Gallien agreed. “A show of strength is what’s warranted. They can have no idea that we’re aware of their proximity to Caen. We must let them know an attack would be foolhardy.”
Alex related the story of the tents and the ruse Geoffrey had concocted at Montbryce. “I don’t believe he has the manpower he boasts of, and they don’t seem very bright. They almost burned down their own camp when they set fire to the orchards.”
Gallien jumped to his feet, his face contorted in a grimace. “They burned the orchards?”
Alex nodded. “Oui, but we’ll replant.”
“I hope you still have a good reserve of apple brandy,” Stephen said. “A taste I’ll never forget.”
Alex bowed. “Majesté, I vow the first cask of the next harvest will go to you, but you may have to wait awhile.”
“Excellent,” Stephen exclaimed, pulling on his leather gauntlets. “Now, our army should be assembled.”
Alex and Gallien followed their King into the bailey where they mounted their horses. Stephen led them out into the fields about a mile from the castle.
“Have I not said all along Stephen is the right choice for King?” Gallien said as they followed in the king’s wake.
Alex’s heart was at peace. He was comfortable with Stephen. The man was intelligent, jovial and not above exposing himself to the dangers of military action. “You were right. I’m just stubborn.”
“Like your father,” Gallien quipped.
Alex was about to respond, but was so astonished by what he saw before him, he completely forgot the comeback he’d had in mind.
He’d expected a decent army of three, perhaps four hundred. More than a thousand men, cavalry, bowmen and infantry, had mustered in the fields of Caen.
“Wait till Geoffrey sees this,” Stephen called over his shoulder, grinning like an imbecile.
“How on earth—”
“Every Norman baron loyal to Stephen has garrisoned men here for months. It was obvious Geoffrey would try to take the town sooner or later,” Gallien explained.
Alex noticed his brothers with the men from Montbryce. “But why are my soldiers in the vanguard?”
“Stephen wants to reward you for your allegiance. Also, you’re the only one who knows where we are going.”
~~~
THE CONVICTION THAT ALEX LOVED HER sustained Elayne through the long hours of uncertainty and fear. She’d heard nothing and seen no one since her children had been taken to Maud.
Faol was her only company, though the dog hadn’t moved from his sentry post by the tent flap. Henry would be feeling very alone without his constant companion.
Was Alex still watching from somewhere in the hills, or had he gone for help? What help was there for the situation in which they found themselves?
Though their brief relationship had been adulterous, she didn’t regret a moment of it. If she died this very day, at least she’d known true love. But the fear that her children might be sacrificed filled her with indignation.
She fingered the braid she’d made for Alex then tucked it between her breasts. It was her only connection to him.
Faol growled. His body tensed as his long tail beat a slow tattoo on the ground. Elayne came to her feet when she heard footsteps—soldiers. If the news was dire, she would accept it with dignity.
“You’re to come with me to Her Majesty’s pavilion,” her soldier friend said, without a hint of warmth in his voice. “Dog stays.”
She whispered into Faol’s ear, draped the playd over her hair and followed the men-at-arms to her fate.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE SOLDIER EASED ELAYNE to the side of the entryway, just inside the royal pavilion. “We are to wait here.”
Trembling, she raised her eyes to a narrow path that led from where she cowered to a dais at the opposite end of the square pavilion. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t a crowd of people who definitely were not soldiers. They occupied every inch of the space, except for the aisle.
Who were these men, dressed in fine clothes, fawning over the thin-faced woman who sat gripping the carved arms of the only piece of furniture? She wore layers of fine quality clothing, rendering it difficult to tell if she was fat or lean. Her scowling frown didn’t augur well.
The large wooden chair perched uncertainly on an uneven dais Elayne suspected had been formed of clods of earth piled one on top of another. A muddied carpet had been thrown over the heap.
She shrank back into the protection of the tent flap, surmising this was Maud, holding court in the Normandie countryside, perhaps with important personages of nearby towns and villages.
Behind her paced a scowling Geoffrey who evidently had not been afforded the privilege of a chair atop the precarious dais.
She stood on tiptoe, hoping to catch a glimpse of her children. Or perhaps they’d been carted off in irons. Then why had Maud summoned her?
The crowd silenced quickly when a pale skeletal hand emerged from beneath the would-be Queen’s red cloak. She cleared her throat, peering down her long nose. “My cousin Stephen has put it about that I’m not fit to be Queen because I don’t know how to show mercy. Yet I’ve recently discovered the children you see here—”
Elayne craned her neck, deafened by the beating of her heart. Maud could only be referring to—
“—are not who they purport to be.”
Oh God.
The crowd inhaled a collective breath of shocked outrage.
Finally, through a space between two broad shoulders, Elayne caught sight of her children standing beneath the outstretched wings of a falsely smiling Geoffrey. Henry was doing his best to appear confident. Claricia looked like she was in a trance.
Maud lowered her voice. Predictably, the audience strained to hear. “Many of you will recall that I was sent to Germany as a child of eleven to marry the Holy Roman Emperor, a man of eight and twenty. Do you think I knew fear then?”
Nods and murmurs of agreement and sympathy followed, but quieted when she raised her hand again.
“I am now a mother myself. Do you judge me capable of punishing these children for the transgressions of my ally, King David?”
This question was greeted by shouts of “Nay,” but it was evident from the puzzlement on many faces that most had no idea what she was talking about.
Maud gestured as if shooing away pesky flies. “What care I if David of Scotland has sent his eldest grandchildren or his youngest? Not a whit.”
At that precise moment, Elayne locked eyes with her son. He smiled imperceptibly.
He has convinced Maud of their value. She hasn’t realized they are illegitimate.
She feared her heart might burst with pride.
“Has their nanny been summoned?”
Geoffrey’s voice brought her back to reality and her quivering legs. She was thankful for the strength of her soldier who took her by the arm and escorted her forward. He nudged her to the ground. Her knees sank into the soft earth of the edge of the mud mound. As the cold damp seeped through her skirts, she hoped she wouldn’t be expected to produce words from the desert of her throat.
Maud peered at her. “It is well past time for these children to be in bed. Gather them up and go. On the morrow we’ll decide where they’ll be sent.”
She rose from her knees and for the briefest of moments her eyes met Maud’s. It was impossible to discern what lay behind that cold gaze. She looked away quickly.
Geoffrey raised his arms, releasing Henry and Claricia. They flew to her. She longed to embrace them, but it would be deemed highly inappropriate. Instead she took hold of their trembling hands and led them from the pavilion.
~~~
FAOL’S DELIGHT at Henry’s return to their tent almost eclipsed her own relief. The dog lunged at her son, knocking him flat, then licked the boy’s laughing face. Eventually, after much tugging she was able to pull the hound off him, and the three lay on their backs, breathless and exhausted by subdued laughter. Faol sat
back on his haunches, head cocked to one side seemingly confused by the sudden silence.
It reminded her of the nursery when they’d laughed with Alex. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she helped the children to their feet. “You seem to have convinced Maud of your validity,” she told her son.
“I was afraid,” Claricia admitted, “but Henry was brave.”
Henry was evidently as astonished at this rare praise from his sister as she was.
She ruffled her son’s hair. “How did you charm her Majesty?”
Henry shrugged. “I asked about her children.”
Again, Elayne thanked the saints her son had not inherited his father’s lack of wit. “Very clever. Every mother wants to talk about her children.”
Claricia laughed and hugged her. “She talked and talked. Her husband got impatient. Her son is called Henry too. She was more interested in telling us about him than about Grandpapa.”
How wonderful it was to hear her daughter’s giggling laugh again. She only hoped it augured well for the future as they huddled together for warmth in the chilly air.
As she fell into a doze, it occurred to her that Maud and Geoffrey had never once looked each other in the eye. Though they’d shown mercy, she shuddered at the thought of two people who obviously had no love for each other on the throne of England. Alex had made the right decision in withdrawing support from the Queen of the Mud Mound.
~~~
THE ORDER CAME EARLY IN THE MORNING for Elayne to ensure the children were ready to travel by midday. The friendly soldier lingered as the others marched off. He was a few years younger than her and she hoped he wasn’t starting to think she cared for him. She hesitated to start a conversation, but finally plucked up courage. “Do you know where they are taking us?”
He frowned, glancing around. “Anjou.”
Her legs turned to ice. Not only would they face a long, grueling journey, but once inside Geoffrey’s territory, there would never be any hope of a reunion with Alex.
“Her Majesté thinks the Scottish children will be good companions for her sons.”
Good grief! The Plantagenet boys were still babes. Claricia might enjoy playing with them, but Henry?
She was about to voice her opinion when the soldier became distracted by a commotion near the royal pavilion and he hurried off. She strained to see what was happening, but was too far away.
“What’s going on, Maman?” Henry asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. Stay here. Faol will protect you. Look after your sister until I return.”
The dog took up his position at the tent flap as she scurried out in the direction of the excitement.
She walked quickly from one tent to another, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, until she could see the red and white striped royal pavilion. Maud stood in the entryway, back rigid, hands clasped, the heavy red cloak pushed back on her shoulders. Geoffrey had mounted and was heading out of the camp with two knights, shouting orders to his men-at-arms. There was so much noise and confusion, she couldn’t hear what he said. The mud had dried up and dust now swirled in the air as soldiers hurried here and there.
“What’s going on?” she asked out loud, almost jumping out of her skin when she received an answer.
“A meeting.”
She turned abruptly to see Bianca sitting on an upturned cauldron in the shade of the tent. She was hunched forward, forearms resting on widely spread thighs, skinning a rabbit.
“Meeting?” Elayne asked warily, her eyes fixed on the rabbit’s dead gaze.
The cook scratched her wild black hair with the point of her dagger then indicated the direction Geoffrey had ridden. “Seems King Stephen’s come calling.”
Elayne glanced back quickly to the royal pavilion, but Maud had disappeared. No wonder she looked nervous and angry, having believed Stephen ignorant of her location and the army she was amassing near Caen. There was only one way the King could have known—Alex.
Perhaps he was with the king. She had to get closer, but there weren’t very many women in the camp, and a woman walking alone would draw attention. She held out her hand to the Genoan. “I’ve never seen a king, have you?”
Her new companion snorted. “The Angevin fancies himself a king, but—”
She grinned, revealing mostly toothless gums, though she couldn’t be much older than Elayne.
“Shall we see how close we can come?”
The woman’s eyes sparkled as she came to her feet. She dropped the rabbit, wiped her hands and the knife on her skirts, then linked her arm with Elayne’s. “I know the best place. Come with me.”
Careful not to let her own hair touch Bianca’s, Elayne allowed the Genoan, still gripping her knife, to lead her past several tents to the outer perimeter of the camp. In the event, the soldiers rushing here and there paid them no heed.
“Crouch here,” her companion croaked.
Elayne flattened herself to the ground, suddenly aware of an acrid odor. She gagged when she raised her head and saw they were lying next to the ditches dug as latrines. Bianca seemed impervious to the stench. Flies buzzed everywhere, but Elayne forgot the unpleasantness when Bianca pointed to a nearby field where Geoffrey and his knights faced three armored men, also on horseback, one of whom wore a golden coronet on his head.
Both knights who’d accompanied the king removed their helmets. The one on his right had silver hair. The other was Alex de Montbryce.
The urge to leap to her feet and wave both arms over her head was overwhelming, but she had to content herself with whispering his name into the malodorous air in the hopes he would know she was nearby.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
GEOFFREY REMOVED HIS HELMET and thrust it at one of his companions, his face contorted with anger.
Alex was confident they were far enough away that the Angevin wouldn’t hear his aside to the King. “His face is almost as red as his hair. I believe he’s annoyed we’ve discovered his ploy.”
Stephen smirked a tight grin. “I think you’re right. Let’s see if we can rile him a bit more.”
Hoping for a glimpse of another redhead, Alex scanned the enemy tents as Stephen coaxed his horse closer to his rival. Was Geoffrey using the same ruse he’d employed at Montbryce, or were these tents full of men?
The king ran his thumb and forefinger over his moustache. “Well met, Geoffrey. How fares my cousin, Maud? Has she not joined you for this outing?”
Geoffrey struggled for composure. “Well met, indeed, Stephen. What a surprise to find you here in Normandie.”
Gallien leaned over to Alex. “I’ll wager it’s true he’s surprised, but not as much as he’s going to be.”
Alex smiled, but his heart was beating too fast. They had the numbers to dissuade Geoffrey from his plan of attack, but there was no guarantee he’d surrender his hostages. Would Stephen push for their release, or simply consider it too trivial a matter to haggle over if the Plantagenets balked?
“I’m disappointed you haven’t come to Caen to do me homage as your king,” Stephen said.
The knight holding Geoffrey’s helmet glanced quickly at his Comte, then looked away.
“He’s going to have an apoplectic fit if he doesn’t breathe soon,” Gallien quipped.
Geoffrey narrowed his eyes. “I might be in Caen sooner than you think, cousin.”
Alex was certain the Angevin must have heard Gallien’s outburst. “Idiot! Stephen reeled him in like the bottom feeder he is.”
As if sensing he’d given away too much, Geoffrey thrust out his hand for his helmet. Taken unawares, the knight holding it dropped it in the dust, spooking his horse. He looked in desperation to his glaring lord, obviously unsure as he regained control of his steed if he should dismount and retrieve it.
“If you’re planning to come to Caen,” Stephen said coolly, “I can assure you of a warm reception.”
He turned his head and nodded to Gallien, who put his helmet back on, looked towards the
hills, drew his sword, and waved it.
The archers came over the brow of the hill—hundreds upon hundreds, bows drawn, a silent, deadly host.
Geoffrey’s horse became agitated. He reined it back under his control impatiently.
“His steed has sensed its master’s turmoil,” Gallien murmured with a grin.
“You think to dissuade me with a few bowmen?” the Angevin shouted.
“Non, Geoffrey,” Stephen replied as if speaking to a child of five.
Gallien signalled again. The infantry came over the brow of an adjacent hill, row upon row of well armed soldiers, the rays of the sun bouncing off their swords, shields, and lances.
“Do you want me to summon the cavalry, or have you seen enough?” Stephen asked calmly.
Geoffrey flared his nostrils. “Very well. You win the day.”
“And you will strike this camp and move it far away from Caen, let’s say to Anjou,” Stephen said without a trace of humor in his voice. “If you do not, I will return and crush you.”
Geoffrey glared at the knight who’d dropped his helmet. The man dismounted quickly, retrieved it, and held it out to his Comte, who snatched it from him. “The camp will be struck.”
He was about to put on his helmet when Stephen spoke again. “And you will release the Scottish hostages to me.”
Alex’s heart skittered around inside his ribcage. Were they even still alive?
Geoffrey’s helmet almost slipped from his gloved hands. He glanced quickly at Alex. “Is this your request or Montbryce’s?”
Stephen stared at him.
Geoffrey snickered. “What do you want with two small children who aren’t what they purport—”
He closed his mouth abruptly.
Sword still in hand, Gallien turned to Alex. “He has just figured out that if Stephen holds David’s grandchildren, he can perhaps persuade the Scottish king not to support Maud.”
Alex nodded. “And he’s also realized if he gives away that they are not who they say they are—”
Fatal Truths (The Anarchy Medieval Romance) Page 18
