SirenSong (52 page)

“Oh no! Let them come to you. You will open that shoulder a
third time and it will never heal aright. There, Papa, see. Richard is coming.”
She leaned from the door to shout a greeting and bade the earl come up before
her father jumped down.

But the beaming smiles that met Richard dimmed at the
trouble in his face, then vanished as he told them what lay in Mauger’s tent.

“Martin?” William said. “I do not believe it. That Mauger
could—could torture
him
—yes. But that Martin could wrest the knife from
him and strike back—no. Even if he had the strength, which he did not, he
would
not. Not Martin.”

“Martin struck first, William,” Richard said softly. “The
knife is yours—that with the stag horn handle carved like a wading bird. You
say Martin would not—not for himself, I agree—but for you and Alys?”

“Murder? Martin? No!” William insisted.

“You did not commit murder when you fought the men on your
walls. Likely Martin thought what he did an act of war—the only act of which he
was capable.”

“I do not care what he thought,” Alys said. “You are right.
He did it for us. Papa had talked about these men being hired men, not bound by
loyalty. Martin understood that if he killed Mauger and there was no pay, they
would go away.”

“Yes,” William agreed. He hid his face in his hands for a
moment. “I shall miss him. He was an other self.” Then he turned and roared
across the hall for the carpenters to get themselves down the ladder and knock
up a staircase. He made as if to go down and Richard held him back, saying that
Raymond had stayed.

“But he cannot make him decent,” Alys said, “and he will be
needed for other things. I cannot let Martin lie all bloody. I will go down.
No, you will not, Papa. Do not make more grief for me and labor for Elizabeth
by doing yourself a hurt. He will not be impatient if you do not come right
away.” Her voice broke on the words and she leaned against her father, sobbing.
“I will not weep,” she said after a moment, pulling away. “He could not bear it
when I wept—or you either, Papa. So let us not.”

“No,” William said slowly. “There is nothing to weep about,
Alys. The dearest wish of Martin’s heart was to repay me for saving his life.
He must have died very happy, love, believing he had done so. It was his
choice. We must be content with it.”

She called some women, sent one up to summon Elizabeth from
the wounded to comfort her father and bade others gather vessels and cloths for
washing the body. William stood looking out the window toward Mauger’s tent for
a little while, then dried his own wet eyes. Richard had walked toward the
hearth where the family sat to give William time to control himself. There,
seated on a chair, looking idly into the fire while everyone else ran about
busily, was the loveliest creature he had ever seen in his life. No wonder
William was bewitched and Raymond jumped at her name.

“Madam,” Richard said, bowing, “I have news.” It was
awkward, he realized, to announce the death of a husband to a woman who must
regard this as the best of good tidings. Nonetheless, it was better for him to tell
her than for William to do so. “Sir Mauger is dead,” he said simply.

“Oh? How delightful!” Emma crowed, jumping up and clapping
her hands.

Richard felt sick. The large blue eyes had fixed on him now
and he saw their emptiness behind the surface joy. Was this what William had
loved for twenty years? Even as the revolting question rolled through his mind,
he realized that this girl could hardly have been alive for twenty years. In
the same moment, William came up behind him and snarled, “What the hell are you
doing here?”

Emma sidled over and leaned against him suggestively. “My
chamber is full of wounded men bleeding and groaning,” she simpered. “There is
not a clean or quiet corner up there, so I came down to be near you.”

William choked, then took a breath as if to blast a
reprimand, but instead he merely pushed her away gently. Richard blinked,
completely at a loss.

“Oh, Emma, my dear,” a soft voice said, “do make your
curtsy. This is the Earl of Cornwall, and he may know someone who would like
your company. Someone very rich.”

Emma dropped into a deep curtsy at once, all smiles, but
Richard was looking over her head. This was the siren? Her wimple was crooked
and the hair that escaped from it curled wildly about her face, her gown was
laced up all wrong, and one edge had caught in her garter so that a graceful
leg and neat ankle were exposed. Then he saw the great, luminous eyes and the
sweetness of her smile, and her hand came out in a gesture of such grace that
he was enchanted. William’s face lit with a deep, inner joy that wiped the pain
from it. Compared with Emma’s face, Elizabeth’s was brown and plain, but
already Richard felt warm and comfortable in her presence.

“Now you must go away for a while, Emma,” Elizabeth
continued placidly, “so we can decide what is best for you.”

Emma looked toward William, but the fixity of his attention
on Elizabeth was so palpable that even she recognized it. “I want to live in
London,” she reminded Elizabeth. “I do not wish to be imprisoned in a keep in
the country.”

“Yes, yes, I remember,” Elizabeth assured her hastily,
hearing a growl begin in William’s chest, “but go up above and help Maud cut
cloth for bandages. You must show you are good and obedient.”

As soon as she was gone, Elizabeth dropped a deep curtsy before
Richard. “I beg your pardon, my lord, for using your name in such a way, but—”

“Never mind that, Elizabeth,” William interrupted. “I must
tell you that Martin and Mauger have somehow killed each other.”

Elizabeth’s eyes grew enormous and she reached for William’s
hand. “Martin? How?”

“We do not know exactly,” William said and then Richard told
her what had been found.

“Do not grieve for Martin, beloved.” Elizabeth’s voice was
not steady. “For such a soul there cannot even be purgatory. He must, at last,
be straight and beautiful and at God’s very knee.” Then she was silent.
“Mauger,” she sighed, “I hope God may have pity for him, although there is
little of it in me. He died with many black sins on his soul.”

They had little more time for private talk. All were fully
occupied restoring Marlowe to as near normal as possible. Much discussion did
not clear up the problem of the queer behavior of the mercenaries. Even d’Arcy
blandly asserted he could not understand, and the subject was abandoned after a
time as a mystery that would never be solved. Martin was laid out. Mauger’s
body was sent back to Hurley to be packed in brine and transported eventually
to Ilmer. There was so much to be done that they did not even sit down to
dinner and, as soon as it was dark all tumbled into bed and to sleep, Elizabeth
somehow having found time to prepare chambers for Richard and d’Arcy and
pallets in the hall for their men.

The next morning d’Arcy left early to inform the king that
his writ had been obeyed. Richard had suggested that he say nothing of his
presence, and the suggestion was accepted gladly. By dinner time a close
approximation of normalcy had been restored.

William and Richard came to sit by the fire and found Emma
there again. William’s outraged roar as the girl plumped herself down in his
lap brought Elizabeth, who sent her away again.

“I must apologize for Emma,” she sighed in answer to
Richard’s exasperated question and explained the circumstances of bringing the
girl to Marlowe. Then she looked at him piteously. “I can only hope that you do
know someone who would be glad to keep her. She means no ill—really, she is so
stupid that she could not
mean
anything—but she is
totally
useless except in bed. Do you know a rich merchant or even—even a—a house where
such girls are kept… It would not be a cruelty. She was in such a place before
Mauger bought her and speaks of it with—with longing. And she will drive
William mad if she remains here much longer.”

“Do you mean to let that creature loose on the world?”
Richard asked with twitching lips. “William seems immune to her. Perhaps she is
safest here.”

Elizabeth’s rich chuckle rewarded him. “You do not know how
persistent she is,” she sighed, although her eyes twinkled. “She
cannot
believe William could prefer me to her and pursues him whenever she can.”

“If you would let me beat her soundly,” William suggested
dryly.

“No,” Elizabeth pleaded. “It would be cruel! She is so
simple, like a stupid child. And she did save my life and Alys’s.”

“Well,
I
cannot take her home,” Richard said,
horrified as he saw where this was leading. “Sancia is very young. She
would—er—never understand I was only doing William a favor.”

“Brothers,” William remarked with a malicious grin, “should
share their troubles.”

“Do not be such a tease, William,” Elizabeth laughed. “Of
course you cannot take her, Richard, but you could ask about.”

“But William must go to London, too, to thank the king for
his kindness.” Richard spoke gently, but he was worried. Did Elizabeth intend
to keep William pent on these small estates? Was she too timid or lazy to go
out into the world? If so, his hopes that William would be willing to take on
the position of marshal of his lands would probably be at an end. Once he was
married to Elizabeth, he would be even less eager to spend much time away.

“London?” Elizabeth said. “Are you going to London,
William?”

“You will not come with me?” William asked rather anxiously.

“You have not invited me,” Elizabeth rejoined, her eyes
laughing again. She simply had not thought of this solution. “Perhaps you wish
to take Emma there on your own…”

“Imp! Evil imp!” William exclaimed. “How dare you tell me
not to be a tease?”

It was now Richard’s turn to grin maliciously. “But if
William is going to London, and you are willing to trust him to take Emma, I do
not hesitate to say that he knows as well as I where to show her off.”

“Traitor!” William groaned, and was about to complain
further when Richard’s expression made him turn his head.

Alys was coming, hand in hand with Raymond. It was clear
that somehow Richard had not previously noticed their attachment in the hurry
and bustle of the past day and a half. The earl drew a sharp breath. How had he
been such a fool as not to think of Alys immediately when he wondered what
inspired Raymond’s devotion?

“He is the queen’s nephew,” Richard said under his breath,
but his eyes were on the radiant young faces, and he suddenly remembered how
Henry had cried,
What could I do
? when his sister and Simon de Montfort
had wanted to marry.

“I know now,” William replied to Richard’s anguished
protest, “but I did not know when I first saw they loved. You wanted her to
make a great marriage. I only wanted her to be happy. I thought it would be no
bad thing, even if he had nothing. Elizabeth was not free then. I did not
expect to marry. I thought they would have Marlowe and Bix and that would be
enough for them.”

“Have you given your approval to this?” Richard asked
stiffly.

“You know I have not. Raymond only told me after we were
besieged. We did not have time… I only said he was unkind to let Alys love
him—”

“And I said that I would marry Alys if it was the last thing
I did in this life.” Raymond had come up to them during the last words William
spoke. There was no deference in his voice.

“Marriage for the heir of Aix is not a matter of personal
preference,” Richard protested, but his voice was less certain than Raymond’s.

“I have a brother,” Raymond replied. “There is no need for
me to be heir of Aix.”

“Do not be ridiculous!” Richard snapped. “Can you imagine the
troubles that could arise in Aix and in Provence if your father tried to change
the succession—not to mention the bitterness that could be caused between
England and Provence if my brother countenanced this marriage?”

“What troubles? Are you implying that my grandfather would
make war on England because the son of his natural son is, in his opinion, a
fool?”

“I said this would not work, Raymond,” Alys said stonily. “I
am not fit—”

“You are fit for anything,” Richard interrupted in an
agonized voice. The bleak resignation of her words, the way her brilliant eyes
had dulled and her face slipped into lines of grief were unbearable. “It is
nothing to do with you, sweetheart. You are fit to be a queen, but—”

“Then do not tell us that what we desire is impossible, and
seek for a way to
make
it possible,” Raymond snarled.

Both Richard and William looked at the young man in
amazement. He had always seemed soft and pleasant to William. Even when Raymond
fought, he had been easy, without bitterness or hatred. Richard had seen him
nervous and distracted by worry in a situation in which he was truly helpless.
This was different. It was something that
was
in his power to obtain and
it was quite clear that Raymond intended to have his way even if every throne
in Europe toppled for it and gall flowed in the rivers of England and Provence
instead of water. Richard whistled softly and William bit his lip. Both saw
Raymond Berenger in his grandson—and Raymond Berenger ruled Provence like a
king in the teeth of the displeasure of Louis of France.

“I think,” Elizabeth said softly, “that Raymond is quite
right, and Richard also. Alys has the manner and bearing to fit her for his
wife. Some arrangement could be devised, surely, that would make her
acceptable—”

“Faugh!” Raymond exclaimed, his eyes blazing and his hand on
his sword hilt. “Is there no one here but myself and one woman who has more
courage than a hen?”

“Raymond,” Alys said softly, “let them think. All here love
us. Your quarrel is not with my father or Uncle Richard.”