Richard, riding beside Sir Andre, chattered and chattered, but Andre muttered "yes" and "no" only half hearing. He had better hold his tongue. If Lord Soke knew of his desire, he might dismiss him from service. Even if he could not have Mary, he could see her and speak to her here, and he had a true affection for his scapegrace charge. An earsplitting shriek beside him woke him in time to spur his horse forward so that he reached Sir Rannulf only a few seconds after Richard did.
"Papa, papa!"
The boy freed his feet from the stirrups and launched himself from his saddle into Rannulf's arms, neatly avoiding the hand Sir Andre stretched out to detain him.
"Richard, Richard!" his father mocked breathlessly, struggling to hold his reins, grasp his son, and keep his shield from knocking the child to the ground. "Will you never learn to observe the smallest propriety toward me?" he scolded. "You are too old for such tricks."
"You have been away so long!"
"Yes, and if you strangle me, I shall soon be sorry I have returned."
Richard giggled. "But you are squeezing me too, papa, so I know you are glad to see me."
Rannulf laughed. "You disrespectful imp. I am squeezing you so that you will not fall off and be trodden underfoot. There now, my child, enough. Andre, put him back on his own horse. Richard, I want to present you to Lord and Lady Warwick."
Sir Andre held his breath, but the boy said his piece in acknowledging the introduction very properly. Richard was well taught, but he was a very passionate child, and occasionally took an instant aversion to certain people. When that happened, he was neither to hold nor to bind and acted more boorishly than the worst educated child of a serf. It was important to Sir Andre that Lord Soke approve of his training, so it was fortunate that Richard committed no solecism at all on their way back to the keep. As a matter of fact, he gave Andre good reason to be proud of him when, as the battlements came into view, the happy chatter died down and Richard looked thoughtfully at his father.
"Papa?"
"What now?"
"I have not always been so good a boy as I should."
Rannulf took his lower lip between his teeth in a hard bite. "If you have been brought to believe you did something amiss, I am surprised to see the castle still standing. Very well, I am prepared. What disaster have you wrought?"
"If you will permit, I would rather tell you in private."
"Then you are a fool, and Sir Andre has not properly taught you tactics. If you anger me in private, I will doubtless beat you."
Richard thought that over and turned clear eyes upon his father. "I do not care for that," he replied at last in a low voice. "I had rather you beat me than that you scolded me and shamed me before others."
"Ride on ahead," was Rannulf's only reply, "and tell Lady Catherine that we are but a few minutes behind you." As the boy started, he gestured to Sir Andre not to follow but to come closer. "You have my gratitude. The boy is forming well."
"I wish I deserved it, my lord, but what I have taught him you have not yet seen. The courage he was born with, and the manners and sense of honor, Lady Catherine has given him."
There was, fortunately, no need to answer, since they were now crossing the drawbridge. Sick already with desire for what he could not have and a faint hope that his long absence might have caused an amelioration of her feeling toward him, Rannulf lingered in the bailey and court as long as possible. He saw to the disposition of the horses, visited his kennels and mews, and then, realizing that he was acting out of pure cowardice, made for the external wooden stairway that led into the great hall.
There he found Warwick already disarmed and ensconced in a chair by the hearth. Lady Warwick was in earnest conversation with his wife, but Catherine excused herself as soon as she saw him and came across to drop a deep curtsey and offer her hand. She was pale, far paler than she should be, and her icy hand trembled in his. If Rannulf had been younger, if he had had a less unhappy relationship with his previous wife, if he had not been buckled and armored with pride, he would have burst into tears. As it was, his greeting to Catherine was as cold and formal as hers to him.
Across the wide hall, Lady Warwick watched, pursing her lips in thought. She could not hear what Rannulf and Catherine said, for the high-raftered, stone-walled room echoed with the bustle of the servants, nor could she see clearly their expressions in the dim light. There was, however, a stiffness in both bodies, a rigidity in the way their heads were held when their eyes met, which augured ill for a good understanding between them. She had, initially, counted on Catherine's influence with her husband, but in a way this was just as good. So long as the two were not indifferent to each other, she had some material to work on.
At first when Rannulf joined his guests the conversation was devoted to the improvements in Sleaford Castle, Catherine receiving the compliments bestowed upon her with becoming modesty. Rannulf, when applied to for his opinion, resentfully grunted that it was all the same to him, and his wife's face reddened with chagrin. Shortly after, Mary came bearing goblets of wine and plates of sweet cakes. Catherine's soft lips hardened with determination. The ungrateful brute! This was a perfect opportunity to force his hand with regard to his daughter.
"Stay a moment, child," she said softly. "I would like to present my husband's natural daughter, Mary, to you, Lady Warwick. She has been a great comfort to me, and a great help in my labor in Sleaford."
"What a pretty maid. Where have you hidden her all these years, Lord Soke?"
"She has always been in the keep," Rannulf snarled. "Lady Adelecia would take no pains with her, and I know nothing about the raising of daughters. It is one of my wife's virtues," he added caustically, "that she takes to her heart all stray lambs."
"You should be grateful that she cares so well for your children," Lady Warwick countered in a deliberately shocked voice, watching Catherine's color deepen still more.
Rannulf snorted. "Women! Carpets and children is all they can think of. Warwick, I expect that Leicester and Northampton will be here tomorrow. If you and I can settle what we think will be best, we can present a united front to them. Ride out with me where we will be free of this women's foolishness and we can talk at our ease."
The gibe was directed at Lady Warwick, but it was Catherine who rose to her feet. "We are in the way, Lady Warwick," she said in a trembling voice. "Let us withdraw to my solar. I would not have it said of me that I drove my husband from his own home."
"Nonsense, my dear." Warwick laughed. "I have no intention of leaving my wine or my comfortable chair just because Lord Soke has bad manners. I have known him for some thirty years, and have learned to put up with him."
He turned from Catherine to look at Rannulf, still laughing. "If you take Gundreda away, I will merely have to repeat the whole conversation to her to still her nagging, and I have no lust for such dull work. Besides—" he looked back at Catherine "—it is very pleasant to look at your sweet face, and I have no desire to lose that comfort when I am about to embark on what I know will be a very unpleasant discussion."
"Mayhap;" Catherine said bitterly, "my lord does not trust me to hear of these great matters."
Rannulf's face twisted with pain because it was true. Often it flickered across his mind that Catherine's coldness was not owing to Osborn's death but to his refusal to give up active participation in the king's cause. As fast as the flickers of doubt came, he damped them out. Better to blame her for loving Osborn. It was a more curable ill than a love for the rebel cause.
However, he did feel remorse for his sharp remarks about her housewifery. To a certain degree he resented Catherine's care for his home and his children because he felt that she threw her duty in his face, caring for everything of his but himself. And now, when perhaps his long absence had blurred her memory of the past, his foul temper had destroyed all chance of a reconciliation.
Having paused for a moment to give Rannulf a chance to repair his blunder, Warwick shook his head. "Sit down, Lady Soke. I assure you
we shall say nothing that the whole world cannot hear. For myself, Soke, I would offer nothing, and I tell you that plainly, except that I see the necessity of ridding ourselves of Eustace."
"You are right, my lord," Lady Warwick concurred. "He has made himself so odious to the barons that more of them listen daily to Hereford's preachings. If he does not soon go forth from this country, they will turn on Stephen to be rid of his son."
"Now you go too far, Gundreda. Eustace has not behaved well. He has extorted money where he could and, worse, he has meddled with the vassals—I know he approached some of Leicester's men and some of mine too—but it is not senseless greed."
Rannulf's head came up. "What then, Warwick? Why is he changed from a most promising young man into a monster?"
"You do not read men well," the older man replied. "You speak what is in your mind openly for all to hear and you expect that others will do the same."
"Well, and if a man has honest thoughts, what else need he do?"
"There are other things in the world besides one man's honesty of purpose. Eustace might propose to rule the nation honestly, but he cannot well speak of it while Stephen is alive."
"Why should he think of it before his father be dead?" Rannulf's gray eyes were angry and his gesture impatient. "Oh, I read him well enough, but what does he gain? He flaunts his dishonesty in all men's faces and then is angered because they do not believe in him. What would things come to if all men behaved the same? What if my son were to cozen my vassals—no, make the case more like—my wife's vassals because he planned to rule them when I was dead."
Warwick smiled. "You have not reduced your estates to the case that Stephen's are in."
"That is not the point. It is not all Stephen's fault, as you well know."
"It is the point, although I agree that it is not all the king's fault. But Eustace, day by day, sees his patrimony dwindle and itches to manage it better himself. Above that lies the fear that there will be so little power in the king's hands when Stephen dies that it will be too late to hold even the loyal barons together except by force—so he gathers his forces."
"But nonetheless—"
"I do not say I believe this absolutely, Rannulf. This is what Leicester says, and I must admit, he is seldom wrong. Moreover, Eustace's succession is by no means certain. And that brings me to the other side of the case. I do not believe that it is a good thing to molest Henry of Anjou, and Leicester agrees with me in this also. If we leave the Angevin alone, he might be content with what he has already."
"No." Rannulf shook his head impatiently. "That I know from the talk with Hereford. Henry says that England is his by right and he will have it. He is power-mad, and that much even Hereford does not deny, although he overlays the facts with honeyed words of peace."
"Then it is mad to send forth our strength into France." Warwaick snapped. "Better we should keep our men here. I have given my fealty to Stephen, and I have sworn to him, personally, that I will support Eustace to succeed him. I am willing to do my duty to uphold my honor, but I am not clear in my mind what is best to do."
The women had been silently listening, Catherine with such intentness, because she had heard nothing of this before, that her pain and shame receded. Lady Warwick was more interested in her and her husband than in the subject, having known the facts previously. What Rannulf said and how Catherine reacted would determine her approach to the subject later.
"I too have so sworn and mean to keep my oath," Rannulf replied. "It is clear to me, however, that nothing but good can come of giving full support to Eustace in France. It is always possible that he will defeat, or, by God's mercy, destroy Henry. Yes, I know there is another son, but he is younger, of less weight, and has little interest in England. With Henry gone the way would be smooth. Also, while he is attacked in France, Henry cannot come here to trouble us."
"You will hold by Eustace then?" Warwick asked slowly. "I honor you, Soke, but I feel that I must warn you that Eustace appears to have an ineradicable hatred for you. Why it should be so, I cannot tell, for you have ever done well by him and spoken well of him. Still …"
"I know it," Rannulf said shortly, his mouth grim.
Lady Warwick sighed imperceptibly. Her husband had solved one problem for her in presenting Eustace's enmity to Rannulf and therefore, probably to Rannulf's heirs, to Catherine's mind. Rannulf's acknowledgment of the enmity had put the seal of truth on Warwick's statement. All that was necessary now was to show the young woman, who was obviously totally ignorant on political matters, that her husband's position was disastrous to himself and his children.
For many years the Warwicks had been staunch supporters of Stephen of Blois, the earl by virtue of his hatred for Matilda the empress and his personal loyalty to the king, the countess because she believed her good, her children's good, and her husband's good was best served by attachment to the throne. Her conviction had been somewhat shaken by Henry's behavior and victories during the campaign of 1149 and she had watched the developments and the shifting climate of the court with keen eyes since then.
Now Gundreda sensed unerringly the inevitable turn of the tide in favor of Henry of Anjou. Stephen was growing old; his charm and his good nature palled. Maud was weary; her eyes were still inscrutable, but more and more often there was exhaustion and despair behind them instead of plans and expedients. Eustace was no longer a bright hope against the harsh rule of another despot; to some he was merely greedy and unscrupulous, to others merely a less-appealing despot. Most important of all, however, the barons were glutted with lawlessness. More and more they desired a king to whom they could bring their wrongs, whom they could call upon to defend their rights, who could do more than "pray" a powerful neighbor to desist from molesting them.
There was no sense in wasting time and energy in arguing with her husband—so much Lady Warwick clearly understood. When Henry came again, as she expected he would, Gundreda of Warwick planned to yield her husband's property to Henry for the assurance that her children would inherit the estates and earldom of Warwick unmolested.
Her intentions in bringing Catherine around to her way of thinking were simple. If sufficient strength were mustered to the Angevin party, her husband and the few other major nobles who were faithful to Stephen, like Rannulf, might be brought to yield peacefully. A man could do very little if his estates were already in enemy hands. Furthermore, Gundreda had a genuine liking for Catherine while she disliked Rannulf. It seemed only right to show the young woman a way to protect herself from the catastrophe her husband was about to bring upon her by the stubbornness and folly he named honor.
CHAPTER 7
From a discussion of political generalities, which Catherine had found very interesting, Lord Soke and Lord Warwick drifted to particulars of men and arms, a subject she did not find nearly as fascinating. Lady Warwick, too, was indifferent to this aspect of the conversation at the present time. It did not really matter to her whether her lord furnished half- or full-strength forces for Eustace. She had no quarrel with fulfilling her obligations to Stephen as long as he remained king, all she wanted was assurance that Warwick would remain in the hands of her family with its full power no matter who was king. Therefore, when Catherine murmured an excuse and rose to see about some household chores, Lady Warwick followed her.
By the evening of that day, in bits and pieces, but nonetheless clearly, Catherine was presented with the history of the past seventeen years. She learned of the oath of fealty which Henry I, often called Beauclerc, had forced from his barons, making them accept his daughter, Empress Matilda, as queen after his death. She learned of the repudiation of that oath by the majority of the English nobility and the seating of Stephen of Blois on the throne.
Once more the nobles swore, and once more there were repudiations, but this time England was torn apart by civil war. Sometimes the war had raged in bloody battles, which had encompassed nearly the whole country; sometimes the fighting was localized while the true war was waged
subtly at court.
In 1141, the Empress' forces had been so successful as to mount her on the throne. There her behavior was such that by 1142 she was in sore straits, only the western lords still faithful and the rest of England gladly swearing loyalty to Stephen again. By 1147 Matilda was convinced that she could make no headway, and she had retired to Anjou. In her stead had come her young son, but his mother's image was too clear in men's minds, and he, too, had retreated to France a few months later.
The battle that defeated the young Henry in 1147 had been waged at court, but when he returned in 1149 with the fiery earl of Hereford leading his armies, the fields and streams had run red with blood again.
That time there had been setbacks in his campaign, but no defeat. Actually, he had been dangerously close to success when, for no known reason, he had suddenly returned to France. The rest of the story, Lady Warwick said, was very recent history, and Catherine had doubtless heard of Henry's acquisition of Normandy, Anjou, Aquitaine, and Poitou, an acquisition that made him richer and more powerful than the king of France. With that power behind him, it was scarcely likely that the battle-weary nobles of England would care to contest his right to the throne when he came to claim it for the third time.
"Will you see your vassals ruined, their estates sequestered because your husband stubbornly follows a lost cause—and the lost cause of a man who hates him and would destroy him even if he did gain power? Your men even favor Henry, as did your father. Why should they and you be punished?"
"You are so sure the cause is lost and that Eustace could not be reconciled?"
"Believe me. I have spent my life in the court and I can sense the temper of the lords. You do not need to believe me. Listen closely to what your lord and mine say and you will hear the tolling of the mourning bells in their voices. They know too, but their honor—a pox take all men of honor for the grief they bring to all about them—will not permit them to yield. Oh, the fall may be delayed a few months or even a few years, but in the end it will be the same."
The Sword and The Swan Page 13
