Hereford looked toward the giant of a man who had paused to speak before he limped forward painfully again. The dark eyes smiled under lids heavy now with sensuality and the lips were softer than Hereford remembered them, the whole face smooth with satiety. Only the limp and the two scars, one carving a cheek from brow to lip, the other a deep groove across the forehead, were completely the same. Even Lord Radnor's manner of dressing had changed. The old homespun gown that Hereford remembered so well had been replaced by a magnificent crimson velvet affair, embroidered and bejeweled. Hereford was hurt with the sense of loss that any change, even for the better, in a dear, familiar object brings.
"For God's sake, do you do nothing but lie with that woman day and night?"
Lord Radnor stopped again and opened his eyes wide, too lulled with his physical satisfaction to take offense. "Ah, Roger, but I am newly returned to a pleasure ever new." He came forward again as quickly as he could and enveloped the slighter man in a bear hug which would have crushed Hereford's ribs had they been crushable. "Why missay me when you have laid plans to furnish yourself with the same provisions? Never mind, Roger, you may be as cross as you like after a ride like that. I love you in spite of yourself."
"Curse you," Hereford replied, laughing, "you have broken every bone in my body. How many times do I have to tell you that you are too big for playful affection."
"Ay, I see I have damaged your fair frailty. By my faith, Roger, you are beautiful. I forget every time until I see you again. Mayhap I should tell Leah to stay above. The shock of a face like yours after close contact with mine might be too much for her."
Hereford blushed faintly. He was accustomed to compliments from women, and men like Gloucester, but when they came from Radnor he was slightly embarrassed. "Still trying to veil your wife, I see. You have not changed a mil's worth for all your grand looks nor for living in this grand manner."
"That is Leah's work. It matters little enough to me how I look or live. It is good to see you again, Roger. I have missed you. Life has been so dull since I have not had to pull you out of scrapes that I have been reduced to chasing the Norse up in Scotland." Beaufort had quietly effaced himself and Lord Radnor took the vacated chair. "Setting our jests aside, however, my father tells me that you have accepted Gloucester's proposal."
"Yes."
Radnor lifted his head and frowned slightly. "What is it, Roger? You sound—not cold and tired—as if you were not satisfied or happy."
"I do not know," Hereford said, turning away. "I do not know. I only know my heart is as cold and heavy in my breast as a lump of iron."
"Why? I thought to see you bursting with excitement and enthusiasm. If you have no lust for this task, I am sorry. It was I who proposed your right to it above all others. I did not mean to do you an ill turn, Roger. I thought I was urging what you yourself would desire."
"You were right. When your father first mentioned the matter I was—I was beside myself with joy, but as I thought of it …"
"What mislikes you in it? Nothing is settled yet. Indeed, that is why my father asked you to come, so that we might set our minds to work together. If there is something you wish amended, speak out."
"I have done nothing but think of it. A hundred times, a thousand, I have gone over and over the plan of action I will propose. Nothing is wrong. To me it seems that it cannot fail if we all do our parts, yet …"
Radnor studied his friend with knitted brows, his large hands, their even brown marred by the white scars of many battles, picking restlessly at the jewels of his robe. "Could it be other matters, Roger?" he asked a little hesitantly, "Elizabeth—"
"Why does everyone pick on Elizabeth? May I not be distressed for any other cause?" Hereford burst out furiously. "Is your woman alone perfect?"
"Gently, gently. I like Elizabeth Chester well, and you know it. I do not do her injustice because she would not suit me. Every man desires a different kind of woman. I only seek to know why you are uneasy."
"If I could put my hand on the hurt, I could salve it myself." Hereford was on his feet, so tormented with frustration at this inexplicable and totally new sense of futility that he could have screamed. "I tell you, I do not know. I only know that all will come to naught. Men will die and crops will burn and keeps will fall, and all for nothing—nothing."
Lord Radnor's face had been darkening steadily, not with contempt or rage but as if a feeling he had long suppressed was gaining ground. He said nothing, but his hand went up to finger the scar by his mouth. Hereford, breathing as if he had been running, played nervously with the bright threads of the material on the embroidery frame.
"Don't mess Leah's work, Roger," Radnor said absently, his mind plainly elsewhere, and then as Hereford took no notice he spoke urgently. "You have sworn no oath to do this thing. Do not. Tell my father you want none of it. Marry Elizabeth and sit on you lands and breed children. Do not drive yourself to what you have no stomach for."
Hereford dropped the yarn which he had now tangled hopelessly and turned slowly. "Are you making a jest of me?"
"You know I am not. I should have kept my tongue between my teeth. Half I believed you would welcome the chance, it is true, but half I urged you upon the others for selfish reasons. Among them, they were driving me mad, all of the pressing me to undertake what I have passed on to you. They would not believe, even my own father who taught me this very thing, that since I have done homage to Stephen I would not break that oath and carry arms against him. Also—" Radnor shut his mouth suddenly and set his jaw.
"So you feel it too," Hereford said softly. "What is it? In the name of the Merciful Mother of Christ, tell me, what is it?"
Radnor shook his head and looked down at his hands. "It is different for every man. Even if I could tell you what specters I fear, it is not needful that yours be the same. You must seek out your own back places and cast light into them."
Distracted momentarily from his own problems, Hereford looked with undisguised surprise at his friend. "Are you afraid of things too, Cain? I never believed you to fear anything on earth or in heaven. I have known you so many years; I have never heard you speak of fear before or seen you look afraid."
"It is not something one speaks of ordinarily." He smiled sadly. "There are few men to whom one can speak of such things at all. They think you soft or a coward or a fool."
"Is it not so?"
"Is it? Am I a coward or a fool? A little soft I am, perhaps, but I cannot think that so great a fault. And you—do not eat me, Roger, but you are one of the most fearful men I ever knew."
Hereford paled and put out a hand as if to stop the older man, then let it drop. "How have I given myself away? Nay, do not answer, I do not wish to hear. You are not any of those things and I do not believe you. You speak only to comfort me. You were ever one to see what is in men's hearts and ever kind to me." He paused and added bitterly, "Of what are you afraid? You cannot even think of a thing to fear, so you name nothing. These are but words."
"I am afraid of everything," Radnor replied, his mouth suddenly gone hard and ugly as Hereford remembered it in the past. "My father is old, soon he will die and I will be left to decide what is best for my people. I am afraid of that burden. I am afraid to die myself, leaving him so old, my son so young, and my wife so rich. Ay, look away. A man's insides are not a pretty sight, but you asked to hear and hear you will. I am even afraid of the pain of wounds. I can bear it with patience from long schooling, but if you think I am not afraid—and that every man is not afraid, just as you are—you are the fool, not I. I will tell you something more, Hereford, that will make you look aghast. I am even afraid to lie with my wife. Oh, I cannot help it, a fire of desire for her rages so in my blood—" The dark eyes showed red and angry. "But even that pleasure is spoiled by fear. I am so afraid that she will begin to breed again that I am sick with it. Have you ever seen a woman in childbirth, Hereford? A woman—that is a jest, she was but a child herself. They made me hold her. It is more than a yea
r past and I still—" He rose so suddenly that he overturned the chair and made for the doorway that led out on the battlements.
"Let me go," he cried as Hereford started to follow. "I have ripped myself open for love of you. I can bear no more."
The Earl of Hereford rolled his wine goblet between his hands and looked sidelong at Lord Radnor, who was sunk into the chair beside him. The sullen expression on the dark face did not invite conversation, and for the moment Hereford too was satisfied to be silent. He understood well the flash of affection and generosity that could make a man open his heart for another and also the resentment against the object for whom the gesture had been made that followed. They were seated at the table, a regular meal having been served instead of the usual light supper of cold meat or cheese, bread, and wine because Hereford had missed dinner while traveling. Just then he was free of the depression which had plagued him recently because his mind was so filled with the host of new ideas he had received.
The earlier conversation circled round and round in Hereford's mind as he tried to determine whether he was afraid or whether the premonition of disaster was a warning that came from outside himself. Nothing new had been added to his knowledge of the situation because Gaunt had come in tired, eaten, and gone straight off to bed. Radnor, cajoled into eating by his wife after something of the situation had been explained to her by Hereford, had uttered hardly a word beyond monosyllabic replies to his father's questions and now that Lady Leah had left the table seemed to be almost in a stupor. Finally Hereford let the goblet rest.
"Radnor."
"What?"
"I swear it is not that."
"Not what?" the big man asked irritably.
"I am afraid, it is true, but no more than I have been all my life and of no new things. Death, pain—these things, as you say, I, like all men, fear. But so I have always felt and yet I have always been happy, or nearly happy. Why am I so far from happy now?"
"Why ask me? Surely you know best what frets you."
"But I do not know, Radnor, you are always looking at your own guts. Why should a man who has whatever he has desired be so uneasy."
Lord Radnor made a gesture of pushing something away and truly focused his eyes on his companion. He shrugged his heavy shoulders. "Because you are afraid to have that which you have snatched away. That is one reason, but not yours, I think. You do know what frets you, Roger, but you do not wish to acknowledge it."
A spark of anger shaded the color of the blue eyes that fixed the brown ones. "I tell you I have done my best to be honest."
Radnor shrugged again. "You wish me to put it into words? I wished to spare you that. So be it. You are an honorable man. Miles of Gloucester bred you and raised you up, and now your honor is torn two ways. You are pledged to Henry and your heart is with his cause, but you know and I know that Stephen of Blois is king of England, God's anointed king, and it is wrong to wrest the throne from him by force."
"No."
"Yes. If it were God's will, Hereford, that Henry be king now, he would be. Stephen would have yielded the throne for reasons of his own, or the plague would have had him, or—any of a thousand things could happen."
"Then you are advising me to give up and not even try. You are mad. You are as deeply caught in this affair as I, even if you will not sully your honor by bearing arms against your king. You guard the word honor and deny its meaning." Hereford's voice was bitter with chagrin and sarcasm, but Lord Radnor did not react to the tone and regarded the excited young man with no change in his thoughtful expression.
"Certainly I am involved in this, and more certainly I do not advise you to give it up. You are ever hasty, Roger. Would I have urged my father and the others to offer you what I felt to be wrong and hopeless? You have known me so long, is that my way with those I love? I am only telling you what I believe to be the cause of your distress."
"You are talking around me in circles again, Radnor. You say you are my friend, do not do it. Speak simple words with plain meanings."
"Look you, Hereford, man is only mortal and does not understand the workings of the Infinite Wisdom. All we can do is what our hearts and minds tell us is right and just. That is what I meant when I said earlier that you should not do this thing if you have no stomach for it. On the other hand, if you think what you attempt is for the best … How do you know you are not God's instrument to bring about Henry's succession?"
The seriousness of the discussion could not prevent Hereford's easily tickled risibility from awakening. "God's instrument, eh? Satan's infernal weapon is more like. Do you know the count of my sins?"
"No, surely from your looks you must be the angel and I—seducing you to evil—the devil. Look at my face and my hoof:' Radnor touched Hereford with his clubfoot and laughed. "But this is no matter for jest. From what I can see and what you say also, you have doubts of the right of this action. I think that is only the result of your training and breeding. We are taught from the cradle that our duty is to our overlord. Stephen, as King of England, is your overlord even if you did not give him your personal fealty. It seems to me that it is the contest between what you truly feel to be right and your lifelong training that burdens you. More I cannot say. If I am wrong," Radnor turned a palm up in a gesture of resignation, "then I am wrong because I have misread you or put into your heart what is in mine."
Hereford made no reply at all. Vaguely he heard, as if in echo, his own conversation that first day with Elizabeth, heard himself saying that Stephen was King of England and that he should be fighting for the king instead of rebelling against him. He watched Radnor playing with the scars on his face with mild irritation and then smiled, thinking of how often Elizabeth had told him that the gesture gave him away, and stopped pulling his ear. Well, he should be fighting for the king and would be if Henry were the king. Around and around. He yawned and stretched.
"Ay," Radnor commented, "we should stop talking and get to our beds. You are blue beneath the eyes with too much thinking. Sleep on it, Hereford, remembering that there is yet time to move either way without shame. But for God's sake, if you decide to go ahead, do so with a firm heart and a sure mind. For you to be unsure in this matter will be a worse disaster than abandoning the entire affair or trying to accomplish our purpose without the strength of Gloucester's army behind us."
Yawning again, Hereford shook his head. "I wonder if I will ever sleep again. These nights I feel as if I would drop, and when I lie down I am full awake again." He laughed as Radnor looked questioningly at him with the same glance upward to the women's quarters that Beaufort had used. "No, thank you. I took a wench at the keep we stopped at last night and that did not help either—much. When my mind lies quiet, my body will lie quiet also."
"Yes, that and … You were never one for planning and scheming. When you come to the fighting you will rest easier, if you have time to rest at all." Radnor clapped Hereford hearteningly on the shoulder. "It is dirty work, Roger, treason. Ay, that is what it is, call it by its name. And you do not like to be splattered." He laughed. "When you are as drowned in the mud as I am, you will find it easier."
CHAPTER 4
"I CANNOT SEE," ROGER OF HEREFORD WAS SAYING IN THE DARK JUST before dawn, "that we can make it more certain than that until we have Norfolk and Arundel with us to hear whether they are willing or not."
He was fully armed and ready to travel as soon as it was light enough to leave. A week of intensive and detailed planning at Painscastle had not improved his appearance or temper although his depression had lifted somewhat because his mind was so filled with the incidentals of war that he had no time to worry about whether he was happy or not.
"Norfolk may be depended upon. He agreed to help in whatever way was most fitting so long as he might remain near his own lands and I believe he will do it. Arundel is less to be trusted, I fear, in the fighting, but what we ask of him is little enough and I hope he will not fail. Indeed," Lord Radnor added smiling grimly, "I know he will not because I
plan to be with him at the time he goes to meet Henry. All he needs to be trusted with is getting Henry to Devizes, because I think it possible that it will be needful for me to go to London to see what Maud is doing at that time."
"Yes, yes. We have been over this and over it. Of more significance to me is the garnishing of the strongholds on Gloucester's land. If you will use what money you promised me for that and see to it that it is done properly, that will take a great weight from my shoulders and allow me to concentrate on the moving troops which I fear are in sad condition."
"You may trust me for that. It is perfectly proper in me, after all, to help my foster brother in such matters. Maud will know something is afoot, but it could not be long hidden from her anyway, and it will draw her attention in the right direction. Roger, give some more thought to the barons who are sworn to Gloucester. Can you bind them to you in some firm manner?"
"In two months? If Gloucester continues to insist that he will not appear as an active partisan, what can I do? Idiot that I am, I did not foresee that part of the problem when I agreed that he should allow me the men and money pretending that he had dismissed the mercenary troops and I had gathered them in. No, it was not idiocy," Hereford said, smiling like a naughty child in spite of his worn looks, in reply toRadnor's raised brows, "it was pride. I did not wish that he should have the glory for the blood I spilled." His expression sobered. "But this is more important than my pride. We can make do without them, if Gloucester bids them offer us no resistance—which he has already promised—but they would be a welcome help. I have already decided that I will speak to him at the wedding and see if I cannot induce him to leave the court and join us as the nominal head of the forces."
"Ay, if you do all the work and allow him to sit safe in some keep he may agree, but not at first. He will want to see some hope of success before he commits himself."
"You are right, no doubt, but that will be soon enough. Until Henry and I return from Scotland and the heavy action begins, I have more than sufficient forces for my needs. Look, there is the first light. It seems scarcely worthwhile to say farewell, for you will be after me in a week's time. You will bring Lady Leah with you, I hope—and the boy too if she will not be parted from him—Elizabeth asked specially that she come if possible."
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