Great Maria (v5)

by Cecelia Holland

  Maria looked from him to Richard. Richard’s face was rigidly expressionless. He said, “What other men?”

  “I cannot tell you that until we have your pledge of support.”

  “I cannot pledge you anything until I know who you are.”

  Theobald’s hands twitched over his belt. Sitting down, he had to look steeply up to meet Richard’s eyes. He seemed uncomfortable. He said, “Perhaps I can change your mind. We have the resources to give you what you most desire. Join us, and you will be the Duke of Marna.”

  For a moment Richard did not move, his eyes on Theobald. Against the wall by the door, the knight waited, intent on them. At last Richard lifted his cup.

  “Get out,” he said to Theobald. He drank.

  Theobald’s face fell still. He blinked once, looked at Maria, and stared up at Richard again. Slowly he got to his feet, and his son brought him his cloak. They went out the door in single file.

  Maria stood up. The knight started after them. Calling him back, Richard sat down in his chair.

  “Holy Cross,” he said. “He must have been hatched out in a dunghill.”

  “You should have taken him,” Maria said.

  “Oh, no.” Richard nodded to the knight. “Go to Agato. Keep to yourself, watch the Duke. You heard him, just now. Whatever happens, I want to know about it.”

  “My lord.” The knight saluted him and left the hall.

  Maria put away the spindle and the spun yarn and poked her feet back into her shoes. Under his breath, Richard said, “Duke of Marna,” and laughed. She went up beside him.

  “Come to bed.”

  He drank his cup empty. Drops of wine glistened in his beard. “Will you start the rumor for me? About the priest?”

  “God’s blood. Do you forget nothing?”

  He smiled at her, sleek as Theobald. “Do it.”

  “I will. I suppose as long as the poor man’s here you’ll just make him miserable.”

  “That’s right.”

  They went out the door and started up the stairs toward their room. Maria said, “You should warn Fitz-Michael and the Duke.”

  “Why should I help them? It’s their Archbishop who has been giving me all this trouble.” He pushed her ahead of him through the door. “I thought you wanted to go to bed?”

  ***

  The ostler’s daughter looked relieved to see her. When they had settled in one corner of the sunlit kitchen and the scullion had brought them a tray of jam tarts, she said, “So you let him back into your grace again. You are broad-minded.”

  Maria brushed crumbs from her dress. “Every husband beats his wife, now and then.”

  “Not necessarily before the holy altar during the elevation of the Host.”

  While the other woman sewed placidly beside her, Maria ate another of the tarts. Eventually, cautious, she said, “I am afraid that this priest really must go.”

  The woman lowered her hands and her work. “Oh? Everyone thought they had been reconciled, when Dragon sent the Saracens away.”

  Maria shook her head. “No, it is impossible.”

  “I’m not surprised.” She stitched rapidly. “Especially after yesterday’s sermon. You were not there, we all marked it.”

  Maria broke open a sweet cake and picked out the nuts. When the ostler’s daughter did not go on, she said, “Well?”

  “He spoke on that charter, the Saracen charter, that was sinful—corrupt, he called it, that word he likes.” She nibbled a tart quickly away to nothing and licked jam from her fingers. “He is an unpleasant man. What were you thinking of doing?”

  “Richard said to start a rumor. That he abused me, or something of the sort.”

  The ostler’s daughter chewed steadily. “Ramkin will be here within the next few days. You know Ramkin, the charcoal vendor.”

  “The crier of Birnia,” Maria said drily.

  The other woman laughed. “If I tell him the priest winked at you, he will have it to the next dozen houses that you escaped his lust only by the personal intervention of Almighty God.” She crossed herself. “It will take little enough. No one likes him here, that priest; all he ever talks about is our sins.”

  Her cook came through the back door of the kitchen, and the ostler’s daughter called him over. They had a short, sharp dispute over the discreet use of garlic. The cook marched stiff-necked over to the hearth. The woman settled back again, soft and white as a Saracen dumpling.

  “I thought you would be married again,” Maria said. “Have you turned them all down?”

  “Hah.” The woman’s eyes sparkled at her. “Your battle in the church reminded me of the evils of marriage. I have put on a nice cushion now—” She stroked her plump round arms. “I have no wish to run myself to a skeleton for a man’s sake.” Maria laughed. They turned to talk of their sewing.

  ***

  Ramkin drove his charcoal cart out of the forest. Maria stayed out of the town, lest anyone ask her to deny the rumors. William had come back. His spies reported that the town was full of scandalous talk, the church ill-attended, and the priest more adamant than ever.

  They all went hawking after rabbits in the fen beyond the river. Maria took Jilly in front of her on her mare. When the child fell asleep, she sat with Eleanor under a hedge and held the little girl in her lap, watching Richard and William ride out across the bleak sweep of the fen.

  “Don’t you want to come back to Castelmaria?” Eleanor asked. “Don’t you miss us?”

  “Of course I do. But—” Maria shrugged. “Perhaps it is the sunlight in Mana’a, so close to the sea—I like it there.”

  Eleanor nagged her a while longer, reminding her of all the wonderful things at Castelmaria. Far down the brown fen, the two brothers were racing their horses. The sky was full of light clouds, darkening along the western sky. Between the fen and the dun sky, there was no color anywhere. Jilly woke, yawning, and sat up.

  “Well,” Eleanor said, “there is a knight in Castelmaria, not a young man, but in the best of life—he says he wants to marry me.”

  Maria crowed. “Eleanor. Are you? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I’m not certain I want him. I thought—if you came back to Castelmaria—” The woman’s hand gave Maria’s arm a loving touch. “I would have stayed with you. But if you will not be with us so much anymore—”

  “What is he like? Who is he? Do I know him?”

  Eleanor turned her profile to her. “He knows of Roger—he says he honors me that I have kept faith with him so many years. He has fought with Roger in the mountains.”

  “Why marry this man if all you can think of still is Roger?”

  Eleanor lowered her eyes. The fading light made her soft and pretty again, as she had been in her youth. “I don’t love Roger. I never did. But he was so handsome, and he talked so well…”

  She smiled, remembering. At last, Maria said, “What did you quarrel about, you and he?”

  “He said he would marry me, if I came away with him, but when he had what he wanted—” Eleanor clasped her small, veined hands, white from the potions she used every night. “I could not lie with a man who thought me unworth marrying.”

  “Come to Mana’a. It’s better now, you’ll like it now.”

  “No. I can see that you must stay with Richard, but not I. He’s a heretic and a blasphemer. He has no feelings.”

  Maria said, surprised, “That isn’t true. His feelings run very deep, I think.”

  “Then he doesn’t show it.” Eleanor sat staring down the fen. Beyond, over her shoulder, the sun sinking through the clouds turned sickly yellow. “He doesn’t care about you, Maria.”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “Know him—he’s my cousin! He’s cold as a snake.”

  Maria stood Jilly on her feet and rose. Across the long fen, fading into dusk, the twilight wind ran. She could not see Richard or William. She went to her horse, Jilly trotting at her heels.

  “Maria,” Eleanor said.

/>   Maria lifted Jilly up into the saddle. Eleanor came up behind her and took hold of her arm.

  “Please.”

  “Take this knight,” Maria said. “We will endower you, you won’t marry like a serf.” She put her foot in the stirrup and swung up behind the little girl. Eleanor clutched her skirt.

  “I apologize. I meant nothing. You know how I talk.”

  Maria reined her mare away. Heavy as metal, the first few drops of rain struck her shoulders. Richard and William galloped out of the dusk.

  “Come up on the high ground,” Richard called. He leaned from his saddle to lift Eleanor up onto her horse’s back. Three gray rabbits hung by their hind legs from his saddle pommel. The hawk rode on William’s fist.

  Maria pulled her cloak around Jilly. The child took hold of the saddle’s square pommel.

  “Mama? Will it be all right?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  In the cave of the cloak Jilly leaned back against Maria’s body. Down by the sulphurous horizon, lightning forked out of the sky. The thunder rolled across the fen. Richard came up beside her. They galloped through the rain down the hard-packed road.

  Sweeping in from the sea, the storm fell upon them. They had to stop their horses. Maria closed her cloak over Jilly’s head. Richard put his arm around her shoulders. They leaned together, their backs to the hammering rain.

  The thunder crashed. Threads of lightning splintered across the sky. Clouds billowed huge as castles over the flat, barren fen, its hollows already flooded, the high cattails streaming doubled over by the wind. Rain ran down Maria’s cheeks and into her eyes. Richard had his cloak over them. Jilly whimpered, and he spoke to her. The thunder broke hurtful in Maria’s ears. She looked up into the battering rain and the clouds hustling like an army across the sky.

  The rain was slackening. The lightning flickered, and the thunder grumbled off, banging along the edge of the sky. The rain ceased. They lifted their heads. The thunder rambled away, mild as lamb’s hoofs.

  They straightened apart from each other. Richard’s hair and beard were drenched. Drops of water clung to his eyelashes. Jilly called, “Papa,” and Maria lifted her toward him. He took the child in front of him on his horse. Maria rubbed her cheeks dry on her arm.

  The sky lightened. They moved off again down the road. Maria turned the sodden fur of her hood out to dry.

  “Eleanor wants to marry,” she said. “What did you say his name is, Eleanor?”

  “William the German,” she said. She and William d’Alene were riding along side by side behind them. Richard nodded.

  “He’s second-command at Castelmaria—he’s something older than she is.” He glanced back at Eleanor. Under his breath, he said, “Old enough to get into bed with anything.” He curled his arm around Jilly.

  “Were you frightened, kit?”

  Jilly shook her head, solemn. She lounged in the curve of his body. Maria felt a pang of jealousy. Jilly with her gray eyes and soft, curling hair would be pretty someday. She was pretty now. Maria looked away.

  ***

  Maria and Eleanor went into the town of Birnia, to buy some lace for Eleanor’s wedding dress. Richard had arranged for the dowry. They were talking of a Christmas wedding. Eleanor had forgotten their fighting, but Maria could scarcely hide her dislike from the other woman. To disguise it she let Eleanor take Jilly in the cart with her.

  They came to the market place, half-empty in the late morning; many of the stalls were unstocked. The ostler’s daughter was walking along the side of the square that fronted on the churchyard. Maria rode over to meet her. The priest came out onto the church porch. She stuck her chin in the air and ignored him.

  The ostler’s daughter leaned over the wheel of the cart. She and Eleanor discussed embroideries for the trousseau. Maria dismounted. The priest was coming across the churchyard. She put her back to him.

  “I wish he would leave,” the ostler’s daughter said softly. “I have not heard Mass these past three Sundays, he is putting me in the way of sin.”

  Maria could not keep from laughing. Her mare snorted. Several other men were approaching her, their eyes fixed on her. She stepped back, alert to them. The priest grasped her upper arm.

  Eleanor shrieked. Maria spun away, striking aside his hand. The ostler’s daughter turned a white, startled face toward her. Tall men stood between them, closing around Maria; she scanned their faces. The yellow-haired smith was among them.

  “You are making a mistake,” she said, her voice low. “I have been your friend in the past.”

  Behind them, Jilly screamed. Maria lunged at the men around her, trying to escape between them. The smith caught her around the waist. She flew into a panic; she drove her fingernails at his eyes, and, when he flinched back, struggled in his arms chest to chest with him and brought her knee up hard between his legs. He grunted and caved in at the waist, but someone had grabbed her by the hair.

  “What are they doing?” a woman cried somewhere, and other people called out. The smith and his men bundled Maria down the street. She screamed for Jilly. Her arm was twisted up between her shoulders. No use in fighting. She sobbed for breath, in the grip of many arms. They carried her in under low roof beams and put her down.

  The smith gave quick orders in patois. He was a long, ropy-muscled man, his shoulders enormous from his work. His eyes shone in the darkness of the hovel. The five men who had taken her packed the room, stooping under the low roof. The air reeked of their bodies.

  In the corner was a straw tick covered with a blanket. She sat down on it, her legs under her. Jilly was not there, nor Eleanor—she wondered if they had been taken elsewhere, or if they had escaped. The smith and the priest stood before her, the smith bent to clear the roof.

  “You cannot mistreat her,” the priest said. “She came to my help once—she stood between me and him.” He cast a frightened look at her.

  The smith shoved him. “You fool. Who do you think spread those tales about you?” He nodded toward her. “See? She’s listening.” He struck the priest in the chest again. “Go do as I said.”

  The priest’s face was haggard. His eyes were buried in black hollows. She thought he looked guilty. The other men were leaving, and the priest followed them out the low door.

  Maria looked around the place. In the opposite side of the room there was another tick of straw. Between them was a stone hearth and a bench. The floor was swept and the hearth laid out with a fresh fire. The pot hanging over it was soaped to make it easier to clean; she wondered if the smith had a wife.

  The smith pulled the door closed. He sank down on his heels, talking to a stranger. Maria slumped her shoulders, her eyes on the fire, to eavesdrop on them.

  “It worked,” the smith said.

  “Oh, ay, it worked. For now. Dragon will unwork it.” The stranger spat.

  “The priest thinks—”

  “Hang the priest.” The other man pulled a scornful face. “He’s a fool. Could you have talked him into this otherwise? We are not here to get back the ancient customs of Birnia; we are here to keep Dragon busy. And maybe make a little for ourselves. Listen to me. Forget holding her here. Theobald will make us rich enough if we can get her to Occel.”

  The two men bent together and their voices dropped to whispers. A grunt exploded from the smith. He glanced at Maria. So they were Theobald’s men, part of Theobald’s conspiracy against the Duke.

  She looked around the hovel again, searching for some weapon. Richard had still been asleep when she left the castle. He would not miss her for hours. If Eleanor had escaped—she wondered again about Jilly, gnawed with worry.

  The two men were staring at her. The stranger tugged on his lower lip. “We have to cross the river. If we can get her out onto the fen he will never find us.” He nudged the smith. “Go bring us some horses.”

  “Don’t hurt her, for God’s love,” the smith said. He went out. The stranger came bent-legged toward Maria.

  “Don’t hurt her. Don’
t hurt her.” He leaned toward her, face to face with her. His breath was rotten. “When we get out on the fen—”

  Maria spat into his face. The gout of spittle struck him in the eye. He shrank back. He smacked her across the cheek, and falling sideways she caught the handle of the pot on the fire and turned it over on the stranger’s head.

  The man screeched. Boiling yellow soup streamed down over his head and face. Maria lunged for the door. Her skirts entangled her, and she went to her knees. She dived through the door into the street. The screams of the man in the hovel followed her away. The street was thronged with people, wheeling to look at her. She sprinted down an alley. A flock of chickens ran squawking ahead of her. The stench of manure reached her nose. Stopping to take off her shoes, she threw them over a fence. Behind her voices rose in a general chorus. She turned a corner and raced across an expanse of high grass. Dogs barked. She slid through a brush-choked passage between two fences.

  Just as she reached the open street again, a pack of men rushed into sight. They screamed and pointed at her. She wheeled. She scrambled back down the overgrown alley and raced through someone’s garden. The men were only a few yards behind her. Her lungs burned painfully. She stepped on something sharp and limped hard across a narrow street. Strange buildings surrounded her. The men were running after her. She circled behind a high fence. At the corner there was a rain barrel half full of water. She climbed into it and crouched down, and the rising water submerged her.

  Through the water and the barrel she could hear the men trampling up around her, even their voices although not the words. When she had to breathe again she raised her head slowly up above the surface.

  Above the rim of the barrel, the backs and heads of the men showed all around her. She drew a breath and quietly went under water again. Her heart was pounding. She bunched her skirts and sleeves in her hands to keep the cloth from floating. Her lungs began to burn. She looked up through the water. The men were gone.