It was several hours before he heard the voice he had been listening for, and even then he was not certain. He walked toward it slowly.
“Herbs and spices! Feast like a lord in your own home. Salt and sugar, the flavors of heaven. Hose and shoe leathers—” The man broke off, offering a smile as he approached.
It warmed him, that smile. Gilles intended to sell him something, scarred and crippled or not, but still he told himself the smile meant something. Gilles still had freckles on his nose and the devil in his eyes but he was calmer now, filled with the confidence of a man who was doing well and enjoyed his life. He thought of the house inside the town wall of Saint-Gilles, and the pretty young woman who had come to the door.
“It is good to see you again, Gilles,” he said warmly.
Gilles’ bright smile faltered. He looked more closely, his brows puckering slightly. It was not good business to forget a customer, and Gilles obviously did not want to admit it. He could almost hear Gilles’ thoughts, berating himself, wondering how he could forget a man with a wooden leg and a face like that. He waited, almost holding his breath, for Gilles to realize who he was.
Gilles’ face cleared. “It is always a pleasure,” he said smoothly. “What can I offer you today?”
He bought three ribbons and bid Gilles farewell.
It turned out he was not yet ready to regain a name.
PART THREE
Chapter Twenty-Two: The Vagabond
“Someone was asking for you yesterday.” Jean-Louis began rolling up the written records we had been going over together.
“We cannot accept another contract right now. What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. I did not see him. I only heard in the village that someone had gone to the blacksmith’s and asked about you.”
“Who?”
“A stranger. No one knew him.”
“Did he give a name? Did he say what he wanted with me?”
“Jean.” Jean-Louis shrugged. “I only tell you in case he goes to your house. Let your guards know.”
“Do you think he is dangerous?”
“Not dangerous. I was told he is an old man with a wooden leg. But he might frighten Guarin and Alys.”
I snorted. Alys was the most imperturbable person I knew. And Guarin, afraid? More likely he would unnerve the old man with questions about his wooden leg. “Thank you for telling me.” I immediately put it out of my mind. I was much more concerned with making sure Jean-Louis maintained his position as overseer of my quarry.
My quarry. How long would it take before I stopped thinking of it that way? In two months I would marry Lord Charles and he would regain the quarry and the woods he had given me. I would no longer be able to come here and talk with Jean-Louis about which contracts we would accept. He would have to consult with Charles, or more likely, await Charles’ instructions. The quarry was promised to Guarin when he came of age in twelve years, if it still gave good stones, as well as the house we lived in, and the woods would be Alys’s dowry. There was a lot I could fault Charles for, but I could not call him ungenerous.
“You told the men you will have to shout at them and treat them roughly when Lord Charles is here?” Charles would never believe a quiet and courteous man could get good production out of stone-cutters and peasant laborers.
“I have told them things will change, but that I will do all I can to keep their jobs.”
“He is not without honor.” Not entirely, anyway.
“He is a decent man, Melisende.” Jean-Louis smiled. “With an eye for beauty and the wisdom to choose a good wife.”
I had not told him why I was marrying Charles; no one knew of his confession except his mother and me. Jean-Louis knew I was not happy about my coming marriage and I am sure it puzzled him. Most people could not get over my good fortune. I stood up, pushing the ledger we’d been going over across to Jean-Louis. “I will return in three days. With luck the burghers’ wall will be nearing completion and we can discuss a new contract then.”
“I am always pleased to see you, Madame Melisende,” Jean-Louis rolled up the documents and placed them along with the ledger in their metal box. He locked it and pocketed the key. We both knew I would not wait three days to visit my quarry, especially now that it would only be mine two months longer.
“Lucien will ride with you to collect our payment,” I told him, walking toward the door.
“And who will escort you home? I can ask two men from the quarry to ride on the wagon with me.”
“They are not armed or trained to fight off thieves. You will be carrying money, not I, Jean-Louis. And no one in Le Puy would be foolish enough to accost the intended bride of the Lord of the region.” He opened his mouth to object but I stopped him with a frown, my mind made up.
I rode through my woods enjoying the solitude. I only permitted hunting here in the mornings and my quarry workers respected the restriction, so I had the forest to myself. Soon enough I would be locked up in Lord Charles’ castle and never have a moment alone.
My horse was accustomed to riding these paths and I barely had to touch the reins when I came to the narrow track that led away from the road down to my favorite spot along the river. It was still August; the sun was hot overhead. Even in the shade of the trees I found myself sweating. I took off my headdress and shook my hair loose. I could catch it up again before I left the woods. I unplaited my braids and let the summer breeze play with my hair as I rode, as though I was a young maid with not a care in the world.
When I was close enough to hear the gurgle of the river, another less welcome sound also came to me: the low murmur of a man’s voice. The scent of wood smoke wafted toward me on the wind. I pulled my horse to a stop.
How dare someone camp in my woods? Why had none of my quarry workers let me know about it? One advantage of letting them send someone to hunt here was that the hunters would frighten away vagabonds. I listened hard but heard only one voice, low and rhythmic as though reciting a prayer. Or a curse, though the voice did not sound cruel or angry. You could never be certain, though; Jean-Louis had had to let a few men go over the last two years, those who were not good workers. Such men never blamed themselves for their misfortunes.
I considered whether I should turn and leave, perhaps go back to the quarry and have a few of the men run off whoever was here. But these were my woods; the thought of being run out of them by someone who dared to camp here without permission infuriated me. It was only one man, and I was astride the fastest horse in my stable if it came to that. I tightened my knees against the horse’s sides, urging him forward slowly.
The man was standing beside the river facing east with something that looked like a woman’s shawl draped over his head, blue tassels bobbing on the four corners. I could only see one person and would have thought him a woman because of the shawl except for the low timbre of his voice. He did not hear me, so focused was he on the words he was saying. I strained to hear them but they were slurred and did not make sense. I wondered uneasily if he was speaking gibberish, or some devilish incantation, until I recognized a few sounds and realized it must be a foreign language.
Gypsy! I thought, but gypsies travelled together in families with wagons to carry their goods. Gypsies sang and laughed and made noise, they did not stand in reverence reciting prayers under their voices. I was sure that was what he was doing. There was something about his stance, the bowed head, the way he held his hands, palms up, that spoke of prayer.
Still he was in my woods. He was camping in my special spot, the place I went to be alone. “You there!” I cried.
He jerked. The mumbled words stopped. He pulled the shawl or whatever it was from his head and spun around. As he turned, I noticed the wooden leg. Then a ragged beard and a scarred face, staring at me. I gasped. Between the untrimmed beard and the terrible scar that puckered the entire right side of his face, he was a frightening sight, the more so because he was shaded by a tree. Standing in a dark pool of shadow he looked like a
specter in the forest. No wonder Jean-Louis thought he might frighten my children.
But I was no child. “These are my woods,” I said.
“Are they?” He sounded pleased. “And the quarry as well?”
“Were you thinking of camping there next?” I glared at him.
Instead of realizing his error and becoming more respectful, he laughed. I wanted to scowl more fiercely, to say something that would take that smile off his face, but there was something harmless and delighted in his laughter, as though he was admiring me, not mocking me. I felt a tug at the corners of my mouth and had to stop myself from laughing with him.
“You are trespassing on my property.”
“I did not know it was yours. I thought it belonged to Lord Charles.” He said this as though it would be perfectly all right for him to trespass on Lord Charles’ property.
“What is your name?”
“Jean de Lyon.” He offered a sweeping bow.
My dead husband Simon used to bow that way when he was mocking someone. I peered at him closely, certain he was mocking me. But he had straightened and stood smiling his crooked smile at me. Despite the scar, his face looked appealing with this lop-sided smile and his brown eyes bright with humor. I smiled back. Why not? He had done no harm.
“Why are you here, Jean de Lyon?” I asked, more curious than annoyed now.
An odd look crossed his face. His smile faded. He hesitated as though struggling with some bleak thought, then shrugged. “A man must be somewhere.”
“I suspect a man like you chooses where he will be.”
“A man like me?”
It was my turn to feel unsettled. What had I meant by that? And why was I trading banter with a complete stranger, and a vagabond at that? I flushed. “I meant a man with no home.” Which made me blush deeper. What a horrible thing to say. He looked away, wounded by my words. “I only meant you seem like a man who may go where you will.”
“Because he has nowhere to go. You are right, Madame.”
“I did not mean it that way.”
“Do you ever say things you do not mean?” He said this as though he knew me, and he hit close to the mark. I had often cause to bemoan my ill-considered honesty.
“I say things that do not come out the way I meant them.”
“All the time, I imagine.” His crooked smile returned.
“You are very good at avoiding a question.”
He chuckled. “Come down from your horse and I will tell you, Madame Melisende.”
I stared at him. “I did not tell you who I was.” I drew on my reins, backing my horse away from him.
“You told me you were the owner of these woods.”
“And you did not know who owned them. Do I look like Lord Charles to you?”
“Much prettier.”
He dared to flatter me now? I became aware of my hair falling loose about my shoulders like a wanton woman. Was that how he saw me? “Pack up your things and be gone from my woods by tomorrow morning. I will have my men look for you. You would not want them to find you here.”
“In that case I thank you for letting me stay the night. Perhaps you remember when you, too, had little.”
Again I was startled. He spoke as though he knew my past! But the village and town were full of stories of the girl who was a blacksmith’s wife and would soon marry the Lord of all the region. How dare he presume to know me from village gossip?
I wheeled my horse and rode home.
***
The door to my house opened as I rode into my yard. I was taken aback when Lord Roland stepped out of it.
“What are you doing, riding out alone?” he demanded.
A stable boy came running from the courtyard behind the house. I dismounted and threw the reins to him.
“Lord Roland. What a pleasant surprise.”
“Where is my man? You should not be riding alone.”
“My man,” I said coolly. “I pay his wage. And Lucien is escorting my overseer who has gone to collect this month’s pay for my quarry stones.”
Alys had come to the doorway behind Roland, her face creased in an anxious frown. “Alys, sweet, have you offered our guest some wine?”
“I gave him ale, Maman.”
“Just the thing.” I smiled at her eight-year-old earnestness before glancing at Lord Roland, daring him to offend his little hostess. House ale, indeed! I bit down my laughter.
“She has fine manners,” Roland said, mastering his annoyance at me to give my daughter a smile. “When Charles has her fostered out she will make you both proud.” He caught the look in my eyes as I walked toward them. “That is between you and my brother, of course.”
Roland’s assumption was natural. It was a noble-born father’s job to find good foster homes for his children, strengthening alliances between families and assuring his children’s future. Charles had said he would adopt Alys and Guarin but we had not spoken of fostering them out.
Alys would learn a lot being fostered in a grand home. Charles would send her to a nobleman’s castle and she would emerge fit for whatever marriage he arranged. But I did not want her away from me. Nor Guarin, who Charles would doubtless also want fostered where he could learn to be a squire. Every change in my circumstances seemed to pull my children farther from me and I did not know how I would bear parting from them. Not that that would matter. Charles would decide their fates once we were married, not I. Simon had delivered their future into his hands when he made Charles vow to wed me. And I, I had conceded when I accepted Charles’ quarry. He would never have married a laundress, vow or not; he had to make me wealthy and respectable first. I bit my lower lip. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
“Is your wife well, Lord Roland?” I asked stiffly, a subtle reminder that my children were not his concern.
“She is quite well,” he smiled proudly at the mention of her condition. “She has gone into confinement and will soon present me with a healthy son.”
I resisted the urge to shiver. That would be my lot when I conceived with Charles. I could not imagine being locked inside my rooms for five weeks before my child was born, and as many weeks again after. Perhaps Charles would allow me a shortened confinement since I was less delicate than a noble-born lady. Or he might lengthen it to prove I was every bit the noblewoman now I was married to him.
“Alys has invited me to join your company for dinner,” he added, offering his arm to escort me into my own house.
I took his arm, mindful that Alys was watching. “You may return to your sewing,” I told her. “You and Guarin will eat in your rooms with your nurse. Please tell Elise to attend me in my chamber.”
Alys did not look pleased. She had not taken well to embroidery and doubtless she had hoped to share his company, but she knew not to object in front of Lord Roland. She curtsied prettily and left us. I watched her go regretting the abrupt dismissal. I should not have had her and Guarin begin eating with me in the hall once again. But I could not eat in their nursery and the hall had become too large and too lonely without my mother. Her sudden death of a spring fever had left us all feeling adrift. I missed her terribly, most of all at dinnertime when we had sat together and talked over every decision. I could not eat staring at her empty chair and I knew my children were grieving too. Despite their nursemaid’s objections I finally decided Alys and Guarin needed the extra time with me as much as I needed them.
There should have been dinner guests filling up my huge dining hall; it was built for that, but I was not raised to that lifestyle and it seemed obscene to throw dinner parties to fill my dining hall, as if my mother’s passing were cause for a feast. As well, my engagement to Lord Charles made it awkward. Should I invite people from my former life as a blacksmith’s wife? Wealthy merchants suited to my present class? Nobility? Mingling with the first two would embarrass my husband-to-be, and the third group would refuse my invitation. I no longer had social peers, but must wait in a limbo until my marriage.
; “Bring us wine,” I said to my steward. “And let the cook know Lord Roland is dining with me tonight.” I turned to him, “You will excuse me while I make myself ready.”
“We are dining alone?”
I thought of several replies but satisfied myself with a nod.
“I might have brought others had I known.” But the faint air of tension went out of him. I hid my irritation. He had not wanted anyone he knew to witness who he might be dining with. Pity I had not invited my old neighbors in the village. His kindness to my children had made me forget his vanity. He might care for me still and remember Simon fondly because of our roles in his childhood, but he would never have married me. Charles at least was honest about his feelings.
What could have made Roland risk the company of whoever I might be entertaining in order to see me at once?
By the time I returned in my blue silk kirtle with its matching headdress and slippers, I was fairly twitching with curiosity and apprehension. The last time he had come to dinner he had announced his forthcoming engagement. What announcement was in store for me tonight? Was it possible Charles had sent him bearing some unpleasant news? I was glad we were alone so I could at least hear it in private.
Elise stood a slight distance from the table, my maid and our chaperone, supervising the serving girl who brought our food. I had begun to rely more and more on Elise’s advice—usually unsolicited—since Maman’s death, although I did not let on to her. Whatever I was about to learn, I could trust her discretion.
“My brother is a lucky man,” Roland lied gallantly, taking in my appearance with approval. I let the lie stand for it was true; I was too good for Charles even if only I thought so. Roland wisely turned the talk to my children and I was glad to boast of their accomplishments over the past year. Alys was a creditable horsewoman now and had just been given her own mare. Guarin now rode the pony, with enthusiasm if not skill. He was fearless, so it fell to me to fear enough for us both, but I hid it as I imagined my mother had hidden her fear for me when my papa allowed Simon to teach me to ride.
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