Fires of Winter

by Roberta Gellis

  Then her body did shift; she turned her back to me with a hasty flop that would have betokened bad temper in any of my usual bed partners. Bad temper? I reviewed my hasty and thoughtless words and grinned to myself in the dark. Who would have thought it? I would have assumed that the disinterest of a whore’s son would have provided the well-born Lady Melusine with relief, but apparently great lady and common whore agreed on one thing: Neither liked to find any man indifferent to her.

  The revelation restored my good humor, although it made it no easier to convince my standing man that he would find no soft, warm haven this night. Partly to induce him to lie down and partly because I did not really trust the truce with Melusine enough to sleep yet, I thought over what I had so hastily promised to pacify my wife. I had not lied to her; I would indeed do my best to convince the king to grant me Melusine’s heritage. The only untruth was the implication that Stephen might possibly enfeoff me with those lands.

  Was it really so unlikely? The more I thought about it the more I thought that what I had said only to obtain a breathing space in which to tame Melusine might be the best possible solution to a number of problems. The first of those was the strong possibility that Stephen would fail to pay the pension he had promised, which was all I had to support my wife. From what I had seen of Cumbria, the income from Melusine’s estates would come to considerably less than the pension. The land was able to provide a subsistence to those who lived on it but little more than that. Yet for me, a secure subsistence based on lands of my own was far more desirable than a rich pension—even assuming it was paid with reasonable regularity.

  For the king there would be a profit far greater than relief from payment of the pension or the guilt of not paying it. Although Stephen had disseised those knights and barons who had been actively disloyal during the winter invasion of England, all knew that Cumbria remained a hotbed of disaffection. It seemed to me it would add greatly to the peace and stability of the shire to enfeoff a man loyal to Stephen but married to a native Cumbrian. To disseise men and place stewards on their estates had no ring of finality. If Stephen were defeated, those lands could be returned to their original holders with no more than the stroke of a pen and the pressure of a seal. But once a new man was settled on the estate, particularly one married into the legitimate line, it would take a war to restore the property to the man who had been disseised.

  Holding Ulle in my own right, I would serve as an example of the evil result of rebellion as well as furnish Stephen with a voice in the councils of Cumbria—and I would be well placed to deal out further lessons to the rebellious barony if they intended to welcome David and his Scots again. But thinking of the Scots sent a sharp pang of anxiety through me. By the last news Stephen had, David had swallowed up all of Northumbria and was driving south toward York, where Hugh’s foster father Archbishop Thurstan was gathering an army to oppose him. Had they met? Who had triumphed? Had Hugh been hurt in the battle? If he had been wounded or killed, I would have to go to Audris to give her what comfort I could.

  Then I remembered that I had never sent her the letter I had written while I was in Oxford. That could be amended easily; I would send it with the next messenger to go north. But now I realized I had too lightly ignored how much of a hold David might have on the countryside. My heart sank farther as I thought Audris might need my help and I not know of it. I had better ask the king for leave and go myself to make sure all was well with Audris. But if I asked Stephen for leave because of the Scottish threat in the north he would be hurt and angry thinking I was slyly reproving him for not helping.

  As I cast around for some other excuse to offer Stephen, a small and very ladylike snore sounded in my ear. Melusine, about whom I had forgotten completely and who had nothing at all to fear from knives in the back, had fallen fast asleep. For one instant I was so enraged by the contrast in our conditions—mine filled with unhappy anxiety and hers one of relaxation and confidence—that I was sorely tempted to shove her out of bed and dump her onto the floor. In the next I forgave her, for I had found the perfect excuse to give the king: I wished to take my wife north to introduce her to my “family.” I breathed a deep sigh as another soft, delicate snore preceded a shift of Melusine’s body, an easy, boneless kind of turning that guaranteed sleep. Tomorrow I would speak to the king about leave, I thought, and let my eyes close at last.

  ***

  I did receive permission from the king to go north the next day, but as matters fell out, I did not need to ask for it. When I came on duty, Stephen had not yet come from his bedchamber into the hall, and when he did Waleran de Meulan was with him. I do not know whether Mass had been said in the king’s bedchamber, but I did not think so, and they did not go to the chapel so I missed Mass also. That did not trouble me for myself, but I wondered whether it was a chance occurrence or whether it marked another step in the king’s estrangement from the Church. Stephen smiled at me but did not speak and sat down at once at the single table set for him to break his fast, gesturing to Waleran to join him. Their expressions roused a cautious watchfulness in me. The king looked uneasy and stubborn and Waleran’s face carried a muted triumph.

  The morning meal was never formal, and on a fine day like this most people took their food out of doors; but there was food in the hall for those who wished to wait there on the chance that Stephen would notice them and beckon them to him. Naturally, the great lords did not bother to come; they had more direct methods of approaching the king. There were few gentlemen in the hall this morning, and those did not come closer when they saw Stephen was already engaged.

  I stood back somewhat behind Waleran’s position, directing the squires to carry dishes to the table but moving as little as I could myself, for stillness confers a kind of invisibility. Waleran did not like me—not, I think, for any personal reason but because of the trust in me Stephen showed. I believe that Waleran did not want the king to love or trust anyone except those tied by blood or interest to himself.

  I could not help thinking as I watched Stephen’s ease and confidence with Waleran how different he had been with his own brother and the bishop of Salisbury the previous day, and I felt it was wrong. I did not desire that Henry of Winchester rule the king, but I did not want Stephen to be ruled by Waleran de Meulan either. I remembered how Waleran had betrayed King Henry, who had loved him as tenderly as a son, and I feared Waleran was more interested in his own wealth and power than the good of the king or the realm.

  The way Stephen and Waleran looked at each other told me that Waleran had convinced the king to do something that others might not approve, and I wanted to know what it was. Waleran was not likely to speak openly about what he felt was so confidential it should be urged only in the king’s bedchamber, but Stephen was prone to hints and significant glances about a subject that was occupying his mind. Although Waleran’s influence was growing steadily stronger, I could sometimes interfere in small ways by making the king see certain of Waleran’s suggestions in a different light.

  I learned nothing, Waleran having cleverly diverted the talk at the table to a new hawk he had given the king. Their discussion of the bird’s strength and agility, which it seemed they were planning to test later in the day, was interrupted only by a page who came running to announce that a messenger from Archbishop Thurstan had arrived and was on his way to the hall. In his eagerness Stephen jumped to his feet and went down the hall—and I went also, my heart suddenly pounding in my breast.

  “God has saved us!” the messenger cried as he crossed the threshold and saw Stephen. “The Scots carpet the field of Northallerton like cut rushes, and those who survive flee north in disorder. King David’s army is no more.”

  “Well come!” Stephen responded, clapping the young priest on the shoulder. “You are most well come. I am sure God has shown His favor because of the blessed Thurstan’s piety. And now that threat in the north is lifted from us, we will have peace in the land. Come, sit w
ith me and tell me all the news.”

  Stephen led the priest back and I followed close on their heels, forgetting all about Waleran’s purpose in my anxiety about Hugh, who I was sure had been in that battle. But it was through the news of what became known as the Battle of the Standard—the rallying point for those loyal to King Stephen had been a standard of saints’ pennons and a pyx prepared and blessed by Archbishop Thurstan—that I learned what Waleran had convinced Stephen to do and was given leave to go north.

  The battle had been described between bites of bread and cheese and pasty and gulps of ale, which the king urged on the priest, who had obviously been present on the hill where the standard was set. Then the priest told Stephen that William d’Aumale had organized the pursuit of the Scots and intended to take back those castles that had fallen into David’s hands. Suddenly, Waleran, who had been listening with great interest, leaning forward with an elbow on the table, sat up and touched Stephen’s shoulder.

  “Aumale should be rewarded, my lord,” he said. “It seems to me that it would be most fitting to award him the earldom of York. He is already in good repute with the local barons, familiar with the shire, and engaged in protecting it. Would it not seem reasonable to give the authority over the north into such loyal and skillful hands? Perhaps he could be invested at the same time as you assign Worchester to me and Bedford to Hugh and give formal recognition to Gilbert as earl of Pembroke.”

  For a moment I was distracted from my fear for Hugh. If I had heard aright, a good portion of the great nobles of England would be members of Waleran’s family. Robert, Waleran’s twin, was already earl of Leicester; William de Warenne, Waleran’s half brother, was earl of Surrey; Roger Beaumont, his first cousin doubly tied in blood by being married to his half sister, was earl of Warwick. Now three more were to be belted as earls: Waleran himself would hold Worchester; the Hugh he spoke of was the youngest of the three full-blooded Beaumont brothers and had been called the Pauper because there had been no lands to give him—he would be a pauper no longer but the earl of Bedford; and Gilbert de Clare, married to Waleran’s full-blood sister, would gain full title to what he had long claimed and be earl of Pembroke. No wonder Waleran and the king felt privacy was needed.

  I knew at once, however, that this matter was beyond my touch and my judgment. I feared the elevation of so many Beaumonts would increase the dissatisfaction of other noble families, but they might not take it amiss. Anything I said on such a subject would be presumptuous. Doubtless they would support him, but there was no guarantee of that. I knew that Waleran’s twin brother, Robert of Leicester, had taken no part in Waleran’s rebellion against King Henry. Moreover, Robert was respected by all for his sober judgment, and William de Warenne was well liked too. From all I knew and could guess, there was as much likelihood of evil resulting from refusing to elevate Waleran’s candidates as from agreeing to do it, and I could see no good in my interference.

  The king, filled with enthusiasm by the good news, nodded eagerly at Waleran but turned back to the priest at once to ask if there was anything else he wished to say. I do not know that he had, but he had lowered his eyes thoughtfully when he heard Waleran’s proposal, and now shook his head at Stephen’s question as if he wished to have time alone to think. Assured that the messenger’s budget was emptied, Stephen took a rich ring from his finger to reward the bringer of glad tidings and told him that he might go and rest.

  That wiped all thought of the ennoblement of Beaumonts from my mind. I could not leave the king and could not be sure of finding the priest again. “My lord,” I cried, “may I beg a few words with this messenger?”

  “Most certainly,” Stephen replied kindly, “but he can have no news of Jernaeve or your sister.”

  “I know, my lord, but my friend Hugh Licorne, who was Archbishop Thurstan’s foster child, must have been in the battle.” I turned to the priest. “Do you know Hugh Licorne?”

  “I do, but I have no word of him.” He smiled at me. “That must be good. Sir Hugh was one of the leaders under Sir Walter Espec, and I spoke to Sir Walter. I am certain that if any harm had come to Sir Hugh, Sir Walter would have sent the news to my lord the archbishop.”

  I drew a deep breath of relief and thanked him most fervently. Each time I thought of how Audris’s light had been dimmed just by separation from Hugh when she knew him to be safe and well, my terror increased about her reaction to his death. As it turned out, the priest was wrong and my relief premature, but since Hugh recovered I was grateful for the mistake. I would have torn my heart out with worry to no purpose at all had I known the truth.

  The priest rose, bowed slightly to the king, and left the table. As I backed away a few steps to make room, Waleran raised a hand to stop me from going farther and said to the king, “My lord, this is a day on which all things must go well. I was just wondering where we would find a man to carry your message to Aumale—and here he is. You are from the north, are you not, Bruno?”

  Stephen gave me no chance to reply, laughing at what seemed to me great presumption on Waleran’s part, but he did say, “You are very free in disposing of my favorite servant. Surely I can send a message back with the priest or find someone else to carry my gratitude to those who defended the realm.”

  “I beg pardon, my lord,” Waleran said, “it is not that I wish to rob you of Bruno’s service, but you know the priest’s first loyalty is to the archbishop. He will go to his master before he goes to Aumale, so the offer of the earldom will seem to have come through Thurstan’s influence instead of direct from the goodness of your heart.” He shrugged. “You know I am glad of the victory over the Scots, but I could wish it had not been handed to us by a prince of the Church.”

  “I do not think we need worry about Archbishop Thurstan,” Stephen replied. “He is a most pious man who would not overstep the bounds of his spiritual office.”

  “Only because he is too old and too sick,” Waleran remarked sourly. “He was not so meek in King Henry’s time. But we are losing the point of who should go north with your thanks and rewards. Not the priest—I agree with you there.”

  My lifelong training held my face straight, but I did not know whether I felt more like laughing or crying at the way Waleran had turned his objection to employing the priest as a messenger into Stephen’s idea. Then the import of what they had said sank into me, and I could hardly believe my ears. Stephen had never been ardently religious, which I counted a virtue I must admit, but it was strange to hear him speak of a churchman overstepping the bounds of spiritual office. Churchmen had always held high temporal places, partly because of their ability to read and write and speak in Latin, whereby they could communicate with others nearly everywhere in the world, and partly because of their knowledge of God’s law and man’s. Nearly every high office in England was held by a churchman—chancellor, treasurer, justiciar. Did Stephen mean to change that and appoint…whom? I felt blank and lost. Who could take the place of Salisbury and his nephews without causing great disruption in the government?

  Waleran had not stopped speaking while these ideas about the place of the Church in the affairs of the realm were running through my head, and part of my mind had heard him. “My lord,” he had said, grinning as if he were joking, “you know what will happen if we send someone strange to that part of the country. He will lose himself a dozen times over in trying to follow Aumale and take ten times as long even when he knows where he should go by keeping to the great roads instead of taking the forest paths.” Then he grew more sober and pointed out seriously, “I would never have come to Wark in time if I had not had men native to Northumbria with me.”

  The king frowned at this, clearly having dismissed the idea of using the priest as his messenger and considering seriously whom he could send. He glanced at me once or twice as Waleran added a few additional points that made me an ideal messenger, one being the fact that I was a Knight of the Body and thus might be considered
a more personal envoy, another that I would know better what to say, since I knew many of the men to whom I would bring the king’s thanks. I said nothing. I assumed Waleran was trying to be rid of me so that he could more easily learn if any objected to the great advancement of his family, but I did not feel that I was responsible for protecting the interests of every man who spoke to the king. What was more, I had come to understand that it would not be as easy to obtain leave as I had originally thought, so I welcomed Waleran’s interference.

  Many of Stephen’s Knights and Squires of the Body served in rotation, having homes and families and sometimes estates that needed their attention. Since I knew Sir Oliver preferred I stay away from Jernaeve, I had seldom asked for leave, and Stephen had grown accustomed to having me with him. But Stephen himself had given me a great responsibility other than my service to him. And though I loved him, I could repose no trust in his continued payment of my pension—particularly if he were about to cause violent disorder in the exchequer by dismissing those who had long managed it. I had to make Melusine known to Audris so she would have a haven if my purse failed or, worse, rebellion was fanned to flames again.

  I had not been following the discussion closely, but I knew Stephen, out of kindness, would ask my preference and I was ready when he said, “Well, Bruno, what do you think?”

  “I would be sorry to leave you if you need me, my lord,” I answered, “but I think as Lord Waleran does that I would be a suitable messenger. I know my way about Yorkshire and Northumbria, and though I would not go so far as to say I know William d’Aumale, Walter Espec, and the others, I am acquainted with some and know the others by repute. I think I could express to each your sentiments in such a way that he would be pleased with your thanks and gratitude. I also have a personal reason to wish to go, if you will forgive me for letting such matters intrude. I greatly desire to make my wife known to Lady Audris of Jernaeve, so this journey could accomplish two purposes and I will not need to ask leave again.”