Fires of Winter (16 page)

Many of Stephen's Knights and Squires of the Body served in rotation, having homes and families and sometimes estates that needed their attention. Since I knew Sir Oliver preferred I stay away from Jernaeve, I had seldom asked for leave, and Stephen had grown accustomed to having me with him. But Stephen himself had given me a great responsibility other than my service to him. And though I loved him, I could repose no trust in his continued payment of my pension—particularly if he were about to cause violent disorder in the exchequer by dismissing those who had long managed it. I had to make Melusine known to Audris so she would have a haven if my purse failed or, worse, rebellion was fanned to flames again.

I had not been following the discussion closely, but I knew Stephen, out of kindness, would ask my preference and I was ready when he said, “Well, Bruno, what do you think?”

“I would be sorry to leave you if you need me, my lord,” I answered, “but I think as Lord Waleran does that I would be a suitable messenger. I know my way about Yorkshire and Northumbria, and though I would not go so far as to say I
know
William d'Aumale, Walter Espec, and the others, I am acquainted with some and know the others by repute. I think I could express to each your sentiments in such a way that he would be pleased with your thanks and gratitude. I also have a personal reason to wish to go, if you will forgive me for letting such matters intrude. I greatly desire to make my wife known to Lady Audris of Jernaeve, so this journey could accomplish two purposes and I will not need to ask leave again.”

Stephen first seemed surprised at my answer; I suppose he expected me to say I preferred to stay with him, as I had in the past, but my mention of Jernaeve brought a nod. Although I am certain the king no longer had any doubts of Sir Oliver's loyalty, since Jernaeve had not been on the list of places that had yielded to King David and were to be objects of Aumale's attention, perhaps he still thought I could hold the keep for him if Sir Oliver died. That was now totally out of the question because Audris had a husband, but I did not think anyone had sent the king news of Audris's marriage to Hugh—I certainly had said nothing about it because I knew Sir Oliver had disapproved. And I was not about to say anything that might lessen my chances of taking Melusine to Jernaeve; Hugh was as loyal as I to the king, so it could not matter to Stephen who held Jernaeve.

“Hmmm, yes,” the king said, as he nodded, his expression suddenly thoughtful, as I had hoped. “It has been a long time since you were last at Jernaeve. It would be a good idea to see how they weathered the invasion. You might ride around the country there while your sister and your wife come to know each other. I will give you a purse so you can offer help to those who have suffered damage from the Scots.” Then his handsome face looked worried. “Your sister will not be jealous of your wife, will she?”

“No, indeed,” I hastened to assure him, avoiding any comment on his notion that I could—or would—ride about and visit those beholden to Jernaeve to ingratiate myself with them. Sometimes the flexibility of Stephen's notions of honor distressed me, even though I had tried to make my peace with myself on that subject.

“Audris will be very happy to learn I am married to so well-born and lovely a woman as Lady Melusine,” I went on, thinking wryly and with some amusement that what I said would be true only so long as I did not tell her how the marriage was forced on me and that Melusine had tried to murder me. But I did not intend to make Audris unhappy with the true tale. “I am more concerned with how to resist her invitation to stay with her than that she will not welcome us,” I added more truthfully.

My attention had been on Stephen, and I had not noticed that Waleran was looking at me as if I had grown two heads. “Do you mean to tell me you are known and welcome in Jernaeve?” he asked.

Surprise at his vehemence made me hesitate, and it was the king who answered, smiling. “He is the holder's brother.”

“Sir Oliver's
brother
?” Waleran repeated, clearly at a loss to connect the king's statement with what he knew of my history, but with a kind of recognition.

Stephen laughed. “No, the holder of Jernaeve is Lady Audris, not Sir Oliver. Bruno is Lady Audris's half brother, and much beloved of the lady.”

“I do not remember any Lady Audris when Sir Oliver grudgingly allowed me and my two chief captains a night's lodging and made my troops camp beyond the gates,” Waleran said angrily. “We had come to protect him from the Scots and he treated us like an invading army.”

“Sir Oliver is very cautious and very devoted to his niece,” I said, biting the inside of my lip so I would not laugh at Waleran's indignation.

The man must think everyone but him an idiot. Jernaeve needed no protection from the Scots or anyone else
outside
the gates. No more than Sir Oliver would I have allowed so good a soldier and so ambitious a man to bring troops into Jernaeve. But Waleran was a bad enemy to have, so I tried to soothe him. “Lady Audris is very shy of strangers,” I explained. “My lord the king will tell you that she had to be summoned specially when he himself visited Jernaeve. And I am sure the welcome you were offered was not meant to seem grudging. Sir Oliver is naturally brusque of manner. As for excluding your troops, he was only following old custom.”

The words came smoothly, and I thought wryly that I must be learning to be a courtier at last. I had told a whole series of untruths without uttering one lie. I do not know whether I salved the hurt done Waleran's pride by Sir Oliver's treatment. Actually, I doubt he was even thinking about what I said although he eyed me speculatively as I spoke, and he did not answer me at all, turning to the king instead

“By all means, my lord,” Waleran urged, “if you have a key that will fit in the lock of Jernaeve, let it turn the lock often so that it will turn easily if you ever need a way in.”

A very clever man was Waleran and yet he was very stupid too; I tried not to like or dislike any of the king's intimates, but Waleran would make an enemy of me in the end despite my will. However, although I could not like the manner in which he spoke or his implication, Waleran's last remark brought the king to the decision I desired.

Stephen sighed and shrugged and said, “I do not want to lose you for too long, Bruno, but you can take time to let your wife and your sister become true sisters. Perhaps if she can feel she has a family again, that will ease Lady Melusine's sorrow. Poor gentle creature that she is, I am sure Lady Audris will learn to love her.”

A vivid memory of Melusine's lips drawn back from her teeth as the knife in her hand flashed down toward my neck made me bite my lips to keep from laughing at the king's description. Audris would not love Melusine for trying to kill me—but she would never know of it—and she would love her better for a high spirit than for being a poor, gentle creature. But it was not being taken into the bosom of a family that would ease Melusine's “poor” heart. It was the restoration of her lands…Then I suddenly saw how I might induce Melusine to be on her best behavior on this journey and in addition gain some idea about whether she simply wanted the lands or was, as the queen feared, a rebel at heart.

Melusine

One would think that sleep would be hard to find after trying to kill the man sharing the bed. I certainly did not expect to sleep, since I only half believed that he would take no revenge for what I had done. I was utterly furious with him too for the obvious indifference he felt toward me. Men accounted me a highly desirable woman. Many had sought me in marriage. Papa had told me that some offered to take me without any dowry other than his friendship—and this boor to whom I had been married casually threw away the right to my body. Yet sleep I did, hard and fast, before I had even been able to enjoy my rage and hate.

More surprising still, I was not pursued through the night by evil dreams. I dreamt of Ulle, and of the promise to return I had given so indifferently. But the first idea that came into my mind when I woke was to wonder in whose bed I was sleeping. I do not mean that I had slipped into madness again. I remembered perfectly where I was and what had happened, but great beds with fine curtains and bedding are no common matter; they are costly and might be the whole of a poor knight's dower to his daughter. I also remembered that Bruno was poor. Whence then had come this great bed, finer than my mother's and father's? Surely from the king's or queen's favor—so Bruno had not lied about being a favorite.

Then I realized I was alone in the bed. Fool man, I thought, how am I to dress myself? Must I go with laces undone…Before the thought was complete, I saw movement and a young girl rose from where she had been sitting on my chest and came toward the bed. She was thin and clad in little more than rags and she was shaking with fright, but she spoke to me in fair French, explaining that Bruno had sent her to help me dress this one day.

“But who are you?” I insisted, realizing that despite her ability to speak our language she could not be a servant to any of the queen's ladies. The tattered clothing made it unlikely, and her manner to me—a deference that I had discovered none of the maids would show the woman they thought a half-wit—confirmed my guess.

She hesitated and then shrugged. “Bruno said I must speak the truth, so I will. My name is Edna, and I am a whore who can no longer ply her trade. I hope you will not be angry. Bruno found this service for me out of pity; he said you would see that I was fed.”

For a moment I just stared, so consumed with fury that I could not speak, but the girl certainly looked as if she needed a meal, and my rage began to fade into puzzlement. “Do you know how to lace a lady's gown?” I asked, mostly because my mind was reeling with so many questions that I could not decide which to ask first and so asked the least important.

“Yes, my lady. I…served in a place where gentlemen were entertained and fine gowns were worn.”

“Were you Bruno's whore?” was my next question, and I was far more surprised when the words came out than was the girl. Why should I care whether or not she was?

“I lay with him once or twice,” she admitted, looking at the floor, “but he did not come often to the place where I worked, only when he was with a group of friends. Please do not hurt me. He said you would not care…”

Her voice was steady, but she was trembling even more and her face was wet. “Why should I hurt you?” I remarked. “If I were angry, I would be angry at Bruno and he, not you, would suffer for that. And since I must have a maid right now, I will use you.”

I looked at her hands as I said that, expecting to have to tell her not only to wash but how to do it—but they were clean, even the nails, which were pared smooth. And the rags she wore looked dirty because they were stained beyond cleaning, but they did not smell. I began to think about what had seemed to me at first to be a deep insult—or an incredible stupidity—and I began to laugh.

Edna drew a deep breath. “Shall I help you out of bed, my lady? The washing water is ready. Shall I get the pot?”

“The pot. I can get out of bed myself.”

We did not exchange many more words. The questions I wanted answered could only be answered by Bruno. It occurred to me that he might not have expected me to question the girl. Perhaps the wife of a great nobleman would not have done so, taking for granted the service offered. If I had not asked, I could not have been offended, for Edna was a good maid. Still, she said Bruno had told her to speak the truth, so perhaps he
did
want me to know she was a whore, and one he had used.

I was still puzzling my head about Bruno and Edna when I came into the queen's hall to break my fast, and it is just as well I was full of my own problems. I was only slightly aware of excited voices and a sense of jubilation among the women. Then suddenly I felt the queen's eyes on me, and I looked up quickly and caught her staring. She smiled at me when our eyes met and then looked away, but it was warning enough that the excited talk somehow concerned me. Still, it took me several minutes, listening to a snatch of talk here and there as I gathered up bread, cheese, and wine, before the pieces of statements and exclamations I heard came together into the news that King David had suffered a great and bloody defeat at a place called Northallerton.

What the queen had been seeking in my face, I did not know. All that could have been there was a vast, empty indifference. Once I had felt King Stephen to be my worst enemy because his henchmen had angered my father and set Papa's feet on the road to war that led to his death, but the fierce rage like the worst bitterness of my grief seemed to have been swallowed up in those lost months. Now I no longer had anything to hate or fear. Everyone I loved was dead already, so no battle, whether it brought victory or defeat, had meaning for me.

Perhaps a better daughter than I would have grieved over the loss suffered by the king her father supported, but I had never been wedded to my father's political beliefs and now I loathed equally all kings and all causes. Why should I love King David? Had he not started the war that caused Papa's and Donald's deaths—and Magnus's too, in my opinion—and for such a cause! For the right of Matilda to rule, curse her pride and greed. And King Stephen had taken Ulle from me—though
I
was innocent of any crime.

I found a place to sit and took an angry, hungry bite from my bread and cheese, paused in shock, and then went on chewing slowly. Should I be hungry, I wondered, as I took a sip of wine? In a sense my father and brothers were newly dead, but the grief I felt was distant, muted. I felt more anger at the stupid kings and their quarrels than I felt sorrow. Perhaps I had been grieving in all those months I could not remember, and the sorrow had worn thin as it had for my other losses. Even when my mind spoke my menfolk's names, no fierce pangs ravaged me; there was only that distant ache of loneliness, only the dimming of all brightness in life as I remembered that there were none left in the world for me to care for and none to care for me.

Yet the dull uncaring could no longer smother me. One bright, sharp point of hope existed now. I could recover Ulle…through Bruno…but nothing in life is perfect and perhaps I would not need to endure him long after the lands were mine. That sensation of being watched with which I was so familiar stiffened the little hairs along my arms. This time I did not catch the queen's eyes on me, but still I knew that favorite of the king or not, the recovery of Ulle would not be so easy as Bruno implied. Or was that only to pacify me?

I did not know how much influence the queen had—some women were less considered than a horse or a dog, but Maud did not have the look or manner of those. She was neither meek nor a tyrant but had an assured, easy manner with her women and the gentlemen who served her. But whatever her power with her husband, the suspicion the queen felt for me could only increase the difficulty of convincing the king to regrant the lands. And Bruno had not lied about Maud's suspicion. A queen does not so closely examine the face of a nothing without kin or property, so there was something she feared I could do to hurt her. Somehow I would have to prove I was no threat.

Proving innocence is no simple thing, particularly when the crime—beyond so general an idea as treason—is unknown. Nonetheless, I found myself biting and chewing with enthusiasm, noting that the manchet bread was lighter and finer than what we made at Ulle and the cheese of a more subtle flavor.

“It is good to see you eating so eagerly.”

I looked up and met Maud's small dark eyes, bright as polished onyx. My muscles tensed to rise, but she gestured negation at me and seated herself at the end of the bench I was on. Her look demanded an answer, although she had not asked a question, and I said, “The fear that has choked me for so long is less.”

I had responded almost without thinking, not realizing until the words were out of my mouth that I was following the path I had suggested to Bruno for escaping my role of half-wit. I could swear the queen was startled by my answer, or perhaps by the fact that I had answered at all, and so swiftly. But her mind was on its own path, and she raised her brows.

“You are cleverer than that, Melusine,” she snapped. “You will never convince me that you feared King David's victory.”

“King David's victory?” I repeated blankly. “But did I not hear that he was defeated?”

“You did,” Maud replied, staring at me hard. “I am asking why that should make you rejoice.”

“I do not rejoice,” I said. “I do not care. Whatever you think, I never cared.”

“You have grown quick and saucy of tongue all of a sudden,” the queen murmured, as though she had sprung a trap.

I shrugged. “I have said before that the worst has befallen me already. I have nothing left to fear, so my thoughts no longer plod over and over the same trace, shutting out all else.”

Maud looked indignant. “What fear, since you say you did not fear for King David's success? What did you expect? Did you think me such a monster—and Stephen? My husband has spent more time trying to soothe you and win a smile from you than he has ever spent on any other lady.”

That was news to me, of course, but I lowered my eyes to my food and replied, “One cannot be rude to a king, but it could not ease my mind that my mistress's husband showed me more favor than another.”

A warm chuckle burst from the queen. “Child,” she said, “were you afraid I would be jealous? Or that Stephen had an impure motive? Why did you not speak?”

“I feared everything,” I muttered, but I could not help liking her better because of the way she laughed at me.

It surprised me too. An older woman and one who could never have been a beauty generally is jealous when her husband pays attention to a much younger, handsomer woman—and even if my new husband found it easy to turn aside from me in scorn, I know my beauty is greater than Queen Maud's. Of course some women so abhorred their men that they loved and cherished their husbands' lemans, but there was nothing bitter in the confident chuckle Maud had uttered, and her look was of amusement, that of a woman very sure of her man.

Thoughts are swift, but I found that one cannot allow one's mind to wander even for an instant in a conversation with the queen. “And now that you have a husband you fear nothing?” she asked in so smooth and uncaring a tone that I almost slipped into the trap and cried that a man forced on a woman without even her knowledge is no true husband.

Fortunately, I recalled my purpose in time and also remembered that Maud had spoken well of Bruno the morning after my marriage. So I kept my eyes down and shrugged and answered with what I hoped was the right mixture of sullen acceptance and relief, “I suppose I was afraid you would give me to someone even worse. I cannot say I am happy to be the wife of a whore's son with nothing but his sword to advance him, but he has not been unkind.”

“And he will not be, if you do not
call
him whore's son and drive him to it,” Maud said. “I swear that if I hear those words again, I will make you bitterly sorry you spoke them. Bruno is not at fault for his mother's trade. Come, look at me. I wish you to see that I speak the truth.”

The color rose in my cheeks as I lifted my head, but not with shame or anger as the queen doubtless thought. My reasons for disliking my husband had nothing whatsoever to do with his birth, and the flush marked a little thrill of pleasure at my success in leading Maud to believe what I wanted her to believe. Now let her think I was easily cowed also.

“I do not blame him,” I muttered, “and my honor, will I nill I, is tied to his. You may be sure I will not missay him to any other nor invite a beating by waking his wrath.”

Maud sighed. “I doubt he would beat you for speaking the truth—Bruno is honest and honorable to a fault, and such a nature has advantages—but you will lose all chance of winning his love if you show you scorn him. Oh, I know you do not now think that is of value because you are all the more foolish for being all too clever, but I tell you that there is no greater happiness on earth than a good marriage.” She shook her head and sighed again. “It is a pity that most clever women are so stupid. Never mind what you think. Hold your tongue for fear of me, if for no other reason. Bruno is a good man and I do not want him hurt. I will give you another warning, which no doubt you will also scorn. Bruno is the
king's
man, and nothing you can do will change that. If you do not torment him to be disloyal, your life with him will be sweet.”

“It may be short too, if he spends all his time in the king's wars,” I snapped before I thought.

To my astonishment, the queen winced as though I had slapped her, tears flooded her eyes, and she closed them. My hand went out and touched hers before I could stop myself as I realized that if she loved her husband, as what she had said to me about marriage implied, her fears must be even deeper and more dreadful than mine had been before all cause for fear was reft from me. I snatched my hand back and clutched my cup, which I lifted to my lips before her eyes opened, but I knew she had felt the touch. She said no more, rising and walking away, and I finished my meal, trying to lock her words out of my mind by thinking of the whore Bruno had sent to wait on me and my promise to see that she was fed.