by Mary Lide
At those words de Boissert tried to strike Sir Jean again, berating him for a fool.
'But do you yield?' Raoul's voice cut like steel.
'Yield, yield,' screamed Sir Jean, his face tallow white. There were the last words I ever heard him speak. Above our heads was a whistling sound, the sound most men dread. It made us all start back; arrows, shot from crossbows, their use forbidden by church decree, never found on tourney field. Heavy, vicious, they fell about us in the stands. One glanced, by God's great grace, off Lord Raoul's back where he had slung his shield; one thrummed in the wood between Sir Jean's legs, who fell down in fright; the third took de Boissert full in the throat.
I suppose we ladies screamed out. I suppose I closed my eyes and prayed. I suppose Isobelle de Boissert suffered, who this while, I grant her that, had scarce showed any emotion at all. I remember Raoul's hand to steady me; Raoul's voice, hoarse with weariness, bidding me be of good cheer. I remember asking if he were hurt. I remember his order to Walter to lead us away. I remember Matt's face, drained white; he still lived, but only just, and could not yet be moved. I suppose I heard the murmurs of the crowd, the women's wailing; already the death watch begun. I suppose I saw the grins, half hid, among the peasant folk—de Boissert was not a master well loved. I suppose I saw how even our pages and boys had taken men-at-arms by surprise, and disarmed them as they stood and gaped. I remember too the hot sun, the smell of blood, the black birds that swooped and cawed against the sky. But I recall nothing of the fast ride back, Walter at my side as if, like all our other ladies clinging close, I was not able to manage a horse. Men will die. But not my noble lord, thanks be to God, not our men. But that is how other men died, and that was how the tourney at Boissert Field came to an end; that was the sport they planned. I suppose men still talk of it. But it was not quite the end. Lord Raoul's vengeance has become a legend in its time, that men should use it as byword, as much to say, So it was at Boissert Field, or As they did at Boissert. You may have heard of it; many have been the songs, the jests, and many women who wept for it. Since I had returned by then to Sieux, I can only repeat what I was told. But since it was Matt who told me, being there, I let him tell it in his own words.
He mended slowly. Matt, but he lived. And when he could creep into the summer sun, he would often sit for hours with my son Robert in his lap and speak of the mêlée slowly, with pain at times, for the sword that pierced his side had caught at something deep inside his chest so that ever after, although he could sometimes ride or hunt, he suffered from cruel shortness of breath. It is his story then, although to tell the truth he was in such state, I doubt if he remembered much about it at first hand, but his, nevertheless, since it was the first and last time that he ever fought. Well, knighted he was, he won his spurs to good cause; and sometimes when I see his merry eyes repeated in his sons, I think it was better so, God's fortune, that he should live to wed and beget children to come after him.
'Well,' he used to say, 'the conspirators, both on the field and off, were not slow to surrender after that. For Lord Raoul had posted us at places where we could control them easiest, if and when an attack was made on him. Those who had no part, those you had marked with red and gold, we let them go. They galloped off, the devil at their heels, save one or two more sober lords who stayed to help. The rest we stripped down to their shirts. We heaped their helmets, their shields, their swords—Christ's bones, what stacks of stuff—and rounded them up at rope's end.' He laughed and wheezed. 'We might have made a better use of it. But, "Nay," says my lord. "They thought to make a mock of us, play us along like fish on line; deal out life and death as if they played at dice. Tie up their horses, head to tail, we'll lead them home. Load up the gear. We've better use for rope than hanging them." '
Matt laughed and coughed, still spitting blood. 'As for them, conspirators whose plot was doomed even before they had it launched, "Walk you home," Count Raoul says to them, "in your shirt tails and be damned." '
At this point, even Robert used to laugh, not knowing why, and Matt would wipe the tears from his own eyes. 'Since Jean de Vergay still lay in a swoon from which he never stirred again, we took one of his fat sons in his stead, tied him backward on an ass, nearly broke the poor creature's back, led him to the village pond, and dumped him in to make a wave. "God's mercy," called the village folk, spare us the rest, no water left for us." But what an outcry made those unhorsed knights. You'd have thought we'd bid them march a road to Hell. "Walk," cries one, "without sword belt and sword, that my father's father won on the crusades?" "And where's my cap?" another complains, that I should go out bareheaded like a common man." Better bareheaded without a cap," answers Lord Raoul, than capped without a head." He bid the serfs run him in front. Off down the road they trot, their chusses wrinkled about their hams, their knighthood reduced to dirty linens and wool. By the Mass, it made us laugh to see them go, and all the churls came out to point and jest. Lords and men, so they went on their two legs, who have not gone so far on foot since their mothers carried them. Nor had they traveled but half a league when the quarreling broke out afresh, each shouting blame against the rest, each accusing each until you'd think we had unearthed a thousand plots. Since we took all their gear, even that within their tents, it will be long before they can rearm, no danger now to us. But their ladies we sent forth decently, in wagons and carts. And they say that once out of sight, for we gave them fitting escort to the boundary of de Boissert land, well, out of sight, those proud Norman lords, whose blood would freeze for shame to be hauled in a cart like a common thief, by the day's end, were glad to clamber up with the women and ride the rest of the way.
And so we returned to Sieux. If such is war's reward, we struck rich load. But my lord came up to me where they'd stacked me against a tree stump. "Well, well," says he, "I never thought to see you ride to such good purpose, for all that grass sprouts between your knees and you bounce more out of saddle than in. My thanks to you for my life. You've won your spurs, in a good fight." '
Matt smiled and wept at the thought, being weak, and Walter comforted him, promised to wait for him to heal so they should be knighted at the same time. Never word of complaint Walter let fall that Matt had fought while he had sat with me. So through those summer days they talked and planned, two friends, bound closer than before. But once when I asked what had befallen the ladies there, Matt spoke of Isobelle de Boissert.
'She left, too. They say, seeing her father dead, she turned without a word and rode away. And we let her go. They say, with Mistress Alyse de Vergay for company, she took refuge in a nunnery nearby, for fear of Henry, whose ward she now becomes. I could almost find it in my heart to pity her. With her father's death, so are her hopes, for Henry will not let her marry unless he choose.' He hesitated for a moment, then went on. 'They say too she hoped to wed with some great lord, Geoffrey Plantagenet, and boasted that, as she was a great lady, so a great lady helped her. A bitter bed to lie upon, for Geoffrey Plantagenet will not marry with her now. For afterwards, a villein came up to me, whispered he'd seen a group of horsemen watching from the hills. At the tourney's end, they rode away, heading south. They rode with helmets down, masked then, and fast, and he who led them was in a royal rage. Who they were, what wanted, why watched, the serf could not say, except he claimed they waited until the arrows' flight was loosed. And they wore sprigs of broom in their helmets' crests, genet, the word for broom, whence comes the meaning Plantagenet.'
That was the end of conspiracy, then, the end of Boissert Field. But not the end of us. As a stone is thrown into a lake, so the ripples spread. Raoul lived; I lived; Sieux stood. Our enemies were scattered or dead. But there had been too many harsh things said between Raoul and myself, and too many things left unexplained. He had spoken of the bond between us. Better you at my back than anyone, he had said. (He had spoken those same words in jest many years ago at Sedgemont. He had not said them in jest at Boissert.) He had praised me, thanked me, shown me his esteem. He had not y
et spoken of the Lady Isobelle, nor those mysterious archers, nor the horsemen riding south. Nor yet the king and queen on whose behalf, it now seemed, the games played at Boissert had been set afoot.
So, although there was peace at Sieux, all was not yet at peace between me and my noble lord. Nor was all at peace between him and himself. For I sensed a questing in him, a restlessness, which I remembered from his youth, a new air of resolution which seemed to make things move faster, and move forward, as if all that had gone before had brought us to this point. I take the cares of the kingdom on my back. So he had admitted, so now he did. For him, this day of triumph was but the start. It brought him to where he had been, to what he had been, before Henry's men had come for him at Sedgemont. Now were the evil days of inactivity and waiting over. Now would he strike against Henry and his men. So, although there was peace at Sieux, there was none for him who had earned it.
As for me, I had come to understand that even peace can be bought at too high a price. For what is peace worth if it brings no honor with it? And the consequences of that tourney were to reverberate down the years. As now shall be told.
8
There were other consequences after the crushing of the conspiracy, so well remembered, that in future years learned men should debate them, each scholar arguing for this interpretation or that. Womanlike, I shall tell you first those that concerned us at Sieux, certainly those that affected me, and eventually so entwined with other larger ones that it would take a more skilled mind than mine to sort them through. I speak of matters of state, you understand, strategy and policy by which the great of the world rule and control; but since the main effect of Boissert Field was to bring fame and wealth to Sieux, that was what I noticed most. Sieux regained its rightful place of importance in France. Each day, it seemed men came to offer their services, soldiers of fortune, younger sons, vassals from Auterre and Chatille, looking for adventure and reward. The castle began to hum with life. Master Edward hastily hammered up a second floor to the gate tower, and hiring more men, began to raise up the outer walls and build on the foundations of the keep; a year ago, we could have prayed for half as much. Best of all, or worst, depending on the point of view, Raoul's triumph gave him freedom to act as he saw fit; and since Sieux's control of central France was assured, he could strike out on his own. And that I saw as most dangerous. But I rush ahead. For first of all, the things that took place before and after that mêlée had to be discussed, and as soon as Raoul returned to Sieux he surprised me into speech.
I had come hastily at noon that day into the new upper chamber of our tower. It was still damp and smelled of whitewash and lime, and I was laughing at something the men had said, a bunch of flowers swinging at my side, for in these peaceful times I used to dig in the herb gardens, once justly well-known that the ladies of Sieux had planted; overgrown these many years. Raoul was sitting there, long legs stretched out, boots on hearth, for even on a fine day like this he enjoyed a fire and was staring into it in his brooding way. I remembered how he used to sit in another world, in Sedgemont, long ago. It was seldom one found him indoors; he usually was with the men in stable or tilting field.
‘Is aught wrong, my lord?' I asked him worriedly.
His boots crashed to the ground. 'Nothing,' he said, unless the way your smile fades on seeing me.'
‘What, my lord?' I asked, puzzled by his tone.
He said, still in the same brooding way. No cause for alarm. Merely a message from Louis of France. Oh, it seems he too has heard of Boissert Field and is beside himself with fear and rage, mostly that the conspirators thought to take that piece of land known as the Vexin away from him—a sorry place it is, too—along the border between Henry's lands and his and so coveted by both. And a sorry sort of man is that French king to froth and fret after an event which he had had within his power to prevent if he had but roused himself. Well, there's nothing new to that, but it seems he feels he owes me thanks, holds me in his gratitude, would repay one good turn with another and so on, and so on, each compliment more fulsome than the last. Compliments are his way of hiding what he truly wants. Which is my help in the west of France, in Brittany to be exact. Celts all, like your Welsh kin, the Brettons are about to overthrow their duke, a fashionable exercise this year. Louis, in turn, as he puts it, "knowing full well my understanding of the western Celts" and "mindful of the way the Welsh are poised for revolt" would like me to interfere on his behalf. Now, the French Celts or Brettons are no concern of mine, but the Celts in Wales are; and Louis's talk of unrest among them only confirms what Sir Renier spoke of last year. The Welsh princes dispute ownership of land among themselves and will set the border afire with their quarreling. I should go back. And Louis's message has made me think of something else: what Henry owes me for Boissert Field. True, it was my own skin I fought to save, but in saving it, I saved his, too. Now, he may not be as generous as the King of France (if Louis's way of thanks can be called generous); but whether he will or no, Henry is in my debt. I think to claim a payment of him. How would you like a return to England as his fee?'
The thought took away my breath, I did not dare to contemplate it.
He said, 'Cambray has ever been important in these border disputes and will be again. I plan to keep its defense in my own hands. Our return to Sedgemont and Cambray therefore is of some concern, and Henry shall offer it, although it scald his tongue.' He sighed, 'Henry cannot be everywhere at once,' he said, 'nor keep the peace without some help. He cannot even control his wife. Nor can he deal with a rebellious brother as he should.' He hesitated. 'The other news that Louis sent is less kind. That little boy, Henry's firstborn that you spoke about, that William, is dead, and between the inheritance and Henry's brother, Geoffrey, stands but one small life, Henry's second, and now his only, son. Louis fears Henry will give his brother lands in Brittany to keep him quiet. I myself think it a good idea.'
I closed my eyes to pray for that young prince, ailing since birth, set aside while he lived, or so it had seemed to me, in favor of a younger, stronger son. Poor little boy, heir to so much, yet never having the chance to savor any of it, God's gifts his only inheritance after all—and when I looked up, Raoul was watching me.
He said abruptly, as if the words were forced out, 'What is that man's life to you?'
I could not pretend I did not know what man he meant.
We met by chance,' I stammered out, 'and then he told me of their plans, how they would kill you if you would not join with them. And he said they would kill him too if they knew he spoke with me.'
'Mischance more like,' was all he said. 'Well, you kept your word. I did not know he was there, not until afterward when he'd gone.'
He mused for a while. Then, in the way of a man who speaks his thoughts aloud, as if we had been talking of it all this while, as if this conversation had been going on for a long time, as perhaps it had in his mind as in mine, ‘Afterward,' he said, 'we found out many things. Those archers who fired on us for one, well hid, well provisioned, well armed with crossbows.'
‘Who set them there?' I cried. 'Cannot they be questioned?'
He turned his eyes toward me, dark, unwavering. 'They too were dead. Throats slit, bows piled underneath them, killed perhaps because they knew too much or because they misfired. There were three of them, since crossbow men can fire but once and must pause to reload. Three assigned; one to kill de Boissert, who is dead; one for de Vergay, who should thank his luck if he could speak, for he lives but as dead flesh; and the third for me. Who also then must give thanks to God.' Even I could see what he meant.
‘Aye,' he said, 'a second plot to kill me if the first one went awry, or if there were a change of plan that Geoffrey Plantagenet did not know about. For since he trusted his fellow conspirators as little as they trusted him, they must die too, who could have revealed the part he had played in their plot.'
He suddenly stood up, strode back and forth. This little room, scarce space for chair and bed had seemed a palace wh
en we saw it first; now it seemed to hem him in as if his energy would break apart the walls. He said, 'Geoffrey Plantagenet knew what all these Normans planned; he was privy to all their secrets and he stayed to watch what would come of them. And, if their plan failed, he had one of his own.'
'No,' I cried, the words forced out, 'he said he needed you.' But even as I denied the charge, the thought crossed my mind that it would be possible. Had not even I felt that cold, dark wind?
He shrugged. 'I have no proof,'he said, 'except three dead men, four if you count de Boissert, five with de Vergay. Five dead men, myself the sixth, would be small price to pay for Sieux. Six men to make him Count of Sieux in my stead, if he failed to become Count of Anjou. That was Geoffrey's intent. And you, I told you you would make a pretty widow, with a son too young himself to inherit yet.' There was a note to his voice that I had seldom heard before. 'And I told you too conspiracy is not nice,' he was saying, repeating what other men had said. 'I saw it in King Stephen's time, and now it shows again. Conspirators by nature are fearful men, afraid of shadows, suspicious, even of themselves that they reveal too much. A twisted coil is conspiracy, dragging down innocent as well as guilty men. And Geoffrey Plantagenet no better than the rest, except he expects other men to intrigue for him. What we speak of is but half of what he knows or has done.'
He turned and turned about, then suddenly paused, gave the mantelpiece a thud as if to test its strength, as if to make up his mind. It was built of oak, a handsome gift, which Master Edward had had carved during the winter months, made to last, durable, a thing to rely on, where all else was shifting sand. He said, 'When Henry comes south to Poitiers to claim the allegiance of his southern lords, which now he is free to do, I will make my claim of him. Let Henry create Geoffrey Plantagenet Duke of Brittany for all I care, as long as Geoffrey does not look to be Count of Sieux. But I'd rather my wife not see him again. I'd rather he stayed away from her. Is that too much to expect?'
