The Sword and The Swan (49 page)

"No, he would not, and neither would others. Nor should you be so sure you will win this battle. These men are desperate. If you offer them battle now, they will fight as they have never fought before, believing that to yield would only bring them death or exile anyway. Can you kill all, or take all prisoner? They will flee and hide themselves in their keeps, and you will have naught but war, rooting them out one by one. There is another, easier way. Stephen will be willing now to make peace, to name you his heir, and to bid his men do homage to you."

"And how long will he keep those oaths? He will turn again and make trouble."

Gloucester hoped so, because trouble was the spice of his life. "Perhaps so, but not for some time. He is like a walking dead man. I think it will be long and long ere he recover what wits he ever had. Nor do I think he has long to live."

Henry picked at his clothes and bit his lip. "Aye, and that would give me time to gentle his vassals. You did not answer my first question, Leicester. Now answer this one. If I had oath of Soke, would he break that oath if Stephen called him to battle?"

"I think not," Leicester replied slowly, then shook his head. "If he were torn between two oaths, he would break his heart and die."

Additional discussion could bring them no further, although the matter was argued out in council again and again in the weeks that followed. The news from London where Stephen's men had taken him was ever the same. The king walked and talked, ate and slept—but he did not live.

An embassy was sent from Henry to discuss a final and lasting peace; they were well received and Stephen listened, but whether or not he heard, no man could say. The king's council also discussed the offer. Some found it suspicious; some found it good. To Rannulf, it was so desirable that it woke an agonized sense of guilt. He had wished for Eustace's death and even Stephen's to bring this about, and now he tormented himself by refusing to forward the proposal. At last he fled from his trouble and from the king who recognized him and smiled at him but did not need him because he was dead.

At first he could not even face Catherine whom he had not seen or written to since their parting at Crowmarsh. A few weeks of sober occupation on his outlying estates, however, brought back his sense of proportion. He was just about ready to take up his life again, to go back to Sleaford and make a blessed peace with Catherine, when news that Henry's offer had been accepted came from Leicester.

The letter was strangely cold and formal. Rannulf realized he had made a dreadful mistake. His precipitate retreat to the most distant fastnesses of his property must have seemed like an act of defiance. He wrote to Leicester at once and explained as well as he could, but no reply came from his foster brother. Then, after another six weeks had passed, arrived a summons in Stephen's name to attend the formal acceptance of the treaty and acknowledgment of Henry as heir and co-ruler.

Soon upon that came a more serious blow, a curt order to submit his land charters and his patent of earldom to Henry for ratification. Ratification was the word used, but no promise was given that return of the charters with ratification would follow submission nor was there any indication that this was an empty formality. Rannulf considered refusal for two days, and then rode home to Sleaford to comply. He could not stand alone against all of England.

Rannulf did not at first explain to Catherine what had happened, and since he was a poor liar he avoided her company as much as possible. He thought more than once of asking her advice, but he could not imagine how she could help him and he could not bear to inflict more pain upon her than he already had.

When at last it was time for him to leave for court, he told her only that. To his horror, Catherine said she wished to accompany him to see the new king. One lame excuse after another could not shake her determination and finally raised enough suspicion in her that Rannulf had no choice but to confess.

"I have marred all, as usual, with my haste," he said bitterly. "You would think I were a child, so ruled am I by my passions. I have made them all think I will not accept this final treaty which makes Henry co-ruler with Stephen."

"Would you?"

Rannulf's face twisted. If Catherine was so doubtful of his intentions, how could he convince the others that it was not hate and spite that had sent him back to his lands?

"Aye, I would, and with a good grace," he said. "They say one cannot teach an old dog new tricks, but I would need to learn no new tricks. I am a faithful old dog, but my master is dead—his heart and head are dead even if his body will live a year or two longer—and I am ready to serve faithfully again. Besides, my heart and head are not dead. I am most curious to see what new tricks this new master will try to teach. How could I be so foolish? Oh, for God's sake, Catherine, do not weep! I have blundered and I must suffer for it."

"Write to Robert. Explain to him. Will he allow this to happen to you? Will no man else speak a word in your defense?"

"I have written. I told you so. I am sure Robert has done and is doing all he can. Perhaps I am to be an example that it is not wise to stand against Henry's will and yield only when all hope is gone. Perhaps he thinks this too good an opportunity to seize some of my estates. I have heard that Henry is avaricious. Probably it has taken all of Robert's influence to save some of the lands for Geoffrey. Now do you bide here in quiet, and no harm will come to you. Geoffrey is safe in Leicester's keep and will remain there until Robert can wring a pardon for him from Henry. You need not fear Henry. He will love you for your father's sake, and Geoffrey will give you your own will in all things."

"I will not bide. If you leave me, I will follow you."

"Curse you for a stubborn bitch. You can do nothing for me. Whatever agreement Robert has made, I must abide by. If I protest, Henry may doubt that Leicester's word will bind me and may revoke all concessions."

"Then I will speak for you. My father, as you fling in my face too often, was a good friend to Henry. He owes me my husband's life, lands, and honor. If that is not enough, well . . . They say that Henry is weak toward a beautiful woman. I am a beautiful woman. Perhaps I have what will buy your freedom. You do not want it anyway."

"Catherine!" Rannulf roared, turning crimson.

"I will not yield without doing everything in my power."

"You fool! I will tell you plain out what I had hoped you would not need to know. I have made a bargain through Leicester—at least I have offered a bargain—my life for my lands to go to Geoffrey. Will you have sense now and stay here?"

"No. I have made no bargain. I will fight as a woman fights while I can."

"Go, then," Rannulf snarled. "I care not what you do, but if you go near that lecher—I will kill you."

Mary was gone, a happy bride, to her own manor of Donnington so that Catherine had the order of their moving in her hands. It was as well that she had something to occupy her, and so did she apply herself to every petty detail that all went with oiled precision as far as their physical comfort was concerned. Well-trained servants traveled on before, so that when Rannulf and his wife arrived in London, their house was newly cleaned and furbished. The larder was full, dinner was waiting before the roaring fire in the hearth. Even the great curtained bed and Catherine's embroidery frame were set carefully in place.

Rannulf presented himself to Stephen soon after arrival, and he was kissed by a corpse's lips. There was nothing to hope for from Stephen. The king would sign what he was told to sign and probably would not even notice that Rannulf came to him no more. Stephen was no longer of this world.

What was more significant was that Henry himself, although known to be in London, was not present. Neither was Hereford, nor Cornwall, nor Leicester, nor Gloucester. It might have been an accident, but on the following days they were absent also, and Rannulf felt they were avoiding him. He did not return to court again. There was no sense in embarrassing Leicester or some other men who owed him favors.

He also felt a compulsion to watch Catherine whose meekness to him, since they had arrived in London, he did not trust. Rannulf found himself laughing wryly, recognizing that he was waiting with great eagerness for a denouement that most men would have fled to avoid.

Time passes, no matter how slow its crawling seems to some, at a regular rate; 13 January 1154 finally arrived, but although Rannulf was glad the moment had come, the day dawned very ill for him with another bitter quarrel with Catherine. The cause was ridiculous. Catherine demanded that her husband be garbed as befitted one of the great nobles in the land. She had prepared the gown, laid out the jewels, and summoned the barber. Irritated by her tone, Rannulf said he would go as he was, becoming more stubborn out of pure frustration as Catherine grew more insistent.

"Coward," she screamed, beside herself with grief and fear for him, "will you crawl like a singed cur, hoping to find pity? If we must go down in defeat, let us at least put on proud faces."

For the first and only time in their marriage, Rannulf deliberately struck his wife.

"No living being has used that word to me and come scatheless away," he bellowed back. "I have lived in one pattern all my life, and fine clothes have been no part of that pattern. If any man cannot read my steadfastness in my face because my robe is plain, he is a fool"

Then he was overcome with remorse, and would gladly have donned the robe to please her, but she threw it into the fire and retreated to the women's quarters. He would even have begged her pardon, though he knew he was right to have chastised her, but she would speak no word more to him until they came into the great hall of the White Tower. There she drew on the mask of the dutiful wife for all the courtiers to see, and no man or woman could outface her. We are a match in pride, Rannulf thought, just as the ceremony of homage was about to begin.

There were some dozen men who had the right of precedence over Rannulf, some who had been Henry's supporters from the beginning, but there was no difference in the manner in which Henry received homage of any of them. Nor, when he himself knelt to swear and receive the kiss of peace, could Rannulf detect any hesitation or reluctance in his new overlord's offer of hands and lips.

Having done his
devoir
, Rannulf was ready to go. He was sure that nothing more would happen that day as far as he was concerned, for Henry could scarcely take homage of him one moment and accuse him of treason or some other crime in the next. He was bored by the endless procession of vassals swearing the same oath and hurt, although he saw the reasonableness of the behavior, by the fact that Leicester had not come to greet him.

Catherine, however, would not go willingly, and, although Rannulf could not see the point in staying to torment themselves, he did not wish to cross her again.

"Now are you sated?" he asked as Henry at last stepped down from the dais that had been raised in the hall for the swearing.

Catherine smiled sweetly for the edification of those around them, but her voice was thin with fury. "It was for this moment that I waited. I do not yield all hope as readily as you do. I will fight with every weapon I have until my last breath, and I wish to speak with Henry."

"I forbid it!"

"You are too late," a cheerful, friendly voice interrupted. "Madam, I am here, and you are too beautiful to be obedient, even if you are his wife. And, if you are not his wife—all the less should you obey him."

Catherine sank to the ground with head bowed, but Henry lifted her to her feet immediately. "No, no." He laughed. "You might ask for something in that position, and since I cannot resist a beautiful woman on her knees, I would say 'yes' without thinking. A lady so lovely as you, madam, must stand upright before me. Ah, alack and alas, now I know you are Lady Soke. Look you at that black scowl your husband has for me."

Rannulf tried to smooth away the expression, knowing that this open, half-jesting flattery could mean nothing. He was successful, but only because he saw something that brought him even more disquiet than Catherine's behavior. Geoffrey was smiling at him from behind Leicester's bulk. Robert's face was inscrutable, and for the first time in his life Rannulf doubted his foster brother's intentions to him.

His world was shattering into ever smaller and more meaningless pieces, for his relationship with Robert had always been deeply satisfying. It was a free love, freely given with no dependence, except for love, on either side. He did not need Robert, and Robert did not need him; they loved each other because they loved each other. If that was ended, there was nothing stable in the world.

"It is indeed my wife," he said, and then spitefully, out of his bitterness, "You might have saved your advice, my lord, for she is already as willful as she is beautiful."

Henry chose to ignore the bitterness. "All are alike," he crowed while he thought that this was one lovely lady with whom he must not meddle.

Henry was free with women, but not when they interfered with any more serious purpose, and Rannulf was not the kind to take this sort of affront to his pride meekly. He must be soothed.

"You are not alone, Lord Soke," he said merrily. "Look you how Hereford hangs his head like a whipped dog when his wife speaks, and I, alas, am no better. When my lady wife raises her sweet voice—I obey. A pox take all managing women, beautiful or not." His eyes sought Geoffrey over Leicester's shoulder. "You are Soke's son, are you not? Come, take your mother home. Nay, madam, we are all friends here. Do not look at me so, and do not fear. You, Soke, walk aside with me. I have something to say to you."

A sidelong glance was cast at Rannulf from keen gray eyes. Henry had been delighted to see Catherine there, for the fact that Soke had brought his wife indicated that Rannulf did not intend to run for his lands again and raise rebellion. He was equally delighted to see the iron control Rannulf had over his inner ferment. Henry had rejected Leicester's often-repeated plea that he be permitted to assure Rannulf of his safety. Henry wished to grant that favor himself and to test the strength of Rannulf's promise of submission. He was now sure of his prey, and began to exert the full strength of his charm to win Rannulf's heart as well as his homage.