SirenSong (15 page)

She frowned. “You have been
thinking
a great deal
recently, and it appears your thoughts are not as pleasant as they could be.”

“No,” he answered, and allowed his eyes to move to the door
where Richard’s clerk lodged and through which he had not yet come. Late and lazy
the creature was, but William had not yet caught any evidence of dishonesty.

Alys accepted her father’s unspoken reason for
thoughtfulness, although she had her own ideas. William did not read those in
her face nor, though he watched her covertly, could he find any sign of guilt
when he told Raymond the duty he would begin that day. Alys did look
disappointed, perhaps somewhat more disappointed than when Harold was sent
away, but that small thing was swept away in her concern when she understood
her father’s decision.

“You will not go with untrained men,” she cried. “Oh, Papa,
please do not. I will manage well enough. And Sir Mauger would come to my aid
if I sent to him. Even if he was away, Elizabeth would send out her men to help
us.”

“Do not be silly, Alys. By the time we go to Wales the men
will
be trained. That is why I am sending Raymond and Diccon to choose them now and
begin training. The march across country will harden them, and the little,
early skirmishes will blood them and finish them finely. Besides, I will take
some of the veteran men-at-arms to stiffen my force.”

“But Papa—”

“Alys, do not make me tell you to mind your needle. I am no
hotheaded young fool to court danger unnecessarily. I assure you I will take
good care that the men are ready.”

She subsided obediently. William was well pleased with his
plan. It seemed to him that, although Alys was only a little regretful at
losing her companion, Raymond had been sore stricken. William had caught the
way he looked at Alys when he first heard they must part. It was time, and past
time, William thought regretfully, that Raymond be sent away.

Mauger had been exactly opposite to William in his
perception of the growing attachment between Alys and Raymond. He had noticed
too much for his own comfort the preceding week and had been so enraged by what
he saw that he almost forgot his initial reason for coming to Marlowe. When he
saw the way Raymond backed up every word Alys said, Mauger suddenly realized it
would do no good to get rid of William if the girl was not formally betrothed
to Aubery or had a protector she preferred to Aubery.

Mauger had heard some things about Richard of Cornwall that
worried him. The earl was known to have supported several women who had said
they were unwilling to marry, and Alys would have a strong case if the
slightest suspicion concerning William’s death fell on Mauger. It was not
unreasonable for Alys to object to marrying the son of the man who was
suspected of killing her father, no matter how justifiable the act was.
Moreover, Richard might wish to keep Alys unmarried and collect the revenues of
Marlowe and Bix, or he might have a pet henchman for whom he wanted to find a
good livelihood.

All the way home, Mauger had ranted and raved to Elizabeth
about William’s carelessness in permitting the close association of so young a
hireling knight with his daughter. Elizabeth did not answer, but her heart
swelled with tenderness. She did not think it was carelessness. She read Alys
better than her husband and could see the girl was not yet deeply touched.
Doubtless William would set Raymond a task that would separate them before any
damage was done. Meanwhile he would have weaned Alys away from the notion of
marrying Aubery, which Elizabeth was convinced would end in misery for both her
son and his daughter. Poor William. It was very unselfish of him. When Alys
married and went away, he would be all alone.

As if the thought had passed to her husband, Mauger said, “I
must talk to William about this. He must get rid of that fellow at once. I did
not like him at all. I am sure he is a spy in the king’s pay. Did Alys say to
you how long her father would be away?”

“No, Mauger,” Elizabeth answered, “but I am sure it would
not be more than a week. She would have said something, I believe, if William
was to be away longer than that.”

“Well, you had better think of something you need from her
or want to tell her,” Mauger ordered. “I need an excuse to go back there next
week. I am going to write to de Bohun to send Aubery home for a while. He had
better exert himself to get that girl to agree to a marriage, or…”

He stopped, aware of Elizabeth stiffening beside him. She
was crazy about those two idiots she had borne him. He had better not admit
what little use he had for either of them, sniveling fools, mouthing chivalry
and honesty and service at him when he asked them to get a favor from their
lords or squeeze a tenant or a merchant on the sly for money. Why the devil did
they think he had placed them with such powerful men if not to make a profit
from their positions? But Elizabeth need know nothing about that. The only time
she had ever defied him had been over those sons of hers. He glanced at her
expressionless face, remembering suddenly how she had looked then. He had been
almost frightened of her, but he had dropped the idea and it had passed.

The truth was that Mauger was much braver in his own mind
than in actuality in dealing with his son’s powerful patron. His letter was
not, therefore, a bold command but a mild request filled with “if it please
your lordship” and “if it will be no inconvenience to your lordship.” It did
not
please Humphery de Bohun however, to part with a squire who had become a
favorite because he was quick, clever, and aggressive. He wrote a brusque
refusal, stating his own need of Aubery’s services.

This did not improve Mauger’s temper and made him all the
more frantic to do something, yet he could not think of an excuse to go to
Marlowe and fell back on the idea of “accompanying” Elizabeth. She acceded
docilely to his demand and searched out a length of fabric of a color that did
not suit her but would suit Alys. Mauger applauded the idea of making Alys this
gift, thinking it would please the girl and make her more willing to accept
advice. The next day they set out for Marlowe right after breakfast.
Elizabeth’s heart fluttered. She did not know whether she hoped or feared that
William would be at home.

William was at home. There was no reason for him to ride out
with Raymond and Diccon recruiting. He had plenty to do around the keep. He
was, in fact, coming from the stables when Mauger and Elizabeth rode in. The
look on both faces was sufficient confirmation of Mauger’s belief that
something had happened between them. Elizabeth grew ashy pale, and William
stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her for one long moment. This gave
Mauger less satisfaction than it would have given him a week earlier. He had
decided definitely that his original plan would not work. If he killed William
as an outraged husband, he probably could not marry Alys to Aubery. William’s
death would have to come about less directly.

Another pack of “outlaws” such as those who had killed
Elizabeth’s brothers? Not easy. William was a convivial soul and invited all
his neighbors to join him when he went hunting. A knifing in the town would be
best. Mauger knew that William frequented several of the whores in the town.
The trouble was that probably no one who lived in the town would dare, not even
the whores themselves or their men. They all liked William.

The thoughts milled around in Mauger’s brain while he
greeted William and Elizabeth presented her excuse for coming to see Alys.
William swallowed as if there were something stuck in his throat and finally
got out, “She is within. Shall I take you?”

“Let her go herself,” Mauger said. “She knows the way, and I
would like a word with you about Alys.”

He watched William take a hesitant step forward, knowing the
man was dying to lift Elizabeth down from her horse but was also afraid that
touching her would cause him to betray himself. Mauger bent down to fiddle with
a stirrup to give William his chance. Maybe the idiot would be so muddled by
touching the dross he desired that he would agree to Mauger’s importunity this
time.

Unaware that Mauger was acting deliberately, William moved
very fast when he saw his neighbor occupied. He had Elizabeth off her horse—on
the far side from Mauger—in one swift motion. Their eyes met and Elizabeth
walked away smoothly. William grabbed her palfrey’s rein and led it toward the
stable, thus hiding from Mauger the fact that sweat was beading his forehead,
even though it was a nasty cold day. By the time Mauger dismounted and followed
him, William could speak again.

“Sorry to make you lead in your horse,” William said. “The grooms
are busy with my young destriers. I was trying their paces to see if one would
serve Raymond—the young knight who is with me now, you remember, the one the
king sent—in this Welsh business.”

Mauger had opened his mouth to say he had met Raymond and been
unfavorably impressed, but instead he asked, “What Welsh business?”

“You were the one who told me about David trying to creep
out of his agreement with the king,” William replied.

“Assuredly, but what has that to do with horses for
Raymond?”

“Had you not heard that Gruffydd ap Llewelyn is dead?”

“No, I had not!” Mauger exclaimed. “But I still do not
see—oh yes I do. Now Gruffydd is dead, Henry has no alternate prince to offer
the Welsh and raise civil war so David thinks it safe to repudiate his agreement.
Has it come to war already?”

“Not yet, but the king is sufficiently sure it will that he
has warned my overlord and Ri—the earl has courteously warned me. So far no
levy is called, but it is certain.”

“Will Henry call out the whole kingdom?” Mauger asked.

“I would not think it,” William replied cautiously. He did
not wish to confess his knowledge of the Scottish troubles because he thought
that was not generally known yet. “I cannot believe a very large army will be
necessary to depress this upstart’s wild ideas, but I am certain to be called
because Henry will naturally summon his brother.”

Mauger looked furious, which at first surprised William.
Then he associated the anger with Mauger’s opening remark that he wanted to
talk about Alys. However, when he glanced at Mauger again, after handing
Elizabeth’s palfrey to a boy, the man was smiling broadly. William could only
assume he had misread the earlier expressions. He had not. Mauger had been
furious, but only briefly. All his problems had flown away. Nothing was easier
than disposing of a man during war service. The enemy might do it quite
legitimately, and if enemies did not, there were dozens of ways to commit
murder and blame it on someone else.

Moreover, from what William said about the second destrier,
it was clear that Raymond was going to Wales also. Mauger could have kissed
William for solving all his problems for him. Alys would be completely alone in
Marlowe. Nothing could be more natural than that a close friend and neighbor
should bring the news of her father’s death and offer comfort and consolation.

Now Mauger understood why de Bohun had refused to send
Aubery home. Thank God he had refused. It would be far better if Aubery came
after the Welsh action while Alys was still desolate at the loss of her father
and the young knight she had set her eyes on. Doubtless Aubery’s offer of
affection and companionship would be very welcome then. There would be no
problems in controlling the girl or preventing her from communicating with her
father’s overlord. How fortunate that Elizabeth had brought that cloth as a
present. It was a good beginning. Now he would have to talk to Alys himself.

“Probably I will be called too,” Mauger remarked, having
managed to remember what William said to him last. “I am glad to have this
early warning.”

There was no probability about it. Mauger intended to have a
clerk write to de Bohun as soon as he returned to Hurley and volunteer his
services. The fact that Aubery was with the earl would be excuse enough. The
fact that he and William were longtime neighbors and “friends” would provide
sufficient reason that they should serve in the same actions. For the first
time in years, Mauger saw his object actually within reach.

William should have realized that something was very wrong
with Mauger’s statement. Hurley Abbey seldom sent out the knights who owed it
service. The abbey preferred to compound for a fine, which it could get
back—with considerable profit—by collecting recompense from the knights.
William was not thinking about the usual behavior of Hurley Abbey, however. His
mind was not capable of grasping anything beyond the fact that Elizabeth was
probably up in his women’s quarters. He managed to agree with what Mauger had
said, hardly having heard what it was. When he managed to wrench his mind away
from the fact of Elizabeth’s presence, he began to wonder why Mauger had
accompanied her. Alys… Mauger had said something about Alys.

“Did you say you wished to speak to me about Alys?” William
asked.

“Yes. Frankly I did not like the way this new knight of
yours looked at her. He is very young to be trusted—”

“I do not distrust him,” William interrupted, leaping to
Raymond’s defense. Although he had never thought about it, the truth was that
William liked Raymond much better than he liked Mauger. “However, I agree with
you that he might be hurt. I have sent him off to Bix to train the troops I
will take.”

“There would be no problem,” Mauger suggested, “if Alys were
formally promised. She is a good girl, and once her mind was settled on Aubery
she would discourage any other advances.” Mauger did not, in fact, think Alys
was a good girl. He thought her a willful bitch but was wise enough never to
permit a hint of such a thought to come across to her doting father.

“But her mind is not settled, Mauger,” William pointed out.
“I know you think me doting in that I do not simply tell her that Aubery is to
be her husband. Perhaps I am doting, but I cannot do it. I will speak plain to
you. Mary was a good wife to me. Still, I was unhappy in my marriage for there
was no love in it for me.” William stopped suddenly and his color rose. He had
nearly said he loved another woman—to that woman’s husband. “I would not bring
such dissatisfaction on my daughter—nor upon Aubery, whom I love also—for any
benefit in the world.”