Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,134
on the person of the king and his banner, the Angevin army began to spread out again, and the pursuit and punishment of the vanquished began.
Brian checked his men and was relieved to discover that the wounds were mostly shallow cuts, bruises, and broken fingers that would heal quickly. For himself, he felt as if a heavy darkness was pressing down on him, winding black tendrils through every orifice in his skull. The roars of victory only served to aggravate the burning nausea in the pit of his belly.
Miles FitzWalter joined Brian as he rode towards the city walls. “I sometimes think you a bit of a courtier,” he said, a hard grin on his face, “but you fought out of your hauberk just now.” Brian said nothing. Miles did not realise how close to the truth he was. Brian was still not sure he was back inside his hauberk, and in fact he didn’t want to be because of the terrible weight of it, as if it were a coat of sins.
“God has well and truly spoken. Did you see de Meulan and Bigod fleeing the field like cowards? And even D’Ypres?” Miles bared his teeth and laughed.
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Brian could almost see the battle heat rising off him.
“Stephen should have stayed behind those walls and waited for reinforcements,” he said.
“Useful for us that he did not. Now we must keep him securely locked up and see to it that the empress takes her rightful place as queen.”
“Indeed.” Brian’s thoughts turned to Matilda. Already a messenger would be galloping to Devizes with news of their victory. Would it light her with joy, or would the news settle a burden across her shoulders, like this hauberk across his own?
Miles rode off to see to his affairs, and Brian made his way into the town. The gates hung wide and the stench of smoke from blazing thatch filled the air. There was going to be retribution aplenty for the citizens who had supported Stephen and not the beleaguered garrison. Everywhere he looked people were fleeing, trying to avoid the incoming troops.
His destrier started to limp. Brian dismounted to look, and discovered the stallion’s knee puffy and hot from a strain sustained in the fighting. Not wanting to ride on and worsen the injury, Brian ordered his squire to fetch his remount from the back of the ranks.
A band of soldiers rounded the corner, their manner one of clandestine haste. Brian’s men drew their freshly sheathed swords and pointed their spears. So did the other group, their fear palpable. Brian stared at Will D’Albini, who returned the look and drew himself to his full height.
Brian swallowed his gorge and made a swift gesture. “Go,” he said. “We have not seen you. Stephen is taken and your cause is defeated. Make haste and watch your road because if Miles FitzWalter catches you, he will have you in irons or turned to corpses faster than the bishop of Winchester can say a paternoster.” D’Albini’s hazel eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why would you do this for me, my lord?”
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“Because I am not your enemy, Will. Before all this happened, we were friends. You allowed my lady to land at Arundel and that deserves acknowledgement and recompense. I have seen a surfeit of bloodshed today and victory is won. What difference will taking you make? Just go, and be swift about it!”
“Thank you,” Will said stiffly. “I will not forget.” With a curt nod, one soldier to another, he moved on.
“Will they escape?” asked a knight.
“I do not know, but I have given them their chance.” Brian heaved a troubled sigh. “I have often shared bread and company with Will D’Albini, and we were companions sent to meet the empress when she came home from Germany. I will not raise my sword against him now, nor barter him for ransom. Enough is enough. I gift him to his wife and his family.” A little of the darkness eased, but only to grey, and the weight remained.
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Thirty-nine
Lincoln, February 1141
S tephen was put on a horse the day after the battle and taken south to Gloucester. He was concussed, bruised, and shivering, even though wrapped in a heavy fur-lined cloak.
There had been serious debate as to whether he should ride in a cart, but that would have slowed the journey and Robert wanted him in their stronghold territories as swiftly as possible.