By and large these were satisfactory. Salisbury and John FitzGilbert had been successful and had moved on to other targets; Walter and he had reduced Bampton, and Harwell had yielded without resistance. Walter was engaged at Shrivenham at present. If he took it, Faringdon would be virtually surrounded. A faint qualm rose in Hereford's breast at the thought of Faringdon, for he had once come very close to losing all there—not his life, but his honor and his power. He repressed the sensation fiercely; they were not yet trying for Faringdon. Perhaps after Henry and he returned from Scotland, but not yet.
He was looking forward to seeing Henry. For one thing, a good part of the burden of his responsibilities would be lifted when Henry of Anjou arrived; for another, that young man's forceful personality and invincible if cautious optimism were difficult to resist. Shaky alliances would become firmer with the presence of the young claimant to the throne, and many would join them who did not previously believe that Henry would keep his promise and come. Independent holders of keeps would yield much more readily too, for Henry could confirm their holdings with surety, while Hereford could only promise.
There were only two shadows on Hereford's present satisfaction. One, the deep, abiding sensation of futility that he strove in vain to conquer, recurred periodically, largely in the dark hours of the night after one of his nightmares or at times of enforced inactivity. The other was a very active distaste for the necessity of bargaining with Henry.
That unpleasant task he had to undertake at once, even before relating what had been won and what could be expected. Hereford felt that his demands were very reasonable, since they were mainly confirmations of what he already held by hereditary right or had won by his own prowess in war. He also wanted a title for Walter, another small matter, for the lands to support the title were Walter's already, although perhaps the method of winning them would not be completely to Henry's taste. Nonetheless, Hereford knew that Henry would not grant even reasonable demands with great readiness. He was closefisted with both lands and titles, feeling very justly that the less he gave the more he would have to give or to hold out as prizes in the future. Hereford had everything all written out for Henry to sign, and he knew Henry would sign in the long run, but he dreaded the thought of the wrangling.
"William." Beauchamp came forward. "Send a man ahead to Arundel—no, better, go yourself. Say whatever is proper. I believe Lord RadnorI mean the Earl of Gaunt, I will never get used to calling him that—has already written to Arundel, but in case he has not, explain why I am come in his stead."
"Yes, my lord."
"William …"
"Yes?"
"Explain tactfully. Do not set up Arundel's hackles."
Beauchamp laughed. "You mean I should not say out and out that you do not trust him and that you think his wife is a lovely idiot? Nay, I will restrain myself. Shall I ride back to you?"
"Not unless he will not receive us."
Arundel did, of course, receive them, but he made no pretense of being happy about it. He had opposed the choice of Hereford as the leader throughout the councils, feeling that he himself had a better claim to that position. In a certain sense he had, being a more mature man and having been a partisan in Henry's cause far longer, but old Lord Gaunt had trusted his foresight less even than Hereford's, and, more important, Gloucester had set his face solidly against that arrangement. In Gloucester's opinion Arundel was already too powerful; he would not cede his authority into those hands. Also, Arundel's main fortresses were not in such easy striking distance of Gloucester's property as Hereford's. William of Gloucester knew well how to fight, even if he would not, and believed firmly in having deterrents to use against his allies.
Fortunately Hereford and Arundel did not have to bear each other's company for long without diversion. Henry was as good as his word, for the weather was fair and the breeze blew sweet and pungent with the fragrance of spring and salt spray from France.
May the first, May Day. Wherever there was peace it was holiday. Ladies and gentlemen dressed in their best and went to Mass, then to ride out, not to hunt or fight on this day, but to pick flowers, eat in the fields, and dance. It was holiday even for the serfs. Their lords had provided food and drink in plenty, Maypoles were up to dance around, the priests either watching with sympathy or turning aside from these forbidden totems. A few preached against the heathen practice, but it was May Day, and there was spring in all men's hearts. Lords smiled indulgently, as serfs, normally forbidden to enter the woods without specific permission and payment, brought back load after load of wood for the huge bonfires that would burn that night. They too would come with their ladies to watch the antics of the serfs, half drunk and half wild, as they danced in their uncouth manner in the red glare.
Hereford had no time for celebrating May Day, but its spirit caught him so that his eyes were bright with laughter as he ran up the plank to greet his lord. He beat Arundel by minutes because of his greater agility and lack of dignity, and he had been raised from his bent knee and caught in an affectionate embrace by the time that more pompous gentleman had arrived.
"My Lord Arundel," Henry said, extending a hand to be kissed. The older man started to kneel stiffly, not because he had any reservations about kneeling to Henry but because he disliked doing so while Hereford was still being held fondly by the shoulders. Henry was too keen to let that pass. He prevented Arundel from bending his knee with a gesture, since he cared nothing for the dignity of kingship, desiring only its power.
"There will be time enough for that, Arundel, when I wear the crown. You are looking well. How is your lovely wife?"
"In excellent health and perfect looks, sire, and waiting most anxiously to greet you."
"And yours, Roger?"
Hereford laughed. "I shall put Elizabeth in a box, my lord. She is too lovely for you to let alone and has too good an eye for a strong man to resist you. Truly though, I have not seen her for some time. I have been a little occupied on your affairs."
"Ah, what a reputation you will give me. For shame. Do you wish my vassals to withdraw their allegiance for fear I should tamper with their women? Not yours, anyway, Roger. After a face like yours, all other men must look like moles."
"If I ever see a mole with freckles and red hair, I will take the cloth—or eschew wine."
Henry struck Hereford a friendly blow that staggered him. He was somewhat shorter than his liege man, being a little less than middle height, but considerably broader. At eighteen his body already promised its full strength, square and stocky with tremendous shoulders and a neck short and strong as a bull's, The hair was not really red but sandy, and the face was liberally sprinkled with freckles. A mobile mouth, smiling now to expose good teeth, softened somewhat the square, determined line of the jaw that could easily look brutal.
Beyond all else, however, the eyes above an indeterminate nose drew the attention. They were not large, and the lashes were short and sandy, but their gray was so bright and their look so keen that few except the dullest men were totally misled by the generally bland and good-humored expression of the face. Not that Henry was not good-humored, for he certainly was, although he had a fierce temper. Therefore, he looked, and was truly concerned when Hereford gasped and whitened at the blow.
"Good Lord, Roger, did I hurt you?"
"Ay, you are strong as an ox. I broke my collarbone a few weeks since and it is still tender. No matter, no harm done."
"Broke your collarbone? What a boy's trick! Were you climbing trees or did you fall off your horse dead drunk?"
"My lord," Arundel broke in, shocked and disapproving of this light badinage between king and liege man, "we should go ashore."
Arundel disapproved too of Henry's garb, both his own and Hereford's being far more magnificent. The young man was properly enough clad in excellent mail, but his chausses were of russet homespun as were his cloak and surcoat. Shoes and belt, instead of being decorated with gilding, gold wire, and jewels, were perfectly plain leather and
, although of the best quality, were stained and marred by long use.
Henry leapt ashore, too, laughing when he was splashed, without accepting the hands proffered to help him and mounted his horse with an agile spring, again ignoring the cupped hands ready to lift him into the saddle. He laughed and talked incessantly, as much to the men-at-arms as to the important men beside him, and stopped to jest also through an interpreter with the serfs around a Maypole. He has not changed a hair in two years, Arundel thought, frowning, and what was excusable in a boy of sixteen was less acceptable in a man who had come to make war to seize a throne.
If he had been present several hours later, when Hereford put his demands before Henry, Arundel would have felt quite differently, for Henry had sufficient dignity when he felt it necessary. He also had very winning ways and great charm so that it took all of Hereford's great power of determination to stick to his point. Henry yielded at last, signing and applying his seal to the charters, because he had no choice. He needed Hereford just then far more than Hereford needed him. His manner, having granted the demands, did him great credit, for he did not hold what Hereford had wrested from him against his liege man. Henry was not a grudge holder. He could do and say truly fearsome things in a rage, but cool, he was even too forgiving of an injury, especially to those of whom he was fond.
Late that night when even the bonfires that celebrated the coming of summer had died, Hereford and Henry were still hard at work. Arundel, more and more convinced that they were mad, nodded in his chair as the two fair heads bent together over charts and parchments on which plans of action, supply routes, escape routes, men and arms available, and even descriptions of terrain were detailed. Arundel had never seen anything like that in all his years of fighting and could not understand, although both obligingly explained, separately and in chorus, what they were about.
"Waste of time," he growled. "Let us attack where they are weakest and it is most convenient to us and take his keeps. When we have reduced him to nothing, he will yield."
"No doubt," Henry replied rather sharply, "and you will also have reduced the country to nothing. I do not come here for sport. I came first because there is power and profit in this land. Of what use is it to be king of a ruined realm? I wish to win, but I wish to spare the country as much as I may, that I may have something of value over which to rule."
CHAPTER 13
FROM ARUNDEL'S KEEP THEY RODE WEST TO SALISBURY, HENRY WITH those men he had brought with him and Hereford with his troop. They rode as quickly and silently as possible, starting in the evening and riding through the night. At present neither had any desire to be noticed. They were not strong enough a group to hold off a determined attack, and some men of this part of the country were strongly in favor of Stephen. Such partizans would have been happy to take such a prize as Henry of Anjou. At Salisbury they picked up more troops and started on their way north. Hereford himself might have chosen to rest a day at Salisbury, but Henry seemed only invigorated by labor. No effort seemed to tire that squat frame, no problem to cloud his good humor. At Devizes they did stop—Henry suggested they stay long enough to eat and change horses.
"My lord," Hereford protested, "I urged haste, but indeed you need not have taken me so seriously."
Henry blinked and looked surprised."I am in no special haste, Roger, but where there is nothing to do, I can see no reason to dally."
Hereford began to laugh helplessly. "A few months away from you and I had forgot. My lord, the men must sleep, even though you apparently need it not—and I must sleep too. Furthermore, if we ride at this pace we will outstrip our own couriers to Scotland. Stay, I will find a wench to amuse you while the rest of us, weaklings that we are, snatch a few hours of rest."
"You would need to be quickly refreshed if you were to sleep only while I tumbled a wench. By the by, Roger, I do not believe I wrote to you that I have fathered a son. Geoffrey I named him. A very likely boy he looks, though I had not time to stay long to observe him."
"You named him for your father?" Hereford was laughing again. Somehow that seemed a little outrageous.
"Well, he did not think it a bad idea.” Henry laughed too. “No, I gave the child the name common to the eldest-born of our family. When I am king I will bring him here. I would have been Geoffrey too but for the need to remind England that I am the heir of Henry Beauclerc through my mother. Go. You are asleep where you stand."
Hereford did not, however, go to sleep. He snatched the short period of freedom to dictate a letter to his mother, for he thought Elizabeth would stay at Chester. He bid Lady Hereford to make provision for entertaining "he whom I bring" and a large number of retainers, urging the man he dispatched to make all haste and providing him liberally with gold to buy new horses so that he would not need to rest his mounts on the way. His note was a bare two lines, terse and cold, although he did not mean it to be. He had certainly gotten over his rage and had almost forgotten in the press of other duties that he had been angry.
An equally brief note went to Walter, merely to say that he would not return to the siege and that Walter should continue to follow the plans outlined as best as he could until he had further word. He fell asleep at the table eventually, his head pillowed on his arms, while he thought he was considering whether to write then to Elizabeth at Chester or to Chester himself, or wait until he had a little more freedom in Hereford.
They rode again that night but fortunately not far. Gloucester was at Bristol and wished to offer Henry his support personally. Henry was not fond of William of Gloucester, being repelled by the same characteristics that offended Hereford, although for different reasons.
"Is it worth it, Roger?" he had asked when the message came. "His father I would have ridden through hell to speak with—even Phillip—but William … Of what value is he to us? Might it be a trap?"
"A trap? No. He is firm enough in your cause. I cannot believe that there could be any chance of that. And certainly he can be of great value, for I lead only his mercenary troops. He gave me his promise some months since that when we returned from Scotland he would summon his vassals to fight with us against Stephen. You know, my lord, I cannot command those forces without his will and presence. It would be most unwise to offend William of Gloucester."
"So be it. I too would not desire bad blood between us. He is, after all, my cousin, but I wished to be sure. Faugh, he makes my skin crawl though. What kind of a man is it that would allow another to do his fighting for him? I hear he looks with lust not only upon women …?"
Hereford made a moue of distaste. "That is true enough, and well I know it. There are times when I would be glad to have a face like Gaunt's. Nay, what troubles me most is that he likes to play the spy."
"I know, and I cannot help but wonder if that is not a disease too deep in the flesh now to cure. Will he, when I am on Stephen's seat, continue to play the spy, only now against me, for the love of the dirty game?" Henry's eyes were hard and narrow with suspicion. "Upon such a man it is never safe to repose too much trust."
Nonetheless, Henry of Anjou's opinion of Earl William did not prevent him from exerting the full power of his Angevin charm when they met. So successful was he that William's eyes hardly strayed even once to Hereford, who sat in grateful silence for a time and then excused himself. That charm, although it enchanted him when turned upon himself, made Roger uneasy when it was displayed for someone Henry plainly disliked and distrusted.
It was true that Henry would usually keep a verbal promise, but that was largely because he almost never made one. Young as he was, he was a past master at the suggestive hint, the understanding smile, the glance that offered much without words. It was only when he was cornered and forced that he would speak or write a definite commitment. Hereford shrugged and acknowledged that a king without the art to keep his subjects faithful by hope of gain would need to be a bloody tyrant and keep them subdued by fear. In the end, it was the subjects, not the king, who were to blame. If they would keep their oat
hs to support him with honesty, he would not need to resort to procedures that certainly bordered on the dishonorable to control them.
How had he ever become involved in this affair, Hereford wondered. Where was the difference between Stephen, who promised with his mouth, and Henry, who promised with his eyes? Why had he not sat quietly on his own lands? That last question answered all the others. Things had grown so bad in Stephen's reign that a man could not sit quietly on his own lands.
The difference between Henry and Stephen was not in their honesty, in that Hereford admitted there was little to choose between them, but in their basic characters and conceptions of kingship. Stephen was weak and desired the trappings of royalty. So long as men called him king, he cared little what they did, whether they fought among themselves or the stronger oppressed the weaker. Henry was strong and desired the power of royalty. Under his hand, by guile or by force, the barons would live in obedience if not in quiet. So long as his own personal interest was not at stake, Henry had a strong sense of justice, and, moreover, for his own great pride's sake, no man would cry to him for redress in vain. What he was doing was right and good, Hereford reassured himself; it was only because he was tired that his heart was so heavy.
A good night's sleep and a bright morning made that seem almost true as they set off again. They ate and rested a while at Gloucester, leaving the Earl there with a sense of relief, and rode on again through the gathering dusk and on through the dark toward Hereford. Roger knew every foot of this road, night or no night, he had ridden it so often. He regretted not having asked Elizabeth specifically to return. She would have been useful in entertaining Henry. Catherine, Hereford decided, he would have to keep isolated because his lord would surely forget the courtesy due a noblewoman if the noblewoman showed any signs of encouragement. Besides—his eyes grew reminiscent, and he smiled—he could use some entertainment himself. He laughed aloud, and Henry, who had been silent for all of five minutes, turned to him quizzically and eagerly.
Knight's Honor Page 30