When Christ and His Saints Slept
“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 ca
reer 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 stalli
on’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.”