"Your wife is a most faithful correspondent," Henry said indolently, shifting his body so that another portion of it would be toasted by the fire.
"Yes. She writes that all progresses as we would desire. Lincoln having regained his own now proposes to swallow what is Stephen's, as I supposed he would, and Chester has agreed to help him and share the profits."
Henry's mouth hardened somewhat. "I suppose I am glad enough of their help now, but what I am to do in the future with that pair, I know not."
Gilding gleamed briefly as Hereford slowly rotated an elegant shoe, his eyes following the movement of the light on the toe and instep. The weeks of quiet they had enjoyed since Walter had given Stephen something to think about had permitted Hereford to return to his normal sartorial magnificence. That had been a mistake, however, for the brilliant, gemlike colors, the gold and silver embroidery, the furs and jewels only made more noticeable the change in the man so adorned.
Rest had not improved Hereford's appearance much, although he was now perfectly clean, but that was possibly because he had taken no real rest. A sense of urgency so extreme possessed him now that sitting still, even when there was nothing he could possibly do, was a torment. He knew, somehow he knew, that time for something was drawing to a close. With a carefully controlled slowness, Hereford rotated his foot in the other direction. His hands resting on the arms of his chair quivered constantly although almost imperceptibly because of their tenseness.
"I know not either," he replied to Henry in a slightly bored voice. "But I can give you the comfort that they are no true-loving pair. You look too far ahead. If Stephen responds to this by turning north, as I hope, where shall we strike?"
There was a long pause as Henry pretended to consider while he really watched his companion. Nothing about the rigid control Hereford was exercising over himself, from the flat, bored tone of voice to the careful, slow movements, was lost. Henry had seen plenty of men pushed to their breaking points and knew the signs well, but week after week Roger of Hereford did not break, and as far as Henry knew there was nothing serious enough weighing upon him to account for his condition.
"Roger, how long have you been under arms?"
"Eight months, one week, and three days. Do you want to know the hours?"
"It is too long. Oh, be quiet, Roger, your answer alone shows it is too long. What man, except he be overworn and thinking overmuch of his home counts the days and hours he has been absent from it. You need rest—real rest, not this idling on tenterhooks waiting to attack or be attacked. Look you, Eustace is in the east battling Bigod. Stephen is likely, as you say, to turn northward again. I think you should go home for a few weeks, even a month or more. This is a good time for it, and I can summon you if there is a sudden need."
"I cannot deny that the rest would be welcome," Hereford replied in the measured tone that was more unnatural to him than a scream. "Mayhap there is reason to what you say."
"You will not desert me entirely?" Henry said, half laughing, and then as Hereford's face whitened still further, "Nay, Roger, it was but a jest. If you abode with me when all went ill, why should you part company when every thing promises well for us? I will make no more bad jokes. Go home and—"
"No!" Hereford leapt to his feet and began to pace the hall nervously. "No. Do not tempt me, my lord." He shuddered and came up to lay a hand on Henry's shoulder. "The devil himself must have put our parting into your mind, and some good angel made you say I should not desert you. No, by God, even at your urging, I will not yield to that dream—"
"What dream, Roger? Of what do you dream?"
Hereford passed his hand over his face, hesitating, and then said slowly in a shaking voice, "Of desertion, but by whom and of whom I do not know. The dream is ever the same—a great battle and through the fighting there is a—a feeling of joy, of success within the grasp of my hand. Then suddenly I am alone, riding through a strange, ravaged countryside with the feeling of failure and despair heavy upon me, but I do not feel like myself, I feel strange and distant as though, perhaps, it is not my body but my spirit that rides so. And all the time that I ride a voice calls, perhaps within me, perhaps to me, 'Do not go … Do not go now.' But still I ride on and I know that I am alone, all alone, with no other human thing ever to come near me, and it is because I have deserted someone … or have been deserted. I do not know …"
"Only that?"
With an impatient gesture Hereford turned away and began to pace again. "How can I say what feeling oppresses me. What— Nonsense, Henry," he added suddenly with a slightly shaken laugh, coming back and sitting down. "It is nothing to do with us, I am sure. I have always had such dreams. Ever since my father died I have dreamt of being too late or making some mistake that has cost me and those I love dear. I feel lighter already for having spoken of it. I tell you," he said forcefully, as Henry stared at the fire with a troubled frown, "it is all nonsense. This talk can profit neither of us. We would spend our time better planning what move next to make."
"You say nonsense, yet you believe it enough to refuse to go home. Roger—"
"I do not believe in tempting fate when it is not necessary," Hereford replied firmly in a much more natural tone of impatience. "Besides, it is mad to abandon such an opportunity to make great gains. If Stephen takes his army north—and belike the fool will take those vassals from the south who are still under arms with him north alsohe will leave this area virtually naked of protection. What idiots we would be to take such a time to rest."
"Ay, that is true." Henry's natural optimism was already shaking off the uneasy superstitious fears Roger's tale had engendered in him. "What we should do is bid Gloucester to join us and strike hard."
"Good. Where?"
"Bridport."
"Why Bridport? Why not Faringdon?"
"Because a good port in our hands is always valuable and because I have had some strong indication that the castellan of the keep that guards the port is not all unfriendly to us. If we make a strong enough show of force before the gates, I am told, he will open to us without battle."
"But Henry de Tracy—"
"That is the rub,” Henry put in sharply. “We must prove to Bridport that we are stronger than de Tracy, and how to bring de Tracy to battle is more than I know. The man is wily as a fox, and very few of his keeps are as weak as Bruton. Particularly near the coast he has taken pains to make them nearly impregnable. I doubt that we could take anything near enough to Bridport to make an impression without great loss of time and men."
"Never mind that now,” Roger said. “Let us take one step forward at a time." Action, any action was so necessary to Hereford that even sensible planning paled into insignificance before his need. "For this we need Gloucester so that much depends upon his willingness. Let us go to him—we are doing nothing here anyway. I will lay you a small wager that he will think of a way to tempt de Tracy out. In such matters he is very keen."
Hereford would have lost that wager, although Earl William fulfilled every other expectation. When they arrived they were welcomed with knowing smiles, and William confirmed positively what they had only surmised, that Stephen had gathered his forces and already turned north.
"How do you know?"
"Ah, my lord, that would take too long to explain," William said smoothly, "but you may be assured that I am right. I know. I am so sure that I will offer, before you ask, to summon my vassals and join you in the field." His eyes wandered from Henry to Hereford. "Roger, my dear boy, you do not look at all well. I will be very cross with our dear overlord if he is pressing you too hard. To furrow such a brow with care is almost too great a price to pay—even for a crown. I would not treat you so."
"If Stephen of Blois is already gone northward," Henry said hurriedly, nobly casting himself into the breach he saw opening, "we had better set ourselves at once to the task of readying our own men. There is no time to lose."
"Certainly. My clerks have a list of the vassals whose military service is du
e and you may have it at once. But really, my concern is for the Earl of Hereford. You are with him constantly and perhaps have not noticed how pale and thin—"
"Do not concern yourself for me, William” Hereford interrupted. “However I look, I am no delicate flowerlet."
Gloucester restrained himself with a mighty effort from laughing. It was true that he had once approached Hereford with the idea of winning him sexually because of his beauty and his delicate appearance. He was far too clever a man, however, to need more than a slight hint that his attentions were unwelcome. It was just because Hereford reacted so violently that Gloucester could not deny himself the pleasure of tormenting him.
"But you will be ill if you continue to drive yourself," William murmured dulcetly. "Come, I will show you to a quiet room."
"I am never ill," Hereford snapped edgily.
"A good meal and a fresh wench would do him more good than quiet," Henry interposed, digging his elbow surreptitiously but painfully into Hereford's ribs. 'The only trouble with Roger is that he is like a hound, straining so eagerly at the leash in his desire for the hunt that he is near strangled. If you would improve his state, give him work so that he will cease from fretting at doing nothing. Give Hereford those lists, William," Henry said, taking Gloucester by the arm in a caressing manner and turning the full force of the charm he had inherited from his father upon him, "and come with me. He will have the benefit of a task that calls for little effort and will yet occupy his mind, and I need the benefit of your advice upon certain matters."
The interest of such an appeal was, of course, far too great to resist just to annoy Hereford. William went with Henry, hoping to learn something new but perfectly willing to listen to anything the young man said, and Henry kept him interested by applying to him for information on the various prisoners taken at Bruton and for advice on how to treat those who seemed ready to join him.
Hereford sighed with relief. William always revolted him, but usually he could control his natural recoil. He laughed a little wryly, promising himself not to snap so irritably in the future. After all, the man could scarcely ravish him against his will. Nonetheless, the small additional distraction in his present state of nervous irritation made him careless. After ordering the scribes to write the summonses and writing some of the more important ones himself, Hereford scrawled a note to Elizabeth warning her of Stephen's move and urging her to make all reasonable speed consonant with her safety to return to Hereford Castle. Just as he was about to address this, he was interrupted for what seemed like the twentieth time by the need to settle a minor dispute about the division of spoils and the distribution of supplies. Cursing his men roundly, he sent them about their business, seized what he thought was his letter to Elizabeth to direct it and hand it to a waiting courier.
"With all haste possible to my wife, and enjoin her by mouth that I bid her heed most strictly what I wrote herein."
"Yes, my lord. Shall I return with her reply?"
"There will be no need for an immediate reply if she is able to obey my orders. If not, she will direct you or another. Make haste and bid her make all possible haste also."
Some twenty-four hours later the exhausted rider gasped out his message–when Hereford said to make haste his men were prone to kill horses in an effort to obey him–and Elizabeth broke her husband's seal in a trembling hurry. What she read made her open her eyes to their fullest extent in blank amazement. Without salutation or address, in a hand that was obviously not Roger's, the letter she received was a formal summons for her to appear at Gloucester to perform her military duties to her overlord.
"Is this for me? You are sure there is no mistake?"
"My lord gave me the letter with his own hand, madam, and bid me tell you that you should strictly obey his orders and that with all possible haste."
"But—" Elizabeth bit back what she had been about to say and dismissed the messenger with a gesture.
It was ridiculous to question the courier further for he could plainly tell her no more. What in the world, she wondered, had gotten into Roger? Surely however pressed for time he was he could have written a line in his own hand, and she was not, after all, a military vassal. The only thing she could think of was that things were so bad that he was afraid to describe them for fear of the letter falling into enemy hands and guessed that she would understand what he meant by his unusual proceedings. Whatever the explanation, it behooved her to go to him at once, for surely he must be in an extremity of need to summon her in such a way. Elizabeth hurriedly sought out her chief vassal and gave orders that would start them on their way south immediately.
"Now, madam? Through this hostile country?"
Elizabeth's heart quailed. Those words were almost identical with what Alan of Evesham had said before they started for Castle Corby and, indeed, it was the same country—a little north—through which they would ride. Her resolution did not falter long, however.
"Yes, through the night also. My husband and your liege lord has great need of us. We are too strong a force to be lightly taken. Do not be so fainthearted. Shall I don armor and protect you? Are you not shamed that a mere woman should need to urge you to your duty? Fie, is this manhood?"
"As you say, madam. All shall be as you order," the grizzled warrior said hastily, before his mistress could get her tongue well warmed. As Elizabeth turned away to find her father, he shook his head. "Mere woman," he mumbled, "mere woman. God save me from being on the opposing side if she ever should have cause to lead a force in battle. Her father is a milkmaid compared with his mere daughter." He went to summon the men and order the packing for the long ride. "Woman," he muttered under his breath again, "devil is more like, and the only one who is worse is that husband of hers who is not only madder than she, but can make the craziest things seem like an ordinary matter."
Chester was somewhat harder to convince than her vassal, and Elizabeth did not dare show him her letter for fear he would think Roger had gone mad. Chester, of course, knew nothing of the ceremony of homage she had gone through and would see no sense in the summons at all. She prevailed at last, naturally, because there was nothing her father could do to hold her short of imprisoning her. She was, after all, her own mistress, and the men would obey her orders. The only reason she argued and pleaded at all was that she loved him and did not wish to part from him on bad terms.
"Dear Father, I must go if Roger needs me. You know I must. More particularly since you do not need me any longer. Lincoln's vassals have at last heeded his call, you have men and money sufficient—"
"Elizabeth, I am not trying to hold you here. Of course you must go to your husband. But through the night? His need could not be so great as that."
"I do not know," Elizabeth replied softly, but with frightened eyes. "It is not like him to call me so urgently. My men have almost completed their time of service and I know he planned that I should return to Hereford when I left you. Yet his letter urges haste and his messenger brought orders from his own lips more straitly urging haste. I dare not delay even an hour more than necessary."
"Mayhap if necessity presses so hard it would be well for me to come also?"
"He would have asked if he desired that. But I thank you for your kindness, Father. Do you hold yourself in readiness for a day or two. If I find that the case is desperate, I will send you word."
"Very well, Elizabeth." Chester drew his daughter close and kissed her fondly. "You were ever one to go your own way. Whatever happens, I will help you, my love. Do not fail to send me word, one way or another."
That evening Elizabeth's courage nearly failed her. A slight drizzle was falling and the light was failing just as it had that March when she was taken. Her vassals, like Alan, also asked more than once whether they should stop, and Elizabeth, again feeling that to go back was more dangerous than to go forward and stopping most dangerous of all, again urged them onward with barbed words. It was only externals that were similar, however, and Elizabeth comforted herself
with that knowledge. Her troop this time was almost strong enough to fight off an army and her travel was for far different reasons.
The outcome of her journey was also quite different, and despite the trepidation of her vassals they arrived toward evening in sight of the great walled city of Gloucester. Elizabeth looked long and searchingly at the terrain, sighed, and motioned her men forward again. At least Gloucester was not under siege. She was shaking with fatigue by the time she dismounted but still in full possession of her wits and her nerves and prepared for anything. Anything, that is, except what greeted her, which was a husband whose eyes blazed and whose face was distorted by fury.
"What in the name of the unholy are you doing here? What does this mean?" he roared, and then, giving her no time to reply, "What disordered freak has taken possession of you now?"
"But Roger—" Elizabeth expostulated with eyes all but bulging with surprise.
"God, oh, God, how did I ever come to marry such a mad woman! Can nothing restrain you from following your own willful path to our mutual disaster?"
"God curse you, Roger, shut your mouth," Elizabeth shrieked, her higher-pitched voice overriding his at last. "My willful path!" She fumbled in the purse that hung from her belt. Extracting the parchment upon which his last message had been written, she threw it into his face. "There, there are your own orders which brought me here. Do you really think I would ride two feet of my own free will to be with you?"
Tired and shaken as she was, Elizabeth could not help being amused at the comical expression of chagrin which overspread her husband's countenance as he read the summons. It did not last long, however, for he became angry again almost immediately.
"That is ridiculous, Elizabeth, and you know it. You are no idiot or perhaps you are if you did not realize that this summons could not possibly be meant for you."
"So I thought, my lord," she replied with a deadly sweetness of tone that should have warned Hereford what was coming. "And I asked the messenger if there was not a mistake." Elizabeth paused, her golden eyes going fiercer and fiercer. "But he replied to me that you had given him that letter with your own dear, careful hands and that with your own sweet, clever lips you had added a verbal message that I must straitly obey what was in the letter, and with all haste." Her words had come quicker and quicker, louder and louder until in the end she was screaming.
Knight's Honor Page 40