there, listening to that poor fool Gervase boast that you and the countess were closer than sisters, one of your stepsons came running into the hall, chased by a Norwegian dyrehund.”
Ancel’s eyes flicked then, to Ranulf. “Did you think I’d forgotten about those accursed dyrehunds of yours? Outside of Norway, that is a beast as rare as the unicorn. But I still fought against facing the truth. All the way to Chester, I kept trying to convince myself that I was wrong, that my suspicions were unjustified. In my heart, I knew I was befooling myself, but I…” His mouth twisted, he took a great gulp of air, and then lashed out, “I did not want to believe that my little sister was a whore!”
“Ancel, enough!” Ranulf pushed his chair back, coming swiftly around the table toward the other man. “We need to talk,” he said, “but not here. Let’s find some privacy-”
He got no further; it was then that Ancel lunged at him. Caught off balance, Ranulf reeled backward, crashing into the table. He would later figure out that he hit his head upon one of the trestle legs. Now, dazed and bleeding, he knew only that he was thrashing about in the floor rushes, trying to keep Ancel from throttling him.
The table had gone over, spilling food into the laps of the startled diners, setting off so much screaming and swearing that the entire hall reverberated with angry clamor. Loth had been scavenging under the table for scraps. With a muffled roar, he fought his way clear of the tablecloth’s smothering folds. Fortunately for Ancel, though, Maud had enough presence of mind to grab the dog’s collar as he erupted from the wreckage. Annora had been splashed with hot gravy, but she did not yet realize she’d been burned, so intent was she upon reaching Ranulf and Ancel.
By the time she did, it was over. Nicholas and several of Maud’s household knights had pounced upon Ancel, pried his fingers from Ranulf’s throat, and dragged him away. Annora gasped at her first sight of Ranulf, for he was bleeding profusely. Snatching up a napkin, she pressed it to his gashed forehead. By now Luke was there, too, and between the two of them, they helped Ranulf to his feet.
“Are you bad hurt?” Maud paused only long enough to assure herself that Ranulf’s cut was superficial before launching her assault upon Ancel. “How dare you force your way into my home and attack my kinsman? Just who do you think you are-an avenging angel from Hell? This is none of your concern-”
“My sister is shaming our family! But what would you know of dishonour? No decent woman would make herself an accomplice to adultery. Only another slut would-”
Ancel never saw the blow coming. Nicholas moved in, quick as any cat, burying his fist in Ancel’s midsection. As Ancel groaned and doubled over, Nicholas brought his knee up, with lethal aim. It was as brief and efficient and brutal a beating as Ranulf had ever seen, over before he could react, before many in the hall even knew what was happening. It confirmed all of Ranulf’s suspicions about Nicholas, made him wonder what such a man was doing in his niece’s service.
But as Ranulf turned toward Maud, he found her quite unmoved by the violence. She was watching with grim satisfaction as Ancel sank to his knees, choking for breath, and Ranulf saw her for the first time as Chester’s wife, not Robert’s daughter. “You may be thankful that I am forgiving of the half-witted,” she said scathingly, “else your folly would have cost you your tongue.”
Ancel’s beating had unbalanced Annora’s loyalties, and she flew to his defense now, glaring at Maud and Nicholas as she warned, “Do not threaten him!” When she tried to help him up, though, he shoved her away.
Ignoring Ancel’s cursing, Ranulf reached down and jerked him to his feet. “You are such a fool, Ancel. You know I love your sister. If you’d given me a chance, I’d have told you that I mean to make her my wife.”
Ancel spat out a mouthful of blood, then called Ranulf a misbegotten bastard, a foul Judas, a false friend. But what chilled Ranulf was seeing in Ancel’s eyes such utter, implacable hatred.
Ancel swung away, starting unsteadily for the door. When Annora’s protest went unheeded, she hurried after him. As Ranulf started to follow, Maud caught his arm. “He is in no mood to listen to you,” she said. He knew she was right. But as soon as she was done daubing away his blood, he hastened from the hall.
He found Annora standing alone out in the bailey, watching as her brother rode away without looking back. When Ranulf reached her, she turned with a sob, buried her face in his shoulder, and wept. He comforted her as best he could, reassuring her that he loved her-which was true-and that Ancel would calm down and see reason, which was not.
“He’ll never forgive me,” she wept, “never. He said so, said my disgrace would break our father’s heart…and he is right, Ranulf, it would!” She sobbed again, then shuddered. “What if he tells my husband? What if he tells Gervase?”
Ranulf did not know what to say. He’d just lost a lifelong friend, had seen a twenty-year friendship die in the span of seconds. But he feared now that he was losing far more.
33
Northampton, England
August 1146
“What sort of knavery is Chester up to now?”
Stephen had just come from a lengthy private audience with the earl, but he had to admit, “I do not know, Henry…not yet. I can tell you what he has asked of me-that I accompany him on an expedition against the Welsh- but I am not sure if he has something more nefarious in mind.”
If Stephen had doubts about Chester’s intentions, the others had none at all. “You cannot go into Wales with that evil man,” Matilda cried, at the same time the bishop protested, “Utter madness!” and William de Ypres blistered the air with Flemish obscenities.
“Should I interpret that as two ‘nays’ and one ‘undecided’?” Stephen asked, smiling faintly, but he was the only one who found the joke funny. “I did not agree,” he said defensively. “I said that I’d have to think about it.” And before they could object again, he told them of Chester’s proposal. The earl’s lands had been coming under attack by the Welsh, and he wanted Stephen’s aid in restoring peace to the Marches. If Stephen would agree, he’d provide the men and supplies, insisting that the king’s presence would be enough to intimidate the Welsh.
Ypres snorted. “From what I’ve heard, the only king likely to overawe those Welsh lunatics would be the King of Heaven-not England.”
For once, Stephen’s brother was in full accord with the Fleming. “If Chester is having Welsh troubles, let him sort them out with his new kinsman,” Henry said skeptically. “He’s just betrothed his niece to that renegade Welsh prince who marched with him against Lincoln, so let him turn to Cadwaladr for help, assuming he really needs it- which I doubt.”
“You are not seriously considering it, Stephen?” Matilda moved to her husband’s side, gazing up anxiously into his face. “Relying upon Chester’s honour would be like taking the Devil on faith. You cannot do that Stephen, you dare not!”
“Sweetheart, do not distress yourself so. Whilst I do not think I ought to dismiss his request out of hand, I have no intention of riding into an ambush with nothing to protect me but Chester’s goodwill.”
“It gladdens my heart to hear you say that,” Matilda confided. “I know we must do what we can to keep Chester content, but not at the risk of your safety. If he wants your help in Wales, he must be willing to do his part. Let him agree to provide hostages-men whose lives matter to him-and mayhap then I’ll believe this Welsh campaign of his is an honest endeavor, not some sort of treacherous snare.”
The bishop nodded approvingly; although he still felt Matilda exercised undue influence over his easygoing brother, he was willing to admit that she was more sensible than most of her sex. “Let him yield Lincoln Castle, too,” he said, “as he ought to have done months ago.”
As Stephen glanced toward William de Ypres, the mercenary shrugged. “I doubt that I’d trust Chester even if the Archangel Gabriel himself vouched for the man. But it cannot hurt to put him to the test. I agree with Madame Queen and the bishop. Let Chester offer up proof of his good faith, and then we’ll see.”
Stephen nodded, heartened by such unanimous agreement. “It is settled, then,” he said. “We’ll tell Chester our terms on the morrow. After that, it is up to him.”
AS the Earl of Chester strode into the castle hall the following morning, Bennet de Malpas and several members of his entourage hastened to intercept him. He was walking into a lion’s den, they warned. Northampton was aswarm with his enemies, and they were stirring up the hive by ranting about the dangers of his Welsh
