Rufus rubbed his back. “So formal this eve, lad? Come, sit with me, tell me why you appear afraid of me all of a sudden.”
Stephen did not want to understand what was happening. But he did. He comprehended that the prince’s intentions were not simple friendship. He comprehended the prince’s unnatural lust.
As he stood, torn, not wanting to believe the worst, not wanting to give up his single friend, yet knowing he was in danger, knowing he must move, and flee, an unfamiliar young voice rang out. “Leave him alone. Will. Let him be!”
Stephen started as a youth he had never seen before shouldered forcefully through the boys. In size he did not appear any older than Stephen himself, but there was shrewdness and authority in his tone. Although his features were far more even, his hair far less bright, his resemblance to Rufus was unmistakable. This then was the King’s youngest son, Henry.
“Who asked you to interfere?” Rufus said coldly.
Henry’s smile was just as cold. “Are you stupid? Would you abuse the boy who would one day be Northumberland? Who would one day be your greatest ally?”
Stephen began to shake as final, full comprehension sank in. His heart was pounding now in fright and anger. The prince’s interest in him tonight had nothing to do with friendship—had never had anything to do with friendship. The betrayal—and disappointment—was vast.
“You will be sorry for this,” Rufus cried.
Rufus suddenly lunged at his brother, perhaps to throttle him, his face red with rage. Henry ducked, and as one, Stephen and Henry began to run. They raced out of the stable and into the bailey.
“This way!” Henry shouted, and Stephen followed the youngest prince back towards the donjon. A moment later they were safely in the great hall amongst the sleeping men.
They fell onto Stephen’s pallet together, panting and out of breath. To Stephen’s horror, he felt tears well. The same tears he had been fighting ever since he had ridden into the King’s household. He had the horrible thought that he wanted to go home.
But he would die before letting Henry see, so he turned his face away and regained control. When Stephen could speak, he said, “Thank you.”
“Forget it,” Henry said easily, the straw rustling as he sat up. “Didn’t anyone tell you to be careful of my brother, who is far fonder of boys than girls?”
“No.” Stephen stared at his hands. “He was kind. I thought he was my friend.” It hurt. He had no friends after all. Not here at court. He was far from home, and alone. Then he glanced sideways at Henry, who had come to his aid without being summoned. “Why did you help me?”
Henry grinned. “Because I do not like my brother. Because one day you will be Northumberland—and we will be allies.”
For the first time in his life, Stephen had an inkling of the power that would one day be his. “And if I were not Northumberland’s heir?”
Henry looked at him, no longer smiling. Finally he said, “I would be a fool to prick at my brother if it did not serve me well.”
Stephen could not help being disappointed. William Rufus had not been his friend, and neither was Henry. Henry had come to his aid, not in an offer of friendship, but for reasons politic.
Henry crossed his arms over his knees. “You are such a baby. You will never survive to become Northumberland if you do not grow up.”
Stephen was annoyed then. “You are no older than me.”
“I am seven. And I have been raised at court, both here and in Normandy. I know of what I speak.” Then he smiled his winning smile. “An ally is far better than a friend.”
Stephen’s temper cooled and he thought carefully about it. Henry was right. Tonight had proved that. “Then we are allies,” he decided, his tone so firm that Henry slanted him a glance. “And I will stay away from your brother.” His lips thinned. He began to feel rage. How dare the prince treat him as he had the villein, when one day he would be Northumberland.
And one day the prince would be his King. Stephen sobered. One day Rufus would be his leige lord.
“Usually Rufus is better behaved,” Henry commented, “but in your case, because you are only a hostage, he assumed no one would care if he did as he willed.”
It took Stephen a full moment to comprehend what Henry had said. “I am no hostage.”
“Oh, come! You mean, you do not know? No one told you? Your father did not tell you?”
There was only disbelief. “I am no hostage. I foster with the King.”
“You are a hostage, Stephen. Just as Duncan is a check upon his father’s power, so, too, you are a check upon your father’s power.”
“But—my father and the King—they are friends!”
Henry was grave. “Once they were friends, but I know well of what I speak. I have heard my father rage about Lord Rolfe de Warenne. He is afraid, for he has given him too much, and what he has not given. Lord Rolfe has taken. You are here to guarantee that Lord Rolfe continues to support the King against his enemies.”
