Instead of pursuit, hoping to catch the king and defeat him in one large battle, they could try dividing part of their forces into smaller parties that would be stationed in any unravaged areas sure to draw Stephen sooner or later. But not stationed in the keeps, Hereford thought. The uselessness of that method had been proved by the scorching of the area around Devizes. The men would have to make do in the villages, in the very huts of the serfs themselves, for to set up camps would be to display their presence and numbers openly.
The danger to the troops would be, of course, far greater, since they would have neither the stone walls nor the supplies and armaments of a castle to support them, but that knowledge should make them watch all the more keenly. Furthermore, even if one group was destroyed, the loss would not be serious because the groups would be small. Slowly the idea evolved even further. He and Henry could wait with a reasonably large force in some central place and each fighting group could be supplied with several couriers on fast horses. Perhaps thus, if fighting with the small force delayed Stephen, who would think he could hurt his enemies without danger to himself, they could reach him in time to inflict a punishing defeat upon him. Perhaps not, but at least there would be someone other than the defenseless serfs to protect what crops and land remained to them.
Hereford went to get his long unused charts and, stimulated by the first ray of hope he had seen in weeks, settled down to study them in spite of the late hour and his fatigue. Almost as if his personal feelings had some incalculable effect on external events, matters began to mend for Roger and his overlord. The day after his decision was made, Walter, whom he had not been able to contact for two weeks, turned up at Devizes, bloody, disheveled, with one third of his men dead or incapacitated, but with the heartening report that he had met Stephen's forces by accident moving southwest again and had trounced them soundly.
"Their losses were at least double mine," he reported, his dark eyes flashing with pride, "and I swear we would have taken the king himself except that darkness came and they slipped away to one of Henry de Tracy's keeps. Tired and wounded as we were, I dared not follow lest they send out a fresh force from the castle against us."
"God bless you, Walter, you are like a bright fire on a dark winter's night. We have not had such heart-warming news from anyone. Come and have your hurts dressed before you fall into a fever from them."
"You are like an old woman, Roger. I am barely scratched." Walter laughed. "It would be better for us to make haste back to where I left Stephen. My men are weary, but yours are fresh. Come, I am not so worn. I will make shift to show you the way."
Hereford hesitated, partly because he was truly concerned for his brother's welfare and partly because he wanted time to set his own plan into operation. Finally he glanced at Henry, and his overlord nodded eagerly.
"Even if he is already gone, Roger, it will do my heart good to see his men's crops burn for once, and there is always the chance that he will think himself safe and stay to rest. Can we take the keep, think you, Walter?"
"I could not see. It was full dark and I had no lust to come too close. Whatever else he is, Stephen of Blois is a brave man and a fine fighter. Had he not been so firm in leading his men and rallying them, we would have received less hurt and, mayhap, finished them. I do not know that keep, but such things always depend upon how much time you can spend and how many men you can afford to lose."
Henry looked approving. This was his first personal contact with Walter of Hereford, and the young man was certainly showing himself in his best light. From Henry's point of view Walter had advantages over Roger. He did not seem nearly so squeamish or concerned with fine points of honor. Hereford glowed with an inner pride that was very like a father's when his little son shows off successfully for company. Nonetheless, he shepherded Walter away firmly, ignoring his protests. The less chance Walter had of exposing his less endearing characteristics to Henry, the better Hereford would like it.
"Yes, yes," he said, his face breaking into an unaccustomed smile, "I know I am an old woman and anything else you wish to call me, but I will see your wounds washed and salved and see you laid down upon a bed for a few hours' rest while we make ready." Hereford laughed aloud as Walter expressed himself freely about what he called Roger's mother-hen attitude.
"I am no infant that you need lead me away as if to change my wetted hose. In any case, you are a fine one to talk about my needed rest. Have you looked at yourself recently? If Beauchamp had not pointed you out, I would have passed you by. You look like one of my filthier, less reputable mercenaries. Have you given up bathing and changing your clothes? A man could smell you above a pigsty."
"Ay," Hereford replied with half-serious humor, watching Walter's squire and some of the castle women undressing and washing him, "I am mortifying my flesh like some saints in the hope that it will placate the Lord and make him look more kindly upon us. Have you received my messages, Walter?"
"Oh, yes. I was too busy to reply. You know how I love to write."
"Then you know how matters have gone. I was not jesting when I said you brought us the first light we have seen in this darkness for long and long."
Walter looked consideringly at his brother and dismissed his man and the servants with a gesture as he went to lie down. His face was perfectly expressionless as he got into the bed and drew a light coverlet over himself. "If you regret your choice, there is still time to change," he said in a voice too low to carry more than a few feet.
Dumbly Hereford shook his head, then with a quick movement seated himself on the edge of the bed beside Walter. "Nay, good or ill, life or death, I am Henry's man—so I swore and so I will abide." There was a long pause that Walter made no effort to ease. After a while with a slow gesture of infinite tenderness, Roger of Hereford touched his brother's face. "You have sworn nothing, however. My brother, you do not believe me, or do not wish to believe me, but you are very dear to my heart. For all my rage at times, I have never ceased for a moment to love you. I wish you were well out of this. I wish I had never dragged you into my affairs. I curse the weakness that made me lean upon you in the bitterness of the hour in which I lost Alan."
For once Walter did not jerk away from Hereford's caress, but he made no reply that could help his brother. Out of Hereford's influence, he had done good work for Henry's cause solely because he enjoyed what he was doing, unmoved by the promise of reward and title of which Roger had written. Walter coveted only one title in the land—that of the Earl of Hereford—and if he had allowed himself to think of reward and titles at all, he would probably have turned against Hereford. Face to face with the brother whom he adored and hated, he fell prey once more to the tearing love-hate dichotomy and was paralyzed by his emotions. He would do nothing to help Roger out of the dilemma he was obviously struggling with, but he could not just now bring himself to reject the tenderness of the worn wraith of a man sitting beside him.
It was Roger who broke the silence again. "I would like to release you from the promise you made to me, Walter. If you wish to go, I will find some excuse." Roger's voice trembled a little, and he paused to steady it. "Wait until we see what the outcome of this action will be. If we take Stephen, of course, there will be no need for you to withdraw, but if we are beaten … Whatever comes to me, I would have you safe."
"Salving your conscience, Roger?" Walter laughed, but in a strained uncomfortable way. "With all your fine talk, you are a selfish brute at best. Do you care what I think and feel? Not a whit. You drag me in and push me out only according to your own need or to ease your own heart. Do you remember our compact? I was to serve you until you had a man to replace me or until I wished to break free. Well, you have no man yet and I am not ready. When I wish to go, I will send you word."
Seizing his brother, who was at a considerable physical disadvantage lying down, Hereford kissed him soundly in spite of his struggles, cheeks, forehead, and lips. "You have the foulest tongue in offering a kindness I have ever known in a man, Wal
ter. No doubt you would have to kill me before you could bring yourself to admit you love me." Hereford did not notice Walter's start and naked, if momentary, expression of fear because he was getting up to leave. He would never know how close to the truth his joke was. The only time Walter would love his brother without any other twinge of emotion was when Roger was dead.
"Go to sleep," Hereford said, briefly turning back to tousle Walter's hair and kiss him again. "I will wake you just before we are ready to move."
The relief that Walter's renewed pledge gave Hereford did not put his mind at peace for any length of time. He was in earnest about freeing Walter from partisanship in the civil war and was very ready to admit that his motives were not solely altruistic or dictated by affection. A good part of his concern was for the safety of his lands and title, which might fall forfeit to the king if there was no strong man to defend them and he died a rebel. His youngest brother was still a child, and Chester could not be trusted to extend himself fully for something that was not his. If Walter became the Earl of Hereford, however, Roger was sure no one would wrest a jot or tittle of land from him. The talk they had, moreover, had set his mind working upon another personal problem. It would not be easy for Walter to find a suitable husband for Catherine when this mess was over if they lost. Of course, if he contracted her to one of his partisans, which was all he could do just now, she too might be ruined.
Hereford broached the subject to his brother as they rode southward. "Catherine is your favorite, Walter, and I have long meant to ask you what you think I should do regarding her marriage."
"She is just turned fourteen, you have time sufficient to consider where to bestow her. Why ask me, anyhow? You asked me nothing about Anne's marriage."
"You are older now, for one thing, and particularly tender of Catherine for another. Moreover …" Hereford hesitated, trying to choose words, and then plunged ahead without any effort to gild his bald statement. "Moreover, the fulfillment of the contract will be your burden if this matter ends ill for me, and I know you well enough to understand that you would care little enough for the contract if the man did not suit you."
"You always think so well of me!"
"I have been wrong before. Belike I am wrong now, but you asked and I have answered. Instead of quarreling with me, Walter, consider what I have said."
"There is not much to consider, all in all. There are few enough houses equal to ours in this country, so unless you wish to send her into France—" Walter sucked his teeth and shifted a trifle in the saddle to ease his aching body. "Nay," he went on after a few minutes' silence, "the best we may do here is Patric FitzGilbert, John's eldest son. The others are second sons, which Catherine could not abide, or Gloucester's boy—faugh! She could not abide that for other reasons."
"Your thought falls in just with mine, and from what I can learn through Elizabeth, Catherine has a lust to an established warrior. I did think that possibly a still older man—"
"Yes, but that would of necessity be a widower, and I can think of none of suitable rank who does not have sons. Do you suppose Catherine could bear her children to be younger sons?"
"I had not thought of that. Well, what do you think, then, should I approach FitzGilbert with a definite proposal? I have sounded him out already, and the boy is free and he himself willing."
"If you are set upon contracting her now, I cannot see what else you can do."
Hereford hesitated again, wondering how to introduce the secondary object of this discussion and again decided that he would gain nothing by elaborate words. Walter had a habit of reducing everything to the plainest and most unflattering terms no matter how one tried to coat a bitter pill with honey.
"There is one more advantage in contracting her to Patric now. Under those conditions I believe his father would yield him to me. I like him and I believe he returns my regard. I could use him—"
"To take my place," Walter interrupted. "God, you are a singleminded bastard, Roger. I would love to know why you are so anxious to be rid of me. Are my successes putting your light into the shade, brother dear?"
Shaking his head disgustedly, Hereford made no attempt to deny the allegation. It was useless to argue with Walter when he was in this mood. "If that is what you wish to believe, believe it. Have I ever given you reason to doubt my good will towards you? Nay, do not answer. We will but go round and round as always. Whatever I decide to do about Patric, do you agree that he will be suitable for Catherine?"
"Does it matter?"
"I told you yes," Hereford replied sharply, barely controlling his temper. "I am not given to asking advice when I do not wish for an answer. Will you ignore Catherine's welfare just to anger me?"
"From all I know of him, he is suitable." Walter answered sullenly. "How can I know what sort of husband he will make? Have I ever been married to him?"
"Bah!" was all Hereford could bring himself to reply to that, and he set spurs to his horse to ride back along the line of armed men. Possibly if he had not been in such a debilitated state he would have found Walter's contrariness funny, he often had in the past, but he was too tired and worried now to laugh at even a mild problem.
The keep at Bruton, to which Walter led them, had been razed after the battle of Castle Cary, but Gloucester's disinclination to fight and Henry de Tracy's passionate partisanship for Stephen had allowed de Tracy to rebuild it. Scarcely three miles from Cary, a far larger stronghold, Bruton had been left in peace because it did not seem to pose a threat to anything important, and Hereford judged that it could be reduced by the Cary garrison at will when that became necessary.
His judgment as to the weakness of Bruton was correct, it was apparent when they arrived in the early evening. The keep was taken in a short encounter that cost them little. The bird they sought was flown, of course, or the conflict would have been neither so short nor so easy. In fact it was because Stephen had taken a large part of the able-bodied garrison with him to fill his depleted ranks that made Bruton so specially vulnerable. However, even this minor success was important as a morale builder, and a number of valuable prisoners, wounded and left behind, were taken. Their ransoms would be useful to Henry's treasury, and some of them, resentful at being abandoned, responded very well to Henry's disarming manner, genuine kindness, and charming ways.
As Stephen was temporarily quiet, probably reorganizing his somewhat shattered forces, they remained at Bruton, Hereford setting up his new plan of action, Walter recovering from his wounds which were superficial but many, and Henry charming his new converts.
While the south rested, the north began to boil over anew, for Elizabeth too had received a letter from Anne, who was still convinced that she could make Hereford do anything. Elizabeth did not need her husband's instructions to grasp the advantages of embroiling her father in Lincoln's quarrel, although she did not realize that such action might bring Stephen north again. As matters stood, she could see little danger to Chester's welfare if he went to help his half brother. It seemed a private matter, and it would give him something to do that would effectively prevent him from worrying about his future.
Elizabeth had not been feeling well, suffering the malaise and depression common to early pregnancy, and, although she had not confessed the cause of her illness, she had been taking full advantage of it as a means to occupy her doting parent's mind. When she received Anne's letter, Chester was sitting beside her in the garden playing chess to divert her, and he watched her eyes fill with tears with deep concern.
"My child, do not weep. Have you bad news about Roger?"
"No," Elizabeth replied rather faintly. The tears had been of empathy and self-pity, for Anne's case and her own were vaguely similar, but Chester's tenderness sent her mind into action. He was malleable now; what she asked he would very likely perform. "The letter is from Roger's sister Anne," she added slowly, seeking the best way of using her information. "She has deep trouble, but it is not that which makes me sad. You know, Papa, when I was taken at Not
tingham, your brother helped Roger to free me, and—"
"Now, now, Liza dear, it is not good to think of unpleasant things when you are ill."
"I cannot help it, Papa, for the very man that nearly killed Roger and who Roger gave as a prisoner to Uncle William has by some great treachery turned many keeps and the city of Lincoln itself against him. Indeed, I would do as Anne asks and write to Roger to ask that he help Uncle William, but he is so pressed, and things do not go well for him—" Elizabeth had no need to pretend a trembling voice, for she really was frightened by the bad news she had been receiving from her husband.
Chester patted his daughter's hand soothingly. "This must be some disordered freak of your sister-by-law's, I cannot believe that William could be so taken in nor that he would not appeal to me for support. Perhaps we do not always agree upon everything, but the blood of my father runs in his veins and I should surely support him against the revolt of a servant or vassal."
"I hope you are right, Papa," Elizabeth sighed. She had what she wanted without asking, it seemed, for Chester was already willing to help Lincoln if asked.
That afternoon put the point to the proof, since a letter from Lincoln with just such a request did arrive. Elizabeth's preliminary work was not wasted, however, because her father, as usual, began to hesitate, and she had to remind him tactfully of their earlier conversation.
Knight's Honor Page 38
