The desire to see her, hear her laugh and sing to their baby, enfold her in his arms, touch her golden hair, and brush his lips against her satin smooth skin became so intense, he clenched his fists and smote the stone parapet before him. He decided that Pershore was far too close for him to keep his distance; he would go to her now. Before he reached the stables, however, doubts assailed him. Never again did he want to see Rosamond recoil from him; never again did he want to watch the color drain from her face along with her hope. What if her lovely violet eyes were filled with accusation when she looked at him? What if her lips trembled at the unbearable pain he had caused her? What if her heart was closed to him forever?
Rosamond had said she needed time alone to sort out her thoughts,
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so reluctantly Rod resolved to give her the privacy she needed. He knew their future together hinged on what Rosamond decided, and he was loath to jeopardize that. Crushing down his longing to ride to her, he summoned Griffin and sent him off to Pershore with a note inquiring after his son's health. He worded it succinctly, politely, so that it was not intrusive, but at the same time it let Rosamond know that their headquarters were now at Worcester, should she need him for aught.
When Rosamond saw Griffin ride into Pershore's bailey, her heart jumped into her throat with apprehension. If there had been any question about how deeply she loved her husband, the truth was brought home to her when she thought harm had befallen him. When Griffin smiled, she felt her knees wobble with relief.
"Sir Rodger sends you greetings, my lady." Griffin handed her the note and she slipped it into her bodice so that she could read it in private later. It was doubtless a love letter telling her how much he missed her, and that he could no longer live without her. Just the thought of his impassioned words on the folded paper warmed her heart and brought a delicate blush to her cheek.
When a groom came forward to take the squire's horse, Rosamond tucked her arm through Griffin's. "Let me show you the hospitality of Pershore; the place is much improved since you were here last. Both you and your horse must have a well-deserved rest before you undertake the long ride back to Ludlow."
"Nay, my lady, we are now headquartered at Worcester."
"Worcester?" she exclaimed with surprise. "Could my lord not ride the seven miles himself?"
"He is busy from morning till night, my lady. He is Lord Edward's right hand. Sir Rodger is indispensable!"
Rosamond suddenly felt dispensable. In the hall, while Nan was making a fuss over Griffin, Rosamond pulled out the note and read:
Kindly inform Griffin of my son’s health. R. Worcester Castle.
It was so brief, it was insulting. Its tone was so coolly polite, it might have come from a stranger. Rosamond was also offended that
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he had written "my" son, rather than "our" son. "Griffin has been sent to learn of the baby's welfare," she told Nan. "I shall go and pry him from the hands of the maids so you may inspect him," she said self-righteously to Rodger's squire.
Rosamond returned shortly carrying her son, with two young maids following close upon her heels. She handed the child to a startled Griffin, who had never held a baby in his life. The look of pure panic that suffused his face was so comical, the maids began to giggle. He threw Rosamond such a look of desperate supplication that she took pity on him and laughingly relieved him of his terrifying burden. Her anger at her husband melted away, but she decided to answer him in kind and word the reply to deliberately annoy him. She wrote:
Your son thrives! I am amazed that you could spare Griffin from the duties that overburden you, day and night. Worcester and Pershore are so close, that next time you want to know about your son s health, I suggest that you go to the window and look out and I shall hold him up for your inspection! You will be happy to know that I have chosen a name for your son.
Rosamond folded the note with satisfaction. She didn't tell him the name she had chosen, of course. He was arrogant enough, and if he wanted to know the name, he would have to come and find out! But before Griffin departed, Rosamond needed to reassure herself that Rodger was in no immediate danger. "I know Lord Edward is gathering an army; do you think the fighting will start soon? "
"There is no danger of that, my lady. Simon de Montfort has taken his army to Glamorganshire in Wales."
******************
Headquartered in Worcester, Edward Plantagenet's army swelled to a formidable size. He was both amazed and gratified at the speed and fury with which royal sentiment had swept the West, but he was determined that this time he would not make the mistake of overconfidence. He spread his forces all along the interior side of the River Severn from Worcester all the way to Gloucester. Then Gilbert de Clare's forces were used to patrol the river from Gloucester all the way down to Bristol, where the river emptied into the Bristol Channel.
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The prince was wary and watchful, and he made liberal use of spies and scouts. He knew that Simon de Montfort had to cross the Severn at some point to get back into England, and when he did, Edward intended to be ready for him. He gave orders that all the boats used to cross the river be captured or destroyed. He also dispatched scouts to locate young Simon de Montfort and track the movement of the men-at-arms under his command.
Edward and his lieutenants were gathered around a map table in the war room at Worcester Castle when a courier arrived from Gilbert de Clare. The prince unsealed the dispatch and read it. "Gilbert says Simon de Montfort intended to cross where the Usk and the Wye rivers meet and flow into the Severn, but there were no boats, and when he saw the great force that awaited him on the opposite bank, he had no choice but to turn his army north."
"It is obvious that Bristol was his intended destination," Rod declared. "If he had reached Bristol, he would have dug in and waited for us to come to him."
"Exactly!" Edward agreed. "He would have chosen the battlefield and strategically deployed his men-at-arms to best advantage, as he did at Lewes. Then he would have waited for his son Simon to move against us from the east, and trapped us between the two armies."
"He would have waited in vain." Rodger flashed his dark grin. "Young Simon received orders to meet his father at Kenilworth, and he is moving his troops north at a leisurely pace."
"Splendor of God, I don't know how you do it, and I don't want to know. This gives us the advantage over both armies. The old warlord will head up to Hereford, on the wrong side of the Severn, of course, and with young Simon at Kenilworth, there's no chance in hell of them uniting the baronial forces."
"Not with us squarely between them," John de Warenne agreed. "Our position at Worcester gives us the military advantage."
"My men have been busy," Rodger de Leyburn informed Edward. "Not only have they tallied our own numbers, they have managed to tally the numbers of both baronial armies."
"And?" Edward demanded impatiently.
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"With Gilbert de Clare's men, our numbers are greater than the whole of theirs. We will be victorious against either army!"
A great cheer echoed round the war room. Edward hastily wrote an answer to Gilbert de Clare's dispatch, ordering him to bring his men-at-arms to Worcester immediately. When the courier departed, Edward signaled to Rod, and the two men climbed to Worcester's ramparts.
Edward paced the wall, stretching his long legs, then he returned to stand before his friend. "It will be a fight to the death, you know. It is fight and win, or fight and die, and I intend to win, at any cost."
"Are you prepared to kill Simon de Montfort? " Rod asked quietly.
"Oh yes ... by any means open to me. I just wondered if you—"
"There is no need to ask. I am your man, no matter what."
Edward ran his big hand through his golden hair and spoke reflectively. "Simon is in his fifties, and must be tired of the long struggle, though he is still filled with passion for the cause, and passionate hatred for me."
Rodger nodded. "He is the last of
the old chivalrous order."
"He taught me all he knew of war, but I also have my own modern ideas, none of which is chivalrous! It is old-fashioned to rely solely upon cavalry in heavy body armor to fight the battle, while the foot soldiers are left miles behind to handle the baggage carts. Every man in my army is well armed and has been taught to fight. The rules that say that it is unfair to attack at night, and that common soldiers must keep their distance from the mounted knights, are stupid! In war there is only one rule that counts—kill more of your enemy than they kill!"
"Then take their weapons and horses," Rod added grimly.
"Exactly!" Edward said with relish. "When will young Simon arrive at Kenilworth?"
"He has the Earls of Oxford and Suffolk in his train, and at the rate they are lumbering along, it will take at least two more days. Then they will have to spend long hours setting up camp and tents; there is not room for an army of four thousand inside Kenilworth."
"A wager, my friend, that we will be there before them!"
"I have more good sense than to bet against you, my lord, once you have set your mind on a goal."
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* * *
In the darkness, Rodger de Leyburn and his men waited patiently for Edward Plantagenet's order. Rod knew it would not come until the hour before dawn, when most of the enemy, encamped in the fields around the town of Kenilworth, would be sleeping. As he waited he reviewed the incredible events of the day.
The moment Edward's scouts had spotted Gilbert de Clare's men arriving from Gloucester, Edward had called in the mounted patrols from along the Severn and taken his whole army, numbering about six thousand, out of Worcester, marching them north to Kenilworth. They covered the thirty miles in twelve hours, a feat never before accomplished, and arrived at dusk, just before the unsuspecting enemy. They took cover to watch and wait, heaving a collective sigh of relief when the entire baronial army pitched their tents and made their camp outside the town, rather than behind the impregnable walls of Kenilworth Castle.
With great decisiveness, Edward gave his lieutenants the signal to attack one hour before dawn, and they in turn, relayed the order to their men. Rodger de Leyburn donned his helmet, mounted his destrier, then drew his sword and raised it high. It was the signal for which his men had been watching. With Griffin at his back, he thundered down the hill alongside hundreds of other mounted men, and thousands of foot soldiers armed with bills, pikes, and axes, in a surprise attack that caught the enemy completely off-guard.
It was a raid in the dark, rather than a battle. The unexpected attack made it a one-sided slaughter. The sleeping enemy emerged from their tents and either scattered before the onslaught or died where they stood. In the mad foray, coals from the campfires set the tents ablaze, further terrorizing the baronial troops. Hundreds were butchered, while thousands ran, fleeing into the surrounding countryside, or tried to swim Ke-nilworth's mere in a desperate attempt to reach the sanctuary of the castle.
In an attack, Rodger de Leyburn never kept count of the men he killed. He simply focused on the enemy before him, knowing Griffin covered his back. His sword and his right arm became one bloody weapon, slashing, thrusting, smashing, slicing, piercing, cutting, and stabbing. His left arm held his shield with which he warded off the heavy
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blows of his enemy's weapons. Tonight, fortunately, few fought back. The mounted man before him was an exception. Their swords clashed and their stirrups touched as their vicious warhorses slid about on the blood-slicked ground. Suddenly, Rodger de Leyburn was close enough to see his enemy's eyes, and he recognized young Simon de Montfort!
Rod stared, and stayed his sword, but the minute he did so, his opponent saw the opening and lunged savagely. Rodger brought up the edge of his shield with a brutal thrust that knocked the sword from Simon's hand. Rodger lifted the noseguard of his helmet to make his identity plain. Young Simon stared in horror, first at the blazing green eyes, then at the dripping sword. "Get to the castle, man!" Rodger roared, then he set his spurs to Stygian and wheeled toward a knight carrying a baronial banner.
By the time the sun came up, it was all over; the baronial forces were completely vanquished. Edward forbade pursuit of those who had fled. He knew he had destroyed the fighting ability of this half of the baronial army, and ordered his lieutenants to gather their troops together. It was an unqualified victory; they had captured all the baronial horses and taken thirteen banners.
As Rodger de Leyburn rode slowly through the camp, assessing their losses and tallying their gains, he was surprised to see the Earl of Oxford sitting on the ground amid the tattered banners. "Whose prisoner are you?"
Oxford's hands trembled visibly as he answered de Leyburn. "I came face-to-face with Prince Edward. He raised his bloody great broadsword and almost decapitated me! Then he gave me a piercing look with those ice-blue eyes, and said, 'I need all my English barons.' He took me prisoner and turned me over to his squire."
"You are a lucky man; Edward intended to give no quarter."
Kenilworth was impregnable and could only be taken by siege, so the captured horses were given to the foot soldiers, and Edward gave the order to return to Worcester without pause or rest. He knew his greatest challenge lay ahead of him, and he intended to be ready for it. The royal troops, buoyed by their victory, raised the captured banners on high.
"How many barons were here?" Edward asked Rodger de Leyburn.
"Thirteen, my lord."
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"Fools! Did they not know thirteen is an unlucky number?"
At Pershore, Rosamond waited impatiently for the expected visit from her husband. When he did not come immediately, she was piqued at his neglect. She told herself that even if the stubborn man did not wish to see her, surely he would come to see his son. He was simply taking his own sweet time to deliberately annoy her. Well, she would be damned if she would sit here and wait for him. It was time she rode out to inspect Pershore's tenant farms, and with any luck, she would be out and about her business when the annoying devil arrived!
The next morning, Rosamond fed her baby, tucked him into his cradle, and instructed Nan and the maids to watch over him with special care while she and her steward, Master Hutton, visited her outlying tenant farms. She chose a striking emerald green riding tunic and tucked her long, honey-gold tresses into a snood embroidered with emerald and pearl beads. She pulled on her riding boots and stood before the polished silver mirror. Pleased with the newly slim figure she saw reflected there, she picked up her riding gloves and went to the stables.
Nimbus was already saddled for her, and Rosamond and her steward trotted their horses through the bailey. She listened intently as he described some of the improvements she would find, then they lapsed into a comfortable silence. Nimbus tossed her mane and fought the bit a little, impatient for a gallop on such a glorious autumn morning. Rosamond glanced at her sober, sensible steward, plodding along on his gelding, and was delighted to hear him say, "Go on, my lady, give 'er a run."
"Thank you, Hutton, I'll just have a gallop along the river." Rosamond gave Nimbus her head, and the mare almost danced through the goldenrod and purple Michaelmas daisies that grew in the tall grass on the banks of the Avon. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the sunshine made the water shimmer. Rosamond breathed deeply and lowered her lashes against the brilliance. She could feel the sun on her skin, hear the birdsong, and smell the wildflowers. She knew she was happy to be alive, and especially happy to be a woman.
Suddenly, Nimbus slowed, and Rosamond felt the mare shudder with fear. She knew danger was present, so she stroked her horse's neck to calm her, and glanced about for a predator. Rosamond was just about
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to turn Nimbus and ride back to Hutton, when something in the distance caught her eye. Up ahead, something was moving. It was about two miles away, and she narrowed her eyes in an effort to identify what it was. The black line that continuously moved across the river was made up of horses . . .
and men . . . and wagons. A finger of apprehension touched her as she realized they looked like soldiers. She urged Nimbus to the edge of the water so that she could get a clearer view upriver, and immediately noticed an object floating past her on the current. It was a wooden shield painted with the baronial cross!
In a flash of recognition, she knew it was Simon de Montfort and his baronial army. They were not in Wales at all; they were here, crossing the River Avon at Pershore! Suddenly her blood ran cold, and her mind was filled with one thought, one name: Rodger! She wheeled Nimbus about and struck her on the rump. She galloped past a startled Hutton, crying, "Back! Back!"
Rosamond rode into the stable in a flurry of hooves. "Saddle me a swift horse, quick, quickly!" Her order was so urgent, two young grooms obeyed her immediately. Without a moment's hesitation, she sprang onto the big black stallion they had saddled and dug her heels into its belly, knowing she was in a race against time. Her mind was paralyzed by fear, but her instinct compelled her to ride like the wind. Rosamond knew she must reach Worcester and warn her husband of the danger that threatened his life.
The entire countryside surrounding Worcester was covered by the camps of men-at-arms, and as she reached the town, she saw that the streets were packed with soldiers. Rosamond had had no idea Edward's army was so vast. She began to panic; how would she find Rodger in this multitude? Instinct drove her to seek out Edward, perhaps in the castle, for wherever the prince was, Rodger de Leyburn would likely be close by.
She got as far as the bailey, but it was so overcrowded by the mounted men who were streaming in through the north gate, that they overflowed onto the adjoining grounds of Worcester Cathedral. Their surcoats and weapons were bloodied and Rosamond realized they must be returning from warfare somewhere. Anxiety for Rodger almost overwhelmed her. What if he were already lost to her? She could not bear the thought that they had parted in anger and mistrust. Rodger was her love, her life!
The Marriage Priza Page 34
