Siren Song

by Roberta Gellis

  “There,” Elizabeth said, looking up from what she was reading and sighing with relief. She had told Alys they would come by river, but it was good to have her guess confirmed.

  “The end of the month,” Alys exclaimed. “Today is the twenty-eighth. The messenger was very slow. They may be here the day after tomorrow.” But it was not relief Elizabeth saw in Alys’s face when she spoke.

  “My love, what is wrong?” Elizabeth cried.

  “I am afraid,” Alys whimpered. “I will not know what to do for him. I will do something wrong and hurt him, make him worse.”

  “No,” Elizabeth began in an automatic reflex of comforting, and then drew in her breath sharply. This was her opportunity, her excuse. “Alys, do you want me to come to Marlowe to nurse your father?”

  There was a long silence. Elizabeth scarcely dared to breathe while Alys stared at her own hands, knotting and unknotting in her lap. Both women knew exactly what was at stake. If Alys conceded Elizabeth the right to care for William, she would also withdraw her right to object to the relationship between them. Fear struggled with jealousy, but a third force entered the field. Raymond d’Aix would be coming home also.

  “Yes,” Alys sighed. “Yes, please come, Elizabeth.”

  It was fortunate that the boat bearing William and Raymond arrived in the late afternoon of the second day. Had the voyage been slower than expected, Alys might well have changed her mind. Although Elizabeth did not deliberately put herself forward, it was very strange to Alys to have another woman of authority in the house. Having heard, “But Lady Elizabeth says it must be done thus and so,” from Alys for years, the maids simply came to Elizabeth for directions and advice if Alys did not happen to be there. And Elizabeth gave the order or advice without thinking. She was very proud of Alys’s management, feeling quite correctly that it was largely owing to her teaching, but she also felt as if Alys were a little girl playing at keeping house.

  A faint resentment flickered in Alys that might have grown, but it was completely drowned when her father was carried ashore. She and Elizabeth were waiting at the dock, and they heard William raving before the boat was warped in. Alys burst into tears and rushed forward as the stretcher was lifted out of the boat. Raymond had climbed up just ahead of it, and he was barely able to pull Alys out of the way as William struck out at her.

  “Careful,” Raymond cried, “let me—”

  But Elizabeth had already stepped forward and she said, “William, stop that!” not loudly, but in a clear, compelling tone. At the same time she laid one hand on his forehead. His glazed eyes turned toward her, and his struggling body went limp.

  “Why did you bring him when he was so sick?” Alys cried, turning on Raymond.

  “I had no choice, I swear it,” Raymond replied. “If I had not—”

  “Later,” Elizabeth said firmly. “First we must get Sir William into his bed.” She turned to the four large serfs who had come with them and directed them in English to take the stretcher and not to jostle it. “Will you be so good,” she said to Raymond, having switched to French again, “as to ride my horse back to the keep. I wish to walk beside Sir William.”

  Elizabeth’s face was calm and her voice steady, but she was sick with terror. William seemed a ghost of himself. All she could think of was getting him where she could examine him carefully and do something for him. Had she been less frightened, she would have waited for Alys to say whether she wished to walk with her father also. Had Alys not already had another preoccupation, she would have been furious with Elizabeth. However, when Alys made her protest to Raymond and received his answer, she had been looking full into his face. He was hollow eyed and haggard.

  “You are not well yourself,” Alys said.

  “I am only tired and—and very, very worried.”

  His voice faltered. Raymond had remembered Alys was beautiful, but his memory had been pale in comparison with her reality. The blue eyes that could glitter with anger or twinkle with humor were misty with concern for him now.

  “Were you hurt also in that battle?”

  “It was only a raid,” Raymond murmured idiotically.

  Ever since Alys had budded breasts and her body had formed, men had been looking at her with the bemused longing that showed in Raymond’s face now. Mostly she had found it very funny, because it followed or preceded sessions of boasting and strutting that reminded her sharply of cocks strutting before the hens in the poultry yard. Once or twice she had been frightened or disgusted, because there was an ugly rapacity mixed into the longing. A few times she had felt pity.

  This time, Alys did not even remember that she had ever before seen men look at her thus. She was suffused with tenderness, with the desire to put her arms around this man and tell him not to worry, that she would bring him peace, fulfill his longing. She had moved a step forward and put out her hand, which he took, before she remembered that he was only a hireling, totally unsuitable for her. It would be a dreadful cruelty to lead him to believe she could be his. A sharp pang of loss made her push the ugly thought away. There were more immediate problems than her relationship with Raymond.

  “Are you hurt, Raymond?” she repeated sharply, squeezing his hand and giving it a little shake to wake him from whatever dream held him.

  “Hurt? Oh, not to speak of.”

  “Idiot!” Alys exclaimed, but somehow the tenderness she felt crept into the word and turned it into a caress. Raymond caught his breath. Alys hurried on. “If I did not wish you to speak of it, I would not have asked. Where are you hurt?”

  “A cut on the arm and another on the leg. Nothing.” His voice was not steady.

  “Are they healed?”

  “Not—not quite.”

  “Come then, I will see to you.”

  She turned from him to give orders about bringing what little baggage Raymond had carried along up to the keep and then gestured the man holding the horses forward. Raymond moved to lift her to the saddle, but she shook her head, telling him that he looked as if he would have enough to do to mount himself. As they turned toward the keep, Alys saw the group carrying her father and guilt smote her. She had forgotten him! Then while she watched, Elizabeth bent over the litter, either speaking to or touching William. Guilt and jealousy dwindled together. Elizabeth would care better for her father than she could herself, and she would be free to… No, she would not think of that now. When she had time and quiet would be soon enough to reexamine things in her life that she had considered basic principles.

  “Why did you bring Papa home?” Alys asked again, when they were moving slowly in the wake of the walking party.

  Raymond looked at the beautiful face turned to him, at the firm chin and steady eyes, and could have wept with relief. Had his mother or sisters asked that ques­tion, he would have had to lie, to continue to carry the burden all alone, and he was so tired! Alys would not fall into hysterics. Alys would help him.

  “Someone is trying to murder him. I, and the earl of Hereford also, felt he would be safer at Marlowe than anywhere else.”

  Alys’s eyes opened wide with astonishment, but she did not, as Raymond expected, give any sign of fear. “That is ridiculous,” she said. “I do not believe there is anyone in the world who hates Papa.”

  “You must believe me!” Raymond exclaimed. Hastily he related what had happened in the camp and the abbey. Alys listened, belief and confusion growing together.

  “I do believe you,” she said at last, “but it is quite mad. Who could possibly wish…?”

  She stopped. Her eyes were fixed on Elizabeth, who now seemed to be holding her father’s hand while she walked beside him. If Sir Mauger knew… Alys remembered him standing outside her father’s closed door, listening. What if he had heard something that made him suspicious? She had come as quickly as possible, but she had been lagging behind, making herself busy with something. She had had quite enough of Sir Mauger on the little ride they had taken. Like a fool, he had been sighing over Aubery’s pass
ion for her. Did he think her an idiot? Alys remembered Aubery’s attitude on his last visit—it had only been a few months earlier—and to say the least, it had not been one of deep passion. Elizabeth had warned her, too, that Aubery had not changed.

  “That is what Hereford and I could not imagine. Your father is well liked everywhere. The earl and I came to believe it must be something to do with Richard of Cornwall.”

  Alys had been about to voice her suspicion of Mauger, but that stopped her. Hereford’s idea was far more reasonable, really. After all, Elizabeth and her father had loved each other for many years. Sir Mauger had done nothing in all those years. Why should he burst into violence all of a sudden? On the other hand, it was not at all impossible that someone wished to separate Papa permanently from Uncle Richard. No one had ever tried to kill him before, but other attempts of all kinds had been made to destroy Uncle Richard’s love for Papa. And at war it might have seemed that it would be easy.

  “That is possible. I had not thought of it before.” Alys’s eyes narrowed. “While Papa is sick, there is no need to worry. It will be easy to tell the servants that no one is to enter his apartment but you, me, Martin, and Elizabeth. Once he is on his feet again—” Her voice quivered. “He will get well, will he not?”

  “I am sure he will,” Raymond said as heartily as he could.

  At that moment they caught up with the litter party.

  Alys bent to look at her father. He was quiet now, although his lips moved as if he were talking in his dreams, but his right hand was free again and it clung to Elizabeth’s. Elizabeth turned to Raymond. Her lips trembled. There was something she was afraid to ask, but she had to know the answer.

  “Has he been out of his head the whole time?” she asked.

  “No, my lady. Yesterday for a few minutes he knew me, and this morning…” Raymond’s voice thickened, and he cleared his throat. “This morning I thought he was better. He woke and spoke to me quite sensibly, asked me about the men and such, and he slept quite easy, not trying to toss about or muttering. I thought…but then he seemed to grow worse again.”

  “Oh, excellent!” Elizabeth exclaimed, and then smiled at Raymond’s expression. “No, I did not mean it excellent that he grew worse. One does not put off a fever like this in a single day. But if he knew you in the morning, he is growing better. When he is washed and cooled, he will be easier, and still better tomorrow morning, I hope.”

  In the keep, after the bustle of getting William settled was over, Alys came out of her father’s chamber into the hall and found Raymond sitting limply in one of the chairs near the great hearth. He began to struggle to his feet when he saw her.

  “Sit,” she said, and then, “no, get up.” She came forward and lent a surprisingly strong hand to pull him out of the chair. “Come into your own chamber and let me see to you. I think you would be better in bed yourself.”

  “Should I speak to Diccon about—”

  “There is no reason for you to speak to Diccon now,” Alys said, pushing him gently toward the northeast tower. “I cannot believe anyone will send an army against us. In any case, the guards will give warning. That would be soon enough to speak to Diccon.”

  It was obvious Alys was not taking that possibility seriously. Raymond said, “But…” and then fell silent. He did not really expect any attack. What had happened in Wales was beginning to seem like a bad dream. Inside the strong walls of Marlowe, surrounded by devoted servants, it seemed impossible that any harm could come to William. Raymond sighed as the load of responsibility, which had become nearly intolerable, slipped away. He was so tired. The bed in the dim inner room beckoned invitingly, but his progress toward it was stopped abruptly.

  “Stand still,” Alys said.

  Dull with fatigue, Raymond tried to think what he had forgotten to do. While he wondered, his surcoat was whipped off and, before he could marshal his wits to protest, his tunic followed.

  “Sit down now,” Alys directed, pushing him toward a chair.

  Alys then untied his shirt. Raymond put up his hand to stop her, but she grasped his wrist and looked at the sleeve, which was stained with pus and dried blood and stuck to the wound under it. At once her eyes went to his legs. Above the right knee was another similar mess.

  “Sit still,” she said. “I must get cloths and water to soak your shirt and chausses free of that muck.”

  Raymond gaped at her back as she walked away. When he tried to stop her from removing his shirt, it had been because he wished to save her from seeing the ugly wounds. He could not even imagine his mother’s reaction to such a sight. One of his sisters had become faint from seeing a nearly healed scar. His fatigue was so great, however, that he was reacting to everything in slow motion. By the time he had formulated the ideas clearly, two maids had come in. One woman wet his arm and knee with warm water and oil shaken together. The other carried a small table near and began to lay salves on it.

  Raymond closed his eyes and leaned back, dozing in spite of the increased ache in arm and knee. He had slept only in few minute snatches for almost two weeks. Eventually, he was wakened by a sharper pain as the shirt was pulled away and removed, but he did not bother to open his eyes until Alys’s voice said, “Lift your hips a little, Raymond, so we can get these chausses off you.”

  That snapped him nearly awake. “What?”

  “I have cleaned and bound your arm. Now I want to do your knee. Then you can go to bed and sleep yourself out. Come, Raymond, just stand a little.

  “No.”

  “No, what?” she asked, smiling at him tenderly.

  He was dazed with insufficient sleep and his brow was furrowed with anxiety. He looked like an overtired little boy with a problem.

  “You cannot…” he faltered, and shook his head to clear it.

  In an eye blink Alys thought she understood. He did not wish to be naked before her. Alys flushed slightly. She had not thought about it at all. Naked men had no particular meaning for her. She bathed her father and Earl Richard, as her mother had done before her, and had salved hurts on Harold, John, and Aubery that necessitated their being bare. But now she felt shy, all of a sudden, not at all inclined to say, Do not be ridiculous, as she would have to Harold or Aubery.

  “Fetch a clean shirt for Sir Raymond,” Alys said to a maid, “and bring me a—a drying cloth.”

  The maid looked surprised but trotted away obediently. Raymond did not notice. He had just made sense of what Alys said three remarks back, that she had cleaned his arm. He looked down at it, neatly bandaged in clean linen. His mind then grasped the fact that Alys, not the maids, had tended his hurt and that she intended to do the same for the wound on his leg. He stared at her, but she looked just as usual, not pale nor faint nor nauseated.

  “The wounds are very ugly,” he said apologetically, knowing the truth but not quite believing it.

  Alys patted his shoulder comfortingly. “That is only the spoiled blood and the evil humors coming out as they heal. Do not fret yourself. It will heal all smooth and do your fighting skill no hurt at all.”

  “Do you know of these things?”

  It was strange enough that Alys could force herself to wash and bandage, it was stranger still that she spoke as if it was an everyday thing, more, as if it was one of her skills, like embroidery.

  She smiled at him. “You need not think I offer false comfort. I cannot say I have set as many stitches in flesh as I have in cloth, but I am no novice at it. Lady Elizabeth taught me, and she is a fine physician. I know what will heal well and what will not. You may trust me.”

  Before he could answer most fervently that he did, the maid returned. Alys slid the shirt over his head and laid the drying cloth across his lap. Then, under this concealment, she grasped his chausses, which she had untied before she first told him to raise himself. “Hold the cloth and lift,” she said. Her eyes were on what she was doing and she did not see Raymond’s expression, which would have surprised her greatly. It was an unlikely mome
nt for a man’s face to set into iron-hard determination.

  The delicate thought of shirt and cloth to save him embarrassment was the final stone in the structure of Raymond’s love. He would have this woman, he decided, whatever the cost. There could be no other, he believed, with Alys’s combination of beauty, courage, and good sense. He had seen her in every circumstance likely to try a woman, and she had never failed. She had met every test, surpassing even hopes he did not know he had.

  Raymond thought of his father’s life with his mother. She was sweet and loving and had brought great estates, but in her presence there was always constraint, always a need to watch each word and gesture lest something offend her sensibilities or frighten her. Then Raymond thought of the three weeks he had spent in Marlowe keep, of the ease and the laughter, of the talk that covered everything from low jests to high politics, and Alys in the midst of all. Not once had she disturbed her men folk with tears or offended silence or haughty withdrawal.

  Humanly perfect, those words described her best. She was no saint, whose perfectness shamed all about them and brought discomfort. She had a quick temper, a sharp tongue, and a low sense of humor. Alys would twitch a cow’s ear to see it kick a man into a dung heap. She was willful as the devil, and far too prone to do things on her own without asking the advice or consent of her men folk. But all of those things made her a woman rather than an angel, made her the woman he intended to marry.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As the late afternoon waned into evening, William’s sleep became easier and less restless. He was cooler, too, Elizabeth thought, although she was not sure whether that was owing to the fact that she had been wiping him with wet cloths. Her worst anxiety had been relieved, however. The wounds were not mortified nor were they so bad as she had feared. He was terribly thin. Raymond had mumbled something about his unwillingness to eat.

  Alys stole softly into the room. She did not speak but looked questioningly at Elizabeth, who nodded and came toward her. Together they went out into the antechamber where torches and candles had been lit.