A Flame Run Wild
Page 16
Liliane needed to devise a plan to discredit and ruin Jacques before Philip departed for Palestine. After much thought, she decided upon a possibility. Father Anselm had mentioned that minor Italian princes sometimes led bandit raids into Alexandre's territory. Why not persuade Jacques to disguise some of his men as Italians and conduct such a raid? She might logically persuade him that Philip would blame the Italians for attacking Alexandre. Once Jacques took the hook, all she had to do was warn Alexandre to prepare for an ambush. If he caught a few "Italian" banditti and forced them to provide confessions for Philip, Jacques would be meat for the royal dogs. Jacques would take the bait because he badly wanted direct access to the sea to lower Ins mercantile expenses. Unlike sullen Louis, Jacques had no love of petty brawls; money was his chief concern.
The slippery point was the possibility that there was a spy in Castle de Brueil. If Jacques guessed that she had been lying about the defenses, he might wrap her neck in her own rope.
In May, Liliane left the suggestion of the banditti in the tree cylinder; however, before she reached the castle, she feared that disaster had already struck. Serfs were whispering and hurrying about the villages like bees whose queen has died. When Liliane inquired, they told her in dismay, "The French and English armies are camped only a day's ride away. King Philip has come to the castle. His escort is enormous!"
And he has come without warning, she thought, their anxiety becoming hers. Philip and Richard must already be on their way to the new crusade. Within a few days of departing the castle, he and Richard would sail with the armies from Massilia for the Holy Land and leave Jacques the leisure to move on Alexandre. Another dangerous, disheartening possibility occurred to her. What if Philip re-enlisted Alexandre to help him fight his new war?
Her white mare became sweat-flecked from the speed Liliane urged on her. As she expected, the castle environs were scattered with tents and strings of horses; soldiers tramping about her spring fields stared at her in open admiration as she galloped past them. After tossing the mare's reins to a hostler in the castle courtyard, Liliane raced up to the turret chamber to change. Her one weapon with Philip would be persuasion, and women were most convincing when they were dressed in their finest. As she pulled on a yellow chainse, from the turret window she glimpsed Alexandre leaning against the old, ruined wall arguing with a tall, dark-haired young man she knew must be Philip. Looking hot and bored, his retinue lounged idly among the rubble. Armor, gear and supplies were piled in the far courtyard and twenty horses crowded the smithy string. About fifty chargers were penned outside the bailey wall. Liliane gave her hair a few short strokes and shoved its honey mass into a long gold snood. Then, wearing her yellow chainse, a pink bliaud and jeweled filet, she hastened down the stairs to the kitchens.
The cooks were scurrying about, trying to find enough knives and trenchers to serve Philip's retinue. Pickled salt bacon was steeping in crocks. Several pigs and mounds of last season's wizened turnips were roasting on the grates as Doucette and three other women turned out pastry for apple and egg pies. From their size, the pigs were probably old ones, but in a day or so, the cooks would be forced to take mother sows and sucklings. The rest of the food being prepared would cut a wide hole in the supplies they needed to last until the crops were harvested at summer's end. Please, let Philip depart soon, Liliane prayed silently. His nags are eating the forage for our animals, and his men are tramping the young seeds into the ground.
Doucette caught her eye. "You do not approve, my lady?" she inquired.
"On the contrary, Madame Doucette," Liliane replied, "you have done admirably. Will sunset be convenient to serve dinner?"
Doucette nodded. She had no love for Liliane, but Liliane accorded her personal and professional respect. Liliane also would accept no nonsense about rudeness and slipshod work. Malcontents were sent to work the fields.
"What will be put on the tables at sunrise, I'd like to know." Doucette wiped flour off her face and whacked out another crust with a twirl of her knife.
"Fish. Send out the village serfs and let them keep a fish for each member of their household if they turn in eight from the catch to the castle by cockcrow."
Doucette swatted a scullery boy with a floury hand. "You heard. Off with you to the villages and tell 'em it's fish." She squinted at Liliane. "Should I ask about lunch?"
"Soup from leftovers, and as for dinner, let Philip's men hunt for it themselves. They will be wanting entertainment in the afternoon. A stag and boar or two should be turned up at the very least."
"And the next day?"
"Plain porridge," Liliane said firmly. "That should urge them on to Massilia."
Her gimlet eyes betraying her suspicion that Liliane might be trying to discredit Alexandre, Doucette put her hands on her hips. "It won't do. The king would be offended."
"From all accounts of him, he is not idiot enough to be offended. Royal retinues are like locusts. Too long in one place can ruin their hosts. Philip must be aware Alexandre is more vulnerable than most in that respect."
"Milady might ask your uncle, the baron, to invite His Nibs for a week," slyly suggested the old cook.
"That is an excellent idea," Liliane agreed calmly. "I may even offer my uncle your services as cook for the king's stay."
With an appalled grimace, Doucette subsided. She would have been grimmer yet had she known that Liliane was seriously considering the older woman's suggestion. Jacques would be both thrilled at the king's notice and horrified at its expense, particularly as Philip would also certainly ask him for a hefty financial contribution to his campaign. Still, before she urged Philip onto Jacques's doorstep, she had best make certain that the king would not be susceptible to her uncle's bribery and blandishments.
Liliane summoned a harper from the village for the night's feast and had children gamer flowers for the high table. Finally she ordered that all the serf women and girls go to the hunting lodge for the evening so that they would not be obliged to accommodate Philip's troops. Only those who wanted to make themselves available were free to remain. Nearly a dozen stayed— no prizes most of them, but enough to cheer the soldiers.
As Liliane sent out a servant to buy extra trenchers from the market outside the wall, Alexandre and Philip strolled into the hall; that is, Philip strutted, while Alexandre moved as tensely as a leashed leopard. Six of Philip's retinue drifted in behind them. Two were richly dressed courtiers who disdainfully glanced at the barren walls and plain furnishings; one was a sharp-eyed, balding little man: in brown surcoat whose expression gave away nothing; the other three were hard-bitten bodyguards.
Philip posed a striking contrast to his companions. A shade taller than Alexandre, with the same wiry quickness, Philip exuded charm and energy. Clad in green and yellow velvet tabard, he was handsome and knew it. His narrow green eyes appraised Liliane with a connoisseur's appreciation, certain of her reciprocal approval.
Liliane gave Philip a lovely, welcoming smile, but she was definitely not attracted to him. He might be Adonis himself, but she had strong reservations about men who locked up one wife to enjoy another. She sank into a curtsy as the men approached. Then, as Philip bade her to rise, she exchanged a quick, sympathetic look with Alexandre. From his tight-lipped expression, she gathered Philip was either deserting or appropriating him. Her heart sank, even as he introduced her to Philip.
Philip, seeming blithely oblivious to the newlyweds' dismay, conveyed his approval of Liliane with a flirtatious grin. "Alexandre, you have found a very pretty countess. I envy your luck." He caught up her hand and kissed it. "How do you find life in the country after the sophistication of Andalusian cities, my lady?"
" 'Tis most pleasant, Your Majesty." Liliane smiled up at Alexandre with particular brilliance in a vain attempt to fend off Philip's attention. Within her was the growing certainty that Philip was going to cost them their happiness. "But, then, I should find life fair with my lord even in a barren desert."
As if disappoint
ed, Philip arched his left brow and laughed softly. "By Saint Michael, Alex, your beautiful wife's in love with you. 'Tis unfashionable but a splendid relief from the calculation of most grasping vixens. Fortunately, Countess, you will not be obliged to follow your husband into the desert; instead, you shall remain in Provence to grace France."
"Remain?" she echoed numbly. "Am I to understand that Alexandre is ..."
"To accompany His Majesty to Palestine," Alexandre finished flatly. He looked at her as if he wanted to cut his own throat.
Liliane could not conceal her stark dismay. At her stricken face, Philip murmured, "Aye, she does love you, you poor cockerel. If I were jealous and wanted revenge, this would be it. If I could, I would reward you better for your past service, mon ami. I need you, Alexandre. That infernal roasting spit across the sea may turn kings and heathen to my taste, but my appetite will be satisfied only upon a whole and suzerain France. France, not your mother, birthed you. You were bred not from your father's seed, but from those vast pine forest blowing northward of here to the sea-battered rocks of the Aquitaine." Philip grasped Alexandre's shoulders. "I am a clever fellow, ami; I am very good at being king, and you know that not another like me is going to come along for another hundred years. England has a blow-hard bully boy on the throne and a pimply coin counter in the larder; Spain is being gutted by Moors; and Italy by its greedy lords and the Church. This is France's golden hour, and if I have to squeeze your marrow blood and that of a thousand others, I shall use every last, glittering drop. I shall do it"—he shook Alexandre slightly—"and you will damned well smile while I squeeze."
Alexandre was silent for a long moment, then his lips curved in a weary smile. "I have been your man since the Flanders rout; only a pile of rocks over my bones will ever keep me from answering your call. But grant me one boon, if you will, sire; leave the last trump to God."
Philip laughed heartily and threw his arms about Alexandre. "I knew you would not fail me!" He held Alexandre at arm's length again and, to Liliane's surprise, she saw his eyes were glistening with tears. "You are the best of my knights, and my most faithful friend. With you at my side, I cannot fail. Glory awaits us both, ami! History follows in our very footsteps. We will bring back the days of Charlemagne and make France so strong that none will dare challenge her integrity."
What has all this to do with the invasion of a distant country whose integrity France ought to respect? Liliane wondered, but such a question was not only impolitic, but virtually incomprehensible to a monarch preoccupied with la gloire de la France et du roi. Philip might love Alexandre, but he was mercilessly willing to use him to the death, see his home lost through abandonment and neglect, and deny him family and children. As with most kings, his favor was two-edged. Unfortunately, the edge that might have benefited Alexandre was proving dull, indeed.
So far, all Alexandre had gained from Philip's friendship was flattery and a short reprieve from Jacques de Signe's open attack. Philip's flattery was worth nothing and his reprieve would end the instant he left France. If Jacques used her banditti plan now, without Alexandre and his best knights as defenders, the Brueil lands might well be lost, and it would be her fault.
Dinner that night proved quite a success. Doucette jumped at the opportunity to prove that her cuisine could please a king, and her efforts had never been more artful. Had she known that Philip was normally no trencherman, especially when he was fired with a new campaign, she would have been less boastful of his royal compliments in the kitchen. Despite the king's disinterest, every morsel was devoured by his less abstemious knights and retainers, that so to the end of her life, Doucette had a fine tale to tell—one that gathered splendid additions to its menu with every passing year.
Alexandre and Liliane might as well have been served bread and water, for both had lost their appetites. For Alexandre's sake, Liliane was as charming as possible to Philip, who reponded as if he were not married. After Philip's first queen had died, he virtually imprisoned his second wife, the Danish Princess Ingeborg, and had his bishops annul their marriage so that he might marry his mistress, the Tirolese Lady Agnes.
For dinner, Liliane had worn her wedding dress, which Philip much admired. He also admired her skin, her hair and her eyes. She noticed that he was careful not to make Alexandre too jealous, but her husband seemed to play tittle mind to the conversation. His mind was miles away, probably already in searing Palestine. He laughed at none of Philip's witticisms, but Philip appeared oblivious to Alexandre's humorless distraction. Such ' was not the case, Liliane soon discovered.
She learned several things about the King of France that evening, primarily that he had a mind like a razor and missed nothing. Philip was capable of presenting whatever face he chose to get the reaction he wanted. Liliane concluded that Alexandre had already learned this. Short of being rude when he was around the king, Alexandre retreated into himself and waited Philip out, aware that sooner or later Philip would make his case. As a result, Philip usually wasted little folderol on Alexandre, most likely relieved to have a simple relationship. All he wanted to know was that Alexandre would give his life for France. Tonight's gallantry was mostly for the sake of Alexandre's bride, but his manners did not extend to allowing her to be present when he closeted himself with Alexandre for two hours after dinner.
Too restless and anxious to go to bed, Liliane saw the household settled and went to walk in the garden. The perfume of primulas, verbena and yarrow reminded her of the Moorish gardens where Alexandre would soon be in the Holy Land. More than Jacques's wolfish ambitions, she dreaded being separated from Alexandre. They had too little time together to really know each other beyond their flowering passion. Now they might be separated for years. She had perceived that Alexandre needed something from her she could not yet give him—a womanliness beyond the body she so passionately yielded him. And if Oriental females had a superlative skill, it was at' using their mysterious femininity.
Liliane did not expect Alexandre to be a monk; he would be gone too long to sleep alone. And yet, much as she was already becoming jealous of the Eastern women who might enter his life, she was aware too that the refined women would be closely closeted. He would have to turn to unfeeling street whores. Although Alexandre had spoken little of being lonely in his first experience of the Crescent, she sensed that he dreaded being isolated in a hostile land almost as much as he dreaded another brutal, pointless war. Philip did not strike her as being the foil of anyone, including the Church he had blatantly ignored when he neglected the impediment of divorce and took a second wife. In time, the Pope pardoned him, but why would Philip, of all men, bother with a Holy War, particularly in the company of Richard, whom he thought reckless?
Suddenly, she saw a tall figure watching her from the shadow of the wall. Her hand moved to the poignard concealed beneath her sleeve. Although she was Alexandre's wife, she still never went unarmed.
"Never mind, Countess," the figure said softly. "I have but come to enjoy the moonlight."
The voice was Charles's, but Liliane did not relax. While she had not run afoul of his mastiffs, she and Charles were no more friends than they'd ever been. "I would prefer you left, Charles," she said quietly. "I wish to be alone."
He stepped away from the wall and came toward her. "I can imagine that you would, Countess. All your bright smiles at the king aside, you seemed rather glum at dinner." His big shoulders were imposing in the dim light cast by the courtyard torches, and he smiled oddly down at her. "Strange, I should have thought that you would be delighted. With Alexandre gone, what is to stop Uncle Jacques from descending upon this place like a wolf On a pen of sheep?"
"I have encountered very few sheep loyal to Alexandre," she replied flatly, "and you and I must stop Jacques. Take what is left of my dowry and hire mercenaries in Avignon if you must,"
"Brave words, but I really do think you hate to see Alexandre go." His tone was mocking, but not so much as usual. He sounded too defeated to want to bait her.
Charles laughed. "Would it suit your uncle's suspicious nature to discover you are so loath to see your husband leave?
"Go," Liliane said tiredly. "I am in no mood for your idle taunts."
"Idle?" He turned serious. "Was your dowry offer idle?"
She eyed him narrowly. "I can supply castellans, perhaps six unlanded knights for a goodly time, if we find them quickly. Unless"—she could not hide a note of anger and contempt— "Philip sends the entire country to the desert."
"Who would govern those mercenaries?" Charles challenged. "You? Then have them betray the castle in a fight?"
"Choose your own men, but be prepared to answer for your decisions upon their employment to me. I would have you as an ally, Charles, not as my governor."
"With six armed knights at my command, you might not have a choice," he drawled. "I could pack you into the keep until you lost your beauty . . . and your hold on Alexandre."
"Alexandre would kill you."
"When he returned, perhaps; but he would have his land."
Liliane laughed suddenly, softly. "You are his bulldog to the bone, are you not?" Her hand left the poignard and plucked a primula. She handed it to Charles. "Choose your men and lock me in your keep when Alexandre is gone. I may lose my youth there, but not my faith to him. You may learn that he cares for more than my beauty."