A Tapestry of Dreams

by Roberta Gellis

  “Whose lack of faith?”

  “Albemarle’s, Peperel’s, Sir Walter’s—and mine, too.” Hugh shrugged. “You believe that God will give you strength for whatever duty you must perform and sustain you until that duty is fulfilled, but none of us have equal faith. We look into your face and see…” Tears rose in Hugh’s eyes, and his voice wavered. “We see the hand of God on you, my dearest Father. Perhaps I mostly fear losing you, for my heart cleaves to you with the same need I felt when I was a child. Foolish it may be, but I have always felt no real harm could befall me as long as you were there. But the others fear for their mission. Forgive me, Father, but did you ever think what would happen to our army if you should die on the way?”

  “But I could not,” Thurstan said, astonished at the idea. “God would not permit it, unless for some unknowable reason of His own we must fail in this defense of our land. But in that case, we will fail whether I die or not.”

  “So your faith assures you,” Hugh replied, smiling, “but Sir Walter’s faith—though strong—is not so firm as yours, and Albemarle’s and the others, mine included, are even frailer. Father, they would be miserable if you came, not because they think you useless but because they would be watching every breath in and out of your mouth, fearing every bump on the road lest it jostle you, every stream that must be forded lest it wet you, every mile they must go lest it weaken you. Men, you have told me many times, have free will. Is it not possible that in their concern to make your journey shorter or safer or easier, they might choose ill with regard to the field of battle and thus find defeat instead of victory?”

  Thurstan raised his free hand, then let it fall. “I see. And I can see why they all looked so thankful when I told them I could not accompany the army.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Old, vain fool that I am, I was hurt because they did not want me.”

  Hugh chuckled too. There was amusement and acceptance of his own foible in Thurstan’s voice rather than revulsion. Probably he would pray long and hard to be forgiven his vanity, but it was pride the archbishop feared, pride and ambition, knowing them to be sins deep-seated in his nature, whereas vanity was not. Uplifted by knowing he had managed to ease Thurstan’s mind and soothe him, Hugh once more kissed the hand he had been holding and then let it go.

  “I must go back to the camp,” he said. “We are making a final distribution of supplies for the march.”

  Then Hugh bowed his head and asked for a blessing, and as his personal terror welled up in him again, he begged Thurstan to pray for Audris and Eric also. Since Hugh managed to control his voice and his head was already bent so that his face was hidden, Thurstan fortunately did not associate the request with any special need.

  To Hugh’s relief, the archbishop gave both blessing and assurances of his prayers in a voice that showed he was smiling. Then he tugged gently on Hugh’s hair and, when Hugh raised his head, gestured for him to get up from his knees, drew him close, kissed him fondly, bade him take good care of himself, and gave him leave to go.

  The deacon, who had been waiting quietly in a corner of the room and had heard everything that passed, told Hugh, laughing, as he took him to the outer door, that he had wrought a miracle. And Hugh himself had felt a release of tension in his foster father that gave him hope that he had done some good.

  That was one burden lifted from his mind and heart, and five days later, when the army had marched north to Allerton, where their foreriders were waiting with news that the Scottish force was only a few miles ahead, another burden was taken away also.

  The news was passed quickly to the mounted troops, who hurried through the town and north of it about a mile, where the leaders took possession of a small hill, cleared by grazing, and directed the troops forward another quarter mile to secure the plain below. The clear ground was such that the area the left wing would defend was almost double the size of that on the right of the hill. Beyond the open area wooded land to either side closed off the possibility of open battle. It had been decided earlier that Sir Walter would hold the left, Albemarle the center, de Lacy the right, and Peperel the reserve. Hugh followed Sir Walter as he rode over the area he was to defend.

  “It is wider than I like,” Sir Walter said, “but I think de Lacy can spare us some men, and I think Albemarle will take the brunt of the attack. The Standard will be set on the hill, of course, which he will be defending. It is likely that the Scots will expend their greatest effort to secure the Standard as a prize of war.”

  “Even so,” Hugh said, frowning, “the line is too long. If a force is sent through the woods to burst out at us while we are engaged with an attack—even if it be no more than a light feint—from the front, I am afraid so thin a line must fail.”

  “Teaching your grandfather to suck eggs again, eh?” Sir Walter teased. “You have learned apace, Hugh, but a wily old dog like me still has a lesson or two to give. No one will come at us unaware through the wood, because we are going to fill it with all those near useless yeomen and plowboys you have been mumbling about and instructing in your sleep for the past week.”

  Hugh, openmouthed with relief and surprise, looked at his master; Sir Walter’s bellowing laugh rang out, and he leaned from his horse to wallop Hugh on the shoulder.

  “There is not much the old man does not know,” he growled with satisfaction.

  “I am very sorry I disturbed your sleep,” Hugh said, and almost immediately shook his head. “No, I am not sorry at all,” he admitted. “I am glad, if it led you to think of such a use for those folk. They will be of real value in warning us of an attempted surprise and in delaying and holding off any force sent into the woods. With trees and brush to interfere with any real fighting, they can hold their own very well.”

  Sir Walter shook his head and sighed. “Hugh, I hope you do not plan to influence my military planning in the future by moaning all night. I swear to you that your night horrors did not persuade me to put the common folk in the wood. It was because the wood is there and because of what we have learned about the Scottish army. Gilbert de Lacy is doing the same on the right flank—and he was not kept awake by listening to you groan and grumble.”

  Hugh grinned at him impudently. “Mayhap, my lord, but dare I suggest that you put the idea into his head?”

  “The damn fools would be of no use to us out on the field,” Sir Walter roared. “And if I got too many of them slaughtered, we wouldn’t have enough men to bring in the crops. And as for you, you shameless puppy, you had better put some steel into that soft heart of yours and use your head for more than carrying your helmet.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Hugh replied in a very meek voice, belied by the curve of his lips and the sparkle of laughter in his eyes. “If your lordship would deign to instruct me about the Scottish army—”

  But Sir Walter was grinning, too. “Oh, you will be instructed. You are invited to our council of war this evening.”

  “I?” Hugh exclaimed. “Why?”

  “You are on the way to being a great man in Northumbria,” Sir Walter pointed out, chuckling. “Ruthsson and Trewick are decent estates, and marriage to the holder of Jernaeve—”

  “I have nothing to do with Jernaeve,” Hugh said quickly, seeing the tapestry unicorn about to destroy the place. “Audris prefers that her uncle hold it—and so do I.”

  “I believe you,” Sir Walter said with a wry twist to his lips, “but I would not bother trying to convince the others, who will nod and call you hypocrite in their hearts. But that is not important now. What is important is that because of the length of the left wing, you have been chosen to share the command with me and hold the far left.”

  Hugh looked out between Rufus’s ears, frowning ferociously. He had barely prevented himself from crying out, “No, I wish to be with you.” Sir Walter would understand too well that Hugh was offering, not seeking, protection, and to shake a man’s faith in his ability on the eve of a battl
e was stupid. Sir Walter had been one of the great warriors of his day, but he was no longer young, and now he needed to be able to pull back and rest between bouts of violence. Two years ago both Hugh and John de Bussey had been at Sir Walter’s side, ready to form a shield for him behind which he could take breath; now there were two boys—one sixteen, the other thirteen—who needed to be sheltered themselves.

  “There is no need to glower like that, Hugh,” Sir Walter continued when Hugh did not reply. “You do not give yourself enough credit. You are well able for this command.”

  Hugh was in no doubt of that; in fact, he knew he was more able than many—Peperel, for example, and several who had led assaults when he was with the king at Exeter. In other circumstances he would have accepted gladly, eager to make his name as a war commander. But Sir Walter’s remark seemed to open a way for him to fight at his lord’s side, and he said, “I have my doubts, and it seems to me that to doubt in such a position is dangerous. Surely someone else can be found—”

  “No one I would trust to hold my left wing,” Sir Walter said firmly. “Let it stand that I have no doubt of you—and that must be sufficient.”

  The frown blackened on Hugh’s face, but he dared not say any more, and later, during the council, he learned that Sir Walter had not merely been trying to advance his favorite’s interests, which was what Hugh had suspected. Sir Walter really wanted a person in whom he had perfect trust at the end of the left wing. But the first one to speak, after Albemarle reported that the Scottish force was far superior to theirs in numbers, was de Lacy, who plainly deemed it of little account, saying sneeringly, “It is no more than a ragged mob, without horses, without armor, and virtually without arms.”

  “Not quite without arms,” Sir Walter remarked. “They use the shortbow and are brave spearmen.”

  “But the shortbow is little use against a man in mail,” de Lacy said, sounding surprised by Sir Walter’s remark. “Nor is a spear an effective weapon against a mounted knight.”

  “Unfortunately,” Sir Walter commented dryly, “both have disastrous effects on horses.”

  “You mean they would shoot at or spear the horses apurpose?” A man Hugh did not know pushed forward, sounding unbelieving. “Nonsense. It is unknightly—and besides, horses are valuable.”

  “It is unknightly to impale children and dismember pregnant women, too,” Hugh put in. “And I have discovered that the men of the far north have little use for horses—except for eating them.”

  “If we charge against that mass of footmen,” Sir Walter pointed out, “we must become separated, whereupon each mounted man will probably have his horse killed or be dragged down and overwhelmed. We would do better to form a shield wall through which our crossbowmen can shoot and thin out their numbers.”

  Now Hugh understood why Sir Walter needed someone he could trust to fight to the death to keep the left wing intact. He was proposing a defensive battle in which it was of great importance that a cohesive, virtually unbroken line of defenders be maintained. If the line should fail, particularly the extended left wing, the English army could be surrounded and, most likely, exterminated by the Scottish force, which, in numbers, was vastly superior.

  “Not attack?” Albemarle exclaimed. “But what if they ignore us and pass us by?”

  “The Pictish lords will not do that, my lord,” Hugh offered. “I went with Archbishop Thurstan when he made King David agree to keep the truce, and I heard them boast it was only because David forced them to retreat that they did not swallow King Stephen’s army whole in the past. They say that one of them, unarmed, is a match for three or four Southrons in mail. In particular, they boast thus before King David’s own men—those who came with him from the English court or who came from Normandy or France. They would not dare pass by an English army. They must prove themselves, to hold or increase their power with the king.”

  “I know little enough of the northern Scots,” Peperel put in, “but I doubt King David would be willing to pass us by in any case. He is not fool enough to leave an intact and undefeated army between him and his own land.”

  A general murmur of agreement passed through the group, and Hugh thought that William Peperel might not be much of a soldier, but was a sensible man. From then on, all opinion moved in the direction of Sir Walter’s suggestion, and it was not much longer before a plan for the knights to fight on foot was approved. Hugh, listening carefully to the details, remembered times in the past when he had attended similar councils with Sir Walter. Then he had scarcely attended to what was going forward, knowing he needed only to follow Sir Walter’s lead. He had been scolded for inattention, too.

  “What if I lost my mind?” Sir Walter had roared at him more than once. “What if I were killed and had not told my chief vassal the plans?” Hugh had answered meekly, promised amendment, laughed inwardly at the idea of his master’s forgetting or acting in any way foolish. Sometimes he had almost regretted being squire to so worthy a lord, dreaming of becoming a great hero by replacing an incompetent master; nonetheless, neither the attendance nor the scoldings had been wasted. Not only did Hugh pay strict attention, now that the responsibility was his, but all the half-heard lectures and admonitions and after-battle explanations joined in his head. As if it were a game of chess, Hugh found he could visualize the two armies and see the result of this move or that.

  The divisions of their forces were made, each man essentially leading those he had brought with him, with the addition of the best-trained and best-armed yeomen who had answered Thurstan’s preaching. De Lacy passed a dozen independent knights and their small meinies to Sir Walter, and Sir Walter divided his force so that Hugh commanded nearly all the men-at-arms drawn from Sir Walter’s own keeps. Hugh had opened his mouth to protest and been glared silent. He realized later it was the only arrangement Sir Walter could make since most of his knighted vassals still regarded Hugh as “Sir Walter’s old squire” and would resent being told to take his orders. On the other hand, some of the men-at-arms had fought under him at Exeter when he had commanded his own troop, and all of them knew him and respected him. In addition, Sir Lucius, one of Sir Walter’s youngest vassals, a solid, stolid young man, loyal and reliable, was designated as Hugh’s second-in-command. Last, Albemarle suggested that Peperel’s reserve be all mounted men.

  Hugh nodded so vigorously at the suggestion that Albemarle noted his enthusiastic approval. Recalling Hugh’s earlier remarks about what he learned when he was in Scotland with Thurstan, Albemarle reminded the others of Hugh’s experience and asked if he had a special reason for wanting the reserve to be mounted.

  “I am sure it is not needful for me to say this,” Hugh answered, fearing to rouse resentment if he stated the obvious but not absolutely certain that what was obvious to him was equally obvious to others, “but I will say it anyway and ask your pardon if I sound as if I think you ignorant—that is not true. We need a mounted reserve, and, my lords, although we fight afoot, I hope all the knights will have their destriers close at hand as well.”

  There were smiles—Hugh was young compared with most of the men at the council—and nods. What knight in armor would be far from his horse if he could avoid it? De Lacy said, “Yes, to pursue them when they break.”

  “No,” Hugh exclaimed—and drew frowns, but ignored them. “I think even if the footmen give way, there may be a second attack by a mounted cadre. There is envy and jealousy between the Pictish chiefs and the new men brought in by King David. I am not sure, but I think those David has given land and power may wish to show their worth if the footmen fail.”

  The frowns were gone now or, if they remained, were not directed at Hugh, and a babble of voices broke out as new suggestions were put forward, objected to, altered, reargued. Hugh began to regret that he had raised the issue; knowing how knights hated to fight afoot, he was afraid the original plan of battle would be radically changed, but Albemarle and Sir Walter prevai
led with no more disruption than shifting some men between the front line and the reserve. Still Hugh mentioned his regret to Sir Walter as they returned to the small house they had commandeered in Allerton, and Sir Walter laughed.

  “You mean that was said in innocence?” he exclaimed, shaking his head. “Too bad. I thought you were being clever and could hardly keep myself from cheering aloud.”

  “Clever?” Hugh echoed. “How?”

  “Hugh!” Sir Walter reproved. “Think! When a line must be held, there are three dangers. First, the line can be overwhelmed. If the Scots are too many, the living will simply climb over the dead—or be pushed over—until we are buried under them. Second, cowardice can break the line; mostly if one or two flee, it does not matter, but sometimes panic will spread from one to the other, and all will flee. Third, when the oncoming enemy hesitates or retreats, the defenders must break their formation to pursue; if the enemy then rallies, there is no longer a defensive line, and the few can be swallowed by the many.”

  “I know that much,” Hugh protested, “but I still do not see—”

  Sir Walter leaned over as they rode and cuffed Hugh roughly on the head. “Then listen. About the first case, we can do nothing. If we are buried in enemies, then God, for reasons of His own, has seen fit to scourge us. I do not fear the line will break out of cowardice. The men who will stand with us are either already burning with hate and desire for revenge or have estates to the south and are desperate to drive back the Scots to preserve their lands. It is more likely that too many hotheads will rush out of the line to attack than that many will run away. In talking over your ‘innocent’ warning, we were able to mark out those who were too eager.”

  “But you put them in the reserve—” Hugh began, and then ducked and began to laugh as Sir Walter swung at him again. “I see. I see. The reserve was planned as a defense against any mounted group—I should have thought of that myself.”

  Sir Walter nodded and chuckled. “Mayhap I should stop telling you not to try to teach your elders. You may have sighted on a false image, but if you strike so near the heart of the real target, how can I complain?”