SirenSong (48 page)

“Yes, you are right. I will,” Henry said.

“Thank you, Uncle, thank you,” Raymond cried, going down on
his knee and kissing Henry’s hand.

Henry smiled at him, puffing his chest out a little. He had
decided the right thing now. Raymond was behaving most properly and Richard
would be very pleased. No doubt the suspicion against Sir William had been
planted in his mind apurpose. He had been very wise to send Raymond to sift out
the truth without acting against Sir William.

“Will you have the writ prepared now so I can take it back?”
Raymond begged.

“You take it? By no means!”

“But I must go back, I must!” Raymond’s voice rose
hysterically.

Because Henry had convinced himself he was blameless, he was
free of preoccupation and really saw Raymond, saw the travel-stained garments,
the sunken eyes, the greenish tinge under the swarthy skin that betrayed the
young knight’s exhaustion. The king, who was truly kind of heart when his
childish pride and spite were not roused, put his arm around Raymond’s
shoulders.

“Now, now,” he soothed, “let me go about this in my own
way.”

“Why cannot I go? I must see what has befallen them.”

“And so you shall,” Henry agreed patiently, seeing his way
clearly now and well pleased with himself, “when you are rested. When did you
last eat or sleep, Raymond?”

“What does it matter? I will not fail, I promise you. My
horse is foredone, but if you will lend me another—”

“Raymond, have some sense.” Henry laughed. “Sir Mauger knows
you as Sir William’s hireling. If you come with a writ from me, would he
believe you? Would he not more likely think it was some forgery, a trick?
Certainly he could say it was, and who would fault him?” Henry knew that was
not true. He had identified Raymond as his nephew, but Raymond did not know
that. “When truce is declared, you can go back,” the king promised.

“But I will not know if the writ came in time. Let me go
back with your messenger. Let me—”

“No. You look like a wakened dead man. You must eat and
sleep. Then we will see. Now do not argue with me, Raymond, or you will make me
believe Sir William has ensorcelled you. And the more time I spend arguing with
you the later the writ will be prepared.”

That silenced Raymond and he stood biting the knuckles of
his hand while Henry went to the door and bellowed for Michael Belet, to whom
he introduced his nephew-by-marriage. Belet was not pleased at the arrival of
another of the queen’s relations, although he did not remember having seen
Raymond before. Nonetheless, he bowed politely as he received the king’s orders
that Raymond be suitably lodged, fed, and clothed.

“Go,” Henry said, shoving Raymond toward the door.

“The writ,” Raymond begged.

“Yes, yes,” the king soothed and told Belet to fetch
Theobald first.

As he said the name of the clerk, a bell rang in the king’s
head. It was Theobald who had told him the tale about Sir William in the first
place and who had brought Sir Mauger to see him. A black frown darkened Henry’s
face as the clerk entered and Belet led Raymond out. Henry trusted Theobald,
and he did not like to have his judgment shown to be mistaken.

Seeing the scowl on the king’s face, Theobald made an
instant decision to cast Sir Mauger to the wolves and save his own skin. He had
had considerable time to think, and his explanation of the entire matter was
very smooth. By the time he was done retracting and withdrawing and
apologizing, Henry was preening himself and feeling he was not at all a fool if
his clever clerk had been deceived and, unknowingly, had deceived him. He
forgave Theobald, who was humbly begging pardon. Then, glowing with
righteousness and magnanimity, he told Theobald to send one of his squires for
Philip d’Arcy and to obtain materials and prepare his Great Seal for a writ
bidding Mauger to abandon his attack on Marlowe.

In the outer chamber, impervious to Belet’s pleading,
Raymond waited. “Let me be,” he snarled at the royal butler. “I will choke on
food and lie sleepless anyway until I see done what must be done.”

This was most uncomfortable hearing, and Belet slipped away
to inform a group of his friends that another relative of the queen was waiting
for some grant from the king, and from his nervousness, it must be a great
matter. There was a general helpless gnashing of teeth and glaring at Raymond
who was totally unconscious of the violent feelings he had aroused. Then, one
of the men remembered that Richard of Cornwall was in London, a few minutes
away, and he rushed out to fetch the king’s brother. Perhaps Earl Richard could
dissuade Henry from giving away too much.

Richard came at once. He had intended to present himself the
following day, not wishing to seem to rush in only to ask a favor. “There is
the man,” the courtier who had summoned Richard hissed, pointing, “the queen’s
nephew.”

Richard glanced quickly in the direction indicated and
stopped dead in his tracks. “Raymond!” he bellowed. “Raymond d’Aix! Damn! I
knew I had seen that face before.”

Raymond swung around from his fixed concentration on the
door of the king’s inner chamber and uttered a cry of joy. “Earl Richard!” He
rushed across the room, stumbling with weariness. “Thank God you are come!
Thank God! Marlowe is under attack and cannot stand.”

“What? But William never—”

“We were not under attack when Sir William wrote,” Raymond
hurried on breathlessly. “We hoped Sir Mauger would not be able to find the men
or that it would take him long but it happened so fast. There was no time to—”

“What are you doing here if Marlowe is besieged? When did
this happen?”

“The men came last night—was it last night? I have lost
count of time, my lord. When I saw there was no hope of driving them away, I
told Sir William that I was the queen’s nephew and—”

In the shock of hearing about the attack, Richard had
forgotten why he had been summoned. “What was the queen’s nephew doing, acting
as a hireling knight? Why did you lie to William? To me?”

Raymond wavered on his feet. “It is so long a tale,” he
sighed.

Suddenly Richard’s black eyes were cold and calculating. “My
brother sent you,” he said softly, remembering what William had told him. “And
he would not send his nephew-by-marriage to be trained to take the place of
castellan in the little keep of Bix, which is of no importance. Nor do I
remember ever having mentioned William’s need to Henry. Why were you sent to
Marlowe?”

Tired as Raymond was, the deadly cold anger in Richard’s
voice sounded alarm bells in his head. That the rage should fall upon him was
not so bad, but it could not touch him without touching Henry—and that would be
a disaster for everyone. Raymond did not like to lie, but to bend the truth
just a little to accomplish a great good could not be wrong.

“The king had heard a lying tale about Sir William—wait, my
lord,” Raymond cried as Richard’s lips drew back from his teeth in a vicious
snarl. “Do not think ill where no ill was intended. I
was
sent to watch,
but to watch for enemies of Sir William as much as to watch Sir William. My
lord, the king
could
not take the chance that someone had perverted a
man you love so dear—and he would not take the chance that someone intended
harm to your dear friend either.”

“But why the stealth?” Richard wanted to believe Raymond’s
explanation. His voice was eager now instead of angry.

“How could he do otherwise?” Raymond asked. “If the king
said to you he had heard ill of Sir William, would you not have flown into a rage?
You would have listened to neither side, not that Sir William was to blame nor
that another wished ill to Sir William. As now, you would have blamed your
brother for listening at all. Yet, someone did wish Sir William ill. When the
lying tale seemed to have no effect, Sir Mauger tried three or four times to
kill him in Wales. I cannot say I saved Sir William’s life. He is a strong man
and saved himself, but I helped him, at least, and there would not have been
any help if the king had not sent me.”

“That is true,” Richard admitted wryly. “I would have jumped
down poor Henry’s throat before he could explain.” Then he frowned. “But all
this does not explain what you are doing here now. You said Marlowe was
besieged?”

“Yes. Sir William sent me out before the net was drawn
tight. I came to ask the king to forbid the attack until the evidence
concerning Lady Elizabeth could be sifted. That, too, is a long tale—and
horrible.”

“I know about that. William’s letter was full of it. But
what are you doing here in the antechamber? Has Henry refused to see you?”
Richard’s dark eyes were dangerous again.

“No, no,” Raymond said hastily. “He saw me at once and the
writ is being prepared now, but—but I could not go to eat and sleep as the king
desired. I cannot rest. I fear Marlowe is fallen, and if it is,” Raymond’s
voice shook, “Mauger will kill them.”

“So bad as that?”

“We had nothing. It happened so fast. The men I gathered
were all untrained louts, and there was no time for the trained men to come
from Bix—” He covered his face with his hands and fought sobs. “It cannot
stand! It cannot!”

What Raymond said was very serious, but Richard realized
that Raymond was near hysteria and collapse from worry and fatigue, and he
discounted more than half his urgency. No doubt attackers had ringed Marlowe
and the keep was not well prepared, but Marlowe was very strong and William
knew his business in matters of defense. Also, it was not possible to assault a
keep five minutes after the attacking force arrived. That was all fear in Raymond’s
mind. If Henry’s writ went out tomorrow there would still be plenty of time to
stop the attack.

Richard looked kindly at the overwrought young man. “Do you
believe I love William?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“I swear to you that I will make sure the writ goes out in
time, and I will summon my own men from Wallingford and the keeps round about
there to gather at Marlowe, and I will go in my own person to see that the writ
is obeyed. Believe me, no harm will come to William or anyone else in Marlowe.”

“But it must be soon, very soon,” Raymond begged.

“This very night I will begin,” Richard promised.

Raymond sighed and seemed to sag. Richard gestured Belet to
him and said that Raymond was now ready to rest and eat, and Raymond followed
the puzzled royal butler without argument. Belet and his friends had overheard
some of the talk. They had been wrong in assuming Raymond was being given a
grant of some kind—at least at present.

As Raymond staggered out one door, Richard entered the inner
chamber. Theobald was scratching away at a copy of the writ he had completed
and Henry was finishing his instructions to Philip d’Arcy. Richard’s lips
thinned when he saw d’Arcy. He did not like the man and never had liked him. He
did not think Henry liked him either. But he used him. Suspicious, Richard
picked up the writ, but it was just what Raymond said it would be. Richard felt
contrite. He was far too often suspicious of Henry without cause.

“You are so kind, Henry,” he said warmly, going toward his
brother.

Henry started with surprise. He had been so intent on his
low-voiced orders to d’Arcy that he had not heard his brother enter. Now if
Richard had not thrice suspected Henry and thrice been proved wrong, he would
have read the guilt on the king’s face immediately. As it was, he blamed
himself for seeing evil where there was no more than surprise and took Henry’s
hand and kissed it.

“You are very good,” Richard went on. “You do for me what I
would have begged before I even ask. Thank you, dear brother.”

Henry was so relieved and delighted that Richard seemed to
know and yet know nothing, that he clasped his brother in his arms and assured
him passionately that he always wished to please him. He gestured for d’Arcy to
go and wait for the writ to be delivered to him outside, and then urged Richard
to a seat and asked if he would drink or eat.

“I have no need,” Richard replied, smiling, “and I have
finally sent that young idiot Raymond off to bed. I wish to thank you again,
Henry, for what you have done, not only in sending this writ so swiftly but in
sending Raymond to Marlowe.”

“Well, I…” Henry faltered, stunned. It seemed that Richard
knew everything and was
pleased
.

“You were perfectly right to send him without my knowledge,”
Richard continued. “As Raymond pointed out, I would have stormed and ranted,
thinking the worst, when you intended—and, indeed, accomplished—the best.
Sometimes I think myself so wise that I am the more a fool.”

“No, no,” Henry assured his brother, “you are mostly wise,
Richard, but you are a little hasty sometimes.”

He was glowing with pride and satisfaction, pleased with
Richard, with Raymond, even with Sir William. In a sense he was pleased with
Mauger, too, for proving to be a villain who deserved punishment. Everything
was working out perfectly. Although Henry suffered a little prick of anxiety
when Richard mentioned gathering an army to enforce his brother’s writ, he was
able to smile and approve the move after Richard mentioned it would take about
a week. By then, Henry knew, Marlowe would be clean of Mauger and his mercenary
troops.

Chapter Twenty-Five

To go from Marlowe to London, a man can ride cross-country
and save many miles, even if he does not know the way. From London to Marlowe
is not so simple. Thus, when Philip d’Arcy left with his troop at dawn he knew
it would be necessary to follow the river Thames all the way. He had never been
to Marlowe in his life and took the surest road, knowing it would waste more
time if he missed the keep and lost himself.

His group rode with haste but not with dire urgency. Philip
d’Arcy knew they could not come to Marlowe by an exertion before nightfall, and
he had no intention of approaching an armed camp after sunset. Thus, when a
horse cast a shoe, Philip did not go on, leaving that man behind. He allowed
the whole troop to rest while they found a smith and had the animal reshod. It
was not in his opinion a serious matter.