard’s wife and second son, who had been called home while his father and elder brother were away, were well and faced no military emergency. A month had seen the end of all the necessary tasks. Wick seemed quiet and ready to accept its new master. Sir Richard now wanted to go home. He had the priest in the town write to Roselynde to beg Lady Gilliane to choose a castellan to hold Wick.
Adam raised
his eyes from Sir Richard’s letter, which had remained unanswered awaiting his arrival, and looked at Gilliane. “It is your keep,” he said neutrally. “Do you have someone in mind to be castellan of Wick?”
In Gilliane’s mind, Alinor’s strictures rang, echoing Adam’s statement. They are your lands, your people. Obviously, Adam expected her to choose a castellan or he would have immediately suggested someone himself. But how could she name someone? She did not know any noblemen, except the men she had met at Roselynde, and they were all too exalted personages to be castellans for her. Then desperation spurred her keen mind.
“I did think that perhaps Sir Richard’s son—if he has done well by Tarring—would be suitable. If you think him too young, my lord, I am afraid you will have to choose for me. I am sorry to seem so useless to you, but I beg you to remember that I know very few people in this country.”
A mixture of emotions held Adam momentarily silent. Alinor looked with pride on her protégé. Geoffrey and Ian nodded sharply.
“If the relation between father and son is loving, you have made a shrewd choice, Gilliane,” Geoffrey remarked, with a lift of his brow. “The one will be hostage for the good behavior of the other. Sir Richard will be more loyal for the upraising of his son, and the young Richard will be more assiduous in his duties and careful of his honor to give credit to his father. What is more, when the old man dies, you will have Wick available for a fresh bestowal.”
Flushing slightly because he suspected Geoffrey had spoken at length to cover his own muteness, Adam said, “They are very loving, and Sir Richard is a fine, honest man. If the son follows the path set by the father, I must agree that Gilliane has made a good choice.”
“I hope he may,” Gilliane put in, “but I know no more of him than you do, my lord. If you have another you would prefer to hold Wick, I will yield most readily to your better knowledge.”
Gilliane (Roselynde Chronicles, Book Four) Page 40