Winter Song (7 page)

“Even when it is silly?” Alys asked, her lips beginning to
curve into a smile.

“Especially when it is silly,” Raymond assured her, “because
then I can kiss you for being a woman.”

He suited the deed to the word, and Alys returned the salute
good and hearty before she said she would see to his clothes and a bath, and
went away. Sir William looked after his daughter for a moment before he turned
his full attention to what Raymond was saying about the areas in which it would
be best to have a grant of land. William had seen that Alys’s eyes did not
reflect the smile she had given Raymond when she left them.
Do not be a dog
in the manger
, William told himself. It is right that she should fear for
the man she loves. But it had not sounded like that kind of fear. William could
not give his mind to the matter then. What Raymond was saying was of greater
importance.

That night, however, he mentioned the scene to Elizabeth in
pillow talk and noted that she did not answer him at once. “Do you think I am
jealous of her love for him?” William asked.

“No—well, a little, dear heart,” Elizabeth replied softly. “It
would not be possible to feel nothing when you see her—whose whole heart and
mind were always yours—begin to look to another. But that cannot be what is
troubling you now. No, I have seen that Alys is not easy, and love her though I
do, I am certainly not jealous.”

“You do not think she has changed her heart and will marry
him only to keep her word? I would never—”

“Now
that
is jealousy, William,” Elizabeth
interrupted, “or rather, your reluctance to lose her. You saw how she looked at
Raymond at suppertime, and later, when they sat together, how she reached to
touch him when there was no need. No, she loves him, and loves him dear. Let it
be, love. It may be some maiden fancy that troubles her. When we have a little
peace together, I will try to speak to her and uncover her uneasiness.”

That peace was not long in coming. Raymond and William were
in such quick agreement on the terms of the marriage contract that they rode
out only two days later to propose their notions to Richard of Cornwall, who
was fortunately at Wallingford. If he approved, they told Alys and Elizabeth,
they would go on to set the proposal before King Henry. And, the day after they
left, a messenger arrived to say that Richard was so enthusiastic about the
idea that he was going with them to Henry.

“It is settled then,” Elizabeth said. “We had better give
all our attention to finishing your clothing and preparing the linen and
furniture you will be taking. I have a feeling that the king will seize at this
like a drowning man reaches for a log. He will want the marriage held in all
haste so that Raymond may the sooner leave for Gascony.”

Alys did not reply, and Elizabeth reached out and took her
hand. “I have always loved you, Alys,” Elizabeth said then. “Partly because you
were William’s child and partly because I never had a daughter. I know you love
Raymond, and yet you are not happy. Do you grieve at leaving your father and
your familiar place?”

“No.” There was no hesitation in that response. “I will miss
Papa, but…no. Now that I am sure he will not be lonely, I do not regret leaving,
nor leaving Marlowe. I always knew Marlowe was not mine.”

“You do not fear coupling, do you?” Elizabeth asked. “You
are small and may have some pain at first, but—”

“I am not afraid of pain,” Alys snapped, and then her eyes
clouded. “Not my own pain, but… Elizabeth, do you think I am fit to be Raymond’s
wife?”

“Fit? What can you mean?”

Mutely Alys drew her stepmother into Raymond’s chamber and
opened the clothing chest, from which she drew several items of court dress.
They were of striking magnificence, a soft leather belt all chased with gold
wire and studded with sapphires, a tunic all woven with gold thread in graceful
arabesques and embroidered at neck and wrists with more gold and small gems and
pearls, and a surcoat of brilliant blue velvet, cut and sheared so that acorns
and oak leaves of gold showed brilliant against the darker sheen of the cloth.
Neckband and fronts, hem and armbands, were again lavish with gold and gems.

“You mean that Raymond is rich, and we are not?” Elizabeth
asked. “But he knew that.”

“No, not the wealth. As you say, Raymond knew, and it seems
that I will be a richer prize than either of us thought anyway. But this
clothing shows the state in which he lives.”

“Alys, you have just lived in such a state yourself—”

“And I hated it,” Alys interrupted. “No, that is not true.
It was pleasant enough for the time we were at court, but if I had to live like
that always, I soon would hate it. I know I will burst into some speech or
action that will shame Raymond dreadfully. He would be hurt.”

“No, I think not, Alys. You are too clever for that. No one
is on show always. Queen Eleanor pisses and shits like the rest of us, and
doubtless quarrels with her husband and her servants, also. Merely, she does
not do so in company. Well, neither do you. When you are alone with your
husband, you may say and do what you like.”

“And what am I to do the rest of the time? Listen to
lovesick lyrics and twanging lutes?”

Elizabeth frowned at her thoughtfully. “I am not sure, my
dear, but I think you should trust Raymond. Ask him what you can do to help.
Tell him the truth, that idleness does not agree with you. As to the manners
you must use, you need only watch carefully and take your behavior from that of
the other ladies. Even if you think them silly, you must do things their way.
You are the stranger, and you cannot expect everyone to change for you. Is this
what you fear?”

“No, only that Raymond will be ashamed when I seem vulgar.”

At that Elizabeth smiled. “You need not fear that! He will
not notice, or if he should, he is so besotted he will think your way more
charming. It is only for your sake that I tell you to match yourself to your
new family and friends. And remember, you have a ready defense. You
are
a stranger. No one will know whether your difference is owing to your English
upbringing or to the simplicity of your father’s station in the past. But do
not defend your way. Do not always say, ‘We did it this way.’ There is no right
or wrong way to do a thing, so long as it is done well.”

“Is it worth it to change my whole life?” Alys asked.

“I cannot tell you that, dearling,” Elizabeth replied
softly. “You know you may change your mind if you wish. Your papa will even be
glad if you do. Do you wish to live without Raymond?”

“No!”

“But that is your only choice. The new life with Raymond, the
old one without.”

Alys stared down at the magnificent garments strewn across
the bed. They were scented with the herbs that lay in the chest to keep the
clothes sweet and keep the moths and fleas at bay. On the chair beside her,
however, lay a shirt and chausses Raymond had left to be washed, which a lazy
maid had not taken away. Those garments exuded his male odor, pungently acrid.
Somehow it was slightly different from her father’s. It belonged only to
Raymond.

Even as Alys resolved to have the skin off the maid’s back
for her carelessness, a quiver of sensation passed through her, as though her
organs had moved by themselves within her. She needed to master an impulse to
bury her face in Raymond’s underthings and breathe in his scent. A pang of
longing for him stabbed her.

“Heigh-ho,” Alys sighed, smiling wryly. “Look at the new
Alys, a most daintified fine, fine lady, who lisps Provençal love songs and
trips, delicate as a dewdrop, down a rose-strewn path. I cannot give up Raymond,
thus, I suppose I must take what comes with him.”

Chapter Four

In Marlowe keep, however, no one realized that a new Alys
had been born. What they felt was that they were seeing a great deal too much
of the old one. She seemed to be everywhere at once—harrying the maids to get
on with their sewing on her new clothing, out on the farms driving the serfs
and villeins to bring extra produce to the keep, insisting that the huntsmen
lure game into Marlowe woods by putting out salt and fodder. It was as if,
having decided to take the plunge, she wanted it over and done with as soon as
possible.

Swift as Alys’s preparations were, they were barely in time.
The king, as Elizabeth had guessed, leapt at the suggestion brought by his
brother. He was delighted with Raymond’s idea for a multitude of reasons. Henry
loved doing favors, he particularly enjoyed doing favors for his wife’s
relatives, whose polished manners and tastes for literature and art he found
far more congenial than those of many of his own nobility, who were more
interested in cattle and crops than the ethereal lift of the arches and spires
of Westminster Abbey. Better still, Henry liked doing favors that cost him
nothing and were highly unlikely to have repercussions from his brother and the
other barons. In this case, Richard had suggested the arrangement, and
considering the condition of Gascony, none of Henry’s barons wanted anything to
do with it. They would be indifferent to the granting of lands in that uneasy
province. Best of all, Henry liked to make a profit out of doing a favor, and
it was certain this time that he would do so.

In exchange for four estates—two of which were rich
properties indeed but were in the area contested by Gaston of Béarn a third
which was small and whose overlordship was contested by the Vicomte de Marsan,
and a fourth which was not only worthless but just outside Bordeaux, where
Henry expected raging violence to erupt any day—Henry would receive a large sum
in hard gold and twenty pounds of good English silver every year. He would also
obtain a vassal with every practical reason to be loyal to him, as well as a
blood bond reinforced by real affection for his queen.

Henry was delighted with his bargain, and so was Raymond.
The two rich estates were in a fertile river valley of the northern Pyrenees. The
holder of Amou and Ibos had died without direct heirs during the war Henry had
waged so unsuccessfully against King Louis. The drawback to Amou, however, was
that it was only about two leagues from Orthes, one of Gaston de Béarn’s
strongholds. While Gaston had been Henry’s “dear friend”, there did not seem to
be any reason to appoint a strong overlord for Amou and Ibos. When Gaston
turned in opposition, the problem became acute. Henry needed someone loyal in
Amou if he wanted to keep control of the area. But to place there an overlord
openly antagonistic to Gaston would only have precipitated open war. Raymond
was the perfect compromise. It was Richard of Cornwall who had thought of it,
but Henry now felt the idea was his own because Raymond would be loyal to
Henry. Nonetheless, he was Gaston’s great-nephew, the Countess Garsenda being
his grandfather’s mother. It would be difficult for Gaston to object to Raymond
becoming master of Amou.

The problem with Ibos was different, although it, too, was
in contested territory. When the overlord had responded loyally to Henry’s call
for support in his war with Louis, the castellan of Ibos had cried defiance and
given his homage to Raymond of Toulouse, who was lord of Tarbes nearby. Henry
had done nothing to amend the situation, having more serious troubles, thus,
Ibos was legally Raymond’s, but whether he could put out its current holder and
take control of it was his affair. At least Raymond no longer needed to worry
about Raymond of Toulouse supporting his vassal. Louis had tamed that violent
and ambitious man, and Raymond would not scruple to appeal to his other
uncle-by-marriage for redress if Toulouse attacked him.

Of the smaller properties, which were all Raymond had hoped
to obtain originally, one was contiguous with his own lands near the great keep
of the Vicomte de Marsan. It had been wrested from Marsan’s ancestor by King
Richard some sixty years earlier, but the Marsans, ancestral or modern, had
never yielded their claim. Periodically one Marsan or another would remind
himself and attack Benquel so that over the years the lands had yielded more
bones and blood than wheat. The current holder of Marsan had not, so far,
initiated any private war, however, if his men-at-arms ran a little wild on
Benquel lands and dragged off a few women or burnt a farm, Marsan became
afflicted by deafness and blindness to any proof or complaint. Now, since
Raymond had already done fealty to Marsan for several farms near Mont de
Marsan, he would lose nothing by adding Benquel to the properties held from the
vicomte.

Raymond was sanguine that the feudal dues would be moderate
and the loyalty would raise no problems. In the past Marsan had vacillated
between supporting the Comte of Toulouse and the Duc de Gascogne, who was also king
of England. However, Toulouse had been thoroughly curbed by Louis, and Marsan
infinitely preferred a somewhat indifferent distant overlord in England to a
most attentive one much closer at hand. In any future quarrel between Louis and
Henry, Marsan would support Henry, unless, Raymond feared, it was clear that
Louis was winning. For the next three years, however, the truce would hold.
Raymond would not worry about conflicting loyalties until then.

The last minor property was Blancheforte, which was so close
to Bordeaux that it was of no military significance. Any determined assault
from the town would reduce the keep in a few days. For that reason, no recent
holder had made any attempt to improve it. Raymond did not intend to do so
either, beyond making it a comfortable residence. There were virtually no
lands, those having been gobbled up by the burghers of Bordeaux years earlier,
but a small demesne, enough to support the residents of the castle, existed.
What was important was that the holder of the keep had the ancient duty of
guarding one of the gates of Bordeaux and, therefore, the privilege of sitting
on the council of the city.