Fire Song

by Roberta Gellis

  The good of the people and the good of the king coincided in this case. One morning Béarn’s force had vanished, doing Bayonne no more harm than the deaths and injuries its citizens had sustained in its protection. Not long thereafter, Aubery and Fenice took their departure also, bearing with them letters and petitions for King Henry’s attention, as well as gifts to sweeten the requests.

  On the day they arrived in Bordeaux, the king was too busy to see Aubery, and he reported what had happened in strictly factual terms to the king’s special clerk, John Mansel. That the clerk was back in Bordeaux from the marriage negotiations in Castile was very interesting to Aubery, but he asked no questions. It was Alys who told him that the negotiations had sped so well that only one piece remained to be fitted in. Alfonso had insisted that he would not make contract without a personal meeting between Prince Edward and Princess Eleanor. The King of Castile spoke in terms of fearing any antipathy between his much-loved half sister and the prince who would affect her happiness, but in Alys’s opinion Alfonso did not trust Henry and wanted to be sure that Edward was not a weakling or a halfwit.

  This did not worry Aubery, who knew the prince to be strong and clever, indeed, a great improvement over his father. He said if Edward’s character was all Alfonso doubted, the marriage was as good as settled, and set off for La Réole the next day in the best of spirits to make his excuses to his overlord for overstaying his leave and report himself ready for duty. What Aubery did not suspect, for he was not a courtier and did not even desire the king’s attention, was that more than one letter described not only in detail but in highly inflated terms his activities in Bayonne.

  The writers, misled by King Henry’s letter, assumed Aubery was already a favorite and that by praising him excessively, glory would reflect upon themselves. But John Mansel knew nothing of Henry’s device to deceive the Bayonnese. He compared Aubery’s sober account of what he had done, looked over what evidence he brought to support his conclusions as to who the traitors were, considered the fact that Aubery had no connections with anyone in Gascony except Raymond d’Aix, and decided that Aubery of Ilmer was the ideal man to undertake the protection of the prince and queen when they traveled to Castile for the meeting with the young Eleanor.

  It was, Mansel thought wryly, a great misfortune that diplomatic skill and high office were so seldom wedded to youth and great physical prowess. Not that the clerk was concerned with Aubery’s abilities as a negotiator. The queen and Peter of Aigueblanche, the Bishop of Hereford, would put the final polish on the contracts. But there were sure to be great celebrations. Edward was to be knighted as well as married. That would mean a tournament, most likely, and the prince must have a champion.

  Edward would be sufficiently chafed at not being permitted to take part himself, but he was not yet fifteen and, while headstrong, not at all a fool. However, it would be the final indignity, Mansel feared, if there were no Englishman present capable of playing the part with honor so that Alfonso either had to appoint a champion for the prince or order his own champion to hold back his full power. No, that would not suit Prince Edward at all, but from what had been said about Sir Aubery in those letters, he was just the person to uphold English honor in passages at arms.

  Mansel frowned worriedly. Or was it a good idea? Would it merely increase Edward’s taste for war? How long would it be possible to restrain the prince from active participation in fighting? He had followed Henry right down to the dock where the ships were loading, pleading and arguing, and weeping with rage and frustration when his father would not take him to Gascony. The prince was as assiduous in the practice of arms as any simple baron’s younger son who would need to win his livelihood by his sword.

  But Edward had no experience in real fighting, and Mansel feared the prince’s tutors were influenced by his position and dealt out praise more liberally than they should. Could Edward have gone as squire to some great warrior, like Simon de Montfort, who would have trained him, protected him while taking him into actual combat, and given him the experience he needed, all would have been well. But even if the king and Lord Simon had not quarreled so bitterly, a prince could not be any nobleman’s squire. And there was no king to whom Henry would trust his precious son, for which Mansel did not blame him. Used as a hostage, Edward could be a disaster to Henry and to England.

  The trip to Castile was safe enough, since the large army operating in Gascony could be turned against Alfonso if he developed any peculiar ideas. But Mansel hardly gave that a thought. He had taken Alfonso’s measure carefully. He knew all Henry’s ravings about the threat from Castile were a ruse to extract money from England. Alfonso was prepared honestly to uphold the agreement made, so long as Gascony was part of the settlement upon Eleanor, which would satisfy his claim and his pride.

  The demand to see Edward personally, Mansel was sure, was an attempt to determine whether the prince was more likely than his father to stand by his word. Well, there would be no trouble about Edward’s firmness of character, far otherwise. Mansel pursed his lips. He believed Alfonso was wise enough to recognize that the prince’s youthful pride and arrogance when he was crossed would be tamed by time. Nonetheless, it would be best to avoid, as much as possible, any display of Edward’s less appealing characteristics, and Aubery of Ilmer might well be the answer to that problem.

  Edward was always gracious when he was pleased. Assuming Sir Aubery made a good showing at the tournament, the prince would be at his best, the soul of modesty and good behavior. And Sir Aubery had other points in his favor. He was no loud-mouthed braggart, nor was he coarse in his speech and behavior as were too many mighty warriors. Show Edward the letters from Bayonne, and he would, for a time at least, try to model his behavior on that of Sir Aubery. Mansel smiled wryly. The prince could do worse. Sir Aubery’s quiet but self-confident manner would be a pleasant change.

  Nor was Sir Aubery likely to be a sycophant and agree to any wild ideas the prince might have for the sake of gaining his favor. Had he been that kind, Sir Aubery would have insisted on presenting himself to the king in person. Best of all, he was no great baron to think he had a right to join the queen and bishop in the making of the contract and, perhaps, spoil all for some minor point of baronial privilege. Yes, indeed, Mansel decided, having convinced himself by his reasonings, Sir Aubery of Ilmer should command the party of knights that would escort the prince and his mother to Castile.

  The king, having heard Mansel’s report and read the letters he presented, was utterly delighted. He credited himself with a deep perception of Aubery’s character, rather than simple opportunism in having chosen him to manage royal affairs in Bayonne. Moreover, he was able to add information that Mansel did not have. Not only was Aubery as skilled at jousting as he was in the arts of true war, but he was married to a great-niece of the queen. True, the girl was only a natural daughter of Raymond d’Aix, but Eleanor would not care about that, for she adored Raymond and would be delighted to have his daughter, left hand or right, among her ladies. And the fact that the news of Béarn’s failure to take Bayonne was the final straw that broke the resistance in La Réole and induced the defenders to yield, on highly favorable terms, was an additional mark in Aubery’s favor.

  Aubery was not surprised to be summoned to the king soon after the fall of La Réole. The army was moving to Bazas, and a second siege, which promised to be as dull as that at La Réole, was about to begin. Actually, Aubery had some hope that Hereford would reply that his vassal was needed at the moment and would come as soon as the army was resettled, but the earl only looked sour when Aubery presented the summons. “Yes, go,” he said. “I know about it. I will be sorry to lose you, but I will be returning to England very soon.”

  Since his overlord’s temper recently had not been such as would encourage even mild argument, Aubery made no protest. Still, he was not very happy at the implication that he was to be employed directly by the king, and he silently cursed the accident that had brought him to Henry’s not
ice and then made his errand in Bayonne more of a success than anyone could have foreseen. Further service for Henry might be a path toward riches and power, but Aubery was not dissatisfied with what he had. Besides, he knew of the king’s penchant for blaming those who failed him, whether or not the failure was their fault, and Aubery feared he had no turn for the kind of deviousness needed to avoid becoming a scapegoat sooner or later. However, it was foolish to begin to bawl before he was scalded, let him first hear what the king had to say.

  Aubery was, in fact, far better pleased than he expected. To be the military leader of the knights accompanying the queen and prince was well within his powers and training. He had no doubts at all of his ability to fulfill such a commission to the king’s satisfaction, and he looked forward with strong enthusiasm to acting as Edward’s champion in any war games Alfonso of Castile proposed. And, to crown his pleasure, he would have Fenice with him.

  Their separation when Aubery returned to duty had not been painful since both knew he would be in little danger and probably would be able to visit Blancheforte periodically. The latter expectation had not been fulfilled, however, because Aubery had been fully occupied after the yielding of La Réole. But his duties and male companionship had not excluded Fenice from his thoughts. Frequently, Aubery had the urge to recount to her various incidents and conversations and had felt disappointed that he could not hear her laugh at the humorous circumstances or her warm praise for a quick answer or wise decision on more serious occasions. And when he passed a dark shelter or secluded corner and heard the sounds men and women make while coupling, he missed his wife intensely.

  Therefore, Aubery’s expressions of gratitude for the honor the king was bestowing upon him were warm and sincere. Henry glowed with satisfaction. The king loved to be generous, and the knowledge that this act would cost nothing and please everybody made Aubery’s thanks even pleasanter.

  Scarcely able to contain his excitement, Aubery galloped the mile to Blancheforte to lay his prize before his wife. Since nothing is more damping to enthusiasm than being unable to find the person to whom you wish to communicate it, he was fortunate to discover Fenice at once. She was overseeing the gathering up of the leftovers of dinner to give to the beggars who waited outside the gates, and she dropped the basket she had been examining when he entered the hall, and ran toward him. He caught her in his arms and swung her around and around while she clung to him.

  Accustomed to considerably more formality in Aubery’s greeting, Fenice cried, “What is it, my lord?”

  And Alys said, “Put her down, Aubery. You will make her sick.”

  Since he was growing a little dizzy himself, Aubery gave Fenice one more enthusiastic squeeze, laughed, and stopped rotating. “I wished to prepare her for my news. If she were already giddy, she could not be affected by the exalted company we are to keep.”

  Exalted company was no pleasure to Fenice, but she believed her husband was only teasing her, and she also laughed and again begged to hear what had given him so much pleasure.

  “I am appointed to command the knights who will accompany the queen and Prince Edward to Castile,” he said.

  “Oh Aubery, how wonderful! That is an honor, indeed,” Alys exclaimed.

  “Why wonderful?” Fenice cried. “Who better deserves such honor? I do not understand how it took the king so long to acknowledge his debt.”

  “Little innocent,” Aubery said, grinning. “Royalty as often acknowledges a debt with a blow as with a prize. I had hoped to escape without any further notice from the king, but this is a reward I can savor.”

  “You are right,” Alys agreed. “Dealing with Henry is a chancy business. He is not unknown to turn and bite the hand that serves him. Eleanor is different altogether.”

  “And to serve the prince, who will be king someday, is also very good,” Fenice remarked thoughtfully.

  “It had not escaped my mind,” Aubery admitted, still grinning. “From what little I have seen of him and the more I have heard, Edward is very different from his father. I must say I am looking forward to making his closer acquaintance. I have heard he is a most serious student in feats of arms, so it will do no harm either that I am appointed to be his champion.”

  Fenice was watching Aubery’s face, not Alys’s. All she saw was his lighthearted delight. She did not notice Alys catch her breath and bite her lip, and the term “champion” sounded to her like some formal, honorary position, such as sword-bearer in a court ceremony.

  “I am sure you will be a perfect champion,” Fenice said, clapping her hands.

  “Yes, and win Edward’s admiration,” Alys seconded, knowing there was no point in warning Fenice that the honor the king had bestowed so lightly and Aubery had accepted with true pleasure could easily be fatal. It was far better that Fenice remain in ignorance as long as possible so that she could enjoy herself wholeheartedly until Aubery actually had to play the part of champion and Fenice discovered what it meant. Alys had found a smile, and if her voice was a trifle strained and her lips somewhat stiff, Fenice was too taken up with Aubery to notice.

  But Fenice’s pleasure was already dimming. “How long will you be away?” she asked.

  Aubery frowned. “That is the one drawback. I do not know how much longer this will keep us from returning to England. Lord Hereford told me he intends to go back very soon, I think as soon as Bazas yields, and that can be no long time.”

  “You need not worry,” Alys said soothingly. “Elizabeth writes that all is quiet in England. It is true that the barons refused Henry’s pleas for money, but there will be no trouble about that. Leicester arrived in England not long before the Parliament was called, and he assured the barons there was no threat from Castile, that the movement of troops was only to hold Navarre quiet while Alfonso turned his real power against the Moors.”

  “Good God!” Aubery exclaimed, diverted momentarily from his own concern. “Are you sure that will not set Cornwall at Leicester’s throat?”

  “No, no,” Alys assured him. “I suppose Richard was not well pleased by Leicester’s interference, but under the circumstances he is too wise to doubt Lord Simon’s honesty or to press the barons to pay.”

  “Oh well,” Aubery said, dismissing the subject, “all in all it is better for Leicester to be in England just now.”

  Alys smiled and nodded, and seeing that she and Aubery had said all they wanted, Fenice recalled them to what was most important to her by saying, “I am afraid my question was a selfish one, but I wished to know how long we would be parted, my lord.”

  “Not at all,” Aubery replied, turning to her with a broad smile. “You did not understand me. You are to come to Castile, also, Fenice. You are to be one of the queen’s ladies.”

  Fenice stared at him, wide-eyed, stricken. “No,” she whispered.

  To play the part of queen’s kinswoman among the merchants of Bayonne was bad enough, but that was only because Fenice had feared some lack in her might be thought unbecoming to her heritage. Rich and powerful some of the merchants might be, but they were not noble. To be accepted by the queen as kinswoman was far more dangerous. Fenice was sure Queen Eleanor could not know her mother was a serf. Lord Alphonse would not have announced to the queen the birth of a base-blooded bastard girl. Thus, the very act of presenting her to the queen would be a kind of lie, a mute assurance that she had a right to be presented, that her mother might have been sinful and foolish but was gently born.

  What if Queen Eleanor found out? Fenice was not afraid for herself. No punishment dealt out could be worse than the agony her humiliation would cause her. But Aubery… She could not let Aubery present her, but bound by her oath to Lady Alys, she could not tell him why, either. He would not even know he was committing an offense, yet the punishment would fall upon him. Perhaps Queen Eleanor’s rage would even reach back to her father. Fenice shook her head.

  “No! Please, my lord, you do not understand—”

  “Do not be a fool, Fenice,” Aubery i
nterrupted, still smiling. “I know you are shy, and you have told me often enough that you do not crave a life among the great and neither do I, but this is not a matter of our choice.”

  “I am a simple girl,” Fenice cried. “I will not know how to behave. I will be an embarrassment to you.”

  “Nonsense,” Aubery said heartily, “you were perfect in Bayonne. You had the dignity of a queen and the kindness that made that dignity a pleasure to others.”

  “It is not the same!” Fenice’s eyes were full of tears, her voice rising toward hysteria.

  “No, it is not the same. Service with the queen will be much easier,” Alys said soothingly. “In Bayonne, you were the center of attention. You will be one among others as a lady to the queen. Very little will be asked of you. Eleanor is accustomed to having silly young girls placed among her women to be trained. Moreover, she is very kind, and she loves your father dearly.”

  “But to be called kinswoman—”

  “Fenice!” Alys’s voice cut like a knife. “You are the queen’s kinswoman,” she added quietly. “Your father is her nephew, and you are her great-niece.”

  Aubery had been looking at Fenice with sympathy. It seemed perfectly natural to him that a girl should be frightened at the idea of living in intimacy with the great. He preferred not to do so himself, and although he was well accustomed to the company of the Earl of Cornwall and his wife, who was Queen Eleanor’s sister, he was more comfortable with the knights and barons, who were his equals. Believing he understood the problem, he had been about to assure Fenice that she would not always be on show, but his stepsister’s sharp tone, obviously meant to convey a warning and cut off what she feared Fenice would say next, startled him into silence. The following sentences sounded like a reassurance, but to Aubery’s ear they rang false.