When Christ and His Saints Slept

10

Sussex, England

September 1139

Stephen had been blessed with more than his share of good fortune; he’d been given health and high birth and a handsome face, and he’d made the most of his advantages. His life, like his marriage, had been a remarkably happy one. It baffled him, therefore, that his luck could have soured so suddenly, that his kingship should be sore beset by turmoil and treachery. He wanted only to be a good king, but his Eden was full of snakes. He could no longer trust, he who’d once trusted as easily as he breathed. The approval he craved-and had always gotten-now eluded him. He knew that he’d been judged and found wanting, and the unfairness of that judgment was a constant goad. The road to the crown had been so easy to travel; how had it ever become so mud-mired and twisting? It was almost as if the Almighty were no longer pleased with His servant Stephen.

He sensed the danger in such doubts, shared them with no others, not even his wife or his confessor. He could not let himself believe that he’d lost God’s Favor. If he was being tested, he would prove himself worthy.

But why were his victories so fleeting? Waleran’s scheme to cripple the Bishop of Salisbury’s power had gone as planned. Yet he’d had little time to savor their success. In August, he’d been summoned to Winchester, compelled to defend himself before a Church Council convened by his vengeful brother. His advocates had been able to blunt the thrust of the bishop’s charges, and no verdict had been returned, to the bishop’s obvious surprise. But he had a surprise of his own for Stephen: since March, he’d been in possession of a papal bull, one naming him as England’s new papal legate.

And so another triumph had turned to ashes in Stephen’s mouth, for his frayed relationship with the Church would continue to unravel; Henry would see to that. But he did the best he could, sought to reassure the Church that he did, indeed, respect Church prerogatives. He even managed to cobble together a patchwork peace with his brother, at least on the surface.

Before he could catch his breath, though, the next crisis was upon him. Baldwin de Redvers had fled to Normandy after the fall of Exeter Castle. In September he came back, landed without warning at Wareham, and seized Corfe Castle. Stephen reacted with his usual verve, hastening to lay siege to Corfe. And while Baldwin de Redvers lured him west, Maude and Robert made ready to sail for the southeast coast of England.

They left Barfleur at dusk, for a night crossing allowed the helmsman to steer by the polestar and then to approach England’s shores by daylight. This helmsman’s task was a challenging one; once land was in sight, he had to hug the coast and sail into the sunrise, aiming for a stretch of beach marked only by memory. To his passengers, it seemed truly miraculous when he steered their ships into a sheltered Sussex cove, as unerringly as if he were coming home.

There were no quays for disembarking, but their ships were flat-bottomed vessels, built-like their Viking prototypes-for beaching. After waiting so long, Maude was of no mind to wait any longer, but Robert’s innate caution won out over her eagerness, and he had no intention of venturing ashore until he was assured of his sister’s safety. At his command, their small fleet anchored in the cove, a dinghy was lowered into the water, and its crew began to row toward the beach.

It was a harvest sky, a cloudless, crystalline blue, but the wind held a wintry tang and a thief’s touch, robbing them of the warmth they had the right to expect from a September sun. It carried off Maude’s veil as she leaned over the gunwale, but she did not appear to notice, her eyes never straying from the English shoreline. Ranulf was not surprised when Minna soon emerged from their canvas tent, another veil in hand. She was ashen, for she’d been seasick for much of the voyage, but she resolutely lurched toward the prow of the ship, determined to see her lady well coiffed or die in the attempt. Ranulf thought they made an odd pair, the elegant empress and the stout German widow. He could not see why Maude had chosen the stolid, taciturn Minna as a companion, and if there was a fondness between them, it was unspoken, not overt. But Minna had been there when Maude buried her first husband, when she was compelled to wed Geoffrey of Anjou, when she nearly died in childbed, and God Willing, she would be there when the Archbishop of Canterbury placed Stephen’s stolen crown upon Maude’s head.

Amabel’s ladies had followed Minna from the tent, and much to Ranulf’s amusement, began to express their dismay at the lack of quays or wharves. He laughed outright when Amabel lost patience with Agnes’s whining and threatened to let her swim ashore, but when the women turned to glare at him, he prudently withdrew, joining Maude and Robert at the ship’s prow. “Am I the only one,” he wondered aloud, “who cannot sail from Barfleur without thinking of the White Ship?”

“I expect we all do,” Maude said, and then, “What is taking so long? They ought to have been back by now!”

“Arundel is three or four miles distant from the sea,” Robert pointed out calmly. “They’ll be here soon.”

Maude continued to fret, infecting Ranulf and Rainald with her sense of urgency. But Robert was right; it was not long before one of their scouts rode into view, well mounted upon a horse from Arundel’s stables. Reining in at the water’s edge, he cupped his hands, and his triumphant shout came echoing across the waves like a clarion call to battle. “All is well, my lady! Come ashore and claim your crown!”

Robert sent the women ashore in the dinghy, for they could not be expected to hike up their skirts and splash through the shallows like men. They were preparing to beach their ships so the horses could be unloaded when their escort arrived from Arundel Castle.

William d’Aubigny was in the lead, and Adeliza rode proudly at his side, mounted on a snow-white mule. The Fair Maid of Brabant was now in her late thirties, although she looked years younger, a German Lorelei, who instinctively knew what Maude had never learned-that charm could be a formidable female weapon. Her new husband shared her easygoing nature and carefree approach to life, and it was obvious, even in those first few moments, that Adeliza’s second marriage was far happier than her first. William d’Aubigny shared her coloring, too; they were both flaxen-haired and blue-eyed, vibrant with health and energy. They would, Maude thought, have handsome children. And then, as Adeliza slid from the saddle, Maude stared, for her friend’s mantle had fallen open, revealing a slim waist encircled by a braided belt of scarlet silk.

Adeliza saw her surprise and laughed, stretching out her hands in welcome. “Yes, I have a waistline again…and a robust son asleep in the solar. So you see, Maude, not only can we offer you a safe haven at Arundel, but a new subject, too!”

Arundel castle was situated on a high, narrow ridge overlooking the River Arun. It was strategically significant, commanding the approach between the South Downs and the sea, and a small town had grown up in its protective shadow. On the east and south it was defended by the steep angle of its slopes, on the north and west by deep ditches. Appraising its formidable defenses with a soldier’s eye, Robert was comforted by what he found. Arundel would be a secure haven, just as Adeliza had promised. He could leave his sister and wife here and not fear for their safety.

They had assembled in the lower bailey to bid him Godspeed. His men were already mounted. They’d sailed with one hundred forty knights, but he was taking only twelve with him, leaving the rest to defend Arundel. Having thanked Adeliza and her husband, he kissed Maude’s hand and sought to coax a smile from Ranulf, who was noticeably disgruntled at being left behind. And then Robert turned, walked toward his silent wife.

They had said their private farewells earlier that afternoon. This public leave-taking was restrained, circumspect. But he knew her too well; he could read her fear in the taut set of her shoulders, the uneasy fluttering of her lashes. “Ah, Amabel,” he said softly, “you need not look so bereft. I’ll get to Bristol safe and sound, will rally our men and be back ere you have time to miss me.”

She managed a bright, hollow smile, for she would not send him away with recriminations echoing in his ears, would not have him regret agreeing to bring her with him. “Go with God, Robert,” she said bravely.

She held on to her smile until Robert and his men rode through the gateway. Arundel did not have a tower keep; its motte was encircled by a stone wall, with lodgings built within the enclosure. It was toward that shell keep that Amabel fled, rushing breathlessly up onto the battlements, where she kept a lonely vigil, watching until her husband was out of sight.

Maude was usually an early riser, but during her week at Arundel, she’d been sleeping late, for she’d been staying up late with Adeliza; they had four years to catch up on. Soon after daybreak on Saturday, though, she was jolted awake by the sound of a fist thudding against her bedchamber door. As she sat up groggily, half blinded by her own hair-for she’d been too tired to bother with her customary night plait-the door was flung open. Minna started forward, indignant at this invasion of Maude’s privacy; such an intrusion would have been unheard-of at the German court. But by then Ranulf was in the room, with Adeliza on his heels, an Adeliza flushed and disheveled, obviously just roused from bed. “Maude,” she cried, “Maude, we are under siege!”

Maude was lodged in the gatehouse, for its upper chamber was spacious enough to satisfy even an empress’s imperial tastes. She fumbled for her bed-robe as Ranulf strode to the window and jerked back the shutters. The window opened onto the west, offering a view of the village High Street, the clustered thatched houses, the steeple of the parish church, and to the south, the silvered gleam of the River Arun, swift-flowing toward the sea. But Maude saw none of those familiar sights. She saw only the battle banners catching the wind, heard only the drumming of hooves upon the sun-dried Downs above the town.

“Stephen,” she breathed, staring out upon her cousin’s army.

The herald rode boldly toward the castle walls. “I have a message for the Lady Adeliza and the Lord William d’Aubigny,” he called, “and my lord king says you’d best heed it well. You are sheltering the Countess of Anjou, an enemy of the Crown and a threat to the peace of the realm. The king demands that you surrender this woman forthwith, or suffer the consequences.”

The great hall was crammed with people: Arundel’s harried servants and disquieted garrison, Maude’s men, fearful villagers who’d fled their homes for the greater security of the castle. The latter milled about in confusion, some clutching meagre belongings, others trying to comfort wailing children and hush barking dogs, all watching their liege lady and her husband, mutely entreating Adeliza and Will to deliver them from this evil come so suddenly into their midst.

Adeliza, Will, Maude, and Ranulf had retreated from the chaos and dread in the hall, withdrawing to the privacy of their above-stairs solar. Adeliza was too distraught to sit still; she paced the chamber as if seeking escape, pausing only to rock the cradle where her infant son slept.

“How could Stephen have found out that you were here, Maude? Who betrayed us?” Adeliza kept coming back to that, as if it mattered. She seemed genuinely surprised that Stephen should have spies.

Ranulf frowned, glancing over at Adeliza’s husband. Will had been conspicuously silent so far, but he was as tense as his wife, fidgeting in his chair, fingers drumming absently upon the armrest, not once meeting Maude’s eyes.

It was becoming all too obvious to Ranulf that neither Adeliza nor Will had given serious thought to the consequences of their act. They’d made an impulsive offer without fully calculating the price they might have to pay, and now that Stephen was presenting the bill, they were rapidly reassessing the cost of their generosity. Ranulf had been irked by Robert’s refusal to take him on that dangerous cross-country dash to Bristol, not truly believing Robert’s explanation, that Maude might need him. Now her need was urgent, indeed, and Ranulf would have given anything to have Robert and Rainald back at Arundel; having sole responsibility for Maude’s safety was a heavier burden than he’d been prepared to bear. But bear it he would, as long as he had breath in his body. Moving toward his sister, he took up position, as if by chance, behind her chair.

Maude gave him a quick smile; his loyalty was a luxury she was learning to rely upon. She had never doubted that Ranulf would follow her into the flames, but God help her, for Adeliza and Will were balking at the first hint of heat. She chose, as always, to face her fears head-on; if there was a betrayal coming, better to know it now. “Let Stephen do his worst,” she said coolly. “He can besiege Arundel from now till Judgment Day for all it will avail him. His only hope of taking the castle would be to starve us into submission, and Robert will not give him that much time. He’ll be back to break the siege ere the first frost.”

She truly believed every word she said, but she’d have been more confident had she not been aware of the undercurrents in this room. And the silence that followed was a telling one. She turned in her chair, and under her level-eyed scrutiny, color crept into Adeliza’s face and throat.

“I…” Will cleared his throat, sounding as uncomfortable as he looked. “The truth of the matter is…we never thought it would come to bloodshed. When Adeliza told me she wished to help you, Lady Maude, I agreed, for I knew how much it meant to her. But I did not bargain upon this, to have Stephen outside the castle walls with an army at his back. If we defy the king, we could be held guilty of treason, and all we own could be forfeit, including Arundel.”

“Yes…your wife’s dower castle,” Maude said acidly, and Will suddenly found it a lot easier to contemplate turning her over to Stephen. He flushed angrily, but Adeliza forestalled his protest.

“That is not fair, Maude. Will has every right to worry about losing Arundel. We have a son to think of; Arundel is his heritage. I’ll not deny that the prospect of war terrifies me…and not just for us. What of the villagers? If Stephen attacks Arundel, they’ll lose all they have, and they have precious little to lose. They look to me for protection. If I do not keep faith with them-”

“I cannot believe what I am hearing!” Ranulf was outraged. “What of keeping faith with Maude? She trusted you! If you betray that trust, I swear that-”

“Ranulf, wait.” Maude reached out, put a restraining hand on his arm. “Adeliza, I do not wish you harm. Surely you know that?” The other woman nodded unhappily, and Maude rose, closed the space between them. “I would not be the instrument of your downfall. But do not expect me to submit tamely to Stephen. Do not ask that of me. Tell Stephen that we gave you no choice, that we forced you to aid us.”

“Ah, Maude…” Adeliza had begun to blink back tears.

Ranulf doubted that Stephen would believe it, and he could tell that Will doubted it, too. But it could be made true; their men easily outnumbered the castle garrison. He edged slowly toward the door, too desperate for qualms or second thoughts. He was reaching stealthily for the latch when Adeliza started to speak, and as he listened, he realized that he had undervalued his father’s queen.

“I will not betray you to Stephen, Maude. No matter what it costs us. On that, you have my word.”

“Adeliza…” Will had risen to his feet. “Do not be so quick to promise her salvation, for it may be a promise you cannot keep.”

“Do as I suggested,” Maude insisted. “If I took advantage of our friendship to seize control of Arundel, how could Stephen blame you?”

Adeliza smiled shakily. “He’d not believe it, Maude. Not even Stephen is that gullible. But there may be another way. I shall go to him, humble myself, and try to sway him with my tears. Say what you will of Stephen, he does hate to see a woman weep!”

Ranulf found Maude up on the battlements of the shell keep, watching as Adeliza and a lone servant rode out under a flag of truce. A few yards beyond the castle, they were met by Stephen’s escort, and headed toward the king’s encampment. “She will accomplish nothing,” Maude said at last. “Stephen will not heed her. Why should he?”

Ranulf agreed with her bleak assessment of Adeliza’s chances, but at the moment, he had a more immediate concern. “Maude, it is not safe for you up here. You are within crossbow range; did you not realize that? What if you were recognized?”

“I do not care,” she said, with sudden, defiant passion. “Let them recognize me. Let Stephen see that I am not afraid!”

Adeliza was welcomed with courtesy, but she’d expected no less from Stephen. She’d known she’d have no chance of getting a private audience; his barons seemed to take turns standing as sentinels between Stephen and his better instincts. She’d been resigned to the presence of the Beaumont twins, William de Ypres, Geoffrey de Mandeville, and the Earl of Northampton. But the sight of Stephen’s bishop brother was an unpleasant surprise. She knew Henry invariably advised Stephen against compromise or conciliation, and when she’d learned he’d ridden into Stephen’s camp just before she did, she took it as an ill omen. But she could not lose heart, not with so much at stake. Dropping gracefully to her knees before Stephen, she caught his hand in hers.

“My lord king, hear me, I beg you. My husband and I have not been disloyal to you. We did make the Lady Maude welcome at Arundel, but as my kinswoman, not as your enemy. What else could I do? She is the daughter of my late husband, may God assoil him.”

Her lovely blue eyes were glistening with unshed tears; she’d always had the useful talent of crying on command. “How could I turn his child away from my door? I owed him better than that. Surely you can understand my dilemma?”

“Yes, I can,” Stephen said obligingly, and she thought there was much to be said for good manners in a king. “But however well meaning you were, Lady Adeliza, that does not change the fact that you are harboring a rebel. I am not a man to hold grudges, though. If you turn her over to me with no delay, I’ll forgive this lamentable lapse in judgment-provided, of course, that you never give me reason again to doubt your loyalty.”

Adeliza’s smile was tremulous, radiantly grateful. “We will indeed be loyal, my liege, I swear it. And I would willingly do as you bid me, if only it were in my power. But how can I betray my husband’s daughter? How could I live with myself? You are known to be a man of honour, my lord king,” she entreated. “Surely you understand?”

This time, though, he was not so quick to assure her that he did. “Just what would you have me do, madame?”

“Show mercy, my liege. Do not make me prove my loyalty to you by sacrificing my stepdaughter. You can afford to be magnanimous. Give her a safe conduct to Bristol, let her go in peace to join her brother. Surely that would be a gesture worthy of a king?”

Up until now, the men had been listening in attentive silence, for Adeliza’s tearful appeal was undeniably entertaining. But at that, they burst into incredulous laughter, all but Stephen and his brother the bishop. Reaching down, Stephen raised Adeliza gently to her feet. “It would,” he said wryly, “be a gesture worthy of a saint! I will think upon your request, Lady Adeliza. More than that, I cannot promise.”

There was much merriment in Stephen’s tent after Adeliza had been escorted back to Arundel Castle. Her proposal was so ludicrous that even the moody Earl of Northampton joined in the mockery, and Waleran, a wicked mimic, soon had them laughing until they had no breath for talking. Stephen took no part in their raillery, content to drink his wine and listen to the joking and jests, occasionally smiling at a particularly clever gibe. The bishop remained aloof, watching them with none of Stephen’s indulgent good humor. When the hilarity finally showed signs of subsiding, he said, with grave deliberation:

“Actually, the woman’s plea may not be as foolish as it first seems. It might indeed be to our advantage to let Maude go to Bristol Castle.”

There was an astonished silence, and then an explosion of indignant sound, as they competed with one another to deride the bishop’s suggestion as preposterous and absurd. But Henry was an old hand at commanding attention, and he soon drowned them out.

“Do you fools think Arundel will fall into your hands like a ripe plum? The castle could hold out for months. And what do you think the Earl of Gloucester would be doing whilst we besieged his sister? He’d be ravaging the whole West Country to lure us off; in no time at all, half of England would be in flames. Or else he’d come down on Arundel like a hawk on a pigeon, and we’d find ourselves trapped between Gloucester’s army and the castle garrison.”

“Ere you start giving us lessons in military tactics, my lord bishop, mayhap you’d best tell us how many battles you have won.”

“I need not swing a battle-axe myself to know it can split a man’s skull. I need only rely upon my common sense, which you, my lord Waleran, seem utterly to lack-else you’d see the dangers in a prolonged siege of Arundel! If we allow Maude to join Robert at Bristol, we can contain the rebellion to the west, keep London safe whilst we move against them. If Robert Fitz Roy marches to his sister’s rescue, he’ll be marching toward London. Or did that never occur to you?”

“A good thing it is that you sought a career in the Church, for if this is an example of your muddled military thinking, you’d not have been able to rout a flock of sheep, much less an enemy army. Once we take Maude, the rebellion ends. It is as simple as that.”

“ Simple is the word, indeed-for you, my lord! Do you truly expect Fitz Roy to bide peacefully at Bristol whilst we-”

Stephen had heard enough. Setting down his wine cup, he slipped quietly from the tent. No one noticed his departure, and the quarreling continued, unabated. He paused to admire a particularly creative burst of profanity, then moved on, trailed by a stray dog; Stephen drew children and dogs to him as if by magic. Ahead lay his mangonels, hauled into position to bombard the castle walls should it come to that. “How goes it, Giles?” he asked, and his serjeant turned with a grin. Whatever faults others found with Stephen’s kingship, he was popular with his soldiers, for he was fearless, accessible, and openhanded, and they thought those were virtues to make up for a multitude of lesser sins.

“Well enough, my liege. We’ve been bringing in cartloads of stones from the closest quarry. You but say the word, and it will be raining rocks all over Arundel.”

“We’ll see,” Stephen said, raising his hand to shade his eyes against the sun’s glare.

Giles saw the direction of his gaze, and volunteered cheerfully, “Oh, she is still up there, my lord, prowling those battlements bold as you please. It is almost as if she were daring us to shoot, and some of the lads would right gladly take that dare. Not,” he added hastily, for he knew his king, “without such a command from you, of course.”

Stephen scowled. “Make sure they understand that,” he said, with unwonted brusqueness. But as he watched that distant female figure upon the castle battlements, his mouth softened into a reluctant smile. “She never did lack for courage, not Maude. I remember a day when we were hunting with her father outside Rouen. Her horse stumbled and threw her, a nasty fall, leaving her bruised and scratched. But she insisted upon getting back on her mare and continuing the hunt, damned if she did not!”

Giles joined politely in Stephen’s laughter, puzzled that his lord should speak so kindly of the woman who was causing him such grief. “Look, my liege! It seems the lady has grown tired of flaunting herself and is going back inside. A pity, for we’ll not find a fairer target!”

“No,” Stephen agreed, “you will not. Giles…go fetch my herald for me. Tell him I’ve an answer for the Lady Adeliza.”

Giles knew, of course, of Adeliza’s entreaty. The whole camp did, for tents were not constructed to contain secrets. “As you will, my liege.” But he did not move, halted by the odd smile hovering in the corner of Stephen’s mouth. His eyes widening, he blurted out in amazement. “My lord-surely you do not mean to let her go?”

Such impertinence would have cost him dear with the old king; Stephen, it amused. Still with that enigmatic half-smile, like a man savoring a very private joke, he said, “In truth, Giles, I mean to do just that.”

The following day was unseasonably mild for October, but to the southwest, the sky was filling with fleecy cumulus clouds, which to the weatherwise, warned of a likely thunderstorm. Within Arundel Castle, the atmosphere was no less unsettled. Adeliza and her husband were still dazzled by her success. Amabel was thankful for Stephen’s astonishing chivalry, but baffled by it, too, as were most of Maude’s men. The villagers were just grateful for their reprieve; they’d not ventured from the castle and so had not yet discovered that Stephen’s men had been indulging in that universal soldier’s pastime-looting. Ranulf was confused and uneasy, for Stephen’s remarkable generosity had stirred up unwelcome memories of the other Stephen, not the usurper but the cousin and friend. And Maude sheathed her emotions in ice, distancing herself from them all by the sheer intensity of her will, until there was not a soul in the castle who’d have dared to ask her what she thought of Stephen’s magnanimity.

Leaving Maude to say her farewells to Adeliza, Ranulf called for his stallion and rode out alone to the king’s camp. Waleran and Stephen’s brother were to escort Maude to Bristol Castle, but they presented dramatically differing visages. The usually equable Waleran was smoldering, while the prickly bishop looked almost benevolent, suspiciously well pleased with himself. He certainly greeted Ranulf with uncharacteristic civility, whereas from Waleran, Ranulf got no more than a grunt. The other men were no more welcoming. William de Ypres was muttering to himself in Flemish, Robert Beaumont was glowering, and the Earl of Northampton looked truly murderous. But their baleful glares were not directed at Ranulf; they were staring at Stephen’s command tent, and then at Stephen himself as he emerged into the cloud-splattered sunlight.

Ranulf stiffened. Stephen came to a halt at sight of his young cousin, and then a smile broke free, bright enough to banish the clouds. “Look at you, Ranulf! What ever happened to that gangling, raw lad I knew? By God, if you’ve not grown to manhood whilst my back was turned!”

“It has been nigh on four years,” Ranulf said tautly. “I came to tell you that my sister will be ready to depart at noon.”

Stephen nodded, and Ranulf flushed, for the older man’s eyes were fixed unwaveringly upon his face, as if they could see into his very soul. The bishop had moved to join them, saying that the empress could take more time if she needed it, but Ranulf barely heard him, unable to tear his gaze away from Stephen’s. He been ready for Stephen’s reproaches, for his coolness, even his hostility. What he’d not expected was that Stephen should be so genuinely glad to see him.

He was so flustered that it was only when he was on his way back to the castle that the significance of the bishop’s words penetrated. Stephen’s allies made a point of referring to Maude by the title she herself detested: Countess of Anjou. Her own supporters accorded her the rank she much preferred, that of empress. And so, Ranulf finally realized, had the bishop.

Maude meant to take just enough men to assure her safety; the rest would be left at Arundel to try to make their way to Bristol once Stephen’s army had been withdrawn, for his safe-conduct was not all-inclusive. Maude was standing now in the lower bailey, listening as Adeliza stammered a last-minute confession. “Maude…I shall pray that you regain your crown; nothing would give me greater joy. But I must tell you this…that prayer is all we can offer from now on. My husband cannot bear arms against Stephen, for I swore to him that we’d keep faith if he let you go. I hope you can understand that?”

Adeliza held her breath then, waiting for Maude’s verdict upon their future friendship, and felt a surge of gratitude when Maude nodded, for she knew only a very real affection could have wrung that concession from Maude, whose political creed came straight from Scriptures: “He that is not with me is against me.” Their embrace was wordless, heartfelt. And then Maude stepped back, beckoning for Ranulf to help her mount. Her head high, her back ramrod-straight, armored in pride, she rode out to confront her enemies.

They were waiting for her, the bishop at his most courtly, Waleran making no effort whatsoever to mask his frustration or his fury. Maude was staring past them as if they were both invisible, though, staring at the man on a splendid roan stallion, tawny hair gilded by a sudden flare of sun, looking composed and confident and very much a king. Maude gave Stephen one intense, burning look, all but scorching the air between them, and then urged her mare on. But Stephen spurred his stallion forward, blocking her path. It was utterly still, all eyes locked upon them, all ears straining to hear what was said. The audience was to be disappointed, for their exchange was too brief and low-pitched to be overheard. A moment, no more than that, and then Stephen was moving aside, Maude was sweeping past him without a backward glance, and the siege of Arundel Castle was over.

As they headed west along the Chichester Road, none intruded upon Maude, for it would have taken a very brave man, or a very insensitive one, to breach her shield of silence. Ranulf, his sister’s self-appointed protector, still held to his vigil, but from a discreet distance. Whistling to his dyrehunds, he slowed his stallion’s pace, planning to drop back and ride with Gilbert; they’d had few chances to talk in these past turbulent days. But Amabel was beckoning to him, and he urged his mount in her direction.

“You know Stephen as well as anyone does, Ranulf. What possessed him to let Maude out of his trap? Rumor has it that the bishop is claiming credit for Maude’s reprieve. Now I admit I know little of military matters; I leave that to Robert. But if the bishop’s argument sounded so outlandish even to me, how did he get Stephen to swallow it?”

Ranulf laughed. “You may be sure he did not. Stephen’s one failing as a battle commander is his lack of patience. He loses interest if a siege drags on too long-unless the prize is well worth the taking. And what prize could be greater than his royal rival for the throne? No, whatever stirred him to offer Maude a safe-conduct, it was not his brother the bishop.”

“Well…what, then? A sudden fit of madness? Was there a full moon that night?”

Ranulf grinned. “I think a sudden fit of chivalry is more likely. Wait…hear me out. Stephen is not a man who’d willingly make war upon a woman. And at Arundel, he’d be making war upon two of them, one his own aunt and a former Queen of England in the bargain.”

“Are you saying, then, that he freed Maude for Adeliza’s sake? I find that rather improbable, lad.”

Ranulf shrugged. “Of course it is improbable, all of it. Give Stephen credit where due; he can always surprise. He’s ever been one for the grand gesture, and you must admit, Amabel, that as gestures go, this was about as grand as you get!”

Amabel caught those grudging echoes of admiration, but she did not share it. “I grant you it was gallant beyond belief. But it was also unforgivably shortsighted, Ranulf, for he had a chance to end the war ere it began, and he let that chance escape with Maude.”

“Thank God he did,” Ranulf retorted, so fervently that she smiled.

“Yes,” she agreed, “Maude must feel truly blessed by the Almighty’s Favor, for nothing less than a miracle got her safe away from Arundel. So why then is she not rejoicing in it?”

Ranulf gave her a surprised look; after all this time, how little she still understood Maude. “Because the Almighty’s Favor comes disguised as Stephen’s, and Maude would starve ere she’d take crumbs from Stephen’s table. It is well nigh killing her to owe her deliverance to his forbearance.”

Amabel marveled she hadn’t seen that for herself. “I wonder,” she mused, “what they said to each other…”

Ranulf wondered, too, and riding by Maude’s side later that afternoon, he seized his first opportunity to ask her. She glanced toward him, then back to the road ahead. “Stephen said, ‘Any debt I may have owed you, Cousin Maude, is now paid in full.’”

Ranulf stared at her. “So he does have an unease of conscience about you!” he exclaimed, and discovered then that he was glad it was so, glad that the Stephen who was his cousin and the Stephen who was king were not such strangers, after all.

“His conscience be damned! He owes me more than a debt. He owes me a crown,” Maude said grimly, and they rode on in silence.

On an overcast afternoon five days later, Robert rode out to meet his sister on the Bristol-Bath Road, so that her entry into Bristol could be a triumphant one. At sight of the approaching riders, Maude reined in her mare. “Well, my lords, it seems this onerous duty of yours has been discharged. You are welcome to accompany us to Bristol if you so choose. I am sure we can find a comfortable night’s lodging for you within my city.”

Waleran smiled sourly. “I would rather,” he said, “beg my bread by the roadside.”

Maude matched Waleran’s smile with an acerbic one of her own. “Keep to your present course and you very well may,” she said, to Waleran’s fury and the bishop’s amusement. He cut off Waleran’s wrathful reply, saying smoothly that he would indeed accept her hospitality.

Waleran choked on an extremely virulent obscenity, and the bishop swung around to admonish the other man, only to find Waleran staring past him in dismay. Turning in the saddle, he saw why. A number of the men riding with Robert were familiar; he recognized Rainald Fitz Roy and Baldwin de Redvers and Shrewsbury’s rebel baron, William Fitz Alan, and Robert’s eldest son, William, who’d been holding Bristol Castle for him. But it was the identity of the two men flanking Robert that had unleashed Waleran’s strangled profanity: Miles Fitz Walter and Brien Fitz Count, come to Bristol to pledge faith to their queen.

Maude saw them now, too, and laughed, suddenly, joyfully. Waleran slowly shook his head. “God forgive you, Stephen,” he muttered, “for what have you loosed upon us?”

Stephen wasted no time in besieging Brien’s castle at Wallingford. Leaving an armed force to continue the siege, he moved on to attack Trowbridge, held by Miles’s son-in-law. While Stephen was occupied at Trowbridge, though, Miles outflanked the royal army, raced for Wallingford, and broke the siege. He and Robert then turned their fire upon Waleran, newly named by Stephen as Earl of Worcester.

At daybreak on November 7th, they assaulted Worcester, breaking through its defenses on the north side of the city. Fires were set, looting was widespread, and a number of the luckless citizens were taken hostage back to Bristol. Waleran arrived in his plundered town three weeks later, and in the words of the Worcester Chronicle, “When he beheld the ravages of the flames, he grieved, and felt that the blow had been struck for his own injury, and wishing to revenge himself for this, he marched with an army to Sudely,” whose lord was an ally of Robert Fitz Roy. There his men pillaged and burned, and, again in the words of the Worcester Chronicle, “returned evil for evil.”

And so began for the wretched people of England, a time of suffering so great that they came to fear “Christ and his saints slept.”