To Defy a King (47 page)

Roger was surrendered on his back, cheeks rosy with sleep, his dark hair slightly damp. His little brother had his thumb in his mouth and was sucking on it in slumber, his lashes and brows dusted with gold. Oh God, oh God.

She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and her vision blurred.

Hugh arrived in her wake and curled his arm around her shoulders while he too looked at their sleeping sons. 'Whatever happens, I swear on my soul that I will keep you and them safe,' he said.

Roger muttered in his sleep and tossed. His parents withdrew so as not to waken him. At their own bed, Hugh lit the canopy lamp. Mahelt fixed her gaze on him like a warrior focusing on a field where battle was soon to be joined. 'On your soul,' she repeated.

'Yes,' he replied, his jaw set. 'On my soul.'

She had to drop her gaze. Either he was taking matters too lightly and uttering the oath as a placebo, or he meant every word, and if she held him to that oath and he failed her, he would be damned - and so would she.

'Then keep your word,' she said as a scent of incense from the perfumed oil began to fill the bed space.

'May I be damned if I do not.' Hugh placed his hands either side of her face and sealed the moment with a long, intense kiss. Mahelt hesitated briefly, then she set her arms around him and committed her trust.

37

Winchester, May 1215

Longespee checked his swordbelt and adjusted the latch. He had lost weight during his imprisonment and the customary notch hole was too slack. He had to grow accustomed to wearing weaponry again too. There was comfort in having his famous long sword at his hip once more, but nothing fitted as it had once done and it bothered him. The taint of defeat and imprisonment needed time and prayer before it could be fully healed.

Looking out of the chamber window, he watched a groom add his destrier to the warhorse string - not one of the Bigod mounts, but a sturdy dun stallion from the King's own stable. Flemish soldiers milled in the yard, making last-minute preparations for the imminent march to London.

Longespee drew a deep breath to steady himself. He had not been home yet, had not even seen Ela or his children. John had been at Sandwich to greet his landing when he was finally exchanged for Robert of Dreux, and had immediately put him back in harness saying there was time for all else later.

For now he was needed to deal with the rebellion of various barons before it could gain strength and support. Northampton had withstood a fortnight's siege, but Bedford had fallen and the rebels were en route to London. Those rebels included many good friends and his own kin. His Bigod half-brothers; his mother's husband. He tightened his lips. Perhaps Ralph, still a prisoner in Paris, was in the best place.

'Are you ready?'

Longespee turned to John, whom he had not heard enter the room. His brother looked older. His eyes were bloodshot and pouched. New lines dragged at his mouth corners. There was also something hiding within him that Longespee couldn't quite grasp - an element of watch-fulness pertaining to Longespee himself that had not been there before, and which he assumed was caused by his closeness to the Bigods, or perhaps even guilt at the months of captivity following Bouvines. August to May had been a long time. 'Yes, sire,' he said. 'I am ready.' He pinned his cloak with the round gold brooch that was as much his signature as the long sword at his hip.

'Do not delay on the road,' John warned. 'I want London secured and then I want you and de Melun to encircle the whoresons and bring them down.'

'I shall make all haste.' Longespee donned his spurs.

John's mouth twisted. 'At least I can count on you. Men whom I have thought allies have deserted me and reneged on the oaths they swore to me at my coronation.'

Longespee heard an odd note in his half-brother's voice. There was anxiety and sadness, and almost a hint of accusation, as if Longespee himself were being measured for his loyalty.

'I will never desert you, sire.' He paused to kneel to John, who raised him up and gave him the kiss of peace on either cheek.

'It gladdens me to hear you say so. Go to your business. I am trusting you and de Melun not to fail me.' He didn't say
this time
but he might as well have done.

Hugh dusted the board with his hat, sat down on the trestle table in the main room of the family's London house on Friday Street and accepted a cup of wine from the flustered porter who had not been expecting the sudden arrival of the Earl, his heir and their knights. His wife was hastily concocting a pottage out of what they had in the stores and various underlings had been sent running to the cookshops to see what could be procured.

'Easier than Northampton,' Ranulf FitzRobert said as he directed a squire to place his baggage roll in a corner, took a cup from Hugh and joined him.

Hugh agreed that it was. Being a Sunday, the citizens of London were all at church, having conveniently left the gates wide open for the rebels. While there had been no tumultuous welcome, there was subdued approval. 'Now the King will be forced to negotiate.'

The Earl walked into the hall and glanced with amused irritation at his son and his son-in-law sitting on the table together. 'The effort spent on your upbringing all went to waste, I see,' he said.

Hugh shrugged. 'We're rebels now.'

'That doesn't mean we should relax our manners - to the contrary,' his father replied sharply, but when Ranulf started to get up, he waved his hand. 'Ah, let be. We're not likely to be eating off this thing until vespers at least.

How's the wine?' He took the cup Hugh poured for him.

'Musty but drinkable.'

'King Henry's used to have the taste and consistency of mud.' The Earl took a sip, wrinkled his mouth, but didn't comment. 'I've heard that we arrived here first by the skin of our teeth. The Earl of Salisbury and Savaric de Melun were hard on our heels.'

'The skin of our teeth is good enough,' Hugh said. 'There is nothing they can do to us. Providing we do not upset the citizens we have a safe haven.'

His father nodded agreement. 'Possession of London and the support of the Londoners give us a strong bargaining counter. I shall not deny it was a blow not to take Northampton, but we have Bedford.'

Ranulf swirled the wine in his cup. 'Some might think it less of a bargaining counter and more of an acquisition. A base from which to offer the French rule of England.'

'Indeed,' Roger replied, 'but we wait and see how John responds. I am not overjoyed at the notion of a French prince on England's throne - John is our anointed sovereign, but he must be reined back and brought to account.' He looked sombrely at Hugh and Ranulf. 'My father rebelled against the rule of what he saw as a tyrant, but he was defeated and Framlingham was taken away from us and razed to the ground. After my father died I spent the next twelve years trying to regain our lands and obtaining permission to rebuild Framlingham. I have ever played a cautious game because I know that what has taken years to build up can be destroyed in a single day. One false move is all it takes.'

'And is this a false move?' Hugh asked.

'You tell me, my son,' Roger said wearily. 'Is it?'

Longespee compressed his lips as the scout drew rein in a puff of dust. Even before the man spoke, he knew it was bad news. 'Sire, the rebels have entered London! The gates were opened to them by the citizens.'

Longespee turned his gaze to the distant smudge of the city walls. He had ridden like hell to cut off the rebels' path and sent envoys to the city to plead his cause, all to no avail. He had been outmanoeuvred and out-distanced by faster men.

'What now?' John's mercenary captain Savaric de Melun joined him. He was thickset, broad across the shoulders and battle-scarred like a seasoned bear-baiting dog. His mail shirt gleamed like snakeskin with each breath.

Longespee gnawed his thumb knuckle. 'Leave a contingent to watch their movements and harry any messengers coming in and out. No point in us all remaining here. We'll return to the King and let him decide what to do next.'

'He will be enraged,' de Melun warned.

'What else can we do?' Longespee shrugged. 'We can hardly lay siege to the place the size it is and with what we have.'

De Melun gave him a sidelong look. 'Then you tell him,' he said. 'You are his blood kin after all.'

Mahelt gasped as Hugh pulled her into his embrace and gave her an intense, scratchy kiss. He was hard-muscled and tanned from days spent outdoors on campaign and Mahelt's heart turned over with love and desire. She had received occasional letters from him, but had had no idea when he would return to Framlingham. During her childhood, her father had often been away all summer, and she had resigned herself to similar from Hugh, so to see him now was a wonderful surprise - and a relief.

He broke from her to fend off Roger who wanted to show him the sword skills he had been developing as the summer advanced. Laughing, Hugh dodged and ducked and then allowed himself to be caught and slaughtered.

'I yield, I yield!' he cried as his sons pummelled him. He made a face of mock-worry at Mahelt. 'God save me when I have three of them leaping on me!'

Laughing, Mahelt placed her hand on her ripening womb. 'That won't be for a while,' she said. 'You have a few years' grace at least.' When he had finally extricated himself from his heirs' murderous intentions and sent them off to attack his squires instead, Mahelt asked where his father was.

'Still in London, busy with legal matters.' Hugh's expression grew serious as the initial pleasure of coming home subsided. He removed his tunic and, pushing back his shirtsleeves, sat down on the bed. 'Ranulf's gone home to Middleham to prepare for conflict.'

'Conflict? Why?' Mahelt's sense of pleasure and well-being dissipated and she looked at him in alarm.

'The King has signed the charter of liberties. He met us in a meadow just outside Windsor and he put his seal to the terms. I was a witness; so was my father, and yours, and Will and Longespee.'

'Is that not good news? Is it not what you were all hoping for?'

He sighed deeply. 'It should be, but it's worthless. The moment after he signed it, John was writing to the Pope, begging to be absolved of his vow to keep the terms. He considers the charter something to be circumvented, or trampled on from behind and thrown in the midden. He might as well not have signed it at all. The quarrel has only escalated.'

'So what happens now?'

Hugh shook his head and said without enthusiasm, 'Prince Louis has agreed to send us French reinforcements while he deliberates whether or not to come himself. Your father and Archbishop Langton are doing what they can from their side of the fence too because we need a workable peace - but for the moment it seems unlikely to happen. John has signed without intention of keeping his word and the moderates have lost ground on our side. The likes of de Vesci say that if we cannot contain him, then we must bring him down.'

'And if Louis does come in person?'

'Then he will be offered the throne.'

'And that will mean war . . .'

'War is already a fact,' he replied bleakly. 'It is happening now. I am not home to rest, but, like Ranulf, to prepare us for what is to come.'

For the first time in over a year, Longespee stood in his own chamber at Salisbury Palace and feasted his gaze upon his wife. He did not think he had ever seen such a beautiful sight. Ela wore a close-fitting gown of kitten-soft green wool. A wimple of gossamer-thin linen hinted at the glossy dark gold hair beneath. The sun streaming in through the window gilded her, so that she almost seemed to be fashioned from rare illuminated glass.

A flick of his fingers sent his chamberlain bowing from the room.

Longespee waited until he heard the latch drop before he put his arms around her, kissing her on the forehead, both cheeks, and finally on her warm, pink lips. Then he held her away for the pleasure of looking at her all over again. 'I dreamed of you every day I was a prisoner. I thought of you and our children and it raised my spirits when I was at my lowest ebb.'

Raising her hand, he rubbed his thumb over her wedding ring, and then kissed the gold, enjoying the moment to the full, enhancing it for himself by playing a game of courtly love. 'I come to you remade, my mistress and my wife, to ask your favour and acceptance again.'

Ela gazed at him numbly, a forlorn expression on her face. He saw her slender throat move as she swallowed and he began to feel anxious. 'What is it, beloved? Have I changed so much? Am I not still pleasing to you?' He grew more alarmed as she covered her face with her other hand and began to sob.

'It's not that, husband,' she whispered. 'It's because I am no longer worthy of you; indeed, I shall never be worthy again.'

Longespee began to feel sick. 'What is this?' Seizing her arm, he shook her.

'Have you played me false? Have you been unfaithful?' He would never have imagined his Ela looking at another man, but he had been gone a long time and he could think of no other reason for her re action.

'Not by my choice,' Ela sobbed, 'upon my honour, not by my choice, but a certain one has disgraced the name of brother.'

Longespee reeled. His brain swirled with so much agitation that it might as well have been blank. 'What has that Bigod peasant done to you?' he snarled. He closed his fist around his sword hilt. 'I will know it all.'

'Bigod?' Her drenched gaze filled with shock. 'You mean Hugh? Oh not him, no! He and Mahelt rescued me and kept me safe. Rather look to your brother the King . . .' Making an effort, she steadied herself and told him everything.

Shocked, Longespee slumped down on a bench. 'So you tell me that John has dishonoured us both by his wantonness? That he touched you and checked himself only within an inch of the act itself?'

Ela nodded. 'I am afraid it is true, my lord.' She wrung her hands. 'I would never lie to you. He . . . he said that in your absence I was his property.'

Longespee clenched his fists and his eyes were dark with anger. 'Then he can be my brother no more. He has defiled that bond.'