The Sword and The Swan (12 page)

Rannulf turned to the sideboard to pour wine to soothe his throat, which was aching strangely, but his hand shook so that the wine slopped over the goblet onto the floor. If any man had told him a month before that a woman's word could cause his throat to ache with unshed tears, could cause his hand to tremble so that he could not hold a cup of wine, he would have laughed—and struck him down.

"Was that all he said?"

"No," Catherine replied, her path clear now. "He asked me to tell you of Sir Herbert's faction, which does not wish to see a strong man made the earl of Soke—at least, not a strong man other than himself. He also begged me to tell you that as my father's men they had lived long at peace and to pray you not to press them into this thankless war."

"He comes to a woman for a strange purpose."

"Some men," Catherine said icily, "are fond of their wives and are moved by their prayers and entreaties. Then too, I am all that is left of my father, and Sir Giles was ever attached to him and to me. Perhaps he is thus blinded to my imperfections and thinks all men must look upon me with favor."

The fragile golden stem of the goblet bent and twisted in Rannulf's hand. The next day he discovered that one of the leaves that was chased upon that stem had pierced his palm. Just then he felt no pain except that in his heart.

How did a man show a woman his fondness without making himself a fool? He had done everything he knew how to do—given her the keys to his money-boxes, entrusted her with his son, not failed a night in her bed so that she might know there were no other women. If she desired words, he was lost. He had none and knew none. What did she want of him? It was a woman's form of sport to make a man confess his love when she felt nothing, that she might boast of it among her friends. Did she sound so fond that he must open his heart to make her sport?

"And you, no doubt, gave answer for me," he said bitterly. "Well, what did you say? Tell me, that I too may speak by rote as you taught my child."

"I said that he should wait upon you at the prime tomorrow morning and that you would doubtless explain fully to him what you desired. And now, in truth, I am ill. I can speak with you and listen to your insults no more."

She could have dealt with the vassal in no more proper or dutiful way. Filled with remorse for his sharp words, Rannulf lifted a hand toward his wife in an unconsciously pleading gesture, but Catherine had turned away to join her women. She did not return to their bed that night, and Rannulf spent the long hours until morning cursing marriage, cursing women, and, most bitterly of all, cursing his own hasty tongue.

CHAPTER 5

The beginning of April was not the best time of the year to hold a tourney; the earth was still soft with rain and the grass had not yet formed a solid mat. Needs must, however, is a master that is obeyed, and the queen's purpose was best served by setting that date. Rannulf made no objection to the time because it could not be soon enough for him. If he was to be earl of Soke, the sooner he took homage of the men and proved his ability to rule them, the better. Leaderless barons were likely to take the bit between their teeth, and then it was no small labor to check-rein them into docility.

The day before the tourney, Robert of Leicester had come, surprisingly, to offer himself and some of his vassals to back Rannulf in the melee.

"What the devil do you mean by making an offer like that?" Rannulf asked testily. "I lead the vassals of Soke against all comers. If you want to fight, fight against us," Rannulf shrugged and then smiled, "but not too hard."

"I mean what I appear to mean. I do not believe the vassals of Soke are to be trusted. I think they will sooner run a lance through your back than through the opposing party."

Rannulf was not shocked; it was not unknown to happen in spite of oaths of homage when vassals were desperate to be rid of an overlord. Usually, however, the overlord had to be completely insufferable before such drastic action was taken, and Rannulf knew himself to be well-liked by his own men and of good repute as an overlord in the world at large.

"What reason have you to so missay these men, Robert?"

"I have two good reasons, neither of which you will like, but it were better for you to credit them. The first is that they have long sided with Henry and take no pleasure in vassalage to a king's man. Second, you know your wife was promised to Sir Herbert Osborn before the queen pressed her into marriage with you."

Rannulf shook his head, but before he could speak, Leicester continued, "Nay, there is no use scowling at me, you have seen her father's letter. Well, Osborn says at large that the father was unwilling and it was the woman who urged the match. Add but this, that the whole party speaks of the lady as the countess of Soke and makes no pretense but that they will follow her will over yours. Rannulf, save your black looks for her or for her men, I am your friend. I have been much interested to see what the lady would do since the coming of her men, so I have watched. She has been closeted with their leader more than once—a little thing that perhaps you did not know."

"You are wrong, Robert. I did know it." By now Rannulf's face was an ugly mahogany color, but he made an effort to control his temper. "My wife herself told me of the matter and the second visit of Sir Giles was to me. Moreover, she has sworn that the letter is not genuine, seal or no seal, and that, even if it is, she knew nothing of it. She told Sir Giles as much, and he confirmed her words."

"The witch," Leicester said slowly, "she has entrapped you already. Who would have thought that at your age you would be so easily enamored by a pretty face?"

"I pray you, Robert, for the years we have been brothers, say no more. I stake my life that she is as virtuous as beautiful. "

"You fool! You
are
staking your life on it. Let my men fight behind your banner."

"No!"

"Very well," Leicester snarled, "even if Catherine is a saint, the men of Soke are not to be trusted for a third reason. This you will not like either. But Eustace has been in close conference with Sir Herbert, and it is said that he will yield estates to Eustace for the title of Soke when you are dead, and hold of Eustace instead of Stephen."

"Oh, God!"

"So, finally you see the light. I will send some thirty knights to you before dark. They—"

"No, no. This changes nothing for me. I know of Osborn's party against me. It was largely that which Sir Giles came to discuss with me, but I have watched Eustace close and I cannot doubt your words. This will break Stephen, and we will be lost. If the boy turns against him, he will have no heart to fight to keep the kingdom."

"So I think also, which is why I say you should guard yourself well. We will need every man in the days to come."

Rannulf shuddered, unhearing. "So loving-kind a father. Who could believe that a child so cosseted would turn like a serpent to sting what protected him? Nay, I missay the snake. Not even the venomous reptile is so unnatural Only man destroys what loves him."

"In the name of God, Rannulf, this is no time for philosophy on the ingratitude of children. When I want to hear a sermon, I will call a priest. If you will not have my men, what will you do about the melee?"

"Sir Herbert Osborn will not fight in the melee, and I hope that the chastisement visited upon him will somewhat cool the blood of those who follow his lead. I have thrown his lie in his teeth—Catherine swears that the letter could not have been truly from her father unless extorted by force." Leicester snorted and Rannulf cast him a warning glance. "I have challenged him to make the lie good upon my body."

"Oh," Leicester groaned, "you are mad! Mad! Why I have maintained an affection for you all these years, I will never know. You have spoken with the Lord, perhaps, that you are so sure of success? Osborn is under thirty and a strong man—I have seen him."

"Am I so old?"

"Plainly your mind is like a babe's, but your body is too old to play games with trial by combat."

Rannulf looked startled but not angry. "In truth, Robert, have you heard that I am less strong a fighter of late? That creeps on a man without his knowledge, and it might be that I have not seen what other men have and are too kind to speak of."

"Nay, nay," Leicester soothed, "it is nothing of that kind. But it is one thing to fight on the field where a man may draw behind his vassals to breathe when he has need of breath, another to oppose a man more than ten years younger in single combat."

Robert of Leicester was not the only one distressed by the trial by combat. Maud was, at the same moment, confronting her husband with a mixture of rage and despair.

"How could you allow this to take place? Who is this upstart Osborn that he has the right to challenge Rannulf of Sleaford?"

"He too is a baron, my dear, and not yet less in rank. Moreover, he did not issue the challenge—Rannulf did."

"Did you say nothing? Did you not try to point out to Tefli that he only demeans himself and dishonors us by giving credit to the man's ravings by such a challenge?"

Stephen laughed. "Did you ever try to reason with Rannulf when he was in a rage?"

"Yes, I have," the queen snapped, "and I have always found him to be a reasonable man, in spite of his hasty temper."

"Not when his pride is touched. Another thing of even greater importance is that perhaps Sir Herbert has the right in the matter. It is no fault of ours, for the woman said nothing, but Eustace has examined the letter and says it certainly bears Soke's seal."

"Eustace?" Maud faltered. "Was it he that brought this before you?"

"Aye."

"Oh . . . oh." Maud seated herself beside her husband and took his hand in hers, but she looked into the flames before them with tear-blinded eyes.

She had striven so hard to keep her family free of the all-too-common power jealousies. Stephen had never been a problem; he loved his children well and tenderly, and was only too willing to give them anything they demanded. Never had he shown the faintest sign of fear that his son wished to succeed him before the natural event of his death.

Six months ago Maud would have sworn that she had succeeded with her son also, but since this last campaign Eustace had changed. Was she now to choose between her husband and her son? Maud wondered. Her hand tightened convulsively on Stephen's, and he pulled loose so that he could put his arm around her shoulders.

"You trouble yourself too much with such matters, my love. Let Rannulf of Sleaford do his own fretting. He is no easy man to match on the field, and we have done as much as we can for him."

"Yes," Maud sighed. "Oh, Stephen, I am so tired. I could almost wish . . ." She let her voice drift away, telling herself for the space of a few breaths that she would strive no more.

"Are you sick, Maud?" her husband asked anxiously.

There was now no return from the path she had chosen, for Stephen needed her. She shook her head at the question and found a smile. "No, my beloved husband, I am just growing older—if you had not noticed. It is too bad that Eustace may not lead the party against Rannulf. It would greatly ease his heart to come to blows with him in proper person."

"Not if he were beaten," Stephen remarked, for once having a clearer understanding of his son's character than his wife did.

"You are right," Maud sighed, recognizing the truth of this insight. "Yet, my lord, we must find work for him. He is young and restless."

About to protest, Stephen suddenly recalled his son's peculiar outburst when he was writing to the vassals of Soke. There had been others before and since, flashes of impatience and a spate of bitter words followed by tears or remorseful apologies. Absently, Stephen stroked his wife's arm and shoulder. Work in these times meant fighting; Eustace was a fine fighter, but there was always danger, and the father's heart fluttered with fear.

Characteristically, knowing Maud was right, Stephen followed his emotions. Perhaps he could find a new estate to confiscate and send Eustace to put it in order and collect the rents. He had a suspicion that his son's accounts were not always faithful these days, but he cared little for that. Let the boy have the gold to play with. Perhaps that would content him.

Had Maud followed his thoughts she would have protested. Eustace did not desire gold to play with, for he was not a gambler by nature. He was a man who desired a sure path to his goal, and he was as furious with Sir Herbert Osborn as his mother could have been, although their reasons were different.

In fact, earlier in the day in another part of the castle, Eustace had expressed his disapproval with considerable force. "You have marred all by your wagging tongue, Osborn. Did you not realize that Tefli was not a man to take calmly a slur cast upon a woman belonging to him? He could not tamely accept what you spread abroad about her."

"I cannot see, my lord, why you should be so angered. Is it not your desire to be rid of Sir Rannulf? Where is the difference if he fall in the melee or in single combat? It will be greatly to our advantage if I alone put him down. Surely then my claim to the woman and the earldom must be attended to."

"Surely! Surely! Have you ever seen Sir Rannulf fight? Are you so sure you are the better man?"

"I do not wish to boast, but you have not seen me either, my lord. He is old. His powers, whatever they were, must be waning."

Eustace shrugged. Perhaps it was better thus. If Osborn won, he would be rid of Rannulf and Osborn would still need his support to obtain the earldom because he knew who wrote that letter and how Soke's seal had come upon it. On the other hand, if Osborn were killed, Eustace would be rid of an ally of very uncertain value.

"Very well," he said at last, smoothing the frown from his face, "It is too late to mend anyhow. We may as well arrange the battle as close as possible to suit our needs. Tefli will cry you first thing in the morning, no doubt, but do not answer then because you have the full day to reply. Let him run the jousts against the regular challengers of Soke first. If he is indeed failing, you will cut him down more easily."