“No need for such delicacy, my liege. Say it straight out, that I’m fast going blind.” Ypres smiled as he spoke, but it was a smile to make both Stephen and Matilda wince.
“But that is just it, Will,” Stephen said earnestly. “There might be hope for you. According to the doctors, there is a means of treating your sort of eye ailment. You’re losing your sight because a film is forming over your eyes, like a cloud passing across the sun. By taking a needle-preferably a gold one-and sticking it into the white part of the eyeball, on the edge of what they call the…the cornea, it is possible to pierce the film. And once the pupil becomes black again, you’ll regain your sight.”
Stephen had carefully memorized what the doctors had told him, so that he might properly explain it to Ypres. But he saw now that his efforts had been wasted. Matilda could not repress a squeamish shudder, and Ypres was shaking his head with another of those ghastly, grimacing smiles.
“I’ve heard about that procedure,” he said. “It is usually performed by traveling doctors, who go from town to town offering their services to those in need of miracles. Sometimes it even seems to work and the patient can see again-at least long enough for the doctor to collect his fee and move on. No, my liege, it was good of you to bother on my behalf, but I’d have to be crazed as well as blind ere I’d let any man plunge a needle into my eye.”
“I’ll admit it sounds stomach-churning, Will, but I wish you’d at least talk to the doctors. We could send to Arundel for Adeliza’s physician, a man named Serlo, said to be as good a healer as you’ll find in all of England. Or there is Robert Beaumont’s physician, known as Peter the Clerk-”
“No.”
Even then, Stephen would have persevered had he not caught Matilda’s eye. “As you wish,” he said reluctantly. “There is just one more thing I want to say, and then we’ll speak no more on it. I value your counsel, Will, no less than your sword-arm. There is probably not a man alive who knows more than you do about battle lore and siege warfare. When you first revealed your ailment, you said you might go back to Flanders. I would hope that you’ll stay here, where you are so needed.”
It was one of the few times they’d seen the Fleming with his defenses down, reacting without the jaded cynicism that served so well as his shield. He cleared his throat, faked a cough, and muttered gruffly that he’d stay, then. Matilda rose, let her hand rest lightly on his shoulder for a moment, smiling over his head at her husband.
The door banged open without warning, so loudly that they all jumped. “I’ve been looking all over the Tower for you, Papa!”
“Eustace! We thought you were staying in Winchester for another week, lad.”
“I was, but-”
“Eustace, you’re soaked clean through! Come over to the fire and dry off.”
Eustace frowned impatiently but allowed his mother to steer him toward the hearth. When she insisted then that he remove his wet mantle, Stephen intervened with a grin. “I think the lad has something to tell us, Tilda, for he looks about to burst. Go on, Eustace, give us your news.”
“Did you hear about Robert Fitz Roy?”
“That he is ailing?” Stephen nodded. “Yes, we heard, but-”
“He is dead,” Eustace interrupted, unable to wait any longer. “Papa, he is dead!”
They did not react as he’d hoped. Instead of being jubilant, they seemed dubious. “Are you sure, lad?” Stephen asked slowly. “When I was stricken with that fever at Northampton, rumor had me dead and buried about twice a day till I recovered, and-”
“This is no rumor. Uncle Henry sent a spy to Bristol to find out if his malady was life-threatening, and he well-nigh rode his horse to death getting back with his news. Robert died on Friday last, the 31st of October, soon after Compline. The entire town is in mourning, people weeping in the streets and grieving as if they’d lost their Holy Saviour-the fools!”
“I’ll be damned,” Ypres murmured; he and Robert were of an age, and the sudden death of his old adversary was an unwelcome reminder of his own mortality. Shaking it off, he forced a laugh. “And it was not even my birthday!”
Eustace laughed, too. “I’ll get us wine,” he offered, “so we can celebrate in proper fashion.” On balance, he was disappointed by their tepid response to such momentous news. His mother was making the sign of the cross, and his father had yet to say a word. Eustace glanced gratefully at Ypres; at least he understood. Raising his cup, he said, “Let’s drink to Robert Fitz Roy…and his speedy descent into the hottest depths of Hell!”
“Robert is not likely to go to Hell, lad,” Stephen said. “For all our differences, he was a man of honour.”
“Honour?” Eustace echoed indignantly. “What honour is there in trying to steal our throne? Jesu, Papa, do you never speak ill of anyone? I suppose you’d even find some good to say of the Devil!”
Stephen lowered his wine cup to stare at his son. “I’d hardly equate Robert Fitz Roy with the Devil,” he objected, sounding more hurt than angry. “A man can be our enemy, Eustace, and still be a decent sort.”
Eustace’s lip twitched. He seemed about to retort when Ypres said coolly, “Fitz Roy was a worthy foe. We can be glad that he is dead without making a monster of him.” Eustace flushed and gulped the rest of his drink. Matilda could not help noticing that he was stung by Ypres’s rebuke, not Stephen’s, and she sighed softly.
“That poor woman,” she said, and her son looked at her in disgusted disbelief.
“Not you, too, Mama! Jesus God, how can you muster up even a shred of pity for Maude after all she-”
“Watch your tone when you speak to your mother!”
Matilda reached over, putting her hand on her husband’s arm. “I do not think Eustace realized how rude he sounded…did you, Eustace?” she said evenly, waiting until he gave a shamefaced shake of his head. “As it happens, I was not speaking of Maude. I was thinking of Robert’s widow. After forty years as the man’s wife, she must be utterly bereft.”
A strained silence filled the room. Stephen glanced from one to the other, not liking what he found. His wife looked very pensive, a sure sign she was troubled; Ypres was deliberately noncommittal, and Eustace was sullen. Stephen’s eyes lingered on his son. Without meaning to, they’d let the lad down. He’d come hell-for-leather from Winchester with his news, thinking he was bringing them a wonderful gift, only to have them not even bother to unwrap it.
“This is a day we’ll always remember,” he said, as heartily as he could. “Your news changes everything, lad. Chester’s defection no longer matters now, for Maude is burying the one man she could not afford to lose. Her claim to the English crown breathed its last when Robert did. It is over. At long last, it is over.”
37
Devizes, England
January 1148
“So it is over…just like that? No regrets, no looking back, sail off into the sunset-what a simple way to end a war! A pity we did not think of this ere so many men died for you, but better late than-”
“Ranulf, enough!” Maude was livid. “I did not say it was over. It will never be over, not as long as I draw breath, and you, of all men, ought to know that. But we can no longer remain in England, and you ought to know that, too. Dear God, Ranulf, do you think I want to go? Back to Normandy, back to Geoffrey? What more proof can you have of my resolve than this-that I am forcing myself to do something so repugnant? This is a strategic retreat, not an abdication.”
“You can talk all you want about continuing the fight from Normandy, but that is what it is-just talk. If we flee England, we are conceding defeat, conceding the crown to Stephen!”
“That is not so! I would never abandon my son, never!”
“Harry has Geoffrey to fight for him in Normandy. He needs you to fight for him in England! But you’ve grown weary of war, tired of the struggle.”
“No!”
“Then why are you using Robert’s death as an excuse to give up, to run away? If you do that, then what has it been for-the sacrifices and the battles and the dying-all for what?”
Maude was stunned by the attack. She’d never seen him like this, all nerve ends and raw rage. “You are not being fair, Ranulf! Whether you want to admit it or not, Robert’s death changed everything!”
