Those with her were silent. No one mentioned the fact that the latter castle belonged to the Bishop of London and was not hers to give. It scarcely seemed relevant. ‘And de Marmion,’ she went on. ‘Is all east Anglia to run crawling to the Countess of Boulogne because she holds a few hides of land there?’
Eventually Reginald said, ‘Sister, you are too harsh. Many other men are coming to aid us – and none of us here deserve to be called traitor.’
Because he was the youngest of her bastard half-brothers she turned to him with a sudden softening of her mood. ‘No, you are right. But de Mandeville’s defection angered me.’
William de Mohun gave a shrug. ‘What matter if you lose a few friends, providing you beat the enemy? You will have to meet the Queen’s army, Domina.’
At the word ‘Queen’ she stiffened. ‘I suppose you refer to the Countess?’
‘A slip of the tongue, Lady,’ he slurred the words for he had drunk heavily at dinner and belched his way through a gargantuan meal.
‘Well, we shall meet them. It only remains to be decided where it shall be.’ Maud’s face was dark with anger. ‘If Henry of Winchester does not return it may well be before his city.’
Earl Robert, who had been standing in a preoccupied manner by the narrow window looking out at the rain slanting across the courtyard, came back to stand by her. He seemed unusually grave. ‘It seems we must make a move. If you will call a council, let all our chief barons attend – ’
‘Very well,’ she broke in, and her tone was still peevish, ‘but for the love of Mary let us get rid of the waverers.’
‘We need every man we can hold,’ Robert said straightly and bowed himself from her presence followed by Reginald. Brien lingered for a moment and knelt, putting her hand to his lips. ‘I could kill them – Mandeville and the others – for leaving you.’
Her fingers held to his for a moment. ‘They do not understand me. They think I am weak, they think – ’ she stopped and released his hand. ‘At least there are some I need never doubt.’
On the stair Brien caught up with Reginald and took him by the arm. ‘Will you tell me what happened? Why has de Mandeville gone? And de Marmion and Roumare? I have heard nothing.’
‘You do not know?’ Reginald queried. He glanced about them to the twist in the stair and then pulled Brien into a splayed recess. ‘They came – and some others – to Robert early this morning and offered to make him King.’
‘What!’ Brien stared in astonishment at the younger man. ‘You cannot mean it?’
‘Aye.’ Reginald folded his arms across his chest and glanced out through the narrow window at the wet landscape. ‘They said the Lady risked all by her manner of dealing with the Londoners, that she will not listen to advice, which,’ he gave an uneasy smile, ‘is true enough, and they said they believed only my brother could lead them to victory and rule this country.’
‘How dared they? She is the heir, the only one with a true claim.’
‘A bastard King has ruled before,’ Reginald said non-committally, ‘as de Mandeville was quick to point out.’
Brien gave a sudden angry laugh. ‘Bastards are no longer considered in that light. We can go so far and no farther, as I should know. What did Robert say?’
‘He was as indignant as you are. He told them honour forbade him to countenance the prospect and that he would remain true to our sister as long as he had breath in his body.’
Brien let out a deep sigh. ‘He would, of course. How they could have thought that he, of all men, would consider such trickery, even for a moment – ’
‘De Mandeville thinks of naught but the Tower and his lands in Essex – you can be sure he has gone to make his peace with the Queen. And de Marmion always does what he says. As for Roumare I think if Ranulf had come he would have stayed, but he suspects his brother of sitting too firmly at Chester to risk any more in our cause. Ranulf thinks himself near king of the north.’
‘He is a puffed up fool,’ Brien said sharply. ‘Holy Cross, is there no loyalty left?’
They stared at each other in silence. Then Reginald said slowly, ‘We have lost Henry of Winchester too.’ He scratched his head. ‘Jesu, this place is full of fleas.’
He was frowning, trying to understand the workings of a subtler brain than his own. ‘Why my sister had to offend him and the Archbishop as well over that affair of Durham I don’t know. Robert advised her to forget it, but no, she must be the one to set the staff in William Comyn’s hand and the ring on his finger. If she would only listen more to Robert. At least de Mandeville was right there.’ He gave an apologetic laugh and then braced his shoulders. ‘But we have tasted misfortune now and perhaps she will attend to Robert in future:’
‘Do you not see?’ Brien paused as two knights clattered down the stair and disappeared below. ‘It is because she fears to be too womanly, too dominated.’
‘But women must be ruled,’ Reginald pointed out. He was a practical young man and the status of society as it was seemed sound enough to him. ‘By the Rood, if they started to rule us it would be a poor state of affairs. It is not in the nature of things.’
‘Except for a Queen.’
‘Maybe. In truth, Brien, I do not envy my sister. Sometimes she acts in a way I do not understand.’
‘If she were crowned it would be different,’ Brien said shrewdly. ‘It is the uncertainty that rankles.’
‘I suppose so. You seem to read her mind better than the rest of us.’ He glanced at Brien. ‘Please God we will see her crowned. If we march on Henry at Winchester and bring him to terms it will help the cause. We still hold Stephen.’
Brien was silent, leaning against the stone wall, his arms folded, his face expressionless. Stephen! A broken reed, but perhaps still a bargaining point. They needed a swift victory, another Lincoln, otherwise he saw a long drawn out stalemate with nothing but loss for both sides. There was always a point at which one must catch the tide or not sail at all.
For one brief moment he thought of Wallingford and the old peaceful days of hunting and hawking and tending his lands, of his books and the quiet pleasures of study. Could his Domina bring back that former peace or had they missed the vital moment? For himself he saw with sudden clarity that nothing could restore the inner peace in which he had lived whatever might happen externally, for he was not the same man nor would ever be again as long as he looked at her with a desire condemned to frustration. Resolutely he shut his mind to that channel of thought. He must bury himself in the outward things, and surely the struggle for power was not yet done?
He laid a hand on the younger man’s arm. ‘If I can read your sister’s mind better than most, be sure I shall use that knowledge for good as long as there is breath left in me. As for the Bishop of Winchester, if he really has deserted the Lady we’ll take his city from him – cook his goose in the flames and force him to eat it too.’
Reginald laughed. ‘Now you are talking like the rough soldier that I am. Have you forgot your books?’
‘No,’ he answered soberly, ‘but there is a time for all things and at the moment it is time for the sword.’
CHAPTER 2
The Priory of Wherwell lay in a hollow some miles west of Winchester, a quiet place where the Prioress ruled her sisters with austerity and thought them safe from the disturbances that were rending the country until one morning when she was horrified to see an army of men riding in through the gateway.
She came to protest volubly as she saw a tall man in hauberk and helm giving orders that sent his followers, without so much as a by-your-leave, around her walls and clambering up on to the roof. ‘This is a house of God and St. Mary,’ she cried out. ‘You are violating a holy place. ’
‘I am sorry, lady,’ he said without ceremony, ‘but I must hold here against the Queen’s men. Get your sisters to safety if you wish.’
From all directions the nuns came running, crying out to their Prioress, their veils flapping, one with an apron on and floured hands,
another still clutching a quill, a third holding some altar linen. She calmed them authoritatively as they crowded about her. ‘We will stay here,’ she said stiffly, and to the intruder, ‘Your name, sir?’ And when he told her, ‘I have heard of you, my lord Brien. You have not the reputation for despoiling houses of religion.’
Watching Reginald ordering their men, he took off his helm and wiped his face for it was very hot on this late summer day. One of the young nuns looking at his bronze head, at the well defined features and strong set mouth that nevertheless seemed to have a kindness about it, thought him comely and whispered to one of her companions that she did not think he would hurt them.
He heard and turned to her. ‘Nor will I, sister, but great matters are at stake and I must defend this place for the Empress. If necessary we will fight to hold it.’
The women glanced at one another in fear, only too well aware of what that meant. There had been enough burned convents, pillaged churches and rapings for them not to be ignorant of the possible consequences. One nun began to sob and was sharply reprimanded by the more militant Prioress though she too was pale. ‘I command you, my lord, in the name of God, to leave this holy place.’
‘That I cannot do,’ he answered, ‘and in the name of God, I suggest you all go to your church and pray that the enemy does not come.’
They began to hurry away towards the west door of their chapel, the young nun with a brief grateful smile, but the Prioress called them back. ‘Is this man your superior? Go about your tasks, sisters, until it is time for office. The rule of our house does not cease because marauding blasphemers enter our cloister.’
‘I am no blasphemer,’ Brien retorted coldly. ‘Do as you will, my lady Prioress. I will endeavour to protect you, but you will serve yourselves if you give what help you can to my men.’-
‘We had the protection of Almighty God and Our Lady before you came and I doubt we shall fare any better with yours.’ She turned her back on him and led her little gathering of black figures away.
Brien strode off to join Reginald, half annoyed, half admiring the woman’s spirit, and in half an hour they had the place reasonably defensive. He sent Ingelric to the refectory to see that food was brought out for the men and as dusk fell walked round the enclosure to ensure that all that was possible had been done. When he was satisfied he went briefly to the chapel, knelt and crossed himself. It was a small but fine building of pale golden stone, the cross on the altar enriched with jewels brought by one of the first novices, and the statue of the Virgin was crowned by a halo of painted stars. The nuns had sung Compline and gone to their beds and it was peaceful here. He let his head rest on his clasped hands and wondered at the circumstances that had brought him from Wallingford and his own lands to this moment of false peace when he had invaded a religious house, terrified innocent women and was preparing to fight, to shed blood, even in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament.
But necessity it was, as he had told the Prioress for although the Empress’s army had marched on Winchester and driven Bishop Henry to take refuge in his castle of Wolvesey, the Queen had sent an army captained by William of Ypres to set about besieging the besiegers. The situation had become so dangerous and difficult that Brien had been sent to fortify Wherwell in order to keep open a line of retreat to the west – and here he was in this quiet chapel, ready to do something that offended his very nature. He raised his head to gaze at the jewelled cross. Everything he did was done for her, and there was no other priority – if he must be punished for that, so be it. ‘God, forgive me,’ he said heavily and crossing himself again went out to find Reginald.
Two days later, far sooner and by a larger force than they had expected, they were attacked. Horsemen came riding down from the trees and charged the gate but it held and Reginald’s men fired a rain of arrows at them and hurled missiles from the walls while the men of Wallingford grouped for a sortie. The moment the impetus of the enemy was halted, Brien led his knights out and in a brief fierce skirmish drove back the attackers.
Wiping the blood from his sword, Philip of Gloucester said with satisfaction, ‘They didn’t like that, by God. See – they’ve ridden for the trees. Shall we chase them? ’
‘No’ Brien said curtly. ‘That is an old ruse and I’ll not be drawn off.’ The edge of authority in his voice curbed Philip and he led his men back within the safety of the walls. There he threw away his damaged lance. ‘Do you think that is all the men they have? I doubt it.’
Reginald came up. ‘The gates should hold,’ he said. ‘They are solid enough.’
Philip grinned. ‘To keep us men out, eh uncle? Though I hear there’s some holy sisters who don’t object to having us within their cloister.’
De Sablé gave him a scathing glance. ‘Holy Rood, your mind runs on naught but one subject. Ingelric, are you hurt?’
‘Only a flesh wound,’ Ingelric answered. He called to a terrified nun who was peering from a doorway, asking for linen, and thought her too frightened to obey but she brought it with a bowl of water and washed the wound on his forearm before binding it.
Roger Foliot asked, ‘Will they be back, my lord?’
Watching through the grille, Brien answered grimly, ‘Aye, look!’
A solid mass of foot soldiers appeared now, spreading out around the wooded slope above the convent, and Brien and Reginald waited, expecting an attack, but the enemy it seemed having tested their strength were merely preparing for a later assault. Dusk began to fall and still they did not move. Brien set the watch and he and Reginald snatched a few uneasy hours of sleep in the Prioress’s parlour. Once in the night he woke to hear the nuns singing their office. For all their fear, he thought, they found courage enough for that – or the Prioress found it for them.
The next day was the feast of the Holy Cross and soon after dawn the enemy were stirring, moving down, out of arrowshot, but as if they would merely contain the Empress’s troops. After a while, however, they collected brushwood, built fires and then to Brien’s horror their bowmen tipped their arrows in the flames and began to fire them over the walls, running back to avoid the returning missiles. It was what he had feared, for despite all the defenders’ efforts burning arrows lodged in the timbered roof of the church, in the beamed guest house and in the kitchen where they found enough fuel to render a fire out of control within minutes.
The nuns ran screaming from the shelter of the church and for an hour or more there was a fierce fight both against the enemy and against the fire. Brien ran from one point to another directing the fire-fighting, the launching of missiles until these were exhausted, the manning of the gates and walls, but all the time the arrows were falling and he was losing men.
One nun had tried to save the jewelled cross and ran from the church her veil and hair aflame as she clutched the precious thing while another sister, seizing valuable manuscripts, was crushed beneath a falling beam. All the women were utterly terrified now, several near fainting, while the Prioress, her back to the stone wall by the gate, her hands spread against it, was speechless and rigid.
Sweating and blackened by cinders, Brien came up to Reginald who was trying to beat off an attack on the postern gate. ‘We cannot hold,’ he called out. ‘Half the men are fallen. ’
Reginald, still phlegmatic, a streak of dirt and blood down one side of his face where a burning fragment had struck him, waved his men back within the safety of the gate and shot the bolt. ‘Can we fight our way out of the main gate? It’s too narrow here. That church will fall in a few minutes, the roof is gone.’
‘We must,’ Brien said.
Together they ran the length of the conventual buildings, shouting to Philip and Ingelric and Guy to call off the men who were left on their feet, and to the Prioress Brien said, ‘Get your women together, follow us out or you will be burned to death.’
Her great dark eyes glared at him from her white face. ‘As you will all burn for defiling God’s holy place.’ She ran across the open space before the smo
king, flaming church, calling to her sisters, some of whom were trying to tend the wounded, and several were knocked aside as the last of the defenders hurried to the gate. In a solid mass they poured through it, following their leaders and forcing back a party of mercenaries who had already set torches to the wood. Somehow Brien got the hysterical women out, shouting to them to run to the left, to a ditch where they might be safe and the last he saw of them was a huddle of black figures crouching in the summer-dry stream bed like crows on the scavenge.
The Flemish mercenaries, temporarily overwhelmed by the sudden onrush from the gates, gave way as Brien and Reginald at the head of their men cut their way out with such ferocity that they sent the enemy running headlong for the shelter of the trees. With a sweep of his arm Brien called all their remaining strength to follow him to Winchester as they made for the road and the city. He did not look back at the burning wreck of what had been a peaceful house of prayer nor at the homeless women hiding in a ditch. Digging his spurs into Puissance’s flanks he galloped beside Reginald, aware only of the need to reach the Lady, to warn her and her brother of the enemy’s strength, and thus he did not see Roger Foliot bringing the last few men out of the smoking gates, nor the crashing beam that caused Roger to leap violently aside. His horse reared, terrified by the red-hot sparks that flared upwards, and, out of control, charged towards the mercenaries. These were in confusion and finding himself almost alone he shouted to Philip of Gloucester, also at the rear. A short rush at the Flemings would surely hold them off – but Philip, with one glance at Roger careering wildly away from his companions, barely hesitated.
The Lion's Legacy (Conqueror Trilogy Book 3) Page 18