in the bedchamber’s open window.
“Madame, I am indeed sorry to awaken you, but I was given no choice. Your brother and Lord Brien insist upon leaving at once for your castle at Devizes. I urged them to let you sleep the night through, but they say the danger is too great for you here.”
Maude asked no questions, but she could not suppress a gasp when she swung her legs over the bed, for even that slight movement was painful. Her hair was trailing down her back, the true measure of her fatigue, for Adelina must have unbraided it while she slept on, unaware. As Maude tried again to get to her feet, Adelina gave a soft cry. “There is blood on your chemise! Did your flux come upon you of a sudden?”
“No, I had to ride astride like a man, but I lacked the undergarments that men wear, and my thighs blistered badly.”
“How can you ride on to Devizes, then? That is nigh on twenty miles!”
“I can and I will. I must. And you cannot tell the men, Adelina. I do not want them to know.”
The other woman nodded reluctantly. “Then you must let me do what I can to ease your discomfort,” she said, and turned aside to ransack a coffer by the foot of the bed. With gentle, deft strokes, she rubbed an herbal ointment into Maude’s blistered, abraded skin, then fashioned bandages from a pillowcase, and she understood when Maude’s “thank you” seemed grudgingly given, saying, “Those are words that catch in my John’s throat, too. He finds it hard to admit a need.”
Maude did not know what to say to that, for it seemed to require a confidence in return. But Adelina did not wait for a response, instead crossed the chamber to retrieve Maude’s gown. She was helping to lace it up when Brien and Rainald sought admittance.
Maude looked from one to the other. “Why must we leave Ludgershall in such haste? What is it that you’re so loath for me to know?”
Rainald cleared his throat. “Marshal sent a few of his men toward Winchester to find out what happened. Only one of them has gotten back so far, but after hearing what he learned, we knew we dare not stay here, for this will be the first place they think to look once they start searching for you in earnest. We’ve got to get you as far away as we can, as fast as we can. It will not be easy for you, but-”
“You think I care about my comfort? Just tell me, was there a battle?”
Brien nodded. “Ypres and the queen’s earls fell upon our army soon after they rode out along the Salisbury Road. Marshal’s scout says they scattered to the winds, every man for himself. He says not even the archbishop was spared, that the clerics were roughly handled, their horses stolen.”
“Oh, dear God,” Maude whispered. Minna. And what of Ranulf? Miles and David and all the others. “Tell me the rest,” she said, “the worst. Tell me about Robert.”
“We do not know for certes,” Rainald said, but he no longer met her eyes, and it was Brien who told her the truth.
“Marshal’s scout says that Robert’s men did not bolt like the others. They fought a running battle as far as Le Strete, where they were surrounded and overwhelmed by Warenne and Ypres and his Flemings.” Brien saw her shudder and started to reach toward her, then let his arm fall to his side. “They would have wanted to take Robert alive,” he said. “I swear to you that is true.”
Maude swallowed with a visible effort. “You are saying, then, that either Robert was captured or he was slain.”
Neither man spoke, but she had her answer in their silence, and she shut her eyes, squeezing back her tears. She would be able to weep soon, hidden by the darkness, riding through the night toward Devizes, but not now, not yet. She would leave Ludgershall dry-eyed and unbowed. She would not shame Robert with her tears.
Cecily watched anxiously as Matilda moved again to the tent entrance, but she no longer urged her mistress to attempt to get some sleep; she knew that Matilda would be up until dawn if need be, until she got the word about Maude. Rising, she poured a cup of wine and carried it across the tent. The other woman accepted it absently, continuing to gaze up at the star-dusted dark sky. “There is a fire in Winchester,” she said. “See…over to the east.”
“Come back inside, my lady,” Cecily pleaded, “ere you catch a chill. Try to put the town’s troubles from your mind. It does no good to dwell upon what cannot be helped.”
Matilda let the tent flap drop. “Stephen kept his army from pillaging and raping in Shrewsbury,” she said. “There must have been something I could have done…”
“And why did the king’s soldiers heed him at Shrewsbury? Because he’d just hanged ninety-four men from the castle battlements and they feared not to! My lady, this is the way of the war. We need not like it, but accept it we must. What other choice have we?”
“What you say makes sense, Cecily. But I doubt that I will ever understand. The Londoners were so fearful for their city, so afraid that Maude would wreak havoc upon their homes and families. How, then, could they have been amongst the first to despoil Winchester?”
“My lady, I cannot answer that. But this I do know, that you have nothing to reproach yourself for. You seek only to free your lord husband from unjust confinement, and against all the odds, you have prevailed. This day he has won his liberty and it was your doing!”
Matilda felt a prickle of superstitious dread. “We do not know that, not yet. If Maude escapes, all this suffering and dying will have been for naught. The war will go on, and…and Stephen’s life might well be forfeit, because of me.”
“That will not happen. She has been taken prisoner, I know she has!”
“I would to God I could share your certainty,” Matilda said wearily. “But she seemed sure to be taken at Arundel, too, and then again at Westminster, did she not?”
“The king’s gallantry spared her at Arundel and blind luck at London, luck that is fast running out.”
Matilda sat down at the table, pushed the candle aside, and leaned forward, resting her head upon her arms. But almost at once she straightened up. “Did you hear that? More men coming in…”
Her senses had been betraying her all night, hearing sounds that echoed only in her head. But this time she was right, and she was on her feet, waiting, by the time William de Warenne and William de Ypres pushed their way into the tent.
Warenne looked dirty and tired and jubilant. “God has shown us such favor, madame, for what a victory we had!”
“I know that,” Matilda interrupted. “But what of Maude? Is she captive?”
Ypres shook his head. “I regret not. That woman has the most unholy luck. She ought never to have been able to slip through our net, yet she somehow did. You need not fear, though, for we’ll soon track her down. We have men on her trail even now-”
But Matilda was no longer listening. “Then we lost,” she cried. “Can you not see that? Without Maude, we gained nothing!”
Neither man seemed fazed by her despair. They looked at each other and grinned. “Ah, but we did,” Ypres said. “Maude may have flown the nest, but we plucked her tail feathers for certes!” And turning, he lifted the tent flap. “Bring him in.”
The man escorted into the tent was a stranger to Cecily. He was no longer young, for his brown hair was well salted with gray, and save for an ugly bruise under his left eye, he seemed unhurt. What struck her most forcefully was his composure; if not for his bound wrists, she’d never have known he was a prisoner. “Lady Matilda,” he said calmly. “It is always a pleasure to see you, although I would rather it be under different circumstances.”
Matilda was staring at him in shock. “Robert,” she breathed, so softly that only Cecily heard, and her eyes widened.
“My lady, is this man the Earl of Gloucester?”
“This man,” Matilda said unsteadily, “is Stephen’s salvation.” Her voice was muffled, midway between laughter and tears. Reaching for the Fleming’s hand, she held fast. “How good God is, blessed be His Name. And bless you, too, Willem, for you’ve given me back my husband!”
22
