SirenSong (39 page)

“Be still,” Elizabeth hissed, slapping Maud. The blow itself
was ineffectual. The fact that Elizabeth had dealt it stunned Maud into
silence. “I am weak because Mauger was starving me to death and had me bound
hand and foot for two days. Now come quietly and quickly before we are caught
and killed.”

Fear and tension had supported Elizabeth until they were out
of the keep, but once free her strength failed rapidly. One of the men had to
carry her as they proceeded along the wall back toward the road. For a little
while, Elizabeth merely drew breath; after that she began to review what had
happened and she gasped in horror at the mistakes they had made.

“Alys,” she called, “we did not gag Mauger or shut the
door!”

“What— Oh merciful Mary! When he regains his senses he will
begin to yell for help and the women will have to release him.” Alys held her
breath and listened, but even as she did it she realized it was useless. The
sounds of a full-scale battle might come over the walls, but nothing so
insignificant as twenty or thirty men arming and mounting to catch a group of
fugitives afoot.

Chapter Twenty

As Alys stood trying to decide in an instant whether it
would be safer to go wide around the gate of the keep so that the guards would
not see them or save time by taking the most direct route, Mauger was slowly
becoming aware of the pains in his head and back. These were sharp and stabbing
and drew attention first, but there was also a chorus, a duller, nagging pain
in his arms and shoulders. He could not imagine how he had come to fall asleep
in so weird a position and he lay considering that dully for some time.

Finally Mauger opened his eyes unwillingly. It was not
morning! The bed curtains were not drawn, but the room itself was quite dark.
The bed curtains—they were not
his
bed curtains. Frantically now Mauger
pulled and twisted, realizing at last that he was bound. He let out a bellow of
rage even before he remembered the attack and then, as that memory returned,
began to scream for help in earnest.

At Mauger’s first shout the women in the outer room looked
at each other questioningly. The women were not puzzled by the shout but by the
need to decide who should answer it. None wanted to face Mauger in a bad
temper. They looked doubtfully at the stairwell down which those who usually
attended Mauger had disappeared. None of them had heard what Elizabeth said to
Maud, but they had seen Maud fetch cloaks. It was odd that neither Elizabeth
nor Maud had told one or more of them to attend Mauger if they expected to be
gone long.

The second shout, followed in rapid succession by an
increasing volume of sound, galvanized the women into action. Two middle-aged
maids rose together and hurried into Elizabeth’s chamber, excuses for their
tardiness bubbling on their lips. What they saw when they entered the room,
struck them dumb. They clung together, half minded to flee.

Angry as he was, Mauger was no fool. He realized that if he
expressed the rage he felt he would frighten these maidservants so much they
might run away without untying him. “Your lady is mad with fever,” he said,
moderating his tone with an enormous effort, “and that silly little girl from
Marlowe believed what she said. Untie me quickly. If she goes out in the rain,
she will surely die.”

Both women sprang to do his bidding, greatly relieved by his
moderate behavior. His explanation of what they had heard dimly through the
door was convincing. While they worked at the knots, they bewailed the fate of
their mistress, spilling the information that she had gone down more than a
quarter of an hour before he called to them.

Mauger almost burst, but he did not waste time in venting
his bottled-up rage on the women after they had served his purpose. He raced
down through the hall and down again to cross the inner bailey. Mauger had
intended to ask the outdoor servants which way the women had gone, but, of
course, there were none in sight. The drenching rain had driven everyone to
shelter.

As he ran across the outer bailey, Mauger said what he
thought about his wife, his servants, the weather, the inhabitants of Marlowe,
and his fate in general. Unfortunately, this did not really relieve his
feelings much, so that when the guard at the gate swore the women had not
passed that way, Mauger howled that he was lying and struck him. He might have
gone further, but from the wall above two men added their confirmation. By
then, the master-at-arms had come running from the shed in which he had been
waiting out the rain. Mauger at once ordered that the outdoor servants be
questioned and a general search of the grounds and keep be made.

One keen-eyed man-at-arms noticed that the bars were off the
postern gate, but the man wasted time searching the outside for the fugitives.
Since they were already hurrying through the village, this little delay could
really have had little effect on the outcome of the search, but the man was
fortunate he did not mention more than that the postern was open. Mauger was
not certain this was not a ruse, but he took no chance and sent a dozen men out
in pursuit while encouraging the search within the keep to continue.

Soon, however, Mauger realized that Alys, at least, would be
clever enough to understand it would be impossible to hide in the keep or
grounds for long. From that moment he knew in his heart that Alys and Elizabeth
had slipped out of his grasp. His rage and frustration were so intense that
they could not even find expression in violence of word or deed. For quite a
long time Mauger stood staring into the fire. Then it occurred to him that
Egbert had never come back with the news of Raymond’s death.

Everything had gone wrong—everything. Fear swallowed anger
so that when the men he had sent out returned to report the boat gone from the
dock, Mauger only nodded. He had already known. His first impulse was to run
but there was nowhere to run to. Mauger was wise enough to know that the great
men he had cosseted would be indifferent to him in his troubles. If he could
grab estates and power, they would be willing to confirm his acts to win the
gratitude of a rising man. None of them, however, would trouble to protect him
when he was falling. He had no friends. Mauger did not bother with his equals
or those less rich and powerful than himself unless he could use them.

Having reached the nadir of despair, Mauger began to add up
what could be charged against him. Suddenly the picture looked less black.
Obviously Elizabeth would cry out that he had confessed to her he had arranged
the murder of her brothers and the attempts on William’s life, but who would
believe a wife who fled to a lover from her husband’s home? Quickly Mauger ran
over what he had said and done since Elizabeth had “fallen ill”. No one knew
anything except Emma, and she had gone with Elizabeth. Even when he had sent
the men hunting them, he had ordered that they be taken unhurt and to the women
he had said he feared for Elizabeth’s health.

Well! A new complexion began to cover the whole series of
events. All the men and women in Hurley would testify that he had been a good
husband except for having a mistress, and that was so common that no one would
think twice about it. He had never beaten Elizabeth, never quarreled with her.
Better yet, she had always treated his mistresses kindly which would clearly
show that she had not desired his marital attentions. Yes, he could say she had
refused him her bed and encouraged him to keep other women. And William had visited
often. Elizabeth had also gone to Marlowe, less often, but she had gone.

The story was now clear in Mauger’s mind. While he was away
in Wales, his wife had gone to live openly with her lover. No, that would not
do if William was sore wounded. But who knew he was sore wounded? Only a
hireling knight, a foreigner. Hereford knew also, but Hereford was in Wales.
Besides, he might not have known how badly William was hurt. Mauger thought
Hereford had seen William only once, briefly, before the fever started. After
all, William was only at the abbey for three days. By God, that was proof! One
does not move a man half dead with wounds. Mauger smiled.

It would run thus, William pretended to be sore hurt so he
could shirk his duty and run back to Marlowe to be with his mistress. Until he
arrived at home, Mauger had believed William to be an honest friend. However,
the story of his wife’s unfaithfulness had greeted him when he brought
William’s men to Marlowe. He had not wished to believe it and had questioned Elizabeth,
whereupon she had fallen into a faint. It all fitted together perfectly and,
with the evidence of the men and women in Hurley, which would be given without
fear in the honest belief it was true, the story would be believed.

The only remaining danger was Egbert. If he was dead, that
was fine. If he had been captured… No, it made no difference at all. Egbert
would not speak unless tortured or threatened by torture. Taken out of
William’s power, Egbert would deny his guilt gladly. Gladly say that he had
accused Mauger only to save himself. Good. That settled that problem.

All that remained was for Mauger to make sure his version of
the affair was the first men heard. Well, that was no problem. When a man’s
wife flies to a lover, it is natural for the man to complain and ask for help
to retrieve her and punish her. Usually one would complain to one’s overlord,
but Mauger was in fee to an abbey. Was this the kind of tale with which one
would sully the ears of a holy abbot?

Mauger nearly laughed aloud and had to check himself,
remembering he was supposed to be sad and worried about Elizabeth. Unholy devil
was more like the truth about the abbot of Hurley. Mauger doubted there was any
depravity that abbot had not already tried in person. However, it was a good
reason to carry his tale to a more practical listener. Who? William’s overlord?
That might be dangerous if Richard of Cornwall knew William. Besides, Mauger
remembered that Cornwall was still in Scotland trying to stabilize the
relationship of the two countries to prevent future wars.

Then who? Hereford was in Wales and might know too much
about William’s injuries. Anyway, Hereford seemed all too enamored of William.
Was there someone among the mighty who had a reason to dislike William? Then,
like the sun rising, revelation burst upon Mauger. The king himself disliked
and distrusted William. This time Mauger could not control himself and he
roared with laughter. How could he have been so stupid, so bemused, as to
forget that the hireling knight Egbert had apparently failed to kill had been
sent by the king to spy on William?

Joy sang in Mauger’s heart. Not only would he come about
from danger of total wreck, he would likely gain all his purpose. Where did
rumor say the king had gone? London? Yes, London or Westminster, hard by. Even
if Henry was not there, the lords of the Exchequer would know where he was.
Mauger rose and made his way out to speak to the master-at-arms in person. He
did not wish that the servants in the keep know his plans. Let them think he
had gone to try to bring Elizabeth home.

Once Raymond had got over the humor of being lost in a town
that would fit into one quarter of several of the larger cities he had
navigated with confidence, he did the practical thing. He looked about for the
neatest of the hovels around him and hammered on the door. This was opened with
caution, only to the length of a sturdy chain. The neighborhood left much to be
desired and respectable people took precautions. It did not take long for
Raymond to convince the people within of his station and goodwill. He was
invited to come in.

Eventually, between gestures and broken English, Raymond
made clear that he only wanted a guide back to the docks. He was afraid the
men-at-arms might soon report him missing. If so, it was an even chance that
Sir William would guess he had been set upon by some disgruntled merchant. Then
he would probably ride into town himself to direct a search and investigation.
Alys
will kill me
, Raymond thought, and urged his guide to hurry.

Raymond need not have worried. William was too frantic about
Elizabeth to think about anything else. For some time he had been only normally
impatient, but as the time passed he became convinced that Elizabeth must be
dangerously ill or in some other trouble. In vain Martin pleaded it was no such
thing, pointing out the heavy rain and insisting that Elizabeth would not
permit Alys to leave in such a downpour.

“Alys would know I was worried. She would send back a man to
bring me word,” William said, chewing his lips.

“But she did
not
know you would be worried, lord,”
Martin pleaded, hobbling after William as he paced the hall. “You were asleep
when she left. She expected you would sleep until she returned. Indeed, she did
not think you would ever hear Lady Elizabeth was unwell. You would not have
heard if Sir Mauger had not…”

Martin’s voice faded as William turned and glared at him.
“And what else have I not heard?” he grated.

“Nothing! Upon my soul, nothing!” Martin assured him
fervently. “I swear all else is well.”

The hot glow of William’s eyes dimmed, and he put a hand
gently on the old cripple’s shoulder. He was not convinced that all was well,
only reminded of Martin’s passionate devotion. The steward was deeply and truly
religious. If he swore on his soul it was not a casual thing, as it might be
for another. Martin would believe that if what he swore was untrue he had
committed a great sin. Yet he would swear, willingly accepting the sin and the
punishment he believed would follow if that sin would help his master.

But affection could not diminish the worry that gnawed at
William. His hand fell from Martin’s shoulder and he shook his head. “I must
go,” he said. “I cannot bear to wait any longer. Have Brun saddled and get me a
heavy cloak.’’