With nothing much to do but converse about this and that, Alexandre became more talkative.
He and Gallien had never been close, or even friends. Gallien wondered how much his cousins knew of his disastrous marriage. Baudoin de Montbryce would have been obliged to tell his brother, Robert, since he was head of the family, but had Robert told his sons?
Gallien and Alexandre did have one thing in common—each was destined to inherit lands and titles when their father died. Upon Ram de Montbryce’s death, the older, more prestigious title of Comte de Montbryce had gone to Robert as the eldest. Baudoin inherited the lesser title of Earl of Ellesmere, earned after the Conquest.
As Robert’s oldest son, Alexandre was sole heir to the lands and titles in Normandie. He would become the acknowledged head of the Montbryce family. Baudoin, the Earl of Ellesmere, and Robert, Comte de Montbryce, were brothers. They were close friends and allies, working together for the good of the family.
Gallien and Alexandre would have to do the same. The likelihood of conflict over Henry’s succession loomed large. It was past time to build relationships. “How do you feel about inheriting the mantle of Comte de Montbryce?” he asked Alexandre one night as they gazed into the flames of the campfire. Their brothers had gone off to visit with other friends.
Alexandre glanced up at him sharply, evidently surprised by the personal nature of the question. “It’s a daunting prospect, and an awesome responsibility. You must feel the same about the earldom.”
Here was an opportunity to find out where his cousin stood as far as Stephen of Blois was concerned. “I feel the weight of my inheritance, especially since King Henry betrothed his daughter to Geoffrey of Anjou.”
Alexandre grimaced. “That diplomatic revolution has led to mistrust and unease in Normandie. Areas near the border with France were already reeling from vicious raids by the French. Now here we are attempting to disrupt Louis the Fat’s intrigues to gain control of Normandie through Clito.”
Gallien wanted to push him further, but Étienne and the others returned, stumbling into camp, giddy with drink. When they were successfully settled on their camp stools after several failed attempts, he switched to a safer topic. “How fare your parents? I have not seen oncle Robert and tante Dorianne for a long while.”
Romain and Laurent sobered immediately.
Alexandre narrowed his eyes. “Maman is ill.”
His brothers rose and left abruptly.
“Something serious?” Étienne asked as he watched them go.
Alexandre swallowed hard, staring into the fire. “She may be gone by the time we return from this campaign.”
Gallien would be devastated when his own mother died, but Alexandre had always been closer to his mother than his father. He reached out to lay a hand on his cousin’s arm. “I’m sorry. You will miss her.”
Alexandre’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “I will. More than I will miss my father, truth be told. You’re aware I was born during my father’s long incarceration at the hands of Robert Curthose.”
Gallien glanced at Étienne, obviously as surprised as he at this unusual confidence from their cousin. “It was a cruel torment.”
Alexandre peered over his shoulder into the darkness, as if to make sure no one overheard before he continued. “It took an enormous toll on my father. He eventually regained his health and strength, but he and I never seemed to make up for time we lost.”
Gallien was at a loss as to what to say in response. He and his father did not always agree, but—
Alexandre frowned. “I sometimes grow tired of my father’s admonitions and ramblings about Norman politics. My mother assures me it is only because he loves me and wants me to be prepared.”
“I’m certain she is right,” Étienne offered.
Alexandre looked back into the night again, then hunched his shoulders. “But he cares more for Romain and Laurent.”
Gallien winced. He had been stupidly jealous of his own brother, but never as far as his parents’ affections were concerned. He recalled an observation his mother had made concerning Alexandre. “Perhaps it is only that he was there when they were born. Can it be he feels guilt that he failed you?”
Alexandre snorted. “It was not his fault Curthose imprisoned him. Besides, he dotes more on my sisters than on me. Maman says that during his imprisonment he had long hours to do naught but ponder. It came to him he had never paid his daughters much attention, intent on having a son. He has tried to make amends for it ever since. Marguerite and Catherine are spoiled.”
Gallien smirked, as did his brother. Both had experienced firsthand how domineering Marguerite and Catherine were.
Alexandre smiled. “You know how they are. They have opinions on everything I do. Papa should not allow that. They are married now. Let them worry about their own families.”
Gallien laughed. “They are bossy with everyone. It’s their nature. Don’t you agree, Étienne?”
His brother yawned broadly as he came to his feet. “I’m for bed. Too much ale.”
Gallien and Alexandre bade him bonsoir. Gallien was tired, but sensed Alexandre wanted to talk. It was the first time they had ever had such an opportunity to share their true feelings.
After a long silence, Alexandre murmured, “I sometimes wish the mantle of Comte would pass to another.”
Gallien shivered, despite the heat of the flames on his face. “I uttered the exact same words to my father not long ago.”
Alexandre shook his head. “What a fine pair we are! I suppose we are fortunate our fathers still live. We have the benefit of their advice. They learned from our grandsire.”
Gallien recognised the truth of that. “And our family has the advantage of holding power and sway in Normandie, and in England, where my father is a powerful and respected Earl.”
Alexandre tore his gaze away from the fire and looked directly at Gallien. He smiled. “I have no memory of the event, of course, but it was oncles Baudoin and Caedmon who rescued me and my mother from the Abbaye aux Dames after my clandestine birth there. They returned us safely to Montbryce.” The smile left his face. “It was they who found my father in the forgotten cell in Caen Castle and brought him home, a broken man no one recognised.”
They both knew the tale. Gallien had often listened proudly to his father’s emotional narrative of those long ago events. “My father also slew your mother’s treacherous brother, Pierre de Giroux, the root cause of your family’s ills.”
Alexandre rubbed his chin. “I wish my father would talk to me of those terrible months in captivity, but he has steadfastly avoided it. No one would suspect he underwent such a torment, but I often see the guarded sadness in his eyes.”
He came to his feet. “I fear I must seek my bed.” He turned to leave, then came back, a frown on his face. “For some reason, cats are the other legacy of his cruel imprisonment. They abound at Montbryce Castle. I sometimes feel the cats are more important to him than I am. I know it sounds ridiculous.”
Gallien chuckled, trying to lighten Alexandre’s humor. “I know the story. My father and oncle Caedmon credited a cat’s mewling with their finding oncle Robert in his cell. Robert told them the tale of Espérance, the mangy cat who had kept him company in prison.”
Surely oncle Robert had shared that much with his son? Montbryce Castle had hounds aplenty, but Alexandre was right, it was the cats who ruled.
His cousin gaped at him. “I did not know of this. I hate cats.”
~~~
When Saint-Omer finally declared for Thierry, his knights and foot soldiers celebrated for a day and a night with wine and ale given them by the grateful citizens of the town.
They moved on to Ghent. Hardly a word was spoken on the two day march, every man suffering the lingering after effects of too much drink.
Ghent declared for Thierry within a week. The celebrations recommenced. Gallien’s hopes lifted. “Perhaps we’ll soon return to England,” he told Étienne. The wistful look his broth
er gave him betrayed his longing to be home in Ellesmere. Fighting was what they trained for; sitting on their arses looking menacing while trying to stay warm was demeaning.
A day’s march took them next to Bruges. Gervaise of Praet, the castellan appointed by King Louis, refused to surrender the town. Gallien was dismayed—it seemed they would be laying siege to the place for sennights. He was weary of sleeping on camp cots, eating poor food, and bathing in ice cold rivers. More than anything he wanted to lie with his wife.
He and Étienne found themselves with time on their hands. He confessed to his brother. “You were right about Peri. I have been a blind fool. She has treated me with nothing but love and respect, and I have spurned her. I pray she can forgive me when we return—if we ever get out of Flandres.”
Étienne slapped his brother on the shoulder. “You won’t regret it. I hope to wed a woman with as much love in her heart as Peri. Too bad about Tandine Grisjaune. I liked her. Mind you, at this rate we won’t see England again for many a month.”
~~~
On the twenty-sixth day of March in the year of Our Lord Eleven Hundred and Twenty-Eight, Gervaise, the castellan, surrendered Bruges. Standing at the gates, Thierry explained to his jubilant supporters, “Gervaise is unwilling to renounce his allegiance to Clito. He prefers to leave and I have granted safe passage.”
Four days later, the citizens of Bruges declared Thierry as their Comte. He entered the town amid great fanfare two days after that, and exchanged the traditional reciprocal oaths with the burghers of Bruges and Ghent.
A sennight later, Gervaise returned to Bruges to swear allegiance to Thierry, citing the citizens’ denouncing Clito as lawless and faithless. The Montbryces listened in cynical disbelief as Gervaise declared, “If God had granted us the favour of your presence right after the murder of our lord and your cousin Charles, we would have acknowledged no one but you as Comte.”
“Utter nonsense,” Alexandre muttered. “Thierry staked his claim to be Comte mere days after the assassination of his cousin.”
Laurent was of the same mind. “The truth is the burghers failed to act because of Louis’ haste in installing Clito.”
On the eleventh day of April, Thierry was accepted as Comte and welcomed by the citizens of Rijsel.
“We’ll soon be sleeping in our own beds,” Étienne crowed, rubbing his hands together when they heard the news. “Thierry hardly needs us now.”
Patting the sachet of potpourri concealed against his heart, Gallien hoped he was right.
~~~
“Louis is like a dog with a bone,” Romain observed wearily. “First he sets the cat among the pigeons by sending a missive to the burghers of Ghent and Bruges offering negotiations between them and Clito at Arras, as if they haven’t already chosen Thierry as their Comte.”
Laurent continued. “Then he persuades Archbishop of Reims to excommunicate Thierry. Now he has laid siege to Lille.”
Étienne tousled Gallien’s hair. “It’s a wonder my hair is not as white as yours, I am so sick of being here. It’s hard to say who is more stubborn in this game of power, Louis or Henry.”
Gallien chuckled, combing his fingers through his rumpled hair. “It’s fortunate Papa is not here to censure that treasonous remark. He would accuse me of leading you astray.”
Alexandre stared at Gallien. “How did your hair come to be white?” He looked at the other Montbryces. “All of us still have black hair.”
Gallien bristled, shooting a warning glance at his brother to say nothing. “Just lucky, I suppose.”
They had already packed up their belongings, ready for the trek to Lille. They mounted their horses, and sat in silence for long minutes.
“At least we may see combat at Lille,” Gallien mused. “I’ve forgotten how to use a sword.”
The five Montbryces watched as several knights rode by. They greeted those they knew by name, then reluctantly turned their horses into the long line.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
In the middle of April, messengers arrived at Ellesmere with news of the campaign in Flandres.
Peri’s heart leaped into her throat when Alys brought word of their arrival. She hastened to find her mother-by-marriage, almost bumping into the Countess in the hallway.
Breathless, Peri instinctively laid a protective hand over the slight swell of her belly. The morning sickness had abated several sennights earlier, but now it threatened to rear its unwelcome head again. “Maman—”
The Countess held up a hand. “I heard. What news of Gallien and Étienne?”
Peri shook her head. “I know not. The Earl is closeted in his Chart Room with them.”
Her mother-by-marriage took hold of her hands. “Then my sons are well. My husband would have come to tell us right away if news of them was dire.”
Peri recognised this was probably true, but it did nothing to allay the churning in the pit of her belly. Gallien did not know she was with child. He had left without a word of farewell, his resentment of her apparent. Her heart ached that he would never love her, but the greater fear was that he might die without ever knowing his child.
The Countess patted Peri’s belly. As on many occasions before, she seemed to read her thoughts. “Gallien will be very happy. Don’t worry.”
Peri blinked away the tears welling in her eyes. “Who are these messengers?”
“They are noblemen loyal to my husband. Since his father’s day, Ellesmere has benefitted from having dependable contacts at Court. We are far away from Westminster, but we have eyes and ears there.”
“Now I understand how the Earl manages to stay informed on happenings at Henry’s court.”
Carys de Montbryce smiled. “Aye, though they don’t often come in person. We have a regular relay of pigeons to carry messages. This news must be significant indeed.”
A door creaked open nearby. Peri’s gut clenched, but the Countess buoyed her as she swayed. Clinging together, holding their breath, they watched the Earl approach.
“Saint-Omer, Bruges and Ghent have declared for Henry’s candidate,” he announced, the relief evident on his face. “There is no direct news of our sons, but I assume they are safe. Apparently there was little military action.”
The Countess let out a long, slow breath.
Peri gasped, then giggled.
The Earl and his wife looked at her curiously.
“A kick,” she explained shyly, pressing a hand to her belly. “The first one.”
The Countess laughed. “He is happy his papa will soon be home.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The skirmishes at Lille continued throughout the month of May. They were short but bloody. During one sortie, Étienne was knocked from his horse. He stood his ground, fending off French attackers with his sword until Gallien rescued him. “Merci, mon frère,” he rasped, clinging to Gallien’s back as they rode back to their own camp.
“De rien,” Gallien replied. “We promised to watch out for each other.”
It was a familiar jest. It went without saying they would protect each other. He helped his bruised brother dismount. “Besides, I do not intend to take you back to Ellesmere in a box.”
Apparently sensing his siege of Lille would never succeed while the Normans were harassing him, Louis decamped in the middle of the night, fleeing the town.
By mid-June Lille had been secured and its citizens had declared for Thierry. Rising hopes for a quick resolution to the civil war were dashed again by the news that Clito had attacked and taken Oostkamp, south of Bruges.
“It’s as if Louis lured us to Lille, so Clito could try to retake Bruges,” Étienne said.
Alexandre joined them. “They say Clito actually forced a pitched battle with Thierry—unheard of and risky. He made his men cut their hair and shed their fine garments. Then he bade them do penance as if they were facing certain death.”
“That would boost morale,” Gallien remarked sarcastically.
“Apparently it did,” Ale
xandre retorted. “He rode in the forefront of the attacking knights like a man possessed.”
Étienne snorted. “He is possessed—with the thirst for power that seems to consume the Conqueror’s descendants.”
It was the first time Gallien had heard his brother utter such a thought. How shocked their grandfather would have been. In his day, conquest equalled glory. A Norman was not a true Norman unless he was amassing territory.
Alexandre’s voice broke into his reverie. “Clito feigned a retreat, then Thierry’s men were caught in an ambush by a second wave.”
How ironic Gallien would have been thinking of his grandfather who had led such a manoeuvre by the cavalry at Hastings to lead the Normans to victory against King Harold.
To his surprise, Alexandre winked, evidently thinking the same thing. “Thierry’s men escaped, but Clito pursued them to the gates of Bruges. Thierry fled from Bruges to Aalst.”
“He obviously believes Bruges will fall to Clito,” Gallien observed dispiritedly. “This will never end until either Clito or Thierry is dead.”
~~~
They lingered in Lille, everyone waiting to see what would happen next. Gallien sought an opportunity to speak privately with Alexandre again. He decided to be more blunt. “What is your opinion on the succession?”
Alexandre’s mouth fell open. Sweat broke out on his brow. It alarmed Gallien. Was his cousin stalling or did he have no opinion?
“What says oncle Baudoin?”
Gallien hesitated, his tongue playing with the inside of his cheek. “Outwardly, my father is for supporting Maud’s succession.”
Alexandre’s eyes widened further.
Gallien leaned closer to his cousin. “But I am against it.”
Alexandre frowned. “Dissension in a Montbryce household?” he asked sarcastically. “I cannot imagine the consequences if I disagreed with my father on such a matter. But you have ever been your own man.”
Gallien shrugged. “My father says I have too much Celt in me. I’m too emotional.”
Alexandre chuckled. “My father has voiced similar opinions on your Welsh blood. However, we must make our decision based on sound reasoning, not emotion. Much as it galls me to say it, Maud is Henry’s legitimate child, even married to an Angevin. What is Henry’s should fall to her.”
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