SirenSong (37 page)

“Let me in, Emma. It is I, Mauger.”

Chapter Nineteen

Mauger would probably not have noticed Alys’s boat making
for the dock at Hurley even if he had not already ridden ashore. His attention
after he led his destrier onto the ferry was taken up by the activity on one of
the docks at Marlowe. He could see a fairly large riverboat tied up and
unloading. Eventually he made out two figures standing side by side watching
the work, one of whom wore a sword. Something in the attitude of the other man,
who shouted orders from time to time, made Mauger feel pretty sure the one
wearing the sword was William’s hireling knight.

A slight feeling of irritation that Raymond was still alive
passed. It was just as well he was not dead yet. If news of his murder preceded
Mauger to Marlowe, there might have been too much excitement there for proper
attention to be given to Mauger’s news. Probably there had been too much
activity at the docks for Egbert to have the young knight enticed away. Mauger
looked up at the darkening sky. If it began to rain really hard, he might use
that as an excuse to extend his visit in Marlowe. The previous day Raymond had
been back in the keep well before dark. Perhaps his absence would be noted and
Mauger could plant the idea that the merchants would have good reason to wish
to silence him.

He rode well to the rear of the docks and spurred his horse
up the steep road. There would be nothing suspicious in his eagerness. The
weather was excuse enough for a man to hurry to shelter. Obviously the
men-at-arms in Marlowe agreed with him. No one looked surprised when Mauger
rode through the bailey right up to the door of the forebuilding. The groom who
came running to take the horse cursed under his breath, but it was the weather
and his fate that drew the obscenities rather than Mauger’s action.

As he entered the hall he wondered whether Alys knew of the
relationship between Elizabeth and her father. If so, would she try to prevent
him from seeing William? It was the crippled steward who came to greet him,
however. Ostentatiously Mauger looked elsewhere as Martin hobbled forward. When
the steward continued to approach, Mauger waved him away. To his surprise,
Martin did not scuttle aside and send a servant to summon Alys. He stopped
where he was and bowed.

“You offend me,” Mauger growled. “Take yourself out of my
sight.”

“I am sorry, my lord,” Martin said softly, “but my master is
abed and Lady Alys is not in the keep.”

Mauger opened his mouth to call Martin a liar and say he
knew William was up and about, but he remembered he could not explain that
knowledge. “Sir William was not so severely hurt as to be still abed,” Mauger
snarled. “I have news for him that he will be most eager to hear.”

“He
is
abed,” Martin insisted, sidling between Mauger
and the door to William’s apartment.

He was desperate to keep Mauger away from William until Alys
had seen Elizabeth and could assure her father that all was well at Hurley. He
was intent on his purpose and it simply did not occur to him that a gentleman
would use violence on another gentleman’s servant. Thus, he was taken
completely by surprise when Mauger stepped up to him, whirled him round, and
shoved him away forcefully.

“Get out of my way, you loathsome filth,” Mauger spat.

Unable to stop himself, Martin staggered halfway across the
hall. A couple of the servants cried out and rushed toward him, they knew in
what esteem their master held Martin, but it was too late. Mauger had already
gone in through the door and was bellowing a greeting filled with spurious
jollity.

“Oh my God,” Martin breathed, rubbing his protruding chest,
which had been bruised when he fell against a chair. “What can I do? What can I
do?”

Impatiently he warned the servants away. They could not
help. If Mauger told Sir William that Elizabeth was sick, Sir William would
want to rush to Hurley. How to prevent him from harming himself? How? Then
relief. Of course he could prevent Sir William from going. He need only mention
at the right moment that Alys had already gone and would soon return with
reliable news as to Lady Elizabeth’s condition. Perhaps he could somehow hint
that over eagerness on Sir William’s part would be embarrassing or even
dangerous to Lady Elizabeth. Martin moved as quickly as he could to the open door
of Sir William’s apartment, beckoning a servant and whispering that he should
bring wine and cups.

Mauger’s “cheerful” bellow had startled William awake. He
had jerked upright, painfully wrenching his half-healed shoulder. This was not
all bad because the expression of discomfort on his face hid all other
emotions.

“Mauger!” he exclaimed. “Are you just come?”

“I am sorry to see you still abed,” Mauger replied, without
really answering William’s question, “and still in so much pain.”

Politeness forced William to swallow the retort that he had
not been in pain until Mauger’s stupidity had caused him to make an injudicious
movement. The politeness was its own reward as he realized his apparent
weakness would be a good excuse for Elizabeth’s having lingered so long at
Marlowe. Thus, he made no move to get out of bed, as he would ordinarily have
done. He had been wondering simultaneously why Alys had allowed Mauger to walk
in on him unannounced and then thought his conclusions might have been hers
also. But he had to find something to say.

“The shoulder wound has been very slow to heal,” William
agreed obliquely. “I hope my men behaved well. There was no trouble?”

“None,” Mauger responded promptly, “although there was no
testing. The Welsh had fled away and nothing de Bohun or Clare could do would
tempt them from their mountains. Some feints were made, but we did not have the
force to take the large keeps. Mostly we just sat and waited. When our time of
service was ended, de Bohun bade us go.”

Having pulled his pillows up so that he could sit, William
leaned back and nodded. “If there had been hopes of a decisive meeting with
David, it would have been worthwhile to pay you to remain, but to chase an
ignis
fatuus
through the Welsh hills, an army is more bane than boon. I suppose
Hereford will remain with his own troops. Does Gloucester remain also?”

“How would I know?” Mauger asked a tinge of bitterness in
his voice. “I am not a confidant of the great.”

William wondered uneasily whether the taunt was a deliberate
reference to his relationship to Richard of Cornwall and sought for something
to say that would be, all at the same time, soothing, unrevealing, and not
untrue. The statement, however, was only meant to deflect William from further
discussion of the Welsh situation.

To this end, Mauger did not wait for a reply, but said,
smiling as if to take the sting from his words, ”I had really come to quarrel
with you, William, but now I see that I should not do so.” Mauger’s smile
broadened as he saw William’s color change. He was going to be richly rewarded
in amusement, it seemed, for the loss of his wife’s worthless affections.

“Quarrel with me about what?” William asked. He could not
bring himself to add, as he knew he should,
I have done nothing to offend
you
.

“You used my poor wife so hardly, she has fallen sick,”
Mauger answered, still smiling and speaking rightly as if in jest, but his eyes
were hard and wary.

William was so shocked by the first part of Mauger’s
remark—made in that jesting tone that he hardly heard and did not make any
sense of the second phrase.

“Used your—used Elizabeth—” he choked. “What the devil do
you mean?”

Before Mauger could reply, Martin hobbled hurriedly into the
room carrying a tray with wine and cups. “Do you desire refreshment, my lords?”
he asked blandly.

Mauger restrained an impulse to hit Martin, a restraint more
easily applied as it was clear William had not been distracted by the
interruption, and he certainly would be distracted if Mauger struck his
loathsome pet.

“What could I mean?” Mauger asked merrily. “Only that she
was so worn out with nursing you—”

“Some wine, my lord?” Martin interrupted, sidling up to
Mauger and extending a filled cup. He set it down quickly as he saw the
infuriated man’s hand rise and hobbled past him toward the wall. “Will you not
sit down, my lord?” He began to drag over a chair too heavy for him to move
more than inches at a time.

The whining obsequiousness of the steward’s voice, the
unnatural and unwarranted intrusion, the futile, clumsy effort with the chair,
all so unlike Martin’s normal behavior, finally pierced William’s shock. Once
his mind began to work, several things leapt into it. Most important was that
Mauger was deliberately baiting him. That meant Mauger must know and yet he
obviously did not intend to make a challenge of the matter. William knew he had
given Mauger the perfect opening to challenge him, and Mauger had made a jest
of that also. How had he discovered the truth? Elizabeth would not have… Sick!
He had said Elizabeth was sick! William pushed himself upright only to have his
view of Mauger blocked by Martin, who had abandoned the chair and scurried
around the bed.

“Lie back, my lord,” he cried urgently. “You would not wish
to undo the work of the ladies. Lady Alys would never forgive herself if she
knew you had risen from the bed when she was out. I promised her—”

“What do you mean Elizabeth is sick?” William demanded,
paying no more attention to the steward who was now clutching his arm than if a
fly had landed there.

“Lady Alys will know,” Martin went on loudly before Mauger
could speak. “We heard this morning that Lady Elizabeth was not well, and Lady
Alys went to discover what was wrong and to make sure she was well nursed. You
know Lady Alys is skilled in such matters. You remember how well she cared for
me…” Martin babbled on, not caring what he said, aware only of the fact that
William was now staring at him.

“You are sure Alys went to Hurley?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord, certain, absolutely certain.” Martin’s voice
was fervent, his eyes held William’s, warning, pleading. “Stay abed until Lady
Alys returns. There is nothing you can do. Lady Alys will know.”

Both men were so intent on each other, trying to communicate
what must not be asked or answered openly, that neither had any attention to
bestow on Mauger. He had barely choked back a roar of rage when he heard that
Alys had set out for Hurley. She would discover Elizabeth was locked in and
come running back to… No. Alys would not come back to Marlowe at once. That
nasty little bitch was too accustomed to getting her own way. Doubtless she
would try to make Emma open the door.

An uneasy pang passed through Mauger. He realized suddenly
that he had left Emma in a faint. He had not heard the bar being seated in its
slots. Almost certainly Emma had locked the door as soon as she revived,
however, would Emma be proof against Alys’s insistence? What did it matter?
Either way it would be a disaster. William would… Then Mauger realized that
William could not do a thing! As long as Elizabeth was a hostage, that romantic
idiot would not dare do anything, unless…unless Mauger himself were trapped in
Marlowe.

“I am a great fool,” Mauger said. “I should have thought to
send for Lady Alys. I keep thinking of her as a child, but, of course, she is
not. I will leave you now, William. Perhaps I can catch Alys before she leaves.
She could then tell me whether the matter is serious.”

“But what happened?” William asked frantically, “What did
Elizabeth say?”

“She said it was nothing,” Mauger assured him, now desiring
only to get out of Marlowe. “She said she had been tired and worried about you.
I would not have made a jest of the matter if I thought she was really sick. I
am sure there is no need to worry. Alys will be able to tell you far more than
I when she returns.”

This was almost certainly true, William knew. Besides, he
was so confused by the change in Mauger’s manner that he merely nodded in
response to the farewell Mauger was making and watched him dazedly as he walked
out the door. Then he sighed with relief and sank back on his pillows. Mauger
had not been baiting him about being Elizabeth’s lover. He knew nothing.
Doubtless he had found Elizabeth depressed and crying, and to excuse herself,
she had said she was not feeling well. It was typical of Mauger that he should
think that a subject suitable to joke about. William shifted restlessly, trying
to convince himself that all was well. Finally he got out of bed and insisted
on getting dressed, although he knew he could do nothing until Alys came back
with news.

It was not until Mauger was out of the keep that he relaxed
enough to think further on the subject of Alys’s visit to Hurley. He rode as
quickly as he could, absently noting that the large riverboat was unloaded and
that Raymond did not seem to be anywhere around. As he led his horse onto the
ferry, Mauger relaxed still further. His mind, freed from any concern with his
own safety, fixed on the fact that he had not met Raymond leaving the keep or
the road. So probably Egbert had already drawn him into the ambush and he was
dead. One obstacle out of the path. But there would be trouble over this
business with Elizabeth.

Damn that loudmouthed, nosy bitch, Alys. He would never be
able to convince her of his sympathy and good will now. He would have to take
her by force. The ferry docked and Mauger went ashore and mounted. His eyes
swept the river front. They passed over a small boat tied to the pier with two
boatmen huddled under skins to shelter from the rain, which was becoming heavy.
Mauger started his horse forward, eager to get to shelter before the few, heavy
drops became a downpour and then reined the beast in sharply. That was the boat
from Marlowe! Alys was still in Hurley!

All at once a complete, perfect plan was born. There would be
no need to entice Alys or to force her. There would be no need for refinements
or subterfuges to achieve William’s death. Loosening his rein, Mauger dug his
spurs deep into his horse’s flanks. He could hold Alys, send a message to
William that Elizabeth was very sick and Alys staying to care for her. That
would bring William to Hurley, half-healed or not, and they would all be
completely in his power.