A Tapestry of Dreams by Roberta Gellis Page B

too easy on all counts and too sure. It was as if they knew they had nothing to fear.”
    “Nothing to fear, eh?” Stephen growled furiously. “We will see if they have nothing to fear.”
    Sir Walter’s hand tightened on his squire’s arm, and Hugh was appalled, realizing suddenly that a meaning he had never intended could be found in his words. “My lord,” he exclaimed, “I did not mean—”
    Stephen patted his shoulder. “No, no, I know you meant no insult.”
    “Indeed I did not, Sire,” Hugh assured him. “I meant that it was as if they were sure Wark must yield and knew no help would come to Wark from Alnwick or Morpeth or any other keep nearby.”
    “I thought you said the north would be safe,” Stephen said, turning on Sir Walter.
    Hugh stiffened, but Sir Walter tightened his grip on his squire’s arm to keep him silent and shook his head at the king. “Not safe from the Scots, Sire. I said there was no sympathy for the empress’s cause there, and I think that still to be true. King David is another matter… not that the northern lords wish to do homage to the Scottish king, but that they are uncertain of you.”
    “My uncle did lean toward me at the end,” Stephen said uneasily, and then more surely, “and I have been crowned and anointed with chrism. I am king.”
    “Yes, my lord,” Walter agreed. “I did not mean they doubted your right. What they doubt is your will or your ability to protect them from King David. They are willing to fight the Scots, but not alone. Compared with the south of England, the north is poor. Perhaps they fear you might believe it too costly to bring them help.”
    “Rich or poor, all parts of my kingdom are in my care!” Stephen exclaimed.
    Sir Walter bowed slightly. “So I believed you would feel when I did homage to you, Sire.”
    Listening to this exchange, Hugh felt there was something odd in Sir Walter’s manner and phrasing, but he was too tired to pick out what disturbed him. The brief spurt of energy supplied by his nervousness at being the focus of the new king’s attention was ebbing rapidly. He wavered on his feet, then caught himself steady and upright, but not for long. A sharp order in Sir Walter’s voice made Hugh brace his body again, but the order was not for him, and he began to sag once more. A minute later a firm arm around his waist steadied him. It was not Sir Walter, who had turned back to the king, and Hugh looked down to see that John de Bussey, Sir Walter’s nephew, was supporting him.
    “Come along, my sleeping beauty,” John said. “My uncle has given orders that you be bedded down.”
    Hugh started off willingly, then hesitated. “My horse—”
    “I will see to him also,” John assured him. “Where did you leave him?”
    Hugh remembered describing his new mount and accoutrements as well as the area of the bailey in which he had given the reins to a groom, but he did not remember anything after that, until he was wakened by a toe in the ribs to see Sir Walter standing over him, fully dressed. He sat up immediately, apologizing for oversleeping and failing to help his master dress, but Sir Walter laughed at him.
    “Wake up”—he chuckled—“you are dreaming of the past. Robert and Philip dressed me as they have these two years agone.” He laughed again as Hugh shook his head as if to free it of dreams and went on, “You have nearly slept the sun around, and I thought you might be more hungry by now than sleepy. But I do not need you, so you may choose for yourself whether you wish to come to dinner or finish your sleep.”
    “I will eat, my lord, thank you,” Hugh replied.
    He rose to his knees, trying to smooth the worst of the creases out of his tunic. Apparently John had let him tumble down on a straw pallet and had thrown his fur cloak over him for warmth without urging him to undress. His tunic was loose, and he looked around the room in which he had slept for his baggage before he remembered that he had