Fires of Winter

by Roberta Gellis

  Best of all, Geoffrey de Mandeville had returned from Oxford. He had not knelt, weeping with shame, at Maud’s feet to beg her pardon for his defection, as I thought he should have done, but he made many excuses, most to the effect that he had hoped by his taking up Matilda’s cause when it seemed that Stephen’s was hopeless, to help and protect the king. To me, Maud made no pretense of belief but said Mandeville was too powerful to offend. Moreover, Maud said she had made sure, through her contacts with the merchants of Oxford, that Matilda would learn Mandeville had returned to his allegiance to the king. Knowing Matilda’s temper, the queen reported her hope that Mandeville would be threatened or insulted or both. As for the troops I was bringing, we were to march for Oxford as soon as we could.

  Hugh was astonished at the details of the letter. It sounded, he said, as if I were the queen’s closest confidant. That made me laugh.

  “No, it is all warnings. She is trying to tell me that it would do me no good to betray her because events are moving in her favor.”

  Hugh sputtered with anger, but I pointed out how many had betrayed her husband and that she had long regarded me as an enemy steeped in guile, which had made Hugh laugh. Naturally, once he had news of his objective, Hugh wanted me to go back to Jernaeve, but I would have none of it. I could scarcely be in any danger in the midst of the army with Hugh to protect me. I had promised to return to the queen, and return I would. After some argument, Hugh claiming that it was not so safe as I thought because we would pass strongholds held for the empress and might be attacked, I said very simply that I would go with the army or alone. Hugh cursed me for being as stubborn as Audris, but he yielded.

  It was the first week in September when we came near Oxford, and Hugh sent men ahead to discover whether the city was besieged. But the men came back saying there was no army, neither that of the empress nor that of the queen, and no sign of any battle either. Hugh, Sir Gerald, I, and two knights who led troops of Espec’s men took counsel together, but none had any idea of where to go until an idea occurred to me. The bishop of Oxford had sworn to Matilda, and the queen could not commit any message to his care. But Maud trusted the burghers of the towns, and I remembered from the letter that a townsman had warned Maud that the empress had come to Oxford keep.

  I had her letter in my purse, and in it I found the name of that townsman and his business. I wondered then if I had maligned Maud. Perhaps she had sent all the details not as a subtle threat but because she knew my fears for Bruno and wished to cheer me with the hopes to which she clung. I said nothing of that, but I proposed that I should ride into Oxford alone and seek out that man. Hugh objected, fearing for my safety, but we called one of the men he had sent out, and he assured us that although there was an extra strong garrison in Oxford keep, the town was peaceful. Finally it was agreed that I should go.

  Maud had left no written message, but the townsman had been told my name—I had been right in my guess that Maud wasted no words, and his direction had been placed in the letter deliberately—and he had news for me, again good. The king’s brother, the bishop of Winchester, had been suspected of having a hand in the revolt of the Londoners. He had quarreled with the empress not only because she would not grant the Honor of Boulogne to Eustace but over Church matters, on which she had promised much and violated every promise. Thus when Maud wrote to him again and begged him to have mercy on his own brother and work to restore him to his throne, Winchester met Maud in Guildford and agreed to lift the ban of excommunication from the king’s followers. Winchester did not then offer to withdraw his support from Matilda, perhaps out of shame for showing himself so light of purpose; however, the result was the same. The empress, hearing of his meeting with Maud and that he had lifted the ban of excommunication on the king’s supporters, had taken her army and marched on Winchester to seize him and punish him. He had escaped and cried to the queen for help, but Matilda’s army was attacking the keep Winchester held in that city.

  That was clue enough. We marched south toward Winchester with a fan of fore riders to warn us of any large force we might encounter. East of Andover Hugh’s men at last came upon a troop sworn to the queen making camp for the night. Again I rode forward with only my three servants, taking lodging in Andover and sending Merwyn with a letter to the leader of that troop. He must have passed the letter on as Merwyn asked, for the next morning William of Ypres himself came to speak to me. I was frightened when he first came in, for I hardly recognized him all in armor, but as soon as he spoke I knew his voice.

  Ypres seemed much surprised that I had come south with the troops and laughed when I said I had promised to return to the queen with the men I gathered, remarking that he did not think she expected me to keep the promise so literally. Then he asked if my troops would be willing to join his force, and I replied that I was sure Hugh would be glad to do whatever he thought best. When he heard Hugh’s name, his eyes lit; and when I told him we had a thousand men, he took my hand and kissed it.

  Had there been fewer men, I think Ypres would have merely told us where to meet his troops. Because we were a force to be reckoned with by ourselves, he rode with me to the camp to speak to Hugh, who was waiting for me impatiently, also armed and ready although his tent was not yet folded away. That was fortunate because it gave Ypres a private place to talk. He told Hugh that the queen’s army had come from Guildford and had split, the queen going south with the main force to attack Matilda’s army, which was besieging Winchester’s keep of Wolvesey in the southeast corner of the city. Ypres had led a smaller contingent of men due west, however, because the queen had had word that Gloucester had sent a strong troop to Wherwell to hold the road open for supplies. It had been Ypres’s intention to attack the troop that had fortified the little village and close that route for support to the rebels. However, he was more concerned about the routes west.

  “If the queen’s attack on Matilda’s army is successful,” Ypres pointed out, “the empress and her accursed brother will flee west, and if I have not blocked the roads by Michelmersh and Stockbridge, they will escape me again.”

  “I can close Wherwell,” Hugh said, “if that is what you think will best serve the queen’s purpose”—he raised his head to look at the sun—“before dark. Shall I then march on Winchester or join you?”

  “No, hold Wherwell, set guards along the fords of the river—I do not know the name—that runs to Whitchurch, and close the road into Whitchurch too. I do not believe that Matilda or any major supporter of hers will flee farther east than that.”

  “Very well, my lord,” Hugh agreed, after a moment’s thought. “A messenger will find me in Wherwell if you wish to change this plan.”

  Ypres gripped Hugh’s upper arm. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to have you with us, Sir Hugh,” he said. “I will not forget this. Neither will the queen, and she will not let Stephen forget.”

  “I desire no favors,” Hugh responded with a smile. “I have all I can handle—sometimes more. Also, I made a promise to Stephen to enter his service once. The king was kind enough to free me from it when holding Jernaeve became more important, but in this time of need I feel that promise still binds me. God willing we will be successful enough to free the king.”

  “God willing,” Ypres echoed.

  “One more thing,” Hugh said, seeing that Ypres was about to call for his horse. “Will it be safe for me to send Lady Melusine to the queen? I do not like to leave her alone in Andover. Either of the two armies might take to looting after the battle, and Andover is too close on too good a road, but to take her to Wherwell—”

  “Do not leave her in Andover,” Ypres agreed. “But I am afraid it will be impossible to get her safely to the queen unless you wish to send about a hundred men with her. There are war bands, both rebel and ours, all over the area, and there have been clashes. Even with the men and luck in avoiding a fight, it might be hard to find Queen Maud, and with her Melusine might be eve
n less safe.” He sighed. “The queen is not always willing to stay a safe distance from action. She is not so silly as to don armor or think she is a battle leader, but she rides with the troops and is often close enough to turn back any who would flee. Take Melusine to Wherwell. She will be safe enough in so small a battle.”

  I almost opened my mouth to cry a protest, but I did not. I had forced myself on Hugh when he wanted to send me back to Jernaeve, now I must accept whatever place for me that he thought would cause him the least trouble. I did not want to see the battle, no matter how small, not because I feared for myself but because I was terrified that I would see Hugh hurt or Sir Gerald, or even Fechin or Merwyn. And after that first moment, I had no chance to change my mind. Hugh had followed Ypres out of the tent when he left. I heard him bidding Ypres farewell and then calling for his troop leaders and telling them to form marching order.

  I do not know whether I could have kept my resolve steady over the hours it took us to come to Wherwell, but again I had no choice. Hugh rode with his captains, I suppose to make battle plans because when we came to the top of a rise below which lay the village, all seemed to know exactly what to do. Then Hugh came to where I was waiting with Edna, Fechin, and Merwyn a little way off the road and said, “You stay just here. No matter what you see or hear, Melusine, stay right here. I must know where to find you. Fechin and Merwyn will be with you, and I will come for you.” I promised readily, and he smiled at me—but I saw his heart and mind were on the coming fight.

  Despite that promise and despite my terror we were all drawn forward by the sounds of battle. I watched as men struck at each other, as some fell, and those who had struck them sometimes struck again to make sure, sometimes ran forward at once to strike at others, sometimes were struck in turn and fell. In no time at all I could not tell which were our men, which the enemy. I could not even pick out Hugh, and Sir Gerald had also disappeared into the maelstrom.

  I had never realized how much confusion there was in a battle. Men killed and wounded each other without ever knowing whom they had struck down or whether the blow was fatal. I understood now that I could not have been Bruno’s prize for killing Papa. Even if Bruno had fought my father or brother, how would he know? A battle was not like the taking of a keep or a manor. Then the victor could know whom he vanquished. Perhaps I had been given to Bruno because he was the man who took Ulle, but Papa had died in a battle greater than the taking of Wherwell. I would never know by whose hand he died, and I was very glad of it.

  I do not think the fighting lasted more than half an hour. The sun had moved very little when the noise of battle died away and weapons and shields were thrown down by the vanquished. It took longer to collect the wounded and secure the prisoners, but soon after that Hugh came for me and took me to the largest house in the village, which had been cleaned and furnished for the baron commanding the troop that had held it for the empress.

  I discovered when we came into Wherwell that all the folk of the village had been driven away. There were no women, and only one leech had been sent with his troop by Sir Walter Espec. I am no great healer, but I had sewed enough cuts in my brothers’ skins and poulticed enough bruises so that, having gathered what healing herbs I could from the village gardens, Edna and I were of use to the wounded. I was glad to be busy.

  The next day there was more fighting. Twice there were shouts and sounds of battle outside the village. Each time a few more joined the wounded in the barn and more men, stripped of everything except their braies and shirts, were driven in to be penned with the prisoners we already had. Each time I rushed out to watch as the prisoners were examined, hoping I would recognize some man of importance who could be traded for the king, but only two minor knights were thrust into the hut with our petty baron.

  Still, the news kept my heart beating hard with hope. That morning, 14 September, the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, the queen’s army had attacked the force with which Robert of Gloucester was besieging Wolvesey keep and broken it. There had been heavy fighting in the town, Gloucester trying to hold back Maud’s army and keep them from reaching the royal keep in the center of Winchester where the empress had been staying. Both captured knights insisted they had been sent to reinforce Wherwell to keep an escape route free, but Hugh did not believe them; he said they were just running from a battle that was already lost.

  Of course it was better that the queen had won the battle than lost it, but I had not heard the news I wanted to hear. If Matilda or Gloucester was not captured, we would merely have to begin all over, and it was growing late in the year. Very soon most of my Cumbrian troop would have to go home to get in the harvest; many of Hugh’s men and Espec’s would also demand release. As the day passed and only stragglers were taken and brought in, my hopes waned. I was sitting outside the house I was using, trying to fix my mind on what to provide for an evening meal instead of weeping with disappointment, when I heard Sir Gerald, who had been away since the end of the battle yesterday guarding the road at Whitchurch, hail me.

  “I may have brought you what you desire, Melly,” he shouted, but he did not sound or look very happy as he jumped off his horse and turned to unbind and assist down another man, so muddied and bruised that it took me a minute to recognize him.

  “Sire,” I gasped, jumping to my feet and sinking to a curtsey before King David of Scotland, but I felt horror rather than joy.

  His eyes were cold as he looked at me. “You have a very faithful servant in Sir Gerald, Lady Melusine. I offered him a rich estate of his own if he would come north with me, and he refused. Well, I was lucky twice. My first captor satisfied himself with my purse, my second with my armor and the jewels I had hidden—but they did not recognize me. What will you take for my freedom?”

  I looked up, my eyes full of tears. “Oh, my lord,” I said softly, “I would gladly, so gladly set you on your way freely, only for the love my father had for you—but it is a whole realm, and my husband’s life, your capture will buy.”

  He looked down at me. “If you think Matilda will free Stephen in exchange for my freedom, you are sadly mistaken.” His mouth was twisted with bitterness.

  Could that be true? If it were, I surely had no reason to hold King David. I desired no rich estate, no chests of gold. All I wanted was Bruno and Ulle, and without Bruno, I did not even desire Ulle. Then if the empress would not trade Stephen for David, why should Sir Gerald not have his estate? But I was not such a fool as to trust the words of a man trying to buy freedom.

  “There will be time enough to speak of that,” I said. “For now, come within and rest.” He followed me silently into the headman’s house and sank down on a stool. I poured a cup of the captive baron’s wine and offered it, saying, as he took the cup, “I will bring you water for washing and food and clean clothing.”

  Sir Gerald had been watching from the doorway, but I drew him with me and closed the door as I came out. Before Sir Gerald could protest, I said, “Let him be alone to regain his balance, but set a guard of the men of Yorkshire around the house—they have no love for David whereas our men might more easily be bought—and send a messenger to find Hugh.”

  “Be careful, Melly,” Sir Gerald warned me. “Do not get so close to the man. If he seized you, he would have a strong bargaining piece.”

  I nodded. “I will not go in again before Hugh comes. Merwyn can serve him.”

  Hugh was no happier than I when he arrived and I told him who was inside the house. “God in heaven,” he groaned, “I almost wish Sir Gerald had taken that offer and ridden north.”

  “He says Matilda will not exchange Stephen for him. Is that true?”

  “Very likely,” Hugh responded, “but it is Gloucester who holds Stephen, and Gloucester is an honorable man. What I do not know is whether Gloucester will feel that he owes David the exchange. David is a king, but his importance to this struggle in England is nothing compared to Stephen’s. S
till, there is a chance—”

  “Then perhaps we should let him go?” It was more question than statement. Compared with my desire to free Bruno, my horror at using as a trading piece one who had been a beloved overlord to my father was nothing, but I suddenly realized there was another problem. “Hugh, will there be danger for you in giving him to the queen? Close as Jernaeve is to the Scots border, it would be an ill thing to have the enmity of the king of the Scots.”

  Hugh was silent for a time, then said, “We cannot let him go, Melusine. If he is the only captive of note taken, the queen must continue to pursue and try to capture the empress, or bring her to yield. For that Maud will need gold and gold and more gold. She has been draining Boulogne for months and cannot go on; there is little she can extract from England as long as Stephen is in prison. Even if David cannot be exchanged for the king, she can wring a large ransom from him.”

  “But if it endangers you, Hugh—”

  “He need not see me or know I was involved. I think the best way is for me to find Ypres and report who we have taken. Then Ypres can take David, you, and Sir Gerald, who deserves credit and reward for the capture, into his care to be carried to the queen. I will win considerable favor with Ypres for surrendering my captive to him; he will be blessed by the queen, but you and Sir Gerald will not lose your part of her gratitude either—so we will all profit.”

  “Except poor King David,” I said softly.

  Hugh hugged me comfortingly, but he did not change his mind. He beckoned to Sir Gerald and asked him to make up a troop of mounted men and accompany him. I went into the shed at the back of the house to examine the supplies. The least I could do for the poor king was to see that he had a good meal before Ypres got him. I did not think David would be mistreated, but looking at Ypres’s gloating face would surely make food less appetizing than my regretful expression.