When Christ and his Saints Slept eoa-1

by Sharon Kay Penman

  The longest and most desperate day of Maude’s life was at last drawing to a close in the inner bailey of Ludgershall Castle. She was trembling, so great was her fatigue, and when she was helped from the saddle, she feared that her legs would not support her. Brien came to her rescue, offering his arm for support. She thought he looked exhausted, too. They all did, men and horses alike, drenched in sweat and choked with the reddish dust of the dry September roads. She allowed herself a moment’s indulgence, borrowed Brien’s strength. Then she squared her shoulders, and moved to meet the man just emerging from the tower keep.

  She was not surprised that John Marshal was up and about, rather than languishing upon a sickbed. She knew the man well enough to have been sure that if he was not dead of his wounds, he’d be on his feet. She thought she was prepared for the extent of his injuries, but she was not. Her breath stopped as she saw his face. She forced herself not to avert her eyes, feeling that she owed it to him to look without flinching upon the wounds he’d gotten in her service. His eye socket was covered by a pusstained bandage, and from hairline to beard, his skin was raw and red and encrusted with scabs, slathered with goose grease. But she knew he’d have scorned her sympathy; in that, they were alike. So she said only, “Do you think you can find room for some unexpected guests?”

  His mouth twitched. “I’ve never yet turned an empress away from my door.” A woman had come from the keep behind him, and he said, “Madame, may I present my wife, the Lady Adelina?”

  Adelina made a graceful curtsy. Maude took one look and liked her not, for she was small-boned and fair-haired and flower-fragile-like Matilda. But when Marshal’s men began to crowd around, assailing them with questions, it was Adelina who saw Maude’s utter exhaustion. “I’ll not have it said that the mistress of Ludgershall does not know how to welcome a highborn guest,” she chided. “Explanations can wait. If you’ll be good enough to follow me, my lady…?”

  Maude did, gratefully, and by the time she was seated upon the bed in John and Adelina’s private chamber, she’d completely revised her unfavorable impression of Marshal’s wife. Adelina brought her a laver of scented washing water, a soothing salve for her sunburned face, a flagon of spiced and sweetened wine, all the while carrying on an easy conversation that was oddly comforting in and of itself, for she asked no awkward questions and gave Maude no time to dwell upon Winchester’s fall and the men who might be dying even now on her behalf. When she urged Maude to stretch out on the bed, Maude did not demur, although she insisted that she’d never be able to sleep.

  “Just rest then,” Adelina said. “Supper can wait.” She’d already helped Maude to strip off her gown, lamenting its bedraggled condition and the fact that Maude was too tall to wear one of her own gowns. “Never you mind, though. We’ll clean and mend this one for you. I’ll look in on you later, my lady. Now I must tend to John. The doctor said I should soak his bandage in vinegar and change it often.”

  “It is a wonder,” Maude murmured, “that the pain did not drive him mad…”

  “Most likely because we kept him drunk for days…”

  Adelina’s voice was lulling. Maude closed her eyes. When Adelina leaned over the bed and touched her shoulder, she thought at first that she’d just fallen asleep. But as she sat up groggily, she saw the night sky framed in the bedchamber’s open window.

  “Madame, I am indeed sorry to awaken you, but I was given no choice. Your brother and Lord Brien insist upon leaving at once for your castle at Devizes. I urged them to let you sleep the night through, but they say the danger is too great for you here.”

  Maude asked no questions, but she could not suppress a gasp when she swung her legs over the bed, for even that slight movement was painful. Her hair was trailing down her back, the true measure of her fatigue, for Adelina must have unbraided it while she slept on, unaware. As Maude tried again to get to her feet, Adelina gave a soft cry. “There is blood on your chemise! Did your flux come upon you of a sudden?”

  “No, I had to ride astride like a man, but I lacked the undergarments that men wear, and my thighs blistered badly.”

  “How can you ride on to Devizes, then? That is nigh on twenty miles!”

  “I can and I will. I must. And you cannot tell the men, Adelina. I do not want them to know.”

  The other woman nodded reluctantly. “Then you must let me do what I can to ease your discomfort,” she said, and turned aside to ransack a coffer by the foot of the bed. With gentle, deft strokes, she rubbed an herbal ointment into Maude’s blistered, abraded skin, then fashioned bandages from a pillowcase, and she understood when Maude’s “thank you” seemed grudgingly given, saying, “Those are words that catch in my John’s throat, too. He finds it hard to admit a need.”

  Maude did not know what to say to that, for it seemed to require a confidence in return. But Adelina did not wait for a response, instead crossed the chamber to retrieve Maude’s gown. She was helping to lace it up when Brien and Rainald sought admittance.

  Maude looked from one to the other. “Why must we leave Ludgershall in such haste? What is it that you’re so loath for me to know?”

  Rainald cleared his throat. “Marshal sent a few of his men toward Winchester to find out what happened. Only one of them has gotten back so far, but after hearing what he learned, we knew we dare not stay here, for this will be the first place they think to look once they start searching for you in earnest. We’ve got to get you as far away as we can, as fast as we can. It will not be easy for you, but-”

  “You think I care about my comfort? Just tell me, was there a battle?”

  Brien nodded. “Ypres and the queen’s earls fell upon our army soon after they rode out along the Salisbury Road. Marshal’s scout says they scattered to the winds, every man for himself. He says not even the archbishop was spared, that the clerics were roughly handled, their horses stolen.”

  “Oh, dear God,” Maude whispered. Minna. And what of Ranulf? Miles and David and all the others. “Tell me the rest,” she said, “the worst. Tell me about Robert.”

  “We do not know for certes,” Rainald said, but he no longer met her eyes, and it was Brien who told her the truth.

  “Marshal’s scout says that Robert’s men did not bolt like the others. They fought a running battle as far as Le Strete, where they were surrounded and overwhelmed by Warenne and Ypres and his Flemings.” Brien saw her shudder and started to reach toward her, then let his arm fall to his side. “They would have wanted to take Robert alive,” he said. “I swear to you that is true.”

  Maude swallowed with a visible effort. “You are saying, then, that either Robert was captured or he was slain.”

  Neither man spoke, but she had her answer in their silence, and she shut her eyes, squeezing back her tears. She would be able to weep soon, hidden by the darkness, riding through the night toward Devizes, but not now, not yet. She would leave Ludgershall dry-eyed and unbowed. She would not shame Robert with her tears.

  Cecily watched anxiously as Matilda moved again to the tent entrance, but she no longer urged her mistress to attempt to get some sleep; she knew that Matilda would be up until dawn if need be, until she got the word about Maude. Rising, she poured a cup of wine and carried it across the tent. The other woman accepted it absently, continuing to gaze up at the star-dusted dark sky. “There is a fire in Winchester,” she said. “See…over to the east.”

  “Come back inside, my lady,” Cecily pleaded, “ere you catch a chill. Try to put the town’s troubles from your mind. It does no good to dwell upon what cannot be helped.”

  Matilda let the tent flap drop. “Stephen kept his army from pillaging and raping in Shrewsbury,” she said. “There must have been something I could have done…”

  “And why did the king’s soldiers heed him at Shrewsbury? Because he’d just hanged ninety-four men from the castle battlements and they feared not to! My lady, this is the way of the war. We need not like it, but accept it we must. What other choice have we?”
r />   “What you say makes sense, Cecily. But I doubt that I will ever understand. The Londoners were so fearful for their city, so afraid that Maude would wreak havoc upon their homes and families. How, then, could they have been amongst the first to despoil Winchester?”

  “My lady, I cannot answer that. But this I do know, that you have nothing to reproach yourself for. You seek only to free your lord husband from unjust confinement, and against all the odds, you have prevailed. This day he has won his liberty and it was your doing!”

  Matilda felt a prickle of superstitious dread. “We do not know that, not yet. If Maude escapes, all this suffering and dying will have been for naught. The war will go on, and…and Stephen’s life might well be forfeit, because of me.”

  “That will not happen. She has been taken prisoner, I know she has!”

  “I would to God I could share your certainty,” Matilda said wearily. “But she seemed sure to be taken at Arundel, too, and then again at Westminster, did she not?”

  “The king’s gallantry spared her at Arundel and blind luck at London, luck that is fast running out.”

  Matilda sat down at the table, pushed the candle aside, and leaned forward, resting her head upon her arms. But almost at once she straightened up. “Did you hear that? More men coming in…”

  Her senses had been betraying her all night, hearing sounds that echoed only in her head. But this time she was right, and she was on her feet, waiting, by the time William de Warenne and William de Ypres pushed their way into the tent.

  Warenne looked dirty and tired and jubilant. “God has shown us such favor, madame, for what a victory we had!”

  “I know that,” Matilda interrupted. “But what of Maude? Is she captive?”

  Ypres shook his head. “I regret not. That woman has the most unholy luck. She ought never to have been able to slip through our net, yet she somehow did. You need not fear, though, for we’ll soon track her down. We have men on her trail even now-”

  But Matilda was no longer listening. “Then we lost,” she cried. “Can you not see that? Without Maude, we gained nothing!”

  Neither man seemed fazed by her despair. They looked at each other and grinned. “Ah, but we did,” Ypres said. “Maude may have flown the nest, but we plucked her tail feathers for certes!” And turning, he lifted the tent flap. “Bring him in.”

  The man escorted into the tent was a stranger to Cecily. He was no longer young, for his brown hair was well salted with gray, and save for an ugly bruise under his left eye, he seemed unhurt. What struck her most forcefully was his composure; if not for his bound wrists, she’d never have known he was a prisoner. “Lady Matilda,” he said calmly. “It is always a pleasure to see you, although I would rather it be under different circumstances.”

  Matilda was staring at him in shock. “Robert,” she breathed, so softly that only Cecily heard, and her eyes widened.

  “My lady, is this man the Earl of Gloucester?”

  “This man,” Matilda said unsteadily, “is Stephen’s salvation.” Her voice was muffled, midway between laughter and tears. Reaching for the Fleming’s hand, she held fast. “How good God is, blessed be His Name. And bless you, too, Willem, for you’ve given me back my husband!”

  22

  Near Devizes Castle, Wiltshire, England

  September 1141

  When Maude’s lashes flickered, a voice said, “She is coming around.” She wondered hazily what Brien was doing in her bedchamber. The light seemed glaringly bright, and it actually hurt to look up at the sky. Sky? Her eyes opened wide, and she discovered that she was lying on the ground, a mantle wadded up under her head. “Brien…?” How far away her voice sounded, how weak. “Brien, what happened?”

  “You fell from your horse. You do not remember?”

  “No.” She bit her lip. “No…”

  His fingers brushed her cheek, her forehead. “You’re feverish, and little wonder, after all you’ve been through these three days past-”

  “Why did you not tell us you were ailing, Maude?”

  Maude blinked and Rainald’s face came into focus over Brien’s shoulder. “You said it was too dangerous to stay any longer at Devizes-”

  “Yes, but I had it in mind to get you to Gloucester alive!” Rainald patted her shoulder, awkwardly tender. “No matter, though, for we’ve gone only a few miles. I’ll send back to Devizes for a horse litter.”

  A horse litter was used only by the aged and the infirm, the helpless. Maude’s flush deepened. “You risked your lives for me,” she said huskily, “and I’ve let you down…”

  “Maude, that is not so!”

  “I agree with Brien, Sister. You’ve done right well for a woman. And that,” Rainald added hastily, “is but a joke!”

  “Rainald…thank you for seeing to my safety.”

  He shrugged, then smiled. “I reckoned it was time I started earning my earldom. Brien, make sure she stays put whilst I see about the horse litter.”

  Maude did lie still as he moved away, although her compliance was due to exhaustion. “Brien,” she said, so softly that he had to lean closer to hear, “I thank you, too. I owe you more than I could ever repay, mayhap even my life. You’ve been so loyal, and I…I did not even give you an earldom like Rainald!”

  Her smile was hesitant, her jest no less tentative. But Brien knew what she was really asking-why he’d been so loyal. He even knew what she would never let herself ask-why he cared. Reaching out, he entwined the tip of her long black braid around his fingers, remembering the way her hair had looked in John Marshal’s bedchamber, tumbling loose and lush and free about her shoulders. “I admire courage above all else,” he said, “and you are as brave as you are beautiful, as brave as any man and braver by far than most. Loyalty is the least that you deserve.”

  To Maude’s horror, tears filled her eyes. “What will I do, Brien, if Robert is dead?”

  “You will grieve for him, and then you’ll go on.”

  That was a lie, for Robert was their linchpin; without him to hold it together, her cause would falter, fall apart like her army at Winchester. But she was grateful to Brien for believing that she was strong enough to survive without Robert. “He is alive,” she insisted. “Robert and Ranulf and Miles…they are all alive. I am sure of that, Brien.” And if that was a lie, too, it was one they both needed to believe.

  Sleep had always come easily to Stephen. He could catnap at a moment’s notice and it was a rare night when the day’s troubles invaded the safe shadow-realm of his dreams; even in sleep, he was not one for violating sanctuary. But that had changed abruptly in mid-July. The irons clamped upon his wrists had done more than chafe his skin and shrink his space; they also clanked loudest at night. Dragged down by their weight, he snatched what sleep he could, never more than skimming the surface. And so it took only the slightest sound-a stealthy footfall muffled in the floor rushes-to bring him upright in the bed, wide awake and wary. Before he could speak, though, a shadow flitted forward. “Make no noise, my lord, for I cannot be caught here. It is me-Edgar.”

  Stephen’s eyes were adjusting rapidly to the dark. “For you to come calling in the middle of the night, Edgar, you must have news that is very good or very bad. Which is it, lad?”

  Edgar hesitated. “In truth, my lord, it could be either.” Squatting in the floor rushes by the bed, he said, “You must know what I overheard in the hall. Lady Amabel got word tonight from the empress.”

  “From Winchester?”

  Edgar shook his head. “Winchester has fallen to your queen. The empress fled the city on Sunday morn, and escaped by the Grace of God and a fast horse. She reached Gloucester last night, weary unto death but luckier than many, for her army’s retreat turned into a wild rout. Men lost their weapons and shed their armor and hid themselves howsoever they could. Lord Miles and the Scots king and the Earl of Devon and Lord Ranulf-they are all unaccounted for, their whereabouts unknown.”

  Stephen was quiet, taking it all in. “You omitt
ed one name from that list of missing men. What of Robert Fitz Roy?”

  Edgar’s voice hoarsened. “No one knows…not yet. He did not run like the others, fought off the Flemings until they trapped him at the River Test. But in giving the empress time to escape, he may well have doomed himself, and she fears the worst. So does his wife. Poor lady, I heard her in the chapel, weeping as if her heart would break-”

  “Are you sure it was Amabel? I’d have thought she had more sense than that. Tears are a woman’s weapons and she ought not to squander them needlessly.”

  Edgar was shocked by the levity, enough to venture a timid reproach. “A widow’s grief ought not to be mocked, my lord. God would not approve.”

  “Amabel is no widow, lad. Robert is not dead. They’d have been loath to see him even bruised, much less mortally hurt. They took him alive, you may be sure of that, for Robert is my ransom…a king’s ransom,” Stephen said and laughed suddenly, jubilantly.

  “I hope so, my lord. Indeed, I do hope so,” Edgar said, sounding so dubious that Stephen gave him a quizzical look.

  “I’d not blame you if you did not, lad. I understand that you are loyal to Robert-”

  “Oh, no, my lord, it is not that! I wish the earl well, admire him mightily. But…but if I had money enough, it would be your freedom I’d buy, not his.”

  Hearing what he’d just blurted out, Edgar blushed, shamed by his disloyalty to Robert. He owed his lord better than that. And Stephen was the enemy, the possessor of a stolen crown. Yet none of that mattered, not anymore. “Earl Robert is my lord,” he said softly, “but you are my king.”

  Stephen smiled. “Should you not be glad, then, for me? You do understand what this means? To gain Robert’s freedom, Maude will have to give me mine. She’ll like it not, but she’ll do it, for she’ll have no choice.”

  Edgar nodded solemnly. “I know that, my lord. But…but what if the earl was not taken alive? What if he was struck down in the battle?”

  “Then Maude’s queenship hopes were struck down, too. She cannot win without him.”