SirenSong (32 page)

Elizabeth was aware of William’s motives. Part of her was in
sympathy with them, but she knew that Alys would not be free to leave the keep.
Once William rose from his bed, she had no excuse to remain at Marlowe. Until
then, he might be considered seriously ill enough to require more experienced
nursing than Alys could give him. After that the true reason for her lingering
must become obvious. Elizabeth did not fear that William’s servants would
censure her or dare to be disrespectful, but anything they knew was transmitted
with startling rapidity to the servants at Hurley.

The same reasoning applied to allowing Alys to be seen too
often in Raymond’s company. Thus, Elizabeth turned a blind eye to the
reproachful glance William cast at her. “If you do not like the records Raymond
makes, Alys can transcribe them when he comes back from the town.” She had to
restrain herself from laughing after she spoke. The word “traitor” was so clear
in two pairs of eyes. Later she would explain to Alys, and Alys would
understand. William—she would apply a balm to William’s feelings at night that
would soothe away all hurt.

Elizabeth’s precautions were for the most part in vain.
Mauger had long known that she and William loved each other and had planned for
years on what profit would salve his pride. In fact, profit was no longer his
sole aim. Frustration was not good for a character like Mauger’s. It turned him
vicious. And frustration was all he had had from the beginning of the Welsh
campaign.

All his plans had gone awry. Every device to kill William
had failed, and the last two failures were his own. Unable to find someone else
to blame for the debacles, Mauger tried to put William out of his mind completely.
But this was not possible either. It seemed to Mauger as if everyone in the
entire army came to his encampment day and night to enquire about William’s
health. The first day after Mauger’s attack on William these innocent inquiries
gave him some relief, indicating that no one suspected him of that attempt.
Once that fear was gone, however, any mention of William was like rough cloth
on a rash.

There were peaks to Mauger’s irritation. The Earl of
Hereford had called him in and given him an icy tongue-lashing for disobeying
William’s orders. “I love Aubery too well to do his father a despite,” Hereford
concluded, “and Aubery tells me you have not previously fought in this kind of
war, but a man your age should have sense enough to take advice from those like
Sir William with greater experience. In the future, be careful.”

Wisely, Mauger did not try to justify himself. Dismissed, he
went back to his own area, growling at Aubery to come to him as soon as he was
free. That message led to more rage and frustration, for the first words out of
Aubery’s mouth were of his anxiety about William.

“My lord says someone tried to kill him again last night,
and that Sir Raymond is taking him home to Marlowe.”

“Never mind William,” Mauger snarled. “What the hell do you
mean by making me out a sniveling idiot to de Bohun? How dared you tell him I
was an inexperienced fool.”

“To be inexperienced and overeager for battle is not to be a
fool,” Aubery snapped, leaving his father open mouthed with surprise. “I did my
best for you. What could I say? Would you have preferred that I say you are so
envious of Sir William that if he said you were riding a horse you would
contend it was a cow?”

Mauger struck out at his son, and Aubery jerked himself out
of the way. It was an efficient gesture, the mark of a keen-honed eye for
attack and defense, a far better eye than his father’s. Then the boy dropped
his eyes.

“I am sorry,” he said. “You may beat me if you like. That is
your right, and what I said to you was disrespectful, but I did do my best to
excuse you to my lord. He was furious! I had to tell him the truth.”

Something in the way Aubery had moved, the controlled power
that pulled him barely an inch clear of the blow and left him close enough to
strike back gave Mauger some very sour food for thought. There was a change in
Aubery’s expression also. Mauger suddenly realized that he was not dealing with
a little boy who could be overawed but with a young man who was dangerous.
Aubery might bow to his father’s will or even take a beating because both were
his father’s “right” in dealing with him, however, it was clear that if he
desired he could defend himself, possibly even win any contest between them.
Mauger dropped the hand that he had half raised.

“What smirches me, smirches you,” he spat. “Do not forget
it. There is something far more important to me, however, than this stupid
business. That idiot hireling was made to move William. Likely he will die on
the road.”

At that point Mauger got another unpleasant shock. Aubery
turned ashen pale and tears rushed to his eyes. “No!” he exclaimed. “I cannot
believe it.”

Then his voice choked and he could say no more. Thus, Mauger
never learned that de Bohun, Raymond, and the friar in charge of the infirmary
had had a long, anxious conference about the subject in the small hours after
the attack on William. The infirmarian’s opinion had been the deciding factor.
With many references to the “will of God”, the infirmarian had admitted that he
was reasonably sure the journey would not kill William. It would set him
back—he warned them of prolonged fever and weakness—but if the wounds did not
mortify, a factor the journey would not affect, he should live.

“Who cares what you believe,” Mauger snarled.

What a fool he had been to let his sons spend so much time
at Marlowe. Now he understood where they had gotten their idiotic ideas about
honor. Honor was for those who could afford it, not for a poor man who had to
make his way upward by tooth and claw and cleverness. Blast William! Mouthing
inane platitudes and stealing his sons’ affections. He had not cared when they
were little boys, nuisances they were, always wanting to show him something.
Now that they were nearly men they should know better. They should see for
themselves that his way was the path of wisdom and profit. William’s stupid
ideals would leave them in the mud. Well, if that was what they wanted, let
them have it. He was through with them—except…

“You must arrange a leave of absence with the Earl of
Hereford as soon as this action is over,” Mauger went on. “You must be married
to Alys at once, before William’s overlord can take her.”

“No,” Aubery said firmly, although he was whiter.

He had been boy enough when his father first raised the
subject with him to wish to slough off the responsibility of refusal. Aubery
knew William would do it and save him from needing to oppose his father openly.
It was natural for Aubery to ask William’s help. From the time Aubery was six
years old, William had been his bulwark in any trouble his mother could not solve.

Mauger had been away too much or “too busy” to listen to his
little problems. It was William who gave him his first metal sword, who gave
him his lessons in swordplay. It was to William he managed to send a message
when he was a page, miserably homesick and, as the newcomer to the group,
teased and taunted. William had responded with advice. Better yet, he had come
himself, all the way from Marlowe to Hereford to be sure Aubery’s trouble was
only homesickness and teasing. The assurance of support had been really all
Aubery needed. After William’s visit he had been more sure of himself, more
able to assert himself, and he was soon very happy in his new life.

“What do you mean, no?” Mauger gasped.

Aubery wet his lips nervously. William had always emphasized
the need to be obedient to his father, within the limits of honor, and he knew
he had met a limit here. “Sir William says that Alys does not wish to marry me,
and it is his will that she have free choice. To speak the truth, I do not wish
to marry her either. I would have done it at your will and Sir William’s, but
he has the right of disposal of his daughter. I will crave leave, if you desire
it. I will do my uttermost to protect Alys, as a sister, if—if Sir William—”
His voice trembled and he had to stop.

“You idiot! The best way to protect her is to marry her.”

“I will not oppose Sir William’s will, sir. He has been too
good to me all my life.”

“Get out,” Mauger snarled. “Get out!”

Gratefully, Aubery fled. Mauger stood staring at the
quivering tent flap, unaware that his abrupt dismissal of his son had kept him
from learning another, essential piece of information, that Alys needed no
protection from Sir William’s overlord. Mauger’s mind had been busy while
Aubery explained his refusal. His remark that the best way to protect Alys was
to marry her had been automatic, but it had come from his train of thought.

There was no need, Mauger realized, for Aubery to marry
Alys. It was stupid anyway to put Marlowe and Bix into Aubery’s hands. Aubery
might think he really had a right to the properties and contest his father’s
will concerning them, particularly this new Aubery. Thank goodness he had seen
the change soon enough. All he needed to do was dispose of Elizabeth, which
would be no trouble at all. Then he could marry Alys himself.

Now Mauger was eager to get home and discover whether
William had died on the road, as he hoped, or whether he would need to find a
way to dispose of him. In this, too, he was frustrated. For more than a week
the Earl of Hereford made feints at Welsh keeps and tried various devices to
draw David ap Llewelyn into battle. Mauger remained part of this useless
attempt, unwilling to stay but more unwilling to draw Hereford’s unfavorable
attention by asking leave to go.

At last de Bohun was convinced that David’s forces were
temporarily dispersed. He sent messengers to the king with this information and
told Henry he was releasing the levies under his command, as their term of
service was nearly finished and it was pointless to pay them day wages to
wander around the Welsh forests. He urged the king to bring the army gathered
to fight the Scots to Wales after the treaty with Alexander was signed.

Two days after William arrived home, Mauger received his
release and began to march his troop and the remnants of William’s toward
Marlowe. So eager was he for news, so passionate his hope that William was dead
and he could convince Alys to come home with him to be comforted by Elizabeth,
that he came to Marlowe with William’s troops, leaving his own to find their
way to Hurley by themselves. The casual greeting he had from Diccon should have
warned him that all was well with William, but Mauger cared nothing for his own
subordinates and could not imagine that they could care for him. Thus he was able
to blind himself to the truth for a few minutes longer.

Unfortunately that made his shock all the greater when he
came to the entryway of the great hall. The servants were just finishing
clearing away the tables after dinner, but their activity did not hold Mauger’s
attention or block his view. William was sitting in his usual chair by the
hearth. Mauger stopped dead, livid with rage. Since he had waved away Diccon’s
offer to send a man to announce him, a common enough thing for a long-time
neighbor and friend to do, no one noticed his arrival. Instinctively, Mauger
took a step back into the passageway through the wall. From where he stood, he
could not hear what was said, but what he saw was appalling. William was
staring into the embers in the fireplace while Raymond and Alys had drawn two
chairs very close together and were reading something. Raymond’s finger moved
down the page, apparently he was reading aloud, and Alys was in fits of
laughter.

Had Mauger’s courage been equal to his rage, he would have
charged out and killed them all. However, achieving exalted status had always
been the strongest drive Mauger had, and public murder could scarcely bring him
that. Thus, he went quietly back down the stairs, retrieved his horse from the
groom, and rode out toward Hurley, leaving both Diccon and the groom open
mouthed in surprise at the expression on his face.

He had calmed himself sufficiently by the time he reached
the ferry in Marlowe to notice the heavy concentration of men-at-arms at the
dock. This was so unusual that Mauger stopped one of the men and asked what had
happened. The answer, which led to other questions and answers, somewhat
assuaged Mauger’s bad temper. Here was obviously a new and very hopeful method
of killing both William and Raymond.

Although Mauger did not really think the merchants of
Marlowe would have enough spirit to attack their overlord or his agent, the
blame would certainly fall upon them if Raymond was set upon in the town and
killed. Raymond’s death would almost certainly bring William out of the keep
and into the town to investigate. His death would be harder to accomplish.
Mauger snarled over that, but it did not disturb him long. William would surely
pick up his duties once Raymond was dead. He would then be out and around the
estate, fool that he was, constantly meddling with the serfs and mouthing
stupidities about protecting the lord’s share. Lord’s share came first. If
there was not sufficient left over, the animals could do without.

Nonetheless, it was a convenient idiocy. Sooner or later
William would ride out alone. He always did so, saying he had nothing to fear
from his own people. Perhaps not, but there were lonely stretches between the
farms. Something could be arranged, and doubtless it would be blamed on the townsfolk
who were known to bear a grudge. After all, it would have been proved that they
did away with Raymond. What could be more likely than that they finished the
master as well as the hireling.

That would leave Alys completely in his power, if that little
bitch did not close Marlowe against him. She might think he wanted to force her
to marry Aubery. How to get her to Hurley? That question made Mauger reconsider
his plans for Elizabeth. He had intended a simple accident to overtake her,
like falling into the waste shaft or down the stairs. He realized, however,
that Alys would never come to Hurley if Elizabeth were not there. Therefore
Elizabeth must live long enough…