Gifts of the Queen (38 page)

Pulling at my horse's head, I jerked it round, plunged on downhill; breakneck I went, letting the horse slide on its haunches when the ground became too steep. Another outcrop of stone and hedge waited at the hill's end, I found a gap and forced my way through, banking it as west country riders learn to do on the moors, no hope of overleaping such walls. Then on to level ground, at a gallop, thrashing through the undergrowth, over bush and rock until I broke into another open field, no cover there, the dry earth thudding behind like following hooves. But when at last I dropped back to trot, to walk, and I wiped the hair out of my eyes, I was alone, the sight and sound of fighting far away, even the sky and sun had clouded shut. And presently, as I plodded on, I saw that the grayness surrounding me was not night come early, but one of those border mists rolling down from the mountain peaks. That mist now gave me the cover that I needed and, at first, I welcomed it. Soon, however, I realized its blessing was mixed. I lost my enemies, it is true; I also lost myself. For I had intended to ride toward the dyke, tracing a path along the eastern rim, keeping the sun on my right, that way eventually I must reach Cambray. Now disoriented, as is the common fate of victims of a moorland fog, I lost track of distances, direction, time. My horse had almost foundered after such hard riding; I often had to dismount to lead it over the rough stones, then struggle to find a rock to climb up on its back. Once a mountain stream, it must have come from those distant peaks the water ran so cold, blocked our way so we were forced into a long detour.

By now, the evening chills had spread; it would be dark soon tonight. Bitterly, I regretted having left my friends, to have escaped and abandoned them. I put that thought aside, stumbled on. I was cold, heartsick. And I will say now I think that night on the open moors sapped my strength in such a way that long afterward, I felt the effects of it. For it seemed sometimes as if I floated through a cloud of wool, where objects grew large, then small, or as if the ground beneath my feet were not solid ground at all, or as if my feet had grown so numb as not to have sensation in them. And when I heard a noise, a sudden noise in the dim uncertainty ahead, it echoed and echoed in my ears like the booming noise the sea makes in a cave. But my horse had heard the noise, too; it pricked its ears and began to step more quickly, anticipating food and warmth.

The mist appeared to brighten. I thought I saw a flare, a light perhaps from some isolated farm where I could hide. The thought of shelter lured me on; I seemed to ride in a kind of daze, yet even if I would, I could not stop. The track had narrowed again into a gorge, no hope to cut across it, no way to go back. So we rode on until at last a solid line of rock, like a wall, blocked the path.

The wall was made of stones, cut stones, dripping with wet, and from within them, or above them, came voices, Norman ones. I raised my own to answer them. Silence followed, as loud as noise; my heart throbbed; my body felt encased in ice. Now, there are places on the western moors which all men shun, that circle of stones near Cambray, for one. This was another such place. Evil had a taste, a smell, a feel, to make the hair rise; the stones I brushed against were cold and wet with the dampness of many years, as if, even on fine days, moisture collected there. The flares floated in midair as if the men who held them were peering down from some high place, and the sudden gusts of wind that blew down the gorge seemed to carry with them the sound of unspoken things, dark and terrible.

We rounded the last curve of the wall, came to a gateway I think, black and somber. There was a clatter, a scrape of chains. I heard my horse's footsteps suddenly ring out hollowly, as if we crossed a drawbridge.

And now I had come into an open space, where men were waiting to close the gate. 'Jesu,' I heard one man say and saw him cross himself. I would have laughed had my mouth not been frozen closed. The torches began to give a shape, a size, to this place, a courtyard revealed itself; the outer walls, castle walls such as Normans make. There is only one other Norman castle made of stone within reach of Cambray, built like it, close to the dyke. I thought Henry had destroyed it, one of those border castles he had sworn to raze, an unauthorized fortress made in Stephen's time, who had permitted it. A Norman castle, a border castle—where my enemies had lived and plotted the deaths of my brother and of my father and of me. And when the guards stepped hastily aside, glad to get out of my path, I was not even surprised to see the man who stood at the top of the stairs. Why should I have felt surprise or fear? It was all ordained long ago. The wheel had come full circle and I was here.

And, 'You are welcome to Maneth Castle,' Henry said.

He came walking down the stone steps that led to the castle hall, so similar to the steps at Cambray I almost wanted to mention it. He walked quickly, in the way men have who are more accustomed to riding than walking, with toes turned in, treading on their tips as if used to having air beneath their heels. He was of middling height, young, his red hair cut short above his ears, bareheaded now, his hunting dress of brown, cut plain, the jerkin strings untied to show the white skin of his chest; unarmed, save for a richly jeweled dagger at his side.

'No courtesy as is correct for your king?'

His voice was harsher than his brother's voice, plainer spoken, without guile or charm, although they claimed he could be charming when he wanted something. His eyes were gray and bold, that undressed each woman where she stood. The white skin was mottled with the cold, the Angevin temper held in check, that man, whose brother I had escaped, only to run full tilt against the older, more dangerous king.

'By God,' he repeated, 'no smile, that men claim makes their blood run hot, no kiss of peace? Not even a nod of your head. Then I bid you good even, doubly spoke, for your lack of it.'

When I still sat motionless upon my horse, he snapped his fingers in the way I remembered.

'Bring her,' he said, spun round and strode up the stairs. And I thought. Why struggle, why fight, the wheel is come full circle and I am here.

I was too cold to stand on my feet; they crumpled under me. I had not realized I could be so cold. His huntsmen, or so they seemed by dress and speech, and the courtyard was crowded with the evidence of a chase—hounds, horns, stretchers of wood to drag the quarry, bowmen, spearmen, but no knights of quality—his huntsmen helped me dismount, pulled me up the steps. And when I came into the great hall, slowly, dragging myself like an old woman, the king stood alone by the fire, no courtiers in sight, alone then except for his huntsmen and squires. A table had been pushed before the hearth and was set with food. It was a simple meal, a jug of ale, roast game, some bread, thrust aside half-eaten. In one corner of the room a heap of cloaks and furs made a makeshift bed, in another his hunting gear, his sword, were jumbled in a heap. A few torches gave a fitful light, the rest of the hall was dark, disused these many years. There was a strong smell of mold and damp.

'Sit you down,' he said, showing no surprise at seeing me, puzzled perhaps only that I rode unaccompanied, without escort, so sure his orders had been obeyed, so sure of his plans. 'Geoffrey said you would come with him; he could persuade you, he said, when we heard you journeyed late and alone toward Cambray . . .'

'He may be dead for all I know,' I heard my own voice reply, hoarse, as if it had rusted over from ill-use, 'I left him in a hurry, so did not stop to ensure it.'

His expression clouded over. 'Dead,' he exclaimed, 'and you dare speak of that. You would not make a jest of my brother's death?'

'Or perhaps he lives,' I shrugged. 'As a prisoner of him and his men I stood on no ceremony, made good my escape while I had a chance.' I marveled at how my voice stayed cool and level once I had got it to speak at all. It seemed I had learned a lesson on how to deaden feelings and stifle them. But all around me seemed numb, dead and cold.

He said, as if taken aback, 'God's my life, what mean those words, prisoner, escape? No violence, I looked for no violence. Hearing from my brother that he would keep you company, as pleased you, or so he claimed, I asked him to make a detour here so I could speak with you, in the absence of your noble lord, to ask a favor of you in his name. Nothing more. You see how I am come here to hunt, could have wished to show you better courtesy. We expected you and my brother as your escort, nothing else.' But his smile, his knowing look, gave the lie to his words.

'To bring me here under guard? To force me and my men?' I challenged him.

'Not so, not so,' he said. He eyed me, in the way he had.

'But you came of your own free will,' he next told me, 'alone. Lost, it was chance that brought you here . . .’

'Or the devil,' I said.

He tried a smile, 'Or God, perhaps. Many use God or His counterpart to justify whatever actions they take. God must have grown impervious, I think, to such overuse of His name.'

'That is blasphemy,' I told him, 'and a sin. Are you not afraid of God to threaten me?'

He moved impatiently, almost nervously. 'Let God stay in His own Heaven,' he said. 'I have seen enough of death, enough to last a lifetime; I've yet to meet man, or woman, who goes willingly to it, or God, who would not cling to life even for a few moments more. But you, lady, you are not afraid to ride alone, I think. You show your independence like a man. So came you to my queen at Poitiers, so came you to my court in London two years ago, although a suppliant then, to ask a favor of me. You owe me one.' His words flicked out, a cat's quick pounce to make me retreat. I have not forgotten what then you asked, what I should have refused, God's wounds. A maiden fair, the queen claimed, yet in truth, no maid, your maidenhead already lost, looking to be wed to hide your shame. God helped you then, I suppose?'

He went on talking to frighten me, to play with me like a cat, to stoke his anger. In the fire's heat, his scant red curls had ringed themselves as a bull's hair does and he fixed his gray eyes full on me. He said, as if a request so simple could not be refused, as if bluntness were excuse enough, 'So it is now my turn to ask a favor of you, since I gave you one, since I gave you your desire, tricked into it. Thus will 
your
debt be paid to me, so your husband had me pay him at Poitiers.' He let that threat sink in. 'You will not scorn our hospitality while we determine what payment is just. Our entertainment's scant enough, but yours to enjoy.' He had no need to add. Provided you do what I want.

'I have lived roughly these past years,' I too spoke directly, without pretense or denial. 'Sieux has been in ruins above my head. I need no comforts. I have endured far worse than this.'

As if I had not spoken, he went on. 'Shall I call for wine, for meat? You have a peaked and famished look, not like your own.'

I said, 'Since morning, I have seen my companions, my friends, ambushed and betrayed. I believe them dead. Shall I eat or drink, forgetting them?'

And a sudden wave swept over me at the thought of my abandoned friends, their bodies tipped in some ditch, Sedgemont in mourning for them; Sir Geoffrey's wife and children weeping for a husband, father, who would not return, his kind heart stilled, he who would never see the Welsh mountains now, nor catch the hawk he longed to tame.

‘I ask you, King, for restitution for their deaths, and for all the deaths you have so needlessly caused.' My words came out the stronger for the pain that prompted them. 'It is your royal prerogative to keep the peace. Then keep it, or on your conscience be its weight.'

He gaped at me.‘By God,' he said, almost thoughtfully, ‘Geoffrey said there was fire beneath the cold. Come now, Ann of Cambray, who has tricked me once and thinks no doubt to try again, what will you give me in repayment?'

'What do you want?' I asked.

'Tell Raoul to do as I bid. He has already come to Chester before me, full of arguments, warnings, gloom. As warden of the marcher lands, he should obey me, not I him.'

It was my turn almost to laugh at his boy's demand, asking for the moon.

'I need him,' he was continuing. 'God's teeth, without him, half the men I've gathered there will default, and he is the best cavalry leader I have. Aye, and one other thing I need,' this time, the open flash of his lion claws, 'that you give up Cambray.'

'Cambray is not mine to give,' I replied, 'nor should I recommend its gift to you.'

'I must have it,' as if that were excuse. 'I hold Maneth in the center, Chester in the north. Cambray to the south would complete a dam to keep those Celts from spilling out . . .'

'No,' I said. 'And rather than keep the Celts from spilling out, I'd rather prevent
you
from spilling in.'

My obstinacy took away my own breath as it did his.

'Now, by the Mass,' he shouted, his color beginning to mount, 'I need not another woman to tell me what to do. I've wife for that. I require, must have, Cambray. Like Maneth, it was illegally built, for that alone it is forfeit.'

'No,' a second time I contradicted him. 'My father, Falk, built it at the express command of Henry who was king at that time, your grandfather. Falk held it in vassalage from Earl Raymond who was then Earl of Sedgemont and Lord Raoul's grandsire. My father served Earl Raymond well, as did Earl Raymond serve his king. As will Lord Raoul serve you.'

He had begun to pace back and forth with his springy stride, a Norman trait, I think, that they cannot long be still. In London, I had known Henry to take a thing, a piece of wood, a shard of metal, and bend and twist it out of shape, grind a lock apart, as if he must be forever doing something with his hands; so now, turn by turn, he marched about, as if his legs could not bear to be rooted to one place.

'One other thing,’ I told him, my last roll of the dice to match with his, 'this castle here, this castle at Maneth, it belonged to my enemies, who killed my father and my brother and would have killed me. You received them at your court as friends, made much of them. I will not have them gloat from their graves that Cambray should be given away. I will not betray my house for them. They sought revenge and it killed them. Be careful you do not meet the same end.'