Winter Song

by Roberta Gellis

  Bertha came running forward to take her mistress’s cloak, and Alys smiled at her with real approval, realizing that further advances in restoring Blancheforte to a decent residence had been made. The first bundles of rushes had been used to cover the floor near the hearth, and the place was set with high-backed chairs, handsomely cushioned, for Raymond and herself. Bertha took Ernaldus’s cloak, also, and tripped away to lay both on a chest. Alys walked to the center of the room and clapped her hands. Every servant stopped as if frozen.

  “Let the tables be set for dinner,” she said loudly and clearly. “We will eat when the lord returns.” Then she gestured Ernaldus forward toward the hearth. “Bertha,” she called, “bring a stool for our guest.”

  The maid hesitated, then went to do as she was bidden, though she had been surprised. Normally, a guest would be given one of the chairs, and when Raymond came in, it would be Alys who moved to a stool. However, it was hers to obey, not to question her mistress’s manners. When she came back with the stool, Alys asked what had been found to embellish their dinner.

  “There was little enough, my lady,” Bertha replied disdainfully, “a few scrawny chickens and a young pig. But there was a comb of honey, so there will be a sweet. For the rest—stew and potage, as yesterday.”

  Alys nodded dismissal and turned on the bailiff. “Why are we so bare, Master Ernaldus?” she asked. Her voice had lost its sweetness, and her eyes were hard and cold as sapphires. “I have ridden the lands, and the fields are thick-stubbled from a rich harvest. Where is the produce of those fields? I saw, too, that my kine are fat, but surely they have not eaten all the corn. And the serfs are starving, so it is not they who have kept more than their share.” Alys switched to English and snapped, “Watch him,” to Aelfric and Peter who, faithful to instruction, had followed close on Alys’s heels and now stood near her chair.

  Their hands went to their swords, and their eyes went to the bailiff, who emitted a squawk of terror, expecting the men to attack him, since he had no idea what the two foreign words Alys had spoken meant.

  “The produce—the wine, the corn, the roots, the fruit—where is it?” Alys hissed, wishing to drive him to speech while he was off balance with fear.

  “S-s-sold. M-m-madame, it was not reasonable to keep…to keep…food when there was no one to eat it.”

  “Ah!” Alys smiled. “I am so glad to know it was not stolen by dishonest persons, which could have happened when the keep was left with open gates. How came it about, Master Ernaldus, that you retained guards so careless that my husband and I and all our troop marched in without even a challenge yesterday? Is this a way to watch over King Henry’s possessions?”

  “I-I did not know it was within my power to dismiss them.”

  It was the only thing the bailiff could say, but Alys saw from his expression that it was not true, and also that he had recovered from the shock of fear and had realized as he said the words that they were a perfect defense.

  “They grew insolent,” Ernaldus’s voice was stronger and surer. “I wrote to complain to the master of the king’s wardrobe, but I received no answer. I did not dare drive them out without permission. And—”

  “That is of little account,” Alys interrupted hastily, seeing the haven to which Ernaldus was heading and determined to catch him before he reached it. “But there has been no yield from Blancheforte marked in the king’s accounts for many years. It was understood that the yield supported the keep and its people. The people are starving, the keep is near in ruins, the money is not in the king’s hands. Where is it, Master Ernaldus?”

  Cut off from the false explanation he had hoped to make, Ernaldus glared at Alys with hatred—a single flash before he dropped his eyes. To say he had sent the money to the king, which he had intended, was no longer possible, and it infuriated him to realize that Alys was utterly indifferent to his expression. In fact, she hardly noticed, she was taken up with a rapid calculation of the value of his horse, clothing, and jewelry. It should be enough, she thought, even if one subtracted the value of what she must give him to wear and a lame ancient beast from the keep stable, to pay for stocking the keep for the winter and perhaps even for a few extra bushels of corn to feed the scarecrows on the demesne.

  What Alys would have liked to do—what she would have done at once had she been still at Marlowe—was to instruct Arnald to take Ernaldus someplace where his screams would not disturb her and squeeze the truth out of him. But this was not possible for two reasons. Most important was that Raymond might not approve her taking an action so far from her normal sphere of activity. Not that Alys considered the correction of a dishonest bailiff outside her ordinary duties, but she was not blind or deaf to the fact that Raymond was too aware the land was hers, that she had the right—if she were mad enough to insist on it—to sit on the council of Bordeaux instead of him. He was going to be raw enough, having to explain to Calhau that he was his wife’s deputy.

  Then there was the question of Ernaldus’s connections. Taking him apart piece by piece might annoy someone who, politically speaking, should not be annoyed. Until she could write to Uncle Richard and get the king’s order to dismember Ernaldus, she would have to content herself with gentler methods. But she would get the order. King Henry did not like to be cheated, either. Alys smiled.

  The smile happened to coincide with Ernaldus’s reply to her previous question. Backed into a corner but not yet defeated, the bailiff had said, with an assumption of injured dignity, that the money was in his care. With untrustworthy men-at-arms in Blancheforte, it was obviously impossible to leave anything there, and not having had an answer from the master of the wardrobe, he knew not else what to do with it.

  “Then there can be no problem,” Alys responded, assuming a neutral tone of voice again, as if she were satisfied. “You can return this year’s yield to me, either in gold or in kind,” and she proceeded to enumerate what she calculated the keep’s share of the demesne yield to be in terms of bushels of wheat, barley, and rye.

  The bailiff gaped at her. “It is not so much, not by half,” he protested.

  Alys’s eyes grew colder. She began to recite the measure of land and the bushels per hectare. Master Ernaldus stammered objections, naming the laziness of the serfs and their dishonesty. Alys shook her head and reminded him that she had only just come in from the fields, where she had seen the thickness of the stubble and the thinness of the serfs. Then Alys smiled again and nodded.

  “Of course,” she said, “I realize part must be used to feed that large herd of kine, which you were doubtless afraid to slaughter, but that then brings us to the question of cheeses. Do I not remember that Bordeaux is famous for its cheese flavored with wine?”

  “The kine do not belong to Blancheforte!” Ernaldus shrieked, bounding to his feet. Instantly, Peter was in front of him, his drawn sword pressed into the bailiff’s breast. Ernaldus sank back on his stool, pallid again. “It does not matter,” he got out, his voice choked with fury and terror. “Four are mine, and two calves.”

  “Very well. I suppose the herdsman will know them. He will bring them to you when you wish. I must warn you that your term as bailiff here is ended. I am not satisfied either with the condition of the keep or of the serfs on the land. It is true that they are only cattle also, but ill-cared-for cattle give poor service.”

  “None of it is my fault,” Ernaldus whined. “I could not watch night and day. The men-at-arms took what they wished. I could not prevent it.”

  “I do not see that,” Alys said coldly. “If I had been bailiff here, I would have found a way to deal with only twelve men-at-arms so that, even if I could not dismiss them, they would have done their duty and given no serious cause for complaint.”

  “I do not doubt it,” Ernaldus snarled.

  Alys smiled. “Neither do I. Then there is only the need to decide whether you wish to return the yield in gold or in kind.”

  Again the bailiff tensed as if to rise, but Peter, who had stepped
back, raised his sword again. “Whichever you prefer,” Ernaldus got out, “but you cannot expect me to do it today. I must return home and make arrangements.”

  “Assuredly,” Alys said calmly. “You may go whenever you like. I will only ask you to leave your clothing and rings and pins and your horse and harness as a pledge of goodwill.”

  “Will you send me out naked?” he cried.

  “Naturally not,” Alys rejoined. “That would neither become you nor please me. I will furnish clothing and a horse.” And when the bailiff was on his way out, she flung a final stone. “I am grieved that the inefficiency of the king’s officials in the wardrobe may have caused this trouble. I will write soon to my uncle-by-marriage, the Earl of Cornwall. When I do, I will beg him to bring this matter of Blancheforte’s yield to the king’s own notice. Thus you will doubtless obtain your just deserts swiftly and surely.”

  She sent Aelfric with him to bid Arnald to escort him and his men off the grounds and be sure they did not return. Then she plopped back down on her chair and breathed a sigh of relief at having got him out before Raymond came in. This made her begin to worry because her husband was late, but before she could imagine anything very bad, word came that he had entered the outer wall.

  His mood was far better than it had been the previous day, and he apologized for his lateness. Alys bade Peter summon the castle folk in to eat and took Raymond to a side chamber to divest him of his cloak and armor and give him a comfortable gown which was laid ready. Peter Calhau, he told her, had greeted him far more warmly than he had expected, and seemed eager to hear every tidbit of news and gossip from the court of England, even those things that did not pertain to Bordeaux.

  Alys raised her brows. “I wonder what this pleasure in your company portends,” she remarked. “Is it that he is cleverer than Rustengo—no, I do not mean cleverer because, of course, Rustengo had reason to be sure of you and Calhau knew he must either charm you or declare himself in opposition to your claim.”

  Laughter glinted in Raymond’s eyes as he led Alys back to the hall and seated her at the table. “It is you who are clever, my heart. I could never have managed to insinuate so adroitly that I was allowing myself to be flattered enough to lose sight of the true situation.”

  “No! I never meant any such thing,” Alys protested. “You talk as if I think you a fool. I do not! I meant only what I said.”

  Raymond laughed outright at her vehemence. “Very well, I will believe you because it is better for my pride. But I cannot answer you. I do not yet know what Calhau’s manner portends. I doubt if he himself knows. In any case, nothing of real note was said. We talked of the problems of Bordeaux—in the most general terms with no mention of the threat of unrest that may be caused by my kinsmen, it was pleasant but not important—the opening steps of the dance of power. Now, what have you been about?”

  As she told him, Raymond’s eyes opened wider and wider. To Alys’s relief, he seemed more surprised than angry. “Was that estimate of the yield true,” he asked, “or a fancy to jolt the man?”

  “It was true. I may be off a few shillings’ worth, but not much more.”

  “Then why did you not keep him here once you had him?” he asked.

  “I suppose I should have,” Alys admitted, “but I was afraid to go too far. He had four well-armed men with him, and his clothes and horse and trappings were so rich, it seemed to me he must have some powerful connection. What I did can be defended, but I was afraid to hold him against his will.”

  What Alys did not say was that she had also been afraid that Raymond, thinking the little yield of Blancheforte insignificant, might have undone everything if Ernaldus had still been there when he returned. She did not believe Raymond would have retained the man as bailiff. He was too angry about the careless way the keep had been neglected. However, he might have waved away the loss in money and produce, considering it a cheap price to pay to be rid of the bailiff without trouble.

  “I do not see that holding him could make him more bitter against us,” Raymond remarked, but he was smiling. “After all, I could always say that it was my silly young wife who was at fault,” he teased.

  “Yes, indeed,” Alys agreed, but perfectly seriously. “What a fool I am. I forget no one here knows me and that you would be easily believed if you called me a fool.”

  “Not if they saw this keep before and after you took it in hand or heard your disquisition on the yield of produce per hectare,” he chuckled. “Now I must do my share. I must find a new bailiff and, even more important, I must hire men-at-arms. They must be trained and ready by the time we leave.” He paused and pursed his lips. “I think we will leave the hanging of those dogs in the prison until after the new men come. I wish it to be clear in their minds that we will not suffer laxness.”

  “No, nor abuse of the serfs in the keep or on the demesne,” Alys said. “These people are so stupid with fear and hunger that each provides less than a third the labor one might expect.”

  Raymond made an irritated sound. “You have answered one question before I asked it. I was just about to tell you to have Arnald look about on the land for men suitable for training, but we have no time to waste on those so out of condition as you say these people are. I will need to hire men-at-arms. It is most awkward.”

  “Why?” Alys asked, surprised. “Are there no white shields in Bordeaux?”

  “Too few,” Raymond replied, his face growing more troubled. “Not too few for my purposes, but too few for a town this size, and from what little I have seen, I would not care to hire those men who remain free. I fear that means both de Soler and Colom have been hiring men. A pox on whatever fancy made King Henry change the line of power in this town.”

  “But if they have hired men already, will they not come to blows very soon?” Alys asked, laying down the chicken leg she had just picked up.

  “I do not know. Perhaps there is some particular cause, at least, it may be that Calhau believes that.” Raymond paused and frowned. “The king may believe it, too, and that was why he was speaking of my being a bridge between my kinsmen and the Coloms. But, Alys, I am much afraid that the particular cause is only an excuse. To me, what Rustengo said implied that he does intend to seize power again.”

  “But there is no sense in seizing power by pure force. It will only bring the king down upon them with an excuse to fine and imprison and, in the end, remove from their hands all chance of regaining their power.”

  “The king is far away,” Raymond reminded her. “This is not England, where troops can be levied in a few weeks. And, as I said yesterday, if de Molis abandons the south to bring order to Bordeaux… I do not know whether it is better to try to ease matters here or leave Rustengo and Calhau to their own devices and go south at once to take hold of Amou.”

  “To defend it against the king of Navarre with twenty men?” Alys asked, with an effort keeping her voice from trembling.

  “Oh, I would have help. Gaston would be glad to send troops to my assistance. Whether I could rid myself of them and him once the threat of Theobold of Navarre was gone is a different matter. No, I suppose I had best try to keep Rustengo quiet. But you are not eating, my love.”

  “I had got so interested,” Alys said.

  She was learning that it was more important to hide her fear from Raymond than it had been to hide it from her father. Sir William had been amused or annoyed, as his mood determined, when Alys showed anxiety for his safety. The effect on Raymond seemed to be different, and dangerous. Alys had perceived that if she betrayed fear, her husband felt it a reflection on his ability, and it seemed to drive him toward danger in an effort to prove he was capable of surmounting it. Trying to avoid showing what she felt about the idea of defending Amou, Alys moved the discussion back to their own concerns and stumbled on another of Raymond’s sensibilities.

  “You will know best about those matters,” she said, “but to come back to the management of Blancheforte, where will we find men or a bailiff? But
wait, I have a thought. Do you not have a bailiff for the farms near Marsan? And did you not tell me that those lay near to Benquel?”

  “Yes, to both,” Raymond replied, “but I do not see what that has to do with Blancheforte.”

  “Your bailiff from the farms can come here. I assume he is more honest than that toad Ernaldus. And Sir Oliver’s man from Benquel can take the farms under his care. You said, I think, that he was a good man.” She paused, seeing Raymond’s frown. “Have I said something foolish, my lord?”

  “You make easy disposition of my farms into the hands of your vassal,” Raymond said.

  At which point, Alys’s nervousness overset her temper, and she snapped, “It is you who ever make the mark between yours and mine. To me, the lands are ours. When I took you as husband, you became one flesh with me in my heart and mind. If I am not so to you, I am sorry for it.”

  Raymond, who had not been angry at all, but merely carelessly voicing a general irritation with the added complexities of the situation generated by the bailiff’s dishonesty, was startled. He placed a hand over Alys’s and laughed.

  “I had forgot how easily you burst into flame. You have been so meek and mild since our wedding, I thought marriage had tamed you. Indeed, you are flesh of my flesh, my love—and it is a clever thought to take the bailiff from the farms, too. In fact, I have an idea to add to yours. If peace is made with the Vicomte de Marsan, Sir Oliver will be able to reduce the number of men-at-arms in his keep. I can take those men into my service, thus doing him a favor, for no man desires loose men-at-arms wandering his lands, nor the expense of keeping more men than he needs.”

  Alys leaned over and kissed her husband’s cheek. “You have a very sweet temper, my lord,” she murmured.

  “If so, I have not shown it these last two days,” Raymond admitted.

  “You have had much to try your patience. I am at fault for provoking you on little things when I know you to be troubled.”

  “Then we are quits,” Raymond said, smiling, “for surely I know better than to bring trouble made by outsiders into my home.”