On the following day came the news that Oxford Castle had surrendered, and that Robert d'Oyley, lord thereof, was prisoner to Stephen; it was at first supposed that the king would follow his rival to Wallingford, but he preferred keeping his Christmas in the castle he had taken. Wallingford was a hard nut to crack.
It was Christmas Eve, and the Empress stood by the side of the lord of the castle, on the watch-towers; the two squires, Alain and Osric, waited reverently behind.
The scenery around has already been described in our opening chapter. The veil of winter was over it, but the sun shone brightly, and its beams glittered on the ice of the river and the snow-clad country beyond: one only change there was—the forts on the Crowmarsh side of the stream, erected in a close of the parish of Crowmarsh—then and now called Barbican; they were so strong as to be deemed impregnable, and were now held against Brian by the redoubtable Ranulph, Earl of Chester. The garrisons of the two fortresses, so near each other, preyed in turn on the country around, and fought wherever they met—to keep their hands in; but they were now keeping "The Truce of God," in honour of Christmas.
"It is a lovely day. May it be the harbinger of better fortune," said Maude. "When do you think they will arrive?"
"They slept at Reading Abbey last night, so there is little doubt they will be here very soon."
"If they started early they might be in sight now: ah, God and St. Mary be praised! there they be. Is not that their troop along the road?"
A band, with streamlets gay and pennons fair, was indeed approaching the gates of the town from the south, by the road which led from Reading, along the southern bank of the Thames.
"To horse! to horse!" said the Empress; "let us fly to meet them."
"Nay, my liege, they will be here anon—almost before our horses could be caparisoned to appear in fit state before the citizens of my town." The fact was, Brian had a soldier's dislike of a scene, and would fain get the meeting over within the walls.