Great Maria (46 page)

Maria fumbled her foot into her shoe. “He is in a strange humor lately. Will you watch Henry for me?” She got a candle from her basket and went out the door and behind the stairs into the wall passage.

The black tunnel swallowed her. She groped her way through it, remembering the bumps and spines of rock only after she had banged her feet against them. When she rounded the corner, she heard Father Yvet’s voice.

“My lord, my mission here is as pleasant as it is simple. I am to assure you that the Holy Father will accept you as his vassal and recognize your claims to all of Marna.”

Maria clicked her tinderbox furiously until at last a little flame glowed in the fluff of tinder. On the other side of the wall, a chair grated on the floor. She blew on the tinder to make it burn and reached for her candle. Whatever the priest had come to Marna to do, it certainly was not what he was saying; the Pope did not have vassals.

Richard said, tentatively, “I’m honored by the recognition. I think the Emperor is my overlord.”

“No—that is a usurped power, you see. Marna is part of Constantine’s gift. In the course of events, that’s been corrupted, but the true order of things here is obvious.”

“Maybe you’d better tell me who Constantine is,” Richard said.

Maria was pleased that he didn’t know either. She sat down on the floor. The candle showed her the rough, blind walls of the passage.

Father Yvet went off into another of his stories. Old candle butts littered the floor. She lit them and set them in niches on the wall. Bending, she put her eye to the peephole.

Richard sat in his chair opposite her. The churchman between them had his back to the wall. Father Yvet’s hands moved gracefully. He explained how the Emperor Constantine had given the whole world to the Pope to rule.

Richard said, “I had a man from Aachen say that I owe the Emperor obedience. Now you come tell me this. You are confusing me, and I don’t like being confused.”

Father Yvet straightened. The back of his chair dented the smooth wool of his robe. “Come,” he said quietly. “You are shrewd enough to know that until you pay homage to your rightful overlord for Marna, you will be only an outlaw here, responsible to no one. The Emperor will never recognize you now, since you insulted him. He’ll take his revenge on you at his pleasure. We are offering you a way to escape what could only be a mortal blow to your power here, perhaps your very life.”

Richard said, “Thank you. I am very grateful to you.”

Maria sat up straight. The burning candles turned the air stuffy, and she put most of them out. She wondered if Father Yvet knew Richard well enough to catch the whine of temper in his voice.

“We will expect something of you in return,” the churchman was saying. “There is the matter of the priest you murdered—”

“I murdered no priest. Hold.”

“Papa,” Stephen called. Footsteps ran across the hall. “Excuse me, my lord, for interrupting you. Papa, Robert is coming.”

Getting up, Maria pinched out the last of the candles. Beyond the wall, Richard said, “Go find your mother.”

“But Papa, I can’t—”

“I said, go find your mother.”

Maria ran off down the passageway. When she reached the stair landing, Stephen was half a flight down. She called his name, and he wheeled.

“Mama.” His eyes popped. “Where were you?”

Maria went down to him on the stairs. “Ah, Stephen, I have never seen you with your face clean.” She spat on her thumb and rubbed away the smear on his cheek. “Has Robert brought Ismael with him?”

“Mama, how did you know?”

Maria went down into the ward, Stephen in her tracks. The day was brilliant with sunlight. She made a wide circle around the horses in the ward. Stephen ran ahead of her in the ward.

“Jilly,” Eleanor’s voice called, somewhere in the tower. Maria went out the gate onto the windy slope.

Robert and Ismael were riding through the curtain wall. They spurred to a hard gallop and raced up around her and Stephen. Robert leaped down before her.

“Mama. We stayed to hunt, up in the hills, did you miss me?”

He flung his arm around her shoulders. His voice cooled. “Hello, Stephen.”

“Hello,” Stephen muttered.

“Mother, did the Pope’s messenger come with you?” He backed up onto the road, throwing his black cloak over his shoulder. Little blue wildflowers sprouted down the front of his coat and in his horse’s black mane. Ismael came up smiling between them.

“Maria. No much witch, no?”

“Hah,” she said. She took hold of his hand. “I am sad of you, Ismael. I thought you were bold. Yes, the Pope’s man is still here.”

Ismael turned back to his horse. “Then I very well go.”

“Stay down by the beach, so the Emir will know where to find you.” She went between their horses and down the road a few steps, to point over the green crest of the wood. “There are fishermen’s shelters there, and Robert will bring you some food.”

In the castle, Eleanor was still calling for Jilly. Maria put one arm around Ismael. “It won’t be for very long.”

Ismael swung up onto his red mare and galloped away. Maria frowned. Something moving on the hillside below her had caught her eye. It was Jilly, running through the waist-high green toward the curtain wall. The child disappeared in the brush.

“I have, you brat,” Robert was saying hotly, behind her. “You can ask—”

“You’re such a liar,” Stephen said.

Robert cried out. He lunged toward Stephen, and his brother raced away through the gate. Robert chased him across the ward. Maria took his horse by the bridle and led it inside.

“My lady,” a groom said, and she gave him the rein of Robert’s horse. Muffled, Robert’s voice shouted in the stable, and he pounded on the closed door. Maria went quickly toward the New Tower, pretending not to hear him.

Forty-one

Do you still like your weaver?” Richard shot a sideways look down the hall toward Father Yvet. “Christ witness. Every man with an ox tries to fatten it on me.”

Father Yvet stood before the hearth, the center of a small worshipful crowd. Robert and Stephen were among them. The churchman’s voice was answered by a general laugh. Robert leaned forward, his face vivid with some idea. The priest inclined his head gravely to listen. He had been listening all day, especially to Eleanor. Maria had seen them together three times.

“Do you think he meant all that?” she said to Richard. “It sounded to me as if he wanted to find out how much you would believe.”

He took hazelnuts from the bowl beside his chair and cracked the shells between his thumb and forefinger. “Did Robert find Ismael?”

“He’s down by Crane Beach.”

Eleanor came in, carrying Henry. Jilly, like a servant, hung on her skirts. Maria’s eyes followed them. Richard put another nut-meat to her lips, and obediently she opened her mouth to receive it.

“Now you’re going to suffer for killing that priest.”

“Don’t let me yield to temptation and kill this one.”

Maria went over to sit down with Eleanor, in the far end of the room. They talked of babies. Jilly lingered nearby them, her fingers turning in her hair, and her eyes listless. When Maria put out her hand to her, the child shrank away. On the back of her hand was a long scratch. Eleanor’s babble unheeded in her ears, Maria sat watching her daughter steadily. That afternoon, when she had spied Jilly racing down the hill outside the castle, she would have sworn an oath the child was naked. The baby whimpered. She took him from Eleanor and went upstairs.

At dinner, she sat between Richard and Father Yvet. Richard was not talking; he stabbed his knife into the meat and drank hard. Blossoming into a profusion of stories, witticisms, and recollections from Scripture, the churchman dominated the rest of them. He was so sunny Maria could scarcely believe he meant them harm. High-spirited, Robert argued with him about faith. Eleanor leaned forward eagerly, her lips parted to speak as soon as they gave her enough quiet.

“Mother,” Robert said. “Has Father Yvet made the trip to the shrine?” He turned his gaze on the churchman. “You should see my mother’s holy place, Father, while you are visiting us.”

“Yes. I should like to. Will you take me there?”

Robert leaped up, buoyant. Stephen cried, “Why can’t I take him? I was born there. Mama—”

“You are too young,” Robert said.

“I am not!”

Eleanor turned toward the churchman and spoke to him, but his eyes stayed on the boys, and he did not heed her. Robert was still on his feet. He said, “Papa, can we go? Tomorrow?”

“Maria,” Eleanor said, “we could go too. Jilly, eat your fish.”

Jilly reached out slowly and took a piece of the fish in her fingers. Eleanor turned toward Richard. “Please, my lord. We could all go. You make the pilgrimage so seldom.” While her back was turned, Jilly dropped the fish under the table.

Amazed, Maria throttled down her laugh. Richard was agreeing to the journey and refusing to go himself. Eleanor clapped her hands together. Under the woman’s eyes, Jilly carefully picked up another bite of fish and made as if to eat it.

“Well, I’m not going, if Papa doesn’t,” Stephen said sullenly.

Eleanor turned to cajole him, and Jilly tossed away the bit of food. Robert said, “Then, don’t. In fact, I forbid you to come.”

Richard said, drawling, “If you two want to fight, why don’t you go upstairs, where you will not present an example to these other Christian children?”

“Papa, it was his fault—”

“God damn you,” Richard shouted, “go upstairs!”

Stephen was already climbing over the bench, away from the table. He waited stiffly in his place, his eyes on Eleanor. When she nodded, he ran off across the hall to the door. Robert held his ground.

“Tomorrow, sir,” he said to Father Yvet. “If you wish.”

“I am very pleased to have your company,” Father Yvet said, smiling. Robert left them. Richard was drinking again. The priest turned to Maria.

“Your sons are gentle-mannered young men.” Richard set his cup down hard. The wine sloshed onto the table. He walked off down the hall. Eleanor stared after him. “His temper is worse than ever, I see. All our prayers have availed nothing.”

Maria turned her back to her. To Father Yvet, she said, “Robert likes you. Talk to him, ask him not to fight with Stephen.”

“I will speak to him. But the younger boy is the culprit.” He bent toward her, as if they spoke alone together, in a little room. “You will come with us tomorrow, won’t you? It’s an easy journey, I’m told. A pleasant outing for you.”

Maria smiled at him, pleased at his attentions to her. Face to face with him, she could not dislike him. “Thank you. I can’t go, I have so much to do here.” The shrine would be packed with the late-summer pilgrims.

Eleanor rose. “Jilly. Look at your dress. And you’re commonly so tidy.” She hoisted the little girl by one arm to her feet and swept the crumbs from her skirt. “Off to bed, now. Bow to your lady mother.” Jilly performed her mechanical curtsey and was led away.

“But it’s your shrine,” Father Yvet was saying. “Who could show me better?”

She shook her head. “Richard won’t let me go.”

“You are wasted here,” Father Yvet said. “On this bully.”

“Father,” she said, “I love my husband, and he is no bully.”

“I’m sorry. I was overbold. Come, look at me.” Like a lover, he tipped her face up by the chin.

“Are you my friend, Maria?” he said gently. Maria glanced around them. Eleanor had left the room. The servants were taking away the supper. Eleanor’s huge fat husband, William the German, was making himself comfortable before the fire. The dogs swarmed around his knees and he fed them cheese. Richard was nowhere. She turned and gave Father Yvet her best smile.

“I am your friend if you are mine,” she said.

“Then perhaps you will help me to understand your lord.”

She searched the room again for Richard, and the churchman said, “He’s gone. Don’t be afraid of him. Ultimately, if you trust me, you are serving him better than he serves himself.”

Maria looked down at her hands. “I trust you, Father.”

“Do you know if your lord has had any communication with the Emperor since the incident in Santerois?”

“None,” she said. “I am sure of it, I have been with him constantly since then.”

He nodded, pleased. “I thought that.”

Maria wet her lips, her eyes on his face. “Father, tell me the truth. Will the Emperor punish us? What will happen to us?”

He touched her hand; his fingers were cold and dry. “Don’t look so worried, child. The Emperor is only a man.”

“But he is Christ’s man,” Maria said.

Father Yvet shook his head. “The Holy Father is Christ’s man—Christ’s chief instrument on earth. The Emperor has stolen his rights, over the years, but the Holy Father is above the Emperor, as the soul is superior to the body. So the Emperor will learn, if you help me make your lord the sword in the hand of the Holy Father.”

“My lord, I don’t understand you.”

“It’s very simple, child. For many years the Emperor has used the disguise of reform to rob the Chair of Peter of its rightful prerogatives. Now the moment has come to restore the preeminence of Christ.”

Maria crossed herself. The round, rolling words reminded her a little of the Mass. She said, “My lord, I will help you if I can.”

He touched her hand. She faced out into the room, her heart pounding. Eleanor had come in. She sat down next to her husband and began to talk to him. Maria saw that Eleanor talked rather more than William the German. She wondered what lying with so gross a man was like. Two pages were heating a poker in the fire, to mull cider, and she beckoned to them.

“I have heard much of this edict,” Father Yvet said, “this Saracen charter allowing them to practice their idolatrous faith. I know you are a true Christian.”

“I am, my lord, by Saint Mary.”

“Yet I am told you witnessed the charter.”

“I could not do otherwise,” she said.

“He forced you?”

The eagerness in his voice embarrassed her. She looked away from him. “I am only a woman, my lord.” Brother Nicholas would be at the shrine. She almost decided to go with them, to see how he liked Father Yvet. The page brought her a cup of the hot cider.

“Will you have some?” She put the cup down in front of the priest.

“Thank you, child, no.” He smiled at her like a boy. Maria took the cup and sipped from it. The sweet apple liquor warmed her tongue.

“My brother William did not witness the charter,” she said.

“No. So I am told.”

“Richard does not rule William.”

“And he is a Godly man? A friend of Holy Church?”

“William loves piety.” She crossed herself to take the curse off the lie. Robert had come in again. Eleanor swiveled in her chair to speak to him, and he answered her and came around the end of the table to Maria’s side.

“Mother,” he said. “Come with us tomorrow. It would be like Mana’a. You could lower a rope out the window.” He sank down on his heels next to her chair, smiling across her at the churchman. “I think we drive my father mad—he knows we deceive him constantly but he can never catch us at it.” He elbowed Maria. “We’ll leave before dawn—steal away, before Papa is up.” He looked again at Father Yvet. “My father is a late sleeper, being a drinking man.”

“Robert, don’t poke me.” She got quickly to her feet. “I cannot go, there is too much to do here—you’ve seen how Eleanor keeps the place. Father Yvet, I pray you, pay no heed to him.”

“What will he say?” Father Yvet’s lean face sleekened with amusement. “Here, Master Robert, tell me all your mother’s secrets.”

Robert stood up. “It’s nothing, Father—our joke.” He caught Maria’s hand. “Come with us. Come on—you never do anything with me anymore.”

“You flirt, Robert.” She escaped off across the room.

When she reached the doorway, she turned, her back to the stairs. Robert was sitting in the chair she had left. Father Yvet was talking to him. She stood on the threshold, where she could watch them.

After a moment, to her relief, Richard came out of the wall passage behind her.

“Did I do it well?” she said.

“You are a master. But you shut up Robert just when I was learning something.”

They went up the stairs. She said, “Eleanor’s husband is a very silent man. Jilly is only afraid of you because you shout. Play with her a little.”

“Play with her? I’d sooner play with Eleanor. She is a brat now. Why didn’t William witness my charter?”

Maria shut the door behind them. “It was the hunting season.”

***

Eleanor wrinkled up her nose. “I can assure you, such foul stuff will never pass my teeth.” She broke a little simnel cake and spread it with honey and butter.

“But they’re good. Here, Jilly.” Maria tried to give the child half her Saracen bun. Jilly shrank away from it, her face knotted up in distaste.

“Oooh.”

“You see.” Eleanor patted Jilly’s shoulder. “Father Yvet is a Godly man. He will have no taste for vile pagan food.”

Maria gave up. She sat back in the chair, yawning. The candle light pooled on the table, shining on the hands and faces of the people around its edge. In the darkened hall behind them, many of the servants still slept. The door opened and Robert came in, trailing Stephen, and a moment after they had sat down, Father Yvet appeared. Maria went over to the north window.

“It will be a good day for your pilgrimage,” she said. She folded her arms on the window sill. In the clear blue light before dawn, the smoke of the village chimneys rose straight as pine trees.

“Mother, is our dinner packed?” Robert jabbed at Stephen with his knife. “You can come if you can talk her into it.” To Father Yvet, he said, “Stephen is my mother’s lamb.” He glanced at Stephen. “Baabaa.”

Stephen started up. Father Yvet pushed him back down on the bench. “Eat, Master Robert, so that we can leave. A good day’s travel begins with a good breakfast.”

Maria went down the stairs and across the frost-covered ward to the kitchen. The cook was packing two large baskets full of food. “They’ll just have to take what they get,” he said. “Coming in here and telling me they want a full meal to eat on the way.”

He stuffed an enormous pudding into a basket already bursting with roast meat. Maria went into the pantry for a cheese. The kitchen door banged open; she heard Jilly’s voice. She went out to the warmth of the kitchen again. Jilly was squirming into the narrow space behind the rear table. The cook went on with his packing.

The child saw Maria and froze. Maria smiled at her. She took the cheese over and put it into the second basket. Jilly disappeared into her hiding place.

“Did you like the chorek?” she asked.

The cook shrugged. “It was fair-tasting bread. That sweet spice and all. Fair.” His bare skull shone. He gave her an oblique look. “Get it in Mana’a, do you?”