A Place Beyond Courage (17 page)
When they came into Stephen’s presence, Adeliza fell to her knees and hung her head, so that her masses of thick brown hair concealed her face, but there was no mistaking her tears and the trembling of her body. The soles of her feet were dusty, grass-stained, and she was bleeding from a cut on her heel.
‘Beau sire, I beg you to show mercy to my lord husband and the garrison. Let us surrender the castle to you and leave with our lives!’ Her voice cracked and broke. ‘I ask not only on behalf of the men, but of their dependants, their wives and little children. Will you make orphans or corpses of us all?’ She wept harder and Stephen’s own face started to crumple with distress. He plucked a napkin off the trestle and stooped to her.
‘Oh, in the name of God!’ snapped Henry of Winchester. ‘Can’t you see you’re being played for a fool, brother? It’s just another ruse by de Redvers. First he sends us his bravely suffering knights, and when that doesn’t work, he uses a woman!’
Stephen’s eyes narrowed. He rounded on his brother. ‘Henry, enough! I full know the situation, but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost my manners.’ Gently he raised Adeliza to her feet and sat her on a camp chair. Then he had a squire bring her bread and wine. She dabbed at her eyes and thanked him in a quavery voice.
‘I understand how distressed you are, my lady,’ Stephen said, looking distressed himself. ‘These are difficult times for all, and especially, as you say, for innocent women and children. It grieves me to see you in this condition.’
‘Then I pray you, my lord, show mercy . . .’
‘I am not unmoved by your plea, but I cannot yield.’ His mouth twisted and he looked round at the others in the tent. ‘If I do, I send out the message to others that I am not prepared to do what I must.’
‘Doing what you must is murder.’
She had gone too far. Stephen drew himself up, his nostrils flaring. ‘The terms must remain the unconditional surrender of your husband and his men. I can give no guarantees.’
Adeliza put down the wine she had been about to sip and pushed the bread away. ‘Then there is no more to say, sire,’ she answered bitterly, tossing the napkin down on the trestle. ‘You are famous for your courtesy, but perhaps it is mere gilding over dross.’ She rose and, straight-backed, her hair swaying at her waist, walked from the tent. Stephen gave an indecisive grimace, then gestured John to go after her. ‘See her safely through the camp, FitzGilbert.’
‘Sire.’ John bowed out in her wake.
‘I do not need your help,’ she said to John in a voice filled with loathing. ‘What does it matter if I receive consideration now if I am going to die at your hands within a few hours or days?’
‘You will not die, my lady,’ John answered. ‘The King will not allow it.’
‘But he will allow others to be cut down by your swords or hanged on gibbets,’ she flared at him. ‘He will give his mercenaries leave to do what mercenaries do when they overcome an enemy.’
John took her arm as she stumbled. ‘It’s not over yet,’ he said.
She didn’t reply. He halted on the periphery of their camp before he came within arrow range of the castle walls. Adeliza pushed her hair out of her eyes and faced him. ‘Do you have a wife and offspring?’
‘Yes, my lady, I do.’
‘Then look to their safety because no one else will. And look to your back also, because someone will put a knife in it one day.’ She gave him a wet, angry stare. ‘At least my husband can go to his maker with his honour intact. How many in your own camp can say the same?’
Maintaining a bland expression, refusing to be drawn, John bowed to her. ‘You will be safe from here, my lady.’
‘I know that, messire. I am returning to those I trust. I cannot say the same for you.’
‘As you will have it, my lady,’ he said and returned to the camp. She was right, but then such was the nature of life at court.
At the King’s pavilion, the Bishop of Winchester, the Beaumonts, Martel and the King’s mercenary captain William D’Ypres were arguing with Robert of Gloucester, Miles of Hereford and Brian FitzCount as to whether the Exeter garrison should be allowed to ride out in honourable retreat or not. Stephen stood in the middle of the disputing factions looking as bewildered as a child caught at the centre of a parental row.
‘Sire.’ Gloucester opened his hands towards Stephen in a pleading gesture. ‘If you hang and mutilate the men behind those walls, you will sow the teeth of the hydra. How many of your own men will stay with you when they see their own kin brought to this? Take his castle in surrender, let him go overseas and count yourself well rid of him. What harm can he do if he has no lands or revenue?’
Gloucester’s voice and words were eloquent. John watched Stephen dither and vacillate and saw the weakness in him. Faced with a dilemma, Stephen could not choose. John knew from his own duties at court that to appear indecisive or not in command was fatal. One of the first lessons his father had taught him was that even if you were unsure of your ground you never let it show on your face. You never let the talking go on for too long either - and never after you had given your decision.
He had to leave to deal with the matter of some missing tallies and a supply cart of arrows that had been expected but hadn’t arrived. By the time he had sorted that out, a messenger was hurrying from the direction of the royal tent towards the horse lines and the council had broken up.
‘He’s letting them go,’ Gloucester said as John joined him outside the tent. ‘As he should have done at the start without this circus. Those men have fought to a standstill; they deserve better than to swing. Too many have relatives in our camp - there would be a riot among our own troops if it came to executions. This way, we take Exeter and honour is satisfied all round.’
There had been a great deal of talk about honour, John noticed. It was as if Matilda’s ghost lingered at the council tables and men had to say the word loudly to drown out their guilty consciences. Still, he doubted that Baldwin de Redvers slept any more soundly at night for having kept his oath . . . and the earth was going to be a hard pillow while he made his way to whatever succour he could find overseas.
De Redvers left Exeter to an exultant fanfare of trumpets from Stephen’s heralds. Some portions of the King’s army jeered, shook fists, threw clods and excrement at the line of men and women departing the castle. John stood at the front of the line to watch the garrison pass, his face expressionless, but he allowed his men to cheer fellow soldiers who had held out against the odds and had been defeated through dry wells, not lack of prowess. No one under his command threw anything save water costrels and loaves of bread. De Redvers rode his destrier, one of the few horses still alive, and his wife rode pillion behind him, her hair now decently veiled, and her feet shod in slippers of fine dyed leather. The troops belonging to Robert of Gloucester and Brian FitzCount greeted the draggled, parched refugees with a massive roar of approbation, as if de Redvers had won a great victory. Perhaps he had, John thought. He had a strong suspicion that Adeliza was right; it wasn’t over.
11
Hamstead, Berkshire, Autumn 1137
They were slaughtering pigs for winter salting and the yard by the kitchens was occupied by the industry. Aline had retired to her chamber and barred the shutters but the sound of the squeals still filtered through the timbers and made her feel sick. She fancied she could smell the basins of dark blood that stood waiting to be mixed with oatmeal and fat and turned into puddings. She wouldn’t go anywhere near the kitchens for the next several days until all evidence had been packed away in barrels, hung in smoke houses or put in store.
Rohese the nurse was telling a story to three-year-old Gilbert. Aline raised her head from embroidering crosses on a pouch and managed to find a smile as Gilbert’s voice piped up, interrupting the story with a question. He was a beautiful little boy and she was so proud of him and her achievement in bearing him - he was her gift to John of their marriage. Yet she found it difficult to connect with him on an intimate level. Rather than have him run to her for cuddles and reassurance, she wanted to join him and be a child again herself, to be praised and loved as a child. Being a grown woman was much too complicated and demanding.
Her duty remained to bring more offspring to her union with John, but when he had lain with her before going to Normandy in February, her womb had not quickened, and he had been absent on campaign since then. She had worried that her failure to conceive was a sign of God’s displeasure and had done extra penance and confession to cleanse herself. It might be a sign too that John had displeased God, but she could do nothing about her husband’s relationship with his maker; that was up to him.
Agnes, one of the women who served in the hall, put her head round the door. ‘Madam, your lord is home from Normandy. The troop’s just riding in.’
Panic flooded through Aline. Usually John sent word ahead so that she could at least be half prepared; even then she was frequently caught out. She couldn’t go out to the courtyard to greet him, not with those dead pigs strewing the kitchen yard and the ground all bloody. Now Agnes had mentioned it, she could hear the clop of hooves, the shouts of men. She bundled her sewing aside and rose to her feet, wondering which way to turn, but before she could gather herself, John was striding into the room. Seizing her by the shoulders he gave her a hard kiss on the mouth.
She staggered as he released her and, pressing a hand to her tingling lips, stared at him with widening eyes. He laughed, and her astonishment increased because she had never seen him so exuberant. He went to his son and crouched to the child’s level. ‘Bones of Adam, you’ve grown!’
Gilbert, not having seen his father since the spring, pressed his face against Rohese’s skirts.
‘Have you been good while I’ve been gone?’
‘Good as gold.’ Rohese gently ruffled Gilbert’s hair. ‘He is no trouble.’
John smiled. ‘I was always trouble - so I’ve been told!’
Aline struggled to recover her wits. She barely recognised her husband. The John she knew was laconic and understated, like a hunting cat. The man who had returned from Normandy more resembled an excited hound straining at the leash. She sent Agnes, who was still goggling in the doorway, to fetch food. There was plenty of hot water available owing to the slaughtering, but she wasn’t sure about bathtubs. Most of them were probably in use for holding pig parts.
‘W-was Normandy successful, my lord?’ she ventured and went to pour him wine from the jug on the coffer by the bed. It had been standing since last night, but hopefully wasn’t too sour.
John’s high spirits lost some of their ebullience. He gave his cloak to an attendant. ‘Normandy, sweetheart, was hell. If there was ever a reason to stay at home, then these past months have been it. I’ve seen a deal of hard fighting and put some bad nicks in my sword. I’m going to need a new blade before the next campaign.’
Aline put her hand to her mouth. She hoped he wasn’t going to tell her about his battles. ‘You weren’t injured?’ she asked faintly.
‘Not beyond bruises, and I didn’t lose any men. The Angevins weren’t much of a challenge - a rabble in fact.’ He took the cup from her. ‘We swept them back over the border like whipped curs. What finished them off was the fact that they had no idea how to dig proper latrines. Once they went down with the belly gripes, they were easy meat.’ He made a scornful face. ‘Geoffrey of Anjou and the Empress will have to do better than that if they intend claiming Normandy and England.’ He drank and looked round the chamber. Aline hoped he was familiarising himself with home rather than noticing the cobwebs in the rafters. ‘The hellish part was the fighting among our own troops,’ he added. ‘There was close to open war between the Flemish mercenaries and the Norman lords. William D’Ypres and Robert of Gloucester almost came to personal blows over their men and an issue of stolen wine.’
She wrung her hands. ‘Y-you weren’t involved?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve more sense. As long as they kept the brawl in the camp and didn’t bring it into the court, it was none of my business. Let their line commanders deal with the matter. But now Gloucester and D’Ypres hate each other. Even if they’ve shaken hands in public, they haven’t set their differences aside and Gloucester’s stayed behind in Normandy. Adeliza de Redvers was right about knives in the back.’ He took another mouthful of wine and grimaced before thrusting the cup into the hand of his squire. ‘Hugh, go and find a fresh flagon. I’ve drunk enough vinegar in the field without having to drink it at home too.’
Aline flushed and muttered an apology. ‘It’s been standing . . . If I’d known . . .’
He waved an impatient hand. ‘No matter.’ The gleam returned to his eyes. ‘Stephen has finally fulfilled the promise he made to me at his coronation. He has given me custody of his castles at Marlborough and Ludgershall as well as the manors of Wexcombe and Cherhill. Finally, I’m being rewarded.’
Aline stared at the fierce exultation on his face. This was what he had wanted from the beginning and was something she had dreaded. ‘That is great news, my lord,’ she managed to say, but her voice was small and thin. She found it difficult enough coping with what they had. How was she going to manage as the wife of not only the King’s senior marshal but also a royal castellan? Marlborough was a powerful fortress. Ludgershall was smaller, but on a level with Hamstead. She fought for composure. If John had castles, then the castles were bound to have chapels. His increased standing would mean he would be able to do more for the church. To have given them this much, God must surely be smiling on them.
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