When Christ and his Saints Slept eoa-1

by Sharon Kay Penman

  Amabel soon went off to bed, too; she was finding the atmosphere in the solar just as oppressive as Rainald had. Ranulf was the next to make his escape, claiming he had to let his dogs out, and Robert and Maude were left alone with a flagging chess game and a silence heavy with all that lay unspoken between them.

  Maude pushed her chair back. “I cannot concentrate upon this game. I am truly glad to have you safe, Robert. But tonight I feel as if…as if we’d struggled and panted and clawed our way up a mountain, only to stumble just as we neared the summit and fall all the way down, landing in a bloodied, bruised heap at the bottom. What in God’s Name do we do now?”

  “I suppose,” he said, “we start climbing again.”

  “How many of our men will have the heart for it?” Rising, she began to pace. “To come so close and then to have it all snatched away like this…it is so unfair, Robert, so damnably unfair!”

  “Life is unfair,” he said, sounding so stoical, so rational, and so dispassionate that she was suddenly angry, a scalding, seething, impotent rage that spared no one-not herself, not Robert, not God.

  “You think I do not know that? When has life ever been fair to women? Just think upon how easy it was for Stephen to steal my crown, and how bitter and bloody has been my struggle to win it back. Even after we’d caged Stephen at Bristol Castle, he was still a rival, still a threat…and why? Because he was so much braver or more clever or capable than me? No…because I was a woman, for it always came back to that. I’ll not deny that I made mistakes, but you do not know what it is like, Robert, to be judged so unfairly, to be rejected not for what you’ve done but for what you are. It is a poison that seeps into the soul, that makes you half crazed with the need to prove yourself…”

  She stopped to catch her breath, and only then did she see the look on Robert’s face, one of disbelief and then utter and overwhelming fury, burning as hot as her own anger, hotter even, for being so long suppressed.

  “I do not know what it is like?” he said incredulously. “I was our father’s firstborn son, but was I his heir? No, I was just his bastard. He trusted me and relied upon me and needed me. But none of that mattered, not even after the White Ship sank and he lost his only lawfully begotten son. He was so desperate to have an heir of his body that he dragged you back-unwilling-from Germany, forced you into a marriage that he knew was doomed, and then risked rebellion by ramming you down the throats of his barons. And all the while, he had a son capable of ruling after him-he had me! But I was the son born of his sin, so I was not worthy to be king. As if I could have blundered any worse than you or Stephen!”

  Maude was stunned. She stared at him, too stricken for words, not knowing what to say even if she’d been capable of speech. Robert seemed equally shattered by his outburst: his face was suddenly ashen. He started to speak, then turned abruptly and walked out.

  The night was bitter-cold and starless, the sky choked with clouds. Maude leaned into the embrasure, gazing down into the darkness of the bailey. She knew her presence on the battlements was making the guards uneasy. They kept their distance, but she could feel their eyes following her, curious, probing, wondering what she was doing up here, alone, at such an hour. She wondered, too.

  It may have been memory that had drawn her up to the battlements. Shivering each time the wind caught her mantle, she remembered watching a summer sunset from this very spot, Brien at her side. Not so long ago, just a lifetime. Brien was back at Wallingford Castle now, not far away, twelve miles or so. As if distance mattered, as if what kept them apart could be measured in miles. She did not often let herself think of Brien, of what might have been and what could never be. But she did now, deliberately and unsparingly. She wiped away tears, and thought of them all. Robert, who’d turned into a stranger before her eyes. Robert, whom she’d trusted and taken for granted and never really known. Ranulf, who’d lost the earldom she’d promised and mayhap much more. Rainald, who’d profited, too, from her quest-a mad wife and a precarious hold upon a corner of Cornwall. Geoffrey, whom she’d loathed from the very day of her wedding, because it was easier to hate him than to hate her father. And her sons, growing up without her. Her sons, whom she’d not even seen in more than two years.

  She lost all sense of time, and when the sky began to pale, it was with shock that she realized she’d passed the entire night out on the battlements, standing guard over the wreckage of her ravaged kingdom. The cold seemed to have penetrated into her very bones, yet for hours she’d not even been aware of it. She watched as the shadows receded and daylight slowly gained the ascendancy. Only then did she turn away from the battlements, go to find her brother.

  As early as it was, Robert was already up and dressed, attended by a sleepy squire. The bed curtains were closed; Amabel still slept. But after one glimpse of Robert’s face, Maude was sure his night had been as wakeful as her own. The squire soon remembered an urgent need to be elsewhere, and muttering about bringing his lord cider and bread to break his fast, he made a swift, discreet exit.

  Maude was still trembling with the cold, and she knotted her hands together to still their tremors. When Robert gestured toward the bed, she nodded and kept her voice low, no more wanting to awaken Amabel than he did.

  “I am sorry, Robert. I do not say that as often as I ought, but never have I meant it more. You have been my rod and my staff, more loyal than I deserved. You would have made a very good king.”

  His shoulders twitched, in a half-shrug. “Well, better than Stephen, for certes,” he said, with the faintest glimmer of a smile.

  “Our father was a fool,” she said, and he did not dispute her.

  “Robert.” Her mouth was suddenly dry. “I am never going to be queen, am I?”

  “No,” he said quietly, “you are not.”

  She’d known what he would say. But his uncompromising, honest answer robbed her of any last shreds of hope. She averted her face, briefly, and he, too, looked away, not willing to watch the death of a dream.

  “I’d best go now, ere Amabel starts to stir.” She gave him a smile so pained that he winced.

  “Maude.” She turned back to face him, slowly, and he said, “You are not giving up?”

  “You know better than that, Robert. I may have lost, but I’ll not let Henry lose, too. I shall fight for my son as long as I have breath in my body. He must not be cheated of the crown that is his birthright.”

  She saw sympathy in his eyes, and what mattered more, respect. “I will do whatever I can,” he vowed, “to make sure that does not happen.” And in that moment, she realized the truth-that he’d been fighting for Henry all along.

  24

  Devizes, England

  March 1142

  The Countess of Chester arrived the day after her aunt and father held an urgent council at Devizes Castle. Maud needed to take but one meal in their company to conclude that something was amiss, for her senses were finely attuned to emotional undercurrents. As soon as she could, she lured her mother away, and after some bantering about the tedium of the Lenten menu, she demanded to know why “Aunt Maude and Papa and the others look like mourners at a particularly dreary wake.”

  Amabel settled herself in the window seat. “They have cause, child, for they have had to swallow their pride, and that goes down much harder than salted fish. They have decided to send envoys to Maude’s husband, asking Geoffrey to aid them in overthrowing Stephen.”

  Maud’s eyes widened. “Were they sober at the time? I cannot believe they’d turn to Geoffrey!”

  “Well, they did. Which proves, I suppose, just how desperate they are.”

  Maud was still incredulous. “I would have sworn upon my very soul that Aunt Maude would never have agreed, no matter how great her need!”

  “For herself, I daresay she would not. But there is very little she would not do for her son.”

  Maud sat down abruptly, suddenly realizing the full magnitude of what her aunt had lost at Winchester. “It is not fair, Mama. She ought to
have been queen!”

  “Most people thought otherwise.”

  Amabel’s tone had an edge sharp enough to slice bread, or so Maud thought. She was sorry that her mother and her aunt were so often at odds, for they were the two women who mattered most to her, but she was insightful enough to understand why it was so, and pragmatic enough to accept it. Diplomatically steering the conversation away from hidden family reefs, she said, “I understand now why Uncle Ranulf was in such a black mood. He trusts Geoffrey even less than he likes him, and he once told me that if he was given a choice between befriending Geoffrey and trying to tame a polecat, he’d take the polecat every time!”

  “Do you remember that Bristol goldsmith’s son, Maud…the wretch who was caught setting all those fires? When he was asked why, he said he just liked to watch things burn. Well, Geoffrey likes to set tempers afire, and he does it right well. But Ranulf’s ‘black mood’ cannot be blamed on Geoffrey’s coming, for he has been troubled for some weeks now. Even Robert commented upon it, and men are usually blind to any wound that does not bleed.”

  Maud’s curiosity was piqued. She was quite fond of Ranulf, no less fond of intrigue, and later that afternoon she set herself a dual task-to ferret out Ranulf’s secret and to console him if she could.

  She was halfway up the stairs to Ranulf’s chamber when she bumped-quite literally-into her uncle’s young squire. Luke recoiled, stammering incoherent apologies, for his natural shyness became almost paralyzing in the presence of self-assured, flirtatious young women like Maud. Eventually, though, he managed to suggest that this would not be a good time to seek out Lord Ranulf.

  “Has he a woman with him?” she asked, and when he blushed at her bluntness but shook his head, she gave him a bewitching smile and continued on up the stairs. In his haste to escape, Luke had left the door ajar. She was about to knock when she heard the voices, as angry as they were audible.

  “I swear by the Rood, Ranulf, that you’ve gone utterly daft! Let’s suppose you are able to evade bandits and the king’s men and get safely to Shrewsbury. What then? How are you going to contact Annora? Hope she comes into town ere the year is out? Or do you just intend to ride out to her husband’s manor and ask him if you can borrow his wife for a bit?”

  “Damn you, Gilbert, this is none of your concern!”

  “Someone has to keep you from dying so young and so needlessly!”

  “I’ve had enough of your meddling!” Ranulf jerked the door open, only to find himself nose to nose with his niece. “Maud! What are you doing out there?”

  “I should think it would be obvious. I was eavesdropping, of course.” She stepped forward into the room and winked at Gilbert. “My turn to talk some sense into him.”

  “Good luck,” he muttered, giving the door a satisfying slam on his way out.

  “I want no lecture, Maud,” Ranulf warned, but his rudeness fazed her not at all. Perching on the edge of the bed, she arranged her skirts decorously and then smiled sweetly.

  “Sermons are for church. I’d much rather talk about your tryst with…Annora, was it? The girl to whom you were once plight trothed? Such fidelity is rare indeed in our world and must be rewarded. First of all, I need to know what she is like. My husband-and most men, if truth be told-seem far more interested in what is between a woman’s legs than between her ears, but-”

  “Maud!”

  “Since when are you offended by plain speaking? Just tell me if this lass of yours has a brain in her head. Does she have the wits to read between the lines of my letter?”

  “What letter?”

  “The one I plan to write to her husband, telling him how much I miss my dear friend Annora and how I yearn to have her visit me. Is she clever enough to need no further prompting?”

  “Yes,” Ranulf said slowly, “she is. But what of your husband, Maud?”

  “Ah…so Annora’s husband supports Stephen, then? That should pose no problem, though, for Randolph is taking no part in the war these days. His creed at the moment seems to be, ‘May the pox take Stephen and the plague take Maude.’ He may be no friend to Stephen, but he is still the most powerful lord in the realm. Annora’s husband will be greatly flattered that the Countess of Chester is so fond of his wife, and when I suggest that I send an armed escort to bring Annora safe to Chester Castle for a visit, he’ll snap at the offer like a starving trout! Nothing is so alluring,” she added playfully, “as a crown of some sort.”

  “You make a most convincing argument,” Ranulf conceded, “but when I asked about your husband, I was not thinking of his political affinities. I was wondering how he’d react upon learning that yours was the guiding hand behind our…tryst, did you call it?”

  She waved away his objection with a graceful, airy gesture of dismissal. “What makes you think he’d even be there? As soon as he heard that Stephen had gone north to forbid a tournament at York, he became more nervous than a treed cat, fearing that Stephen might try to reclaim Lincoln Castle whilst he was in the neighborhood. He and his brother have been holed up at Lincoln since the beginning of Lent, making sure the castle could withstand an assault. But even if he were at Chester, he’d be no hindrance to us. Randolph brings great passion to what interests him, utter indifference to what does not. He’d never even notice your dalliance-not unless you were indiscreet enough to make love in the great hall!”

  Ranulf sat down beside her on the bed. “It means more than I can say, that you do not pass judgment upon us, that you have offered to help. But if I let you do it, we’d be ensnaring you in our sin.”

  Maud laughed. “I assure you that I’ll have so many sins of my own to answer for come Judgment Day that any secondary sins will count for very little!”

  He shook his head, laughing, too, in spite of himself, and said again that he could not accept her help. Maud merely smiled, knowing that he would.

  Annora supposed she should have been nervous as the distant walls of Chester came into view. She was, after all, answering a mysterious summons from an utter stranger, and intending to commit adultery if she was right about the real reason for the Countess of Chester’s sudden avowal of friendship. But she was not nervous at all, so sure was she that she would find Ranulf waiting for her in Chester.

  People stopped to watch as she rode through the hamlet of Hand-bridge, recognizing the Earl of Chester’s badge upon the sleeves of her escort, impressed and curious. Annora liked the attention, and she smiled graciously when they stared and pointed, playing the great lady with zest-Eleanor, Queen of France and Duchess of Aquitaine, on her way to a rendezvous with a royal lover.

  Crossing the wooden bridge that spanned the River Dee, Annora entered the city through Bridge Gate, and rode into the castle bailey. The Countess of Chester was awaiting her on the steps of the great hall, coming forward to greet her as Annora was assisted from her mare. Annora recognized Maud at once, so strongly did she resemble her aunt, the empress. She hastily dropped a respectful curtsy, and was then enveloped in an affectionate, perfumed embrace.

  “Dearest Annora, how good of you to come!” Maud was enjoying herself enormously. Linking her arm in Annora’s, she led the other young woman across the bailey, giving such a flawless performance that none would ever have doubted she’d just been reunited with a cherished childhood friend. “I see you brought no maid,” she observed, adding a soft, approving “clever lass” before assuring Annora that her own maid would be pleased to be of service.

  “I may have forgotten to mention in my last letter that a dear kinsman of mine might be visiting. I am sure you will remember him,” she said blandly, but Annora was no longer listening. At that moment, there was no one in her field of vision-or her world-but Ranulf, just emerging from the great hall out into the daylight, blond hair gleaming in the sun, dark eyes shining with excitement, triumph, and such tenderness that Annora’s own eyes misted and she moved to meet him with a light step and a secret smile.

  Making sure they were unobserved, Ranulf and Annora ducked i
nto the stairwell. They had discovered, by trial and error, that the one place where they could be ensured privacy during the daylight hours was in Maud’s bedchamber. As soon as they were inside, Ranulf slid the door’s bolt into place, an act that never failed to give him pleasure, for it was-however briefly-a means of shutting out the world.

  Annora wrapped her arms around his neck, tilting her face up until her mouth was temptingly close to his own. It was not an invitation he could resist. Between kisses, they backed toward the bed, where Ranulf pulled her onto his lap. Turning her head so he could kiss her throat, she sighed. “How could a week go by so quickly, Ranulf? I said I’d be away just a fortnight, so our time together is already half over…”

  “This time,” he corrected. “There will be other visits, sweetheart. And we can write to each other, for Maud has offered to pass on your letters. That well nigh drove me mad, not being able to contact you. But with Maud on our side, it will be much easier for us from now on.”

  “But how long must we wait, Ranulf? I know you say we’ll be together eventually. And I know, too, that you’d not lie to me. Yet I cannot help wondering if you’re not lying to yourself. Maude had her chance and botched it. In this life, how many people get a second chance?”

  “We already have,” he reminded her, “when we found each other again at Shrewsbury’s fair. And Maude will have another chance, too. I told you that Geoffrey will be crossing the Channel, bringing us enough men to keep Stephen on the defensive until he can be defeated. Once that happens, you and I can share our lives, as it was meant to be. You must believe that, Annora; you must not lose hope.”

  “You have enough hope for both of us,” Annora gibed, but she was smiling. “Whatever do I see in you? No one else can make me as angry as you do. You are impulsive and impractical and so stubborn that-”