Ranulf said nothing, for at that moment, he truly did not know what he’d wanted to hear. Ancel went to fetch more ale, was bringing it back to the table when the door was flung open with a resounding crash. Ranulf winced, turning away from the blaze of light, but Ancel stopped abruptly. “Gilbert? Why are you not in Caen?”
Gilbert strode toward them. “You’ve got to get back to Lisieux, Ancel, and right fast, for your lord is sure to be in a tearing rage. All hell broke loose in Lisieux on Tuesday eve. Stephen’s army fought a bloody battle in the city streets, but not with Geoffrey’s Angevins-it was Normans against Flemings, and they’re still counting the dead!”
“You’re not serious, surely?”
“No, Ancel, I’m jesting. I rode all the way from Caen just for the fun of it! I’m telling you the truth, and have the saddle sores to prove it. A squabble started between several Norman and Flemish soldiers over a wine cask, and it soon became a brawl and then a battle. A lot of men died, and some of the Norman lords were so wroth they abandoned the campaign and rode off-without even seeking Stephen’s permission! Can you imagine anyone defying the old king like that?”
“Only if they had a death wish,” Ranulf said, with his first real smile in three days.
Gilbert reached over, helped himself to Ancel’s ale. “It sounds,” he said, “as if your sister’s luck has finally taken a turn for the better!”
“ I am Ranulf Fitz Roy, and I am here to see my brother, the Earl of Gloucester.”
That was all it took to gain Ranulf entry into Caen Castle. As he followed a guard across the inner bailey toward the keep, he tried to shake off his fatigue, to decide what he would say to Robert. That was no easy task, for he was not even sure why he was here. It had not been planned. He’d told Ancel and Gilbert he was joining Maude in Domfront, but after they’d departed, he’d passed several more utterly aimless days in Falaise. And when he’d finally mounted his horse, he’d found himself heading north instead of south. He’d covered almost all of the twenty miles to Caen before he’d even admitted that was his destination. But he’d realized that he needed more comfort than he could get from wine and whores. Now, as he climbed the stairs to Robert’s solar, it occurred to him that whenever he’d been hurting in the past, he’d turned to Stephen to stanch the bleeding, and he laughed bitterly, earning a curious look from the guard.
Any qualms he’d harbored about his welcome were vanquished at once, dispelled by the warmth in Robert’s surprised smile. Amabel, too, seemed genuinely glad to see him, and he’d not been sure that would be so, for he knew Amabel was less forgiving than Robert. But after one glimpse of his haggard face and bloodshot eyes, she sent a servant down to the kitchen with an order for Ranulf’s favorite foods, and steered him firmly toward a cushioned settle.
Amabel’s charm was undeniable when she chose to exert it, and uniquely her own, by turns flirtatious and maternal, with a tart tongue leavened by easy, earthy laughter, a free spirit securely anchored to reality. She lavished that charm now upon Ranulf, full force, scolding him playfully for sins of omission, teasing him about losing his razor, for his wine-blurred week in Falaise had given him the beginnings of a blond beard. In their society, youths were clean-shaven; men were not. To Robert and Amabel, the sight then, of Ranulf’s new-grown stubble was significant in a symbolic sort of way, proof of passage across that most unsettled of borders, the one dividing boyhood and manhood.
“You’re not drinking your wine, Ranulf. Is it not to your liking?”
Ranulf’s smile was wry. “In truth, Amabel, I’d sooner quaff blood. I had a very wet week, and I’m still drying out.”
Robert nodded sympathetically. “We feared you’d take it hard, lad.”
Ranulf could not hide his surprise. “You know, then?”
“Of course we do. How is Maude bearing up?”
“Maude? What does Maude have to do with Annora’s marriage?”
“Annora?” Amabel drew a quick, comprehending breath. “Your lass wed another man? Ah, Ranulf, I am indeed sorry!”
By now, Ranulf was thoroughly confused and increasingly uneasy. “If you did not know about Annora, what then, did you mean? Why should Maude be distraught? With Stephen’s soldiers spilling their own blood, she has every reason to rejoice. Unless…unless it was not true?”
“No,” Robert assured him, “it is true enough. The feuding between Normans and Flemings flared into violence, and the Earl of Surrey’s son and other Norman lords then withdrew from Lisieux in a rage.”
“Well, then, as I said, Maude has reason to rejoice, for the end is now in sight. When Geoffrey marches on Lisieux, how can Stephen hope to hold him off?”
“Stephen saw that, too, lad. Whatever his failings as a king, he is a seasoned battle commander. He realized that his campaign was in shambles and his throne at risk, and so he made Geoffrey an offer-two thousand marks in return for a two-year truce.”
Ranulf was stunned. “You cannot be saying that Geoffrey agreed?”
“Yes,” Robert said quietly, “he did.”
Ranulf had spared neither his horse nor himself, and they were both exhausted by the time the city walls of Domfront rose up against the sky, high above the River Varenne. The closer he came to Domfront, the more Ranulf dreaded what lay ahead. How could Maude not be shattered by this latest and cruelest of all her betrayals? To have the English crown at last within her reach, only to be snatched away again, this time by the perfidy of her own husband. He could not blame her if she had no more heart for this unequal, unending struggle. But if she admitted defeat, he’d fought-and lost Annora-all for nothing.
Maude was alone in her solar, standing by an open window. The morning light was warm and scented by the gardens below, but it was not kind, accentuating Maude’s pallor, her hollow-eyed fatigue. At sight of Ranulf, though, her sudden smile belied the strain and sleepless nights and thwarted hopes. “You’re back!”
Ranulf stopped short. “You did not doubt it?”
“Of course I did not, Ranulf!” she protested, sounding so surprised and so sincere that he felt a flicker of comfort; at least he’d been able to do that much for her, to gain her trust.
They looked at each other in silence for a moment, and then Ranulf said abruptly, “If there is any justice under God’s sky, that double-dealing Judas will rot in Hell, right alongside Stephen!”
Maude gave him another smile, but this one never reached her eyes. “Give Geoffrey his due, lad. Judas sold his soul for thirty pieces of silver, but Geoffrey turned a much better profit; he extorted two thousand marks from Stephen!”
“What did he say to you, Maude? What justification could he possibly offer?”
“That the price was right, too tempting to refuse. Ah, but he did throw me a few crumbs of comfort. He assured me, you see, that making a truce and honouring it are not necessarily spokes on the same wheel.”
Ranulf swore under his breath. “So what now? We wait on his whim, wait until he gets bored enough or restless enough to resume the war?”
“Yes,” Maude said, very dryly, “that sums it up rather well.”
“And you believe him?”
“I have to, Ranulf,” she said, “I have to…”
Ranulf felt a rush of relief, realizing in that moment just how much he’d feared hearing her say it was done, that he’d sacrificed his happiness with Annora for an elusive, unattainable dream. “You astound me,” he said huskily. “No matter how often these whoresons shove you into the fire, you always rise from the ashes again, just like that mythical bird, the…the phoenix.”
“This time I singed my wings well and good, and lost a few tail feathers, too,” she conceded. “But they’ll grow back.”
They both turned, then, toward the open window, for the sound of “Mama” floated up, clear as a bell, on the mild summer air. Below them, a groom led a dappled grey pony, and sitting proudly in the saddle was a beaming little boy. As soon as they appeared at the window, he waved. “Mama, look! I’m riding Smoky! Watch me, Uncle Ranulf!”
“We’re watching, Henry,” Maude called back. “You’re doing very well!”
“I know,” Henry agreed, with such a cocky grin that Ranulf and Maude both laughed. In coloring, Henry was
