Gifts of the Queen

by Mary Lide

  So when I told him on a certain day it was time to return to Cambray, I did not have to explain to him why that day more than any other one, or why Cambray. I knew it to be so, and so did Hue, a feeling, a sensation hung in the air like the sound a harp makes before it is completely strung, a yearning far away, like the wind that blows across the moors.

  'Raoul needs us there,' I told Hue as I wrapped him in his lace shawl, woven so fine like cobwebs, 'now is the day he will wish to come home himself.' And Hue felt it too, that bond as strong and irresistible as the sea tides.

  It was not easy to leave this Celtic court. Prince Owain tried to dissuade me, and my friends wept. I did not wish to seem ungrateful for their kindnesses—I had never known such kind people before—but I had to go. So with many protestations of sadness then on their part and mine, with their wishes for my happiness, with auguries of good fortune, I took Hue, and in a cavalcade we came down the mountain pass and turned south. Dafydd and Lilian came with me. Before we reached the castle at Cambray, Dafydd drew me aside. He was riding his moorland horse, its long tail and mane blowing in the wind, and the bright March sun glinted on his hair.

  'Lady Ann,' he said, after many starts, 'it is not too late to change your mind; turn back with me. Or, having come to Cambray, stay but a while, then come again to Owain's fort. You are as welcome there as flowers in spring. I should be waiting for you at the border pass.'

  He put out his hand to cover mine, a small fine-boned hand he had for a warrior, strong and supple like steel. 'I should wait for you,' he repeated. 'If I feel myself part Norman, as well as Celt, you alone made me so, nothing else. If I had thoughts of staying at Cambray, it was because of you. I left Cambray for freedom but I also left because you were gone. Now I think God has given you back to me, lost in the mist that day.' He hesitated. 'Your husband has gone,' he said, 'and where, who knows. You cannot wear your youth away waiting for a shadow that may never become flesh.'

  How should I explain that that shadow world was always real for me?

  When I did not reply, 'Wait then, for the summer's end. I will send again in the autumn time,' he said. 'But if you need me, summon me. My men and I will come, although I swore never to trespass on Cambray lands.'

  He hesitated long before he said, 'And if, in God's time, you should think of another man, remember Dafydd, son of Howel, to whom you gave life back long ago; give me chance of it again.'

  A gentle man was Dafydd, too. But I could not give him what he wanted, and he could not give me my heart's wish. We made a parting there, for he would not be foresworn and come within the boundaries of my father's lands. He turned back to the high mountains, and Lilian and I rode southward toward the sea.

  I had not seen Cambray since the day I had left it to plead for Raoul's life, knowing then I was with child, knowing that Raoul was marked for death by Henry's men. Little had changed at Cambray in these past years, the walls more gray, and the outer battlements battered by heavy storms. But the moors behind them were undisturbed, and the sea below the castle was as permanent as the sky above. Once I had wanted nothing more than to return to this small and simple castle at the far end of the Norman world, until that Norman world wanted it. But Henry, it seemed, had made no move against us after all, and tranquil had been the castle all this while. And tranquil came I back to live there and wait. In time, they brought young Robert to me from Sedgemont. Then had I both my sons in my care to my content. At each season, Dafydd sent messages, or sometimes I would ride out to the edge of the moors and meet him there.

  But these were the outward things of my life. In my mind's eye I lived in Raoul's world, and what we waited for was the same. For I waited for love and so, I think, in the end did he. His love of me, his hatred of Henry were different sides of the same coin. You will never know if he loves you. Now far away, he avenged that love; he avenged that hate. And in my thoughts, I shared both with him. Well, this too is a tale that must be told and I not the one to do all the telling of it, a man's story this, of war and death as well as love. Let Lord Ademar speak of it, as he once told it me. Lord Ademar, who came to Poitiers to be with the king and tried to spare me the queen's wrath, and who lived to see his wager come true and to be a witness of it. It was a wager no man dared breathe aloud, that one day, Raoul would challenge Henry to combat. And still today no men talk of it; you will not find it written in the chronicles; silent they are upon such a thing, beyond their understanding. But so it was done, and so foretold.

  Now, there are two other points which must also be said before we come to the last part of our tale. One is what King Henry did not do, the other what King Henry did. After Raoul had left in such a fashion as to send waves of scandal through the English court, Henry made no move against him. He never tried to take Sedgemont; he certainly never tried to take Cambray, although he had wanted it so badly, and his lawyers, ever greedy for more lands, tried to persuade him that now he had the right to seize both within the process of the law. Why he did not is not clear. But, as if to make the distinction plain, his standard-bearer, that other earl, Henry of Essex—who, you remember, had thrown down the king's flag and run away—for six years, Henry pursued him. At the end of that time, when the Earl of Essex might well have thought himself safe, Henry's wrath caught up with him. He was hauled before one of Henry's new courts on charge of cowardice and forced to answer for his treachery. He was defeated in a duel by a champion chosen by the king, left for dead, immured in a monastery, his lands forfeit. A monk he lived the rest of his days, in Reading Abbey, no slight thing to give up the world for honor's shame, yet never word of blame or complaint Henry dared let fall against Earl Raoul; and whether that was for guilt, having broken oath with me in such shameful wise, or whether for justice to the earl himself, I do not know. In any case, Lord Raoul's lands were not touched; he could have come back without constraint. And never Henry spoke of Basingwerk or his defeat, and all men avoided reference to it.

  As to what Henry did, a restless wanderer too was he, criss-crossing the Channel like a man possessed. Having recovered of his wounds, having given up the Welsh campaign, seeming to have lost interest in it, he went back to France, tried to make peace with King Louis at last, tried to capture all of Brittany and veered from one place to the next as if pacing about a room, not a continent. Finally, he turned the full blaze of his attention on Toulouse. He had another score to settle there, an old one too, with Count Raymond, Lord Ademar's overlord. And it was there, now, that the two wanderers met. Henry had long held a grudge against Count Raymond of Toulouse, incensed by his failure to pay court at Poitiers. He chose now to move against Toulouse because, since he had not succeeded in having Count Raymond do fealty for his lands, he feared that the Count would try to make them independent of the Duchy of Aquitaine. Cleverly, Henry justified his attack by declaring, not that Count Raymond held lands without swearing homage, but rather that he had no right to them at all. Toulouse, he said, in fact, belonged to Queen Eleanor! Naturally enough, Count Raymond laughed this idea to scorn, so Henry began to raise a second army, a mighty one, bigger, they claimed, than any army raised in France since the holy wars, to use against him.

  Lord Ademar described Henry's army thus: 'A mighty dust train, a serpent's trail, writhing its way along those hot and dusty roads, such a gathering of all of Henry's feudal host, packed out with mercenaries where he could squeeze them in, that the whole from head to start stretched many miles, not counting the baggage train. Lord Raoul spoke true when he said that Henry had found a new toy, a feudal army that, at his command, would march or stop, attack or besiege, as he gave the word. I was with Count Raymond in Toulouse itself, and the city teemed with rumor: how many miles the army marched each day, how many castles they took along the way, how many lords they forced to submit, how they skirmished through Perigord, seized Cahors, with its great Roman bridge, until, by and by, they were expected at our very gates.

  'Count Raymond was a brave and stubborn man. "Let him come," I heard him
say. "I can outface a Count of Anjou, a trumped up title and a jumped up man, not half the size of my estates." Bravado he had, to refuse to call Henry a king, to ignore such a danger coming at him; and in truth, things might have gone ill for us (I was in that city too and knew how ill-prepared we were to hold off such a besieging force), had not two things conspired to help us. One was the arrival of King Louis of France. Now Henry claimed King Louis had blessed his plans, knew of them, and welcomed them. Certainly, Louis knew of them—Henry had told all the world—but whether he agreed to them was another thing. For Louis's sister was married to Count Raymond, and although Louis had little liking for the Count, he did not want to see his sister and her sons dispossessed. Besides, he more than anyone else in France had had enough of Henry's whittling away at his lands.

  Seldom does Louis decide anything (they say he spends all day determining what shirt to wear); but in this, for once he took the initiative, came quickly to the city before Henry reached it, and undertook to help us with our defense. The second source of help was Lord Raoul himself.'

  Among King Louis's soldiers came the man Lord Ademar had seen but once, but had never forgotten. Lord Raoul, who was claimed to be the greatest knight in all of France. He did not answer to any title, not even that of Count of Sieux; he wore the plainest clothes, who had been plain to excess before, but his armor, his shield, his gear, were as well cared for as any man's. And his great horse that no one dared approach, they say he handled it like a hound. Two men followed him, both as taciturn and dour, and since all three by then counted as one man, fought, warred and rode as one. Count Raymond was glad to welcome them. Ademar remembered when he had seen Lord Raoul that one time at Poitiers and had judged Raoul as impulsive, arrogant, and proud. Now Raoul seemed, reserved perhaps is a good word, turned in upon himself, like a man with some secret cause that drove him on. Nor did Raoul take anyone into his confidence, but everyday came up upon the north facing ramparts of the city wall and waited there until the sun set. And when at last, in the July month, that telltale dust cloud finally appeared, to make the citizens cry out and wring their hands, he never showed any outward sign, but sat resting there with his chin upon his hands. But his hands were clasped about his sword hilt. All night long he sat, and after dark the little pinpoints of flame where Henry's men had made camp seemed to hold his gaze, as if by turning his head away or blinking even one eye they might disappear. Lord Ademar marveled that a sight which caused so many men's hearts to sink, even the most courageous ones, should so gladden this man that, for the first time since Raoul had come to Toulouse, he almost smiled.

  'A siege army is an awesome thing at best,' Lord Ademar later was to explain, 'and few men watch its approach without some sense of foreboding. I confess, when I saw the numbers of men Henry had brought, and the great siege machines that can hurl stones and torches to shatter a wall and burn down a house, and battering rams, and siege towers made of rawhide and wood, I felt a sensation close to fear. And since there was nothing else to be done, for our preparations were as complete as we could achieve, I watched from the ramparts beside Lord Raoul. I did not stand where he could see me, and I am not sure he would have cared if he could. He did not know me then, and there was that about him, that fixed purpose that I had only seen in religious men before. His silence and his immobility, like a bird of prey, a cat that stalks at night, fascinated me. And at dawn, he rose, strapped on his sword, and ran down the stone steps two by two as lightly as a boy. In the courtyard of Count Raymond's castle, Sir Piers had already saddled his lord's black horse and had slung upon its back the trappings that I had never seen Raoul use, scarlet and gold, and over his work-worn mail was slipped his surcoat, gold and red. His squire broke out his flag, and on his shield the golden hawks of Sedgemont flared. They clattered out of the yard, and men made way for them; down the empty cobbled streets they went, the morning not yet come to the city depths, shadows deep in alleyway and court. Toulouse in peace is a gracious town, full of flowering vines and pretty maids. The three men paid no heed, although I myself could have paused to let the sun catch the red petaled flowers, to listen to the girls singing in the morning cool as they washed themselves. I followed Lord Raoul. Call it curiosity or fate, what you will. I, too, looked for my horse and rode behind him until he came to the city gates. They were locked and trebly guarded, and no man could pass in and out. Then I spurred up to him where the guard had challenged him.

  ' "Where are you going. Lord Raoul?' I asked, without word of greeting as if I expected him to know why I was there. He did not ask who questioned him. He may or may not have known my name, but his answer did not surprise me.

  ' "I go," he said, "to honor a vow. The time of fulfillment is here."

  'At my nod, the guards clashed to arms and drew back the bolts, his horse clattered through, already pulling at the bit, tossing its head. Before it reached the open road, it had broken into a canter. And his men let him ride alone.

  ' "Will you let him go into Henry's camp without escort?" I cried, "They will cut him down."

  'But Sir Piers looked out through the half-opened gate, and watched his lord gallop toward the north. "This is the end for us," he said, "he goes with God and is in His hands." Then he and his squire turned their horses and plodded back the way they had come. The guards began to close the gates.

  ' "Wait," I cried. They looked at me in amaze. I am no gambler as you know, a cautious man, considering things many times. I never act on impulse, but I did then. Call it stupidity, curiosity or call it fate, I rode out after him.'

  (And that day was the day, I, Ann, went back to Cambray. What made me go? What force bound me to my lord, like a sea tide? Let other men explain it as they can. I can only tell you in my thoughts I knew it to be so. And in my thoughts I rode with him.)

  Afterward, in the city, they said it was the hand of God that saved them from the siege. For three days there was no news. Henry's army ringed them round; the machines and the sappers' mines were brought into place. The wooden towers that would be wheeled against the walls were half-built. The third night the campfires sparked as they had each night before. But by dawn, the army had gone, their tents dismantled, their machines abandoned, only the retreating dust clouds showed where they went. Many are the reasons given for this sudden withdrawal; sickness, plague, lack of food, change of plans, dislike of fighting against an overlord, since King Louis was still in the town. The chroniclers list many such reasons, all conflicting ones, until it seems clear they but guess at things they do not know. And they do not know because the truth was such that no man dare speak it, much less write it down. So now that truth should be told. Let Lord Ademar tell it also, that lord from Toulouse, who was in the city and destined to be the witness of such strange happenings. And although this be a man's tale, yet I, Ann of Cambray, and all women, may share in it.

  He used to pause, as he spoke, Lord Ademar, in his age, and stare, as if seeing, after all these years, the white baked city walls, the white dust trail, the burning sun that glittered on the vast encampment, the two horsemen riding one by one. And as if he saw too, himself, for once all caution thrown aside, as if he sensed the shadow figure of myself, riding with them to make a third.

  For Lord Raoul rode ahead, not fast but fast enough, a man with a mission to achieve, and little chance of accomplishing it, and death waiting him before the day's end. And honor shone clear about him like a lamp. The main camp was farther off than it had seemed from the city walls, and they had to ride through a stretch of woodland, more like scrub bush and thorn, with many paths winding in and out. Lord Ademar let his horse pick its own way, always keeping that distant figure in sight. An hour or so they rode through this wasteland, not even birds left, all fled before the storm, so that it was close to noon before they came to the first lines.

  'Raoul's horse suddenly reared back, as if stung, and so I too drew rein,' Lord Ademar explained. 'One of the king's outposts was stationed there and rose from their hiding place to challe
nge us.

  ' "In the king's name," the captain began, then backed, seeing such a knight, so armed, in front of him almost alone. The word of alarm died on his lips.

  ' "Let me pass," Lord Raoul said, moved forward as if the fellow did not exist. For a moment I thought the captain would call his men to arms; but perhaps, seeing me, seeing the splendor of Raoul's accoutrements, he hesitated, thinking this was some emissary from the town, or even, if God should be so kind, a peace offer from the Count of Toulouse, since sieges are as little popular with troops outside as they are with those trapped within. But, "Let me pass," Lord Raoul repeated until the captain fell back, his men with him. So Raoul rode on through, and I, Lord Ademar of Toulouse, rode after him.

  'All the world, the world of men and soldiers and knights that is, knows of Raoul's meeting with the king,' said Ademar. 'There is almost no need to tell it again. Only the chroniclers try to hide it, an event so contrary to their political theories they do not know what to make of it. Word of Lord Raoul's coming had leaped ahead, like wildfire spread, so that even before he came to the big pavillion where Henry lodged, men had begun to gather, at first furtively in small groups, then more openly as their numbers grew. Some of them, remembering the Welsh campaign and knowing they owed their lives to the Earl of Sedgemont, came to thank him and to wish him well; others, having heard of Boissert Field, came to look at the man responsible for it; and some, not knowing anything in particular, came to see a warrior whose reputation they admired. And they say that, afterward, there were men, younger men, who took him for their model, a knight errant, or wandering knight, who roamed the world on a quest. But never quest like this.