The Lion's Legacy (Conqueror Trilogy Book 3)

by Juliet Dymoke

  As he passed in his pacing she caught his hand suddenly. ‘Sit beside me, my lord.’ And when he had done so, she went on, ‘The women chatter in the guest house – about nothing, most of the time – but the lady Sibyl is sure that her father will bring the Empress this summer. If he does – ’ she broke off unable to frame the question she wanted answered.

  It seemed a long time before he spoke and when he did his tone was cool, or was it that the garden had turned chill at the loss of the sun?

  ‘If you would know the future, wife, I suggest you consult one of your wise women for I do not know it. ’

  In sudden frustration, aware that he must know of her searching for a cure of her barrenness, she cried out, ‘They cannot tell me. And if you did know I think you would not. Can you not trust me?’

  There was silence in the little private place. Then he said, ‘I know that I can trust you. I am not blind, Mata.’

  It was something she thought, that he had adopted and used her mother’s old Saxon shortening of her Norman name. ‘Then tell me – ’

  He shifted a little on the bench, sitting close to her yet a hundred miles away. ‘There is nothing to tell.’

  ‘But – you must know what you would do if she came.’

  He let out a deep sigh. ‘You want to know more than I can tell you, and to speculate on a possibility is without point. When – if – the time comes I will make my decision then. ’

  She clasped her hands together in a sudden emotional gesture. ‘I wish King Henry’s son had lived, then there would be no conflict, no trouble.’

  He gave a light laugh. ‘Child, there is always trouble of some sort. We have had years of peace in England, I grant you, but the King achieved it by dispossessing his enemies and giving their lands to new men. I am one of these, Earl Robert is another, and so is Stephen himself. Now the dispossessed gather like vultures to regain what they have lost and will use us, one side or the other, to do it. William of Roumare for instance or the Earl of Chester.’

  ‘Earl Ranulf, Sibyl’s husband? But surely, married to Earl Robert’s daughter – ’

  Her husband shrugged. ‘He wants his land at Carlisle back and may use the Empress’s cause to get them – that is the extent of his loyalty, I think. Now that there is no strong hand to hold such men in check there will be war before there is peace.’ He got up and drew her to her feet. ‘It is getting dark. I will eat supper in the guest house with you before I ride back to Oxford. ’

  ‘You will not sleep here tonight? ’

  He shook his head. ‘There will be a full moon and I must go back. We ride at first light tomorrow on this – assault on Jerusalem! ’ He put a hand under her chin and lifted her face, well aware of the fear she tried to hide. ‘Don’t look so alarmed, wife.’

  ‘I am afraid for you,’ she whispered.

  ‘For me? I am in no danger.’

  ‘But if there is a fight?’

  ‘We’ll settle it without that, I expect,’ he reassured her, ‘and anyway I’ve been in many a scrap when King Henry dealt with rebels in Normandy.’

  They began to walk together through the archway towards the guest house where the candles were lit and welcoming in the summer dusk. ‘I will send John of Ramsay to take you home,’ he said, ‘he can keep Wallingford while I am gone.’

  He left her after supper, and she stood with hands clasped tightly together, watching him as he swung himself into the saddle. If – even if only once – he had swept her into his arms, loved her with passion, he could have beaten her, done his will with her, anything rather than this kind cool courtesy that was barely aware of her as a woman.

  But she was wrong about that. Riding with Ingelric and half a dozen men down the moonlit road to Oxford he was not unaware of her love for him, had never been blind to it. He was only too honest to pretend to a response that would have been a lie.

  It was eight weeks before he rode home again and during that time he had seen an old man threatened and bullied, subjected to every kind of humiliation, even to seeing his son, the Chancellor, with a rope set round his neck ready to be hanged if Devizes Castle did not yield. Well, the wretched business was done, the Bishops’ castles in Stephen’s hands and old Roger himself gone to his diocese of Salisbury. Brien was disgusted by the whole affair. It had given him a new insight into Stephen’s unpredictability and underlined the fact that no man could rely on the King’s word, that he would even defy Holy Church if the mood was on him.

  While in the west Brien had taken the opportunity to take his conscience to the Abbot of Gloucester, with the added fuel of the affair at Devizes. Riding now along a quiet road eastwards towards Wallingford he was remembering the Abbot’s words. ‘Priority must be given to that which comes first because that which comes second hath no priority at all.’ It seemed so simple and Brien knew that he was right – in which case every man who kept to Stephen was perjured – but nevertheless England was going to be split in two. Had old King Henry known his will would plunge his subjects into warfare, or had he so much confidence in his own power that he thought to rule men even from the grave?

  ‘There will be a good crop this year,’ Ingelric of Huntercombe said, ‘if we’ve time to harvest it.’ He was riding beside his lord at the head of the knights who had accompanied the castellan on the jaunt to Devizes and was glad to be going home for he had a mind not only to John of Ramsay’s place but also to his daughter. She was a little dark thing, no higher than his elbow, and he found she was disturbing his sleep at nights so that he dreamed of folding her within his large limbs. He began to think of Beatrice and forgot about the harvest.

  As they breasted the top of the hill and looked down across the valley below, however, they both pulled up sharply and Ingelric flung up a hand to halt the column of riders. Smoke was rising far down among the trees, spurting from burning houses and it seemed as if a hamlet set among the woods was all afire. Brien knew the place for it belonged to one of the King’s manors, and he strained his eyes into the bright light to try to see more clearly what was happening.

  Ingelric held his horse hard, the animal rearing a little at the sudden halt. ‘What devil’s work is afoot there, my lord?’

  ‘God knows,’ Brien said, ‘we’ll go down and see.’

  They went down at a gallop, young Foliot bearing his lord’s standard, and crashed into the middle of the rough road to find the place aflame. Some villagers were huddled together, others running, shouting, from the burning cottages, a few frightened churls, women and some scrawny children screaming with fright, watching while the fire took their mean houses, and in the centre of it all stood John FitzGilbert directing operations as his men set about firing two large barns.

  He turned sharply, a drawn sword in his hand, shouting an order as Brien and his men came pelting towards them.

  The fire-raisers ran to stand behind the Marshall but as soon as he saw the newcomer he relaxed and waved them back to their work.

  ‘My lord of Wallingford! ’

  Brien pulled hard on the reins, bringing his animal to a halt beside FitzGilbert. ‘What in God’s name is happening?’

  John came to stand by his saddle, one hand on his stirrup. ‘Some of the King’s grain was stored here. I’ve taken it for the Empress and deprived him of shelter and food in this place, that is all.’

  ‘But – Holy Cross, are you starting a war for her on your own?’

  John interrupted him. ‘Have you not heard?’

  ‘I have been at Gloucester with the Abbot – I’ve heard nothing.’ Brien leaned forward, a sudden instinctive leaping excitement seizing him. ‘Is there news?’

  The Marshall led his horse a little aside, away from the burning heat and Brien dismounted. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Baldwin of Redvers is back. He landed at Wareham and has taken Corfe for the Empress. William de Mohun has declared for her in Somerset and I have done the same. She has probably sailed already.’

  ‘Holy God,’ Brien said. ‘Has it come at la
st?’

  ‘Aye, and the harder we make it for Stephen’s troops the better.’

  Brien stood in silence for a moment, aware that it was not only the flames of the fire that was burning in his face. She was coming then, Maud the Empress, Lady of the English! It was for this he had waited, for this he had held his castle, for this he had dissembled, kept his place under Stephen, and now in one moment of decision he threw over that allegiance and accepted the primary claim, the thing he had always known to be his destiny.

  He took John’s arm. ‘You’ve brought the best news I ever hoped to hear. Do you know where the Lady will land?’

  ‘No, but she and Earl Robert were at Wissant when Baldwin left for he sent messages to us. No doubt a man has been to Wallingford.’

  ‘I’ll ride at once and put the castle in defence,’ Brien said. Watching the fires he saw a man run from a rough hut, a hunting spear in his hand. He was angry and shouting and charged at the nearest soldier; there was a scuffle and he fell dead, a gaping wound in his throat. One of the women gave a screech and ran to him, throwing herself on her knees, his blood welling on to her hands, as she lifted his head. Then she sprang up and rushed at the soldier, trying to claw his face, and he struck her so that she too fell beside her man.

  ‘Foolish woman,’ the Marshall exclaimed.

  ‘There will be many such,’ Brien said grimly, ‘before this business is done.’

  ‘Well, we’ve set the torch burning.’ FitzGilbert was unperturbed. ‘King Stephen will find no grain in his manors hereabouts, and no doubt de Mohun will be doing the same work – Baldwin too and Reginald of Dunstanville.’

  That should send Alain scuttling to Cornwall, Brien thought, and realised grimly that he and his half-brother would be on opposing sides – not in one sense that that would be anything new. He looked at the frightened villagers, the weeping women, the children clinging to their skirts, the dead man and his senseless wife. The people would suffer in this inevitable war but they always did – it was the way things were. He pitied them, yet when it came to it he would do the same as the Marshall and burn and pillage to deny the enemy shelter and food. And it would be done for Maud, which was all the justification he needed. He set his foot in the stirrup and mounted. ‘We’ll meet again soon, my friend – when she is here.’

  ‘God go with you,’ John the Marshall said and shouted to one of his men who was standing close to a collapsing wall.

  They rode out of the place, the lazy walk of this morning giving way to a headlong pace as they rode for Wallingford. Brien had meant to sleep the night at Abingdon Abbey for Abbot Ingulf was a close friend, but now he kept up the speed so that they should be within the walls by the late summer dusk.

  His face flushed with exhilaration, Roger Foliot found himself by Philip of Gloucester and said above the sound of the hooves, ‘Did you hear? Is the Empress come?’

  Philip’s thin face held a look of suppressed excitement. ‘If she is not landed she will soon. My father is bringing her and then – ’he threw a swift arrogant glance at his companion, ‘she will be Queen and he will be her chief minister and my brother and I – we are King Henry’s grandsons and by the living God we will hang the usurper and his thieving barons and we will hold what they have taken.’

  He showed his teeth but Roger did not think he was smiling.

  ‘It will be a bloody war,’ he said.

  ‘Aye,’ Philip agreed, ‘a bloody war,’ and his fingers twitched on the reins.

  It was almost dark when they clattered down the street of the little town and over the drawbridge into the outer bailey, Brien shouting to his guards to raise it behind them.

  In the large open bailey everything seemed as usual, fires burning, men-at-arms sitting in the open taking their ease, the supper hour over, but as he rode in under the archway into the inner courtyard, Amauri de Beauprez came hurrying from the great door of the hall, his face unusually grave.

  ‘My lord, thank God you are returned. We have been watching for you for a week. There is a messenger come – ’

  ‘A messenger?’ Brien queried sharply. He slid from the saddle, flinging the reins to his staller, Bernard. ‘Where is he? And where from?’

  ‘Arundel, my lord. The Empress has landed.’

  The news, expected as it was, nevertheless sent a shock through him so that a surge of colour flooded his cheeks. ‘She is at Arundel?’

  ‘Aye. She and Earl Robert and some hundred and forty knights landed there ten days ago. She sent to you at once, but your lady and I have told no one here as yet – we thought it best to wait for you.’

  ‘You did right,’ Brien said as they walked to the hall. He pulled off his gloves and threw them with his whip to an attendant at the door and entering saw a man standing warming his hands by the fire that always burned in the centre of the building. The slight back and jet black hair were familiar and even before the man turned, Brien said, ‘Holy Cross, Guy of Sablé!’

  The knight swung round and seeing him came swiftly down the hall. ‘My lord! It must be five years since we met – the summer before King Henry died.’

  Brien grasped him by the arms. ‘I am glad to see you and with such news. Come to my chamber where we can be private.’

  He shouted to some serving men to lay supper for himself and his escort and then swept de Sablé up the stair to his chamber above the south end of the hall. There he found his page, Thurstin, and sent the boy to the bower to fetch the lady Mata.

  Then he turned to his guest. ‘Well – tell me quickly for by Christ’s Cross we have all waited three years for this moment.’ He threw his mantle on to the bed and poured wine for them both, his normal calm shaken by the impact of this long-awaited news.

  De Sablé said, ‘We were at Wissant, hoping to sail for Wareham, but the King’s men were there, and then William D’Albini sent to say Arundel Castle was at the Lady’s disposal.’

  ‘D’Albini!’ Brien exclaimed. ‘What persuaded him to come over to the Empress’s cause?’

  Guy shook his head. ‘God knows. Perhaps since he is wed to King Henry’s widow she worked on him to open his gates. Queen Adeliza is fond of her step-daughter and welcomed the Empress as her own.’

  Brien sat down on the edge of the bed, astonished by this piece of information. D’Albini was a man who kept his own counsel and everyone was surprised when the Queen dowager not only wed him but seemed happy in the marriage. They had given no sign of withdrawing their allegiance from the King, but be that as it may the Lady was on English soil at last. And at the thought that he would soon see her, kneel and set his hands once again between hers, he turned abruptly from de Sablé on the pretext of washing away the dust of travel.

  When he had discussed this with Amauri, with Mata, with Abbot Gilbert, how had he remained so coolly dispassionate when the news, the truth of her coming, swept away all possible doubt?

  Drying his face with hands that would have been unsteady had they not been occupied, he said, ‘I will leave for Arundel as soon as I’ve set matters in order, or have you other instructions for me?’

  ‘By your leave, yes,’ Guy said quickly. ‘Earl Robert sends you his greeting and begs you to meet him at Bristol. He was to leave a few days after I came here and you may well meet with him on the road, though he will keep from the main highway. He is not ready yet to confront any King’s men. He waited only to see Arundel set in a state of defence.’

  ‘Is the Empress to stay with Queen Adeliza or to ride to Bristol?’

  ‘Her brother believes her to be safer at Arundel until her standard is raised,’ Guy told him. ‘King Stephen dare not touch her person.’

  ‘Jesu, no!’

  ‘The Earl suggests, my lord, that if you are ready to join the Lady – ’

  ‘If? Does he doubt me?’

  ‘No, but you know the Earl. He would coerce no man.’

  ‘He knows my mind,’ Brien said, ‘probably better than I did myself. Go on – ’

  ‘He suggests
that you make this castle ready for war and leave a commander here. When you meet at Bristol you can plan the campaign together.’

  Brien flung the towel from him. ‘That I will do. How many can we count on?’

  ‘Miles of Gloucester, Reginald of course, William de Mohun, other lesser men, but more will come.’

  He swung round and set his hands on the younger man’s shoulders. ‘Guy, you have brought me the best tidings I ever heard.’ He gave a sudden laugh. ‘”For love of Venus, go we now to war”. Come with me to the hall while I eat supper with my men and we’ll set affairs in order.’