The Lion's Legacy (Conqueror Trilogy Book 3)

by Juliet Dymoke

  Brien had had many dealings with Bishop Henry and had little liking for the astute monk-bishop, but nevertheless he had felt sorry for him on that occasion. Henry of Blois had every right to expect to sit in St. Augustine’s chair at Canterbury for he could justly claim that but for his help his brother would not be wearing the crown, but he and Stephen had quarrelled over something, though no one knew what it might be. And when on Christmas Eve Henry was at St. Paul’s ordaining young deacons to the priesthood Stephen had called together the then papal legate, several bishops and barons and held the election without his brother knowing of it. Theobald, Abbot of Bec, had been chosen for archbishop, following in the footsteps of Lanfranc and Anselm of sainted memory. No one had heard much of Theobald, though he was undoubtedly a holy man and an honest one, and it did not take a genius to see whose hand had guided the election for Waleran de Beaumont, Count de Meulan, was the chief patron of the Abbey of Bec which lay on the demesne of his paternal home at Beaumont-le-Roger in Normandy. Henry, who considered Waleran his rival as Stephen’s adviser, was naturally furious, particularly as the riff-raff at court and in the London streets laughed themselves silly over the affair and some wit circulated a particularly scurrilous verse to add to his discomfiture.

  ‘I am glad you admit it was a trick,’ Brien said. He went to the narrow slit window and looked out towards the river bank where the Thames moved silently. It was twilight now, the water silver, the trees dark. ‘The King made a mistake in alienating his own brother.’

  ‘The breach is healed now. And the Bishop promises me the earldom of Cornwall if – ’ the Earl broke off abruptly and glanced across the room. Brien was some years his junior and a bastard at that but for all he regarded him with an air of arrogant superiority there was something about the still controlled figure, the obviously alert intellect that the unlettered Alain respected.

  Brien did not move. ‘If?’

  The Earl shrugged his shoulders impatiently. ‘You understand me well enough.’

  ‘Do I? Is it the Bishop’s to give? I thought such honours were in the King’s hands alone.’

  Alain ignored the sarcasm in the quiet voice. ‘You would do well to please the Bishop yourself. He was jealous of your learning long ago when you were lads under tuition together. But perhaps you do not care for his good opinion – nor the King’s either.’ He aimed the shaft at random but there was, aggravatingly, no response in the cool grey eyes.

  ‘You will not get any admission from me, brother,’ Brien said. ‘So you will have Cornwall. I will not quarrel with you but other men have nearer claim.’

  Alain scowled. Why was it that Brien always made him feel a fool? Yet he was a better fighter, a better man with women, with proper thighs and a strong arm that crushed where it would. ‘Reginald? He’ll not contest it, and the King has sent Baldwin of Redvers scuttling back to Normandy with his tail between his legs. I shall have it and hold it come what may.’ He looked directly at the still figure.

  ‘Have you heard any news of Earl Robert?’

  The undisguised question did not startle the lord of Wallingford. His smile remained bland. ‘If I had, would I tell you?’

  ‘Blood of Christ!’ the Earl swore and got to his feet. ‘When my father sired you on that stiff-necked merchant’s wench at Dol he did not know you would have her pride as well as that of our house. By God, you are as proud as Lucifer.’

  Brien laughed outright at this outburst. ‘Perhaps pride is all that a bastard can call his own.’

  Alain glowered at him. ‘That might be so if you had been left in Brittany with the rest – God knows our father covered half the wenches there – but the old King would make you one of his own household and give you enough schooling to be Archbishop yourself if you had fancied the Church, and an heiress to wife and this place with more land beside. Pride!’ He gave a snort. ‘You have enough.’

  Brien came back across the room and rolling up the long sleeves of his under-tunic began to wash his own hands. His fingers were long and strong, the nails well shaped, yet as his horses and dogs knew, unlike his brother’s they could be gentle. ‘All this because you wish to know how I stand,’ he said quietly and reached for the towel. ‘I’ll not tell you, Alain. Do you not know the old proverb – “there is a time for saying nothing, a time for saying something, but no time in which all things should be said”?’

  The Earl got up in exasperation and refastened his mantle about his shoulders. ‘You can make light of it, but I tell you you will be a fool if you give your loyalty to the Empress. The King is watching those who are suspect. This castle – ’ he stared round the room, out of the window at the walls beyond, ‘this castle commands the valley of the Thames and it is the strongest for many miles. It would be as well if Stephen knew that he could trust its castellan.’

  There was a short silence. Brien pulled off his soft hunting boots and put a pair of felt shoes on his feet. Then he said, ‘Trust is given where it is earned.’

  ‘Can you never give a straight answer?’ Alain queried irritably. ‘Anyway can you not see matters are more settled in England now? When Earl Robert withdrew his allegiance from the King last year we all thought he would land and the Empress with him, but they’ve done nothing and with Baldwin of Redvers driven out of Exeter and the Isle of Wight too, and Stephen holding all Robert’s lands but Bristol, as well as peace made with the King of Scots, it is too late for the Empress to contest Stephen’s right. He is King – ’

  ‘For the moment.’

  Alain’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You’d better not voice such sentiments in his presence. What have you against him?’

  ‘Nothing – but the taking of what was not his. ’

  ‘Holy Virgin, you are cool. That is treason, brother.’

  Brien smoothed the folds of his tunic and retied the heavy belt that hung to his ankles. ‘Between these four walls? And you cannot tell Stephen anything he does not know already.’

  Alain looked astonished. ‘He knows that you – ’

  Brien laughed shortly. ‘He knows because we lived together in the same court under King Henry’s eye for enough years, and he knows that I was aware of the King’s wishes. ’

  ‘But if Henry changed his mind at the end?’

  ‘I’ll not believe that. ’

  ‘Hugh Bigod swore – ’

  ‘Hugh Bigod would swear black was white if it suited him.’

  ‘It is better to have a man to rule men,’ the Earl said stubbornly. He wandered to the narrow window, stared out into the busy bailey below. A bell began to ring and he said, ‘The curfew is late. ’

  ‘That is our privilege. Old King William granted the town an extra hour because it was the first to do him homage after the battle at Hastings.’

  ‘I had forgotten.’ Alain turned back. ‘Let us hope Wallingford has not forgotten why it yielded. These times also need a King – not a woman nor a child. Surely you cannot deny that?’

  ‘Does right wait upon expediency?’

  ‘Don’t moralise to me.’ Alain glanced at his half-brother and a malicious look came into his dark eyes. ‘And talking of morals, did you know that the Archdeacon of Séez told the Holy Father that the Empress was born of an unlawful union for her mother was a nun when King Henry married her.’ He finished triumphantly for he saw that at last he had succeeded in breaking his brother’s calm self-possession.

  Brien’s face was suffused with colour. ‘That is a damned lie – as the whole of Christendom knows. Would old Anselm, saint that he was, have wed them if it was true? Arnulf of Séez is a liar.’

  ‘So the Bishop of Angers told him, but mud sticks.’

  ‘Only among those who take pleasure in such miserable scandal. No man will keep from the Lady’s cause for such calumny.’

  Alain laughed again. ‘That caught you on the quick, eh? Are you telling me you will play the rebel? If so, I warn you the King will deal shortly with you. He has rid himself of most of the men he suspects of treason except –
’ he stopped and glanced at his brother as if uncertain whether to say what had been on the edge of his tongue.

  Sharply Brien finished the sentence for him. ‘Except the Bishop of Salisbury? And his nephews, the Bishops of Lincoln and Ely? And his son, the Chancellor? Good God, do you think me a fool?’

  ‘Never that,’ Alain admitted with a brief flash of unexpected humour. ‘Well, no one can deny they think themselves above the rest of us. Because they were old Henry’s chief men they treat Stephen as if he were a jumped-up boy instead of an anointed King. Can you blame him for thinking they would uphold the Empress if she came? Or that those great stone castles they’d no right to build hide arms and supplies for her?’

  ‘He may think it, but he has no proof and he would be ill-advised to turn against them. Holy Church would not take kindly to – ’

  ‘Holy Church!’ the Earl exclaimed. ‘Bishop Roger had best walk warily there. What business had he to be fathering a son and pushing him into high place as Chancellor? Churchman should be like old Anselm or Lanfranc before him, not preaching to us by day and dabbling with a woman by night – do we give to Holy Church for our soul’s good only to find them sinning as we do?’

  This display of righteousness cooled Brien’s anger into amusement. ‘I didn’t know you cared so greatly for sanctity.’

  ‘Well,’ Alain rubbed his chin, ‘I’ve never professed to be other than a man of flesh but when I need a priest to pray away my sins, he must be a better man than I am or God will see us both in hell. But you’ve distracted me. I came to give you warning.’

  The tension was back between them and Brien queried coolly, ‘Warning? Of what?’

  ‘Aye, brother, if you will take it. Watch your step. Every man waits to see if the Empress will come, and who would ride for her if she does. The King listens to me and if you would give me your assurance – ’

  ‘If I gave it, Stephen would not believe you – yet if I do not choose to give it that does not necessarily prove me a traitor. And how, I wonder, does one define a traitor? A sworn oath – ’

  ‘Holy Virgin,’ Alain interrupted again, ‘have we not all sworn and sworn and sworn again. Leave thinking of oaths, brother, and accept the situation as it is.’

  Again Brien laughed at his transparency. ‘So that you can hold Cornwall with no trouble from my manors there? You are not very subtle.’

  ‘I never pretend to be. I want no dissident vassal – ’

  At the word ‘vassal’ Brien opened the door. ‘Shall we go down to supper?’

  The Earl stared at him, half angry, half careless. ‘As you will. I pray God there-is some burgher common sense mingled with your stubbornness.’

  Brien waited for his brother to go first through the door, letting the shaft go by unanswered. Taunts about his birth seldom worried him.

  At supper the conversation was general. The Earl waited impatiently while the chaplain, Master Walter, said grace, and then sat down to eat heartily, stuffing great hunks of meat into his mouth and reaching across the table for dishes he fancied. He drank constantly, washing down the food, and paid scant attention to talk while the serious business of eating was in hand.

  Halfway down the great hall at one of the trestles Roger Foliot was gratified to find himself seated next to Ingelric of Huntercombe, the most senior knight who had been already several years in the service of the castellan of Wallingford and was much respected among the other young aspirants for advancement. John of Ramsay, the garrison commander, was lame from an old wound and well past his prime and most of the men-at-arms thought Ingelric would fill that position when it fell vacant.

  Helping himself to the dish of stewed beef that lay between them Roger said in a low voice, ‘I do not think I like our guest. Alain the Black is a devil, or so I’ve heard.’

  Ingelric took a piece of bread and scooped up some of the rich sauce spiced with wine in which the beef had been cooked. He had a slow, lazy manner that misled men into underrating his skill as a fighter. ‘For once rumour is true. You may thank the saints you are not in his service – a cousin of mine, for his sins, was under the Earl’s command for five years and what he saw drove him into the arms of the monks at Furness so you can guess,’ he added humorously, ‘how bad that must have been!’

  Roger grinned appreciatively. ‘Well, I’ve no fancy to change my lord. Why has the Earl come?’

  For a moment the amiable smile left Ingelric’s face and he turned to look directly at his young companion, his food forgotten. ‘My lord does not tell me such things, but Earl Alain is the King’s man, and if – ’

  ‘Aren’t we all?’ Roger broke in in surprise.

  ‘My innocent, don’t you know that our lord, next to Earl Robert, was closest to the Empress before King Henry died?’

  Roger shook his head. ‘Tell me.’

  Ingelric shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘That is all. Everyone knows that if she but lifted her little finger he would do her bidding.’

  ‘You mean he would fight?’

  ‘He will do what he thinks right and if Earl Robert moves, God knows where we will all find ourselves. The King has all the ports watching for him so he must fear that the Empress will try to land.’

  Roger stared curiously at his companion. ‘How do you hear all these things?’

  ‘I keep my ears open. How else can a man get advancement?’ Ingelric reached for a jug of ale and refilled his cup and Roger’s. ‘And I’ve a sister in attendance on the Earl of Warwick’s lady. No one is closer to the King than Count Waleran and his cousin’s wife is not discreet in the bower.’

  Roger thought about this for a moment, toying with a piece of meat between his fingers. He ate it and then licked them clean. ‘Well, even I know Earl Robert sent a formal defiance but an anointed King is King indeed, so my cousin the Abbot says, and the Holy Father in Rome gave Stephen the right.’

  Ingelric threw the bone he was chewing to a dog and watched it scuff the rushes. ‘A King indeed,’ he repeated Roger’s words, ‘but the game is not played out – in fact it is not yet begun, and if you fear to take whatever part our lord chooses you had best leave his service now.’ His voice held its usual tone, lazy and devoid of any emotion but a casual humour, yet Roger was sure that Ingelric was in earnest. He wanted to ask him exactly what he meant, but Ingelric turned away to speak to the man on his other side and Roger sat silent.

  The hall was hot and stuffy on this summer evening, and noisy with the talk of men; dogs ran wild, searching for scraps and as servants hurried from the kitchen with more food and wine for the unexpected guests, Roger watched his lord’s steward, Amauri de Beauprez, supervising the broaching of a fresh cask of ale. It was all on so much larger a scale than at home where his father had no more than half a hide of land held of Brien, and their house was small and unpretentious. He looked up at the high table and the rich screen behind it, the fine tapestry on the walls, yet he thought there was nothing pretentious about the castellan himself for he sat at the head of his household with a kind of quiet dignity that seemed far more admirable than Alain the Black’s noisy swagger.

  On an impulse he turned to Ingelric who was looking his way again. ‘Whoever he serves, I care not as long as I am his man.’

  Ingelric set a hand on his shoulder. ‘A proper sentiment, young Roger, but keep it to yourself, at least for the time being. All you and I need to know at the moment is that we ride with him to Oxford tomorrow as the King commands.’

  Roger glanced down the table at a thin young man with eyes set too close together who sat eating silently. ‘What does he think, I wonder?’

  Ingelric followed his glance. ‘Philip? Well, he may be Earl Robert’s son, but at the present he is a knight in Brien’s train as we are, and he has no more business than we have to think of great men’s affairs. What goes on in that mean mind of his, God knows.’

  ‘You do not like him?’

  Ingelric shrugged his big shoulders. ‘He is not what one would expect of a son of Robert
of Gloucester.’ And he turned away to speak to his neighbour on the other side.

  After he had seen his half-brother to the guest chamber Brien walked back through the hall towards the turret stair. The trestles were cleared now and on the benches set along the walls and on the floor his own men and Alain’s had spread their pallets; some were already asleep and snoring noisily to vouch for the richness of Brien’s table, others were still talking together in low voices and in one corner men were dicing by the light of a rush dip.

  He nodded to Roger who lay wakeful and went on up into the darkness, the spiral so familiar that he did not need even the dim light of the sconce at the top to show him his way. In his chamber he found his steward seated at the table, writing in his neat hand –