A Tapestry of Dreams by Roberta Gellis Page A

danger from the Scots. Fortunately, Hugh did not need to ride all the way to Westminster. Somewhere on the road—he never remembered where, for after that night at Brough he stopped only when either he or his horse was failing—he heard that the king had come north as far as Oxford. When Hugh came there, in the afternoon of the fifth day, he and his horse were hollow with exhaustion. Still, the quality of his mount could not be mistaken, and the richness of his saddle and armor contributed to the alacrity with which Sir Walter was sought and Hugh brought to him. Hardly able to keep on his feet, Hugh blurted out his news about Wark without noticing anything except his master.
    A tall, fair man, who had stepped back a few paces as Hugh approached as if to give Sir Walter privacy to speak to his visitor, came closer again and repeated, “The Scots have taken Wark, you say? Where is Wark? Why should my uncle wish to seize it?”
    In turning toward the voice, Hugh staggered and would have fallen if Sir Walter had not put an arm around him to support him. And it was Sir Walter who replied. “Wark is in Northumbria, Sire, north of Jernaeve. As to why King David should desire it, I have no idea. There is no route south from Wark, for Jernaeve guards the valley to the south… unless King David intends to use Wark as a base from which to attack Jernaeve. But before I make more wild guesses, let me ask, Hugh, do you have any other news?”
    Hugh had steadied himself and removed his weight from Sir Walter’s arm. His lord was still strong, but he was not young, and Hugh stood equally tall. “The king was not at Wark,” he said slowly, trying to be sure his answer was coherent, “and the army, from what I could judge, was small. One of his men, Sir William de Summerville, called on us to yield in the name of the Empress Matilda to oppose—”
    “This,” Espec interrupted hastily, gesturing toward the tall man who had asked the questions about Wark, “is King Stephen, Hugh.”
    Hugh blinked blurrily at a broad, good-natured face with kindly gray eyes. There seemed no threat in it, but Sir Walter could only have interrupted him with such information as a warning. To give himself time for his tired brain to work, Hugh undid the laces holding the throat piece of his hood and pushed the mail off his head.
    But the king had understood Sir Walter’s warning, and he shook his head. “I will not blame the messenger for ill tidings,” Stephen said. “Did Summerville call me a usurper?” And then he added inconsequentially, “With that flaming hair, you look like a Scot yourself, young man.”
    “I do not know,” Hugh said, feeling more confused than ever by Stephen’s personal remark. “My mother died soon after I was born, and I was a ward of Archbishop Thurstan, who gave me for fostering to Sir Walter.” But then his mind reverted to what he had been thinking about all during his long ride. “King David did not come to Wark,” he repeated, “and although I have never been inside Jernaeve, I have passed by that keep. The army with Summerville could never take that place. I think the main army must be with the king, perhaps attacking Newcastle or Prudhoe.”
    “But Hugh,” Sir Walter protested, “for the Scots to be as far south as Newcastle would mean—”
    “That the whole north of England has fallen,” Stephen interrupted harshly. “Why should you think the king of Scotland so far south?”
    Hugh blinked his burning eyes again, but he answered readily because he had thought out the whole subject on the long way south. “First because Wark is no great bastion of the north that must be taken to make holding the land possible. Thus, any leader but a fool would leave that for last, to be swept into the net after the big fish were taken—and my reason must be good because no large force was sent. The manner of the demands made on Wark was another piece of evidence, and the way the army settled in, a third. They were