Great Maria (56 page)

Jordan gave a pomegranate seed to each of the other children, even Henry, who was not playing. Henry’s shirt was splattered with pomegranate juice. He headed for Rahman’s chess table again, and the nurse patiently retrieved him.

“Lord,” Jordan said; it was his favorite beginning.

“Board.”

Something moved in the garden below the window. Maria lifted her head. Anne was walking out toward the park. Maria’s hands with the yarn bobbin sank slowly into her lap. A man waited for Anne in the shelter of the wall. When he came forward, she saw that it was Robert.

She tore her eyes from her son. She picked a bit of fluff from the tapestry. The roller of the loom held the finished cloth up out of the way, exposing just the top of the tower and Saint Augustine with his bishop’s crook. Anne was supposed to be warded in her chamber. Only Robert could have gotten her released.

The door in the next room opened and shut. She heard Richard’s uneven footsteps. She pulled the screen closed across the window. He came into the hall, talking over his shoulder to Rahman. The two men laughed. The children called to them. Richard answered, but Rahman as usual pretended not to see them. Maria thrust the yarn bobbins into her basket and went over to Richard, so that he would put his back to the window.

“Tell me what you are laughing at.”

“Stay solemn.” Richard patted her enormous belly. “You’ll bounce him out.”

Rahman was staring down his nose at her. Maria made an elaborate bow to him. “I’m sorry you do not sup with women, Master Grand Vizier, we would invite you to our Christmas feast.”

“How is it a feast, if women be present?”

Richard laughed. “Depends on what you’re eating.” Henry rushed over to them, and his father stooped and lifted him up. Maria picked bits of pomegranate from the little boy’s linen shirt front.

“This is a filthy child. He even gets dirty in bed.”

“Mama,” Henry said wisely. He pointed at her; he looked up at Richard. “My Mama.”

“Is he going with us tonight?”

Maria shook her head. “Next year. He cries at church.” At sundown the first Christmas Mass began.

“A sign of intelligence.” Richard tickled the little boy into sobbing laughter. Maria glanced quickly out the unscreened window: Anne and Robert were gone.

“Where is Roger?” she asked.

Henry had hold of Richard by the beard. Maria went up beside him. He detached the little boy and put him down on the floor. “Rahman,” he called. He gave her a piercing look.

Rahman came up before them. Richard said, “Show it to her.” He folded his arms across his chest. Henry got to his feet.

The Saracen took a charter from his robes. Maria opened up the stiff greasy paper. There was Christian writing on it but no seal.

“That’s Roger’s death warrant,” Richard said. “When my chief men have put their seals on it, he’ll die.”

Maria folded the stiff wings of the paper and handed it back to Rahman. Henry said, “Mama.” He held up a scrap of pomegranate meat he had picked from his shirt. Richard took the warrant. Stiffly he limped out of the room.

***

Even so late in the year, the tower garden was bright with trumpet flowers. They had told her the Saracen name, but she could not pronounce it. She stood on the sloping lawn admiring the blossoms’ gaping red mouths tongued in yellow. Behind her, one of the knights murmured, and Michael quickly silenced him.

“Madonna.”

“I hear them.”

Two people were coming up from the fir trees at the foot of the garden, hidden by the long swoop of the hedge. Anne’s voice heralded them. Maria went down the green slope. Robert walked first around the corner, saw her, and stopped short. Anne, just behind him, nearly walked into him.

“Mother,” Robert said. “Give me a chance to explain.”

Maria went past him to Anne and slapped her as hard as she could swing her arm. Anne reeled. Maria’s palm stung pleasantly.

“Michael.”

The three knights came down to her and led Anne away. Robert stood staring at the ground. His ears were red as the trumpet flowers. Maria said, “Have you already forgotten Ismael?”

“She had nothing to do with Ismael. Mama—” He caught her hand. “It isn’t right, what Papa is doing—it isn’t fair, or Christian; no one even knows if Uncle Roger is still alive.”

Maria freed her hand from his grip.

“It isn’t right, Mother.”

“Is that what she wanted—to know how Roger does? I don’t believe it.”

“Have you seen him? Where is Papa keeping him?”

“I don’t know.”

His thin face was bright as if some fever heated him. She touched his arm. “I won’t tell him about this. Robert, please, don’t let him know you’ve done this. Please.”

“What are you going to do to Anne?”

“Now, you see?” She went up toward the palace, away from him. “How can I tell you anything anymore?” She went between the banks of flowers to the door. Her Saracen maid was waiting on the step. Together they went into the palace.

***

Maria had asked William to build a wooden stall into the sanctuary of the cathedral, opposite the pulpit, so that she and Richard could celebrate Mass without being stared at. She slid into the far side of the wooden seat, behind the carved screen. Jordan followed her with an armful of cushions. Leaning forward, she looked out across the cathedral slowly filling up with people.

“Was this your idea?” Richard came in through the door from the vestibule. “Now I’ll have to think of some other excuse not to come to Mass.” He put his hand against her cheek.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Candles lit the altar as bright as afternoon.

Angels and figures of saints covered the walls. The curve of the ceiling made them seem to bow toward the crucifix.

Richard sat down beside her. “It’s a feast of fools.” He shifted his weight on the hard wooden seat, and Jordan brought him a cushion. Richard settled himself, fussy as a broody hen. A tall monk went about the altar lighting the rest of the candles. Jordan climbed up on the seat to peep through the screen at the congregation.

“Bear it now,” Richard said. He poked her belly. “I’ll call him Jesus.”

Maria pushed his hand away. “I know you don’t blaspheme the Saracens’ God.” She pushed his hand away again. “Richard!”

“Why not? It’s as good as a bed in here—no one would see us. Jordan, go away.”

Jordan jumped down to the floor. Maria grabbed the tail of his coat. “God’s love, Jordan. Stay here.” She made the child sit down beside her, between her and Richard. Her stomach hurt. She had fasted all day, to make ready for the Body of Christ; the urge to eat was worse than an itch.

“I’m so hungry.”

“Jordan.” Richard shoved the little boy. “I’ll give you a ricardus to leave us alone and stand watch outside.”

The door from the vestibule opened into the stall. Robert came through it. His coat was black; Maria had embroidered blue flowers all over the sleeves. “Papa,” he said, “I have something to ask you.”

“What?”

“I want to see Uncle Roger.”

Maria put her arm around Jordan’s shoulders. The little boy leaned against her. Richard frowned up at his son.

“No.”

“Papa, I fought for you. Doesn’t that—?”

Richard said, “Do you think I’m a merchant—you pay me with one thing and get something else? What do you take me for?”

Robert glanced at Maria. Her heart was beating fast. She nodded her head at the door. “Leave us alone,” she said.

The young man went out the door, and she shut it. “Jordan, go sit over there.”

The page moved across the stall to the other bench. He watched them curiously. Richard looked down at his hands. The altar bells rang. Maria leaned forward and opened the screen halfway. In the front of the church, on the right, her household stood behind a row of standards, Stephen and Jilly among them. Stephen smiled at her. From the rear of the cathedral came the chant of the monks. A procession of candles came up through the darkness and the masses of folk gathered to celebrate the first Christmas Mass.

The monks sang their ancient prayers. The odor of incense peppered the air. The procession paced slowly toward her, the monks by twos, each with his tall white candle. The deliberate cadences soothed her. Her heart seemed to slow down to its quiet beat.

“What was that about?” Richard said. “That just now, with Robert.”

“Anne. I’ve sent her to the Black Tower—Welf will be proof against her. Look at William.”

Led by a monk with his gonfalon, William marched in the middle of the procession, his hands clasped before him. Even in the new pallium and his tonsure, he looked more like a Norman knight than an Archbishop. The monks circled the nave once and lined up facing the altar, and the Mass began.

William read from Saint Matthew’s Gospel. Maria beckoned to Jordan, and when he came to her put her arm around him. “Here comes the trope. Watch.” She glanced at Richard.

The choir sang an Alleluia. Three monks with shepherds’ crooks paced across the apron of the altar, singing with their brothers. They had contrived it so that they turned their backs neither on Richard nor the congregation. Their faces shone with excitement. Striking the last note of the chant, the choir held it effortlessly, clear as a bell tone.

Suddenly, above the far side of the altar, a monk with a candle appeared from behind a drapery. He seemed poised in mid-air against the black curtain. The candle shone around his head and shoulders like a globe of hazy light. The congregation gasped, delighted.

“Aunt,” Jordan cried. “Look!”

Maria sighed. She could just make out the scaffolding the angel stood on, draped in black velvet. The angel sang a question in Latin.

“What is he saying?” Jordan whispered.

“
Whom are you searching for
? he asks them.”

The three shepherds chanted in answer, their strong voices jubilant. Maria lost track of the Latin. Jordan rose. His face was rapt.

The angel sang that Christ was born. The choir burst into the Gloria. Quietly, the angel blew out his candle and backed out of sight again behind the drape. The shepherds laid down their staffs to one side of the pulpit. Many people among the congregation were singing as well. Maria crossed herself. It had gone perfectly. William was smiling in the pulpit. She glanced at Richard.

His face was hagridden. He sat hunched over, his eyes on the floor. Maria put her hand on Jordan’s arm.

“Go wait outside.”

“But—Aunt—”

“It’s over, you will miss nothing.”

The child left. Richard turned his face away from her. He said, “You might as well pick up a knife and slash yourself as love somebody.”

Maria said nothing. She touched his arm, and he took hold of her hand. He turned toward her, his eyes glistening bright.

“What have I given you, ever? A ring, when we married, and another ring later—”

“Two horses and a looking glass. You don’t shower me with presents.”

He held her hand tight. “I’m giving you something. I am giving you Roger. You can do what you want with him.”

Maria started. She pulled her hand out of his grip. Through the rest of the Mass, she sat silent, Richard unmoving beside her. William raised the Host to be adored. The choir rang buoyantly of the Christ. Kneeling on the steps before the altar, the monks one by one received Him.

The congregation marched up toward the altar, many singing with the choir. Stephen and Robert stood first in the line, their palms together in an attitude of prayer. William signed to Maria to come forward to take the Sacrament. She shook her head at him.

“I thought you were hungry,” Richard said.

Maria did not answer him. He pushed her. “Let’s go.”

They went out to the vestibule. Jordan was waiting by the door and dashed off for Maria’s cloak and the basket with the boats. Stephen and Jilly raced in the far door.

“Mama, did you bring the candles?”

Jilly pulled on her dress. “Merry Christmas, Mama.” She turned up her bright face to be kissed.

Stephen got the basket from Jordan and took out the boats. He had made them himself, broad-beamed to withstand the waves. Jilly was dancing around Richard, trying to lure him into a game. Robert came into the vestibule and Richard turned abruptly away.

“There’s one for each of us,” Stephen said. “Even Bonaventura there.” He nodded at Maria’s belly.

Maria got the candles from the basket. Jilly and Robert crowded around Stephen, who explained how to fasten the butts of the candles to the flat boats.

“Only children do things like this,” Robert said, but Maria marked that he took a boat and a candle. She went with Richard through the garden to the gate. Jordan ran ahead of them into the street.

Along the street beside the harbor, in the darkness, a thick skein of people moved. Some of them carried lit candles. The others swarmed around to light their own. The beads of fire spread from hand to hand, along the wharves, past the rows of anchored ships. Already many of the lights bobbed in the harbor, floating out across the dark water.