SirenSong (14 page)

“Then it will be war,” William said, smiling slightly. “When
should I be ready?”

Raymond heard the hiss of Alys’s indrawn breath and looked
up the table at her, but her face was still, her eyes fixed now on the remains
of the meal. Richard’s squires moved around with well-trained quiet efficiency,
refilling wine cups. The earl had also heard, and he looked down at the girl
beside him and patted her hand. But, even while he offered wordless comfort,
his attention was really on William.

“You have not heard it all yet,” he said wryly. “I told you
it was a long tale. The king of Scotland, moved by that devil of a
father-by-marriage of his, has sent a repudiation of his homage to my brother.
He claims he holds no lands in Scotland of Henry, and to make this true he has
spread the border of Scotland south to cover all the territory he did homage
for when he was last here.”

“Do you think this was concerted between David and
Alexander?”

“God knows, but it is hard to believe that so close a
coincidence is completely an accident.”

William growled softly then shrugged. “There is no
difference whether it is planned or not. Both challenges must be met. We will
be spread a little thin, but we are big enough for them both. Just tell me
which we are to fight.”

“You will go to Wales,” Richard said, a dissatisfied frown
on his face.

“I will go to Wales?” William echoed, frowning also. “I will
do as you bid me, of course, but to speak plain truth, Richard, I had rather go
with you.”

“I had rather also,” Richard said, “but I have little choice
in the matter. The Welsh war is to be managed by de Bohun and Clare.”

“Clare?” William gasped. “But the Earl of Gloucester is not
much older than Raymond here, and de Bohun—”

“Yes,” Richard interrupted, “that is why I said I had little
choice. You must go, and if it seems that those two hotheads are about to do
something particularly stupid—”

“Now what attention would de Bohun or Clare pay to me?”
William asked, smiling.

“Little, but you will not be afraid to open your mouth,
which is important, and my men and others who know how dear you are to me will
be willing to support you once you speak, although they would not be willing to
step forward on their own.”

“So much is true, Richard, but you give me too much credit.
I have fought in Wales before, but only as squire to Chester or in your tail.
How do you expect me to know what is brave lunacy and what is daring
practicality?”

“You have this comfort,” Richard responded, “that few will
know better than you. The great old Marcher lords are all dead. We are all
novices, David ap Llewelyn no less than we. And you have this advantage, the
lesser men, who have long lived and fought in Wales, will be willing to tell
you of their doubts where they would not be willing to broach such ideas to
Clare or de Bohun.”

William scratched his head and sighed. “Very well, Richard,
I will do my best. Do you want me to call up extra men and buy stores?”

“No extra men, de Bohun has a grant of money for that—I
think. As to the stores, I will send you a list from Wallingford of those
stewards who are to furnish stores from my keeps and towns.”

“Oh, damn you, Richard, are you going to make me
quartermaster for your men?”

Eyes alight with laughter, Richard replied, “Yes.”

William groaned dismally. “Richard, have mercy. I have not
kept accounts for years, and I had no great skill at it when I did.”

The earl now laughed aloud and cried shame on his vassal for
putting the burden of accounts on his young daughter. But when William
protested in self-defense that Alys liked to do them, Richard relented and
promised a clerk would come with the list who would do the actual labor of
recording what was received and disbursed. William would only be responsible
for checking the records and for making sure that they were honest. He spoke
gaily, but there was a warning in his eyes, and William did not ask why Richard
could not check his own accounts. Later, when they were embracing before
Richard mounted up to ride away, the earl explained that he was not going to
Wales at all. He was off to obtain mercenary forces from Flanders for the
Scottish war.

“It must be kept secret lest the French intervene,” he said
softly, “so do not speak of it. And I go tomorrow so I will have no time to
talk further with you. William, you have hidden it well, but I have seen that
something lies heavy on your heart. Can I help?”

“No one can help.”

“A curse on this need to fly away,” Richard said
passionately. “Could I stay, I could at least draw it out and share the
burden.”

William smiled. “Not this burden. It will pass, Richard. It
has passed before and will pass again.”

Chapter Seven

It was not the truth. William had never completely shed the
burden of his love, but there had been many years when it was barely
perceptible. After the first few months of his marriage, when he felt he could
not live, William had been back in service with Richard and sufficiently
interested in acquiring the skills necessary to knight and landholder that the
worst misery had passed. Although Mary was like a limp wet cloth abed, she
never refused him, so that there was an outlet for his physical needs when he
was at Marlowe. Away from the keep, and he was there as little as possible in
those years, on campaign or at court with Richard, he forgot he was married.
There were plenty of women who were glad to entertain William, both for his own
sake and as the favorite of the earl of Cornwall.

When Elizabeth had returned to Hurley, there had been
another peak of misery. In some ways it had been worse. She was there, close
by. He saw her often. It was like a sore tooth that one cannot resist touching
and biting on. William spent much more time at Marlowe then, unable to tear
himself away from the siren lure of her nearness and the pain-pleasure of her
company. However, with time a sort of ease had come, and the pleasure had
outweighed the pain.

This time, William thought, was worst of all. He could not
hate Elizabeth as he had the first time, nor feel she was unreachable, even
unapproachable, as she had been when she returned to Hurley, a wife with two sons
and, for all he knew, another babe under her belt. Now he knew she loved him
still, desired him as much as he desired her. He could find no peace. He could
not rid himself of the feeling that, if he were only clever enough to see it,
there was a way to have her, although he admitted that what she had said to him
was true.

He had one piece of luck, bad or good William would not
define. Mauger had come the previous week, bringing Elizabeth. William had been
at Wallingford to meet and bring back to Marlowe the clerk Richard assigned to
do the accounts. It hurt to have missed Elizabeth, yet it would have been worse
to see her. Alys said she had dealt with Mauger, and William thought no more of
it. Alys knew William preferred his relationship with Richard to be kept quiet.
William guessed Mauger had come to have a look at Raymond, but why bring
Elizabeth? How awful to have missed her. Perhaps… No. He would
not
think
about Elizabeth.

Richard’s visit had been a major blessing. Although he
groaned and complained, William knew himself quite capable of handling the
burden Richard had laid on him, Richard had tried to induce him to take on far
greater burdens, in fact had begged him more than once to be marshal of his
lands. In the past William had always refused, partly because he was not
ambitious and really did not care for the hectic striving in the world of the
great men but far more because, if he accepted, he would have been away from
Marlowe—no, from Elizabeth—all the time.

Suddenly William groaned aloud. He had completely forgotten
that Richard’s last marshal had died just before his marriage to Sancia. This
business in Wales must be the toe in the door, the “you see it is not so bad,
come, take the place” introduction to another offer of the marshal’s position.
Perhaps he would take it this time, William told himself. It was impossible to
go on living with this desire burning in his gut. He must either have Elizabeth
or leave her. Leave her? He could not!

Damn! He would
not
think about Elizabeth. But he
would not have thought about her on campaign anyway, not much, at least. Why
had Richard chosen to push this on him now, he asked himself petulantly, then
laughed. Campaigns had always been a time for merry roistering. Not this time.
William did not at all like the look of the fat, smooth clerk who had come with
Richard’s lists and letters. Nor did he like the way his questions about
suppliers had been answered—or half answered and that much only after hard
prodding.

A frown grew between William’s brows. A dishonest clerk
could not prove a task easy, but might be a device on Richard’s part to show
how ill served he was and how badly he needed an honest marshal. Richard was
the best and sweetest man in the world, but not above a stratagem when he felt
it would be the best for everyone. If the clerk was dishonest, there might not
even be time properly to oversee his own men, William thought. That problem had
never troubled William before. The castellan of Bix had seen to such things if
Richard was making heavy demands on William’s time.

Raymond would have to pick up that burden now, William
decided. Even without roaring around drunk one night out of three and thereby
losing the following day also, he would have no time for his own troop,
specially not if he was to discover the unniceties of fighting in Wales from
the older vassals of the Marcher lords. William sighed and swung his legs out
of bed. There was plenty to do already.

Diccon, the master-at-arms, and most of the experienced
men-at-arms would have to remain behind in Marlowe—and some at Bix. Alys could
manage the estate fairly well, but she could not protect it. There was not much
danger of any attack on the keep. William was on good terms with his neighbors.
However, there were bands of marauders about, and Marlowe was rich. There was
no sense in leaving an open invitation for the lands to be raided by outlaws,
and that was what it would amount to if it became known that the master was
gone and the keep was manned only by raw recruits.

The only way to leave enough experienced men at Marlowe and
Bix was to hire or train new ones to take to Wales. William considered his
finances as he dressed. He was not behindhand, but he did not like the idea of
needing to spend money on mercenaries. There would be the costs of Alys’s
marriage soon. He would not need a money dower, of course, because Bix was hers
and would be her portion, but the clothing and feasting would be very costly,
and his income would be decreased by a third when the revenues of Bix went to
Alys’s husband.

Besides, it was a good idea to have some of the men on the
estate trained to arms. There were some likely boys on the demesne farms and
the outlying freehold lands beholden to Marlowe as well as in the town itself.
All together, there should be a good crop of sons eager to learn to wield a
sword.

Many of William’s peers did not approve of training the
serfs and villeins and putting weapons in their hands, but he did not agree. He
never turned the trained serfs back to the land, of course. He kept them on at
the castle, or passed them into Richard’s forces if they took well to the life.
Several had found advancement and were now free men, masters-at-arms
themselves. They were grateful to their old master.

The villeins were different. They were free men to begin
with. After a campaign, they could do as they liked. Some elected to stay on in
William’s small army. A few younger sons joined a mercenary band or sold their
swords as individuals. Most went back to their farms or businesses, proud of
their extra abilities and serving as a nucleus of a large defending force if
Marlowe should ever be attacked.

Dressed and washed, William came out into the hall to break
his fast. Alys and Raymond were at table already, talking and laughing eagerly.
William hesitated, struck by a special light in the two young faces. Damn! He
had been too wrapped in his own troubles these past two weeks. He had not
noticed that the liking between Alys and Raymond was growing out of bounds.
Raymond was a fool to let his heart get the better of his common sense, but the
real fault was with Alys, who should know her worth better. She could easily
have discouraged the young knight. That would not stop him from loving,
perhaps, but it would have kept him from being hurt by hope.

Fortunately there was an immediate, if partial, remedy at
hand. Raymond could go out with Diccon to pick the men for training and after
that could stay at Bix training them until it was time to leave for the muster
at Hereford. Once Raymond was gone, William could remind Alys that a penniless
adventurer knight, no matter how attractive, was not a suitable husband for a
girl with a good estate.

Even as he thought it, a doubt flicked at William. Why not?
If the young people loved each other, why not? He liked Raymond. Working
closely with him over these past weeks, he had come to respect the young man’s
quickness of mind, his willingness to work hard, his earnest attempts to learn
to understand the language and customs of the people with whom he now lived. It
was true that Alys’s beauty and dower could take her up a step in the social
scale. Even if she married Aubery, she would end as the mistress of four keeps,
a state approaching real wealth. Of course, if her affections were unalterably
fixed on Raymond… No. He would give her no encouragement to throw herself away.
When they returned from Wales, if…

“Papa! Why are you standing like a stock staring at us?”
Alys asked.

“I was just thinking,” William replied, coming forward and
taking the cup of wine Alys held out.