Great Maria (v5)

by Cecelia Holland

  They left the next day for Castelmaria, riding over the hills and the high meadows where the shepherds grazed their flocks. In the afternoon, Richard went off hawking. Father Yvet rode with Maria in the column before the wagons. She had not seen Stephen or Jilly in almost a year, and she packed his ears with stories of her children. The churchman was gallant enough to pretend interest, but she marked how his gaze drifted away to the barrel hillsides, flecked with rocks and an occasional spotted goat, and she fell silent.

  “Your father was master of this region, wasn’t he?” Father Yvet said, at last.

  Maria glanced sharply at him. “My father was a robber.”

  “A robber!” Startled into laughter, he turned his handsome head toward her. “What do you mean?”

  She lifted one shoulder. “He robbed the shepherds and the pilgrims and the Saracens. That’s what Richard meant, last night, that knights could outrun pilgrims. This was all wood, here, and wasteland. There was no other way to live.” It occurred to her that Richard might not want her to tell him that. “But we are honest folk now.”

  He said, “My child, you could not be otherwise.”

  Maria laughed. “You are very kind. After these mighty people you have met, we must seem very plain. I hope you will come to Mana’a.”

  “Perhaps I may.” His face quickened with interest. “A robber. Of what race?”

  “We are all Normans. Are you? Where were you born?”

  “I am a Lombard by birth. The name of my home village you would not know.”

  She did not have to prod him more to get him talking about himself. His graceful speech and his fine, elegant face held her the rest of the afternoon. At nightfall, when they had stopped in a rocky meadow to make a camp, they rode together to the edge of the grass, where the grooms were tethering the horses. Father Yvet dismounted and came to help her from the saddle.

  “Then your husband was a robber,” he said, looking up at her, and she took his hand and let him lower her to the ground. “Of course. Dragon.” He took her arm in his. The meadow was already full dark, swarming with people bringing wood and taking horses. Fireflies glinted in the trees around them.

  To himself, he muttered, “So the Emperor was humiliated by a common thief.”

  Maria kept silent. His tone rubbed. Here and there around them, a campfíre crackled up in a burst of flame. Suddenly Richard on his dark stallion blocked their way, a hawk on his fist. He threw the churchman a vicious look, dismounted, and said to her, “Come walk with me a little.”

  “I will.” She disengaged her arm from Father Yvet’s, but up ahead, the baby cried. “There, you hear that,” she said. “Go put your horse up.”

  He gave Father Yvet another prickly stare and led his horse away. The churchman watched him go, his face lively. “He is jealous of you.”

  “No. He’s just taken the hawk’s humor.”

  She went up to the fire and got Henry from the maidservant’s arms. Sitting down in the warmth, her back to the crowded meadow, she opened her dress and gave the baby her breast. Her women kept the other people away from her. While the baby tugged heartily on her breast, she thought over what the priest had said.

  Richard sat down beside her. “You have a courtier now.”

  “I wonder at you sometimes. Even Father Yvet remarked you are jealous of him.”

  “Did he? Good. What did he say to you?”

  She put her hand against the baby’s fine hair. On the top of his head the pulse thrummed evenly. “I told him my father was a robber. He made much of that.”

  “God’s death. Why did you tell him that?”

  “Should I not? Perhaps you should tell me all the things I may say, as for example, Good day, or—”

  “Stop,” he said. “Tell him anything you want. You said he made much of it. How do you mean?”

  She repeated what Father Yvet had said about the Emperor. Richard sat scratching his beard under his chin. The fire shining on his eyes turned them clear as light.

  “Do you like him?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I suppose so. Yes, I like his voice.”

  “Which one?”

  Gorged, the baby had fallen asleep. She said, “I like Father Yvet very well. He doesn’t go off hawking and leave me to ride by myself.” She pulled her dress closed.

  “Now who is jealous? I think you are right, catkin. Father Yvet is here to make me bow. But not to the Emperor.”

  “To whom, then?”

  “Father Yvet, to start.”

  Maria gave the baby to the maid. Behind her, in the trees, the wind clacked branches together. His hands to the heat, the churchman stood on the far side of the fire, charming the knights there. “His father was a weaver,” she said.

  “He told you that?”

  “Yes.”

  Richard rubbed his hands on his thighs. “I will need your help.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I have heard that before.”

  ***

  “Let me see him,” Eleanor cried. “Let me see—” She stretched her arms out for the baby. Maria stepped away from her horse. The ward at Castelmaria was dense with people. Everybody was talking and laughing at once. Richard’s horse walked up before her. He shouted to someone on the wall. Maria went through the mob, searching for Jilly and Stephen.

  “Maria!”

  Flora ran up to her, sobbing, and they embraced. The old woman babbled nonsense, as if Maria were a baby. She reminded Maria of Adela, of her mother, of her childhood; she too began to cry.

  Stephen was standing on the step into the New Tower. Beside him, there was a little girl with long brown hair. Maria, entangled in Flora’s arms, called out to them, but if they heard her they made no sign of it, they did not smile or come toward her. Eleanor, behind her, had the baby. Flora’s mouth was already pursed to coo at him. Maria crossed the ward to the New Tower door.

  “Stephen,” she said. She tried to put her arms around him, but he pulled sharply away from her.

  “My lady, don’t kiss me, I am too old for that now.” He turned. “Jilly, come greet our lady mother.”

  The little girl came grudgingly around him, her eyes lowered. Except for her shining brown hair Maria would not have recognized her. When Maria reached out to touch her, the child recoiled from her. Eleanor was coming. Maria drew back from the two strange children before her.

  “Jilly,” Eleanor said, the baby in her arms, “have you shown your lady mother what a well-mannered girl you are?”

  Wooden, the little girl took hold of her skirt and flexed her knees in a rigid bow. Eleanor shooed them all on through the door and up the stairs.

  “I have changed your room,” Eleanor called. “I think you’ll prefer this.”

  Maria said nothing. Stephen and Jilly climbed the stairs before her. She felt like a fool. She had longed so much to see them, and now they did not like her. They came to her old door and went in.

  “Maria. When I heard that Richard was shot, I prayed all night.” Eleanor stabbed a kiss at her. “Oh, how you must have suffered. I prayed for you, I felt your pain. Oh, you precious, precious thing.” She crowed over the baby. “Jilly, come see your precious baby brother.”

  Maria sat down on the bed. The old cupboard was gone—her mother’s cupboard. The bed was turned against a different wall. Strange thick carpets covered the floor. Jilly was looking unwillingly down at the baby, her hands twisting murderously behind her back.

  “Jilly,” Maria called. “Come here.”

  Stephen hurried into the room. Two porters brought a chest after him. The maids were all clustered around the baby. Maria wondered if Jilly had even heard her. Stephen came by her side.

  “Mama.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “There.”

  “What are these, Rahman’s manners?” She wrapped one arm around him. He struggled, and she hugged him hard against his will. He squawked, his hands thrusting against her.

  “Oh, Mama.”

  “What else did Rahman teach
you? Jilly, come here.”

  Eleanor said, “Judith? Do as you are bid.” She looked over her shoulder at Maria. “She is a most biddable child.”

  Jilly dragged herself reluctantly over toward Maria, who turned her around and started to brush her hair. To Stephen, she said, “What else does Rahman teach you?”

  “Oh.” His eyes rounded. “About stars, and how to play chess, and geography—”

  “I mean about me.” She stroked her daughter’s hair, thick and soft like Richard’s.

  “Rahman likes you, Mama,” Stephen said earnestly. “He told me so. But you are just a woman.” He sat on the bed next to her and put one arm around her shoulders. “So Papa and Robert and I must protect you, even when you don’t want us to.”

  Maria fingered a tangle out of Jilly’s hair. Under her touch the child was ungiving as a piece of wood. Richard came in, shouting something back down the stairs behind him. His voice boomed across the room. He strode over to Maria.

  “Here.” He caught her hand and clapped something into her palm.

  Jilly flinched. He reached out to touch her and she slipped between him and Stephen and raced out the door. Richard stared after her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Maria looked quickly down at the coin in her hand. Stephen cried, “Mama, I can read it.” He plucked the silver away from her. She lifted her face toward Richard. He was still watching the door, puzzled.

  “Why did she run away from me?”

  “She has forgotten us, that’s all.”

  Stephen held the coin out to her between his thumb and forefinger. “It says Ricardus Dominus.”

  Maria took the money back. On one side was a mass of Saracen decoration, and on the other a man’s head, wreathed in Christian marks. Richard tramped off across the room, pulling open the cupboard doors. He found the wine in the last place he looked. The cupboard doors stood wide open all around the room. Eleanor went around loudly shutting them. She and Richard paid each other thorny looks. Maria nearly laughed. At least something was the same. She turned to Stephen.

  “Did Rahman teach you that, too? To read Latin?”

  “Yes. That means Richard, lord. And that is Papa, there.”

  “It’s very handsome,” she said. “If only your father looked like that.” She hugged Stephen again. The boy rubbed against her affectionately. “Richard, did you hear him? Stephen can read Latin now.”

  Richard mumbled something. He charged off down the stairs. Her son followed him. Maria sat on the bed. She had forgotten what a year meant to children. She got up and began to change her clothes.

  ***

  Sitting in the hall with Eleanor, Maria helped her spin the season’s flax. Eleanor seemed much different to her, as if when she became a wife she became another person. She sounded Maria about the Santerois war and Richard’s wounding and Roger’s wedding.

  “What is she like, Roger’s wife?” Eleanor asked. “Oh.” She put her hand on Maria’s. Richard and Father Yvet were coming in the door. “What a presence he has. Is he from the Archbishop?”

  Maria drew the linen thread out between her fingers, her eyes on the wheel. “He is from the Pope.”

  Eleanor straightened and stared avidly toward the men, who were sitting down by the hearth. Two pages hustled over to be sure they were comfortable.

  “Roger’s wife is very haughty,” Maria said. “She disapproves of all of us. Except for Roger, naturally.”

  “Will they be happy?”

  Maria worked the treadle of the wheel. “They were happy when they married. She is fair, the girl. And young enough. You know Roger.”

  “He is frivolous,” Eleanor said. Her face was smooth as wax, as if she had never loved Roger at all.

  “Richard thinks she will make him give up his little boy.”

  “Jordan?” Eleanor pursed her lips. “I wouldn’t wonder. I would.”

  “I wouldn’t.” She tried to imagine a bastard of Richard’s living in her household. Someone coming to her: I have your husband’s child. Midway down the room, he was trying to catch her eye. He waited until Father Yvet was looking elsewhere and gestured firmly with his head toward the wall.

  “What’s the matter with Richard?” Eleanor said.

  Maria fumbled her foot into her shoe. “He is in a strange humor lately. Will you watch Henry for me?” She got a candle from her basket and went out the door and behind the stairs into the wall passage.

  The black tunnel swallowed her. She groped her way through it, remembering the bumps and spines of rock only after she had banged her feet against them. When she rounded the corner, she heard Father Yvet’s voice.

  “My lord, my mission here is as pleasant as it is simple. I am to assure you that the Holy Father will accept you as his vassal and recognize your claims to all of Marna.”

  Maria clicked her tinderbox furiously until at last a little flame glowed in the fluff of tinder. On the other side of the wall, a chair grated on the floor. She blew on the tinder to make it burn and reached for her candle. Whatever the priest had come to Marna to do, it certainly was not what he was saying; the Pope did not have vassals.

  Richard said, tentatively, “I’m honored by the recognition. I think the Emperor is my overlord.”

  “No—that is a usurped power, you see. Marna is part of Constantine’s gift. In the course of events, that’s been corrupted, but the true order of things here is obvious.”

  “Maybe you’d better tell me who Constantine is,” Richard said.

  Maria was pleased that he didn’t know either. She sat down on the floor. The candle showed her the rough, blind walls of the passage.

  Father Yvet went off into another of his stories. Old candle butts littered the floor. She lit them and set them in niches on the wall. Bending, she put her eye to the peephole.

  Richard sat in his chair opposite her. The churchman between them had his back to the wall. Father Yvet’s hands moved gracefully. He explained how the Emperor Constantine had given the whole world to the Pope to rule.

  Richard said, “I had a man from Aachen say that I owe the Emperor obedience. Now you come tell me this. You are confusing me, and I don’t like being confused.”

  Father Yvet straightened. The back of his chair dented the smooth wool of his robe. “Come,” he said quietly. “You are shrewd enough to know that until you pay homage to your rightful overlord for Marna, you will be only an outlaw here, responsible to no one. The Emperor will never recognize you now, since you insulted him. He’ll take his revenge on you at his pleasure. We are offering you a way to escape what could only be a mortal blow to your power here, perhaps your very life.”

  Richard said, “Thank you. I am very grateful to you.”

  Maria sat up straight. The burning candles turned the air stuffy, and she put most of them out. She wondered if Father Yvet knew Richard well enough to catch the whine of temper in his voice.

  “We will expect something of you in return,” the churchman was saying. “There is the matter of the priest you murdered—”

  “I murdered no priest. Hold.”

  “Papa,” Stephen called. Footsteps ran across the hall. “Excuse me, my lord, for interrupting you. Papa, Robert is coming.”

  Getting up, Maria pinched out the last of the candles. Beyond the wall, Richard said, “Go find your mother.”

  “But Papa, I can’t—”

  “I said, go find your mother.”

  Maria ran off down the passageway. When she reached the stair landing, Stephen was half a flight down. She called his name, and he wheeled.

  “Mama.” His eyes popped. “Where were you?”

  Maria went down to him on the stairs. “Ah, Stephen, I have never seen you with your face clean.” She spat on her thumb and rubbed away the smear on his cheek. “Has Robert brought Ismael with him?”

  “Mama, how did you know?”

  Maria went down into the ward, Stephen in her tracks. The day was brilliant with sunlight. She made a wide circle around t
he horses in the ward. Stephen ran ahead of her in the ward.

  “Jilly,” Eleanor’s voice called, somewhere in the tower. Maria went out the gate onto the windy slope.

  Robert and Ismael were riding through the curtain wall. They spurred to a hard gallop and raced up around her and Stephen. Robert leaped down before her.

  “Mama. We stayed to hunt, up in the hills, did you miss me?”

  He flung his arm around her shoulders. His voice cooled. “Hello, Stephen.”

  “Hello,” Stephen muttered.

  “Mother, did the Pope’s messenger come with you?” He backed up onto the road, throwing his black cloak over his shoulder. Little blue wildflowers sprouted down the front of his coat and in his horse’s black mane. Ismael came up smiling between them.

  “Maria. No much witch, no?”

  “Hah,” she said. She took hold of his hand. “I am sad of you, Ismael. I thought you were bold. Yes, the Pope’s man is still here.”

  Ismael turned back to his horse. “Then I very well go.”

  “Stay down by the beach, so the Emir will know where to find you.” She went between their horses and down the road a few steps, to point over the green crest of the wood. “There are fishermen’s shelters there, and Robert will bring you some food.”

  In the castle, Eleanor was still calling for Jilly. Maria put one arm around Ismael. “It won’t be for very long.”

  Ismael swung up onto his red mare and galloped away. Maria frowned. Something moving on the hillside below her had caught her eye. It was Jilly, running through the waist-high green toward the curtain wall. The child disappeared in the brush.

  “I have, you brat,” Robert was saying hotly, behind her. “You can ask—”

  “You’re such a liar,” Stephen said.

  Robert cried out. He lunged toward Stephen, and his brother raced away through the gate. Robert chased him across the ward. Maria took his horse by the bridle and led it inside.

  “My lady,” a groom said, and she gave him the rein of Robert’s horse. Muffled, Robert’s voice shouted in the stable, and he pounded on the closed door. Maria went quickly toward the New Tower, pretending not to hear him.