by Ken Follett
Stephen did not answer immediately. They walked downhill to the southwest corner of the castle and looked up at the keep. From their position it appeared loftily impregnable. Just below that corner they turned into another gateway and entered the lower city to walk along the castle's south side. Philip felt in danger again. It would not be too difficult for someone inside the castle to deduce that the two men who were making a circuit of the walls must be on a scouting expedition, and therefore they were fair game, especially the one in the purple cloak. To distract himself from his fear he studied the keep. There were small holes in the wall which served as outlets for the latrines, and the refuse and filth which was washed out simply fell on the walls and the mound below and stayed there until it rotted away. No wonder there was a stink. Philip tried not to breathe too deeply, and they hurried past.
There was another, smaller tower at the southeast corner. Now Philip and Stephen had walked around three sides of the square. Philip wondered if Stephen had forgotten his question. He was apprehensive about asking it again. The king might feel he was being pushed, and take offense.
They reached the main street that went through the middle of the town and turned again, but before Philip had time to feel relieved they passed through another gate into the inner city, and a few moments later they were in the no-man's -land between cathedral and castle. To Philip's horror the king stopped there.
He turned to talk to Philip, positioning himself in such a way that he could scrutinize the castle over Philip's shoulder. Philip's vulnerable back, clad in ermine and purple, was exposed to the gatehouse which was bristling with sentries and archers. He went as stiff as a statue, expecting an arrow or a spear in his back at any moment. He began to perspire despite the freezing cold wind.
"I gave you that quarry years ago, didn't I?" said King Stephen.
"Not exactly," Philip replied through gritted teeth. "You gave us the right to take stone for the cathedral. But you gave the quarry to Percy Hamleigh. Now Percy's son, William, has thrown out my stonecutters, killing five people--including a woman and a child--and he refuses us access."
"He shouldn't do things like that, especially if he wants me to make him earl of Shiring," Stephen said thoughtfully. Philip was encouraged. But a moment later the king said: "I'm damned if I can see a way to get into this castle."
"Please make William reopen the quarry," Philip said. "He is defying you and stealing from God."
Stephen seemed not to hear. "I don't think they've got many men in there," he said in the same musing tone. "I suspect nearly all of them are on the ramparts, to make a show of strength. What was that about a market?"
This was all part of the test, Philip decided; making him stand out in the open with his back to a host of archers. He wiped his brow with the fur cuff of the king's cloak. "My lord king, every Sunday people come from all over the county to worship at Kingsbridge and labor, for no wages, on the cathedral building site. When we first began, a few enterprising men and women would come to the site and sell meat pies, and wine, and hats, and knives, to the volunteer workers. So, gradually, a market grew up. And now I am asking you to license it."
"Will you pay for your license?"
A payment was normal, Philip knew, but he also knew that it might be waived for a religious body. "Yes, lord, I will pay--unless you would wish to give us the license without payment, for the greater glory of God."
Stephen looked directly into Philip's eyes for the first time. "You're a brave man, to stand there, with the enemy behind you, and bargain with me."
Philip gave back an equally frank stare. "If God decides my life is over, nothing can save me," he said, sounding braver than he felt. "But if God wants me to live on and build Kingsbridge Cathedral, ten thousand archers cannot strike me down."
"Well said!" Stephen remarked, and, clapping a hand on Philip's shoulder, he turned toward the cathedral. Weak with relief, Philip walked beside him, feeling better for every step away from the castle. He seemed to have passed the test. But it was important to get an unambiguous commitment from the king. Any moment now he would be engulfed by courtiers again. As they passed through the line of sentries, Philip took his courage in both hands and said: "My lord king, if you would write a letter to the sheriff of Shiring--"
He was interrupted. One of the earls rushed up, looking flustered, and said: "Robert of Gloucester is on his way here, my lord king."
"What? How far away?"
"Close. A day at most--"
"Why haven't I been warned? I posted men all around!"
"They came by the Fosse Way, then turned off the road to approach across open country."
"Who is with him?"
"All the earls and knights on his side who have lost their lands in the last two years. Ranulf of Chester is also with him--"
"Of course. Treacherous dog."
"He has brought all his knights from Chester, plus a horde of wild rapacious Welshmen."
"How many men altogether?"
"About a thousand."
"Damn--that's a hundred more than we have."
By this time several barons had gathered around, and now another one spoke. "Lord, if he's coming across open country, he'll have to cross the river at the ford--"
"Good thinking, Edward!" Stephen said. "Take your men down to that ford and see if you can hold it. You'll need archers, too."
"How far are they now, does anybody know?" asked Edward.
The first earl said: "Very close, the scout said. They could reach the ford before you."
"I'll go right away," Edward said.
"Good man!" said King Stephen. He made a fist with his right hand and punched his left palm. "I shall meet Robert of Gloucester on the battlefield at last. I wish I had more men. Still--an advantage of a hundred men isn't much."
Philip listened to it all in grim silence. He was sure he had been on the point of getting Stephen's agreement. Now the king's mind was elsewhere. But Philip was not ready to give up. He was still wearing the king's purple robe. He slipped it off his shoulders and held it out, saying: "Perhaps we should both revert to type, my lord king."
Stephen nodded absently. A courtier stepped behind the king and helped him take off the monkish habit. Philip handed over the royal robe and said: "Lord, you seemed well disposed to my request."
Stephen looked irritated to be reminded. He shrugged on his robe and was about to speak when a new voice was heard.
"My lord king!"
Philip recognized the voice. His heart sank. He turned and saw William Hamleigh.
"William, my boy!" said the king, in the hearty voice he used with fighting men. "You've arrived just in time!"
William bowed and said: "My lord, I've brought fifty knights and two hundred men from my earldom."
Philip's hopes turned to dust.
Stephen was visibly delighted. "What a good man you are!" he said warmly. "That gives us the advantage over the enemy!" He put his arm around William's shoulders and walked with him into the cathedral.
Philip stood where he was and watched them go. He had been agonizingly close to success, but in the end William's army had counted for more than justice, he thought bitterly. The courtier who had helped the king take off the monk's habit now held the robe out to Philip. Philip took it. The courtier followed the king and his entourage into the cathedral. Philip put on his monastic robe. He was deeply disappointed. He looked at the three huge arched doorways of the cathedral. He had hoped to build archways like that at Kingsbridge. But King Stephen had taken the side of William Hamleigh. The king had been faced with a straight choice: the justice of Philip's case against the advantage of William's army. He had failed his test.
Philip was left with only one hope: that King Stephen would be defeated in the forthcoming battle.
II
The bishop said mass in the cathedral when the sky was beginning to change from black to gray. By then the horses were saddled, the knights were wearing their chain mail, the men-at-arms had be
en fed, and a measure of strong wine had been served to give them all heart.
William Hamleigh knelt in the nave with the other knights and earls, while the war-horses stamped and snorted in the aisles, and was forgiven in advance for the killing he would do that day.
Fear and excitement made William light-headed. If the king won a victory today, William's name would forever be associated with it, for men would say that he had brought the reinforcements that tipped the balance. If the king should lose ... anything could happen. He shivered on the cold stone floor.
The king was at the front, in a fresh white robe, with a candle in his hand. As the Host was elevated, the candle broke, and the flame went out. William trembled with dread: it was a bad omen. A priest brought a new candle and took away the broken one, and Stephen smiled nonchalantly, but the feeling of supernatural horror stayed with William, and when he looked around he could tell that others felt the same.
After the service the king put on his armor, helped by a valet. He had a knee-length mail coat made of leather with iron rings sewn to it. The coat was slit up to the waist in front and behind so that he could ride in it. The valet laced it tightly at the throat. He then put on a close-fitting cap with a long mail hood attached, covering his tawny hair and protecting his neck. Over the cap he wore an iron helmet with a nosepiece. His leather boots had mail trimmings and pointed spurs.
As he put on his armor, the earls gathered around him. William followed his mother's advice and acted as if he were already one of them, pushing through the crowd to join the group around the king. After listening for a moment he realized they were trying to persuade Stephen to withdraw and leave Lincoln to the rebels.
"You hold more territory than Maud--you can raise a larger army," said an older man whom William recognized as Lord Hugh. "Go south, get reinforcements, come back and outnumber them."
After the portent of the broken candle, William almost wished for withdrawal himself; but the king had no time for such talk. "We're strong enough to defeat them now," he said cheerfully. "Where's your spirit?" He strapped on a belt with a sword on one side and a dagger on the other, both of them in wood-and-leather scabbards.
"The armies are too evenly matched," said a tall man with short, grizzled hair and a close-trimmed beard: the earl of Surrey. "It's too risky."
This was a poor argument to use with Stephen, William knew: the king was nothing if not chivalrous. "Too evenly matched?" he repeated scornfully. "I prefer a fair fight." He pulled on the leather gauntlets with mail on the backs of the fingers. The valet handed him a long wooden shield covered with leather. He hooked its strap around his neck and held it in his left hand.
"We've little to lose by withdrawing at this point," Hugh persisted. "We aren't even in possession of the castle."
"I would lose my chance of meeting Robert of Gloucester on the battlefield," Stephen said. "For two years he's been avoiding me. Now that I have an opportunity to deal with the traitor once and for all, I'm not going to pull out just because we're evenly matched!"
A groom brought his horse, saddled ready. As Stephen was about to mount, there was a flurry of activity around the door at the west end of the cathedral, and a knight came running up the nave, muddy and bleeding. William had a doomy premonition that this would be bad news. As the man bowed to the king, William recognized him as one of Edward's men who had been sent to guard the ford. "We were too late, lord," the man said hoarsely, breathing hard. "The enemy has crossed the river."
It was another bad sign. William suddenly felt colder. Now there was nothing but open fields between the enemy and Lincoln.
Stephen too looked struck down for an instant, but he recovered his composure swiftly. "No matter!" he said. "We will meet them all the sooner!" He mounted his war-horse.
He had a battle-ax strapped to his saddle. The valet handed him a wooden lance with a bright iron point, completing his weaponry. Stephen clicked his tongue, and the horse obediently moved forward.
As he rode down the nave of the cathedral, the earls, barons and knights mounted and fell in behind him, and they left the cathedral in procession. In the grounds the men-at-arms joined them. This was when men began to feel scared and look for a chance to slip away; but their dignified pace, and the almost ceremonial atmosphere, with the townspeople looking on, meant it would be very difficult for the fainthearted to escape.
Their numbers were augmented by a hundred or more townsmen, fat bakers and shortsighted weavers and red-faced brewers, poorly armored and riding their cobs and palfreys. Their presence was a sign of the unpopularity of Ranulf.
The army could not pass the castle, for they would have been exposed to archery fire from its battlements, so they left the town by the north gate, which was called Newport Arch, and turned west. This was where the battle would be fought.
William studied the terrain with a keen eye. Although the hill on the south side of the town sloped steeply to the river, here on the west there was a long ridge which fell gently to the plain. William saw immediately that Stephen had chosen the right spot from which to defend the town, for no matter how the enemy approached they would always be downhill from the king's army.
When Stephen was a quarter of a mile or so out of the city two scouts came up the slope, riding fast. They spotted the king and went straight to him. William crowded closer to hear their report.
"The enemy is approaching fast, lord," said one of the scouts.
William looked across the plain. Sure enough, he could see a black mass in the distance, moving slowly toward him: the enemy. He felt a shiver of fear. He shook himself, but the fear persisted. It would go when the fighting started.
King Stephen said: "What are their dispositions?"
"Ranulf and the knights of Chester form the middle, lord," the scout began. "They are on foot."
William wondered how the scout knew this. He must have gone right into the enemy camp and listened while marching orders were given. That took a cool nerve.
"Ranulf in the center?" said Stephen. "As if he were the leader, rather than Robert!"
"Robert of Gloucester is on his left flank, with an army of men who call themselves The Disinherited," the scout went on. William knew why they used that name--they had all lost lands since the civil war began.
"Robert has given Ranulf command of the operation, then," Stephen said thoughtfully. "A pity. I know Robert well--I practically grew up with him--and I could guess his tactics. But Ranulf is a stranger to me. No matter. Who's on their right?"
"The Welsh, lord."
"Archers, I suppose." The men of South Wales had a reputation for bowmanship.
"Not these," the scout said. "They are a raving mob, with their faces painted, singing barbaric songs, and armed with hammers and clubs. Very few have horses."
"They must be from North Wales," Stephen mused. "Ranulf has promised them pillage, I expect. God help Lincoln if they get inside the walls. But they won't! What's your name, scout?"
"Roger, called Lackland," the man said.
"Lackland? You shall have ten acres for this work."
The man was thrilled. "Thank you, lord!"
"Now." Stephen turned and looked at his earls. He was about to make his dispositions. William tensed, wondering what role the king would assign to him. "Where is my lord Alan of Brittany?"
Alan edged his horse forward. He was the leader of a force of Breton mercenaries, rootless men who fought for pay and whose only loyalty was to themselves.
Stephen said to Alan: "I'll have you and your brave Bretons in the front line on my left."
William saw the wisdom of that: Breton mercenaries against Welsh adventurers, the untrustworthy versus the undisciplined.
"William of Ypres!" Stephen called.
"My lord king." A dark man on a black war-horse raised his lance. This William was the leader of another force of mercenaries, Flemish men, a shade more reliable than the Bretons, it was said.
Stephen said: "You on my left also, but behind Al
an's Bretons."
The two mercenary leaders wheeled about and rode back into the army to organize their men. William wondered where he would be placed. He had no wish to be in the front line. He had already done enough to distinguish himself, by bringing his army. A safe, uneventful rearguard position would suit him today.
King Stephen said: "My lords of Worcester, Surrey, Northampton, York and Hertford, with your knights, form my right flank."
Once again William saw the sense of Stephen's dispositions. The earls and their knights, mostly mounted, would face Robert of Gloucester and the "disinherited" nobles who supported him, most of whom would also be on horseback. But William was disappointed not to have been included with the earls. Surely the king could not have forgotten about him?
"I will hold the middle ground, dismounted, with foot soldiers," Stephen said.
For the first time William disapproved of a decision. It was always better to stay on horseback as long as you could. But Ranulf, at the head of the opposing army, was said to be on foot, and Stephen's overwrought sense of fair play compelled him to meet his enemy on equal terms.
"With me in the center I will have William of Shiring and his men," the king said.
William did not know whether to be thrilled or terrified. It was a great honor to be chosen to stand with the king--Mother would be gratified--but it put him in the most dangerous position. Worse still, he would be on foot. It also meant the king would be able to see him and judge his performance. He would have to appear fearless and take the fight to the enemy, as opposed to keeping out of trouble and fighting only when forced to, which was the tactic he preferred.
"The loyal citizens of Lincoln will bring up the rear," Stephen said. This was a mixture of compassion and military good sense. The citizens would not be much use anywhere, but in the rear they could do little damage and would suffer fewer casualties.
William raised the banner of the earl of Shiring. This was another idea of Mother's. He was not entitled to the banner, strictly speaking, because he was not the earl; but the men with him were used to following the Shiring banner--or so he would argue if challenged. And by the end of the day, if the battle went well, he might be earl.