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The empress looked at him thoughtfully, a small smile on her face. “All right. I have decided. The servant lives. Stay close to her, Theobold. Report back if she does something untrustworthy or suspect. Get close to her if you can.”

Sir Ranulf grinned. “Oh, he’ll have no trouble with that. I hear he’s slept with half the servant women in camp already.”

The men laughed, the empress loudest of all. “Take care you do not break the hearts of all my ladies-in-waiting, Theobold. I would hate to have to exile that handsome face of yours.”

Theobold took the laughter in stride, feeling his cheeks warm. “I will not disappoint you, Empress.” He bowed and at a nod from her, he quit the tent.

As he walked out, he overheard Sir Ranulf sulk. “Don’t see why you involve him in your plans. He’s just a boy.”

“That may be,” said Empress Maud, “but he’s quite a useful one, and he’s a very competent squire. Sir Robert, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Aye, Empress. He’s a good lad.”

“Why do you want him to get close to the servant, anyway?”

Empress Maud said, “With his looks and honeyed words, he’ll have the woman wrapped around his finger in no time.

She’ll tell him all her secrets just to keep him interested, I expect.

Besides, I want to keep her close. Alice tells me she was something of a pet of Stephen’s wife, and so now that she is in my camp, I will have her.

I will enjoy playing with what was hers, that is now mine. ”

He could hear the smile on her face. And yet, it sent a chill through him.

This should be an easier task than he could have asked for. Charm a young woman, keep her close, report back if she did anything odd or suspicious. And she had a pretty face and was nice to look at. He’d have her eating out of his hand in no time.

But that hadn’t happened yet. Not exactly.

He’d flirted with her, talked to her, given her his best smiles.

She was proving a harder challenge than he’d thought. But never mind. Her affection would be the balm to soothe his nerves once he was finished with the prisoners.

He’d gone to them, the men tied up and under heavy guard.

The empress did not want Stephen to have access to his knights, so she had separated them and kept Stephen hidden away in a small, private tent of his own.

The guards she used were trusted men. Only those she knew would happily give their lives for the cause were trusted with watching over him.

Not that he did anything worthy of note.

Theobold swallowed. He did not relish what he had to do, but he needed to know if there was anything to be learned from the prisoners.

He first went to the knights, who were kept tied up in a pen, like pigs, and made to suffer the indignity of living out in the open air, beneath the elements, in each other’s company with no nearby latrine to speak of.

As he approached the prisoners’ pen, he could smell them before he could hear them.

The air was scented with the harsh stink of unwashed male body odor, sweat, urine and feces, and as he approached, he saw six men sitting in the pen, watching. It was humiliating treatment, and not something he had much stomach for.

The huddled figures of the imprisoned men shivered in the cold.

That was the problem with caging in the men like this.

They were all knights and with noble blood and titles, yet here they were penned in like dogs or wild animals.

In no time at all, their good natures and breeding would desert them, and they would act like feral beasts.

“What do you want?” one knight asked as Theobold stopped before the cage.

“To speak with you. Why didn’t you try to escape during the battle?” he asked.

The man’s mouth curled into a sneer. “That weren’t no battle, boy. That weren’t even a skirmish. And it’s not like we can do much here.”

The men started calling out abuse to him, so he turned to leave, when the knight asked, “Why’d you ask? Is it because the French wench is missing something?”

Theobold paused. “Where’d you hear that?”

The man tapped his nose. “Free us and I’ll tell you.”

“Don’t think so. I’m just surprised none of you tried to escape the other night.”

The man shrugged. “Give us some ale.” Seeing Theobold’s dubious expression, he said, “Give us a drink and I’ll tell you.”

Theobold fetched a cup of ale and gave it to the man. “Talk.”

The man drank, the ale running down his mouth. He passed the cup to another man and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “We didn’t try to escape. Too tired and cold. When it happened, most of us were asleep. And in no time at all, the fight had ended.”

“So you know nothing.”

“That’s not what I said. I told you we didn’t try to escape. That don’t mean we didn’t hear anything.”

“Like what?”

“Like men talking about stealing the crown.”

Theobold breathed in through his nose. “Who?”

“Two men.”

“What’d they look like?”

“Couldn’t see, as it was too dark. But they were talking about it. Said they had to move fast, before it’s over.” The prisoner’s voice was dull.

“What does that mean?”

“The battle. They were timing whatever they were doing with the fight.” The prisoner scratched his leg, searching for a wary flea.

“A likely story. Why would two men just happen to talk about that in front of you?” Theobold asked.

“Search me,” the man said. “But a lot of people act as though we’re not here and overlook us. They forget we’re there. Like servants.”

“What is your name?” Theobold asked.

The man raised his head. He was middle-aged but looked older. His hair was scraggly and grey, with a growing beard. “I am Sir Grossetete. And I am a knight of His Grace. The true ruler of England, King Stephen.” With each word, he spoke with defiance and his eyes flared with a dangerous light.

Theobold knew better than to test him. This was a man he would not care to cross in a fight, unless he had to. He nodded and left.

If what Sir Grossetete said was true, then these two men, whoever they were, had plotted to steal the empress’s crown during the fight.

The timing of it all was too perfect to be a coincidence.

So they’d been behind the staged battle and the theft.

But how had they done it? There were dozens of people dead and wounded.

This had to have been more than the work of two men.

Now, more than ever, he decided he needed to stay close to the baker Bronwyn and learn everything she knew. But how to do that without alarming her? He blinked. It was like how the empress had said all along. She expected him to charm her and lower her guard with his flirtatious ways.

He sighed a little. He knew he was considered attractive, but he wished to prove himself as more.

He was squire to the empress’s half-brother, Sir Robert Fitzroy of Gloucester, a man who demanded excellence.

It wasn’t just anyone who could train to become his squire.

But as he wandered through the camp, dimly conscious of the women’s admiring glances as he walked by, he did so wish to be more than a handsome face.

He had more skills than as a lover of women, and he would prove it.

He headed for the training ground. There, he’d be sure to find someone with whom to fight.

As he strode toward the training space and nodded to the other men practicing, he pulled off his shirt and looked around. Maybe Bronwyn might see him.