“Aye. And the empress has named him Earl of Cornwall.”
Nigel’s frown turned into a scowl. “Judas,” he said. “Was ever a king so beset with treachery as Stephen is?”
Cristen said to the Chippenham knight, “Will you not have a seat at one of the tables and take some refreshment?”
The knight glanced at Nigel, who waved his hand and said, “Go along, go along. You must be hungry after riding through the cold.”
“Thank you, Sir Nigel, Lady Cristen.” The knight bowed and turned gratefully to take an empty place at one of the trestle tables set up in the hall.
Cristen turned grave eyes upon her father. “What does this mean? What will the king do now?”
Nigel gestured to the parchment, which lay on the table next to his trencher. “Stephen is gathering a force to take against Reginald, who has apparently fortified all of fitzWilliam’s castles against the king.”
Cristen continued to gaze steadily at her father.
Nigel sighed. “Stephen has called upon Lord Guy for his feudal levy and Guy wants me to lead it.”
Cristen blinked as if she had taken a blow. “You? Why you?” she demanded. “Why does not Guy lead his men himself?”
“I imagine that Guy does not want to bury himself in Cornwall at this particular moment,” Nigel said wryly. “I heard yesterday that the Earl of Chester has gone into Lincolnshire to meet with his half brother. Now that the earldom of Lincoln is empty, the two of them will be plotting ways to earn it for William of Roumare. And, as we both know, Guy has his eye upon that particular earldom for Hugh.”
Cristen’s small, capable hands were clenched in her lap. “But why ask you to lead his feudal force? You and Guy are certainly not the best of friends.”
Nigel looked as if he were debating what his answer should be.
Cristen swept on. “Is it because of Hugh? Guy wants you out of the way so that if he puts pressure on Hugh, you will not be at Somerford to offer him refuge?”
“I don’t know why you ask me questions when you have worked the answers out perfectly well for yourself,” Nigel said a little grumpily.
Cristen, who was usually so quick to smooth over her father’s ruffled feelings, did not appear even to notice that he was put out. Instead, she said decisively, “This is not the time for Stephen to be depleting Wiltshire of its fighting men. Once the king has taken our men into Cornwall, what is to stop the Earl of Gloucester from coming against us with his own forces?”
“Guy is only calling up a portion of the muster owed to him from each of his vassals,” Nigel replied. “He is not depleting his forces. We, for example, are only being asked for six men and forty men at arms. I can assure you, my dear, you will be well supplied with defenders here should Gloucester come calling in my absence.”
“You are leaving me in charge then, Father?” Cristen asked in a faintly troubled voice.
Nigel looked at her in surprise. “Who else would I leave in charge?”
It was a common custom to leave the lady of the castle in command when the lord was called away.
Cristen was frowning thoughtfully. “Who will command the knights?”
“I will leave you Lionel,” Nigel said.
The worried look cleared a little from Cristen’s face. Lionel was about forty years of age and had been at Somerford since Cristen was a child. He was very competent and very well respected by the other knights.
“Guy’s force is to meet at Chippenham in three days’ time,” Nigel said. “He wants me there earlier, however, in case some of the men arrive early.”
Cristen raised her delicate brows. “Guy can’t even be bothered to greet his own feudal levy himself?”
“Guy is not going to be at Chippenham, Cristen,” Nigel said soberly. “He writes that he is leaving tomorrow for Lincoln.”
After the table had been cleared, Nigel wrote a return message to Lord Guy, then sent Guy’s knight back to Chippenham to deliver it. Once the messenger had left the hall, Nigel turned to Cristen, who had kept her seat at his side, and said cheerfully, “Well, if you will excuse me, my dear, I must send for the knights who are to accompany me to Cornwall. We have a great deal to do before we set out.”
“Who are you planning to take with you, Father?”
Nigel listed six names, and Cristen immediately objected to one of them.
“I wish you would leave Thomas here with me,” she said. “He is one of the few knights capable of thinking for himself. If aught should happen here in your absence, I should feel much more comfortable knowing that I had Thomas to rely upon.”
Nigel frowned. “He is one of my best knights, Cristen. He will expect to be chosen to accompany me.”
“You have other knights who are perfectly capable of fighting brilliantly, Father. Thomas is one of the few who has imagination. I need him here.”
Finally Nigel gave in. “Thomas won’t thank you for this,” he warned his daughter. “He will be furious when he learns that you subverted his chance to go to war.”
“Then we won’t tell him that he was originally one of your choices, will we?” Cristen returned serenely.
After a moment, Nigel sighed. “Well, he’s young. He’ll have other chances.”
At this comment, Cristen leaned back in her chair, folded her arms across her breast, narrowed her enormous brown eyes, and regarded her father, who was still sitting beside her.
“You are simply thrilled that you were given this command, aren’t you, Father?” Her words sounded more like an accusation than a question.
Nigel looked a little guilty.
“Men,” Cristen said. Her small, straight nose quivered in a way that managed to convey utter disgust. “You complain all the time about how terrible war is, and then, when you get a chance to fight, you love it.”
“There is not going to be a battle, Cristen,” Nigel said defensively. “The kind of combat we saw at the Battle of the Standard happens very rarely. War is usually a matter of besieging and taking castles. You know that.”
Cristen’s eyes were somber. “And in the process of besieging those castles, men get killed.”
“Knights are worth far too much in ransom money to be killed,” Nigel reassured her. “It’s only the poor wretches who have no armor and no value, the archers and the men at arms, who actually get killed.”
“Maybe if the knights did get killed, there wouldn’t be so much fighting,” Cristen muttered.
Nigel regarded his daughter with exasperated humor. “What are you complaining about? The fact that I might get killed, or the fact that I won’t?”
After a moment, her lips curled in a rueful smile. “I’m just annoyed that you are looking forward to leaving me, I suppose.”
“Actually, I’m scared to death to leave you,” Nigel said. “You will do so much better a job running the castle than I do that when I return no one will want me back.”
Nigel, his six chosen knights, and the forty men he had called up from his lands departed from Somerford the following morning under gray skies that promised either rain or snow, depending upon how warm the day grew.
Cristen stood beside the fishpond in the outer bailey and watched the knights ride out, dressed in full armor, their horses gleaming even in the dull light of the overcast morning. The men wore the nosepieces on their helmets up, but otherwise they were fully prepared for war.
Each Somerford knight carried the distinctive Norman kite-shaped shield, which covered a man from shoulder to shin. The skirts of their hauberks of interlinking rings reached to their knees, and were slit at front and rear from hem to crotch to enable the wearer to ride. Under their hauberks the men wore mail sleeves that reached to the wrist, and mail leggings that went down to their boots. Each knight had hung his sword from the sword belt at his side, and in his free hand he carried a lance.
Their faces were grim as they rode past Cristen, but she knew that in their hearts they were supremely happy.
Thomas was not happy. He was young, but he was one of the best of all the knights when it came to swordplay and horsemanship. He could not understand why he had not been chosen to accompany his lord.