Читать книгу To The Castle - Joan Wolf - Страница 9

It was late in the afternoon and the Earl of Wiltshire and his grandson were returning from inspecting the defenses of the many castles and manors whose lords owed fealty to the earl. The Earl of Wiltshire was one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, the overlord of demesnes in Wiltshire, Dorset, Somerset, Hampshire, Surrey, Buckinghamshire, Hertfordshire and Oxfordshire. As the country was braced for a civil war to break out between King Stephen and his cousin, the Empress Mathilda, the earl had thought it important to visit the lords who owed their feudal duty to him and to remind them that the earl had pledged his loyalty to King Stephen.

As the contingent of knights crossed Salisbury plain on their return to the earl’s main castle of Wilton, the sun shone on polished helmets and hauberks and shields, and the sheen of the horses’ coats almost equaled the brightness of the men’s armor. The summer day was breezy and the flag carried by the leading knight flew bravely. The jingle of the knights’ spurs and armor could be heard all along the road as they passed. Behind them came the pack horses carrying the household goods the earl considered necessary when he traveled: one horse was loaded with his dismantled bed, sheets, blankets and mattress, another with his wardrobe, another with the wine he favored and others still with the various items that contributed to his comfort.

The old man turned to his twenty-two-year-old grandson and said, “It will be good to get home. We’ve been away a long time.”

“It was early spring when we left and now it’s deep summer,” Roger replied. “But we had a good tour, I think.”

“It is wise to show your face once in a while,” the earl advised. “Remember that, my boy. There’s nothing like a little inspection to keep a man honest.”

“Yes, sir,” Roger said.

“I’m looking forward to sitting in my own hall, though,” the earl said. “I’m getting too old to be putting in so many hours in the saddle.”

Roger grinned. “You have more stamina than half of the knights, sir.”

“I put up a good front,” the earl grunted. “When we get home we can turn our thoughts to your wedding.”

Roger shifted his grip on the reins. “Ah, yes. The wedding. I still can’t believe you got the king to agree to it.”

“It was an enticement. He knows he needs to keep me loyal. If Wiltshire should go over to the empress it would be a catastrophe for Stephen. We hold sway over too much land for him to lose us.”

Roger shook his head in amazement. “But to join the earldoms of Wiltshire and Lincoln! The de Roches will be the most powerful family in the kingdom.”

The earl gave his grandson a sly smile. “I know. We will control all of Lincoln, as well as Wiltshire. We will sit astride the kingdom, Roger, as powerful as the king, and the Earl of Chester will be furious.”

“The present Earl of Lincoln is still very much alive, sir,” Roger pointed out. “The union of the two lordships won’t happen until he is dead. Only then will his daughter inherit.”

“Raoul de Bonvile wants what we want. He wants his blood to be foremost in the kingdom. That’s why he agreed to the marriage.”

They rode for a little way in silence, Roger’s thoughts on his upcoming union to this unknown girl. At last he said, “I hope Sybilla is pretty.”

“It doesn’t matter what she looks like,” the earl said. “What matters is what she brings to us. Earls do not marry for a pretty face, my boy, and you are the future earl.”

There was a little silence. Then Roger replied, “Yes, sir, I know. But it would help if she was pretty.”

“There’s no reason why she shouldn’t be pretty. Her mother is a very good-looking woman.”

They rode in more silence until the earl said with satisfaction, “There is Wilton.”

Roger looked up from his thoughts to the castle that had just come into sight. The first thing one saw upon approaching Wilton was the massive stone battlemented curtain wall, with its twin gate towers. Four other towers were set at the corners of each of the outer walls, and from the crenelated crests of each of these towers flew a crimson flag displaying the de Roche signature of a leopard.

“It’s impregnable,” the earl said with great satisfaction. It was a remark he made rather frequently. “The walls are fifteen feet thick. No siege artillery can breach them. Of all the castles we have seen in the past two months, nothing can match Wilton.”

Roger nodded, sharing his pride. The home of the Earl of Wiltshire was the greatest castle, outside the royal castles, in the country. It was one of the reasons why his grandfather was so powerful.

Within a few minutes the earl’s party passed over the moat, between the gate towers, under the raised portcullis and into the outer bailey. This courtyard contained stabling for the knights’ horses, as well as the usual storehouses and buildings for workmen and castle defenders. There was even enough room in the huge bailey to house additional troops, should they be necessary for the castle’s defense.

While the knights dismounted in the outer bailey, Roger and his grandfather continued on horseback toward the inner wall, which was also built of thick stone, with a second gate barred by another iron portcullis. A square tower stood at each of the four corners of these inner walls.

The knight on guard called out, “Welcome home, my lord,” as the earl and his grandson rode through the gate and into the inner bailey. This courtyard surrounded the keep, a square stone edifice, four stories high, with four towers that rose another two stories above the main building.

Grooms came running to take the earl’s and Roger’s horses and the two men went up the steep stone ramp that led to the main door of the keep.

The first floor of the castle was given over to store-rooms, the second floor to guardrooms, where the knights lived, and the third floor to the Great Hall. Roger and his grandfather climbed one set of narrow stairs and entered into the hall where most of the activity in the castle took place.

The room was empty now, and no fire burned in the immense stone fireplace that was set on the far wall. The three other walls were hung with large wall hangings to keep out the damp and the floor was strewn with rushes and herbs. Two heavily carved chairs were placed on either side of the fireplace and in front of one of them a dog was sleeping.

“Gawain!” Roger cried, and the dog lifted his head. “It’s me, fellow,” Roger said. “I’m back.”

As he recognized the beloved voice, the dog stood up and raced across the floor to his master, barking excitedly as he ran. Roger squatted on his heels and the rush of the dog almost knocked him over. Roger laughed and tried to pat the dog, but Gawain was too excited to stand still. He circled Roger, still barking excitedly.

The earl said indulgently, “You would never know he was eleven years old.”

Roger laughed. “He’s like you, sir. He wears his age lightly.”

Finally the dog calmed down enough to stand and let Roger pet him. “I’m sorry I had to leave you for so long,” Roger said into the adoring brown eyes of the black-and-white mongrel. “But you’re too old to come anymore. You couldn’t keep up, fellow.”

“It’s just as well he doesn’t come,” the earl said. “I can imagine what my vassals would think when they saw that my grandson’s dog is a notched-ear mongrel.”

“He’s the best dog in the world,” Roger said without heat.

“He is a good dog,” the earl agreed. “He’s certainly devoted to you.”

“He knows who loves him.” Roger stood up and pulled off his helmet, revealing his dark gold hair. “It’s still two hours before supper. Would you like a drink of wine, Grandfather?”

“That sounds like a very good idea. My poor old bones are sore from so many hours in the saddle.”

The two men moved toward the chairs in front of the empty fireplace. The shutters were pushed back on the high, narrow windows to let in the afternoon sunlight. The door to the hall opened again to admit two pages.

“Come over here, lads, and disarm us,” the earl called, and the two pages hurried over to them. Both men stood patiently while the boys undid the laces on their mail hauberks and pulled them over their heads. Each hauberk was made of leather, with more than two hundred thousand overlapping metal rings sewn on it for protection. Neither man was wearing the long-sleeved mail shirt or mail leggings that made up full armor.

When they had been stripped to the comfort and the coolness of their tunics, the earl and his grandson relaxed with their wine and enjoyed the comfort of their own hall. The door opened again and an elderly man came in.

“Simon,” the earl called. “Come over here and tell us what has been happening in our absence.”

Simon, who had been the earl’s squire when he was a youngster and was now his steward, crossed the floor, a smile on his face. “My lord, how happy I am to see you safely returned.”

“Thank you, it is good to be home.”

Simon turned to Roger. “It is good to see you, also, my lord.”

“How are you, Simon?” Roger returned. “How have your joints been holding up?”

“I am well, my lord. The sore joints, well, God has seen fit to burden me thusly and I must live with it.”

The earl said, “Has anything happened in my absence that I should know about?”

“You received a missive from the Earl of Lincoln, my lord. It came last week. I knew you were coming home soon, so I didn’t try to send it on to you. Shall I get it for you?”

“The Earl of Lincoln.” The earl glanced at his grandson. “I wonder what this can be about.”

“Perhaps it’s something about the marriage,” Roger said.

“Get the letter, Simon,” the earl said.

“I have it in my own room, for safekeeping.” The man began to move stiffly in the direction of one of the towers and Roger and the earl fell into conversation.

“The wedding must take place soon,” the earl said. “Everyone will want it done before the empress Mathilda and her half brother, Robert of Gloucester, land in England to take up arms against King Stephen.”

Roger agreed with his grandfather, agreed that the marriage was a great coup for the family, and was faintly ashamed that the idea of it made him so nervous. He was more comfortable talking about the political situation. “If the empress and her troops can land,” he said. “Stephen is having all the major ports watched.”

“England has too long a coastline to watch all the places where a ship might land,” the earl said. “They will make the crossing from Normandy and land somewhere that Stephen isn’t watching. Then they will make their way to Bristol, which is Robert’s stronghold. From there they will send out their summons to those they hope will support them.”

“Who do you think will answer that call, sir?”

“Brian fitz Count will probably join them, but most of the earls will play a waiting game. Men like Rannulf of Chester will want to see which side can offer him the most. They have no honor, men like that. They all swore an oath to uphold Stephen and now they are only looking out for themselves.”

Didn’t you do that, Roger thought, when you forced the king to give the heiress of Lincoln to me in marriage to keep you loyal?

But Roger would never say that to his grandfather.

The earl was going on. “Rannulf of Chester owns a quarter of the kingdom already, and he will be looking to increase his holdings. He will be furious when he learns that Stephen is giving us the earldom of Lincoln. Rannulf was hoping the prize of Lincoln would go to his half brother, William of Roumare. William has a number of castles in Lincolnshire.”

Roger said, “You are supporting Stephen because you think he will be the best king for England, isn’t that so, Grandfather?”

“Certainly,” the earl replied. “Stephen is a man and a warrior and as direct a descendant of the Conqueror as Mathilda is. Mathilda may be the daughter of the old king, and Stephen just the nephew, but undoubtedly Stephen is the best man for England. The empress has never lived in England—the old king sent her to Germany to marry the emperor when she was a young child, and she has lived in Normandy ever since the emperor died. Her second husband, Geoffrey Plantagenet, is fighting for the rule of Normandy—he has little interest in England. It is Mathilda who wants England for her son.”

At this point, Simon exited from the tower staircase and hurried toward them, a rolled piece of parchment in his hands. The earl gestured for him to give it to Roger.

“My old eyes can’t see to read these days,” he said. “Read it to me, my boy.”

Roger read aloud: “Greetings to the Earl of Wiltshire from his brother, the Earl of Lincoln. I bring you sad news. My daughter Sybilla went home to God on the third of June of this year.”

My God, she’s dead! Shocked, Roger looked up from the letter and over to his grandfather.

The earl glowered. “Hell and damnation,” he said. “This will spoil all our plans.”

Roger shook his head as if to clear it, then looked back down at the paper. “There is more,” he said, and began to read again. “Fortunately, this tragic news will not force us to cancel our plans. My other daughter Eleanor will take Sybilla’s place. The marriage between Lincoln and Wiltshire can go forward as planned.”

Roger looked up once more in bewilderment. “Another daughter? I thought the earl had only one.”

His grandfather raised his thick gray brows. “So did I. I wonder where this Eleanor came from.”

Roger felt a pang of uneasiness. There was something strange here. “Do you think there might be something the matter with her? That they kept her hidden for a reason?”

“I don’t know,” the earl said. “But I’m damned glad they had an extra daughter! This marriage will be the making of our family. I would be loath to give it up.”

Roger wasn’t listening. “I don’t want to marry someone who is not right in the head! Or is deformed!”

The earl said crisply, “I don’t care what is wrong with this girl, you will marry her because it is your duty to your family. All you have to do is get children on her. You can continue to pursue your other interests—like the silversmith’s widow that you see in town. But marry the heiress to all of Lincoln you will.”

“How do you know about Tordis?” Roger asked in surprise. “I never told you.”

“I know everything,” the earl said complacently. “Knowledge is power, my boy. That is another thing for you to remember.

“I will reply to Earl Raoul and tell him that we shall be happy to accept this other daughter,” he continued. “I will also suggest that we get the two of you wed as soon as possible.” The earl shuddered. “God, after all our careful plans, the whole scheme might have been lost because the girl died. How fortunate that they had this other daughter to bring forth.”

Roger was having a hard time sharing his grandfather’s enthusiasm. The thought of wedding a girl who had something wrong with her repulsed him. “Yes,” he said glumly. “Very fortunate.”

“Drink up, my boy, and don’t look so disheartened,” the earl recommended. “I married, like you, to advance the family, and the marriage turned out very well.”

“What about my parents?” Roger asked. “Did my father marry for the sake of the family?”

“Your father never did anything but thwart me in every way he possibly could. We won’t discuss him. You are the son of my heart, Roger. You are the child who will carry our name into the future.” The earl lifted his cup. “God bless you, my boy.”

It was the usual dismissive reply Earl William gave whenever Roger asked about his father. After so many years of being rebuffed, he knew enough not to pursue the subject.