Winter Song (20 page)

Ernaldus moaned. Rustengo looked at him without sympathy. “It
would be wise for you to go and go quickly,” Rustengo said, “before others hear
of this matter and begin to pluck you.”

It did not end there, of course. It took some while to
convince Ernaldus that the protection of the family had been withdrawn, that if
Calhau prosecuted him, he would not be defended to save face but thrown to the
wolves. That was not the way Rustengo put it, naturally, but that was the way
Ernaldus thought of it. First desperation took hold of him and he wept and
pleaded, but this only made Rustengo angry.

“You are scarcely going naked into the world,” he growled. “I
am not totally a fool. Take your gold and find yourself a widow with a good
business. If you do not go—and at that, swiftly—I will see that you trouble me
no more.”

Realizing that Rustengo was adamant and that further pleas
or arguments would make his case worse, Ernaldus fled. At first he was so
terrified at the thought of being cut loose that he could do no more than shiver.
He guessed now that many he had robbed—less obviously and for smaller amounts
than he had robbed Blancheforte, but robbed nonetheless—had held their tongues
because he was a de Soler. But if he had to leave Gascony, that name would no
longer protect him. What would he do? How would he live? He had money and
goods, but not enough to support him for the rest of his life in the style to
which he had been bred.

Ernaldus thought of Rustengo’s advice and nearly threw up. That
advice might serve for other men, but not for him. He would never have a wife
and family and relations-by-marriage.

He had to stay in Gascony where his blood kin were, or he
would be naked in the world. He thought of his half brothers and shuddered.
They would not stand up for him against Rustengo because they were cowards, he
told himself. He would not admit that he had long ago worn out his welcome in
their hearts by his behavior and demands. Always feeling “cheated” by his
birth, Ernaldus had spent his life trying “to get back his own”, but all he won
were enemies.

He knew, however, that Rustengo’s last threat was not idle.
If he did not leave Bordeaux, an “accident” would befall him. But to be alone
in the world? He shivered with terror, his heart pounded, and his head whirled.
Then, suddenly, the world steadied. His sister—half sister—had married and left
Gascony. He ran to the room in which he did business and scrabbled among the
papers. Isabel was older than he, had married and left Gascony many years
before, but she had never forgotten her family, particularly the young bastard
brother for whom she felt sorry.

Over the years small gifts and letters of news had come from
Isabel. The news was of no interest and the gifts were of little value, but
Ernaldus had always thanked his sister and replied to her letters. It cost him
nothing, his replies being sent with those of his half brothers. It came back
to him that she lived at Les Baux in Provence and that she had frequently,
especially in these latter years, written of her desire to see her brothers
again. Or was his own desire for a safe haven deceiving him?

He found her letters and scanned the latest. No, there it
was, twice, in fact. Ernaldus sighed with relief. He remembered that his sister
was now a widow living with an only son, the youngest of her children. Ah, here
it was. The boy (man?) would not listen to his mother—naturally not, Ernaldus
thought, no sensible man would listen to a woman. Then rage flicked him.
Rustengo had listened to a woman. Ernaldus made an effort to concentrate on the
letter.

Isabel desired her brother’s presence, it seemed, not only
because she was growing older and wished to see those dear to her in her youth
before she died, but because she felt her son needed the counsel of an older
man. Well, well. For a while Ernaldus forgot his rage and fear. To be a trusted
counselor instead of a servant barely tolerated as a gentleman would be a
pleasant change. Isabel knew her half brother was a bastard, of course, but not
that his father—the old fool!—had left him nothing and that his half brothers
had virtually cast him out.

Ernaldus sat back and breathed softly. He was remembering
more and more from Isabel’s letters and combining it with general knowledge.
Les Baux was not far from Arles, and he knew of a ship that was leaving for Arles
in two days’ time. Free of panic now that he had a haven and a way to reach it,
Ernaldus began to plan what to do and how to salvage most of his possessions.
Then he set out with great energy to put the plans into effect.

Returning home in a foul temper, for much of the worth of
anything is lost in a quick, forced sale, Ernaldus opened his strongbox to
throw in the money he had collected. As he withdrew his hand, it was scratched
by a sharp edge. Ernaldus cursed and put his finger to his mouth. Then an even
blacker frown crossed his face, and he scrabbled in the box. Coins did not have
sharp edges. Almost immediately he came up with the offender—a large iron key.

For a moment when he saw the heavy metal object which had
hurt him, Ernaldus’s rage rose in him until he almost screamed aloud and beat
the walls with his hands. He had recognized the key at once. It opened the
small secret door meant to be an escape route for those in Blancheforte in the
days when the keep was in use. Then, abruptly, he became still. He was to be
made an outcast and driven away, was he? For what—a few paltry
louis d’or
?
That was not a crime deserving of exile! He stared at the key. It could not
open the way to restoring his old life, but it could open a path for revenge—a
sweet, sweet revenge.

Unlike Master Ernaldus, Alys had enjoyed a delightful day. Her
visit to Rustengo had been an outstanding success. She felt she had smoothed
the path for a better relationship between Raymond and his kinsman and,
perhaps, even planted a seed that might make him think twice about using force
to oppose the Coloms. Moreover, she was certain he did not suspect that that
had been her intention. In addition, between the use of Calhau’s name and the
company of Rustengo’s steward, she had arranged to stock Blancheforte for a
very reasonable sum.

Matters within the keep were also going very well. The servants
no longer trembled and shrank away quite so much each time her eyes fell on
them nor came near to fainting if summoned to speak to her. The young priest
was even a greater prize than Alys had thought. Father François could not only
read and write devotional books but keep accounts, and for all his youth,
seemed well able to judge between a malingerer’s whining and a person with a real
problem. Between Father François and the bailiff Raymond would bring, there
seemed a good chance that Blancheforte’s problems would be solved.

Alys went to bed in the best of good humors, pleasantly
tired from her active day—and could not sleep! She had been aware of missing
Raymond at dinnertime. Father François was too shy when she invited him to join
her at table to carry on an easy conversation, but this was different. The bed
was cold and empty. Alys felt so lonely for Raymond’s warmth and strong arms
that she could have wept. She told herself severely not to be a fool. After
all, she had slept alone all of her life, except for the past few weeks. It was
impossible to become so dependent on her husband’s company in just a few weeks.

Raymond’s day was not yet over at the time Alys had retired
to bed, but it had been equally pleasant. The weather was cold but dry and the
roads better than he had expected. He had arrived in Sir Oliver’s keep before
dusk and had been welcomed most warmly. Beyond that, he found that most of his
work had been done for him. Eager to be free of the constant annoyance of petty
depredations, Sir Oliver had sent a messenger to the Vicomte de Marsan as soon
as he had Raymond’s letter. Respectfully, Sir Oliver announced that he had a
new overlord who was already beholden to Marsan.

Sir Oliver’s letter had brought a most courteous reply,
mentioning Raymond’s proposals and graciously commending Sir Oliver’s past
behavior in the face of provocation. That provocation would cease instantly,
the vicomte wrote, and he considered with pleasure the opportunity to be on
friendly terms in the future. Thus, when Raymond arrived in Benquel, a man was
sent out immediately to Marsan. Within the hour he was back, bearing an
invitation to ride to Marsan at the first opportunity. So it was that Raymond
and Sir Oliver sat up late discussing what terms to accept or to counteroffer
and making arrangements about the men-at-arms Raymond wanted to take back with
him if he and Marsan should come to an agreement.

However, when Raymond did at last go to bed, he, too, found
it hard to sleep. Despite his long ride and a considerable quantity of wine, he
missed his wife acutely. Sir Oliver had offered him a maidservant to warm his
bed if he desired it, but without a thought Raymond had rejected the offer. He
was in no physical need and found the idea somehow distasteful, particularly
when coupled with the knowledge that, in a week or two, Alys would be lying
beside him in that same bed.

This refusal owed nothing to the idea that his wife might be
angry if she heard. The notion that Alys might feel she had a right to an
opinion on such a subject never entered Raymond’s head. Although he was too
much of a gentleman ever to humiliate his wife, even had he not loved her, by
keeping a mistress in her home as some men did, he felt strongly that it was
his decision to make. It was a wife’s place to accept gratefully her husband’s
courtesy on such matters.

Early the next morning Raymond and Sir Oliver rode to
Marsan. There everything continued as pleasantly as it had begun. Marsan’s
demands were well within Raymond’s and Sir Oliver’s limits, allowing Raymond to
close with his offer without haggling. Marsan assured Sir Oliver that there
would be no more attacks on his farms or serfs, or if there should be, that
swift punishment of the malefactors would follow any report of misbehavior.
Even when Raymond explained the tenure of the land was his wife’s, there was no
hitch in the proceedings. Marsan thought it was very funny at first, but, as
soon as he considered the matter seriously, he understood King Henry’s
reluctance to chance a double overlordship. He waved away any suggestion that a
stronger assurance than Raymond’s word was needed to bind the agreement.

“Whenever you chance to come by will be soon enough for your
lady to do me homage,” he said, still chuckling at the notion of a female
vassal. “Although I must say that this will be the first time I have ever
looked forward eagerly to giving a vassal the kiss of peace.”

Raymond laughed also, but the words set off a wave of
longing in him for Alys. It was ridiculous. He had been away from her for
little over a day. As long as his mind was fixed on business, he was not
conscious of missing her, but now that he saw hours of small talk ahead of him,
he felt a vast impatience. It was, however, impossible to leave at once.
Raymond knew he must stay for dinner and relate the news of the English court.
Certainly Marsan’s courtesy deserved reciprocity.

The least of Raymond’s accomplishments, however, was
playacting. Although he kept his face bland and his voice smooth, a certain
tenseness betrayed him. Marsan knew him from previous visits. When the vicomte
had extracted the information he considered important about King Henry’s present
policy and advisers, he cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at Raymond and asked if
he were pressed for time. Raymond had no intention of making a laughingstock of
himself by saying he missed his wife, but he thought immediately that the
situation in Bordeaux would make a fine excuse and used it.

“Does it matter to you?” Marsan asked.

“Rustengo de Soler is my kinsman,” Raymond replied, “and I
would prefer that there be no further cause of dissatisfaction between him and
the king. But if any action should divert the seneschal from holding back
Navarre, I am like to suffer personally.”

That remark made both the vicomte and Sir Oliver look at
Raymond with surprise. He was well pleased to explain the extent of his wife’s
dower lands and from there go on to the sequence of events that led to his
marriage. He put himself out to make a merry tale of it, but brought it back in
the end to his concern with peace in Bordeaux. This concern now seemed so
reasonable that Marsan even urged him on his way as soon as dinner was over. He
stopped only briefly in Benquel to gather up the twenty men-at-arms waiting for
him, and Sir Oliver promised to send the bailiff after him in about a week, as
soon as he had time to make up the accounts and hand over the farms.

Shortly after Raymond left Benquel, Master Ernaldus had his
servants load the goods he was taking with him on the ship that was sailing for
Arles. They were careful and efficient, but each man’s lips moved in silent
prayer. None spoke to the others, yet the prayers were identical—that the ship
would sink and their master drown. Ernaldus himself went back on shore after
seeing his baggage bestowed. He would return before the ship sailed, he assured
the captain. That would be at dawn, with or without him, the captain warned, but
Ernaldus only nodded and smiled. His business would be finished long before
dawn.

It was fully dark long before compline, but Ernaldus waited
until he heard the bells of the nearby abbey calling the monks to prayer before
he started. On winter nights all sought their beds early for warmth. By this
hour, the inhabitants of Blancheforte would be soundly asleep, except for the
men on guard, if there were any, but they would not see him. The postern
pierced through the wall that was part of the keep itself, passing by a narrow
tunnel into the lowest floor of the donjon. Perhaps in times past, when
Blancheforte had some purpose for attack and defense, the land around it had
been kept cleared and the doorway concealed and barred as well as locked, but
now brush grew to the very walls, and for fifty years no bars had been fitted
to the rusted slots of that door.