Fires of Winter

by Roberta Gellis

  “You coward!” she shrieked at me, slapping me again. “You spoiled, self-indulgent monster! What right have you to sit staring at the wall? Selfish beast! Will you let your husband die in chains rather than make the effort to save him?”

  Chapter 23

  Bruno

  I have been so often praised for sacrificing myself for the king, that I must confess my shame. I did my duty to the utmost of my ability in the battle of Lincoln, though I was appalled at the dishonor of the attack, but my refusal to be parted from Stephen after we were captured was purely selfish. Did no one save me realize that to be one with the king was my best hope of freedom? Where could I find a ransom? Melusine had nothing except the few coins I had left with her when I departed; Audris and Hugh would pay, I was sure, but why should I drain their slender store and take on a debt I might never be able to repay? Moreover, I was assured of far better treatment in captivity as Stephen’s servant than as a poor knight with no estate.

  It was fortunate that Robert of Gloucester, to whom our captor delivered us, recognized me as one of the men who had brought his sister to him from Arundel. I was supporting the king, who was still partly dazed from the blow to his head, when we were brought before Gloucester, and he stared at me a moment and then said, “You are Bruno of Jernaeve. My sister had a good deal to say about you when I was escorting her back to Bristol.”

  I thought I was a dead man in that moment, but I could not change the habit of a lifetime, and I stared back at him and said, “I am sorry to have displeased Lady Matilda, but I am not sorry for the cause. Free or captive, I can see no reason to beat servants for not being able to guess in advance what was wanted of them nor to give up my wife to a service she loathed.”

  “A round answer, and what I might have expected from a man who puts his hand on his sword hilt in reply to a look,” Gloucester said.

  His voice was sober, but to my amazement there was a slight crinkling of the skin near his eyes and a twitching at the corner of his mouth that looked like a desire to laugh. It gave me hope, and I shrugged. “I am sorry for that too, but I could not bawl across the distance between us a denial to a question that had not been asked.”

  Then Gloucester smiled. “Just so, but we are far from the business at hand. Kahains here informs me that he and his men had some difficulty in making you lift your shield away from Lord Stephen when they captured him. You are a loyal servant. Do you wish to remain with your master?”

  Before I could answer, I felt Stephen turn his head. “Stay with me, Bruno,” he muttered. “Stay and show me one candle worth of loyalty in the black night of treachery that surrounds me.”

  Despite my anger at the king and my feeling that he had shown his nobles the way to their treachery with his own, I think I would not have denied him even if I had not already seen the advantages in being Stephen’s fellow captive. “You need not ask,” I said to Stephen. “I have given you my oath, my lord king, and that oath will hold me until you release me.” And then I looked at Gloucester. “Thank you, my lord. I beg you to let me go with my lord king and serve him.”

  I had given Stephen his full title because Gloucester had called him Lord Stephen—and whatever Stephen had lost in attacking Lincoln, nothing could take from him his anointment as king. Gloucester looked at me, and for a moment I thought he would take back his offer of allowing Stephen to have his own servant, who might, as I had just done, attempt to keep up the king’s spirits and thus interfere with attempts to make Stephen renounce his crown. But he said no more to us, only ordering that horses be found for us so we might be taken into Lincoln keep. Gloucester was a fine man, and I thought it a great misfortune that he should be a bastard and—by his own honor and his love and respect for his father as much as by any other cause—be deprived of the right to the throne. Better, far better for our unhappy realm had Gloucester the bastard sat on the throne than either Stephen or Matilda.

  That is true, even though I may have overestimated Gloucester’s kindness in allowing me to remain with the king. Gloucester knew Stephen of old, and may have known him better than I in certain ways. I had never seen the king truly cast down, except for very short times until something diverted him from whatever had disappointed him. Gloucester may have realized that nothing I could do could lighten the king’s mood once he realized the finality of his condition as captive. That he did not realize it in the beginning soon became clear.

  By the time we were mounted, Stephen was fully recovered from the blow on his head. We were both wounded, as was Gloucester, but not seriously, and none of us had lost enough blood to induce weakness. Still, I could hardly believe my ears when I heard Stephen talking quite cheerfully to the earl about a ransom. I wondered if the king believed what he was saying, or if he was simply putting off the time when he must face the truth—that there could be no ransom on earth that would free him except the yielding of his crown.

  For over a week Stephen resisted this truth. It was not until we came to Gloucester and Stephen was forced to do reverence to the empress that he realized his situation was nigh hopeless. I was not there. I was sent on ahead to Bristol, and I thank God I do not know what actually happened at that meeting for it broke the king. For a few days after he arrived in Bristol, he still seemed stunned. Then, instead of recovering his usual optimism, he sank into alternating periods of grief and rage in which he first wept and lamented his misdeeds and cried he had been justly chastised by God and then cursed those who had fled the battle without even trying to save him.

  The poor king was thrust even deeper into a pit of despair when in March he was summoned to the hall to hear, before a crowd of his enemies, a special messenger from Matilda. With sneering satisfaction, that messenger announced that Stephen’s brother had betrayed him and had offered—of his own free will and without conditions—to proclaim that Stephen had been cast down by the judgment of God and that Empress Matilda was the true ruler and Lady of England. The king wept for a day and a night, moaning of his brother’s ingratitude. I do not know how often I bit my tongue to keep from reminding him of the many times he had affronted and slighted Winchester, beguiled by the smooth flattery of Waleran de Meulan.

  To tell the truth, I was nearly as despairing as the king. The news was a bitter blow to me too. I had not thought Matilda could be crowned until the king had agreed to yield the throne. If Matilda were crowned without Stephen’s abdication, it might profit her more to keep him a perpetual prisoner—or be rid of him entirely. I felt myself fittingly punished for my selfish decision to cling to Stephen, not for honor or loyalty or his many kindnesses to me but because I thought service a cheap way to win comfort and freedom. My solace was that I had done my master no harm despite my selfishness and I began in good earnest to try to cheer him.

  I told Stephen—and it was true—that Matilda was proud, cruel, and thoroughly venomous and that he must not believe all that her messengers were bidden to tell him. I pointed out that Winchester’s change of heart might not last long. As soon as Matilda showed him her true character, he would regret bitterly what he had done. But the king would not listen to me and sank deeper and deeper into apathy, wandering listlessly about the hall or sitting silently in his chamber. He no longer even walked on the walls, which was allowed. We were not confined harshly. Mostly we were treated as guests and given much freedom—only certain places in the keep, like the armory, and leaving the inner bailey were forbidden to us.

  I could not rouse Stephen, even when toward the end of March, Theobald the archbishop was allowed to visit him to ask his permission to transfer his allegiance to the empress. I stood as usual beside Stephen’s chair, but I could not tell whether Stephen even heard the archbishop. The man spoke low; I suppose he was ashamed, as he might well be, for his election was probably the major cause of Winchester’s defection. Stephen stared at him, and I pressed the king’s shoulder hard enough that he winced and looked at me in protest.

 
“Say you will consider,” I murmured, bending over him. “Then we can go back to your chamber.”

  Stephen repeated my words obediently, and went with me like a sleepwalker, but he had indeed heard Theobald. “Why do you want me to delay?” he asked, standing and staring into the fire. “Does it matter whether I say yes today or tomorrow?”

  “You should not say yes at all, my lord,” I urged. “Are you not angry with that creature? You gave him the power he now has. How dare he come and ask permission to change faith! Do not give him that ease of soul! If the highest member of the Church is so weak that he will forswear himself and betray the man who lifted him up from nothing, let him be forsworn before all men’s eyes. If that less-than-man has a soul, let it be wrenched and blackened. Do not give away your crown.”

  He smiled wearily at me and rested a hand on my shoulder. “Did I not choose him because Waleran said he was weak and I hoped to rule the Church in England as I ruled the realm? Is it not just therefore that this weakling be unable to help me? And why should I complain of one more traitor or try to make his change hard when others change even faster without asking my permission?”

  “My lord, listen to me—”

  But he shook his head and soon after that he absolved Theobald of his oath to serve him and “graciously” permitted him to swear to the empress instead. Next, I knew, would come the formal abdication, and I was torn between my hope that it would lead to freedom and my fear that it would lead to death. I felt helpless to bring the king to resist, and no longer was sure I should try. Why should I cause him pain when his case was hopeless? And then I wondered if I was so ready to believe the case hopeless because I hoped for freedom once the king yielded his crown. It was no merry treadmill my thoughts went round on, but I never did need to decide what to say or do. The date of the council, which Theobald had told the king, passed, but no triumphant message came from Matilda nor any word of a coronation.

  Then one day near the end of April when I was pacing the wall, looking north toward the hills of Wales, beyond which though many miles away lay Ulle, a middle-aged man came and stood in my path. I did not know him, and I did not much like his looks. He had the face of one who has suffered too many disappointments, hard eyes and a thin mouth that turned down at the corners. I almost turned and went the other way, but then I thought it wrong to be so churlish—some of the men in Bristol keep had sought out of kindness to lighten my captivity with talk and invitations to gamble or drink with them—so I nodded at him but without speaking, hoping he would let me pass by.

  Instead, he put out his hand to detain me and said, “You are the king’s man, are you not?”

  “I am,” I said, instantly alert because he had used the word king. The other men in the keep either avoided referring to the king, called him “your master” out of politeness, or named him Lord Stephen.

  “I have a word of news for him. Tell him, from Sir Grolier d’Estaple, that the council did not go as the Great Lady desired. Few bishops came and the delegation from London did not invite her to come to their city or to be crowned at Westminster. Instead they begged the council to free the king. Moreover, Winchester could not prevent Queen Maud’s clerk from reading aloud a letter from her begging the bishops to remember their oaths to King Stephen. It is said that some were much shaken.”

  There was no one near enough to hear, and he smiled as he spoke, as if he talked of some light matter. “Thank you,” I said, shaking my head as if denying an invitation. “I will tell him.”

  He shrugged to show he had accepted my “refusal,” and we parted, he going on past and I continuing ahead. To tell the truth, the news confused me more than it made me happy. Until now we had heard nothing except what Matilda or Gloucester wanted us to hear. We had been given news of each defection from Stephen’s cause to that of Matilda and heard that Hervey Brito had lost Devizes keep to a crowd of common folk and had fled back to Brittany as had Count Alan, who had lost control of Cornwall. I knew, of course, that we would be told only what could lower the king’s spirit; nonetheless, over the two months we had been imprisoned, without realizing it, I had begun to believe that the whole country, like so many of his earls, had deserted Stephen without a struggle.

  It took me a long time to absorb what I had heard, and part of that time I kept telling myself Sir Grolier was lying, that I did not like his looks, that it was not reasonable that one of Gloucester’s men should carry good news to Stephen. I was pacing fast along the wall; when I realized I had gone all the way around, no short distance, and was back where Grolier had spoken to me, I stopped. Then I had to ask myself why I was denying the truth of the news Grolier had brought? The answer was not flattering to me. I resisted because I was, at heart, as bad as the king. I had given up hope, and I did not wish to hear good news because it woke hope in me—and hope hurt.

  Then I asked myself whether it was the king’s fault or mine that my efforts could not cheer him? The answer was that I had doubtless done the king more harm than good. Now I realized I had always spoken like a beaten man, urging Stephen to stand firm in defeat but never holding out hope that those loyal to him could bring about his restoration. Full of guilt, I now went quickly to the chamber where I had left Stephen lying on his bed and staring into nothing. He was still there, and I shook his arm.

  “Thank God you had not gone out into the hall,” I said when he looked at me. “I have good news, my lord.”

  “Good news?” Stephen echoed.

  “One came to me on the wall where none could hear, by name Sir Grolier d’Estaple—”

  “Estaple?” Stephen interrupted. “That is near by Boulogne.”

  “Can he be the queen’s servant?” I breathed and then told the king what Sir Grolier had said about Winchester’s council.

  “So London has refused her,” Stephen said slowly.

  “But is it true, my lord?” I asked uneasily. “Of course, if Sir Grolier is Queen Maud’s man…I have never seen him here before that I can remember.”

  “I do not know the name,” Stephen admitted. “What does the man look like?”

  I described him, but the king shook his head. “I do not know him, not by word anyway. If I saw him, perhaps—”

  “I do not know where he went,” I said. “He acted as if he did not want to draw notice, and if that is true it would be a mistake for me to seem to be seeking someone.”

  “He found you once,” the king said, “he will find you again if necessary.” He seemed to have lost interest in Sir Grolier, and looked away from me, but he murmured to himself again, “So London refused her.”

  The king was quite correct that there was no need to seek Sir Grolier. A few days later, he found me again while I was pacing the wall. He had more words of hope. William of Ypres had never wavered in his loyalty to Stephen. Ypres now had Kent under firm control and mercenaries were coming from Flanders.

  “Can you not come to the king?” I asked. “I left him in his chamber, and I am sure he would wish to thank you himself for your kindness in bringing this news.”

  His mouth twitched. “You are generous,” he said. “Most servants prefer to carry good news themselves and only invite the bearers of ill tidings to speak directly to their masters.”

  I do not know why that struck a sour note with me. It was, I suppose, true for some, and as I have said, Sir Grolier had the look of a disappointed man, but I told him, “There is no need to call me generous. The king said he would like to see you himself.”

  “Then I will gladly go, but I do not think it would be wise for us both to walk in together. If you will give me your cloak, I doubt any will look carefully enough to see that it is not you.”

  That made me uneasy, but why should I doubt the man? What purpose could he have other than seeking favor with the king? And if he sought favor, was that not a hopeful sign? Surely the king could do him no favor until he came into power again. Then Gro
lier certainly must hope and possibly even expect that Stephen would he restored. We went into the shadow of a tower and exchanged cloaks, and I stayed there, leaning against the wall so I would be out of sight. Sir Grolier was not long away, and when he had given me back my cloak I went down to the bailey before I returned to Stephen’s chamber, as if I had carried a message to the kitchen so that none should wonder why I went out twice.

  Because I was uneasy, I asked as soon as I came into the king’s chamber whether Sir Grolier was Maud’s man.

  “No,” Stephen replied, smiling broadly but speaking in the same hushed tone I had used. “He is sworn to Gloucester and left Estaple many years ago, but for old deeds done by Maud’s father, he says, he feels obliged to do for me what he can. Is it not excellent to find a friend amongst our enemies?”

  This answer made me no easier. Could we trust a man who, in a way, was betraying his master? Yet did he think of the news he brought Stephen as a betrayal of Gloucester? Likely he thought it could do his own master no harm, or did not think at all. Probably I was again drawing too fine a line, and I could not bring myself to mention my doubts to the king. This second dose of hope had affected him more than the first. Why should I be a black crow and spoil the brightness for him by mouthing suspicions for which I had no real cause? Stephen’s eyes were bright, but he was sensible enough to keep his voice low as we discussed the chances Ypres and Maud had of protecting London and thus preventing Matilda’s coronation.

  I must admit the talk did not lighten my heart much. If Queen Maud was successful in her resistance and the war continued, Stephen, and of course I too, had no hope of being freed until the rebels were desperate—and from the way the war had gone until the battle of Lincoln, that might be many years. Stephen was not thinking about that problem yet. I do not believe he was really thinking about the military situation he was talking about. At this time what was most important was that he had not been abandoned by all.