ASilverMirror

by Roberta Gellis

  “Another thing, I have traded one of my braies-less young men for your aunt Joanna’s eldest son, Baldwin Wake. He was slightly wounded, not dangerously but enough to keep him from swinging a sword. Since he will not be able to fight for a time, I hope, if I can find a moment’s peace to plead his case to Edward, that I can get Baldwin paroled to his mother’s custody. But the prince is buried in all kinds of business and is not—for many reasons, some of them very good—inclined to show too much softness. I will have to remain here for a few days longer.”

  Barbara dropped the parchment in her lap. Was it only for Baldwin that he remained in Worcester or had he been wounded? She jumped up and ran back to the refectory to pull Chacier away from his eager audience and ask anxious questions.

  Chacier laughed. “With what would they have wounded him? A pillow? Most were naked and had not time even to snatch up a sword. Nay, my lady, he has not a scratch.”

  The answer seemed easy and natural, and Barbara told herself that Chacier would not have left his master if he was in any danger. Chacier added, too, that he had been told to stay in Evesham. First Barbara’s heart lightened, then it sank again as she realized Alphonse must have given that order with the sole purpose of reassuring her. There was no other reason for him to deprive himself of his servant.

  She shook her head. “No, I do not need you here,” she said, and then, not wanting to throw her husband’s generous gesture in his face, she sought an adequate reason to send Chacier back against his master’s orders. Memory pricked her, and she scanned the letter again, soon finding the familiar name. “Besides,” she added, “you must carry a message about one of your master’s prisoners. The Earl of Oxford is married to my friend Alyce. She is very young and will be frightened. I would like you to ask Alphonse to let Oxford write to his wife, and to set a ransom and let him go if Oxford will give his parole and the prince will agree.”

  The alacrity with which Chacier seized the excuse she offered troubled her a little, and when he had left, riding Lewin’s horse, which was fresh, she blamed herself for not going back with him. Upon which she burst out laughing. Alphonse would have murdered her if she had added herself to the problems he already faced. Worcester, overcrowded with prisoners and those rushing to Edward’s standard after his victory, must be like a sow with an overlarge litter—everyone pushing and shoving for a place to eat and a quiet corner in which to sleep. The image in her mind—alas for dignity—of a heap of squirming piglets with the faces of Edward’s graver supporters, like John Giffard and Roger Leybourne, sent her giggling for her work basket and then out to find a shaded bench in the garden.

  From time to time over that day and the next, Barbara did have to take out Alphonse’s letter and reexamine the strong, steady strokes of his pen to assure herself once more that he was not hurt, that business more important than affairs of state—substantial profit to his purse—were what held him in Worcester. She was not aware of having bad dreams either, except that she found herself waking suddenly several times during the night. In the early dawn of August 3, she jerked awake again, sighed with exasperation, and was just about to turn over and try to go back to sleep when a scratch on the door brought her out of bed, holding the light blanket around her.

  A brother so ancient that she could have offered no temptation to him even if she had come naked to the door was just raising his hand to scratch again. “The holy abbot sent me to tell you that he has had a message from the Earl of Leicester. His lordship is on his way here to hear mass at lauds and to ask that prayers be said for him.”

  “Leicester,” Barbara breathed, “but why—” She did not finish the sentence.

  She knew well enough why the abbot had sent word to her of Leicester’s coming. Chacier’s tale had made clear to all that her husband was of the prince’s party. The abbot wished to be rid of her. If she were in Evesham Abbey, the earl might ask to take her hostage. The abbot would have to refuse, and he did not wish to risk incurring Leicester’s anger.

  “The father abbot,” the old monk continued, “will send a man to see you safely out of the town, if you wish.”

  Barbara nodded curtly and asked the monk to wake her men and bid them make ready to leave. She prodded her maid awake, thanking God she had ordered Clotilde to pack everything the very day Chacier had come in the childish hope that being ready to go would bring her husband sooner. As Clotilde sat up and groggily rubbed her eyes, she explained the situation.

  “But you owe the abbot nothing,” the maid protested, climbing to her feet and looking about for Barbara’s shift. “Whatever he likes or dislikes, I do not believe he will give you up to Leicester, and the earl is too holy to try to force him. If you are taken by a troop of the earl’s foreriders—”

  “Dress yourself,” Barbara urged, taking the shift from her maid’s hand and pulling it on, then finding her tunic and yanking that over her head. “There is some danger of being captured, but not much. I do not think Leicester’s men would wish to burden themselves with two women fleeing the town. Just to be sure we have something to distract them, take the best of Alphonse’s clothes in your saddlebags and I will take my own and my jewelry. Then, if we must, we can cut the baggage animals free. I hate to lose the tent and the sheets, but soldiers will always stop to examine loot.”

  “But why must we go at all?” Clotilde insisted, coming to tie the laces of her mistress’s gown. “You warned the abbot about Simon’s army. He owes you a favor and should be willing to protect you.”

  “Silly woman,” Barbara whispered, “if Leicester has crossed the river and escaped the prince, he can go east and raise a new army. Does it not occur to you that my idiot husband will doubtless feel he must stay and support Edward through this new danger? If I bring warning, perhaps Edward can catch Leicester before he escapes this area. And if I can speak to Edward and seem fearful and shaken, perhaps he will leave my husband behind to protect me.”

  “Sieur Alphonse will kill you,” Clotilde warned.

  But Barbara did not want to think about that, and shook her head so angrily that the maid was silenced. She stuffed the sheets and covers into the one open basket and took up that one. Barbara took the other and they crept silently down the corridor and out across the courtyard to the stable. There they found Bevis and Lewin busy saddling the horses. They looked at their mistress, but she raised a hand imperiously for silence, and neither of them spoke. Lady Barbara had never yet gotten them in trouble. Both nodded grimly when they saw Clotilde stuffing everything of value into bags that could be fastened to their own mounts. Abandoning the baggage animals would serve as a bribe to any troop too numerous for them to fight. Just as Bevis was lifting one lightened basket, the abbot’s secretary came into the stable leading his own saddled mule and carrying two plain hooded cloaks of unbleached wool just like the one he wore.

  Barbara sighed with relief and called herself a fool for not having thought of that simple disguise herself. No man under Leicester’s personal command would dare pursue or lay hands on a man in holy orders, so the chances were very great that they would be allowed to pass without pursuit if sighted at a distance. Of course if someone saw that she was riding a mare rather than a mule, or if they should be unfortunate enough to come face to face… Barbara put the thought aside as she was lifted to Frivole’s back and put on the cloak. Before she pulled the hood up, she looked at the lowering clouds in the barely lightening sky and smiled. Was it a small sign of God’s favor that no keen-eyed trooper would wonder why a brother should cover his head on a fair day? However, Barbara saw no sign of any armed men as the abbot’s secretary led them from the abbey through the town to the road that ran north to Alcester. At Barbara’s exclamation when they did not turn west along the river, their guide came to ride beside her.

  “It is better for you to go north before you go west,” he said. “The Earl of Leicester crossed the Severn at a ford near Kempsey last night. Most of his troops are nigh on Evesham, but there may be a rear guard or small
troops of laggard soldiers. The holy abbot thought it would be dangerous for you to go that way. I will take you north along the river to Harmyngton and show you a track that will bring you out on the Alcester to Worcester road halfway to Worcester.

  His face was without expression. Barbara was somewhat startled by the information he had given her. Because he did not expect her to be able to pass what she knew to anyone opposed to Leicester? She gestured to her men and reined Frivole in so that Bevis and Lewin could ride on either side of the monk. The secretary threw a startled glance back at her, and she smiled and nodded, slowly and deliberately. He seemed about to speak, but he did not, only shivered and hunched into himself, and Barbara knew he understood that her men would kill him if they were attacked.

  But they were not attacked. In fact, they saw no one except two farmers driving loudly creaking carts south on the road. They kept the abbot’s secretary with them when they turned into the rough track at Harmyngton, but let him go after they had traveled another two miles. Barbara thought, and her men agreed, that any trap the abbot had set to give them to Leicester would surely have been sprung while they were closer to the earl’s army. The secretary looked disgusted while they discussed it and said it was God’s care that had kept his innocent blood off their hands, for if they had met the earl’s men it would have been by accident and not by his doing.

  He was so indignant that Barbara believed him, but the inconsistencies of his behavior made her think as they rode along of the conflicts caused by honor, loyalty, and the need to protect something more precious than one’s own property—God’s property. For a while as she speculated on how the abbot’s loyalties might be divided between Leicester and the prince, Barbara kept a sharp lookout, but there was little to see. The track wound through a forest and was overhung with trees in full leaf so that they could not see more than a few yards in any direction. Soon they all relaxed, feeling they were too far north to be troubled by stragglers or foreriders from Leicester’s force. Then they came to a tiny village. The place seemed to be deserted, but Barbara knew that serfs often hid when any party of riders came. The quiet did not make her wary. In the next instant, horsemen burst from concealment and they were surrounded.

  Clotilde shrieked just as the nearest man shouted, so that Barbara did not hear the name he called. She looked in the direction he had turned his head, gathering herself together to speak suitable lies with haughty calm. The mass of captors parted to allow a big black destrier to pass, and Barbara bit her lip, her tiny hope of seeing a familiar face gone. Her captor had his helmet on, presenting only an inhuman metal facade. The solid bottom hid all sign of mouth and chin, and the dull light did not even strike a glitter of eyes through the barred visor. Then the horse sidled.

  Barbara stared for an unbelieving moment at the shield presented before she threw back her hood and joyously cried aloud, “Lord Mortimer! It is I, Lady Barbara.”

  The single word Mortimer said as he pushed back his helmet visor was not in the least welcoming, and Barbara had to choke down a laugh and clear her throat. She told him at once from where she had come, when she had left Evesham Abbey and why, and what she had learned from the abbot’s secretary.

  “Women!” Mortimer snarled. “Always meddling. You fool. Even if the prince had not enough troops to block every ford, did you think he had no spies? We knew Leicester had crossed.”

  He hesitated, cast a fulminating glance at her, then called to a squire and bade him ride back and tell the prince that Leicester intended to hear mass at lauds at Evesham Abbey. His sharp words had brought tears of shame to Barbara’s eyes, but she felt much better when she heard him repeat her message. He might call her fool, but he had not known where Leicester was until she told him. His troop was all mounted, she saw, and guessed that they were riding southeast as fast as they could in the hope of finding the earl.

  Her guess proved accurate when Mortimer went on, “Beg Prince Edward to make all haste. I will send word to him as soon as I sight Leicester’s army. And if by God’s will the earl has not yet left Evesham Abbey, I will try to hold the bridge at Bengeworth.” He waved the squire away and turned on Barbara. “What am I to do with you?” he asked.

  “I will gladly go on to Worcester if you think that best, my lord,” she said, with a fleeting notion that she might meet Alphonse along the way.

  “Impossible,” he growled. “You would be stopped every mile by the troops afoot on the Alcester road—which you well deserve—but your husband, who is a good man and who is besotted upon you, God alone knows why, would never forgive me if you were misused by some stupid captain who did not know you.”

  “I am very sorry, my lord,” Barbara said meekly, suddenly feeling that she did not want to meet Alphonse after all.

  She remembered Clotilde saying he would kill her for leaving Evesham and recalled that she had laughed at herself for thinking of going to Worcester, knowing how angry he would be to be burdened by her presence. How much more of a burden would she be to him if he knew she was abroad and unprotected when a battle was about to be fought? Her glance flicked around, as if she were seeking some magical haven, and was caught by an ale stake protruding from one of the huts. Immediately she remembered Bevis ducking the ale stake as he came out of the alehouse at Bidford, saying they could not lodge there and that the alewife had no better lodging to recommend than Cleeve Priory.

  “I can go to Cleeve Priory,” she burst out.

  “But every foot you travel with us brings you closer to Leicester’s army,” Mortimer snarled.

  “No closer than I would have been in Evesham Abbey,” Barbara reminded him.

  Mortimer hawked and spat, then said, “I have no more time to waste on you. At least Cleeve is on the east side of the river and north of where I hope to cross. You can ride along with us. If we meet Leicester and must fight, flee north if you can.”

  He did not speak to her again, but gestured irritably to the center of the troop, where she would be best protected. Mortimer’s bark was worse than his bite, Barbara thought, as they started out. They rode hard, coming back to Harmyngton sooner than Barbara expected. Men and women scattered fearfully as the troop rode into the village, but that they had been working peacefully rather than hiding in the woods or behind barred doors was a good proof that no other armed force had passed. Better yet, the small bridge at Offensham was undamaged and unguarded.

  Mortimer came up to her as soon as she had crossed. “We part here,” he said, more courteously now that he had more hope. “If you ride north along the river, you will come to Cleeve Priory. I hope you will be safe. Perhaps God has kept Leicester mouthing prayers so long that he has not yet crossed the river. In any case, I think we will be between you and Leicester’s force.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Barbara said. She raised her hand in parting and followed Bevis, who had already led the pack animals onto the track along the river.

  “And be sure you stay at Cleeve Priory,” Mortimer roared after her, “so your husband will know where to find you and not be worried sick.”

  By the time Barbara was settled at Cleeve, Alphonse was already worried sick. He was among the party riding with Edward when Mortimer’s squire found the prince. The army had moved faster than Mortimer expected, and Edward’s own divisions were across the bridge at Alcester when the young man delivered his message.

  “Leicester has stopped to hear mass?” Edward pulled one ear as if he distrusted his hearing. Then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Did the abbot send this news?” he asked.

  The squire laughed. He had been present when Alphonse brought the news about young Simon going to Kenilworth. “No, my lord,” he replied. “This time it was Sieur Alphonse’s lady who carried the good word.”

  “Barbe?” Alphonse exclaimed.

  The squire repeated what Barbara had said about leaving the abbey.

  “Then it is true,” Edward said. He spared a glance at Alphonse. “She will be safe with Mortimer, safer than in the abbe
y with Leicester there.” He seemed to dismiss Alphonse from his mind as he went on to the men clustering around him, “We cannot go back. We would be blocked by Gloucester’s men. I will send word for Gloucester to turn south at once, before crossing the bridge, and we can go down this side of the river and cross at Cleeve. Let Gloucester meet us…”

  He hesitated, and the squire said eagerly, “There is a village near the west bank of the river north of the little bridge at Offensham. The fields around that village would serve for mustering the men.”

  “My lord,” Roger Clifford said, “I know that place. The crossing at Cleeve is not far north of it.”

  Edward smiled. “Well, God does not wish us to be lost and has provided two who know their way.” He nodded at the squire. “It is too late for you to rejoin your master in time to fight with him, you know. So, since you know the road to the Offensham bridge, lead Gloucester to the fields you spoke of.” He raised his hand as the young man rode off, then looked at Clifford again. “Now I need a man—”

  “My lord,” Alphonse interrupted desperately. “I—”

  Edward looked over his shoulder and after a minute pause beckoned Alphonse forward. “Never mind, Clifford,” he said, “I will send Alphonse. He was over that road only a few days ago. You may ride ahead, Alphonse, and tell Mortimer the new order of march. Bid him do his uttermost to keep Leicester from crossing the river and tell him to send me word if I must come south to support him instead of crossing at Cleeve. If you find any trace of Leicester’s army on this side of the river before you meet Mortimer, you must let me know. If there is no need for haste in your return to me, I give you leave to place Lady Barbara in whatever safekeeping you think best on your way back.”