by Mary Lide
'In front of the king's tent then, Raoul stopped again and sat with that same hard, intent look that made men afraid. There was no sound, strange in so large and mixed a gathering, and the hot air closed round them like a fog; even the king's standard fell in limp folds.
' "Henry of Anjou." Raoul's voice was low, yet it carried to those waiting men, a tone to make many shiver for all the heat. Some crossed themselves and muttered prayers beneath their breath.
' "Henry of Anjou, I am come."
That was all, no name, no explanation of why or how. No one dared move, either forward or back. The stillness, the heat, was like the wait before a cloudburst. But Lord Raoul was calm and still, and his lean form was as beautiful as a coiled up snake, and as deadly. But his face, without expression, with that thin white scar across the cheekbone, was a death mask.
'Suddenly, the fastenings of the king's tent were torn apart and the king strode through the flaps. He was on foot, of course, but already in his mail coat and his coif, and he carried his helmet with the sprig of yellow broom. Behind him, a frightened squire struggled with his shield, while another bore his battle axe and sword. He said nothing, looked nowhere, merely pushed through his councilors, who wrung their hands, although afterward it was marveled that he came forth so speedily armed, as if (could it have been, so?) he already sat there expecting Raoul. No word, no sign either, from him; he simply snapped his fingers, thus, as he does, to send his guard scrabbling for their mounts, and the grooms running with his. It was the great gray stallion from Cambray he rode; he did not even bother with the reins, but vaulted on its back and spurred after Raoul, who before the king was fairly in the saddle, had already turned and moved off, cantering easily along the track he had come in, without a backward look. In silence too the crowd made way, parting in front of them on either side as a field of wheat is cut by a scythe. And the king followed him, riding like a man mesmerized, as if some tethering rope kept him in line, as if some bond attached him to the rider ahead. His face was mottled blue and white, though not for fear, and he kept his hand so hard clamped on the bridle rein that, where the bit cut into his horse's mouth, the foam was tinged with red. And that was for impatience.
'Behind Lord Raoul and the king following the king's guard, and I, Ademar, and so, keeping to our place, we came to a path that led away from both city and camp. But it is said that after we were gone, every man who could walk or run, every boy and scullion, scurried to find some conveyance, some of them even begging to be taken up behind a mounted man. Thus, in the rear a motley group followed us. (And, in my thoughts, I, Ann of Cambray also followed after them.)
'The countryside around Toulouse is wild and rocky but where a river cuts its way from the north, beyond that first stretch of woodland, there is a wide flood plain mostly bone-dry at this time of the year, although in places trickles of water still pool into hollows among the sandbars. Wild iris grows there and sorrel, and there are stands of tall flowering weeds along the dried-up water-beds, a breeding ground for snakes and other vermin so that few local men go there, no use in summer even for hunting.
'The afternoon was now well advanced, the air as thick and still as dawn; there was no breath of wind to bring relief, even the shadows in this arid soil were stark and hot. The men were sweating in their leather coats; to ride in full armor under that sun would have daunted many knights. Nor was it easy riding across this coarse and gritty sand, but Raoul kept up his steady pace, not deviating for rock or bush until he came to a place where a large meander of the main river had cut out a long level stretch between its banks. His horse forged on through the rank marsh grass, then stopped and turned. Raoul had been riding bareheaded all this while, and after he had drawn his sword and clapped his shield over his left arm, we saw how he unbuckled his sword belt, threw it and scabbard to the ground. No quarter then, to the death. He urged his horse toward the king. (And perhaps, in my thoughts, I, Ann of Cambray, saw him ride.)
'King Henry had paused when Raoul did and was already fidgeting for his shield and sword. Now he too stood up in the stirrups, as if eager to begin, and spurred his horse forward. Young and fresh, it bounded over the flinty soil, and as Henry rode, he closed his helmet down. The sand spurted beneath his hooves; no one could hear the cry the king gave, but Raoul's was clear, a clarion, the first time his battle cry had been heard for many weary months.
' “A moi, Sedgemont, a moi, Sieux," and he raised his sword and leveled it like a lance. Henry met him head on, swerved at the last moment before impact, shields clashed rim to rim, and when they turned, Raoul's swordtip was red. Back they wheeled, slash and thrust. Never in this life shall men see again such a fight; the dust swirled in clouds; the thunder of their hooves beat up and down the sand. At each turn the gray horse bore its master in, bore him safely away; each time, when the dust had settled. Lord Raoul, standing firm, had let Henry beat upon him, had thrust Henry back, advanced a pace or two himself. They were well matched as swordsmen; such men could fight all day until one tired. They were well matched with horse and horsemanship, again until one tired, or made a mistake. And like a flame that leaps between two fires, they sparked each other on, until it seemed an energy, a rage, flared back and forth between them both.
'I wish,' Lord Ademar used to say, 'it had been given to me once to know such courage, such strength, such grace. No fighting man could wish for more, or to make a better end. So they say the Vikings fought, beloved of their gods. Happy the man who dies in such company. But they fought on, not gods, not heroes, two weary men, each hammering at the other through to human flesh. The sun sank lower to give them coolness but they heeded it not. And we waited there, the scatterings of any army, at an arena rim and watched.'
(And in my mind's eye, I, Ann of Cambray, waited too.)
'King Henry sat in his saddle as if immoveable, locked into place. That gray horse had a heart of steel; time and time again it bore him in, carried him out of reach. But Raoul and his horse moved as one, a single being, neither man nor horse. Tireless Raoul seemed, a man so coiled in upon himself you could not reach the depths of him.
'And so they fought to day's end. We could hear both men sobbing for breath; they panted as they heaved their mighty swords; their horses were glassy-eyed, lathered with foam, having in them strength for one more charge. Henry pushed his helmet up, wiped a bloody hand across his face, slammed the visor shut. But I heard him shout first, "Rot you in Hell, Raoul of Sieux." He set his gray stallion in one final sweep. Down that scuffed and stained stretch of sand it came, panting now, its breath short and rasping, almost stumbling for weariness, but he pulled it up.
'And Raoul too rode out at Henry. His shield rim caught Henry's so that the buckles snapped, ripped it off, almost unseating the king. We heard the rasp of it, edge to edge, then the clatter as it fell to the ground. Sword to sword, right arm to arm, until Henry's arm began to bend. And then we saw how Henry reached behind his back, reached with his left arm, empty shield arm, and plucked the battleaxe from his belt, and threw it in one fast move. He could not miss at such close range, nor could Raoul move to deflect its path. It struck high on the black horse's side, cutting through the scarlet saddle-cloths, cutting through Raoul's mail coat, cutting through to the bone. The force of that blow shook both men apart. Raoul's face had paled with shock and loss of blood, yet he gave no cry of pain, simply wheeled his horse back.
' "Then this, Henry, great king," he said. And straight at Henry, jubilant, he rode. The black horse bounded forward, although with each step the scarlet of the cloth ran deeper red; up on its haunches it rose, those murderous front hooves slashed through air, and down upon the Cambray gray that reeled under them.
'Down crashed Raoul's shield to break through Henry's guard; down sliced that deadly sword blade to slash and thrust. Both men were reeling now, reins gone, hold gone, only instinct kept then horsed. And with one last effort, with his last strength, Raoul thrust at the king's horse to make it run. Neck to neck, and man to man, t
hey galloped away, and were lost in the growing dark. Only the drumming of their hooves was heard, until that, too, faded away.'
Then Ademar fell silent and sat as if he too had lost breath, as if in his thoughts he saw and heard again that bloodstained charge. There was a far-off look upon his face as if he were one who, in ancient times, had seen heroes do battle before the gods. (And I, Ann of Cambray, in my thoughts, had seen them fight.) After a while, Lord Ademar roused himself.
'Almost immediately,' he said, 'came the quick southern night. No moon, later it would rise, no path, no man who dared follow where they went. Down on our haunches we squatted, one by one, trapped there ourselves until the dawn. But I, I dismounted and went on foot, step-by-step, carefully threading out the way that had gone. And in the end, I found them,' he said. 'Side by side, as if for comfort's sake in this desolate place, and what said or done in the aftermath of that dark and dreadful day no man should know. Yet I know it. I heard it from Lord Raoul himself, panted out in a fever fit, cried out in his delirious dreams. His secret then, no man else's, and so I have told no man else. But since he lived to speak of it, in broken phrases, mumbled words, like a man whose voice is not used to speech, it should be told. Thus, from those fractured pieces I round it out as his testament.
' “We galloped on, "Lord Raoul said, "Jesu, I do not look for a fight like that again. Henry was better armed, better horsed, better disciplined than I thought." And he almost gave his mocking grin. "Better than he promised as a boy when he modeled himself on me. All was dark. I remember little of that ride—pain perhaps, you grow used to that, weakness, a sense of calm. I expected death, only hoped to meet it with due honor. And that I too had known before. When I became aware of where I was, I was still in the saddle, dripping wet, my horse still heaving under me."
'We had blundered into one of those penned in pools and there the horse had paused, the water at least to give it comfort, every step it took opening its wound. The axehead was still buried in my leg, but for me the blade acted as a kind of pad, if the pain could be endured. The cool of the water rose like mist; I was parched with thirst, no way to get down to it, no way, unhorsed, to mount again. So, after a while, we inched back to land, limped along the water's edge. I saw the gray horse first, a blur in the dark, where it had fallen on its side, its great heart burst. God knows it was a noble beast. The king lay where he had been tossed as it fell, spread-eagled on his back, not three paces further on. His helmet had fallen off, his face was bloodless white. I thought him dead when we came up; and I sat looking down at him for a long time. His surcoat was hacked and torn, his mail ripped through; there was another dark smear across his head. I cannot say if I was glad, was sorry—I felt nothing at all, thought nothing, too weary for anything except to sit and watch. And presently, after a while, or perhaps after a long while, for in the meantime the moon had begun to rise, I saw his eyes were open and he was watching me.'
' " 'Not yet,' he croaked as if he guessed my thoughts, 'I still breathe.' He struggled to sit up, one arm crooked from the fall, the other he kept tight pressed against his side to stem the blood."
' " 'Get off your horse,' he said, 'I can fight on foot. Can you?' And he nodded to where the axe shaft was still clearly visible. 'Where is my horse?' he asked then, but he saw it before I could reply.'
'Then is your earl's fee in part forfeit,' he said in gasps, 'that was one-eighth of your land's worth.' He leaned back and, for a moment, closed his eyes. Then you have won,' he said, 'so take your revenge. Or sit there and wait. This wound will kill me just as well. God's head, why do you look like a statue watching for death? Which shall it be, yours first or mine? Where are my men? How have we come so far from them?' "
' " 'One last lesson in horsemanship,' I croaked in reply. 'All hope lost, let your horse run with you, better that than fall for your enemies to hack to bits.' The moon was half-full but I could see clearly the continuing stain down my horse's side, the spreading stain where Henry lay."
' " 'You always hated me,' he was muttering. 'Rot you, Raoul, you never once gave way to me. What made you hate me so? I never did you harm before. And she, she never gave way either, your wife. You tricked me to marry her or she tricked me, to make me look a fool.' "
' "He whispered, suddenly afraid in the still and lonely air, 'Do not let me die thus, a stuck pig, to bleed to death. As you are a huntsman, Raoul, let the kill be quick.' Then, after a long pause, as if he swooned in between, 'I thirst,' as simple as a child."
' "I had no belt. With sword and teeth, I wrestled a strap loose, cut it free, wrapped it round my upper thigh, pulled it tight, pulled out the axe. Sweet Virgin, that was not easy done. When I could see again, pain red-hot, golden-dark, consciousness returning in sickening sweeps, I tried to pry myself out of the saddle; how to do that a greater engineering feat than building up a castle wall, each move a year's duration worth. I did not know I had gnawed through my lip. My horse, that I have ridden since manhood, in tearing loose myself, I tore at him, no way to strap his wounds, at every breath, blood poured to the ground. But it was only when his legs buckled too that I could free myself. And down he went most gallantly, on my good side and his, so then I could drag myself off his back . . . God have mercy on both men and beast. I could have wept for him . . . Inch by inch then, like swimming in a current, one moment head up, the next drowned, head beneath, the ground firm, yet groundless, too, no feel to it, a sinking through."
' "Henry was still conscious but barely so. I came up to him. 'What of my wife?' I said."
' "He panted out,' Come, Raoul, be generous. A clean kill. You always do the gracious thing, in the gracious way. I could never hope to match your style."
' "What of my wife?" I said.'
' "He gave a laugh, half laugh, half groan. 'To the death then, you with but one leg, I with no arms, what shall we fight with, words?' I drew him up as best I could, loosened his mail; the rings had driven into his side, the wound gaped black. I tore off strips of his shirt and mine to plug it, made a pad under his ribcage. My sword had ripped his flesh; why did I try to put it back in place?"
' "After a long silence, he looked at me, his eyes dark in the moonlight. 'You always were too generous, Raoul,' he said. 'Was that what you admired in King Stephen so much? He was no more faithful than I have been." '
' "He tried to grasp me with his one good hand, sense fading from him fast. 'Come back to England, Raoul,' he said. 'I give it to you back, all of it. I beg you. Take your earldom and your wife. I have needed you, nothing goes as it should. Come back to her. Only you and she to outface me, yet that is all the harm you did. Yet I never did her harm I swear, nor she you. I lied, to catch you where you are vulnerable. I lied. She is both chaste and fair. And she loves you.' "
' "When I could think or move, I crawled down the beach, brought water in his helmet back. Jesu, water never tasted so good, part for him, part for me. I took his head in my arms, waited until dawn. What else? I did not hate him, Henry, great king, only wished that he might be something else. I did not wish for death, only expected it . . . And a great calm, as if at last I was content." '
But Raoul was still alive, barely so, he and the king, when Lord Ademar found them both and brought them both back to their men. Henry's guard carried him away, took him in a litter to Poitiers. He lived to fight and war again and seek revenge; he did not, could not, change. But never again crossed he swords with Raoul, never again broke faith with him. Raoul they took back to Toulouse, his life despaired of more than once. But he was strong, a body honed like steel, and Count Raymond had surgeons justly famed, the greatest in all of France, trained by men from the East. Another man would have bled to death, but he lived, although he walked lame on that side all his life. And when he could understand what was said to him, Lord Ademar told him what he had heard, of all that had been done at Poitiers that day, when the queen had betrayed me, and of the ambush Geoffrey made when I was on my way back to Cambray. Then, like a man lightened of a load, Rao
ul lay in Toulouse, in one of those pleasant inner courts with flowering vines, and willed himself to live.
And I, Ann of Cambray, knowing all, knowing naught of this, in my little castle at the far end of the Norman world, time passed for me. And on a day in early autumn, what year, I forget the year, what matters in a world that time has forgot, I came up on the moors. It had been a wet and windy summer, but this day was fine as spring, and it drove me out of doors. Restless for some reason not clear to me, I had ridden out with my men and my sons, Robert on a little pony as I used to do, to jump over the rabbit holes. Hue and I had come mainly on foot; but I could not stop, went on again, farther than I meant.
The air was fresh and clear after so much rain; it seemed each leaf, each blade of grass was etched out fine; there was a sparkle to the world. Already the heather was turning blue and mauve, and little Hue's mouth was stained with whortle-berries he had found among the furze. From time to time, when he shouted loud enough, his brother let him pat his pony, scarce bigger than a dog, with a long blonde tail. The child who once had ridden on his wolfhound with stockinged feet now beat like a man with his spurs and boots. The castle guard at Cambray watched his every move. Already they had made him his first wooden sword and shield, and he practiced with them every day. I did not try to stop him nor take the toys away—he was his father's son and I could not change his destiny either. And presently, as the afternoon wore on, I saw we had come high up on the moors. There was no mist today. Looking back down the path we had come, you could see the castle with its walls and keep, set at the cliff's edge, the thriving village in its shadow, and beyond it, the vast and open sea, shimmering in the heat. To north and west stretched the undulating hills, but where the mountains were, my Celtic homeland, there was a great rack of cloud. And in front of us, at the hill's crest, stood the circle of old gray stones. For one heart stopping moment, I thought I was a child again, and held Hue back, as the captain of the guard had held me.