“So she’s back with FitzCount, after all,”said Cadfael on a long, marveling breath. Barely a month ago it hadseemed certain that the empress and her most faithful and devotedally were irrevocably cut off from each other, and might never meetagain in this world. Ever since September the lady had been underclose siege in Oxford castle, the king’s armies drawn tightlyround her, the town in his hands, and he content to sit back andstarve out her battered garrison. And now, all in one bold bid andone snowy night, she was out of her chains, free to remuster herforces and take up the fight again on equal terms. Surely therenever had been such a king as Stephen for conjuring defeat out ofvictory. But it was a quality they shared, perhaps native to theirblood, for the empress, too, when she was gloriously installed inWestminster, and her coronation but a few days away, had borneherself so arrogantly and harshly towards the obstinate burgessesof her capital that they had risen in fury and driven her out. Itseemed that as often as either of them got within touch of thecrown, fortune took fright at the prospect of being in the serviceof either, and hurriedly snatched the prize away.

“So after all,” said Cadfael more placidly as helifted his bubbling pot to the grid at the side of the brazier, tosimmer in peace, “at least Stephen has got rid of hisproblem. He need worry no longer what to do with her.”

“True,” agreed Hugh wryly, “he’d neverhave had the iron in him to put her in chains, as she did to himwhen she had him prisoner after Lincoln, and she’s proved itwould take more than stone walls to hold her. I fancy he’sbeen bunking the issue all these months, looking no further thanthe moment when he would force her surrender. He’s eased ofall the troubles that would have been no more than beginning theday he made her prisoner. Better, perhaps, if he could winnow awayher hopes so far that she’d be forced to go back to Normandy.But we’ve come to know the lady better,” heacknowledged ruefully. “She never gives up.”