Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,87

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you, I’d do the same: take your men and go.” He strode off shouting orders.

Will wove his way back to his own camp and ordered one of his knights to fetch a chirurgeon. The night’s brawl had created a high demand for such services and by the time one arrived, Will had peeled off his garments and packed his wound with linen bandages. He had several nasty burns and singed brows as result of the fight with de Gournay’s now incinerated tent. The chirurgeon clucked his tongue as he threaded his needle with the hair from a destrier tail. “You are fortunate the blade filleted along your ribs and not under them,” he said, “or else you’d be a corpse, and I’ve seen too many of them tonight. Plenty of men will be stitched in their shrouds following this foolish brawl, never mind put back in their skins.” Will clenched his fists on his knees and squeezed his eyes shut as the chirurgeon began his work.

“More than just de Gournay have left the camp,” the man said between stitches. “I counted at least a dozen Norman lords riding out. The king’s numbers will be much weakened.” Will grimaced. He supposed Stephen might persuade some to return, but whatever happened, there would be no advance on Lisieux now. The rift was too great and the divided could not conquer.

Will’s wound made him feverish, and after an attempt to ride Forcilez split some of the stitches and renewed the bleeding, he was confined to the camp while he healed and could only watch as Stephen’s force fractured and shattered like a wave destroyed on a rock. The assault on Lisieux was postponed and then abandoned.

On the first day that Will was properly able to leave his bed, Geoffrey of Anjou, the devil himself, rode into camp under a banner of truce and the game took a new turn.

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Twenty-five

Argentan, June 1137

B rimming with restless energy, Geoffrey paced Matilda’s chamber at Argentan, a cup of wine in his hand. Matilda eyed him warily because he seemed very pleased with himself, and she did not trust him. He had but recently arrived and thus far had said nothing, preferring to greet his sons and busy himself with the domestic trivia of returning home.

“What have you done?” she demanded.

He paused and turned. He still walked with a slight limp, courtesy of the spear injury to his foot at Le Sap. “I suppose I should anticipate no other form of greeting from my loving wife.”

“Perhaps because I expect you still to be in the field. Unless you are here to tell me you have won a great victory over Stephen and driven him all the way back to Wissant?” Geoffrey shrugged. “In a manner of speaking I have.” A servant arrived bearing soft white towels and a bowl filled with steaming water and rose petals. Having set them down, he bowed from the room at a flick from Matilda’s fingers.

Geoffrey sat on a padded stool near the fire and extended his boots to her.

“Meaning?” Kneeling, she eased the boots from his feet. The supple calfhide was well waxed and the stitches so close-fitting that they were invisible. It was the duty of a wife to wash her LadyofEnglish.indd 217

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husband’s feet when he returned from battle campaign or came to her chamber after a day in the field, but she hated having to perform the task for Geoffrey, who was plainly enjoying her discomfort. “I would have thought you would send messengers had you accomplished such a thing.”

“Why, when I can come to Argentan, visit you and my sons, and tell you myself? That is killing three birds with one stone, which is what I have done with Stephen.” His voice sharpened as she removed the boot from the foot that had suffered the spear injury. “Careful.”

“Don’t fuss.” She gave him a look that was cold on the surface and fire beneath. It was a long time since they had shared a bed, and he still held that attraction for her. She wanted to claw his back and see the red beads well upon his shoulder blades like rubies. His expression mirrored hers.

Hastily she concentrated on the task of removing his stockings and leg bindings and soaking his feet in the water. The sole of his left foot bore a livid scar and was slightly swollen because he had