Winter Song (29 page)

Alys, of course, had never given Ernaldus another thought.
Raymond had held to his decision not to mention the man’s escape or the fact
that the bailiff might be in Provence, not so very far from Aix. Even if
Raymond had told her, at the moment Ernaldus would have been the least of her
worries. She had more pressing problems, and now she was racked with acute
anxiety. To her, Raymond’s statement that there was nothing to fear was the
kind of stupid irrelevance all men uttered to pacify their womenfolk. It gave
her no comfort. Fortunately she had no chance to terrify herself by imagining
every kind of fatal event, no matter how unlikely, that could overtake a
person. Not an hour after Raymond and Sir Conon pounded out of Amou, the answer
to Raymond’s letter to his great-uncle came—Gaston of Béarn arrived in person.

Alys met her unwelcome guest with a babble of false relief
at his coming, liberally intermingled with complaints at the lack of
consideration her husband had shown for her by leaving her alone in Amou.
Naturally, Gaston asked, as soon as he found a space in her flow of words,
where her husband and Sir Conon had gone. This gave Alys cause to burst out
anew into tears—which nervousness and worry made quite genuine—and admit that
she had been so offended when she learned she was to be deserted, left alone in
a strange keep in a strange country, that she had not listened and did not know
where they were,

Gaston sipped his wine and interjected soothing remarks. Now
Alys dried her tears and let her speech run down. She did not want to drive him
away yet, because it would be too easy for him to find out where Raymond had
gone by sending out men to ask along the roads which way a large troop had
passed. Finally she begged him to stay, commenting on the cold, the shortness
of the winter day, and her expectation that her husband would soon be back. The
last reason interested Gaston, and he did not refuse the invitation. He had
nothing in particular to do in Orthes, having come specially to see Raymond.

When Gaston stayed a second night, however, without specific
invitation, Alys understood that he intended to wait for Raymond to return.
This, Alys knew, would annoy her husband, who wanted to avoid his great-uncle,
at least until she and Raymond returned in the summer. Now she wanted to be rid
of Gaston. Whatever happened at Ibos must have already happened, and Raymond
would soon come back or order her to come to him.

Thus, by the third afternoon, Alys was complaining freely,
wondering aloud—and far too frequently—where Raymond could be, and asking
fretfully how he could be so cruel as to leave her so long without a word. Then
she began to weep, bemoaning her sad fate so far from home and friends. She began
to appeal to Gaston to use his authority to force Raymond to take more care of
her. In his eyes she could see a strong impulse to smack her face and tell her
to behave herself. Alys fondly hoped he would yield to the impulse. If he hit
her, she could have hysterics in earnest and truly make Amou unbearable.

Neither had to go that far, however. With the shrill whining
ringing in his ears, Gaston reminded himself that Orthes was only one league
from Amou. There was no need for him to endure this torture from a woman whom
his great-nephew must have been a lunatic to marry, dowry or no dowry. He could
go to Orthes and ride back each day—or rather, send a messenger each day—to
discover when Raymond did return. That would be soon enough to hear Alys’s
voice again, if he could not convince Raymond to come to Orthes.

When Gaston told her he had to leave, Alys alternately
shrieked with rage and sobbed with self-pity until he was out of the gates. Her
device ran against only one snag, and that was of her own making. The act
almost came to a too-early and disastrous end before she got Gaston out. In an
effort to be sure he would not return personally, Alys had screamed a furious
demand to be taken to Orthes and not be left alone. The expression of horror
that crossed Gaston’s face before he controlled himself and tried to explain
that he could not do such a thing nearly caused Alys’s undoing. She began to
laugh, and nearly had to choke herself to pretend she was sobbing.

And it was all for nothing, too! That was the funniest part.
Not long after Gaston had been driven away, Arnald with ten of Alys’s men and
about half of the regular garrison of Amou rode in. All was well, Arnald
assured her, handing over a letter from Raymond. There had been a little
fighting, but Lord Raymond had taken no hurt. The reason Raymond himself had
not returned to escort her, Arnald explained, was that he felt reasonably
certain that Gaston would have come back to Orthes to talk to him. What the
letter said was that Raymond had already set out for Aix. Alys was to follow
more slowly with the baggage carts.

Alys might not have thought anything funny if Raymond’s
letter had stated the true facts, but it was only for Gaston’s eyes in case he
had sat down in Amou to wait. Actually, Arnald told her, Lord Raymond was
waiting for her at Ibos. Alys laughed and laughed. She had made a foul
reputation for herself, all for nothing. Well, it served her right for thinking
herself so clever and failing to trust her husband, who, she should have known,
understood his great-uncle and was capable of handling his own affairs.
Nonetheless, it was funny to remember Gaston’s expression.

Raymond agreed heartily that she had got what she deserved
when he heard the story. The only thing he complained about was that she had
probably ruined his reputation as well as her own. “For he will think me either
an idiot, to be sucked into marriage with a pretty face, or so greedy that I do
not care what wife I have so long as she brought a rich dower.”

But since neither impression would do him any harm in
dealing with Gaston of Béarn in the future, Raymond was amused. Amou and Ibos,
too, would be safe, at least from Gaston, until Raymond returned to Gascony
from Aix. The management of Ibos, which would need considerable reform, Raymond
put into Sir Conon’s hands, setting Sir Conon’s nephew, a Sir Bertrand, to care
for Amou for the few months. Still, they stayed nearly a week in Ibos, Raymond
riding out with Sir Conon to examine the land while Alys struggled with the
accounts—or lack of accounts—that Sir Garnier had kept.

She discovered that the situation of the commoners on the
land was midway between that of the serf and the free villein. Although bound
to the land, serfs’ dues here were paid in kind and in money rather than by
labor, and all the towns were free. Alys frowned, then shrugged. If that was
the way it was, she would have to put up with it. Since she alone could not
change the customs of the land, she would have to live within them.

Alys was happy as a lark when they set out for Aix. All her
dower lands were safely in hand, and she no longer feared the meeting with
Raymond’s family. Indeed, Alys thought she understood Raymond’s mother and
sisters well. Raymond spoke freely of them, originally with resentment and
lately with affection and a half-hidden contempt. When she first understood
Raymond’s status, Alys had been terrified by the thought of his female
relatives. It was possible for him to be contemptuous, but she would be in the
position of a portionless daughter, and her life could be made a hell.

Now that her dowry was so greatly expanded, she was no
longer afraid. Partly it was the confidence that her experiences in
Blancheforte, Marsan, Amou, and Ibos had given her. More, however, it was the
knowledge that she had a home—several homes, if she wished to command them—of
her own. It would still be necessary to play the role of a meek daughter while
in Tour Dur, but they would not stay long there, Alys was sure. Raymond might
love his parents, but Alys realized from his reaction to Rustengo’s manner that
he, no more than she, wished to take second position below the roast. Raymond
was growing too used to command without needing anyone’s yea-say.

Thus, no matter what the difficulties of the journey, Alys’s
mood remained good. Raymond, who had been a little apprehensive of the effect
of prolonged travel in winter on even so hardy a woman as his wife, was also
happy. Oddly, his very contentment raised a dim shadow from time to time. As
Alys grew more precious, every threat to her well-being, no matter how distant
or tenuous, grew more irritating. Every so often, Raymond would remember that
the closer they drew to Provence, the closer they drew to the man who had tried
to take Alys’s life. Then he would dismiss the irritating idea, reminding
himself that he would attend to Ernaldus and that Alys would not be out from
under his own eyes while she was in Provence.

Lord Alphonse was proud of Raymond when he heard the
whiplash crack of his son’s voice giving orders in the courtyard of Tour Dur
shortly after their arrival there. Marriage seemed to have done Raymond good. A
moment later Alphonse heard the clear, imperious tones of a woman giving orders
with no less assurance. He crossed hurriedly toward the cortege in time to see
his son lift down from her horse a small creature, surely a child, toward whom
a larger woman hurried. A child? Surely Raymond had said his wife was a maiden,
not a widow.

Before the thought was complete, he was embracing Raymond,
and the “child” was drawn forward and presented as “my lady and wife, Alys of
Marlowe”. She dropped a deep curtsy, right down to the ground, and murmured
sweetly of her pleasure in meeting Raymond’s father, but when Alphonse took her
hand, her head came up and her eyes met his without shyness, with the friendly
curiosity of a boy who knows he is welcome. Alys had never had any doubts about
her ability to win the favor of Raymond’s father.

Between his astonishment at her small size and the bold
glance, the formal speech of welcome Alphonse had prepared went out of his
head. He said, “You are well come, Daughter. We have all been most eager to
greet you.”

At once, Alys dimpled into smiles, put her arms around his
neck, and kissed his cheek with the confiding air of a well-loved child. “And I
am most happy to meet you, Father,” she said.

Alphonse was startled. The voice, not muffled by a bent
head, was that which had previously been giving orders.

Nonetheless, he said, “You must be very tired, child, and
very homesick also.”

“Not tired,” Alys chuckled. “Raymond takes such care of me,
and not homesick either, because I have been too busy. Raymond has a great deal
to tell you. But I am truly glad to have a new father. I
have
missed my
papa.”

“Have you? Is Raymond too severe?” Alphonse asked anxiously.
The last time Raymond had been home he had shown a hard streak Alphonse had not
previously seen in him.

Alys chuckled again. “No, you must know he is too kind for
that, but one cannot play the child with a husband.” Then, more seriously, she
said, “Raymond is a man, and I must be a woman.”

Both their eyes turned to Raymond, who was finishing his
orders to the troops while Alys spoke to his father. Alphonse’s eyes opened at
the harsh gutturals that poured from his son’s mouth. Alys explained that
Raymond was speaking English. Only a few of her men spoke fluent French, and it
provided less chance for misunderstanding if Raymond gave them their orders in
their native tongue.

“Is he so fluent in this strange tongue?” Alphonse asked,
impressed by his son’s ability.

“Fluent enough for these purposes and for orders to fight,”
Alys said casually, “but if the matter grows complicated, such as a pleading, I
attend to it.”

Alphonse’s eyes opened even wider at that offhand remark,
but he had no time to pursue it as Raymond came back to them just then.

“I have been warning the men to behave themselves, reminding
them that this is not their lady’s keep and they cannot respond with blows here
to laughter at their strange accent—those who have a few words of French. Let
us go in. I am sure my mother and sisters are all impatience to see what I have
brought home.”

“They are, indeed,” Alphonse agreed. “But what of the
baggage? Do you want it stored?”

“I would rather that Alys set up her own apartment, Father.
May we have the south tower?”

“A tower? But it will be cold and dark. Will not Lady Alys
be more comfortable in a chamber above in the keep where there is more light
and warmth?”

Raymond glanced at his father with considerable surprise,
but he realized that Alphonse had either forgotten or simply had not thought of
the special amenities of the south tower. However, this was not the place to
discuss them, so he merely said, “Alys is used to her own place and her own
furniture. She is not accustomed, either, to other ladies of her rank in close
intimacy. She has a sharp tongue, too, my Alys. It would be well to give her
breathing room. If she finds the tower too dark and cold, she will say so and
we will move her.”

“It cannot be darker and colder than England in winter, my
lord,” Alys said, her eyes shining with love and gratitude. “Where it pleases
you to place me, there I will be content.”

“Oh yes, you will be content,” Raymond said, grinning down
at her.

Alphonse could not understand the byplay, and what Raymond
said again struck him as being hard and unfeeling. “You must suit yourself in
this matter, not your husband,” Alphonse urged kindly. “When you see your
quarters, you must feel free to change your mind if they are not to your taste.”

“They are not like to be worse than what we found at
Blancheforte,” Alys assured him, meanwhile touching Raymond’s hand, trying to
show him without words that she understood what he had done was to protect her
from his mother and sisters.

“Very well,” Alphonse agreed doubtfully, unwilling to press
the matter further. “Shall I tell the steward to have Lady Alys’s things
brought to the south tower?”