“Be sure what you say, Ranulf. For God’s Pity, be very sure!”
“I am sure,” he insisted. “I was there. I saw him surrender.”
“You were there?” she echoed blankly. “And you left him? You just rode off and left him? Jesus wept, how could you?”
His face twitched, as if he’d taken a blow. “It…it was too late,” he stammered, “was all over by the time I got there…”
He sounded as wretched as he looked, and somewhere in the back of her brain, she perceived his pain, acknowledged her own unfairness. But she did not want to be fair, not anymore. Robert had toiled his entire life striving to be fair, and where had it gotten him? “He would never have abandoned you,” she cried, “never! You know he-”
“How dare you!” Maude’s voice was choked, so great was her fury. “Ranulf would have given his life for Robert! If you must blame someone, blame me, then. But not Ranulf, damn you, not Ranulf!”
“You are right-for once. The blame does belong to you, Maude, and I’ll not cheat you of any of it!”
Maude stepped closer, grasped Amabel’s arm. “I care not if you make a fool of yourself. But Robert would. You owe him better than this.”
The realization that Robert would indeed have disapproved of her behavior only stoked Amabel’s rage all the higher. “You are right again,” she said, with a tight, brittle smile. “Twice in a row-a record for certes.” She pulled free of Maude’s hold then, so violently that she stumbled backward, and when she felt a steadying hand upon her arm, she started to lash out at this new enemy. It was only when she heard his indrawn protest of “Mama” that she glanced up at his face, recognized her youngest son.
“Let’s go to the chapel, Mama,” he urged, “and pray for Papa’s safe deliverance.”
Roger was still new to his calling, painfully earnest in his priestly dignity. To the rest of the world, he may have seemed like one of God’s Chosen, but to Amabel, he was a lost lamb, and she did not object when he tugged her toward the door. “But if prayer does not gain Robert’s release…”
It was an unspoken threat, and a needless one. Maude would do whatever she must to pay Robert’s ransom. Those in the hall knew that. But they knew, too, what his freedom would cost-for Maude, for them all, and for England.
The bishop had settled in at Wolvesey, for it had not been badly damaged by the siege, unlike the royal palace, which was in ruins. Declining his hospitality, Matilda chose to stay at the castle, and people were soon lining up outside the kitchen, for the threat of starvation no longer hung over the city, but hunger was still Winchester’s unwelcome guest. Robert was gone, though; William de Ypres had escorted him to the greater security of Rochester Castle in Kent, deep in the heartland of Matilda’s English domains. It was mid-October before Ypres reported back to Matilda, and the news he brought was not good: Robert was still refusing to end his own captivity by setting Stephen free, not without additional concessions they were unwilling to make.
They were seated close by the hearth in the great hall, for there was a chill of early winter in the air. Stretching his legs, cramped from long hours in the saddle, Ypres complained, half humorously, “It is extremely irksome, having to respect someone I dislike so heartily. But I cannot deny the man’s courage. If he was cut, he’d likely bleed ice!”
Matilda did not find Robert’s fortitude quite so admirable; she didn’t share Ypres’s conviction that courage was the defining measure of a man. “If we agreed to free the other prisoners-”
“You cannot do that! When a man takes a highborn prisoner, he expects to profit from it. That is the way it’s always been. You cannot change the rules with no warning, not without risking rebellion. My lady…Gloucester is engaging you in a clash of wills; do not let him win. He thinks he can outwait you, that you’re so eager to get Stephen back that nothing else matters. Prove him wrong.”
“How?”
“Simple. Make him want his freedom just as much as you want Stephen.”
Matilda shook her head. “I do not like the sound of that, Willem.”
“I am not suggesting we hang the man up by his heels, although the idea does have some merit. But we need not make his confinement quite so comfortable, either. He is being treated more like an honoured guest than a prisoner of war, allowed to have visitors, to write letters, to go into the town if he chooses; last week he even bought some blooded horses! I know what you are about to say, that he gave his sworn word he’d not attempt to escape. And I’ll concede that he’s probably the one man in Christendom whom I’d trust to keep such a preposterous oath, for he has always been insufferably prideful whenever honour is involved. But your generosity is leading you astray. He can afford to balk, to reject your terms, for what is it costing him? I say we change that, impose a price he’ll not be willing to meet.”
Matilda frowned. “I will think upon what you’ve said, Willem. I know my brother-in-law agrees with you. I will admit that my patience is fast shredding thin. If Robert does not see reason soon…”
A servant was hovering close by, ready to refill their wine cups. Once the man withdrew, Matilda shook off her disappointment and sought to sound more cheerful as she said, “We did have an unexpected stroke of luck last week. We intercepted a courier from the Scots king on his way to Gloucester with a message for Maude.”
“So David finally surfaced for air, did he? Well, we knew he’d not been taken prisoner, and I found it unlikely that a king would be lying dead in a ditch and no one know of it. Where is he now…and more to the point, does he intend to rejoin Maude?”
“By now he ought to be back in Scotland. His letter was dated on the 22nd of September, and by then he’d gotten as far north as Durham. To hear him tell it, he had as many narrow escapes as Maude-it must run in the family. Twice he was cornered and bribed his way free. His letter was sparing of details, so I assume he still had enough men to defend himself, and his would-be captors must have decided it was easier to take what was offered. The third time that he ran into trouble, he was recognized. But the knight in charge turned a blind eye, let him go by, for he just happened to be David’s godson! I have to confess that I am glad he got away; he is my uncle, too, after all. What gladdens me even more is that he will be staying up in Scotland where he belongs. He said as much to Maude, tactfully, of course. Still, the meaning seemed clear enough, that from now on, Maude is on her own.”
That was what Ypres was hoping to hear. Pulling his seat closer to the fire, he listened with amusement as Matilda related the bishop’s latest undertaking. He’d sent his men to scour through the ruins of Hyde Abbey, sifting the ashes until they’d recovered those abbey treasures that had survived the flames. He’d gotten back enough melted gold and silver to pay for the soldiers he’d hired, Matilda reported, much to the outrage of the monks.
Ypres was still laughing when the message arrived. Matilda gazed down at the seal of the Countess of Gloucester and all else was forgotten. Ypres had tensed, too, and watched intently as she read Amabel’s letter. He could not read her face as easily as he once had, for she was belatedly learning a queen’s skill at camouflage. But it seemed to him that she’d gotten paler, and when she glanced up, her eyes gave away her unease.
“Amabel has heard rumors that we’ve threatened to drag Robert off to Boulogne. She reminds me that Stephen is being held at her castle, in her custody, and she vows that if any harm whatsoever comes to Robert, she will send Stephen where even God could not find him-to Ireland.”
As threats went, that was a daunting one. “You know the woman,” he said, “as I do not. Is this a bluff? Or is she capable of carrying out her threat?”
“Amabel? Oh, yes,” Matilda said, without hesitation, and Ypres slouched back in his chair, reconsidering their options. They’d have to tread with care, for if Gloucester’s wife knew her Scriptures-an eye for an eye, a wound for a wound-Matilda was not likely to follow his advice and strip Gloucester’s confinement down to the bare bone. Jesu, would she be desperate enough to give in, to let Gloucester win?
Matilda was studying Amabel’s letter, but her initial disquiet seemed to have ebbed away. She looked pensive now, not dismayed, and as he watched, he saw a smile flicker about the corners of her mouth.
“What is it?” he said sharply. “What do you have in mind?”
“I am thinking,” she said, “that we’ve been going about this the wrong way. We have been negotiating with the wrong people, Willem. We’ve been seeking to come to terms with Robert and Maude, when the one we ought to have been bargaining with is the woman who holds Stephen-the woman who wants her husband back just as much as I want mine.”
