Elene dragged her skirts decently down, shrugged her gown back on to her shoulders, and with fumbling hands, fastened the neck of her gown and hooked up the bodice. Her hair she could do nothing about except grab a comb, tidy it quickly and place a circlet on top to hold it away from her face.
Owain drew the curtain aside and Henry strode into the room. Rain sparkled on his cloak. Eyebrows and moustache were frosted with it and his eyes were the colour of a rainswept riverbank. He had regained some of the flesh he had lost during his convalescence, but his bones were harder now, stripped of malleable youth.
‘I thought you had decided not to come,’ Renard said.
Henry went to the hearth and threw off his cloak, revealing a padded tunic of the kind worn under a hauberk. He flexed his good shoulder. ‘I would have been here sooner, but I had business with an armourer in Shrewsbury and while there I heard some disturbing news … Elene.’ He spoke her name in a stiff greeting, averting his eyes, and advanced on the cradle to regard his new nephew. ‘I’ve brought him a christening gift. Over there by the wall in the oiled cloth.’ Stooping over the baby, he made the usual adult gesture of putting his finger in the baby’s fist. Even in sleep the fingers curled and gripped. Henry’s expression became less tense and he managed a smile.
‘Strong,’ he said, which was also an inevitable part of dutiful adult admiration.
Renard drew aside the covering from Henry’s christening gift and looked at the shield leaning there. A black leopard rampaged across a golden background in direct imitation of Renard’s own shield, but it was only half the size, suited to a child who one day, far too soon for his mother, would leave the safety of maternal skirts to learn the warfare skills, his life depending on how well he learned and how well he was taught.
Elene could see that Renard was both surprised and touched by the gift and the thought behind it. Men watched their sons’ development with more pride than fear. Indeed, it was the custom in every warrior household that a child’s first solid food should be taken from the tip of his father’s sword so that he developed a taste for the steel. She managed to smile, however, and thanked Henry warmly.
Henry’s mouth twisted. ‘My nieces and nephews are the nearest I’ll ever come to children of my own. I …’ He swallowed and looked very quickly at her and away again. ‘I have no wish to marry and I’m no great catch except to fat merchants’ daughters who are hoping to add a title to their wealth. No, one day this little fellow will inherit Oxley, or I hope he will.’ He cleared his throat.
Renard glanced up from admiring the craftmanship of the small shield. ‘You mentioned news from Shrewsbury?’ he said.
‘The sheriff ’s mustering a force. Ranulf de Gernons has finally turned rebel and seized Lincoln castle from the King’s custody.’
‘What?’ Renard’s gaze sharpened. ‘When?’
‘First day of the Christmas feast. Ranulf and Roumare sent their wives into Lincoln castle to talk with the constable’s lady and to pass the time of day and courtesies. When the time drew nigh for the women to leave, Chester and his brother wandered into the keep with a small escort as if to fetch them away, but rounded on the garrison instead and held the castle until their reinforcements hastened from their hiding places. The whole of Lincoln’s in an uproar. The citizens have sent to the King for help, and the call to arms has gone out. Likely you’ll have it by official messenger very soon.’ There was a certain satisfaction in Henry’s tone because for once he had the advantage over his brother.
Renard gave Elene an eloquent look. ‘I said it was too peaceful, didn’t I?’
Elene nodded woodenly. Her throat was too tight to speak. Renard was going to war again. It had not been peaceful at all, just the calm before the violence of a storm.
‘I suppose,’ said Renard with a sigh, ‘that I’ve had a year’s grace for Caermoel. If it doesn’t withstand war now then I might as well break my sword over my knee.’
‘I’m sorry to be the bringer of bad tidings.’ Henry looked between his brother and Elene.
‘No.’ Renard moved to clasp him on his good shoulder. ‘I’m glad to see you, truly glad. How’s the arm?’
Henry raised the limb and flexed his fingers. The movement was sluggish because he was still cold and numb from his ride, but at least he had feeling and a reasonable degree of control. ‘I manage,’ he said with a bleak smile. ‘As ever, not well, but I manage.’
Chapter 21
Lincoln, February 1141
Renard Fitzguyon to his dearest wife Elene, greetings.
Does it ever do anything but rain on this side of the country? I think not. My hauberk should be fashioned of fish scales not iron rivets. Owain and Guy have worn their fingernails to the quick keeping it clean of rust.
Our quarry is absent, chasing support in the south and has left his wife to defend Lincoln castle against us. It is not as foolish as it sounds. As you know, Matille is Gloucester’s daughter and he’s a fonder father than Ranulf is a husband. Whether it will force him through this sleet and wind to her aid I do not know, but she is conducting a spirited defence as if she well expects to be succoured.
The King is using the cathedral as a base from which to conduct the siege and we are encamped between it and the castle, well above river level, thank Christ. In several places it has burst its banks and flooded folk out of their homes.
I do not know how much longer we will be constrained to remain here in Lincoln. Two more weeks at the very least I suspect, by which time I will need more silver to pay the men. Send me two barrels from the strongbox at Ravenstow. I need not tell you to ensure that it is well escorted. Include too, if you will, a hogshead of Anjou. The stuff here tastes like river water and even getting too drunk to care about our current discomfort is an unwholesome task. Henry manages it very well, through recent long practice I suspect.
I spoke to Adam yesterday. He is reluctant to be here, but resigned. Although his sympathies lie with the Empress, they most certainly do not lie with Ranulf of Chester. He gives you his greeting and asks that you ride over to Thornford and show Heulwen and the children this letter — you know the difficulty he has in setting quill to parchment.
I pray that this siege is finished soon, for if it is not, I swear I shall go mad with naught to do but crouch in a draughty tent, watching everything grow mould or becoming rusty while I huddle in my cloak and try to keep warm. Well I remember other ways of keeping warm with you and I cannot say whether the remembrance is a pleasure or a pain.
Written at Lincoln the first day of February,
Renard finished writing, discarded the quill which had started to split, and sent Owain from his task of oiling a spear tip, out into the sleet to find a messenger. Across the tent, as he sanded the parchment and set about melting wax to seal it, Henry clinked pitcher to cup again and focused on him with the owlish scrutiny of the well drunk.
‘Did you ask Elene for more wine?’ he said.
Renard shot his brother a frosty look. ‘Yes.’
Henry took several loud gulps. ‘Good.’
Renard added pointedly, ‘Whether I actually get to drink any myself is another matter.’
The smell of hot wax mingled with the other musty, pungent odours of the tent. Henry wiped his gambeson sleeve across his mouth. ‘You don’t begrudge me an odd measure, do you?’
‘The odd measure, not at all,’ Renard said in the same, cutting tone. Of late Henry had been resorting to entire flagons.