Winter Song

by Roberta Gellis

  “Yes, but the door here does not squeak. The hinges are all greased. And I do not think I could have heard any other door in the keep.”

  “Then perhaps—” Raymond had been about to offer another comforting platitude, but he stopped abruptly and looked toward the window slit not far from the bed.

  “We are on the outer wall of the keep,” Alys said, confirming Raymond’s unspoken thought.

  “There may be a postern door!” Raymond exclaimed, releasing Alys and hopping briskly out of bed. “I should have thought of that last night.”

  Alys followed her husband immediately, running to the clothes chest to hand him fresh undergarments and tunic, kneeling to do up his cross garters and lace his shoes while he shrugged himself into his surcoat.

  “I thought it sounded like truth those men spoke,” Raymond told Alys while he dressed. “There was such bitterness in them, and they told me the bailiff was hiding on the lower floor.”

  Alys shuddered. “You mean he could have crept up after we were abed?”

  “No, beloved.” Raymond pulled her up and held her close. “I am not so careless when I do not know all the truth. Every door was barred, and my own; new men guarded the prison room and the stair. You are safe. But a secret postern with a key in an enemy’s hand is unhealthy.”

  “What will you do?”

  Raymond kissed her forehead, patted her comfortingly, and pushed her away. “Go down and find it.”

  The words Send the men down rose to Alys’s lips, but she bit them back. Raymond would be disgusted and irritated by such cowardly advice. Her father would never have done so, and her husband, she feared, was more daring and less cautious than Sir William. Moreover, the whole idea of fearing Ernaldus was ridiculous. He was of middle years and untrained in arms. Raymond could break him in two with his bare hands. She heard her husband call a cheerful answer to what must have been a question by Bertha, for the maid came in hurriedly a moment later to help her mistress dress.

  “Shall I send a woman down to tell the kitchen to set the first meal?” Bertha asked.

  “Has no one eaten yet?”

  “The men-at-arms have broken their fast, but not the servants.”

  “Yes, very well,” Alys said distractedly. “And see if there is some special dish to set before my lord.”

  She came down to the hall herself a few minutes later, finding herself listening for sounds she knew she would not hear. Her eyes were on the great rounds of cheese and loaves of coarse bread being sliced for the servants to pick up. It was just as well that the new kitchen staff did their work properly, for actually Alys saw little. She knew it was stupid to be worried, but visions persisted of an army lurking in the dark to spring out at her most precious possession.

  Before long her silliness was proven. Raymond came up into the hall while the servants were still filing past the laden serving table. He made a brief detour to snatch at hunks of cheese and bread and came toward Alys, who had risen from her seat near the fire. She laughed with relief.

  “Raymond! That is servants’ fare. I have cold meat and a pasty ready to be warmed for you.”

  He shook his head. “Never mind, this will do. Just get me some wine to wash it down. We found the inner door, but it was locked. I want to find the outer and set a pair of men on guard there until I can fetch a smith from the town to make new locks and new brackets for barring the doors from within.”

  “It was Ernaldus, then.” Alys had signaled, and Edith came to her carrying a flagon and two cups.

  “I am sure of it.” Raymond drank and put his cup down on the small table beside him. “While I am in Bordeaux, I will stop in to see Rustengo to lodge a complaint. If what you believe is true and Ernaldus is a connection of some kind, the family itself will wish to deal with the matter. I will not say them nay. The fewer favors I owe Calhau, the better. When I come back, we will hang those men and be done with them.” He hesitated and looked at Alys, who was frowning. “They must be hanged,” he said.

  “Yes.” There was none of the misplaced sympathy Raymond had feared in Alys’s voice. “Only I hoped to make an object lesson of them for the new men-at-arms—try them for their unlawful oppression of the serfs and for allowing the keep to be open.”

  “It will not be necessary. The new men I have are not raw recruits, and Sir Oliver kept his men well in hand. They are not bred to such behavior. My bailiff certainly will not condone it, and you are leaving Father François here, are you not? He will report any misbehavior to us.”

  Alys nodded. “You are right. Shall I tell the men to build the gibbets, or do you wish to oversee that work?”

  “There are seven to make,” Raymond replied. “You had better start them, or we will have to delay until tomorrow. The days are short, and we are behind time already. I like justice to be swift, especially in a case like this.” He paused and then asked, “Will you give the order for the hanging?”

  “Yes,” Alys agreed without hesitation. “It is my duty. Of course I will.”

  Raymond thought privately that it would have been more graceful and feminine if she had begged him to excuse her. Very likely he would then have pointed out that she must exercise her authority or it would be lost, but he felt it showed a hard streak in her to be so indifferent.

  Alys, of course, gave neither the order nor the hanging itself more than a passing thought. She had condemned men to hanging before, when her father had been out of England doing military service with his overlord. A hanging was swift, and an easier death than many natural ones Alys had seen. Besides, for these men it might be a kinder death for their souls’ sakes than any other. Father François would confess them and shrive them—and they would confess honestly with the fear of Divine judgment on them—and then they would die before they could sin again, so they would be saved from eternal damnation.

  Although Alys did not note any change of expression on her husband’s face, she experienced a vague discomfort, a subliminal awareness of his displeasure, however, she did not associate that displeasure with herself. As on the previous night, her strong conviction that her behavior was perfectly ordinary left no room for doubt. She associated the uneasiness with the preceding topic of conversation, Raymond’s visit to Rustengo, and she smiled slightly, thinking that he would be better pleased with his kinsman than he expected.

  This, indeed, was the case, at least insofar as Rustengo’s manner to himself and his reception of Raymond’s complaint. Rustengo was most properly horrified by Raymond’s accusation of Ernaldus but expressed not the smallest disbelief, thanking Raymond most sincerely for bringing the matter to his attention and thus saving the family the disgrace of having a member tried and hanged by the opposition. He went in person with Raymond to try to apprehend the malefactor, explaining on the way that he had already ordered the treacherous bailiff into exile. He even apologized to Raymond for depriving him of his revenge when they learned that Ernaldus had set sail to Arles before dawn, although he confessed at the same time to relief that he was spared the duty of having the man killed.

  Then, suddenly, Rustengo frowned. “Arles is your own country, is it not?”

  “My grandfather’s,” Raymond replied. “We hold Aix to the east.”

  “Still…” Rustengo’s frown deepened. “He is a sly devil and could think to do you more harm.”

  Raymond laughed, but there was an ugly sound to it. “A disgraced bailiff? But I—”

  He stopped because Rustengo had raised a hand. The older man’s brow was still furrowed, but his expression now was of puzzlement, of trying to recall something on the edge of memory.

  “Wait…wait… There is something,” he muttered. And then, with relief mixed with worry, “Ernaldus’s sister, no, half sister. I told you, did I not, that he was baseborn. Yes, I remember, a singularly foolish girl, but pretty, and the marriage was a good one, better than the family expected, but the man was ambitious and needed money. Yes. Give me a minute more… I have it! Des Baux, that was the name.�
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  “It would be,” Raymond exclaimed with disgust. “My grandfather’s most inveterate enemy. But des Baux was broken once and for all some ten years ago. The family has little left besides the one keep. I doubt they would contest with my grandfather about a baseborn relative. When I come to Provence, I will ask that this Ernaldus be sought for at Les Baux and see he is brought to justice.”

  Rustengo nodded. “I need not tell you how to manage. I am sure you will know what to do. However, if you need any writ of complaint from me, I will give it to you.”

  Rustengo’s eagerness helped to set a pleasant mood. After a locksmith had been dispatched to Blancheforte, the kinsmen returned to Rustengo’s house, and Raymond found him less inclined than before to give orders with the hectoring air of an elderly uncle to a foolish nephew. Not that Rustengo’s opinions had changed or that he was less urgent in espousing them, however, he now spoke to Raymond as a man of power to a man of power. Since, in fact, Raymond was eager to have control of Bordeaux back in his kinsman’s hands—they had differed on means rather than on ends—there was no disagreement as long as they spoke in generalities. Raymond refused to stay for dinner, however, citing the hanging of the prisoners as his excuse.

  Raymond rode back to Blancheforte in a thoughtful mood. He was very glad of the change in Rustengo’s manner, but its suddenness made him uneasy. Also, he was not sure whether or not to warn Alys that Ernaldus had escaped and might be going to Provence. He attended the hangings in an abstracted frame of mind, hardly noticing anything except that Alys was not so unmoved as he expected her to be. Her manner was perfect, but she seemed quieter than usual. Raymond remembered how he had misunderstood that quietness the previous night and thought that his wife was more affected by events than she permitted to show. That convinced him not to tell her about Ernaldus. There was no need to have Alys frightened. Raymond was certain that he would be able to protect her while she was in Tour Dur, now that he was forewarned. It would be better if she forgot the man existed.

  Raymond would not have had time to broach the subject of Ernaldus even if he had decided to do so, for his mind was soon diverted to a more important subject. They had hardly dismissed the castle folk, who had been summoned to watch the hangings to reinforce the authority of their masters, and turned away from the last body, still twitching on its gibbet, when the lookout in the gate tower called that two men were riding up the road. Alys went in to order the setting up of their belated dinner, and Raymond waited to greet his guests.

  As it happened, the riders were not guests, but messengers with a packet of letters from Aix. Raymond had, of course, written to his father as soon as the marriage contract was signed to inform Alphonse of the rich dower he had won with Alys. He had told his father that he intended to take his future wife’s property in hand before bringing her to Tour Dur because he felt that to be of paramount importance. However, Raymond discovered on reading his father’s letter that this practical program did not sit well with either parent.

  Lord Alphonse wanted Raymond home as soon as possible, saying that it was essential to summon the vassals to a fresh homage ceremony. Raymond’s grandfather had been very ill again, he reported, and a renewal of oaths at a wedding would be of infinite value in reminding them of their duty. In addition, Alphonse wrote, Lady Jeannette had suffered agonies of disappointment and spent her days weeping over her son’s lack of consideration for his womenfolk. Raymond grimaced, wondering which reason for summoning him home was more important to his father.

  There was a separate letter from Lady Jeannette. Raymond now opened that. How could he drag his betrothed all over Gascony, his mother wrote. He would kill the poor girl before he married her. And, Lady Jeannette added, she was frantic, not knowing when they would arrive so that she could tell the steward when to begin preparations for the wedding. Winter weddings were so difficult, she complained, with no fresh fruit or vegetables to be had, no calves or lambs, and newborn piglets very scarce. She was sick with worry. Raymond must come at once and take the preparations in hand himself. He should leave Alys to follow more slowly. There was no need for her to arrive before the ceremony, but Raymond must ride home as fast as he could.

  Raymond’s teeth set hard with irritation. He dismissed the messengers to eat and rest, thrust his mother’s letter impatiently into his belt, and returned to reread his father’s with more care. He now discovered that Lord Alphonse had also covered the back of the sheet. This part of the letter was far more to Raymond’s taste. His father was passionate in his praises of his son’s cleverness in wringing so much from the English king. He was less pleased with the arrangement that left the property in Alys’s hands but accepted it philosophically, acknowledging the reasons Raymond had given for yielding on this point. However, he again recommended that Raymond come to Aix as soon as possible so that the couple could be married forthwith.

  “It will be best to get the girl with child at once,” Lord Alphonse wrote, “and induce her to will the lands to the child without delay. You can explain to her that if she survives the bearing, she can change her will to accommodate any future children, but that if she die in childbed without a will, the lands will fall back into the king’s hands.”

  A brief pang, as if an icy knife had pierced his chest, made Raymond’s hand close hard on his father’s letter, crumpling it. Alys die in childbed? Then he snorted with disbelief. What nonsense! She was young and healthy and would have the best and tenderest care. His father was like an old woman sometimes, starting and whimpering at every shadow. Raymond straightened the parchment and read it to the end, snorting again at the disquisition on the change of power in Bordeaux. The news was a little late to be helpful to him, but his father’s recommendations on how to handle the situation fitted so well with what Raymond had decided himself that all in all Raymond felt quite pleased with the letter despite that stupid part about Alys’s will.

  Raymond dismissed that from his mind as he climbed the stairs to the hall. He was aware primarily of pride in having judged so well what position he should take in the situation in Bordeaux. Raymond knew his father had many weaknesses, but cleverness in politics was not one of them. Lord Alphonse was a skilled diplomat and had often won concessions for Raymond-Berenger in conferences that he could not have won on the field of battle. Secondly, Raymond realized that he had forgotten completely his promise to his mother to marry Alys at Tour Dur. He still thought it an excellent idea, and more essential now that his grandfather’s health was so uncertain, but he wished he had told Alys at once. She might be offended at the notion that he had allowed his parents to believe she would travel all over Gascony with him without either the blessings of the clergy or a suitable woman companion to testify to her purity. Thirdly, and most immediately important, Raymond wanted his dinner. He was starving.

  That desire was to be satisfied at once. When he entered the hall he saw all was ready and only his presence lacking for the meal to begin. As soon as the first edge was off his appetite, he described the contents of his parents’ letters. Far from being offended, Alys was warm in praise of his forethought in planning a second wedding.

  “It is all very well to have the contract and for us to know that the highest prelate in England joined us, but that will mean little to your vassals. Indeed, they must themselves witness our marriage. I would not have thought of it, but you are very wise, my lord. Having seen the proper ceremony with their own eyes, they cannot ever say that your children are marked with any stain of illegitimacy, which someone seeking to make trouble might do, claiming that what was done so far away, in England, might be ill done.”

  Another brief chill passed over Raymond at Alys’s casual mention of children. She had spoken of them before, of course, but then the idea that she might die in the bearing had not been forced into his mind. He ignored the unpleasant sensation and answered lightly, “Yes, my love, but you have forgotten one small thing. It is a bit late for you to mark the sheets with proof of a maidenhead. How are
we to explain that with due decency for you and satisfaction for my honor?”

  Alys realized he was joking and laughed. “Well, if our eldest child is a girl, it will not matter. But if we have a man-child, who, in due course, will be their overlord—”

  “I fear we will need to confess that the wedding is not our first,” Raymond interrupted, wishing she would leave the subject of children. She was so blithe and fearless, but several of Raymond’s friends had lost wives in childbed, and they, too, had been young and healthy and cared for most tenderly.

  “I suppose,” she began slowly, and then her eyes began to twinkle. “Oh no. I know how it may be managed, Raymond.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?” he exclaimed. “And where did you hear of such tricks?”

  “Tricks?” Alys looked genuinely surprised. “I do not know any tricks, but my flux is very regular. I can tell it out on tally sticks for however many months away is needful. Then, if we set a date near the middle of my time, we would be sure to strike some blood, even should I be a day or two early or late.”

  Raymond burst out laughing. The assumption of a continued flux precluded getting with child and thus precluded the danger of childbirth. “There are more certain ways,” he pointed out, refusing to acknowledge the relief he felt. “A bladder of chicken’s blood concealed in the room or a nick with a knife where the hair grows thickest on me.”

  Alys leaned over and placed a light kiss on his lips. “I do not like that last notion, my lord and my husband. To endanger your jewels to prove my purity—no.”

  He returned her kiss in good earnest but continued to chuckle. “But it is my political purpose, not your purity that is in question.” Still, he was obviously considering the idea seriously, for after a moment he added, more soberly, “No, it will not do. Your maids will know.”