To Defy a King (53 page)

De Breaute shrugged. 'A bit of rain won't hurt him. Never hurt me when I was his age. Breeds toughness.'

'It can breed a chill in the lungs too. You know how important he is.'

'Ah, don't fuss,' de Breaute growled. 'The boy's all right - more than I can say for my arse.' Rubbing his backside, he gestured a groom to take his horse.

Roger dismounted from his pony and almost fell because his legs were so stiff and numb with cold. He clung to the bridle and bit his lips and squeezed his lids on a shaming heat of tears. The man with the beautiful cloak beckoned to a minion and Roger found himself folded in a thick, scratchy blanket and hustled away to a chamber in the guard tower. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw de Breaute and the lord in the cloak having a heated conversation. He couldn't tell what they were saying, but the words were accompanied by several choppy, vigorous hand gestures.

The soldier who had charge of Roger set him down on the bench before a hearth filled with glowing peat turves, and ladled out a bowl of chicken broth from the cauldron hanging over the fire. Roger cupped his hands around the heat and felt his fingers begin to burn as sensation returned. He had just taken his first scalding sip of the wonderful greasy soup when the dark-haired man entered the room. A faint smell of incense clung to his cloak. 'Do you know who I am?' he asked curtly.

Frowning, Roger was about to shake his head, but then his eyes lit on the very long scabbard at the man's belt and a dim memory surfaced. 'My uncle FitzHenry,' he said slowly. 'My uncle Longespee.'

The man's eye corners crinkled. 'Clever lad. And you are my nephew.'

Roger eyed him with a mingling of suspicion and curiosity. 'What are you doing at Framlingham?' The feeling was returning to his limbs with a vengeance and the pain made him want to screw up his face, but he knew that brave knights didn't show their weakness.

'It is a place to stay on my way to the King, and I have men here with whom I need to speak.'

'I'm going to the King too,' Roger said.

'I know.' Longespee turned to a squire who had entered the room. 'Find the lad some dry clothes, and look sharp about it.'

'Sire.'

Roger took another sip of the broth and then looked steadily at Longespee.

'Do you know where my mama is?'

'In London with the rest of your family,' his uncle said, adding as a curt afterthought, 'They're all safe.'

'Have you seen them?'

'No, but trust me, they are safe.'

Roger wanted to be safe with them. It was all very well being told to be brave and a knight, and his own vivid imagination and tenacity had carried him far. But just now he was almost at the end of his tether. He wanted the softness of a loving arm, and there wasn't one. Holding his head up, refusing to cry, he put all of his pride into the look he gave his uncle.

Longespee's stomach jolted because the boy had the gaze of his grandsire, the great William Marshal. Steady, measuring. The squire returned with clothing and Longespee watched Roger put down his half-drunk broth and begin stripping his wet garments. The clothes clung to his body and he was trembling so much that he was making very little progress, but Longespee recognised and approved the pride and determination in his efforts. He gestured to the squire. 'A gentleman should always have assistance to dress,'

he said. 'That is the correct way.'

Roger gave him a suspicious look to see if he were being patronised, but then nodded and allowed the youth to help him don a clean shirt, tunic and hose. The clothes were much too big for him, but they were warm and dry and would do for the moment. Seeing his nephew's narrow white body sent a pang through Longespee. Whatever the conflicts between himself and Hugh, the child was still kin, still a vulnerable little boy. And too many vulnerable little boys had died of late. Watching Roger sit and finish his soup by the fire, Longespee drank a cup of wine and contemplated his new charge. The boy had beautiful manners and charm. Much as it pained him to do so, Longespee had to admit that Hugh had done a good job with him thus far.

'De Breaute has handed you into my custody for the rest of the journey to the King,' he said as Roger put down his bowl. 'After that you will be sent to live with your cousins until you can be with your family again.'

A spark kindled in Roger's eyes. 'My cousins Ranulf and Marie?'

Longespee shook his head. 'No, my children. My boy William is five years old and he has a brother about the same age as Hugo.' His mind's eye filled with the image of Hugh's fair-haired second son and the incident that had led to estrangement. He still thought it ridiculous. He wouldn't have harmed his nephew for the world. A game, it had been no more than a game. He knew where to stop - unlike John. His mouth tightened. The old bridges still stood, but they were rotten, and if he was to enjoy the future, he had to destroy them and build new ones.

Roger's head began to droop. Longespee told the squire to make up a pallet for him in his own chamber and put a hot stone in the bed first.

Roger blinked at Longespee like a little owl. 'Does your son like playing at knights?'

Longespee smiled. 'It's his favourite game,' he said, and felt sad, because he had seen so little of his children that he didn't really know whether William liked playing knights or not.

Ela raised her eyes from the altar cloth she was working on to look out of the window and watch the children at play in the ward. They had made boats out of bark and straw and were sailing them in the horse trough, thoroughly absorbed in their play. It was a warm spring day, the sun hot in the sheltered spots; impossible to believe that a violent storm had ravaged the hilltop a week ago, flattening one of the bailey buildings and tearing oak shingles from the stable roof to leave moth-eaten holes. That same storm had scattered the English fleet defending the coastline against French invasion.

William had written to her saying he had not been aboard ship on the night of the storm, for which she thanked God, but she was still worried because she had read the tension in her husband's words. Their defences were open and if the French did land, Salisbury lay directly in their path and it was a fortified palace, not a mighty fortress.

The children abandoned their boats to play a game of romp and chase. Roger was skilled at turning cartwheels and his cousin tried to copy him, but didn't have Roger's advantage of age and muscular development. Ela was finding her young nephew hard work. He was like a whirlwind and possessed prodigious levels of energy and curiosity. It was as if he had to experience everything at once. In many ways he reminded Ela of Mahelt. He had his mother's restless vitality and he could be imperious. There was no spite or pettiness in him though, and he didn't sulk or whine. He had courage and a good heart. He was proud too, but when she had ignored protocol and cuddled him, he had not pulled back, but rested within the security and comfort of her embrace, blinking back tears.

Ela picked up her sewing again, but had barely taken half a dozen stitches when she heard horses and looked up to see her husband and his entourage pounding into the bailey at a sweated gallop. Her heart started to thump.

Folding her needlework aside, she gave brisk commands to her women and hurried downstairs to greet him.

He came striding towards her and she saw from the look on his face -

intense, bright and anxious - that something of vast import had happened.

'My lord.' She dipped him a curtsey.

'My lady wife.' He raised her to her feet and kissed both her hands and then her mouth. 'Louis has landed and the King has drawn off to Winchester. The Marshal advised him against risking all in a pitched battle. Canterbury has yielded to the French, and now Louis is besieging Rochester with the London barons.'

Ela searched his face. 'So what is to do?'

William continued to hold her hands. 'I cannot stand against the might of the French,' he said. 'Unlike the Marshal I do not have lands in the Welsh Marches or Ireland where I can retreat or keep my family safe should we be overrun. I have no choice but to surrender to Louis.' He tightened his grip and looked into her eyes. 'When I knelt to you and gave my fealty, I meant it. I will serve you first and above all, saving God. I want you to pack what you need and take yourself and the children to London. That at least is safe for now.'

Ela raised one hand, still clasped in his, and stroked his cheek with concern.

'I know this is difficult for you.' He had always been intense about his royal position and to be closing the door on it was no small thing. She could see the pulse beating fast in his neck and his tension was palpable.

He gave a pained smile. 'De Warenne, Arundel, Aumale and Albini are of the same mind. We shall go en masse and tender our swords.' He shook his head. 'It is not difficult, my love. The difficult part has been the time until now, and will be in severing allegiance with certain honourable men who will still follow my brother. I know I have done the right thing for us, and that makes it very simple indeed.'

Hugh emerged from his tent and, with hands on hips, studied the walls of Winchester Castle. Defenders paced the battlements and sent sling stones and quarrels raining down on anyone who approached within range. Clods of dung and ordure too. Yesterday one of the Bigod knights had received a direct hit on the shoulder from a turd. It could have been worse; Thomas could have been dead, but removing human excrement from the links of a mail shirt was a salutary lesson.

Louis had taken Rochester with little difficulty and had moved to London where he had been formally offered the crown amid great rejoicing. There had been a grand procession in St Paul's Cathedral and the barons in rebellion against John had knelt in homage to Louis, who had sworn to restore all their good laws and lost heritages. From there they had ridden out to the hinterlands. Reigate, Guildford and Farnham had all surrendered and now they were encamped at Winchester. John had fled before them, having first fired the suburbs. The flames had spread to the town, leaving it in smoking ruins, but the castle and the Bishop's fortress at Wolvesey still held out under the command of Savaric de Melun. Louis had brought up his siege machines and this was the tenth morning that the walls had received a pounding. The word was that de Melun had sent to ask John for permission to surrender.

'Won't be long now,' Ralph said as he joined Hugh. He was breakfasting on a chunk of bread wrapped around a hunk of blue-veined cheese. 'Want some?'

Hugh accepted the portion Ralph tore off. 'You think today's the day?'

'Could be. We've pounded them to within an inch of surrender. Might be a bit bloody on the walls though.' Ralph chewed and swallowed. 'I remember when I was with Longespee at one castle in Poitou, we piled stones into a fishing net and dropped them on the attackers. Not pretty.'

'Let's hope they're not up for such tricks.' Hugh eyed his brother. Having recovered from his time as a prisoner, Ralph had also rediscovered his optimism, even in the face of hard danger, and his honest relish for life. He made Hugh shake his head, but smile despite himself.

'What do you think of Louis thus far?' Ralph stuffed the last bite of bread in his mouth and dusted his hands.

Hugh shrugged. 'In terms of being able to do the task, he is fit enough. He's no saviour, but he is far better than the alternative. But we must watch our lands and privileges and make sure he does not erode them in favour of his own French lords.'

Ralph smiled. 'Since you and Papa are so well versed in the law, I doubt we'll be fleeced.'

'No, but we daren't relax our vigilance.'

The first boulder of the day hurled from a siege machine and crashed against the castle's already damaged and ragged defences. A puff of dust rose from the impact and shards of broken stone flew like missiles.

'Good aim,' Ralph said. 'Needs to be a bit higher. They'll get it next time around.'

Hugh agreed, and then turned at a commotion near the entrance to the camp.

He narrowed his eyes the better to focus. 'Flags of truce,' he said.

'Dear God, it's . . . look at the shields!' Ralph's complexion flushed as he pointed. 'It's Longespee and de Warenne.'

Hugh felt his stomach plummet as he stared at the men riding in.

'Looks as if they've come to yield to Louis,' Ralph said cheerfully. 'That's good news, isn't it? God's lance - Arundel and Albini too!' He craned his neck. 'I'd never have thought it of Longespee.'

'Salisbury lies in Louis's path,' Hugh said, recovering himself. 'He's yielding before we put him under siege. This way he will get to keep his lands intact. Besides, he has a score to settle with John.'

'Doesn't everyone? What's Longespee's?'

'His wife,' Hugh said.

'You mean John and Ela?' Ralph looked stunned.

'It went as far as threat and assault while Longespee was a prisoner.'

Ralph's mouth curled with revulsion. 'Why would he do that? Longespee fought his heart out for John at Bouvines.'

'Jealousy,' Hugh replied, watching his half-brother on his powerful dappled palfrey. 'He wanted Longespee to himself, and Ela was a distraction.'

'Sometimes I wonder if we are doing the right thing,' Ralph said, 'and then I hear something like this and I know for sure we are.'

'It is about power too. About being able to break something that belongs to someone else. I'm surprised Longespee has lasted this long, but then I suppose he had to calculate his moment for Ela's sake.' He compressed his lips because his words reminded him that his own calculations had gone awry and had caused devastation to his life, both the political and the domestic. Mahelt was still barely speaking to him. 'We shall be wanted in council,' he said abruptly and shouted for his squire to fetch his swordbelt.

Hugh stood amongst the barons who were already fighting for Louis and watched the French prince accept the surrender and homage of the four lords who had come to him for terms. Louis knew exactly how to play them. He wore a sympathetic smile and he was gracious. He smoothed the path with courtesy and Hugh watched the supplicants begin to relax. Longespee in particular seemed to find Louis's courtliness reassuring. Here was familiar territory and a language that he spoke. It wasn't a case of how were the mighty fallen, but more one of allies welcomed late to the meet. Louis bade them bring up their baggage and their men, and pitch camp in camaraderie.