down, Stephen raised Adeliza gently to her feet. “It would,” he said wryly, “be a gesture worthy of a saint! I will think upon your request, Lady Adeliza. More than that, I cannot promise.”
There was much merriment in Stephen’s tent after Adeliza had been escorted back to Arundel Castle. Her proposal was so ludicrous that even the moody Earl of Northampton joined in the mockery, and Waleran, a wicked mimic, soon had them laughing until they had no breath for talking. Stephen took no part in their raillery, content to drink his wine and listen to the joking and jests, occasionally smiling at a particularly clever gibe. The bishop remained aloof, watching them with none of Stephen’s indulgent good humor. When the hilarity finally showed signs of subsiding, he said, with grave deliberation:
“Actually, the woman’s plea may not be as foolish as it first seems. It might indeed be to our advantage to let Maude go to Bristol Castle.”
There was an astonished silence, and then an explosion of indignant sound, as they competed with one another to deride the bishop’s suggestion as preposterous and absurd. But Henry was an old hand at commanding attention, and he soon drowned them out.
“Do you fools think Arundel will fall into your hands like a ripe plum? The castle could hold out for months. And what do you think the Earl of Gloucester would be doing whilst we besieged his sister? He’d be ravaging the whole West Country to lure us off; in no time at all, half of England would be in flames. Or else he’d come down on Arundel like a hawk on a pigeon, and we’d find ourselves trapped between Gloucester’s army and the castle garrison.”
“Ere you start giving us lessons in military tactics, my lord bishop, mayhap you’d best tell us how many battles you have won.”
“I need not swing a battle-axe myself to know it can split a man’s skull. I need only rely upon my common sense, which you, my lord Waleran, seem utterly to lack-else you’d see the dangers in a prolonged siege of Arundel! If we allow Maude to join Robert at Bristol, we can contain the rebellion to the west, keep London safe whilst we move against them. If Robert Fitz Roy marches to his sister’s rescue, he’ll be marching toward London. Or did that never occur to you?”
“A good thing it is that you sought a career in the Church, for if this is an example of your muddled military thinking, you’d not have been able to rout a flock of sheep, much less an enemy army. Once we take Maude, the rebellion ends. It is as simple as that.”
“ Simple is the word, indeed-for you, my lord! Do you truly expect Fitz Roy to bide peacefully at Bristol whilst we-”
Stephen had heard enough. Setting down his wine cup, he slipped quietly from the tent. No one noticed his departure, and the quarreling continued, unabated. He paused to admire a particularly creative burst of profanity, then moved on, trailed by a stray dog; Stephen drew children and dogs to him as if by magic. Ahead lay his mangonels, hauled into position to bombard the castle walls should it come to that. “How goes it, Giles?” he asked, and his serjeant turned with a grin. Whatever faults others found with Stephen’s kingship, he was popular with his soldiers, for he was fearless, accessible, and openhanded, and they thought those were virtues to make up for a multitude of lesser sins.
“Well enough, my liege. We’ve been bringing in cartloads of stones from the closest quarry. You but say the word, and it will be raining rocks all over Arundel.”
“We’ll see,” Stephen said, raising his hand to shade his eyes against the sun’s glare.
Giles saw the direction of his gaze, and volunteered cheerfully, “Oh, she is still up there, my lord, prowling those battlements bold as you please. It is almost as if she were daring us to shoot, and some of the lads would right gladly take that dare. Not,” he added hastily, for he knew his king, “without such a command from you, of course.”
Stephen scowled. “Make sure they understand that,” he said, with unwonted brusqueness. But as he watched that distant female figure upon the castle battlements, his mouth softened into a reluctant smile. “She never did lack for courage, not Maude. I remember a day when we were hunting with her father outside Rouen. Her horse stumbled and threw her, a nasty fall, leaving her bruised and scratched. But she insisted upon getting back on her mare and continuing the hunt, damned if she did not!”
Giles joined politely in Stephen’s laughter, puzzled that his lord should speak so kindly of the woman who was causing him such grief. “Look, my liege! It seems the lady has grown tired of flaunting herself and is going back inside. A pity, for we’ll not find a fairer target!”
“No,” Stephen agreed, “you will not. Giles…go fetch my herald for me. Tell him I’ve an answer for the Lady Adeliza.”
Giles knew, of course, of Adeliza’s entreaty. The whole camp did, for tents were not constructed to contain secrets. “As you will, my liege.” But he did not move, halted by the odd smile hovering in the corner of Stephen’s mouth. His eyes widening, he blurted out in amazement. “My lord-surely you do not mean to let her go?”
Such impertinence would have cost him dear with the old king; Stephen, it amused. Still with that enigmatic half-smile, like a man savoring a very private joke, he said, “In truth, Giles, I mean to do just that.”
The following day was unseasonably mild for October, but to the southwest, the sky was filling with fleecy cumulus clouds, which to the weatherwise, warned of a likely thunderstorm. Within Arundel Castle, the atmosphere was no less unsettled. Adeliza and her husband were still dazzled by her success. Amabel was thankful for Stephen’s astonishing chivalry, but baffled by it, too, as were most of Maude’s men. The villagers were just grateful for their reprieve; they’d not ventured from the castle and so had not yet discovered that Stephen’s men had been indulging in that universal soldier’s pastime-looting. Ranulf was confused and uneasy, for Stephen’s remarkable generosity had stirred up unwelcome memories of the other Stephen, not the usurper but the cousin and friend. And Maude sheathed her emotions in ice, distancing herself from them all by the sheer intensity of her will, until there was not a soul in the castle who’d have dared to ask her what she thought of Stephen’s magnanimity.
Leaving Maude to say her farewells to Adeliza, Ranulf called for his stallion and rode out alone to the king’s camp. Waleran and Stephen’s brother were to escort Maude to Bristol Castle, but they presented dramatically differing visages. The usually equable Waleran was smoldering, while the prickly bishop looked almost benevolent, suspiciously well pleased with himself. He certainly greeted Ranulf with uncharacteristic civility, whereas from Waleran, Ranulf got no more than a grunt. The other men were no more welcoming. William de Ypres was muttering to himself in Flemish, Robert Beaumont was glowering, and the Earl of Northampton looked truly murderous. But their baleful glares were not directed at Ranulf; they were staring at Stephen’s command tent, and then at Stephen himself as he emerged into the cloud-splattered sunlight.
Ranulf stiffened. Stephen came to a halt at sight of his young cousin, and then a smile broke free, bright enough to banish the clouds. “Look at you, Ranulf! What ever happened to that gangling, raw lad I knew? By God, if you’ve not grown to manhood whilst my back was turned!”
“It has been nigh on four years,” Ranulf said tautly. “I came to tell you that my sister will be ready to depart at noon.”
Stephen nodded, and Ranulf flushed, for the older man’s eyes were fixed unwaveringly upon his face, as if they could see into his very soul. The bishop had moved to join them, saying that the empress could take more time if she needed it, but Ranulf barely heard him, unable to tear his gaze away from Stephen’s. He been ready for Stephen’s reproaches, for his coolness, even his hostility. What he’d not expected was that Stephen should be so genuinely glad to see him.
He was so flustered that it was only when he was on his way back to the castle that the significance of the bishop’s words penetrated. Stephen’s allies made a point of referring to Maude by the title she herself detested: Countess of Anjou. Her own supporters accorded her the rank she much preferred, that of empress. And so, Ranulf finally realized, had the bishop.
Maude meant to take just enough men to assure her safety; the rest would be left at Arundel to try to make their way to Bristol once Stephen’s army had been withdrawn, for his safe-conduct was not all-inclusive. Maude was standing now in the lower bailey, listening as Adeliza stammered a last-minute confession. “Maude…I shall pray that you regain your crown; nothing would give me greater joy. But I must tell you this…that prayer is all we can offer from now on. My husband cannot bear arms against Stephen, for I swore to him that we’d keep faith if he let you go. I hope you can understand that?”
Adeliza held her breath then, waiting for Maude’s verdict upon their future friendship, and felt a surge of gratitude when Maude nodded, for she knew only a very real affection could have wrung that concession from Maude, whose political creed came straight from Scriptures: “He that is not with me is against me.” Their embrace
