expedition, for word had gotten out that he wanted the king to go into Wales.
As he listened to Bennet and Ivo, the castellan of his castle at Coventry, Chester was surveying the hall. They had not exaggerated; it was thronged with men who’d thank God fasting for a chance to do him harm. The Earl of York, whose lands he’d repeatedly ravaged. Gilbert de Gant, who’d been forced to wed his niece after being captured at Lincoln. William Peverel, Lord of Nottingham and cousin to Stephen, a man with a temper to rival that of his fiery royal grandsire, William the Bastard. That poisonous Fleming Ypres. Friends of the absent Earl of Richmond, who’d starved in one of Chester’s dungeons until he agreed to yield Galclint Castle. The Earl of Northampton, dragging his disapproval around like an anchor. Even Robert Beaumont, who’d been rarely at Stephen’s court since his twin came to terms with Maude and Geoffrey.
Die-hard foes, the lot of them. Only one of the barons was likely to offer any support: the Earl of Hertford, his sister’s son. Most men would have been daunted by such odds. Not Chester, though; he relished turmoil, thrived on controversy, and he was looking forward to imposing his will upon these men who hated him so.
“It is getting on toward noon. Why are we delaying dinner? And where is the meddlesome little bitch?” He had no need to be more specific. They knew he meant Matilda, for every man in his service was aware of the grudge he bore Stephen’s queen; he was not one to forgive a public humiliation, especially at the hands of a woman. They explained now that Matilda had been called away when one of her ladies was taken ill. The pale, shy lass, Bennet disclosed, the one who had fits, but Chester was no longer listening; his interest in the Cecilys of this world was nonexistent. Beckoning them to follow, he headed for the dais, where he offered Stephen a perfunctory obeisance.
“I understand we are holding dinner for the queen. We have time, then, to discuss our Welsh expedition. How soon can Your Grace be ready to go? The sooner the better, for Wales turns into a quagmire once the autumn rains begin.”
Stephen frowned. He could hear troubled murmurings from those within earshot, and he wanted to assure them that it was not so; it nettled his pride that anyone should think-even briefly-that he might be Chester’s dupe. But they’d all agreed that the confrontation should be private, for Chester was too volatile to be trusted in a public setting. His brother was already nudging him, silently mouthing the warning words “Not now.” Annoyed by the reminder, Stephen said brusquely:
“We have much to talk about, but I prefer to wait until a time of my choosing.”
“Why wait? We can settle it right quickly,” Chester insisted. “Just tell me when and I’ll take care of the rest. As I told you, I’ll provide the men.”
The mutterings were louder now, and distinctly alarmed. Men were pressing in around them, Chester’s enemies in the forefront. “The king would not accompany you across the hall, much less let you lure him into Wales so you could ambush him!” Few would have dared to accuse Chester so openly, but William Peverel had never lacked for nerve. Seeing that some thought he’d overstepped himself, he said angrily, “Why not say it? It is what we are all thinking!”
“Why should I care what you think?” Chester sneered. “Your opinion is not important enough to matter to anyone, least of all to me. And as usual, you’re wrong, for the king is coming into Wales. Tell them, Your Grace,” he demanded, swinging around on Stephen. “Let them hear it from you if they doubt me!”
“What would you have me say? I did not agree to go, merely to talk further-”
“You did agree! By God, you did!”
“Indeed I did not!”
Both men sounded equally indignant, equally sincere. Most simply assumed that Chester was a convincing liar, but the bishop suspected it was more complicated than that, for he knew how hard it was for Stephen to turn people down. Even with one he disliked as heartily as he did Chester, he’d still temporize, hear the applicant out with the affable courtesy he denied to no man, be he baron or blacksmith. He’d left the door ajar, whether he meant to or not; the bishop would wager any amount on it. And for a man like Chester, who tended to hear only what he wanted to, that cracked door would beckon wider than Heaven’s Gate. “We’d best discuss this in private,” Henry said hastily, but it was already too late. Fueled by grievances and fanned by suspicions, Stephen and Chester’s accord was going up in flames.
This was exactly what Stephen had hoped to avoid, and he was furious with himself for letting Chester force the issue-which made him even more furious with Chester. “I told you that I would think about your request, no more than that. After due consideration, I have decided that I am willing to join you in Wales-provided that certain conditions are met.”
Chester was silent for a moment, cursing himself for not putting an end to Stephen’s kingship when he’d had the chance at Lincoln. If only his aim had been truer! “What conditions?”
“Bluntly put, your history does not inspire trust. I do not think it unreasonable to expect a show of good faith on your part. I want Lincoln Castle back. And hostages-of our choosing. I think that is a fair-”
“Fair? It is outrageous! I come seeking your aid-the aid you owe me as your liegeman-and what happens? You lie to me and then spit in my face!”
“I did not lie to you! Nor do I see why you object to these conditions. If you have been honest with me, why not provide hostages? What risk to them-as long as you are true to your word?”
“It is insulting, an affront to my honour!”
To Chester’s fury, that evoked a burst of derisive laughter from most of the men. Stephen smiled scornfully and Chester tensed, ready to lunge for his throat. But others were now joining in the fray. Bennet de Malpas put a restraining hand on Chester’s arm, for they were hopelessly outnumbered. William de Ypres had shouldered his way to Stephen’s side. “I never knew you had such a droll wit, my lord earl,” he gibed. “Surely that was a jest-your complaint about affronted honour?”
That prompted more laughter, which stilled, though, when William Peverel at last made himself heard above the uproar. “Treason!” he shouted. “He meant to betray the king!” And that stark cry of “Treason” was quickly taken up by others, until the entire hall seemed to echo with this deadly denunciation, the one accusation no king could ever ignore.
“You fools!” Chester raged. “I did nothing wrong!”
“Prove it, then,” Stephen challenged. “Accept my terms.”
“Rot in Hell!”
Faced with such defiance, Stephen had no choice. “Arrest him,” he ordered. Resistance would have been futile and possibly fatal, but no one had expected Chester to realize that, too. He surprised them all and disappointed more than a few by an unwonted display of common sense-he let himself be taken.
Afterward, there was jubilation among Chester’s enemies. But others were more ambivalent, asking themselves if suspicions alone were enough to justify a charge of treason. Even some who rejoiced in Chester’s downfall were still troubled by the way he’d fallen. If so great and powerful a lord as Chester could be arrested without proof of wrongdoing, who amongst them was safe?
Maude and Ranulf arrived at Bristol Castle in midafternoon. The summer sky was just starting to darken when Nicholas rode in. His unexpected appearance jarred Ranulf; barely two months had passed since his confrontation with Ancel and the memory was still raw. For a moment, he let himself hope that Nicholas might be bringing a letter from Annora, routed through Maud. But he knew better, knew that Nicholas was here on a far more urgent mission than the delivery of a clandestine love letter, and his suspicions were soon confirmed. Summoned hastily to the privacy of the castle solar, he and Maude and Rainald and Amabel listened in astonishment as Robert read aloud his daughter’s letter, a laconic account of her husband’s arrest at Northampton.
There was an amazed silence once he was done. “Has the man gone daft?” Rainald said at last. “How could even Stephen blunder this badly?”
“Just be thankful, Rainald, that he has,” Robert said earnestly. “We need not fear any more sheep straying from our fold now, not after the way Chester was sheared.”
“There will be no more defections, for certes,” Maude agreed. “I do not understand why Stephen keeps making the same mistakes. Does he not realize how weak and sly it makes him appear-breaching the King’s Peace to arrest men at his own court?”
“First the bishops, then Mandeville, now Chester. If he keeps on like this, he’ll have to send out his sheriffs to fetch his dinner guests. ‘Come and dine with the king, get to see the royal dungeons, too!’” Rainald was always one to laugh at his own jokes; the others were too preoccupied for levity.
“I wonder,” Maude said thoughtfully, “if Chester was guilty.”
