To Defy a King (57 page)

'You should keep off the road and go to the priory at Thetford,' Hugh said.

'Tell them that you were sent by the Earl of Norfolk and that you are to be given alms in the name of Countess Ida.'

She gave him a contemptuous look. 'In whose name was I given this?' she asked, indicating her wasted homestead.

Hugh made the decision to take the troop off the road and travel by little-known byways too, because although it increased the journey time, it made them less likely to encounter marauding groups of whatever faction.

Nevertheless, the stench of smoke continued to lie heavy on the air and they came across people hiding in copses and hollows with their goods and animals. Sometimes there were corpses: men swinging from trees with swollen throats and broken necks. At the roadside they passed bodies of the elderly and the infirm, cut down as they fled. Once they came across the heartbreaking sight of a dead elderly woman clutching a small baby that was evidently her grandchild. Mahelt made herself look because she knew she had to bear witness and to turn away would be cowardice. Hugh looked too, his mouth tight with unspoken revulsion. Everywhere, they heard the same story: King John's men had come through burning and looting and the French were following on his heels doing the same. As the old woman said, there was nothing to choose between them. The world was burning.

The party stopped at dusk to water the horses and spend the night at Bishop's Stortford, which Hugh judged to be reasonably safe since they were within a day's ride of London. There were no King's men here and the French who had gone north to harry had already passed through.

They claimed hospitality at the manor and were provided with stabling and sleeping space in the hall by the Bishop of London's steward. Food was in short supply and they made do with their own provisions augmented by locally brewed ale, which tasted weak and sour. The servants watched them with the whites of their eyes.

Hugh's father huddled in his furs and brooded over his cup. 'That old woman,' he said, 'what justice has she had? All those farms put to the torch.

All those burning fields and dead animals and people. We husband and nurture, and then either we watch it be destroyed or we take torches and destroy it ourselves. Once I had a lovely young wife and I built a castle for us from the ashes of the one the King burned down. Now I have no wife and no castle and all I have seen today are burned-out homes, courtesy of more kings. I have lived too long.'

'You are tired and road-weary and grieving.' Hugh was shocked that his father would speak of giving up. Always he had been there, meeting each new challenge with steady, stoical calm. 'You will feel different when we get to London.'

His father raised exhausted, red-rimmed eyes. 'Do not presume to tell me what I shall feel.' He sought the straw pallet that his squire had laid out for him and, without another word, rolled himself in his cloak and turned his back.

Hugh sat on the hearth bench and drew his own cloak around his body.

Mahelt joined him and he handed her his cup. She took a swallow and he watched her throat ripple. She had said very little on the road and had withdrawn further into herself as they came across each new sight of rapine and atrocity, the torched farms, the destruction and waste of life. 'Your father is right,' she said dully. 'It is all the same. Louis and John. There's not a penny to choose between them, is there?'

'Between them in a time of peace there is a great deal,' Hugh said, 'but between them in war - no. Not for ordinary folk.' He took the cup from her, drank and replenished it, because even though the ale was foul, it was something to do that was commonplace. Glancing towards his father's huddled form beneath the blanket, he couldn't believe he had turned his face to the wall.

'You must take up the reins,' Mahelt said. 'Even if your father recovers, he is certainly not capable of making decisions.'

He laughed without humour. 'And you think I am capable?'

She was silent for a while, and then she said quietly, 'Yes, I do.'

Hugh exhaled shallowly. Mahelt was brave and true and strong, but she never admitted to being wrong. Even to compromise was a struggle for her.

He felt as if a door that had been slammed in his face had now reopened to show a thin wedge of light. 'And of making the right judgement?'

'Is anyone?' Her jaw suddenly trembled. 'I know why you wanted me and the children to stay at Framlingham. You are just a man, as you said. And I am not only a Marshal daughter, but a Bigod wife, and I have to go forward or I shall be forever stuck in this terrible, lonely place.'

Hugh's chest was painful with all the emotion swelling there; with all the hope he dared not show. He drew her against him and kissed her hesitantly and she responded in the same way, their embrace a question mutually asked, and as yet without certain answer. They retired to the straw pallets that the squires had laid out and slept bundled up in each other's arms, closer than they had been in an age, Hugh's hand claiming Mahelt's long, dark braid, and hers upon his chest, over the solid rhythm of his heart.

And the Earl slept alone, as he had done for a long time, tears seaming the age tracks at his eye corners.

46

London, October 1216

Mahelt was busy supervising the hanging of a new set of bed curtains on the great bed at the Friday Street house. They were deep red and the Flemish-spun cloth was good and heavy, ready for winter, but putting them up made everyone's arms burn like fire. Eventually she stood back, studied the drape, checked the length and, with relief, nodded to her women to hook the curtains out of the way until it was time to draw them for sleep.

They had been back in London for ten days and she was gradually settling into a routine. The first thing she had done on her return was embrace her children and for a while had not let them out of her sight.

Hugh had had to leave almost straight away on the business of the earldom: collecting funds from the treasure deposited at Colne Abbey. The mention of the place, the knowledge he was going there, had renewed the friction between them, but she had made an effort to avoid opening up wounds that had scarcely begun to heal. They had to have funds and they had to live on their surplus because they had little access to revenues from their demesne estates.

Since their return her father-in-law had spent most of his time sitting by the fire, at first gazing into it, conjuring pictures of the past and holding to his breast the band of embroidery Ida had been working on. However, during the last few days he had begun emerging from his numbness and had started work on documents and charters concerned with the legal aspects of Louis's rule. He seemed to find comfort in the study and use of measured words and cerebral matters requiring no emotion. For comfort he turned to his grandsons and while Roger was too energetic to be still for long, Hugo loved to sit beside his grandfather and watch him write. Both boys were fascinated by the sand sprinkler and the process of melting wax and pressing the seal into the malleable substance. Mahelt could remember doing the same when her father sealed documents handed to him by his scribe, and how important she had felt. A pang of sadness flickered through her. She had barely seen her father since his return to England. The current state of hostilities meant that she was unable to visit her family because it wasn't safe. While Hugh's father sat by the fire and pored over legal documents, hers was riding hither and yon in John's service, still active and energetic, still in the saddle, but in his seventieth year, he should be at home too with his grandsons at his feet.

'Madam, your brother is here,' announced Orlotia from the doorway.

'My brother?' Mahelt looked round.

'The lord William.'

Mahelt's gut clenched. The last time her brother had arrived unannounced, he had brought catastrophic news. 'Send him up,' she said, keeping her voice level. 'And bring wine and honey bread.'

Orlotia departed. Moments later, Will strode into the room. Mahelt hastened to embrace him with a glad cry of welcome, although she was shocked at how haggard he looked. 'It is so good to see you!' she said. 'How are you faring?'

He made a short, open-handed gesture. 'Well enough, sister,' he replied, with more courtesy than truth. 'And you?'

She grimaced. 'Well enough in my turn. I thought to make this room ready for winter because it seems as if we shall be spending it in London.'

Orlotia returned with the wine; Mahelt bade her leave it and then poured for Will herself. 'We hear that all of Lincolnshire has been burned under John's hand and that he set some of the fires himself.' She shivered, remembering her own ordeal. 'Reports say that when de Melun accepted a bribe from the monks of Crowland Abbey to leave their lands alone, John struck the silver out of his hand and went to do the deed himself. They say he torched hayricks and buildings and ran up and down laughing like a madman.'

Will nodded. 'I am afraid it is all true. I would not put anything past this excuse for a king we have.' He curled his lip. 'He's at Lynn now, soliciting support from the merchants, but there is news and that's why I'm here.' He gave her a look glittering with impatience. 'De Burgh is in difficult straits at Dover and has requested a truce while he asks John's permission to yield the castle. If Dover falls, then Louis has control of the South and we're a step closer. Where's Hugh?'

'Gone to the abbey at Colne,' she said, 'but I expect him back soon. Have you seen our father?'

Will shook his head and turned his mouth down at the corners. 'Not since Gloucester. I withdrew from there because I had to - I had no choice.'

Mahelt nodded. 'You couldn't have fought each other.'

Will had seized Gloucester, but their father and the Earl of Chester had arrived to relieve it. Had Will not backed down, there would have been a pitched battle with father against son, and no way back.

Will shuddered. 'I am weary of warfare. No matter how many times I chop myself free with my sword, I wind up entangled again, and each time it is harder to cut loose. I shall never stop fighting John, but sometimes I wonder what it's for. What kind of peace are we going to have even if Louis prevails? The peace of the grave, I sometimes think, and then at least I could sleep beside Alais.' He looked at his little niece who had toddled into the room, pursued by her nurse. 'My son would just be finding his feet by now, had he been allowed to live.'

'Will, don't.' Mahelt clasped his shoulder, hating to see her vibrant, imperious brother so downcast and feeling his grief crack her own heart.

He raised his hand and placed it over hers in silent acceptance of compassion.

The sound of horses in the yard floated through the window. Mahelt hastened to peer out. 'Hugh's back,' she said with a surge of relief. She saw him glance up at the window and then walk briskly to the stairs.

'Something's happened.'

Will stood up and instinctively put his hand to his sword hilt.

Hugh flung into the chamber, the wild October wind at his back. 'Have you heard?' he panted, his eyes as bright as speedwells and his chest heaving.

'John is dead!'

Mahelt and Will both stared at him.

'Of the flux. He took sick at Lynn, but pushed on to Newark and died there.

I heard the news on my way here. I thought you might already know. It'll be all over London by noon.'

'John is dead?' Will blinked like a sleeper being shaken awake from an intense dream. 'You are certain?'

Hugh nodded. 'He was borne into Newark on a litter, crying out in agony every step of the way. The Abbot of Croxton was at his deathbed. He has appointed your father one of the executors of his will and given him particular care of his eldest son.'

'My father?' Mahelt repeated with a quickening heart.

'With supervision from the Papal Legate. The King is to be buried at Worcester and young Henry is to be crowned at Gloucester Abbey. It looks as if either your father or Ranulf of Chester will be appointed regent until the boy is of age.'

Mahelt looked between her brother and her husband and saw similar expressions on their faces. They were all like swimmers who had been battling against a tide for so long that they were exhausted and had finally been tossed upon an unknown shore with no idea of what lay beyond the strand. The relief still to be breathing was not as yet euphoric because it was a struggle to draw the breath.

Will inhaled shakily. 'For all of my youth and manhood I have suffered at the hands of that man. He has cost me my wife, my family, my honour. And now he is gone . . . It's as if I have raised my sword to strike and cloven nothing but mist.' Scraping his hands through his hair, he rose to his feet. 'I have to go away and think about this - about what to do.'

'We all do,' Hugh said, his tone more grim than joyful.

Sitting beside Mahelt on their newly curtained bed, Hugh took the comb she had been about to run through her hair. It was very late but folk were only now retiring. All of London was agog with the news of the King's death.

The alehouses and cookshops had been packed with customers discussing the news and speculating on what would happen now. People had been reluctant to go home. There had been several drunken disturbances and there were going to be some sore heads in the morning - not all the result of too much wine.

Hugh took a handful of Mahelt's heavy dark hair and drew the comb through its thick sheen. 'If I had no other task than to do this for the rest of my days, I would be content,' he murmured.

'Your arm would soon grow tired,' she replied, but she was smiling.

'I would bear it. The pleasure would outweigh the pain.'

She laughed with her mouth closed. 'Indeed?'

'I would hope so.' The sense of easiness with each other was tentative, but it was there, like the first day of spring after a long, hard winter. The ground could easily freeze over again. He combed and smoothed until her hair was a gleaming, lustrous skein, crackling with life. Eventually she turned to him and slipped her arms around his neck.

'Then let us see about hope,' she said.