Great Maria (54 page)

“Rahman,” Maria said, “you mark, if you do not give them up, I will take the Imam prisoner and hold him hostage until you do.”

The Saracen directly behind the old man started, his face coloring: clearly he understood French. The Imam did not. William said, nervously, “Now, Maria.”

The old Imam spoke again. The other Saracens murmured in agreement. Rahman put one hand to his beard. His eyes stabbed at William.

“The Imam says he will discuss this matter after that unseemly woman has removed herself.”

William hooted with laughter. He twisted his vast bulk in his saddle and lifted one arm to his men. The knights loped forward around them, spraying gravel against the wall of the mosque. The Saracens stood frozen in their places. One cried out indignantly. The knights’ commander barked orders in his excellent voice.

“You forgot I speak Saracen, Rahman,” William said. “Or perhaps I heard him better than you did?”

The Imam whirled and seized Rahman by the arm and shook it and shouted. Rahman looked around him at the knights. The other Saracens joined in scolding him. Suddenly he snarled at them, and they fell silent, abashed, even the Imam.

“William,” Rahman said, “you see what an embarrassment she is. If she does as she threatens, you will have as great a war in Mana’a as you do in Iste.”

“All I want is those prisoners,” William said. “Your friends are willing to give them up.”

Rahman shrugged. He turned as if to view the wide bay spread out below them. Maria waited a moment; she had to admire his poise. She said, “William, someone will have to carry the Imam,” and Rahman thrust out one hand.

“I will bring the prisoners to the palace.”

William smiled. The wind tore at his clothes. “Then I will take this old man there, until you do.”

The Saracen who understood French leaned forward and whispered to the Imam. Gray-black, the old man’s face turned toward Maria, stiff with hate. He spoke to Rahman again.

Rahman and William were staring at one another. William’s eyes were half-closed. He looked amused by the game. Rahman said, “Do not risk this, William. When my lord hears of it, he will be displeased.”

“Yes,” Maria said, “with you.”

Rahman shot her a murderous look. At last he walked away toward the mosque. At a nod from William, the knights drew back to let him pass. The other Saracens relaxed. Their eyes went curiously to the knights around them. The Imam stood kneading his fingers together. Maria went to her horse and took the charter from her basket.

“William,” she said; she went up to his stirrup again. “Tell him this must be translated and read three times a day for three days, in all the mosques, before prayers.”

William spoke to him. The Imam’s face turned acid, and he would not take the charter from her, he signed to the man behind him to take it. Rahman was coming back. Five of his Saracen soldiers followed, half-dragging the four Christians, bruised and wrapped in chains.

Maria mounted her horse. The wind brushed her cheek. She wiped her face with her fingers. She went back down the hillside, the Christians herded before them. William rode over beside her.

“That was the charter permitting errors?”

She nodded. “I thought it might make them happier.”

He coughed, amused. “You are as bad as Richard sometimes. Have you heard that the old priest died in Rome? So I’m going to be a bishop after all. How did Richard talk me into this? Where is he?”

“They are all at Iste now.”

William shook his head. They came to the foot of the hill. The street led them through the spice market. She saw that even here, deep inside the Saracen quarter, many of the vendors had not opened their little cupboard-sized shops. The city seemed quieter than usual. A score of people was already following her in the street.

They took the prisoners to the cathedral square and hung them up where the Saracen boys had been. The crowd that gathered hissed at her and William. The big knight scowled.

“Ugly people.”

She had the charter permitting errors read in all the churches of Marna, except of course Iste. In Mana’a the Christians left the cathedral and went around the streets beating the Saracens and burning whatever they could set on fire. William’s hundred knights and the city watch could not master them. Rahman brought in over a thousand Saracen footsoldiers. With the fires spreading through the Christian quarter, Maria was afraid to stop him. Twenty Christians were killed, but the Saracens cleared the streets. That night no fires burned, although the air still reeked of smoke.

The next day dragged by. Everybody loitered in the ward waiting for news from the city. Crowds milled before the gates into the palace. She fought with Rahman, Jilly, and the cook; everybody seemed intent on provoking her temper. But the city stayed calm, and the next day the city stayed calm, and slowly her household stopped cluttering the ward, and the crowds thinned to a scattering and drifted away. Richard sent requiring more money and more rope. Jilly and Jordan brought a pony into the hall, and it broke a vase of Rahman’s. Maria went out alone again into Mana’a.

She went to see William, to ask his advice about a trial of law. His workmen were building scaffolding along the inside walls so they could paint over the damage. He walked up beside her when she came into the cathedral and took hold of her arm.

“Come into the garden.”

She knew there was something wrong. She followed him out through the vestibule. The sky was cloudy, and she smelled rain coming. Two huge cats sprawled on the brick walk between the roses: William cultivated all the harbor cats. She looked up into the fat man’s face.

“What’s the matter?”

He turned away from her. “Roger has tried to make contact with me.”

Maria’s heart jumped. She could think of nothing to say. He had always loved Roger. He drew away from her. He stood idly rubbing his palms together. Around them lay the bright color-work of the flowers.

Eventually, she said. “Do you think they could mend it?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Can they change the color of their eyes? This will end in a death.”

He put his hands to his face. Maria trembled, wishing she could console him. The big knight before her made no sound. Eventually, composed again, he lowered his hands.

“Has he come to you yet?”

“I pray God he does not do me the insult,” she said.

“Well, he did try to kill you. I can see your reasons.” Suddenly he was easy again, hidden in his fat. “I have never been overfond of the men who tried to kill me. Except when I think that they failed.” He erupted into laughter and strode away. Maria went slowly out through the cathedral.

She stopped in the market place to buy some cakes for the children. Half a dozen ships were in from Africa and Venice and Acre, and the vendors were hawking new goods. She lingered, enjoying the constant movement, the people arguing and bartering, the dhows and the surf and the sea gulls. Finally she went on.

“Mah-eee-yah!”

She waved.

***

The curved street around the palace was packed so thick with folk she could not force a way through. No one seemed to be fighting. On the iron balconies above her, women were standing up to see whatever was going on. There was a sudden boisterous cheer, and she heard Stephen’s name shouted.

She reined the mare around and wedged a way between a building and the people. A column of knights was riding toward her. In their midst Stephen was twisted in his saddle to shout to someone in the crowd. Maria ranged up before him, and his horse stopped.

“Mama.” He leaned down from his horse to kiss her.

“Stephen,” she said. “You are wearing mail.” She put her hand on his metal shoulder,

“Yes. Isn’t it beautiful?” His hand stroked down the chain-link shirt. “It’s really Robert’s,” he said, his voice confidential. “I haven’t won my own yet. Isn’t it a beauty?”

Maria shook her head. She pulled him down again to hug him. Over his shoulder, she saw a litter coming along the street. Its red and blue curtains were drawn tight.

Stephen called out. The column started forward again. Maria held her horse beside his, screwed around in her saddle to watch the litter. Someone in the crowd shouted, and Stephen answered in Saracen.

“It’s Anne, isn’t it?” she said, when he faced her again.

“Yes.”

“Why has he sent her to me? I have enemies here already to last me my life.”

“We took all of Iste but the citadel—she was there. We had to do something with them.”

She glanced once more at the litter. They rode through the park up toward the palace. The chain mail drew her eye again. “Did you fight?”

“Yes. Three times.” He shook his head. “Mama, I was so afraid. Everything happened so fast—it was awful, Mama.” He cast his eyes down. “Papa had to save me once.”

Maria crossed herself, relieved.

“Robert goes right into the middle. He’s always in the middle.”

“I did not want to know that, Stephen.”

They went up through the pine trees. Ahead, the towers stood like pillars of the sky. She said. “Why did he send you back? Did you capture her?”

“Oh.” He puffed himself up. “I’m supposed to find out about the cathedral and the riot.”

“Rahman must have told you.”

“Yes, but Papa says it is a lie.”

Maria laughed. They rode through the gatehouse. A shower of small stones rained down on them from the arch. Stephen turned to look up.

Jilly shrieked. “Stephen! Stephen!” She hurled herself down from the gate into his arms. Jordan climbed across the scrolled stone of the arch toward the rampart steps. Maria dismounted.

The litter came up into the ward. She untied the curtain strings and held them back.

“Anne,” she said. “Come out, you are here now.”

The close litter smelled like a baby. A nurse got out, took the child, and stepped back. Maria held out her hand, but Anne struck it aside. She climbed out of the litter. Her clothes were crumpled and stained. She was fat; her chin and her cheekbones had disappeared beneath her flesh. When she looked at Maria, her mouth tightened to nothing.

“You are tempting me,” Maria said. “I told you I am vindictive.”

Anne turned away. Stephen was giving orders to his knights, sending them this way and that around the palace. Maria crossed the paved ward to a door, Anne and her maid behind her.

They went into the palace. Gold lamps lit the rooms. They walked through the spacious, carpeted rooms, past servants and petitioners, people waiting to see other people. Anne stared around them. Maria saw how she tried to straighten her clothes and smooth out her face.

Rahman was coming toward them, flanked by a Saracen scribe and one of the chancellors. He veered off to one side to pass them. His eyes studiously straight before him, he lifted one hand to Maria. She answered him with a gesture. They went down the stairs and around a corner to the room in the Tower of the Cross where the boys had once slept, where Roger had lived when he lived in Mana’a.

“Here,” Maria said. “You will have this room.” She stood aside to let Anne go by her. Anne stood just inside the door. Her eyes took in the room, its light-filled windows, and the low Saracen furniture.

“You see,” Maria said. “We are good robbers. Better than you. I will give you three people to serve you. You will eat here, too. I don’t know what Richard means for you and your baby, but if you make trouble for me—”

Anne walked forward two steps and turned to face her. Maria met her eyes. The hot impulse filled her to leap on Anne and scratch her face and rip off her clothes. She went hastily out into the corridor and pulled the door shut behind her.

Forty-seven

The two fighting cocks hurtled together across the sand pit. With screams the Saracens around them urged them on. Blood spurted from the whirling white feathers. The birds screeched. Maria leaned forward to see. The cocks’ racket cut through the howls of the men. Abruptly, the white cock flopped in the dust, spraying blood across the dirt. The red cock’s handler scooped up his champion and paraded him at arm’s length over his head. All around the alleyway, voluble, the men turned to paying off their bets.

Maria held out her hand, and Stephen gave her a ricardus. She tossed it to the beggar loitering nearby.

“I’m a good judge of a fighting cock,” she said. “I usually win. Bet on the next.” She recognized the little cock they were bringing up to fight; she had won with him before.

“Mama, you will make me poor. Come back to the palace.”

She turned her mare out into the street. They rode at a walk down the narrow sloping pavement. Behind them, the ringkeeper called in his shrill voice for bets.

“Have you seen the messenger from Iste yet?” she said.

Stephen nodded. He reined his horse toward hers to avoid a train of donkeys coming up the hillside toward them. “Papa wants me to come back. He says I am the only one who listens to his orders.”

Maria watched him through the tail of her eye. His eyes and the shape of his face were Richard’s, his coloring, even his long hands. They passed the Saracen moneyers’ where Richard had all his money made.

“What is it like? Do you fight every day? I’ve always been told sieges are boring.”

“Robert thinks they are. Uncle Roger attacks us every few days—something happens in one place, and we go to see, and in three other places Roger’s men break out and fight. Papa calls it a Saracen defense.” He smiled at her. “He says that’s a trick that doesn’t work.”

Maria thought of Rahman and laughed. They were riding through a place where rich men lived. Some of the walled houses, above their sweeping parks, were as large as the palace.

“When are you leaving then?”

“Tonight,” he said. “It’s too hot to ride in the daytime.”

“You could stay another day,” she said. “A few more days.”

“Papa wants me back.”

Maria looked away, angry; Richard had never wanted him around before. They rode out into the hot white street again, past one of the big public baths. Men in veils stood around the entrance, their eyes painted with kohl.

“Roger wants to fight,” Stephen said. “He and Papa, hand to hand. Just the two of them. Papa will not. He’s lame again, you know; when he rides his leg hurts.”

She looked around at him. “Does he ride much?”

Stephen smiled. “Well, sometimes he sleeps on the ground.”

“God’s blood,” she said. “He’s cursed. He’s driven.”

“Robert offered to fight Uncle Roger, but Papa wouldn’t let him, and they had an argument—just talk, but you should have heard them.”

“Have they been fighting?” she said, alarmed.

Stephen shook his head. “No. Just that one time, they fought.”

Maria braced her hands on her saddle. “Everything is coming apart.” She lifted her head up. “What’s going to happen when he takes him?”

Stephen said nothing. Their horses carried them up across the park.

“Does he talk about me? Does he miss me?”

“We all miss you, Mama.”

“Good.”

He shook his head, smiling. They went into the east ward, and she dismounted.

“I’ll take your horse down.” He bent and got her mare’s reins and led it off. Maria went into the palace.

On her way through the Dragon Tower, Anne’s page came to ask a hearing and Maria sent him back for her. The call to prayer sounded. The Saracens of her household assembled in the garden. Maria went to her hall. Rahman would be at his prayers; until he came she could not try the afternoon’s cases.

Two women were spinning flax in the sunlight. She dismissed them, asking one to bring her the children. From the chest under the window she got her looking glass and fixed her coif. She thought of Robert, fighting with Richard; of course she fought with Richard constantly and little came of that. She would have to tell Stephen to tell Richard that she was pregnant again. She turned her head slightly, to see herself in the glass from her best angle. She liked her mouth, but her short nose was bony. She put the glass down.

Jilly and Henry rushed in, laughing, and danced around her. Maria hugged them. While they trod gleefully on her skirt and tried to trip her, she pulled the screen out from the wall. Jordan hurried in to help her. They put the matrah down on the floor beside the screen and Jilly brought over a cushion for Maria to sit on.

Panting, Henry’s nurse arrived. Maria signed to her to wait by the wall. Jilly sat down cross-legged in front of her mother and lapsed into a daydream, while Henry carefully took off his shoes. Maria brushed Jilly’s hair. Two lutenists and a fluteplayer came in, crossed to the alcove, and sat down behind the curtain to practice. She wanted one of the musicians to learn to play tambor, but they disdained it for a street instrument. Jordan leaned against her.

“Aunt, aren’t you hungry yet?”

“Go find the Emir Rahman for me. He’s probably somewhere with Stephen. When you’ve done that you can go to the kitchen and have them bring us all dinner.”

He jumped up and ran out of the room, past Anne’s page, who came up before Maria and bowed. “Madonna, my lady Anne is here.”

“Tell her to come in.” She smoothed down Jilly’s hair over her shoulders. Fine as a web, it curled at the ends. “You have your father’s hair, down to the root.”

Anne in a yellow gown walked into the room; she clashed with the Saracen prayers on the walls. Her sullen maid carried the baby behind her. Anne settled herself in angles on the matrah opposite Maria.

“I will go at once to my petition, my lady, since we have no liking for one another. I want to go home to Santerois. My mother will pay a ransom for me and my son.”

“You should have asked Richard. What did he say to you?”

Anne’s face was white and slick as clay. She put her hand to her round throat. “He gave you no order?”

“No. Richard loves secrets, he never tells me anything. Did you speak to him?”

“I never saw him.”

Maria raised her eyebrows. A thought ran into her mind, and she brushed Jilly’s hair, musing. She did not care about the risk of Richard’s temper if she could rid herself of Anne. “I might be able to arrange something—I have a messenger here now, from your cousin Duke Henry.”

Anne’s face brightened. She bent toward her. “My lady, if you would, Heaven have mercy on my lady.”

“I will do what I can. I have not forgotten I am your son’s godmother.”

Rahman came into the room. Several of his pages brought him a matrah and spread it on the floor on the far side of the screen from Maria.

“Go,” she said to Anne. “I’ll talk to you later, after supper—no, you will sup with me.”

Anne thanked her many times and left. Rahman sat on the other side of the screen, and Jilly went around to him, holding her hand across her face like a veil. Through the screen, Rahman said, “My lord will not like word of this, that you plot with the wife of his brother.”

“Jilly, come here.” Surely he had heard nothing. He was guessing. “I don’t plot, Rahman.”

“My lord will know of it.”

Maria drew her daughter down against her. “You offend me when you bear lies to my husband.”

“My lord will judge.”

They sat in silence. Maria chewed the inside of her lip. The Duke’s messenger was leaving in the morning. If Richard intercepted her, all the way from Iste, God wanted Anne to stay in Marna. Jordan ran in, breathless.

“Aunt, there’s a messenger!”

“Bring him in.”

***

While she and Anne ate, they spoke seldom, of their children or of the food. Anne had come alone. She looked curiously all around her at the star-covered ceiling, the furniture, the four servers who brought their food and gave them milk and sherbet. Maria held her hands out so that a maidservant could pour water over them, dried them, and nodded to the servants to go.

Anne’s eyes turned up to the ceiling again. “It’s beautiful, like an autumn night, all the stars twinkling.”

“It’s Saracen glass.” Maria rose and went across the room to trim the lamps, to show off the ceiling at its best. “The Saracens think the stars show the future, they have names for all of them.” Jordan came in. She stooped to listen to him.

“Aunt, Stephen is in the Tower of the Prophet. Someone is there reading.”

Maria nodded. “Thank you. Stay in the antechamber. I left some cake for you.” Rahman had given a farewell feast for Stephen, and they would be there all night probably, talking, listening to poetry and music, and drinking. She went back to the table and sat down.

“The messenger leaves in the morning for Agato. A knight of mine will go with him to set the ransom. Give me a token that your mother will know.”

Anne took a beryl ring from her hand. “I cannot find the proper thanks, my lady. You are most gracious to me, in truth I did not expect it.”

Maria shook her head. “It is not done yet. If Richard catches us, we may both wish we were safely in the castle of Iste with Roger.”

“Then why do you risk it?”

“To be rid of you.”

The fair girl’s puffy face hardened. “God’s eyes. You are the only one of your whole clan who tells the truth.”

Maria threw her head back. “Roger was light, when you met him, but he was no traitor.”

“He betrayed me too.” Anne fisted her hands. “He left me in the street to be taken, like a—”

Whore, Maria thought, but did not say it. The other woman leaned toward her, her hands cupped before her.

“I want to go home. I’ll do anything—I’ll pay you anything.”

Maria looked away. The stars twinkled in the ceiling overhead. She found Charles’s Wain; as a child she had known some wish-poem on the star in its tail. She looked down at the beryl ring. “This is a pretty stone, so smooth.” The clear yellow echoed the faint light of the lamps.

“It was my father’s ring.”

Maria laughed. “I knew him, a little—you know, he and Richard never got along either.”

“My father was an upright man,” Anne said sharply, “who got less than he deserved.”

Maria shrugged. “I don’t think we should talk of it. Are you comfortable where you are? Are you properly attended?”

“Yes, we are cared for.”

They rose to their feet. Maria led the other woman toward the door. In the light from the lamps in the antechamber, they faced each other.

“Jordan,” Maria said. She watched Anne’s face. “Take my lady Anne to her chamber.”

Roger’s bastard came up beside her. She put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. When she saw him, Anne started violently. At last she mumbled something and went out the door. Jordan followed her. Maria stood in the antechamber. The Saracen woman sat in one corner, Henry asleep in her lap.

“And that is al-Nasrani’s wife.”

“Don’t call him that. The Christian in him did not sin.”

“Perhaps not.” The Saracen woman touched the little boy’s hair. “But he will always be the Christian knight, to me.”

Maria shook her head. She went out the door and down the stairs, crossed the palace’s ground floor to the Dragon Tower, and let herself out through the postern gate into the inner ward.

It was dark, although in the west, between the towers, a trace of red sky still showed. Maria walked along the edge of the ward, where the vines perfumed the air. The first pip of the moon peeked above the shield of the mountains.

Someone came out of the Tower of the Prophet. She turned her back to him. Gravel crunched under his feet: one of Rahman’s guests come out to piss. The knight Michael strode around the building before her, his silk surcoat blue in the late light. He knelt.

“Madonna. Order me.”

She gave him Anne’s ring. “Tomorrow go to Santerois with the Duke’s man.” She glanced over her shoulder at the Saracen squatting in the vines. He stood up, arranged his robes, and went inside again. She turned to the knight.

“I expect the journey may take you through Iste, but if you stay to yourself, no one there should recognize you.”

The young knight gave her a slow smile. “Yes, Madonna. I understand.”

“Michael. You are clever. From Agato go north to the Castle of Becquis. Give the ring to the old Countess, and tell her I will take five thousand crowns in ransom for Anne and the baby.”

The young knight rattled off what she had said, word for word. Carrying messages had taught him to memorize. Maria gave him a purse. “This will help you make your way. Don’t linger in Agato. If she thinks the ransom is too much, ask her for four thousand.”

Michael bowed over her hand again and went out of the ward. In the Tower of the Prophet, quick music began to a flutter of cymbals. She was forbidden to go in there, although naturally she did, to show them they could not keep her out. They did nothing worth spying on, for all Rahman’s secrecy. She turned back toward her own tower, to go to her room and her empty bed. Suddenly, thinking of Richard, she was so lonely she almost cried.