When Christ and His Saints Slept

21

Winchester, England

September 1141

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ranulf shrugged. “I overslept.”

Robert’s reaction was hopelessly conflicted-enormous pride in Ranulf warring with an urge to grab hold of the younger man and shake some sense into him. “I should think that one fool in the family would be enough. You just be sure to get through this unharmed, or Maude will never forgive me.”

“Come on,” Ranulf said. “I’ll race you to Ludgershall.”

They’d come more than eight miles and were almost upon Le Strete; it was on the other side of the hill. Rainald signaled for a brief halt to ease their horses, and unwittingly earned Maude’s undying gratitude. She shifted gingerly in the saddle, seeking inconspicuously to tuck her skirts in under her legs. When Brien glanced her way, she mustered up a smile, for she was determined to keep her discomfort hidden as long as possible. Hopefully, it would not occur to them that skirts were not meant for riding astride. Nor were they likely to realize that her stockings were gartered at the knee, that with nothing between her inner thighs and the saddle leather, the constant jouncing had soon rubbed her skin raw. She was already chafed and blistered, and they had hours of hard riding ahead of them-if they could get safely across the River Test.

That was still in doubt, for they’d run into two of Ypres’s scouts a few miles back. Brien’s crossbowmen had brought one of them down, but the other had been luckier and had vanished into the woods. Their greatest danger lay just ahead at Le Strete, for there the Salisbury Road was joined by the one from Wherwell. If the scout had succeeded in giving the alarm, Ypres’s men could be waiting for them at the river crossing.

Maude was not the only one thinking of that. Brien moved his horse close so they could talk. “The man on the roan is a local lad, who’ll guide us across the downs to Ludgershall. He says there is a ford at Leckford, but it is too close to Wherwell for us to risk it. There is a royal manor at Le Strete, a handful of houses, and a bridge. If we can get across it without being seen by Ypres’s men, they’ll not know which path we took. Are you ready to ride as if the Devil were on our tails?”

She nodded. “If I had to choose between Ypres and the Devil, I’m not sure which one I’d pick. Let’s outrun them both.”

For Ranulf and Gilbert, the Battle of Winchester was chillingly familiar. It was as if they were reliving that frantic skirmish on the Wherwell Road, for once again they were being assailed from all sides, caught up in a surging, frenzied tide of thrashing bodies, panicked horses, and bloodied weapons. Only this time there was no abbey to take shelter in, just the road ahead and the enemy behind.

Robert was urging them to stay close together and to keep going, and they did their best to heed him, for his was the one voice of reason in a world gone mad, a world filled only with their enemies now that their retreat from Winchester had turned into this wild rout.

Miles had known they’d be pursued; what suspense there was lay in the timing of the attack. But he’d not expected his men to crack under the assault. It happened, though, and with shocking suddenness. His army had disintegrated as more and more men lost heart in this unequal struggle, sought salvation in flight, and Robert’s rear guard found itself on its own, fighting a desperate and valiant delaying action in a war already lost.

The battle raged along the Salisbury Road. The fugitives from Miles’s broken command were being chased down, bodies were being looted, and riderless horses seemed to be everywhere, circling about in confusion. Ranulf’s own mount was tiring; it had begun to shorten stride. He had to strain now to find Robert midst the crush of men and horses. They would have to make a stand soon; if not, they’d be cut to pieces. But where? The road was sloping up again. He glanced over his shoulder, seeking Gilbert, and was jolted to discover he’d lost his squire.

He twisted around in the saddle. Some yards back, a chestnut stallion was flailing about on the ground, unable to rise. It had a white blaze and foreleg, and so did Luke’s palfrey. As little as that was to go upon, it was enough for Ranulf, and he swung his horse about.

He soon spotted Luke. The youth was on his feet, although he seemed dazed by his fall, and did not respond to Ranulf’s shout. But he’d drawn the attention of these men searching a nearby body for valuables. Recognizing him as easy prey, the men moved in confidently.

Their cockiness almost cost them dearly. They scattered just in time as Ranulf’s destrier plunged into their midst. But they did not go far. Instead, they spread out and began to circle warily, swords and pike at the ready. Ranulf aimed his stallion at the closest of his assailants. Blood spurted, the man’s sword thudded to the ground, and he recoiled hastily. Ranulf turned to confront the others, only to find them in retreat, too, for he was no longer alone; Gilbert was coming toward them at a gallop.

“You came back for me!” Luke lurched forward, tripped, and nearly fell under the hooves of Ranulf’s stallion. Ranulf saw no blood, but the boy’s face was the shade of curdled milk. “I hurt my arm,” he said, sounding apologetic, as if his injury was somehow his fault. “I fear it is broken.”

Ranulf and Gilbert exchanged troubled looks. They could not leave the lad here, injured and on his own. But never could they have ridden away, abandoned Robert to his fate. They wasted no time in discussion, caught a loose horse for Luke, put his foundering chestnut out of its suffering, and hastened after their beleaguered comrades.

The battle had swept past them, over the crest of Winchester Hill. They spurred their horses up the road, glancing back to make sure Luke was following, and came upon the last bitter moments of the ill-fated seven-week siege of Winchester. It ended there at Le Strete, when Robert’s struggling rear guard collided with a contingent of Flemings coming down the Wherwell Road, ended in one final flurry of doomed resistance, dying, and defeat.

The longest and most desperate day of Maude’s life was at last drawing to a close in the inner bailey of Ludgershall Castle. She was trembling, so great was her fatigue, and when she was helped from the saddle, she feared that her legs would not support her. Brien came to her rescue, offering his arm for support. She thought he looked exhausted, too. They all did, men and horses alike, drenched in sweat and choked with the reddish dust of the dry September roads. She allowed herself a moment’s indulgence, borrowed Brien’s strength. Then she squared her shoulders, and moved to meet the man just emerging from the tower keep.

She was not surprised that John Marshal was up and about, rather than languishing upon a sickbed. She knew the man well enough to have been sure that if he was not dead of his wounds, he’d be on his feet. She thought she was prepared for the extent of his injuries, but she was not. Her breath stopped as she saw his face. She forced herself not to avert her eyes, feeling that she owed it to him to look without flinching upon the wounds he’d gotten in her service. His eye socket was covered by a pusstained bandage, and from hairline to beard, his skin was raw and red and encrusted with scabs, slathered with goose grease. But she knew he’d have scorned her sympathy; in that, they were alike. So she said only, “Do you think you can find room for some unexpected guests?”

His mouth twitched. “I’ve never yet turned an empress away from my door.” A woman had come from the keep behind him, and he said, “Madame, may I present my wife, the Lady Adelina?”

Adelina made a graceful curtsy. Maude took one look and liked her not, for she was small-boned and fair-haired and flower-fragile-like Matilda. But when Marshal’s men began to crowd around, assailing them with questions, it was Adelina who saw Maude’s utter exhaustion. “I’ll not have it said that the mistress of Ludgershall does not know how to welcome a highborn guest,” she chided. “Explanations can wait. If you’ll be good enough to follow me, my lady…?”

Maude did, gratefully, and by the time she was seated upon the bed in John and Adelina’s private chamber, she’d completely revised her unfavorable impression of Marshal’s wife. Adelina brought her a laver of scented washing water, a soothing salve for her sunburned face, a flagon of spiced and sweetened wine, all the while carrying on an easy conversation that was oddly comforting in and of itself, for she asked no awkward questions and gave Maude no time to dwell upon Winchester’s fall and the men who might be dying even now on her behalf. When she urged Maude to stretch out on the bed, Maude did not demur, although she insisted that she’d never be able to sleep.

“Just rest then,” Adelina said. “Supper can wait.” She’d already helped Maude to strip off her gown, lamenting its bedraggled condition and the fact that Maude was too tall to wear one of her own gowns. “Never you mind, though. We’ll clean and mend this one for you. I’ll look in on you later, my lady. Now I must tend to John. The doctor said I should soak his bandage in vinegar and change it often.”

“It is a wonder,” Maude murmured, “that the pain did not drive him mad…”

“Most likely because we kept him drunk for days…”

Adelina’s voice was lulling. Maude closed her eyes. When Adelina leaned over the bed and touched her shoulder, she thought at first that she’d just fallen asleep. But as she sat up groggily, she saw the night sky framed in the bedchamber’s open window.

“Madame, I am indeed sorry to awaken you, but I was given no choice. Your brother and Lord Brien insist upon leaving at once for your castle at Devizes. I urged them to let you sleep the night through, but they say the danger is too great for you here.”

Maude asked no questions, but she could not suppress a gasp when she swung her legs over the bed, for even that slight movement was painful. Her hair was trailing down her back, the true measure of her fatigue, for Adelina must have unbraided it while she slept on, unaware. As Maude tried again to get to her feet, Adelina gave a soft cry. “There is blood on your chemise! Did your flux come upon you of a sudden?”

“No, I had to ride astride like a man, but I lacked the undergarments that men wear, and my thighs blistered badly.”

“How can you ride on to Devizes, then? That is nigh on twenty miles!”

“I can and I will. I must. And you cannot tell the men, Adelina. I do not want them to know.”

The other woman nodded reluctantly. “Then you must let me do what I can to ease your discomfort,” she said, and turned aside to ransack a coffer by the foot of the bed. With gentle, deft strokes, she rubbed an herbal ointment into Maude’s blistered, abraded skin, then fashioned bandages from a pillowcase, and she understood when Maude’s “thank you” seemed grudgingly given, saying, “Those are words that catch in my John’s throat, too. He finds it hard to admit a need.”

Maude did not know what to say to that, for it seemed to require a confidence in return. But Adelina did not wait for a response, instead crossed the chamber to retrieve Maude’s gown. She was helping to lace it up when Brien and Rainald sought admittance.

Maude looked from one to the other. “Why must we leave Ludgershall in such haste? What is it that you’re so loath for me to know?”

Rainald cleared his throat. “Marshal sent a few of his men toward Winchester to find out what happened. Only one of them has gotten back so far, but after hearing what he learned, we knew we dare not stay here, for this will be the first place they think to look once they start searching for you in earnest. We’ve got to get you as far away as we can, as fast as we can. It will not be easy for you, but-”

“You think I care about my comfort? Just tell me, was there a battle?”

Brien nodded. “Ypres and the queen’s earls fell upon our army soon after they rode out along the Salisbury Road. Marshal’s scout says they scattered to the winds, every man for himself. He says not even the archbishop was spared, that the clerics were roughly handled, their horses stolen.”

“Oh, dear God,” Maude whispered. Minna. And what of Ranulf? Miles and David and all the others. “Tell me the rest,” she said, “the worst. Tell me about Robert.”

“We do not know for certes,” Rainald said, but he no longer met her eyes, and it was Brien who told her the truth.

“Marshal’s scout says that Robert’s men did not bolt like the others. They fought a running battle as far as Le Strete, where they were surrounded and overwhelmed by Warenne and Ypres and his Flemings.” Brien saw her shudder and started to reach toward her, then let his arm fall to his side. “They would have wanted to take Robert alive,” he said. “I swear to you that is true.”

Maude swallowed with a visible effort. “You are saying, then, that either Robert was captured or he was slain.”

Neither man spoke, but she had her answer in their silence, and she shut her eyes, squeezing back her tears. She would be able to weep soon, hidden by the darkness, riding through the night toward Devizes, but not now, not yet. She would leave Ludgershall dry-eyed and unbowed. She would not shame Robert with her tears.

Cecily watched anxiously as Matilda moved again to the tent entrance, but she no longer urged her mistress to attempt to get some sleep; she knew that Matilda would be up until dawn if need be, until she got the word about Maude. Rising, she poured a cup of wine and carried it across the tent. The other woman accepted it absently, continuing to gaze up at the star-dusted dark sky. “There is a fire in Winchester,” she said. “See…over to the east.”

“Come back inside, my lady,” Cecily pleaded, “ere you catch a chill. Try to put the town’s troubles from your mind. It does no good to dwell upon what cannot be helped.”

Matilda let the tent flap drop. “Stephen kept his army from pillaging and raping in Shrewsbury,” she said. “There must have been something I could have done…”

“And why did the king’s soldiers heed him at Shrewsbury? Because he’d just hanged ninety-four men from the castle battlements and they feared not to! My lady, this is the way of the war. We need not like it, but accept it we must. What other choice have we?”

“What you say makes sense, Cecily. But I doubt that I will ever understand. The Londoners were so fearful for their city, so afraid that Maude would wreak havoc upon their homes and families. How, then, could they have been amongst the first to despoil Winchester?”

“My lady, I cannot answer that. But this I do know, that you have nothing to reproach yourself for. You seek only to free your lord husband from unjust confinement, and against all the odds, you have prevailed. This day he has won his liberty and it was your doing!”

Matilda felt a prickle of superstitious dread. “We do not know that, not yet. If Maude escapes, all this suffering and dying will have been for naught. The war will go on, and…and Stephen’s life might well be forfeit, because of me.”

“That will not happen. She has been taken prisoner, I know she has!”

“I would to God I could share your certainty,” Matilda said wearily. “But she seemed sure to be taken at Arundel, too, and then again at Westminster, did she not?”

“The king’s gallantry spared her at Arundel and blind luck at London, luck that is fast running out.”

Matilda sat down at the table, pushed the candle aside, and leaned forward, resting her head upon her arms. But almost at once she straightened up. “Did you hear that? More men coming in…”

Her senses had been betraying her all night, hearing sounds that echoed only in her head. But this time she was right, and she was on her feet, waiting, by the time William de Warenne and William de Ypres pushed their way into the tent.

Warenne looked dirty and tired and jubilant. “God has shown us such favor, madame, for what a victory we had!”

“I know that,” Matilda interrupted. “But what of Maude? Is she captive?”

Ypres shook his head. “I regret not. That woman has the most unholy luck. She ought never to have been able to slip through our net, yet she somehow did. You need not fear, though, for we’ll soon track her down. We have men on her trail even now-”

But Matilda was no longer listening. “Then we lost,” she cried. “Can you not see that? Without Maude, we gained nothing!”

Neither man seemed fazed by her despair. They looked at each other and grinned. “Ah, but we did,” Ypres said. “Maude may have flown the nest, but we plucked her tail feathers for certes!” And turning, he lifted the tent flap. “Bring him in.”

The man escorted into the tent was a stranger to Cecily. He was no longer young, for his brown hair was well salted with gray, and save for an ugly bruise under his left eye, he seemed unhurt. What struck her most forcefully was his composure; if not for his bound wrists, she’d never have known he was a prisoner. “Lady Matilda,” he said calmly. “It is always a pleasure to see you, although I would rather it be under different circumstances.”

Matilda was staring at him in shock. “Robert,” she breathed, so softly that only Cecily heard, and her eyes widened.

“My lady, is this man the Earl of Gloucester?”

“This man,” Matilda said unsteadily, “is Stephen’s salvation.” Her voice was muffled, midway between laughter and tears. Reaching for the Fleming’s hand, she held fast. “How good God is, blessed be His Name. And bless you, too, Willem, for you’ve given me back my husband!”