Fires of Winter (21 page)

When I heard that, I knew the king's easy optimism and perhaps his remaining anger because his brother had accused him once of carrying his father's cowardice were blinding him to the truth of Salisbury's warnings. The more they argued, the more stubborn Stephen would become, I feared, and my fear was realized. The argument continued for some time longer, the bishops yielding only when Stephen finally lost his good humor and roared that he would not be driven into an appearance of weakness. I had not dared intrude, but when I opened the door to let them leave, I followed them out into the great hall.

“My lords,” I said, “if you would allow me a word?”

“What is it, Bruno?” Winchester asked kindly, although his lips were set in a thin line.

“If you would bring this matter of the treaty to the queen's attention…” I let my voice drift, unable to say too much, but I hoped the bishops had seen, as I had, Stephen's special deference to Maud's opinion. “Women always desire peace,” I added hopefully.

“Women have not the brains of lice,” Salisbury snarled, and pressed on past me.

Winchester tried to smile and shook his head. “Maud is too bound to Stephen's desires,” he said and went on past me too.

They were both wrong, I thought, but I could do no more except hope that Stephen would be right. I tried to put the matter out of my mind, but later in the morning when a page came and asked me to attend the queen I hoped that Winchester, who knew Maud well, had spoken to her after all. Even if Maud was angry that I had dared to interfere and had summoned me to remonstrate with me, she would still think about the advantages of making peace with King David now. And if she thought that best, I believed she would be able to change Stephen's mind.

Only the lesser petitioners were left by the time the queen's page arrived, and it would matter less if one of them were offended, so I went up to the king and asked him if I could go to the queen before dinner. He gave permission at once, but he did not meet my eyes or make any teasing remarks, which surprised me a little. I was surprised again when the page told me to follow him, for the child knew I was familiar with the queen's apartments. However, he led me out and into the garden, where I found Maud walking alone among the strong-scented herbs.

“Madam?” She turned at my voice. I bowed, and she watched me. It seemed she was angry, but I had acted for what I thought was the best and I withstood her gaze without flinching or changing color.

“Melusine has told me you intend to take her north with you. Is this true?”

I was so surprised by this total change from the subject I expected her to broach that I must have stared blankly for a minute, and Maud repeated her question sharply.

“Yes,” I replied, still too off balance to do more than confirm that Melusine would go.

“I thought you would have more sense,” the queen snapped. “Has the woman turned your head already?”

By then my wits had come back. “I do not think so,” I answered honestly. “It was not Melusine's idea to travel with me. She did not know I had been chosen to carry the king's thanks to Espec and Aumale and the others and was greatly surprised when I told her that I had begged and received the king's permission to take her.”

Maud examined my face as if her eyes could scrape away the layers of skin and flesh and come to grips with my soul. I tried to soften the impassive mask I had worn since childhood, first to hide fear from my father and later to hide weakness from anyone so I would not invite hurt. I wanted Maud to read me, to know I was telling the truth, that the desire that had wakened in me for Melusine had not and could not ever shake my loyalty to Stephen and her.

“Why?” the queen asked.

“I wished to make her known to my…to Lady Audris at Jernaeve.” I hesitated a moment and then decided that I must speak honestly and without regard to giving some offense. “I have no land, madam, no source of income but the king's favor. If circumstances should press on my lord so bitterly that he is forced to tighten his purse and you should no longer be able to keep Melusine, I would have no means of caring for my wife. In such a case or if I should die in the king's service, I could send her to Jernaeve, where she would be safe and comfortable. Her future will no longer burden my soul, and I will be able to continue my service to the king without regard to anything beyond my oath of loyalty.”

“And so you could send her whether or not she was known,” Maud replied coldly, staring at me. “I know Lady Audris is your sister and fond enough of you to welcome your wife known or unknown to her.”

I stared back. “Yes, madam, Audris would welcome her for my sake, but how would Melusine feel, knowing herself to be an object of charity and thrust into a strange place without introduction to the people or having any idea what they feel about me. She is my
wife
,” I said, “not a dog to be sent from kennel to kennel without knowledge or explanation. I must live with her for the rest of my life, and my life will be far sweeter if I can make her happy and bind her to me so that she obeys me willingly. Making her hate me can serve no one's purpose, for if she hates me, will she not hate you and King Stephen more for tying her to me?”

At that the queen's eyes dropped and she walked ahead silently for a few minutes, gesturing me to walk with her. “Of course it is true that it would be best if she does not hate you,” she agreed with a sigh. “One of the reasons Stephen and I settled on you for her husband was that we knew you would be kind to her. But Melusine troubles me.” She sighed again. “I have never known anyone before who could play a part so faultlessly for so long. Such desperate determination implies an equally great cause, and I cannot see what that cause could be except a full-scale rebellion in Cumbria. And this would be the worst time, the very worst time for such a rising. The rebels may be quiet, but they are still rebels at heart. All they need is the rising of a whole shire; they would fly to arms again and the Scots would fly to support their dear friends in Cumbria, and—” Her voice shook and she stopped speaking, no longer looking at me but staring ahead into a bleak future.

I listened in growing delight, realizing that Maud had been building great castles of plots on a foundation of the wet sand of fear. Not that I dismissed completely either her projection of the damage a rising in Cumbria could do or her suspicions of Melusine. I simply did not believe it would be possible for anyone, particularly a woman, to wake rebellion in Cumbria after the winnowing the king had given that shire in the beginning of the year. As to Melusine, it was indeed possible that she had been playing a part to accomplish a purpose—but I was reasonably sure that purpose had great significance only to Melusine herself.

I could not tell the queen of Melusine's attempt to kill me because, prejudiced as she was, Maud might demand that my poor wife be punished. Yet that attempt on my life was one good proof that Melusine had no larger purpose in any of her actions than an ultimate escape from fear and despair. She must have known that, had it been successful, my murder would result in her own death and thus in the failure of any political move connected with her presence in Cumbria. Thus, had she had a political object in mind, she would not have tried to kill me. Nor were her actions since we had made a truce enough of a single piece for a person with a fixed and overwhelming purpose.

With all of this evidence in Melusine's favor, I still could not ignore the queen's fears. Maud was too keen a judge of people for me to follow my own opinion. However, I did not agree that the solution was to mew up Melusine. Eventually I would come to hate her from the constant tension of needing to be her keeper. Better to bring her to Cumbria and test her so that any doubts of her purpose could be resolved.

“I assure you, madam,” I said, stepping around in front of the queen so that she had to stop and look at me, “that Melusine will raise no rebellions in Cumbria. I will kill her if I must,” I promised grimly, “and I will swear that by any oath you desire.”

It was an easy enough promise to make. I was very sure that Melusine's purposes were all personal—perhaps only finding a little peace and happiness for herself after her losses and sorrows, perhaps winning back her estate. However, if I was wrong, I would keep my word to the queen, for a creature able to manage so deep a deception was surely a creature of the devil and better removed from this world.

Melusine

For some minutes after I woke the morning after Bruno told me he would take me to Ulle, I continued to lie with closed eyes listening intently. I could not remember exactly what I had said and done, but I knew I had given way completely to my grief. Bruno—my husband—had been as good and gentle to me as Papa…No! No, I must not allow myself to think of him as good and gentle. What if he had killed Papa and Donald?

There was a faint sound of breathing in the room, but no movement. Could Bruno be sitting and watching me? What would I say to him? Could a man who had killed my father and brother show such concern for me? Yes, of course he could if he wanted Ulle and a peaceful life, and he had told me outright that was what he wanted. Tears stung behind my closed lids. I would have to thank him as coldly as I could and then send him away.

When I had conquered the tears, I opened my eyes, but it was only Edna sitting on the chest and staring out of the window. By nature every creature flees pain, so I fled from the problem my husband's kindness created to the much simpler problem of what to do about Edna. Having used the pot and washed—she having served me most deftly and in silence, although I could feel her look at me whenever I was turned away—I said to her when she began to dress me that Bruno had told me she could no longer practice her trade and asked her why.

“I got with child and could not birth it,” she replied, her eyes staring past me into nothing. “Three days I screamed and it could not come. I was dying. They thought they could save the child, so they cut it out of me. Somehow I lived and it died, but if I get with child again, I
will
die.”

“Do you mean to tell me that the—the place you work permitted you to refuse?”

“No, madam.” She looked at me and a smile I never hope to see on another face twisted her lips. “They ‘persuaded' me until I agreed, but I could not. When a man came to me, I fought. I could not help myself.”

“I should think they would have cast you out then. Yet Bruno found you there.”

“I served as maid to the others and cooked and cleaned. Also—” Edna looked away again. “There are a few men, not many but a few, who only take pleasure in forcing a woman. They kept me for those.”

I recalled the bruises I had seen on her and felt sickness well up in me, but I also knew that women bred to Edna's trade were also bred to deception and dishonesty. I knew the bruises could be dyed into the skin with plant juices and the emaciation be deliberate, but I could not make myself send her back—and she was a skillful maid who was clean, spoke French, and could not have any loyalty to anyone in the court except myself and Bruno.

All the while we talked, Edna had continued to slip garments over my head. By the time I admitted to myself that I must keep her, because even the smallest chance that the tale she told me was true was too great, she had finished lacing my bliaut. I sat down on the chest carved with Bruno's name and gestured her toward the other.

“Do you wish to stay with me as my maid?”

Edna began to sob aloud. The first day she had wept, but silently. Now she slipped from the chest and crawled to my feet and bent and kissed them. I grasped her arm and jerked her upright.

“Do not use such extravagant gestures to me,” I said. “My people are faithful to death, but they do not grovel. I take it that you do wish to be my servant?” Still unable to speak for sobbing, she nodded vigorously. “Very well, I will accept you on terms. You will be fed and fed well, and I will see that you have decent clothing fit for all weathers—that is all I promise. Perhaps Sir Bruno will find a coin for you now and again, but we are not wealthy people. For your part, your duties will be much what you have done already—to clean our clothes and make the bed and suchlike—except that you will need to learn to sew and perhaps embroider. You are too old to learn to spin or weave.”

She still crouched before me, struggling to master her sobbing, and gasped out, “I will do anything, learn anything if only I may stay with you. Only be a little patient with me. Do not cast me out for—”

“The only thing I will cast you out for is stealing or lying to myself or Sir Bruno. I know stealing is the custom of your trade and you do not think it to be wrong, but I will not suffer it. I am not talking only of your stealing from me or Bruno. In fact, I think you would not be so foolish as that, but if you steal anything at all from anyone at all, I will cast you
naked
into the road wherever we are. And for lying also—but only for lying to me or to Sir Bruno. One cannot be a servant in court without lying to others; only do not be so fanciful that you are caught in your lies.”

I could not help smiling as I said that, and Edna wiped the tears from her face and timidly smiled back. “Madam,” she whispered, “we were not allowed to steal. Great lords came to that place, and had one missed a ring or a coin, the punishment might have been death or maiming for all of us. But I am very good at lying.”

“Good. Remember your lessons then, for the punishment here will be no less great, and you will bear it alone. But as to lying, we must begin that at once. For my own reasons, I wish to avoid the queen's ladies as much as possible. Therefore, I will tell the queen that Sir Bruno has burdened me with a singularly stupid and clumsy maid whom I must train as if she were a dog.” I nodded. “Your bruises may be useful. You might show a few of the smaller ones to some of the other maidservants to prove you have been punished for stupidity. Since you say you know well how to lie, I will leave it to you to explain where Bruno found you and why you speak French. But be sure to tell one tale and hold fast to it, since you will live with the other servants and many will repeat the tale to their ladies.”

I sounded more confident than I actually felt because I had no idea how a servant was recognized and given the right to eat at table and a place to sleep in this great place. Therefore I had no choice but to explain my problem to the queen, and I was by no means sure Maud would agree to my having a maid who was not in her service. Nor was I at all certain what I should say if she questioned me about the journey north Bruno had mentioned. North was all I allowed myself to think, but in me there was a terrible longing for the place I dared not name, a terrible longing and an equally terrible fear.

After I had taken my morning meal to the darkest corner I could find, I watched for a moment when the queen was alone and approached her. She seemed surprised that I should willingly open a conversation with her but did not mention my going to Jernaeve, which made me suspect she did not know. Remembering how she had had me watched and that Bruno had said I had tried to escape in the past, I pushed my knowledge of our journey to the back of my mind and spoke of Edna as if I expected to remain with the court.

Maud smiled with her lips—I think to hide what she was thinking because I could get no impression of any kind of feeling—but she only said, “Of course you must have a maid of your own if your husband is willing to pay for her,” and then told me which of her gentlemen managed meals and quarters for her ladies' maidservants.

I remembered then that when Papa went to swear fealty to Stephen—that was before Mildred died—he had complained that a charge had been levied on him for food and lodging for his grooms and horses, grumbling about the mean-fisted hospitality of English kings compared to the treatment of guests at the Scottish court when he was a young man. I had not thought of Edna costing anything beyond what worn out garments I chose to give her because when I went with Papa to Carlisle or Richmond we had lodged in a private house, our servants with us. A small qualm of conscience passed through me, for I knew Bruno had little and a maid might be a burden on his purse, but I said nothing of that to the queen, who might think I was begging to be spared the expense.

In addition, Maud's near disinterest in whether my maid was one of her own servants reminded me that the queen was probably sure she could discover anything she needed to know from a maid whether or not the woman was in her service. I was not certain that Maud would be as successful in penetrating the practiced lies of a whore as she thought; nonetheless, I would take no chances and tell Edna to be very careful of the queen and speak only the truth to her—unless I bade her profess ignorance.

The idea coursing through my head had made me slow to reply, and Maud tapped my arm with an impatient finger, bidding me sharply not to play slow-witted again. I begged pardon, assuring her I had no intention of doing so, and then presented my excuse for remaining much of the time in my own chamber. This time, Maud raised her brows as she looked at me, and I found myself blushing.

“That is not true, madam,” I admitted. “Edna cannot sew, but otherwise she is a most deft maid. I do wish to teach her to sew, but—but I really desire to hide myself from your ladies.” Stumblingly, I confessed that I could not bear to be treated like an idiot any longer but feared their rage if they should come to believe I had been mocking them by pretending to be foolish.

The queen's expression was very strange as she listened, but she only said, “Very well. You have had no duties in the months you have been with me, so you will cause me no inconvenience if you absent yourself for a few days. However, you cannot hide forever.”

“I thought I would change little by little,” I said, “as if—” I could feel myself blushing again. “—as if marriage had wakened me.”

“Very well,” the queen repeated, both face and voice completely devoid of expression now. “You may go.”

At dinner I learned that the king had gone hunting, taking with him the servants on duty, which meant that Bruno had gone too. It was a great relief to me, for I hated the thought of seeming ungracious and ungrateful for his kindness, and yet I dared not let myself accept it. Too late I discovered that sitting alone in my chamber was no better than being treated like an idiot. I had never been bored at Ulle; usually there was too much to do, and a few idle moments were a blessed relief.

There were things I could have done; Bruno needed a night-robe and in court a woman always needs clothing and pretty new embroidered girdles or sleeve cuffs, but I had no cloth or fine embroidery thread and nothing with which to purchase any. It had not occurred to me to ask Bruno for money, and I would not have done so even if the idea had come to me. I knew he did not trust me and might think I wanted the coin for some secret evil purpose. I could not imagine what evil I could accomplish in a place where I knew no one but a few women who all thought me a fool. Yet it troubled me that he should not trust me, and I knew if he refused me I could never feel the same toward him. I remember putting my hands to my head when I thought that and wondering what I meant.

Before the second day ended, I considered going to the queen and asking for duties to be assigned to me, but I dared not do that lest she use my new employment as a reason to forbid my accompanying Bruno when he went north. Altogether, he was too often in my mind over the three very long, dull days that passed. In fact I began to long for what I had at first feared, and when Edna came flying from the hall to tell me that the hunt had been sighted nearing the castle, I forgot all my doubts about my husband. I ran out into the bailey to meet the returning huntsmen and greeted Bruno with delight, my heart warm with having a man of my own to welcome.

And I must say that he made all too easy what had burdened my spirit for the days he had been gone. Our talk had been so pleasant and I was so excited by the huge boar Bruno had killed, that I mentioned my brothers while I was assuring him I was a good physician. The pang of grief I felt when I remembered that I would never heal any of them again made me close my eyes and catch my breath. Again Bruno offered comfort, but I was not overcome as I had been on Monday night, and I assured him I would not let that happen again. I still had no idea how to avoid thanking him for comforting me, then and now, but before I could say anything he changed the subject to Edna.

That effectively quenched any gratitude I felt in an icy rage, but I had to swallow my renewed suspicion quickly. If I displayed it, Bruno would have reason to think me jealous—and what reason could I have? Should not an unwilling wife be grateful that her husband vented his lust on another woman? I swallowed down any expression of my rage to salve my pride; still, if I discovered that the tale Edna had told me had been concocted between her and Bruno so that he might have his whore at hand, I would…I had no idea what I would do, but I promised myself that neither of them would find it pleasant.

Fortunately, my rage was diverted by the arrival of a group of gentlemen who had not accompanied the hunt and wished to compliment Bruno on having made one of the greatest kills. He made nothing of it, turning the feat into a jest and making them laugh with a tale of how he tripped on his own feet in his eagerness to cut the beast's throat and was trampled for his clumsiness. I could see that he is of that kind of man who can never bear to be too much noticed—Andrew and Fergus were like that and Magnus too, but for a different reason—and before I considered what I was doing I had drawn the talk away, just as I had always done for them.

Once I began to talk to Bruno's friends, I forgot how angry I had been. It was very pleasant to be part of a group of men talking about such things as we all enjoyed—hunting in general and the use and care of the hawks and horses and dogs that were so much a part of that sport. I drew from each man his special knowledge and opinions, from Bruno some remarks on the training and flying of the great hawks of the north, but he was shy at first. Later he talked more freely—it was the training of horses that sparked his deepest interest—but all the time, without my noticing at all, he had been edging us to the door closest to the guesthouse. I was near speechless when he drove off the other gentlemen with a jest about desiring only my company at this hour of the evening, and led me in.