SirenSong (8 page)

Mauger noticed William’s expression and hurried on, skipping
the charges and countercharges that followed, the brief war in which Henry had
an easy triumph because the Welsh princes who were supposed to be subject to
David supported Henry instead, and came to the terms of the peace. Before he
thought, William sighed and shook his head.

“You did not think them just?” Mauger asked.

Too cautious to fall into the trap of saying the king was an
idiot, William replied, “Just or unjust has little meaning in dealing with the
Welsh, I fear. I thought the terms would make trouble, and King Henry thought
better of certain things himself. The king forgot that all brothers are not
Richard of Cornwall. He realized what he planned would never work and took
Gruffydd into his own hands.”

“Yes, and his captivity was light in the beginning, for he
gave his parole, but last spring he violated that oath and tried to escape and
since then the king has kept him prisoned in the Tower of London.”

William knew that too. He and Richard had visited Gruffydd
several times. Personally, he did not like the man and had never liked him.
Nonetheless, he could not help but be sorry for him. Gruffydd was suffering no
hardship, his confinement being eased with every luxury he requested and even
the presence of his wife, but it was still confinement.

“So what has changed?” he asked Mauger. “The king has held
Gruffydd thus since last June.”

“It is said,” Mauger replied, a faint note of triumph at his
superior knowledge in his voice, “that David has written letters to the pope
complaining that the terms of the treaty of 1241 were extorted from him by fear
and force, and he has also sent rich bribes to incline the Holy Father to give
him permission to set aside those oaths.”

William mouthed an obscenity. This, if it was true, was
news, and most unpleasant news.

“There is more,” Mauger continued with satisfaction. He was
delighted with oversetting his neighbor’s normal calm. “I have heard rumors
that there is a plot to free Gruffydd, and if I have heard, the king has
certainly heard also—”

“Free Gruffydd! Who would wish to do that?”

Mauger shrugged. “That I cannot say, but the king is
furious. If it were to happen, David could say Gruffydd was loosed apurpose to
torment him, and take it as a cause to violate the treaty. In any case, these rumors
have set the king to looking about him on all sides for any man who has any
connection with the Welsh. You were squire to Rannulf of Chester and served
many years near Wales.”

“But so long ago—”

“Likely I am wrong,” Mauger agreed smoothly, “but it can do
no harm for you to mind your tongue in front of this Raymond and keep as much
business private from him as you can. The most innocent things can be twisted
awry by someone who comes to find wrongdoing or looks at things with a poisoned
eye.”

Chapter Four

Shortly after William left Marlowe, Alys and Raymond
followed him. What Alys had started to point out to her father at breakfast,
and then thought better of, was that Raymond could not go around the farms on
his own. He spoke not one single word of English, and the serfs and villeins
spoke no word of French, nor understood it either. Within the keep, most
servants, like their masters, were completely bilingual. On the farms, however,
only English was used. Thus, the opportunity for misunderstanding between a
young man of high estate—Alys was more and more convinced that Raymond was no
simple knight—and serfs who were accustomed to being protected from interlopers
was too great to be ignored.

There was, of course, no need for Alys herself to accompany
Raymond. She could have told Diccon, the master-at-arms, to go with him.
However, it seemed to her an excellent opportunity to discover more about
Raymond. Unfortunately, the expedition started on the wrong foot. Raymond’s
surprise when Alys said she would go with him made her bristle.

“I know the land and the people best,” she said coldly. “As
my father is much away, the management of the estate falls to me. What is there
in that to make you lift your brows?”

“But a woman—” Raymond protested unwisely.

“I have never noticed that a bull is wiser than a cow or a
stallion than a mare—quite the contrary. Led by their noses toward a female’s
rump, they will fall into any stupidity. So a woman is no less clever than a
man, even though she cannot swing a sword, and she is less easily distracted by
pretty wives and daughters. Thus, my father trusts me better than a bailiff.
You should know, if you intend to serve my father, that most matters of the
farms are left to me.”

Poor Raymond simply gaped. First, he had never been spoken
to like that by a
lady
in his life. Second, his mother and sisters were
far too great ladies to trouble themselves with running the house itself, and,
as for managing any estate, they would have fainted away with disgust if one of
the common serfs approached them.

He heard Alys ordering the saddling of a palfrey for him.
“Do you think I am unable to ride a horse?” Raymond gasped, undecided whether
he should be outraged or worried that his destrier was being appropriated.

Alys looked at him as if he were a total idiot. “I have no
idea,” she snapped, “but if your seat is as lacking as your wits, I cannot
guess how you won your spurs. What do you think you will learn if your whole
attention must be on keeping your stallion in hand? Papa is not too proud to
ride a palfrey. Are you better than he?”

“Why should I need to keep my horse in hand?” Raymond asked.

“It is plain you know nothing of overseeing a demesne,” Alys
said, looking him up and down. “Is it not the habit in your land to ride about
the farms? Do not the serfs come running to you, more especially the children?
No, I see by your face that you are astonished by what I say. Well, it is so
here, and I do not choose to have your destrier trampling Papa’s people.”

Raymond opened his mouth to say sharply that it would be
their own faults if they did not know enough to stand clear of a war-horse, but
he recalled in time that he was a stranger. He remembered Sir William saying he
would find not only the crops but the people different here. He thought ill of
a difference that inconvenienced the lord to protect the serf, but he had taken
warning from Alys’s tone. For some reason, she did not accept his pose, and
Raymond thought it would be well not to increase her suspicions. However, once
he had gotten over the embarrassment of finding himself astride a docile, old
creature that could not, he judged, work up more than a trot without dropping
dead, he found what Alys told him of great interest. In no time he was blessing
the idly ambling palfrey, which was equally undisturbed by the farm dogs that
snapped at his heels, the children who rushed out from the hedges that lined
the road to run beside him, and the husbandmen who dashed suddenly from a gate
to wave agricultural implements in his face while they screamed gibberish at
Alys.

The first time the latter happened, Raymond reached for his
sword—which he was not wearing because Alys had asked him caustically which of
her servants he was planning to hew down.

“A son has been born in their house,” she said to Raymond.
“Wulf wants me to look at the babe.”

When they reached the mud and wattle hovel, he asked, “You
are going in there?”

“Yes, of course. Do you expect a two-day babe to walk out to
me? The woman has not been churched yet and cannot come out. I will not be
long.”

She was not and came out smiling, although she breathed deep
to get the stink of the place out of her nose. “A very likely babe,” she said
approvingly, as Raymond cupped his hands for her to step in to mount. “I hope
it lives. The poor woman lost two children this past winter, although one was
only a daughter.”

“They are very free with you,” Raymond said stiffly.

“How so free?” Alys looked surprised. “All creatures wish to
show their young to their masters. Does not my bitch pull me by the skirt to
admire her pups? Why should Wulf be more shy? Both serve Papa well, and both
need a pat now and again to show we notice them.”

That seemed quite logical. Raymond nodded, suddenly
realizing that he had lost a level of society. As he and his father would
occasionally stop at the manor of a very minor vassal for a special event—a
wedding or the knighting of a son—so Alys, daughter to a minor vassal, visited
a hut to do honor to her servants. Once he recognized the situation, it lost
its repugnance. Raymond began to ask questions about the tenure of the land,
how rents were paid, how many serfs compared to how many villein freeholders
there were. Alys answered readily, all the information at the tip of her
tongue.

By the time they turned homeward, they were arguing freely
on the relative merits of rents in money or in kind and whether it was more
economical to take labor service from serfs or higher rentals from free men and
then pay for labor. From time to time Raymond lost the thread of the argument when
he contemplated the sweet, rosy lips from which the words came.

Alys did not lose the thread of her conversation, because
she knew her subject so well, but scarcely half her mind was given to the
argument. The rest of her thoughts considered Raymond himself. There could no
longer be any doubt that he was the scion of a really great house. Rentals in
terms of marks, rather than pennies, and labor in terms of knight service,
rather than sowing and reaping, could only be the business of the son of a high
noble. Alys, however, was no nearer knowing what Raymond’s purpose was. He
showed no contempt or indifference to what she was telling him. And she did not
think the interest was spurious. He was clearly giving his mind to the subject,
except for a momentary distraction now and again. The cause of that was obvious
because of the way his eyes rested on her face, and it made him all the more
attractive to Alys. Admiration was written large in Raymond’s eyes, but not one
word of praise or entreaty passed his lips. The self-restraint was admirable.
The lively intelligence was refreshing. All in all, Alys found Raymond the most
attractive young man she had ever met.

If only she had been able to guess what his purpose was,
what the king’s purpose was. If it were evil, she could settle her mind to
dislike and distrust Raymond, in which case he would soon be gone. But Alys
wished very much that Raymond’s purpose were innocent. She was lonely for the
company of someone young of her own class. She missed Harold, with whom she had
gone hawking and played games. It would be so nice if…

To curb her treacherous feelings, Alys went to report her
findings to her father as soon as she was back in the keep. He was where she
wanted him to be, engaged in finishing his letter to Richard of Cornwall.

“Raymond is no simple knight, Papa,” she said as soon as she
closed the door.

William looked up at her. “No, I thought not myself. Has he
told you—”

“He told me nothing of himself, but I took him over the
demesne as you—”

“You
took him!” William exploded, laying down his
quill and pushing the parchment out of his way. “I thought you had more sense
than to go riding alone with a man we know nothing about. What the devil—”

“Oh Papa, do not be so silly. What do you think he could do
to me astride a horse? Besides, I am not such a fool. I was riding Vitesse and
I had him atop old Bonté.”

That made William laugh although he was still annoyed with
Alys. He had to admit she had not been in any danger. The old gelding had never
had much of a turn for speed. On her fleet mare, Alys had not been likely to be
captured. Yet…

“What made you go with him? Surely he is old enough to ride
around the farms without getting lost.”

He did not like the interest Alys was showing in this young
knight. Perhaps he should put aside the idea of her marriage to Aubery. It was
selfish to make her wait just so that he could have her near him. There had not
seemed to be any hurry because he had never perceived in Alys the slightest
interest in any of the men, young or old, who passed through Marlowe. However,
if her heart was ready to love, he had better ask Richard about a suitable man
for her. Besides, Aubery and Alys might not suit. They were very friendly, but
always competing for who should lead, and Elizabeth said… William’s heart
lurched at her name.

“What is the matter, Papa?” Alys cried, reaching toward him
across the table. “Did Sir Mauger say that Raymond was a danger to us?”

“No, not at all,” William replied, furious with himself for
showing a distress he could not explain. “It has nothing to do with him. Why
are you so concerned—and why ‘Raymond’ rather than ‘Sir Raymond’? I want to
know why you chose to ride out with him.”

“Because he does not speak a word of English, Papa. What
is
wrong? Why should I say ‘Sir Raymond’ to someone who is little more than a
servant in our house? I went rather than sending Diccon or one of the other men
because I wanted to find out what I could about him. And…and he is
not
what he says he is. He does not know the things that Harold knew, and he knows
things he should not. Shall I drive him out, Papa? I can do it by—”

“No,” William interrupted, much calmed by Alys’s willingness
to be rid of Raymond. “There is nothing in what Mauger had to say that reflects
on Raymond, although Mauger thought there might be. I will tell you about that
presently. As for Raymond’s past condition, I judge the same as you. He has a
style and a way that shows high breeding.”

“Then what is he doing here? Why did he lie to us?”

“I do not believe he did lie to us,” William replied
consideringly. “He said nothing other than that he hoped I would give him a
place in my household, and I believe that to be true. I think his family has
fallen upon bad times. Perhaps they were ruined by ambition or vice or even
more likely fell afoul of the king of France.”