When Christ and His Saints Slept

by Sharon Kay Penman

  When the door opened suddenly, he did not even glance up. It was Maude. “I am glad you are awake,” she said, “for you have a visitor.”

  “I do not need the doctor again. I still have some of that concoction he brewed up for me, betony and feverfew and God knows what else. Anyway, my head feels better, probably because I did not drink it all down.”

  “Your head may be better, but your good humor is breathing its last.”

  Ranulf turned to stare at her, unable to believe she could be joking. She was smiling, the sort of smile he’d not seen on her face since the siege began. “We may have been defeated at Wherwell,” she said, “but we did not lose as much as you think. See for yourself.” Opening the door wider, she stepped aside and Gilbert walked into the room.

  He looked dreadful. An ugly welt seared across his forehead, blistered and raw, as red as his hair. His eyes were swollen and puffy, his lashes and one eyebrow had been singed off, and when Ranulf flung himself off the bed, he recoiled, hastily holding up his hand to stave off the embrace. “Easy,” he cautioned. “I’m not up to one of your bear hugs yet. I’ve peeled off more skin from this arm than an onion.”

  “You’re a ghost,” Ranulf said, “by God, you are! Not even the Devil himself could have come through that fire unscathed!”

  Gilbert grimaced. “Scathed I am,” he said. “Broiled might be a better way to put it.”

  He was trying hard for levity, too hard. His smile contorted, and when Ranulf grasped his good arm and steered him toward the bed, he sank down upon it gratefully. Luke poured wine and then disappeared; they didn’t even notice that Maude had also discreetly vanished. “Between us, we used up the luck of a lifetime at Wherwell,” Gilbert said hoarsely. “For all I knew, you were dead, too. When Lady Maude told me you were safe, I could scarce believe her.”

  “I had a guardian angel, one you happen to know: Ancel. I can see, though, that Maude already told you about my adventures—except for the part about me retching in a ditch, since I did not share that golden moment with her. But do not keep me in suspense, Gib. How did you escape from that inferno?”

  “John Marshal and I took refuge in the bell tower. When it began to look as if we’d end up as smoked hams, I suggested we yield. He responded as any reasonable man would, that he’d kill me if I tried.”

  Ranulf choked on his wine. “You are joking!”

  “No, and neither was Marshal.”

  “Name of God, Gib, are you going to leave me twisting on the hook? What happened?”

  Gilbert gazed down into his wine cup, frowning. “Something horrible happened,” he said quietly. “The fire had not yet reached the upper story of the tower, but it had spread to the roof. It was only afterward that I figured it out. I think the heat was so intense that the lead on the roof started to melt. When Marshal leaned out of the window, some of the molten lead splashed him in the face.” He shuddered at the memory, gulping down the rest of the drink. “I’ve never seen anything like that, Ranulf, hope to Christ I never do again. His skin just…just melted like candle wax. But the worst was his eye. It was burned away, as if scooped out with a spoon, leaving nothing but an empty socket…”

  Ranulf’s mouth was suddenly dry, and he reached quickly for his own wine. “No wonder you looked so greensick! That poor soul. So that was when you escaped? But how? What did you do?”

  “What I did was nearly get us both killed. I tried to go down the stairs. You’ve never lacked for imagination, Ranulf. Envision what it would be like to be stuffed into an oven, for that was the tower stairwell.” He gestured self-consciously at his burns. “You can see for yourself. I slammed the door shut just in time. Next, I tried shouting for help, but no one heard. So I did the only thing I could think of: I rang the bells.”

  Ranulf was riveted. “I heard it,” he said, “I did!”

  “Fortunately, so did the nuns. They are remarkable women, Ranulf. I’d not have blamed them for turning a deaf ear to my pleas. Jesú, look what we brought down upon them! But as soon as they saw me at the tower window, they did all they could to save us, dragging bales of hay from the stables. I anchored the bell rope, knotted it around Marshal’s waist, and lowered him down. When he got to the end of the rope, he cut himself loose and fell onto the hay. I said the most fervent if brief prayer of my life and followed.”

  “You mean Marshal was still in his right senses? An injury like that would have driven most men mad!”

  “Oh, he is mad,” Gilbert said, very seriously. “Only a madman could lack all fear as he does. I swear to you that he was not afraid up in that tower. I saw it in his face, and that scared me for certes! But crazed or not, he is as remarkable in his own way as those nuns. I cannot even imagine the sort of pain he must have been in. He was soon burning up with fever, too, and sick as a dog. I had to keep reining in the horse so he could puke. And by the time we got there, he—”

  “Got where, Gib? Back up to those bales of hay and start over.”

  “The nuns did what they could, smeared our burns with fennel and goose grease. We dared not stay there, though, for Ypres would be coming back. The nuns said he’d ridden off to raid Andover, and—as we discovered—he burned it to the ground. I could not take Marshal back with me to Winchester, and he insisted upon going to his castle at Ludgershall. That made some sense to me; his wife could tend to him there. As we were starting out, we got lucky and stumbled onto a loose horse from the battle. I do not know how far Ludgershall is from Wherwell—about ten miles, mayhap more. But it was without doubt the longest journey of my life. We got there, though, Marshal suffering in silence all the way. As I said, an amazing man. I admire him mightily, but I much prefer that it be at a distance from now on!”

  Ranulf was quiet, marveling. Leaning over, he emptied the last of the wine into their cups. “I’ll grant you that Marshal must have been suffering the torments of the damned. But what of your own pain? Have you even seen the doctor yet?”

  “I think the nuns and Marshal’s lady did right by me, as much as any doctor could do. I will let him tend to me, though, if you insist. But later. Now…now I just want to sit here and get drunker than I’ve ever been before. I know we’re fast running out of food, but how is the wine holding up?”

  “I’ll tell Luke to bring up enough wine to fill a bathtub. That way you can drink it or bathe in it or both.” Ranulf smiled crookedly. “My God, Gib, why did you come back? Why did you not stay at Ludgershall?”

  “Earl Robert is my liege lord,” Gilbert said, as if that explained all, and for him, it did. “And I’d rather take my chances with you and Lady Maude than our friend Marshal. For all the trouble you’ve gotten me into, not once did you ever trap me in a burning tower…” Gilbert had lain back on the bed; his voice was blurring, his odd, lashless eyelids drooping. Just when he seemed to be asleep, he murmured, “I feel like I escaped from Hell…”

  Ranulf reached out, taking the tilting wine cup from Gilbert’s lax fingers. “That you did, Gib,” he said softly. “From Hell back to Purgatory.”

  21

  Winchester, England

  September 1141

  “MY lady?” Minna’s self-control was impressive; she’d had a lifetime’s practice in curbing unruly emotions. But even her vaunted composure had been affected by the strain of the siege, and she could not completely conceal her anxiety. “Has a decision been reached?”

  Maude closed the bedchamber door. “Yes,” she said. “We are withdrawing from the city on the morrow. We have no other choice, Minna. It has become painfully clear that we can expect no aid. Of all the lords we summoned, we’ve heard from none but Chester. And whilst he claims he is making ready to march on Winchester, none of us are willing to wager our lives upon his good faith. If he truly meant to help, he’d have been here by now.”

  “Could King David not send to Scotland for more men? Or Lord Geoffrey…?”

  “By the time they could get here, we’d all have starved. We’ve talked it over and agree that we mu
st try to break free. Matilda’s men have blocked the roads to the south and east, and now that Ypres has taken over the Wherwell nunnery, he holds the Andover Road, too, in the palm of his hand. But we think the road west—the Salisbury Road—remains open. We’ve decided that I should go out first, ahead of the army, and ride hard and fast for John Marshal’s castle at Ludgershall. Robert believes that would be the safest way.”

  Although Minna said nothing, Maude quickly added, as convincingly as she could, “You need not fear for me, Minna. I will be with Brien and Rainald, and they’ll not let me come to harm.”

  Minna did not doubt that Brien and Rainald would do all they could to protect Maude, but would it be enough? What if the road was not still passable, as they hoped? Or if they could not outrun pursuit? It would serve for naught, though, to give voice to her fears; her lady well knew the dangers. Forcing a smile, she sought to sound rueful as she said, “I ought to have heeded you, my lady, and stayed at Oxford Castle with Lady Beatrice and Lord Ranulf’s wolf-dogs. It is good of you to resist reminding me of my folly, but I do not want you to fret on my behalf. I’ll be quite safe here at the castle.”

  “That might have been true if Stephen were commanding this siege, but I would never entrust your safety to a man like Ypres. No, Minna, I’ll not leave you behind.”

  “My lady, you must listen to your head, not your heart. I am an old woman, past fifty. Once you go out that West Gate, you must ride for your life. I could never keep up with you, would be an anchor dragging you down.”

  “That is why I have arranged for you to ride with the Archbishop of Canterbury and his retinue. They will have a flag of truce, and the greater protection of God’s Cross. You’ll be safe with them, Minna. You at least will be safe.”

  Minna was at a loss. What Maude needed to hear—that the men who mattered most to her would not be in peril—she could not say, for it would have been a lie. “What will happen come morning, my lady?”

  “Once the archbishop departs, the army will ride forth, led by Miles and my uncle David. Robert will then bring up the rearward. I tried to talk him out of it, Minna, I tried so hard…but he would not listen. He insists upon commanding the rear guard.”

  “I know naught of military matters, my lady. Is that so dangerous?”

  “He means to delay pursuit as long as possible, Minna, so that I might have time to get away. He would not admit it, but I know that is what he intends to do. Robert always lays claim to the heaviest burden, the greatest risk, and if any evil befalls him because of me, I do not think I could live with it…”

  “I will pray for him, madame,” Minna said earnestly. “I will pray for us all.”

  “Pray for the poor people of Winchester, too, Minna. May Almighty God protect them,” Maude said softly, “for I cannot.”

  IT was no longer night, not yet day. Dawn was still hovering beyond the horizon, although faint glimmerings of light had begun to infiltrate the eastern sky. Torches were flaring in the castle bailey, giving Maude one last glimpse of the taut, shadowed faces of her kinsmen and liegemen. Farewells had already been said, muted and measured and private, and once she’d mounted her mare, Robert confined himself to a grave “Godspeed.”

  Meant as a benediction, it sounded more like an epitaph. Ranulf salvaged the moment, though, by drawling, “The first one to reach Ludgershall gets to go to church with John Marshal.” Since Gilbert’s account of his bell-tower interlude had not only circulated throughout Winchester, but was fast passing into legend, that got an edgy laugh. Maude looked at her brothers, her throat constricting, and then urged her mare forward, toward the opening gate.

  Once they passed through the city’s West Gate, they turned onto the Salisbury Road. Maude did not look back at Winchester; she did not dare. Never had she felt so powerless, and she envied the men their weapons, their male right to self-defense. She’d thought she knew all of the burdens imposed upon her because she’d been unfortunate enough to have been born female, but they’d not gone a mile before she discovered yet another of Eve’s afflictions: that her very skirts were hampering her escape. She was riding sidesaddle, for women of rank rode astride only on the hunting field, and although she was an accomplished rider, sidesaddles were not meant for a flat-out gallop at full speed. As she could not match the men’s pace, they had to slow their mounts to accommodate her mare, and Maude’s fears for Brien and Rainald soon rivaled her dread for those she’d left in Winchester. If they were pursued, they’d never be able to outrun the enemy. But she knew they’d not abandon her, no matter how badly her mare lagged behind. Had she doomed them, too?

  The road was an ancient one, of Roman origin, the major route to Salisbury and the West. They would follow it until they reached Le Strete, a raised causeway also dating from Roman times. There they would cross the River Test, and then turn off onto a narrow trackway that would take them safely past Andover, on to Ludgershall Castle. Maude tried to focus her thoughts upon the hard, perilous ride ahead of them, but her brain would not cooperate; it kept conjuring up bloody images of dead and dying men. Would Robert and the others be able to fight their way free? How much time had passed? Daylight was nigh, the sky a soft, milky shade of grey. What would this day bring for Winchester, for them all?

  The countryside was hilly and the road was rising. When they reached the crest, they drew rein abruptly, for the road below was blocked by a large log. There weren’t that many soldiers in the camp, just enough to keep watch or halt a supply convoy. They were not as alert as William de Ypres would have wished, for they did not appear to have posted a guard, and they were rolling sleepily out of their blankets, cursing to find their fire had gone out during the night, yawning and stretching and then gaping up at the riders above them.

  For seconds that seemed endless, both sides stared at one another. And then Brien grasped Maude’s arm. “Do not stop,” he said, “no matter what!” As soon as he saw she understood, he spurred his stallion forward, led his men down the slope into the enemy encampment.

  Lacking spurs, women riders carried small leather whips. Maude rarely used hers, and when she brought it down now upon her mare’s withers, the horse shot forward as if launched from a crossbow. Gathering momentum as they swept down the hill, the mare did not falter as they approached the barricade, soared up and over. Maude thought one man had grabbed for her reins as she galloped past, but she could not be sure, for it all happened in a blur. She heard shouts and swearing, another sound she’d never heard before but would never forget—the metallic, lethal jangle of clashing swords. She did as Brien had bade, urged her mare on until the noise had begun to fade behind her and the road ahead was clear. Only then did she ease her mount and look back at the enemy camp.

  The battle was already over. But it had been as bloody as it was brief. Outnumbered, on foot, and just roused from sleep, these careless young sentinels had been no match for Brien’s armed knights, handpicked for their killing capabilities. Bodies lay crumpled in the road, half hidden by the tall grass, slumped across the log barricade. There were no survivors, for there could be no witnesses. They’d suffered but one casualty of their own, and they left him where he’d fallen, amidst his enemies, for on this Sunday September morn, debts owed to the dead had to be deferred.

  They paused only long enough to set free the tethered horses. Rainald was cursing his own clumsiness. He seemed more aggrieved by the damage done to his hauberk than to his arm, and submitted, grumbling, as Maude hastily bandaged his wound with her silk veil. She was about to mount her mare again when Brien rode up.

  “You are not hurt?” Much to her relief, he shook his head. He slid his sword back into its leather scabbard, but not before she saw the blood smeared upon the blade.

  “Can you ride astride like a man?” he asked. “I urge you to attempt it, for speed may well be our salvation.”

  Although she’d only ridden astride during an occasional hunt, Maude did not hesitate. “I will,” she said, and when they brought forward the sla
in knight’s stallion, she let Brien assist her up into the saddle. As they turned the mare loose, Maude felt a pang, for the graceful grey palfrey was her favorite mount.

  “I am sorry,” Brien said, “but we cannot spare the time to switch saddles.”

  Maude was surprised and touched that in the midst of all this carnage and chaos, he’d remembered her fondness for the filly. “I pray,” she said, “that by day’s end, the greatest of my regrets will be for a lost mare.”

  DESPITE the early hour, the citizens of Winchester turned out to watch as Miles led his army out of their city. Logic had told them this day was coming, but they seemed stunned, nonetheless, now that it was finally here, for they’d had to believe all the more fervently in God’s Mercy, knowing they could expect none from William de Ypres and his Flemings. But neither the Almighty nor the empress was answering prayers on the second Sunday in September. On one of the sacred days of the Church calendar, the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, the Apocalypse was at hand.

  As Robert approached his stallion, the man holding his reins spoke up. “I am Ellis, my lord, groom here these ten years past. I fear for my family now that you are going. What shall I do? How can I keep them safe?”

  “There will be looting,” Robert said, “afterward. Stay off the streets if you can. Bar your doors and shutter your windows. Do nothing to call attention to yourself. I can tell you no more than that.”

  Ellis still clutched at Robert’s reins. “My lord,” he said, “I have daughters.”

  Robert felt anger flare, anger at a world in which so many men saw war as sport. He’d fought when it was necessary, killed when he must, but never had he taken any pleasure in it. “Hide them away,” he said, knowing how inadequate an answer that was, yet having no other advice to offer. He could do nothing for Ellis, nothing for Winchester.

  His men were mounted and waiting. They looked tired and tense and of a sudden, younger than their years. Never did men seem so vulnerable to him as when they were about to go into battle under his command. He glanced again at their faces, then drew a sharp breath. “Ranulf!” He beckoned and his brother nudged his stallion forward. “What are you doing here? You agreed to ride out with Miles!”