Ranulf could see them fall.
Ancel hastily grabbed for the fire tongs, busied himself in scattering stone-cold ashes about the hearth. But he soon felt foolish, gave up the pretense, and turned reluctantly to face his friend. It was not as bad as he’d feared. Ranulf looked unhappy and angry, but not desolate or defeated, not in need of the sort of comfort Ancel did not know how to give.
“With a temper like hers, your father must save a fortune on firewood.” It was a wan attempt at humor, but Ancel chuckled long and loud, so grateful was he that Ranulf was jesting, not raving or ranting or, Jesu forfend, expecting him to stanch the bleeding.
Ranulf was fumbling in his tunic. “I’ve a letter for Annora,” he said, “and I want you to give it to her once her anger cools.”
“If we live that long,” Ancel gibed, but he reached for the letter, and even tried to look as if he truly believed that it was not too late.
They were on the road by dawn. The sun quickly burned away the morning mist, and the sky took on that glazed blue unique to early autumn, a color so clear and vivid that it did not seem quite real. In the distance, the trees appeared to be dusted with gold, as the green shades of summer slowly yielded to October’s amber and copper and russet. The villages they passed through were shuttered and still, ghost villages bereft of life, for when an army was on the march, people of common sense fled, or cowered behind bolted doors and prayed.
“Guirribecs!” The warning had raced ahead, outrunning horses, spurred on by pure panic. “Guirribecs!” A Norman term of contempt for the ancient enemies of Anjou, now ravaging their lands, burning their churches, plundering their towns. “Guirribecs!” they spat, watching from hiding as this new army rode past, marveling that these men did not stop to torch or loot. They did not understand their reprieve, but they thanked God for it, never suspecting that they should also be thanking the woman who would be their duchess.
Riding at his sister’s side, Ranulf caught an occasional glimpse of a creaking shutter, an astonished face staring after them in wonder. An army lived on the land whenever it could, and those who had the bad luck to be in its path were bound to suffer. But Maude was too shrewd to turn her army loose upon the very people she meant to rule. Ranulf wished that Geoffrey had shown the same restraint. This was Geoffrey’s second foray into Normandy, and each time his men had pillaged and raped and robbed on such a grand scale that for every castle won, he’d lost Maude hearts beyond counting.
So far Geoffrey’s campaign had yielded mixed results; he’d won some impressive victories, but he’d also suffered a few sharp setbacks. He’d taken Carrouges after a three-day siege, only to be repulsed at Montreuil. But he’d then captured Moutiers-Hubert, and as Michaelmas had approached, he’d made ready to besiege a grand prize, indeed, the prosperous city of Lisieux. Maude felt confident that he would prevail. However often she’d damned him to Hell Everlasting over the past eight years, she’d never denied his abilities as a battle commander.
Each time Ranulf glanced over at his sister, he felt a throb of pride, for it was not so long ago that Maude had given birth to her third son, and the delivery had not been an easy one. But she’d responded to Geoffrey’s summons with alacrity, gathered two thousand men under her command, and set such a punishing pace that by dusk on this first day of October, they expected to be within sight of the city walls of Lisieux.
Catching Ranulf’s eye, Maude smiled. “It gladdens me that you’ll be there to witness the fall of Lisieux,” she said, and Ranulf knew she was thinking of the brother who would not be there: Robert, who’d been in England since April, at Stephen’s court. Nor was he alone, for their brother Rainald had also come to terms with Stephen. But it was Robert’s defection that haunted Maude, one more act of betrayal.
A sudden flurry off to the side of the road drew their attention. The thickets rustled, and Ranulf’s two dyrehunds went streaking off into the underbrush. “They must have flushed a rabbit,” Ranulf said, but he made no attempt to call them back, knowing they’d catch up again once their hunt was over.
Maude decided, then, that this was a good time to rest their horses, and gave the order to halt. “Have you had any word about that lass of yours…Anna, was it?”
“Annora…and no, I have not. If she were still at Bernay, I know she would have been able to get a letter to me by now. But her father returned to England in July, and he took Annora with him.”
Maude had met Annora on several occasions and had been quick to conclude that the girl was quite ordinary, not at all the sort of wife she would have chosen for Ranulf. But now none of that mattered. If Ranulf wanted Annora, she would move Heaven and Earth to see that he got her. She would not forget those who had stood by her when it truly counted…or those who had not.
“You and your lass will be well rewarded for your patience,” she promised. “I’ll give you a wedding so lavish that the festivities will last for days.”
“Between the two of us, Annora and I could not scrape up enough patience to fill a thimble,” Ranulf said ruefully. “Fortunately, we’ll not have to wait much longer. Once you take Normandy away from Stephen, he’ll find he’s seized control of a sinking ship. Even the rats will start swimming for shore,” he predicted with a grin.
Maude gave him an amused look. “The rats must be jumping overboard in droves after what happened at Exeter,” she said, and they both laughed, for they’d not expected Stephen to begin blundering so soon. Until Exeter, he’d been making all the right moves, placating the Pope and buying peace with the Scots king. But then Baldwin de Redvers had seized Exeter Castle. Stephen had promptly assaulted the stronghold, and after a three-month siege, victory was his for the taking. It was then that he’d tarnished his triumph with an act of mercy so misguided that men were still marveling at it. He’d heeded the pleas of Baldwin de Redvers’s fellow barons, allowed the castle garrison to go free.
“They were in rebellion against him,” Maude said, baffled that Stephen had failed to grasp so basic a tenet of kingship. “Those men should have been hanged, or at the least, maimed, so their fate might serve as a lesson for other would-be rebels. Instead, he sets them free! Forgiveness is well and good for saints and holy men and Christian martyrs, but that is not an indulgence any king can afford. This was Stephen’s first test of strength, and he failed miserably, for men now know they need not fear the king’s wrath.”
“Stephen never could resist a gallant gesture,” Ranulf jeered, summoning up scorn to keep from remembering those times when Stephen’s gallantry had served as his own lifeline. He’d never realized how dangerous memories could be, not until he had a lifetime of them to deny, for if the man himself had proved false, it must follow that the memories, too, were false…did it not? These were not thoughts he cared to dwell upon, and he hastily groped for a more innocuous topic. “Tell me about Geoffrey’s new ally. I’ve never met him; what sort of man is he?”
There was no need to be more specific; Maude knew at once whom he meant. “Well…William is not one to be overlooked, for he’s a vast mountain of a man, with hungers to match his size. Even his titles are weighty: Duke of Aquitaine and Count of Poitou. He has a booming laugh, an eye for a pretty face, a temper hotter than brimstone, and even more enemies than Geoffrey. Have I left anything out?”
“Not that I can think of. Oh…have you ever seen his daughter?” Ranulf thought the question sounded quite casual and offhand, but Maude was not taken in.
“Does Annora know you’re lusting after Eleanor of Aquitaine?” she teased, and he flushed, then laughed. “No, lad, I have not seen the girl, so I cannot tell you if she is truly as dazzling as men claim. Since she is such a great heiress, it does not seen fair that she should have been favored with great beauty, too, does it?”
“The same could be said for you,” Ranulf pointed out, and although she merely shrugged, he knew he’d pleased her; Geoffrey’s compliments were always barbed enough to draw blood. “I’ll admit I am curious about the Lady Eleanor, would like to judge this beauty of hers for myself. It puzzles me, though, that her father did not marry again after he lost his wife and son. Surely he must have qualms about entrusting Aquitaine to a mere slip of a lass-”
He caught himself, too late. But Maude was not affronted. “You need offer no apologies, Ranulf, for saying what so many think. Nor have I ever claimed that all members of my sex are capable of wielding power. I can only speak for myself, and I have no doubts whatsoever that I can rule as well as any man and better than most, for certes better than my usurping cousin, damn his sly, thieving soul to Hell!”
“And you’ll soon be able to prove it, too, that I-Maude? Look over there, through the trees. Smoke!”
Maude was shortsighted, but she soon saw it, too, a distant, dark cloud smudging the purity of that limpid, azure sky. They both said it at once, in dismayed comprehension: “Lisieux!”
Maude’s scout reined in a lathered horse, swung from the saddle to give her his bad news. Stephen had entrusted the defense of Normandy to Waleran Beaumont, and Waleran had garrisoned Lisieux with battle-wise
