IN AUGUST ROBERT RETURNED to Oxford from Winchester with the news that Henry was evasive about his future plans and would not commit himself to rejoin their cause.
“We will help him to decide,” Maud announced.
True to her earlier word, Maud gathered together her army and, ignoring the protests of her council, set off for Winchester determined to persuade Bishop Henry to return to her camp. Although her cousin was not at his palace of Wolvesey when she arrived, Maud and her forces were admitted into the city without incident. When Henry returned, however, he made one excuse after another to avoid a meeting between them.
Then, without warning, Matilda’s troops—greatly outnumbering Maud’s—arrived in the dead of night and surrounded the city. Maud knew she had received the Bishop’s answer: He had abandoned her cause.
Six weeks later Maud, standing on the battlements of the stone-and-timber castle in the city of Winchester, looked with hatred at the royal standard fluttering from the Bishop’s palace that lay just outside the walls. A symbol of defiance, she thought bitterly, proclaiming for all to see that he was once more Stephen’s man.
There was a sudden loud hiss. Maud looked up to see a fireball sailing over the walls of Winchester. It seemed to be headed directly toward where she stood. Frozen, she could not drag her eyes away from the flaming orb as it arced across the deep blue of the September sky, coming closer and closer.
“Maud, get back!”
“In heaven’s name, Niece, move!”
Startled, she turned at the sound of Brian FitzCount’s voice, followed by her uncle’s. Booted feet raced over stone. Strong arms wrenched her body forcefully away from the parapet.
“God be thanked, it’s missed the castle,” Brian said.
The burning sphere fell short of the battlements, then disappeared from view. Sudden screams rent the air, followed by the sound of a crackling explosion.
“St. Mary’s Abbey has been hit,” Brian gasped.
“The nuns will be trapped inside,” Maud cried, tearing herself from his arms.
From below came an anguished cry of pain and terror.
“Mother of God,” Brian whispered. “No, no, do not look.”
But Maud was already hanging over the embrasure. One of the nuns who had tried to escape from the burning building was running around in circles, her black habit on fire. Other nuns were trying to beat out the flames with their hands. Maud covered her mouth with her hands as the nun, screaming in agony, became a human torch, fire engulfing her body. Bile rose in Maud’s throat and she gagged even as she said a prayer.
“How much longer must we endure this,” she cried, tears running down her face. “Today it’s that poor sister. Who will it be tomorrow?”
“As God wills, Niece. The good nun will die a martyr’s death,” said David of Scotland, crossing himself.
“As God wills? It is the Bishop of Winchester who sacrifices the lives of innocent victims.” Maud turned and pointed an accusing finger at the roof of the Bishop’s palace. “How can a man of God destroy his own abbeys?”
“Ach, lass, ’tis the hazards of war. Such devil’s work is the Flemish army’s doing, not the Bishop’s.”
“He allows it, doesn’t he? I must go down at once and offer my aid to the sisters.”
The King of Scotland looked at her sharply when, suddenly swaying, Maud grabbed a merlon for support. “When did ye last eat?”
Maud leaned against the stone. “I can’t remember, Uncle. I’ve lost all count of time. Probably after mass this morning.” She grimaced. “Stale bread and rancid meat. I remember now I couldn’t touch it.”
“That’s all we have available,” Brian said with a sigh, “and we’re fortunate to have that. Stores of food are so low some areas of the city are starving.” He looked at her in concern. “You must eat something, Lady, no matter how unpalatable. I think you’re in no condition to aid anyone at the moment.”
“Lack of food and water—” David turned to Brian. “If we do na get provisions soon, my lord, we’ll be forced to surrender—or starve to death.”
“Surrender? Never,” Maud said firmly. “Never will I become Matilda’s prisoner, not while I have breath within my body. I’d rather starve!”
“Ach, ye ha’ a proud spirit, lass, but ye nay ha’ experienced a long siege afore. Nor ha’ ye seen men die of starvation.”
As Maud watched the citizens of Winchester bring buckets of water to keep the flames from spreading, she wondered, not for the first time, if her uncle and the others blamed her for the disastrous position in which they now found themselves: daily fireballs threatening the city, meager rations, and a growing despair that made life in Winchester a continuing nightmare. The bells tolling for Sext mercifully interrupted her grim thoughts.
After noon Mass when Maud and the others were gathered in the great hall the Scottish king told Robert they could not go on as they were. “A surprise attack, men trying to scale the walls, presents a more immediate threat than starvation. And since ye just lost three hundred men, how will ye resist the Flemish horde?”
Maud sighed, hating to be reminded of their latest failure. Two weeks ago Robert had dispatched three hundred men under cover of darkness to stop their supplies being intercepted and their escorts slain by the enemy before they could reach the city. William of Ypres’ Flemings had fallen on the troops in a surprise attack and massacred them to a man.
“Do you say we should surrender, Uncle?” Maud whispered, dreading his reply.
“Nay, lass. But we must retreat, aye, and with no delay, I’m thinking. None of us be safe here.”
Robert nodded. “Retreat or be captured.”
“The conditions are hazardous for retreat,” Miles protested. “We’re surrounded by enemy forces.”
“We must get Maud to safety,” Robert stated, “regardless of the conditions.”
“Surely there’s something else we can do,” Maud cried out in despair. “This is Westminster all over again. We must stand our ground.”
“This is far worse than Westminster,” Robert said. “There at least we had an army waiting for us at Oxford. Now men are in short supply. No.” He shook his head decisively. “We must get you out of Winchester to safety at Bristol.”
That night at their meager supper, Robert outlined the scheme for their retreat.
“The escape is planned to coincide with Vespers tomorrow night, a Sunday, which is also the feast of the Holy Cross. It’s to be hoped that a greater number of enemy troops will be attending service, leaving fewer to guard the walls.”
Using ivory chessmen to demonstrate his strategy, Robert spread out the large pieces on the trestle table.
“An advance bodyguard will be sent on ahead, led by King David and his Highlanders.” He slid a few men across the boards, then turned to Maud. “You’ll follow on their heels, Sister, attended by guards on either side. Miles and Brian will be right behind you, protecting the rear.” He moved another handful of ivory figures.
“And you, Brother? Where will you be?”
“Behind them with my men, overseeing the whole retreat.” He swept the rest of the pieces off the table with a flourish.
“Who covers your rear then?” Maud asked.
“None need cover my back,” Robert said, tossing his head in a proud gesture. “Come now.” He raised dark brows. “Why do you wear such a long face, Sister? I’ve been fighting battles since I was big enough to wield a sword. Have I ever been captured? Or defeated? The only warrior to match me lies captive at Bristol!”
The next day dragged on endlessly. Would Vespers never come? An hour before the evening service was due to start, Maud sat down to supper with her half-brother, Brian, Miles, her uncle, and the castellan of Oxford Castle, Robert d’Oilli, who had joined her forces when she left Oxford for Winchester.
The Vespers bell sounded at last. It was time to leave. Cloaked and hooded, almost suffocating in the breathless heat of early evening, Maud was hoisted into the saddle of a Flemish bay mare she had never ridden before. She took a last look around the crowded courtyard, shading her eyes from the blood-red rays of the setting sun. An armed escort rode on either side of her; behind, in the order her half-brother had determined, Brian and Miles waited with their men. At the rear Maud could see Robert astride his horse, with Lord d’Oilli beside him. She knew he was to remain in the town until she had passed safely through the west gate of the city. He raised his lance to her in a huge mailed fist.
Maud wheeled her mare around and trotted out of the courtyard. In the town itself, against a background of wooden houses with tightly closed doors and fettered shutters, the King of Scotland had mustered his Highlanders. Animal skins were thrown over their shoulders; painted blue dragons rippled on muscular arms ringed with metal. Steely eyes confronted her from inscrutable bronzed faces. Even knowing they were her allies, Maud could not control a shiver of apprehension.
“Godspeed, Niece,” David said, trotting his horse out from the ranks. He grabbed her mare’s bridle. “If we do na see each other again on middle earth, I want ye to know that ye be a true credit to ye Norman kinsmen and ye Saxon forebears.”
Fighting a lump in her throat, tears pricking behind her eyes, Maud impulsively reached up, pulled her uncle’s head down, and kissed him on his hairy cheek. When you looked at him closely, one saw the face of an old man, she realized, but one still full of determination and spirit. She was so choked with emotion and gratitude that she did not trust herself to speak. David turned his horse and, followed by his Highlanders, trotted down the street toward the west gate. In a moment all she could see was a ray of fading sunlight glancing off his helmet as he became lost to view amid his men.
Guards pressing on either side of her, Maud followed the Highlanders. Her heart beat furiously; the dry taste of fear clogged her throat. Ahead the rusted gates swung slowly open on creaking hinges. From the other side a swarm of men brandishing maces and wooden staves attempted to rush through; they attacked with such violence it seemed her uncle’s Scots would be plowed under. But the staunch body of Highlanders, swinging their iron swords and wooden clubs, held firm. Suddenly, as miraculous to Maud as the Red Sea parting, a narrow passage appeared amid the melee of men and horses.
“Ride, Niece, ride fer ye life!” Although she could not see him, David’s voice rang out clearly.
Suddenly panicked, Maud found herself unable to move. She had never been so frightened in all her life. Twisting in the saddle, she could see Robert far behind her, his men closely following. There was no sign of either Miles or Brian.
“Go!” Robert’s shout echoed faintly above the noise of clashing steel. “For the love of God, go now!”
Spurring her horse forward, Maud plunged into the narrow passage created by her uncle. Hemmed in on either side by the press of the battle, she was aware of the overpowering stench of men’s bodies, animal flesh, and rank fear. A shield struck her shoulder, a spur grazed her leg, and she swayed precariously in the saddle. A man’s voice cursed, inches from her ear, his foul breath almost choking her. A horse whinnied, thrusting its long head into her lap. Then she was through the gate and outside the city.
Maud galloped a few paces up a small rise before she realized that she had become separated from her guard. She took a last desperate look behind her, searching frantically for some sign of Robert, or her uncle, or Miles, or Brian. She caught a brief glimpse of a gold-and-scarlet plume bobbing on a helmet: Robert’s colors.
Then she became aware of knights fleeing in every direction, discarding shields and coats of mail, even helmets, in their flight. Horses galloped riderless, snorting in terror. A group of ragged-looking men ran toward her on foot. Dark, threatening faces surged around her mare. A wooden stave was thrust into her face. Fury drove out fear. With a strength she did not know she possessed, Maud let go the reins, wrenched the stave from a strong grasp, and lifting it with both arms, savagely cracked the wooden club down on a flaxen head. There was a startled grunt; blood dripped from the stave.
The mare snorted in fear and reared up on her forelegs. Maud clenched the reins in one hand and, still holding the stave in the other, tried to soothe the terrified horse. Forcing her way through the angry mob trying to bar her path, she hit out blindly at hands that reached to restrain her. Finally she broke free.
The mare cantered wildly over a ground now scattered with abandoned swords, lances, and spears. Knights and squires, whether friend or foe she could not tell, passed her in headlong flight, some on foot, others on horseback. Maud called out to them but, in their panic to escape, they ignored her. The orderly retreat had disintegrated into total rout. Chaos reigned.
After galloping for what seemed like hours, the mare slowed her breakneck pace, and came to a shuddering stop on the top of a wooded hill, her heaving flanks covered with foamy sweat. The cries of battle could no longer be heard, nor the sound of fleeing men and horses. Maud looked around, her heart hammering against her ribs, the breath sobbing in her throat. It was now almost dark. There was nothing to be seen but open country. She was alone.
Maud had no idea how far she had come, how long she had been riding, or even where she was. West, she decided, she must have been riding west for she had been headed into the setting sun rather than away from it. She patted the neck of her dripping horse, wondering whether to wait and see if any of her party would catch up with her, or ride on toward what she hoped would be the direction of Bristol.
A noise caught her attention. The mare whinnied softly. Another horse? Yes, she could hear it now, the sound of hooves pounding the ground, heading toward her. Through the gathering darkness she could see a rider—no, a group of riders, galloping in her direction. One of the riders broke out from the rest and rode up the hill. As he came abreast, she raised the stave threateningly.
“Do not dare to come closer,” she screamed.
There was a sharp intake of breath. “Maud? Is that you?”
It was Brian FitzCount’s voice. “Brian! Oh, Brian.”
In a moment Brian had pulled his horse to a stop and leapt from the saddle. He ran over to her, swept Maud off the mare’s back and into his arms. She sobbed with relief.
“God be thanked, you’re safe, you’re safe,” he murmured against her cloaked head. “We were so worried about you.” He rocked her back and forth in his arms like a child.
Gratefully, she rested against him, laying her head on his muscled chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart through the mantle and mailed shirt. Brian was here and she was safe. Finally she drew back her head.
“Are Robert and Miles with you? My uncle? What of Lord d’Oilli and the others?”
“Miles was with me when we fought our way through the enemy outside the gate. Then we became separated and I lost him. D’Oilli is with me now and some of the others.” He paused and Maud felt her heart freeze. “Your uncle and his Scots fought their way through the enemy ranks like lions,” he continued. “Never have I seen the like. With God’s grace, they should be well on the road to Scotland by now.”
“Without them I would never have managed to get through the gate. But Robert? Where is Robert?”
Brian gripped her arms. “You must be brave. We believe Robert has been taken.”
“Taken?” Maud repeated, disbelieving. “Taken prisoner?”
“Yes. He fought with great courage, staying in the rear to hold up the enemy until the very last moment. He managed to get out of Winchester, but the enemy caught up with him while he tried to cross the river at Stockbridge.”
“Holy Mother, who has taken him?” she whispered.
“Flemish mercenaries. And all his men with him. I was well ahead of him, and had already crossed the river—I saw it happen—he was surrounded—” The anguish in Brian’s voice was unbearable. “I was powerless to help him, to save him. We were so few and they so many.”
Maud felt as if a violent force had knocked the very life out of her body. Her head reeled. Robert taken! Merciful God, how could she carry on without him? What was she to do now?