The Prior let his hands fall. ‘I do not know what to say, except to beseech you once more to root out this thing that tears at your soul – for I can see that it does.’
They looked plainly at each other until at last Brien turned away. ‘There are some things, did you not know, for which a man will throw away even his hope of immortality?’
The cynicism in his voice brought an edge to the Prior’s. ‘Some men, perhaps, but I doubt you are one of them.’
‘Abelard – ’
‘That heretic!’
Brien gave it up and went to the door. ‘You do not know the man I am become. But pray for me – I can no longer pray for myself.’ Before the look of horror on Waltheof’s face he lowered his gaze. ‘Rest well,’ he said and as he opened the door he remembered how once before he had said that, knowing the Prior would not rest, but spend the night in anguished vigil. In silence he accompanied his guest to the gate and then returned across the courtyard, looking up at the first of the evening stars, thinking of the heaven for which he had thrown away Heaven. How weary had been these months without even a glimpse of her. He felt utterly alone. There was no one to whom he could turn, no one but Aaliz herself to whom he could speak of the things the Prior had wanted to know. He had lost all hope now – and even the Prior, undoubtedly praying for him at this moment, could not restore it to him.
In the morning shortly before Waltheof and Brother Thomas were due to leave there was a sudden shout from the gatehouse, the drawbridge was lowered and Brien walked with Waltheof into the outer bailey to see a solitary rider enter. The latter brought his horse to a halt and slowly and awkwardly lifted one leg over the saddle and with the other rigid slid to the ground.
‘Roger!’ Brien hurried forward. ‘I never expected to see you here again, nor riding a horse. God be praised.’
Roger limped over to him, his usual grin lighting his face. He at least, Brien thought, seemed unchanged by what had happened to him. ‘My lord,’ Roger said and tried to bend his knee but Brien caught his arm.
‘No, no, I can see how stiff your leg is. But it is a miracle that you can walk at all.’
‘Aye, so it is,’ Roger agreed. He saw the Prior and inclined his head. ‘Father.’
‘This is Roger Foliot,’ Brien said to the Prior, ‘cousin to Abbot Gilbert of Gloucester. The monks there must be even better nurses than I gave them credit for. Are you really recovered, Roger?’
A grimace crossed the young man’s face. ‘My leg will not bend, and my back pains me sometimes, but I can fight again, my lord. That is why I have come back.’
‘You have news?’ his lord asked sharply.
‘Aye, Earl Robert sent me to warn you, if you did not know it already, that the King is besieging Faringdon and may turn his attention here.’
‘We are ready for him, but besieging Faringdon? Is Earl Robert riding to relieve the garrison?’
Roger shook his head. ‘All these months that Philip, may he rot in hell – your pardon, Father – has held it he has boasted of what he can do. Now he shouts for help like some green boy and Earl Robert says let him be true to his boasting and drive the King off himself.’
Brien gave a harsh laugh. The Prior looked at Roger in astonishment and asked, ‘You mean the Earl refused to aid his own son?’
‘He did, and so would I. You do not know Philip, Father Prior.’
‘No, I do not know him,’ Waltheof agreed curtly, ‘but I would have thought you would aid any man fighting for your cause.’ He looked questioningly at Brien.
The latter shook his head. ‘I’ll not interfere. If Robert leaves Philip to manage his own affairs it is what he wishes. He sent me no orders, Roger?’
‘None, my lord, save what you know already.’
‘I am astonished,’ the Prior said in disbelief. ‘I cannot understand how you can refuse to help one of your own.’
‘He is not one with us,’ Brien answered. ‘Look at Roger here if you would see the result of Philip’s evil temper. No man in Wallingford would stir for him. ’
The Prior stared from one to the other. ‘Evil for evil. Truly I think Christ and His saints sleep! I am thankful to be on my way to Rievaulx where the Blessed Mother of God rules the house.’
‘You must not delay,’ Brien said, and taking the Prior by the arm walked him to the gate. ‘I see we all disappoint you, but you do not understand the world as it is.’
Waltheof shuddered. ‘I thank God I do not. No wonder more and more houses of religion are being raised and thinking men flocking to them – only there can they find order and peace and love between brothers. If I could persuade you to come with me – ’
Brien gave him a faint amused smile. ‘I am the last man you should invite into your holy precincts.’
‘Many great men have sought the habit to find peace,’ Waltheof said austerely. ‘You remember Earl Hugh of Chester? He died a monk and others – ’
‘My place is here as long as the Empress needs me,’ Brien interrupted him, ‘and even if she did not I doubt – ’ he stopped abruptly and Waltheof sensed the retreat, the withdrawal of speech that might lead to confidence.
Brother Thomas was waiting by the drawbridge with the horses and as they reached him Brien said, ‘God go with you, my friend. If we do not meet again, remember me sometimes – as I was – and if I have been less than courteous to you, forgive me.’
The Prior mounted, hitching his white skirts about the saddle. ‘I think it is as you are that I must pray for you.’ He made the sign of the cross over Brien’s head and turning his horse rode slowly away across the drawbridge. He did not look back.
‘Holy Rood!’ Roger said under his breath to Ingelric. ‘Is half England here?’
‘So it seems. There’s the Earl of Lincoln attending the King, but I’ll wager his half-brother won’t dare show his face.’
‘Ranulf? He may be all right in a fight, but he’s too much a coward to face Earl Robert in a battle of words. It was a bad day when the Earl gave the lady Sibyl to Ranulf aux Guernons.’
‘I doubt he will last long in the King’s service,’ Ingelric answered cynically. ‘Stephen will give him what he wants now and take it back next month or next year. Ranulf doesn’t give a rap for Stephen, or the Lady either, only for his own earldom. Ah, there’s Earl William of Warenne and Earl Simon, but I don’t see the Flemish captain.’
‘Did you not know?’ Roger queried. ‘He is blind. He does not command the King’s mercenaries now. That doubtful pleasure has been given to Earl William. ’
‘He’s welcome to it,’ Ingelric said. He saw a man push suddenly through the crowd by the King, leaning over to whisper in Stephen’s ear, and at once he stiffened, his mouth set hard.
Roger followed the direction of his gaze. ‘Holy Cross, Martel!’ He glanced up at his tall companion. ‘What will you do?’
‘Nothing,’ Ingelric said curtly. ‘What can I do?’ •
‘Avenge yourself. By God, I’d not stand by while the man walked free who had murdered those who gave me life.’
‘Have you forgotten we are here under truce? Do you think Stephen would not be glad if one of Brien FitzCount’s men broke it?’
‘How can you keep from him? Do you not want revenge?’ Roger asked in honest astonishment.
‘Not at the expense of my lord’s honour,’ Ingelric said flatly and turned away that he might not have to look at the King’s steward.
The gathering was being held in the open a mile from Wilton, a truce in operation so that the King and the Lady might meet to discuss peace terms. Neither side had much hope and neither of those two leading figures desired the meeting, but men of high standing such as Earl Robert and his brother on the one side, and Earl William of Warenne supported by the Queen on the other were determined to try to bring an end to the intermittent but constantly damaging warfare that was besetting the country. Lesser barons and knights, seeing their lands ravaged, their property lost, wanted peace, but there were still too many who
se predatory instincts fed on the excitement of war, whose greed was insatiable. The paid mercenaries had no interest in peace.
All these crowded the plain which was bright with tents and gonfanons. The King sat in one chair under a canopy surrounded by his court and Maud sat in equal state opposite him. She was dressed in blue today, her veil held in place by a gold coronet, gold bracelets on her wrists, her belt studded with gold and jewels and hanging to her feet. The brooch that fastened her mantle was sparkling with rubies and sapphires, once a wedding gift from Brien himself, and he thought she looked magnificent. To be standing once more behind her chair, free from the confines of Wallingford Castle and the silently unhappy presence of his wife was so great a relief that he was able to laugh with Baldwin and joke with de Sablé, talk animatedly to Reginald in the bright sunshine.
Even to Robert who was gravely disturbed by recent events he could be encouraging.
‘I had three sons,’ Robert was saying in bitter sorrow as they waited for the Archbishop to open proceedings, ‘and now I have only one remaining to me. Even my daughter Sibyl seems lost. Was ever a man so disappointed in his children?’
In genuine sympathy Brien said, ‘Roger is in the haven where all men would be and the lady Sibyl will, I am sure, persuade her husband to make his peace with the Empress and with you. William is a good son to you.’
Robert nodded, his eyes on his eldest born who stood talking to Mahel FitzMiles. ‘You do not mention Philip,’ he said at last.
‘Philip is a wolfshead.’
Robert’s voice shook. ‘By the living God, if I laid my hands on him now, I believe I could hang him as he deserves.’
Brien was silent. The fact that Philip had not only surrendered Faringdon Castle but gone over to the King’s side and delivered up Cricklade also was a heavy blow to the Angevin cause and heavier still to his father. ‘You could not have known how things would turn out. He boasted for long enough what he would do and no one could have expected he would turn his back on you or the Lady. I do not see him here today. ’
‘Stephen was wise if he forbade him to come,’ Robert said grimly. ‘My son did not see fit to respect the King’s truce and if I had encountered him today neither would I.’
Reginald, who had joined them in time to hear the last remark, gave a loud laugh. ‘He is a fool, my nephew. There was I riding under flag of truce to arrange this meeting and he must needs seize me and shut me up in his castle. I tell you, Robert, the boy is mad with hate, though God knows why.’
‘Well, at least the King made him let you go, brother. But I hear horrid tales of his behaviour which must touch on your borders, Brien.’
Brien nodded. ‘I have tenants under my roof that he drove from their homes. He burns and slays on my land, forgetting that I trained him for his knighthood.’
‘I would have his spurs off,’ Reginald said frankly. Even he had been shaken when he was carried captive to Philip’s castle. He had confronted his nephew and tried to laugh the matter off, assured that Philip had not known of the truce, but Philip, lounging in a chair, his feet on the high table, had consigned him to a room in the tower and there Reginald was locked to kick his heels until released by order of the King. During that time he had often seen raiding parties returning with captives bound and dragged along by the riders, he had heard screams and groans from the cells below his and he was not joking when he said he thought his nephew was mad. He added now, ‘Stephen is welcome to him. Put him from your mind, Robert.’
‘He is not your son,’ the Earl answered and left them to speak to Abbot Gilbert.
Brien watched the opposing side with keen interest. He had not seen the King since Lincoln fight and thought Stephen looking older and careworn, but still slim and comely; he nodded to Simon of Northampton and thought how unlike he was to his brother Waltheof. He noticed de Mohun, more sour-faced than ever for by changing sides he had gained nothing and lost his earldom; Brien also saw the Earl of Warwick, Earl William of Warenne, Robert de Vere and so many others he had known all his life and who now faced him as enemies – and enemies they must remain until the Lady had her way.
Presently the Archbishop opened the proceedings, standing ostentatiously well in front of Henry, Bishop of Winchester, marking the fact that Henry was no longer Legate for the Holy See. The old man took a long time to state the obvious and Roger whispered to Ingelric, ‘Prosy fellow – why does he take ten minutes to say what could be said in one. Look at Bishop Henry, he does not like the Archbishop.’
‘He cannot forgive Theobald for being what he is not.’ Ingelric said pithily. ‘By God, Stephen demands too much – the Kingdom, the throne for Eustace in return for Normandy and amnesty for us. That’s a poor exchange.’
Roger grinned. ‘The Lady can beat him at that game.’
Earl Robert spoke for her, stating her claim and was countered by Bishop Henry who was answered in turn by Baldwin of Redvers, the latter being contradicted by Gilbert of Clare, Earl of Pembroke. The arguments went on until noon when Stephen, suddenly impatient and aware that it was past the time for dinner, rose to his feet.
‘Cousin,’ he said loudly, ‘let us withdraw and discuss with our advisers the proposals laid before us.’
Maud did not rise but sat upright in her chair, her fingers tapping on the carved arms, one foot thrust forward. ‘I have heard no proposals worthy of discussion.’
Stephen hunched his shoulders. ‘Then we waste our time.’
‘Perhaps we do,’ she agreed haughtily, ‘when you will not recognise my son, King Henry’s grandson, above yours. I see little point in pursuing other items.’
Stephen stared at her, angered by the arrogant tone, the supercilious expression. ‘When you will concede nothing – ’
The Archbishop came forward. ‘Sire, my Lady, we all stand in need of refreshment. Perhaps later we can resume and work towards a better understanding.’ His gentle voice, backed up by his position, brought the threatened argument to a close and Stephen moved away to his tent attended by his lords.
Maud ate at a table set in the open with her brothers, Baldwin of Redvers and Brien, while the rest of her retinue stood about taking what food they could from the servers and all talking of what had passed in the morning. Robert gave it as his considered opinion that they must yield over some matter to gain any agreement but the Lady refused to countenance curtailing her son’s heritage in any way. Reginald pointed out that they had not as yet got that heritage and Baldwin took him to task for pessimism.
Brien said, ‘None of us can think the war won. Stephen is in no better case than we are. ’
‘A stalemate profits no one,’ Robert agreed. ‘My sister, I think we must try to find common ground.’
She looked at him with scorn. ‘Do you retreat too, Robert? Is there no fight left in you?’
‘That is unjust,’ he answered quietly. ‘I do not retreat – I seek a just settlement. And you must know I will fight for you while there is breath left in me. But we are exhausting ourselves and the land.’
The controversy went on through the meal and for once Brien felt inclined to disagree with Robert. He saw nothing to be gained by yielding one inch to Stephen and certainly doubted the wisdom of placing faith in any promise the shifty King might make. He had seen too many broken.
More men gathered about the table, all anxious to hear or to be heard and at last the Empress rose to her feet. ‘You are like chattering magpies, all of you,’ she cried harshly. ‘I must walk apart so that I can think. My lord Brien, your escort if you please.’ He rose and held out his arm. She laid her fingers on it and passing between the lines of bowing men they walked together away from the crowd, through the cluster of tents to where it was quieter, a stretch of green grass free from all the clutter of a large gathering of nobility.
She did not speak until they were out of earshot. ‘I am tired of their ifs and buts and maybes. What must we do?’
‘I do not know,’ he said unhappily. ‘I want peace as mu
ch as any man but on your terms. We cannot trust Stephen.’
‘I know that,’ she agreed. ‘Holy Virgin, he was well enough as a Count but not as King. “Messire Activity-without-judgement” as the Librarian at Malmesbury once called him. ’
Brien laughed. ‘An apt name.’ He added more gravely, ‘I fear we must go on to the end. And you know I will do anything you ask of me.’
She gave him a swift veiled glance. ‘I think you have already beggared yourself in my cause.’
‘And would do so again.’
‘In more ways than in material possessions,’ she finished. ‘It troubles me.’
‘All I have is yours. I never wanted it any other way.’
Her brow was creased, her eyes fixed on the blue distance, hazy in the July heat, a lark singing high above them, and they walked in silence for a while. The sun was warm on their faces, the noise of the gathering receding a little. Through the fingers on his arm he sensed the tension, the irritation in her. Presently he said, ‘Beloved – ’
The Lion's Legacy (Conqueror Trilogy Book 3) Page 29