Fires of Winter

by Roberta Gellis

  “I am alive only because of Bruno’s care of me,” she said. “Between my brother and me there can be no thought of debt. Money is lightly come by. A few tapestries and a few hawks will pay for all.”

  “Bruno will not agree,” I said, smiling at her. “You know that.”

  “Bruno will have nothing to say about it,” Audris replied. “If you do not tell him, he will not know.”

  Hugh laughed. “We will see. Men may cost less than you think, Melusine. I will send out a summons and send this news to Espec. You may not need to bear the burden of the force we raise. Leave that to me.”

  “But will not that make trouble for you with your overlord?” I asked fearfully. “I know Henry is King Stephen’s vassal, but he is also King David’s son. I thought he could not blame you if I hired men in the queen’s name. He could not know you had given me the coin to pay them.”

  “I hold directly from Stephen,” Hugh said. “Henry has no right over my service to the king.” Then he smiled at me. “And even if he did, I am sure he would look the other way. Henry does not love Matilda. He was here not very long ago, bemoaning his father’s need to uphold his oath to her—and Henry never swore that oath.”

  I sighed with relief and gladly relinquished the gathering of men in Northumbria into Hugh’s hands. Then I asked whether he knew a good man to lead them. “I do not think my father’s old friend Sir Gerald could do it,” I said. “He is loyal and will be able to lead the men from Ulle, but he always served under Papa, and I am not sure how he would manage men who do not know him. I wish there were time for me to bring him here so you could talk to him, but there is not, and Ypres said I must have a good leader.”

  Hugh was looking at me strangely. “What are you talking about? If I summon men, I will lead them.”

  “No!” I cried. “No!”

  He looked shocked and hurt. “Do you not trust me?”

  “Trust you? What has that to do with it? Must I sacrifice my sister’s husband to regain my own? No! Not you! I will do without the men from Northumbria. Curse me that I ever came here. No! Is it not evil enough on my soul that I will send an old friend to die?”

  Audris put her hand on mine. “Melusine, my love, is there something you have not told us? Is this cause so hopeless?”

  “No! I swear it is not.” Tears began to run down my face and Audris drew me closer on the bench and put her arms around me. I tried to think. How did I know Maud’s hope was not illusion? I knew because William of Ypres did not suffer from illusions in matters of war. “It cannot be hopeless because Ypres is burning to begin.”

  “Oh?” Hugh drew out the word in a pleased way. “How do you know that?”

  “I had to explain to him what I wished to do before the queen would give me leave. He told me—well, I did not understand everything so I wrote down all I could remember—but the way he spoke told of his eagerness.”

  “Good.” Hugh’s brilliant eyes shone with pleasure. “William of Ypres has his head fixed firmly on his shoulders. He does not indulge himself in dreams. I will want to see what you wrote.”

  “No!” I said, setting my teeth. “You are not going to war on my account. Audris, forbid him! Beg him!”

  “I cannot forbid him,” Audris said slowly, “and it would be wrong to beg for what would hurt him. But I will ask.” She leaned forward, the better to see her husband, who was sitting in Sir Oliver’s chair. “Why, Hugh? Is there no one else fit to lead?”

  That was when I learned of Hugh’s promise to the king. Audris seemed to know of it, and nodded her head as soon as he reminded her. She sat back then, apparently content to let him go to war, but I did not yield so easily. I wept and pleaded, and Hugh came and joined us on the bench, also embracing and soothing me—but not wavering a whit—until at last I brought out the deepest horror in my mind.

  “You must not,” I pleaded, and then I wiped the tears from my cheeks and eyes and stood up to face them. “Do you not know that I am death. I told Audris. No man or woman who has loved me has lived out a natural span of life. And it will all be in vain too. When we have captured the empress and bought the king’s freedom, Bruno will be dead.”

  Hugh looked from me to Audris and back again and, to my utter amazement, burst out laughing as he got to his feet. “Now I know why you two loved each other at first sight. One is a witch and the other a prophet, and both are given to imagining horrors that do not come to pass.”

  Then he grew sober, drew me close, kissed my forehead, and stood back with a hand lightly on my shoulder. “Melusine, you are a very foolish woman. I am sorry there has been so much sadness in your life, but it is not uncommon. I inherited Ruthsson for just the same reason. My grandfather had four sons and three daughters and a pack of grandchildren, and his brother and I are the only two still alive. I forget just what killed each one, but I know that plague and war played their parts as in your family. It did not hurt me as it hurt you because I never knew any of them, did not even know they were my family until long after all were dead, but I do not go about calling myself death personified because I inherited. Now, I will leave you to Audris to sort out, and I will start my messengers on their way.”

  “Hugh is quite right,” Audris said, holding out her hand to me and drawing me down on the bench beside her again. “Plague and war strike everywhere. You know, my love, that it was only by Bruno’s care of me that I survived a plague that killed my father and Bruno’s mother and nearly all the people in Jernaeve keep and village. It is no person’s fault when such dreadful things happen.” She smiled at me. “In some ways you are very like Bruno. He also blames himself for not preventing from happening things that no man could prevent.”

  I remembered saying that to him myself just before King Stephen had gone to attack Lincoln keep, where he had been captured. I uttered a sob, but smiled at the same time. I was comforted in a sense, but my fear for Hugh still lay, a great weight on my heart. I took Audris’s tiny hands in mine.

  “Forget my foolishness. But even if I am not something evil that puts a death mark on those who care for me, war is dangerous. Do you not fear for Hugh?”

  “Yes,” Audris said, “but not beyond measure. I fear for Hugh when he goes out to drive raiders off the land, and even when he rides a new, half-trained horse.” She freed one hand and touched my cheek. “But you see, Melusine, in my life mostly good things have happened to me. Thus, I fear in hope, in expectation, that no harm will come to my loved ones. You fear in despair, and that must be an unbelievable pain. I can heal many ills, but I do not know how to heal that.”

  “It cannot be healed, but you bring me comfort,” I told her, pressing the hand I held. “And I think at long last I am learning to bear it without lying to myself to avoid the pain—which only makes it worse until I find myself sitting on the floor in an empty chamber looking at the wall.”

  “Oh, Melusine,” Audris cried, embracing me and holding me tight. “What happened?”

  I told her and was comforted again because she did not scorn me for my weakness or withdraw in horror. “But if no harm comes to Hugh and if Bruno—” I had to swallow as panic closed off my voice, but I did go on. “And if Bruno is restored to me alive, perhaps I will find the bearing easier.” I sighed. “Even if I do not, I must learn to bear it, or someday I will go into that dark place and not be able to find my way out again.”

  “I do not think so,” Audris said. Her expression was thoughtful. “I do not think it is the pain of grief you cannot bear. Perhaps the first time it was, that and the fear of your father’s disapproval because you had lost Ulle—a fear that would be greater when you knew he was dead because one cannot explain to the dead or get their forgiveness. But in Westminster I think what drove you to hide from yourself was that you could not abandon your need for either your father or your husband. That was the child fighting against the woman. No one wishes to leave childhood behind, and it is tr
ue is it not that your father was quick to lift from you any burden you felt was too heavy?”

  I stared at her open-mouthed for a moment. True? Of course it was true, all of it, but especially the part about Papa lifting burdens from me; in fact, often Papa would not give me burdens I wished to carry. Yet I saw at once what Audris meant. Papa was safety. I could turn my back on anything I did not like while Papa lived. Bruno was different. He needed my strength as much as I needed his. I nodded at Audris.

  “Yes, I was always Papa’s dear little child.”

  “Well,” Audris said, “you are a woman now.” Then she smiled. “I did not like it when it happened to me either. And it is true that a grown-up woman cannot run for help like a child, but a grown-up person may share a heavy burden.”

  “I have certainly shared mine,” I said wryly. “It seems to me that I have dumped it on you rather than sharing it. And this is a bad time for you, Audris. You are very near your time, are you not? Surely you want Hugh here when you are brought to bed.”

  “Want Hugh?” Audris turned eyes full of horror on me. “I would not have chosen to have him go to war, but I am almost glad even of that if it will save me from Hugh when I am brought to bed. Is it not bad enough to bear the pangs without needing to comfort someone else? He is not so bad this time. He only asks me ten times a day how I feel instead of fifty and only twice or three times instead of ten times carries food to me because I do not eat enough. These last months are hard for me because I am small, but I am healthy and strong. You saw him carry me when I could walk. I know it is because he loves me, but still I must bite my tongue not to scream at him.” Suddenly she giggled. “Wait, your turn will come. Bruno will be worse than Hugh. I would not be surprised if you prayed for a war to take him away.”

  I laughed in response, but somewhat uneasily, fearing she was putting a good face over reluctance so that her need would not come before her brother’s. “But you will be alone,” I said.

  “Alone? Do not be silly. My Aunt Eadyth is here and Hugh’s Aunt Marie. Both of them have born children and will be of much more help than Hugh. And if strength is needed for something, there is Fritha, my maid. She is as strong as an ox.”

  How foolish I was, I thought. Most women looked to other women for help and comfort; naturally Audris would rather have her aunts than an ignorant and frightened man when she was brought to bed. I would prefer women too. It was only out of habit that I thought of a man as bringing comfort. Then I realized that Hugh must not have yet considered that problem and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Hugh will not go,” I said. “He has not stopped to think how near you are to your time. Whatever you desire, he will not want to leave you.”

  “He does not know how near I am to my time,” Audris said, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I did not tell him when I first conceived. You remember I wrote you how ill he took it when I lost that babe last year. He wept more than I. This time I waited more than three months, until I was sure the child was well set in me, so he thinks I have yet two months to carry.”

  “How can he be deceived?” I asked, looking at her.

  Audris laughed. “Because this babe is smaller than Eric was even though he was born a month early. Perhaps it is a daughter. And perhaps Hugh does not really want to know, and in his secret heart hopes he will be away when I am brought to bed. I am not sure whether he is truly deceived or only very frightened, but he will go.”

  She was right, of course, but I left Jernaeve in good spirits, very sure that in the end Hugh would stay with her. My faithful three rode with me, Fechin, Merwyn, and Edna. I was much surprised at Edna’s steadfastness, for I did not think the life she came from would have taught that virtue. I could see no reason why the poor girl should need to face a war, however, and when I asked it Audris offered her a home in Jernaeve. But Edna flung herself at my feet and began to weep and ask how she had offended.

  “You have not offended me at all,” I assured her, lifting her to her feet. “You have always been faithful and uncomplaining, Edna, and of late in a life far harder and more unsettled than you ever expected, I am sure. And now, I am afraid, there will be more danger as well as great discomfort. I do not see why you should suffer. Stay here in Jernaeve. You will be safe, and when…when I can, I will send for you.”

  “I don’t know what you can be thinking of, my lady,” she said. “How can you do without me? How can you think of traveling with only those two clumsy loobies, Fechin and Merwyn? Who will bring you water in the morning? Merwyn? Not without emptying the pail on your head, most likely. Who will beat the dirt and pests from your clothes each night? Fechin? No doubt he will beat them with the edge of a sword or a stick pulled from a dung heap instead of using fresh twigs. Who will—”

  Laughing, I held up my hand. “Edna, I know I would miss you terribly, but I could manage—”

  “Not without me, my lady,” she cried.

  Audris put her hand on my arm and said very softly, “And she can cook and sew, which I cannot.”

  For a moment that seemed to have nothing at all to do with Edna and I was lost, but then I remembered how on my first visit Audris had said there were many things she had never learned just so that her aunt could keep her pride in managing Jernaeve. She was warning me not to hurt Edna’s pride—a strange thought to have for a servant, but Audris never distinguished very well between common folk and those gently born. And as I thought of the change in Edna over the time she had served me, I realized Audris was right. Perhaps because of her past, Edna was fiercely proud of her position. Likely she would rather dare danger and discomfort than sink into someone without importance or recognition in Jernaeve.

  “Then I will be very glad to take you with me,” I said to Edna, taking her hand as I remembered that she had already dared the queen’s wrath in her concern for me. “And thank you,” I added.

  At least I was not wrong in my judgment of Sir Gerald. He was delighted to see me when I rode into Wyth and made no objection at all to fighting for King Stephen, saying frankly that it would surely win him a pardon and he was tired of hiding and living almost like a prisoner. Nor did he desire leadership. He was relieved rather than offended when I told him of the men coming from Northumbria and that he would command only the Cumbrian troops.

  To my surprise, we made up a troop one hundred strong, and it took less than a month to assemble them. The armorers in Keswick barely finished altering Magnus’s armor to fit Sir Gerald before the troop was ready. But it was a good time for gathering men. Lambing was long over, the heavy work of plowing and planting was done, the first haying finished. Harvest would not be for two months, and the boys and women could care for the fields and do the second, sparser haying of August. Even for men with farms of their own, the coin to be gathered by fighting for pay would be pure profit, not needing to be offset by loss from neglected farm work. And, one of the younger men who had no responsibilities said, grinning at me, that if one had to go marching all over foreign countries, the summer was a far better time for it than winter.

  We came into Ripon, where I had agreed to meet the troops Hugh would assemble, at the end of the second week of August and the Northumbrians were not far behind. They marched in on the second day of the third week, and when I saw Hugh’s great red horse I did not know whether to smile or weep. I was terribly afraid for him, but Hugh was so strong and so wise that to have him near lifted my heart despite my fear. He greeted me with a grin and a bear hug and reported that Audris had surprised him again and borne a girl while he was out gathering men. She had named the child Melusine, and she was well and the child strong. The naming upset me a little and for years I feared for Audris’s Melusine, but she lived through the fevers of childhood and is still well and strong.

  Aside from my fears for Hugh’s safety, I was also concerned because he was so much younger than Sir Gerald, but there was no question about who would lead. Despite the difference
in their ages, by the time Sir Gerald had talked to Hugh for half an hour, he was calling him “my lord” with the same respect he had paid Papa. Later Sir Gerald told me that Hugh was trained to be a great lord, not a simple knight, and understood the management of armies as well as small troops.

  It was just as well he did, because we soon became an army. Hugh had brought a little more than five hundred men from Northumbria, I had one hundred, and two days later at Cawood, south of York, another five hundred sent by Sir Walter Espec joined them. I was not with the army when the new troops arrived. I had ridden separately to York to see whether there was a letter from the queen. Maud had decided to write to me in care of the Church in York because the new archbishop, William, had not attended the council that elected Matilda. It was a good choice for another reason too. Although Hugh’s foster father, Archbishop Thurstan, had died—not at York but in the Cluniac priory at Pontrefact—in February the previous year, Hugh still had good friends among the churchmen in York. The new archbishop, who had been the treasurer of the see in Thurstan’s time, was one who had known him for many years, and when Hugh wrote to him, Archbishop William agreed to receive messengers from the queen with news and instructions for us.

  The news was all good. The townsfolk of Oxford had secretly sent word that Matilda had come to rest in Oxford keep and was gathering together her scattered supporters. But now life had been infused into those faithful to the king by the rout at London. Men who had seemed to bring only lip service to the queen had arrived with troops. Even Waleran had finally come—but he had come only to say that his lands in Normandy were in danger and he was departing to defend them. The queen did not write “Thank God,” but I could read it between the words that were there—good news, indeed—that Robert of Leicester had come in Waleran’s place and had brought an army with him.