THE EARL (A HAMMER FOR PRINCES) (27 page)

The army had fallen quiet. There was no sound except the feeble cheering of the garrison of Crowmarsh, and, beneath that, the dim beat of hoofs. The king’s vanguard scattered over the field; a troop of them loped their horses down to the river and let them drink. They stared out from behind the nosepieces of their helmets at the men massed across the narrow strip of water.

“Flemings,” Fulk said. “William d’Ypres’s men.”

“How do you know?”

“Mark how the girths on their saddles cross.”

Thierry said nothing. Fulk pulled his horse’s head up and rode down the line, watching the field across it fill up with men. He felt Thierry follow him, but before he could wonder about it, horns in a wild chorus shrilled, at the far end of the king’s field.

“Here he comes.”

The horns blasted without pausing. The Flemings opposite Fulk twisted in their saddles to look back. All across the dark field men rode back toward the road they had come on. A little group of horsemen was galloping toward the river, coming from the road, and the Flemings gathered in a circle around them, like the shell around an egg. Banners rustled in the dark. At a hard gallop the little group of men crossed the field to the river, a hundred yards down from Fulk, and slowed their horses and let them drink.

Rannulf rode up beside Fulk and Thierry. “The king,” he said. “God grant he doesn’t see me here.”

"It’s a little dark to recognize you, don’t you think?” Fulk said, angry.

Rannulf and Thierry looked at each other. Fulk rode away from them. The king, surrounded by his officers and his earls and his Flemings, rode at a walk along the riverbank, staring through the darkness at the men across from him. Fulk spurred his horse into the midst of the knights in front of him, forcing them to part and let him through, and rode down to the edge of the water, where the king could not help but see him.

In the late twilight, the king’s gray horse shone blue. He wore mail, with a white surcoat over it worked with silver, and a short cloak thrown back over his shoulders. Fulk had seen him last in chains, after the battle of
Lincoln
, harnessed in chains like a bull. He was surprised to find himself so eager. Not my king, he thought, which made no difference.

They rode up even with him: he saw
York
and—to his amazement—the Earl of Oxford, of course William d’Ypres, and the king’s son, Eustace, tall and broad-shouldered as his father. They paused, and the king looked across the smooth water at Fulk and threw his head back. For a moment Fulk thought he would speak, but after a pause the king rode on. The men around Fulk burst out in excited talk.

Prince Eustace held back. “
Stafford
,” he called. “I’ll look for you,
Stafford
, don’t run when you see me in battle.” He gave a harsh laugh and cantered his horse after his father.

Fulk reined around and rode up through his men to the higher ground. Tomorrow in the morning
Chester
would talk to
Winchester
—all to make
Chester
feel important, because everything was settled.
Winchester
had arranged it all, even that they were to confront the prince tomorrow, when the prince would certainly call a council to discuss the battle to be fought with the king. “Demand of him then that he accept our agreement,”
Winchester
had written, kingmaker to the end.

Rannulf and Thierry were talking, their horses shoulder to shoulder. After Fulk had left the tournament,  Rannulf had fought three times and although he had taken no one prisoner, he had not been captured again, either. He and Thierry turned and looked at him. Fulk gave them only a glance and rode away. When this was done, he would have leisure enough to deal with Thierry. and now he knew how. The moon was rising in the east, and he put his face toward it and rode back to his camp.

"I cannot believe that you have come so far simply to betray me,” the prince said. His square face was turning purple; his hands plucked furiously at the paper on the table before him. “I will not do it! I will not do it!”

Fulk, standing near the center o the crescent of barons facing him, noticed with a cool mind that surprised him how the prince’s pale eyes shone. No one spoke. Gorgeous in blue and silver satin, in silver fox fur, the Bishop of Winchester cleared his throat but did not speak.

“Not now,” Henry said. “Not now, I will not do it now—are you all traitors? Is none of you honest? By God’s Passion, I will not endure it.”

His nostrils flared, and his bright eyes stabbed at each of them in turn. Suddenly he leaped up from his stool and put both hands to his hair as if he meant to tear it. He stamped his foot. “No. No.”

Fulk lowered his head to hide his smile. Beside him, Leicester shifted his weight from foot to foot, and beside
Leicester
, the bishop spoke at last.

“My lord, it is the will of our loyal men that—”

“My loyal men would bring me no such plan as this.”

“That no more blood need be shed over—”

“
Hereford
, my lord, do you consent to this?”

“I do, my lord,” Clare of Hereford said calmly.

“Traitor.”

Hereford
shrugged.
Winchester
took a step forward. “My lord, we have all agreed to it. Even the king—”

“He is not the king. I am
England
’s lawful king. Even you admit it in this—this—” Henry snatched up the paper and wave it at them. But the high color was fading from his face; Fulk thought he would have to age somewhat before he could maintain such a rage for long. “You admit he is not the king.”

“He is the king,”
Winchester
said. His voice grew steadier and more confident. “He is the anointed king of
England
, and a man, a mere man, defies him to the peril of his soul. For our souls, we want an honorable and lawful settlement of these wars, not a conquest.”

“No,” Henry said, and now his face was dead white. “You cannot want a conquering king.”

“My lord,”
Leicester
said suddenly, “nor can you wish to be one. The Great King came as a conqueror, and I mark that in those circumstances lies the root of all the wickedness that has come upon us in the last twenty years—that the Great King was no lawful king, but a conqueror. Do you, my lord, wish to pass on to your heirs such a gift as that?”

“Fah,” the prince said. “Do you date speak law to me?”

Leicester
stiffened. “Sir, when you are gray as I am, you might presume to speak to me of law.”

The semicircle of barons clapped and called out, “Yes, yes, spoken truly,” and nodded at the prince, who sat down again on his stool. His right hand clenched and opened again, trembling.

“Mark you,”
Leicester
said, in a high, stiff voice. “All our law refuses us the right to take our own vengeance—our claims we must submit to litigation, or become outlaws. What is this war against the king but your vengeance? You are not beyond the law, and we will hold you to it, now that a just settlement can be made.”

“But can it be made? You, Bishop, does your brother wish to treat with me? Tell me honestly.”

“He will treat with you,”
Winchester
said firmly.

“Does he wish to?”

“His supporters wish him to. He will treat with you.”

“So he is betrayed, like me.”

Fulk said, “My lord, it cannot be treason to keep the law. This campaign has accomplished what we wished, to make the king realize that he must bend to the will of the kingdom.”

“That is not what I wished.”

The prince stared at him; Fulk met his eyes and saw in the abrupt tightening of the prince’s face that he understood what Fulk intended. Henry leaned forward heavily on the table. “But my will is not to be done, obviously.”

Leicester
said, “The king’s will is the good of the kingdom.”

Henry did not answer. He looked slowly down the semicircle, from face to face, his hands knotted on the table before him. Under his fists the paper lay that
Winchester
, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the earls and barons of both sides had signed and sealed. Until the prince and King Stephen signed it, the paper meant nothing, Fulk thought, and an instant later he thought that it meant far more without their signatures.

“Very well,” Henry said coldly. “I shall deal with this . . . brother of yours, my lord Bishop. But I shall not trespass against my honor, not one whit, in doing so. And if this should fail, the whole of
England
shall know who is responsible.”

The bishop bowed; all his satin crinkled softly. “It will be my object and that of Theobald of Canterbury not to fail, my lord.”

“When shall I speak with him? Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, we believe, you ought to proclaim a truce between you—the king is willing to that, to allow us the next few months to negotiate.”

“Old men’s work,” the prince said. “Wait. A truce. If I am not to have
Wallingford
—” He stood up again. “
Stamford
is in rebellion against me, am I to allow that to go unpunished, for the sake of this truce?”

“No, no, no.” Both hands raised, the bishop smiled and bowed again. “The siege of
Wallingford
shall end. The truce exists merely to keep you and my lord Stephen from fighting one another. In all the kingdom there is sufficient disorder to occupy you both for several years.”

“Truce,” Henry said, mouthing it.

Nobody spoke. Fulk’s stomach began to growl, and beside him
Leicester
laughed softly at it. Fulk pressed his hand against his belly.

“Go,” Henry said. “I have agreed to it, have I not? What are you standing there for, staring? Go away. Leave me alone.”

They rushed toward the door. For a moment no one could get out because of the mob, but at last they sorted themselves out and filed through the door into the gloom of the late afternoon. The sky was overcast; occasionally rain tapped on the roofs of the tents around them.

“Excellent,”
Derby
said. He pumped
Leicester
’s hand. “You spoke so powerfully, my lord—I was much moved.”

“Indeed,” said
Winchester
. “You alone won him, Robert.”

The other men crowded around
Leicester
, stroking him with words.
Winchester
started toward his escort, the three knights and the clerk who waited around a small fire some way away. Fulk ran a few strides to catch up with him.

“It was not Leicester,”
Winchester
said. “It was all of you, that you did not falter. He has a bad temper, that young man. Unattractive in a boy and vile in a king.”

“He has a quick wit, too. I cannot believe that King Stephen took it all sweetly.”

“Not the king. Prince Eustace. Stephen as he ages is giving up more and more to Eustace. Who is, my lord, fully the equal of your prince.”

“You don’t know Henry well, I think.”

“I hope to know him better.”

“Yes. I saw
Oxford
with the king last night.”

“I needed him there. He and de Luci are the finest of them, I think, and regard this agreement with favor. As for others, certain of them swear they will never accept Henry as king. William Peverel and the Earl of
York
.”

“They signed that paper,” Fulk said, interested.

“So they did. I believe they hope Prince Eustace will prevent a settlement’s being reached.”

The chilly, wet wind blew in their faces. They had nearly reached the bishop’s escort. Fulk was thinking of the means
Winchester
must have used to put those names on the document; he stopped, and the bishop stopped, facing him, smiling.

“Or they might hope,” Fulk said, “that when the king dies, a dispute between Eustace and Henry will give them another reign to make themselves great in.”

“That undoubtedly is in their minds.”

“Yes. The negotiations will be of interest to me. Have you considered the more delicate matters you’ll have to discuss?”

Winchester
’s smile widened. “I have, but you can help me define them, of course.”

“For example, Henry has promised the Honor of Lancaster to the Earl of Chester, but King Stephen also has a claim to it, and he might wish it settled on one of his sons, if they are not to be princes.”

“Of course.”
Winchester
nodded. “I understand you.”

“I am at your service, my lord Bishop.”

“And I am equally at yours, my lord Earl.”

Winchester
like a cat loved secret doings; smooth as a cat, he bowed, and Fulk went with him into the midst of his knights and held his horse and kissed his ring. With all the knights and servants around them they spoke politely a moment longer, and Fulk started back across the camp toward his horse, which Roger and Morgan were holding for him at the foot of the little rise where the prince’s tent stood.