The Sword and The Swan (25 page)

"Hereford, come out, I wish to speak to you," Rannulf bellowed across the murky water.

He had guessed right; Hereford himself was on the walls. A figure moved out upon the battlements near the main tower, the sun glinting on golden hair.

"I have nothing to say to you, Soke. Nothing to say to any man who comes from Stephen of Blois."

"Then you are more a fool than ever I thought you, Hereford. Do you fear one single man that you must bide armored and shut up behind your walls?"

"Neither single man nor all the forces of the man who calls himself king do I fear. You are the fool, not I, to come upon a thankless, fruitless errand."

"If I am such a fool, why guard yourself so carefully from me? What harm can I do?"

"I never thought you to be a maker of trouble, Soke. Why should you be the one to be sent with the king's writ, except that they wish to use you as a scapegoat? You cannot enforce the writ to bring me to court. In mercy to yourself, go and shut yourself into your own keep."

Rannulf laughed without mirth. "I have no writ from the king, although I do come from him. Must I bellow at you across this water all day, or will you let me in?"

There was a pause, then Rannulf saw the mailed figure on the battlements make a sharp gesture and the drawbridge groaned slowly downward. Alone, Rannulf rode across. Alone, he dismounted in the bailey. Equally alone, the slight, upright figure of the earl of Hereford came across to him.

"Your men?" Hereford asked.

"Let them bide. Too much mixing might lead to words—though they care less than nothing one way or the other, as yours do, no doubt."

"Enter then."

Within the keep the hospitality offered was gracious, if not warm. If it had been ten times as cold, however, Rannulf would not have noticed for he was so much struck with the building to which he was taken that he had eyes for nothing else.

The thick, carefully guarded walls and eight great towers of Hereford keep, Rannulf passed without a flicker of interest other than that aroused by tactical considerations. Sleaford was as strong or stronger, although not as large. It was the only weak thing in Hereford keep, the manor house built as living quarters for the earl's family that drew his attention and held it.

A house within the walls of the keep itself and, therefore, safe. A comfortable house, warm and light and dry, whose walls did not seep moisture from the earth filled walls, which were ever wet. Catherine would love such a house.

Thus far Rannulf had made no answer to several icily polite inquiries about his trip that Lady Hereford had put to him. Her large amber eyes grew brighter, golden f1amcs of wrath leaping within them for she knew Rannulf of old and knew his opinion of women.

Rannulf could be rude as he liked and think what he liked of women, but not in
her
house, Elizabeth thought. Roger of Hereford's expression grew wary; he understood all too well the burning eyes and the two spots of bright color his wife's cheeks displayed. It would be amusing to see how Rannulf reacted when a real woman he could not lay hands upon lit into him, but it was far more important to hear what his unwelcome guest had to say and be rid of him.

"Elizabeth."

The gentle note of warning in Hereford's voice pierced Rannulf's abstraction as nothing else could. His glance flickered from the earl, whose expression expressed nothing, to the magnificent flaming countenance of his hostess.

There was nothing in the warning to concern himself, Rannulf decided. Lady Hereford was merely about to fly into a rage about something. She was always flying into rages—and very beautiful she looked when she did, he thought indulgently.

He had started to look back at the walls to judge, if he could, what kind of masonry had been used to point the stone when it occurred to him that Hereford might be embarrassed by his presence at a quarrel. Catherine, he knew with the stirring of warmth that always came with her name, would never misbehave in such a way.

"I would like to look around," Rannulf said abruptly.

Permission to do so would serve two purposes; it would remove him from the scene so that husband and wife could have their battle out, and it would give him a chance to fix the details of construction of the manor house in his mind.

Hereford's mouth dropped open with surprise. He knew Soke to be a brave man, but to enter an enemy keep alone and boldly ask to inspect it so that one might know best where to attack was not bravery but insanity.

"You expect me to show you—"

"You need not come," Rannulf said indifferently. "I can see what I want for myself."

"I have no doubt that you can," Lady Hereford replied in dangerously gentle tones, the sarcasm of which passed right over Rannulf's head.

"Yes. It does not seem a difficult structure."

"It does not!" Hereford snapped. "Yet I think it could well withstand all that Stephen of Blois could muster against it were there no traitors within."

"Surely not," Rannulf exclaimed, "unless your masons have discovered some secret unknown to all others. A few blows with a good catapult must certainly destroy these thin walls."

"Thin! Why they are twelve feet—" An expression of puzzlement replaced the outrage in Hereford's face.

"Nonsense," was the rude reply. "Anyone not blind can see that the windows are less than a foot recessed."

Lady Hereford caught it first and burst out laughing. "You mean you wish to look around the manor house?"

"Yes," Rannulf looked surprised. "What could I have meant else? You could not think me mad enough or discourteous enough to expect to examine your keep with matters as they are between us."

Now Hereford was laughing as heartily as his wife. "You must forgive me, Rannulf. After this trip here and your coming alone into my power, I can believe you mad enough for anything."

"Nonsense," Rannulf repeated. "Perhaps my hopes are not high for making accord between you and the king, but even faint hopes are better than nothing. And, with regard to my personal safety, you have proven yourself to be an honorable man. You would no more do me hurt or keep me against my will than I would you, if you came to my keep."

"I will not gainsay you," Hereford said slowly, realizing that what might not be generally true was certainly true for Rannulf, earl of Soke. "Well, then, let me show you what you like and tell you what I can. I know little enough, for the house was built in my father's time and my mother is no longer with us."

Rannulf shook his head rather regretfully. "It does not matter. I had some thought to build such a place for my wife. Catherine loves beautiful things … but I will build nothing if it comes to war and if it does not, I will have time enough to ask my questions. The king desires to know, Hereford, why you did not come to pay your respects when the queen was buried."

Hereford laughed again, but with a cold and bitter undertone to the sound. Before he could speak, his wife laid a hand on his arm. She knew that Rannulf had been fond of Maud, quite aside from his duty to her as queen, and she had warmed toward him when she realized that he loved his wife enough to expend a large sum in building a house just to please her.

Since it could do no good for her husband to offend Rannulf by telling him outright that they were glad Maud was dead, let him give other reasons that were equally true. Although Lady Hereford was braced for war and would face it as courageously as she faced every other trial of her life, she no longer desired a quick victory at any cost. With the passage of the years she had grown more patient, more wary, as the circle of those really dear to her who could be hurt by war expanded.

"Lord Soke, why do you ask a question to which you know the answer already?" Lady Hereford asked in gently reproving tones. "You must know that he did not attend the burial for two reasons. My father was sick unto death—praise God he is so greatly recovered now that he needs us no longer—and it was needful for Roger to be there to guard the lands for my brothers who are so young."

Rannulf nodded without comment and Elizabeth added sharply, "Even you could not desire the lands of Chester to fall into Lincoln's power or perhaps others still worse. Also, it was no secret that Stephen was to call a muster of the vassals to attack Henry—God knows why, for Henry has offended no man in England by taking what his father bequeathed to him and what carne to him in his wife's name."

Hereford, too, was not anxious for war although ready for it. He had decided that he could do nothing to stop the attack on Henry in Normandy. Even if he prevented Eustace from setting out for France by beginning hostilities in England, Louis would attack alone. That would be sufficient to tie Henry to Normandy for some time, at least until he was certain that his vassals were loyal and would resist the French king even if he were not present to spur them on.

In council with the other pro-Angevin lords, Hereford had discussed the probable result of Eustace's mission. The decision had been against interference, the general opinion being that, considering Eustace's and Louis's dispositions, they would soon be at each other's throats. The rebels hoped that the dissension that would arise might make the combined attack less effective than either alone might be.

Aside from these considerations, there were others even more basic and practical. An attack on Stephen of Blois in Henry's absence would be futile. One could not put an absent king on such an uneasy throne. Furthermore, Hereford had sworn, not long since, to lead no more lost causes. He was not ill-pleased, under the circumstances, to catch a definite gleam of satisfaction in Rannulf's eyes. If soft words alone could keep the peace, Hereford was well prepared to follow his wife's lead.

"I thought, Lord Soke, that it would cause less trouble if I absented myself rather than refusing openly what Stephen has no right to demand. Neither I nor my father before me recognized his right to the throne. Neither I nor my father swore fealty to Stephen of Blois. Whatever right he has to demand service of his own vassals, he has no right to demand anything of me. Nonetheless, I did not desire to argue such matters in the moment of his grief nor to provoke him to particular anger."

"So much then you would be willing to say—that your father-by-marriage's illness kept you, and that you intended no disrespect to Maud's memory?" Rannulf asked, ignoring a good part of what Hereford had said. .

Lord and Lady Hereford exchanged glances, studied Rannulf's face, and exchanged glances again. "I might be willing," Hereford conceded warily, and then added impulsively, "I will fight if I must, but I have little lust to it."

"So we all feel. There has been too much fighting, too much blood, too much death, and too much famine."

Both listeners turned amazed eyes on Rannulf, but he was looking beyond them through the open window at the green fields and clear sky.

"This is a new manner and a new way of thinking that you have, Soke," Hereford said suspiciously.

"No, why?" the older man replied. "If you find it surprising that I
,
who am a man of war, come to you on a mission of peace, you have but to look at the difference in the circumstances. On the other occasions where we crossed swords, Lord Hereford, you bore the sword and held it at my throat. I could not with honor sue for peace. It was needful to defend my king and what else was mine. Now it is the king who threatens war, and it is no shame for me to come and ask you to make what submission is reasonable to avert a war that will hurt all and help none. There is no difference in me."

Doubtless, Lady Hereford thought, the man believes what he says, but it is not the truth for all that. Some woman, and Maud being dead it could not be she, was exerting a powerful influence on this harsh and bitter man. Elizabeth knew nothing of Rannulf's wife but conceived a great desire to meet the lady who could have softened so hard and stubborn a character.

Without anger, Elizabeth listened to Rannulf who was now relating the exact terms of the submission the king required and then swiftly stemming Hereford's angry negative with an upheld hand.

"Many of these matters are impossible for you to promise or to perform," Soke said, "and had I not sworn to name them, I would not have risked inflaming your hasty temper. If you will look below the words, however, you will see that something or nearly all can be done with both honor and safety."

"What can I do with honor and safety?"

"You cannot, of course, cede your keeps, but you can take oath that you will not use them for war unless you are attacked."

"You fight for your overlord. What if my overlord should come and demand my service? What am I to do then? Which oath must I break?"

"Henry of Anjou will not come this year. Let the truce be until the new year."

"So much I might chance," Hereford admitted grudgingly.

"Then, you cannot take oath to keep your allies from attack, but you can take oath that you will do your uttermost to prevent them from this action."

"You might, Roger," Lady Hereford said softly. "My father will do nothing yet awhile—he is still so weak. Gloucester will never begin to fight on his own, and the others all wait upon your move."

"I can consider it, at least."

"The other matters may be similarly agreed upon."

Hereford bit his lip. He hated to make any concessions at all to the king whom he despised and scorned, but to waste his strength in a useless battle was even more hateful. To his mind, there could be no doubt that Henry would swiftly defeat Louis and Eustace in Normandy. Then the Angevin would come to England to claim his own.

It was true that there might be some profit in exhausting Stephen by war before Henry came, but the effort would also exhaust his own forces. Then, too, Leicester and some other great neutrals were wavering ever closer and closer to Henry's cause. To disturb them, possibly to force them into action on Stephen's behalf, would be most unwise. If a small sacrifice in pride would keep the peace until Henry was free to join them, it would be well worth it.

"There is much in what you say, Soke, but affairs of this weight cannot be decided in an hour. Call in your men, and let us consider more particularly what can be done that will satisfy both the king and my necessity."