a man like Ypres. No, Minna, I’ll not leave you behind.”
“My lady, you must listen to your head, not your heart. I am an old woman, past fifty. Once you go out that West Gate, you must ride for your life. I could never keep up with you, would be an anchor dragging you down.”
“That is why I have arranged for you to ride with the Archbishop of Canterbury and his retinue. They will have a flag of truce, and the greater protection of God’s Cross. You’ll be safe with them, Minna. You at least will be safe.”
Minna was at a loss. What Maude needed to hear-that the men who mattered most to her would not be in peril-she could not say, for it would have been a lie. “What will happen come morning, my lady?”
“Once the archbishop departs, the army will ride forth, led by Miles and my uncle David. Robert will then bring up the rearward. I tried to talk him out of it, Minna, I tried so hard…but he would not listen. He insists upon commanding the rear guard.”
“I know naught of military matters, my lady. Is that so dangerous?”
“He means to delay pursuit as long as possible, Minna, so that I might have time to get away. He would not admit it, but I know that is what he intends to do. Robert always lays claim to the heaviest burden, the greatest risk, and if any evil befalls him because of me, I do not think I could live with it…”
“I will pray for him, madame,” Minna said earnestly. “I will pray for us all.”
“Pray for the poor people of Winchester, too, Minna. May Almighty God protect them,” Maude said softly, “for I cannot.”
It was no longer night, not yet day. Dawn was still hovering beyond the horizon, although faint glimmerings of light had begun to infiltrate the eastern sky. Torches were flaring in the castle bailey, giving Maude one last glimpse of the taut, shadowed faces of her kinsmen and liegemen. Farewells had already been said, muted and measured and private, and once she’d mounted her mare, Robert confined himself to a grave “Godspeed.”
Meant as a benediction, it sounded more like an epitaph. Ranulf salvaged the moment, though, by drawling, “The first one to reach Ludgershall gets to go to church with John Marshal.” Since Gilbert’s account of his bell-tower interlude had not only circulated throughout Winchester, but was fast passing into legend, that got an edgy laugh. Maude looked at her brothers, her throat constricting, and then urged her mare forward, toward the opening gate.
Once they passed through the city’s West Gate, they turned onto the Salisbury Road. Maude did not look back at Winchester; she did not dare. Never had she felt so powerless, and she envied the men their weapons, their male right to self-defense. She’d thought she knew all of the burdens imposed upon her because she’d been unfortunate enough to have been born female, but they’d not gone a mile before she discovered yet another of Eve’s afflictions: that her very skirts were hampering her escape. She was riding sidesaddle, for women of rank rode astride only on the hunting field, and although she was an accomplished rider, sidesaddles were not meant for a flat-out gallop at full speed. As she could not match the men’s pace, they had to slow their mounts to accommodate her mare, and Maude’s fears for Brien and Rainald soon rivaled her dread for those she’d left in Winchester. If they were pursued, they’d never be able to outrun the enemy. But she knew they’d not abandon her, no matter how badly her mare lagged behind. Had she doomed them, too?
The road was an ancient one, of Roman origin, the major route to Salisbury and the West. They would follow it until they reached Le Strete, a raised causeway also dating from Roman times. There they would cross the River Test, and then turn off onto a narrow trackway that would take them safely past Andover, on to Ludgershall Castle. Maude tried to focus her thoughts upon the hard, perilous ride ahead of them, but her brain would not cooperate; it kept conjuring up bloody images of dead and dying men. Would Robert and the others be able to fight their way free? How much time had passed? Daylight was nigh, the sky a soft, milky shade of grey. What would this day bring for Winchester, for them all?
The countryside was hilly and the road was rising. When they reached the crest, they drew rein abruptly, for the road below was blocked by a large log. There weren’t that many soldiers in the camp, just enough to keep watch or halt a supply convoy. They were not as alert as William de Ypres would have wished, for they did not appear to have posted a guard, and they were rolling sleepily out of their blankets, cursing to find their fire had gone out during the night, yawning and stretching and then gaping up at the riders above them.
For seconds that seemed endless, both sides stared at one another. And then Brien grasped Maude’s arm. “Do not stop,” he said, “no matter what!” As soon as he saw she understood, he spurred his stallion forward, led his men down the slope into the enemy encampment.
Lacking spurs, women riders carried small leather whips. Maude rarely used hers, and when she brought it down now upon her mare’s withers, the horse shot forward as if launched from a crossbow. Gathering momentum as they swept down the hill, the mare did not falter as they approached the barricade, soared up and over. Maude thought one man had grabbed for her reins as she galloped past, but she could not be sure, for it all happened in a blur. She heard shouts and swearing, another sound she’d never heard before but would never forget-the metallic, lethal jangle of clashing swords. She did as Brien had bade, urged her mare on until the noise had begun to fade behind her and the road ahead was clear. Only then did she ease her mount and look back at the enemy camp.
The battle was already over. But it had been as bloody as it was brief. Outnumbered, on foot, and just roused from sleep, these careless young sentinels had been no match for Brien’s armed knights, handpicked for their killing capabilities. Bodies lay crumpled in the road, half hidden by the tall grass, slumped across the log barricade. There were no survivors, for there could be no witnesses. They’d suffered but one casualty of their own, and they left him where he’d fallen, amidst his enemies, for on this Sunday September morn, debts owed to the dead had to be deferred.
They paused only long enough to set free the tethered horses. Rainald was cursing his own clumsiness. He seemed more aggrieved by the damage done to his hauberk than to his arm, and submitted, grumbling, as Maude hastily bandaged his wound with her silk veil. She was about to mount her mare again when Brien rode up.
“You are not hurt?” Much to her relief, he shook his head. He slid his sword back into its leather scabbard, but not before she saw the blood smeared upon the blade.
“Can you ride astride like a man?” he asked. “I urge you to attempt it, for speed may well be our salvation.”
Although she’d only ridden astride during an occasional hunt, Maude did not hesitate. “I will,” she said, and when they brought forward the slain knight’s stallion, she let Brien assist her up into the saddle. As they turned the mare loose, Maude felt a pang, for the graceful grey palfrey was her favorite mount.
“I am sorry,” Brien said, “but we cannot spare the time to switch saddles.”
Maude was surprised and touched that in the midst of all this carnage and chaos, he’d remembered her fondness for the filly. “I pray,” she said, “that by day’s end, the greatest of my regrets will be for a lost mare.”
Despite the early hour, the citizens of Winchester turned out to watch as Miles led his army out of their city. Logic had told them this day was coming, but they seemed stunned, nonetheless, now that it was finally here, for they’d had to believe all the more fervently in God’s Mercy, knowing they could expect none from William de Ypres and his Flemings. But neither the Almighty nor the empress was answering prayers on the second Sunday in September. On one of the sacred days of the Church calendar, the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, the Apocalypse was at hand.
As Robert approached his stallion, the man holding his reins spoke up. “I am Ellis, my lord, groom here these ten years past. I fear for my family now that you are going. What shall I do? How can I keep them safe?”
“There will be looting,” Robert said, “afterward. Stay off the streets if you can. Bar your doors and shutter your windows. Do nothing to call attention to yourself. I can tell you no more than that.”
Ellis still clutched at Robert’s reins. “My lord,” he said, “I have daughters.”
Robert felt anger flare, anger at a world in which so many men saw war as sport. He’d fought when it was necessary, killed when he must, but never had he taken any pleasure in it. “Hide them away,” he said, knowing how inadequate an answer that was, yet having no other advice to offer. He could do nothing for Ellis, nothing for Winchester.
His men were mounted and waiting. They looked tired and tense and of a sudden, younger than their years. Never did men seem so vulnerable to him as when they were about to go into battle under his command. He glanced again at their faces, then drew a sharp breath. “Ranulf!” He beckoned and his brother nudged his stallion forward. “What are you doing here? You agreed to ride out with Miles!”
Ranulf shrugged. “I overslept.”
