Winter Song (54 page)

This had made perfect sense, and Guillaume had really known
it before he spoke of his doubts. Although he regretted plunging in so deep, he
realized he must now swim with the plan to avoid sinking. Seeing the trap he
was in made him furious, but he could not blame Master Ernaldus, who had warned
him again and again of the danger. He did not, of course, wish to blame himself,
thus, his rage fixed on Beatrice. If she had not agreed with such eagerness to
meet him, Guillaume thought angrily, he would not be in this predicament. It
was all her fault. If she had not favored him and led him on, he would have
given up the idea. She deserved to be cold and hungry. It would be a lesson to
her not to play with a man’s affections.

All through the day messengers left Les Baux carrying
letters carefully phrased by Ernaldus. The letters requested those friends and
vassals of des Baux who were bitterly opposed to the French to come with their
men and arms to Sir Guillaume. Sir Guillaume had a plan he believed could not
fail in preventing Lady Beatrice and Sir Romeo from marrying the heiress to
Charles of Anjou. Those who supported his plan would win high preferment in
Provence once it was implemented. If even half of those summoned came, there
would be enough men in Les Baux to hold off an army of many thousands, and the
keep was stocked for a siege of at least half a year.

Guillaume should have felt happy and confident. In fact,
when he reviewed his resources, he discovered he was not worried about the
military aspects of his situation. He was ready to fight and not afraid to die,
although he could not imagine what that would be like. Still, he was miserably
uneasy and, when he went to bed, unable to sleep. It was when he thought of
finding a woman to lie with him that the source of his trouble revealed itself.
The truth was that now he did not want to marry Beatrice.

The revelation was so startling that he sat up in bed and
stared at the faint area of light made by the night candle on the bed curtains.
He had been flattered because the heiress of Provence responded to him, but
when Guillaume reconsidered the idea of marrying her, he realized that he did
not want a wife who had to be wooed and to whom he must humbly bow down. And
even if she agreed to marriage, Guillaume had the distinct feeling that
Beatrice would continue to look down on him. Nor, since the land was in her
right, would it be easy to control her. If she cried that he mistreated her to
her great vassals, especially after she had one or two sons, they could put him
aside or murder him and declare a regency.

A regency, that thought was not so unpleasant as murder. In
fact, it gave him a feeling of relief even while it enraged him, and he had
another revelation. He did not want to be Count of Provence. Guillaume sighed
and lay down again. It was the business that was distasteful. He could find
someone else to do that, someone like Ernaldus, but he wished again that he did
not have to marry Beatrice. It might be murder rather than a regency.

He woke in the morning no better pleased with the notion.
Truthfully, he wished he did not have to see Beatrice at all, but Ernaldus
would not allow him to avoid her. No servant, the bailiff pointed out, could
bargain with her, not even himself, and she should see no one except Guillaume
and the half-witted servant who could not speak that they had decided could serve
her without betraying who the prisoner was. Guillaume would not have to stay
long, Ernaldus soothed. He need only go with the servant who would carry a
large number of delicate and highly fragrant dishes.

“You need not argue with her. Only tell her she may eat if
she agrees to the marriage, but if she does agree, do not leave the food. Come
away at once and fetch me and the priest.
After
she is married, she will
eat. If she does not agree, but weeps and pleads for the food, come away at
once. Do not yield to her. A day or two without food does no harm.”

“Very well,” Guillaume growled ungraciously, “I will go.”

“Not now, it is too early. Also, the tray of food is now
being prepared. Do you eat yourself, my lord.” Ernaldus chuckled
ingratiatingly. “A hungry man is too sympathetic to others who are hungry.”

Actually, it was not too early, it was too late. The girls
in the tower had been awake for hours, even though Alys did not experience the
cold, hard night she had expected. Among the furniture in the room was a chest
in which the girls had not looked in their distress. Alys remembered it for the
sake of hiding the crossbow and wineskin, but when she opened it, she found it
full of blankets. Ernaldus did not want the heiress to take a chill and die. He
would withhold light and fire, for those give strength to the spirit, which
dark weakens, but warmth could be provided with blankets. Despite that warmth,
for Alys covered Margot and Beatrice, and the comfort of a pad on the floor,
the pangs of hunger banished sleep. With first light, all were awake.

Then Alys heard the outpouring of joy and relief she had
expected from them but it did not come immediately. “Is it a trick?” Beatrice
asked, looking suspiciously at the wineskin.

“I cannot believe it,” Alys replied. “It was well hidden. I
am sure it belongs to one of the men-at-arms who either did not wish to share
with his fellows or used it to keep warm on nights he stood watch. It is not
poisoned. We would be worse than useless dead, and anyway, I confess I had a
small sip last night.”

Beatrice was glad to put aside her doubt, and then she
surprised and pleased Alys by saying they must all only sip a little to allay
the worst of their thirst. Alys endorsed this sentiment heartily—she had
thought she would have to fight to get them to agree to it—even Margot
consented with no more than a sigh. They were, accordingly, very moderate in
their sipping. Nonetheless the little they took gave them new life.

Of course, the real strength did not come from the wine,
which only took the edge off their thirst. What put life into them was the ebbing
of the shock of their capture and the renewal sleep had brought to their
bodies. Had Alys not found the wine, hunger and thirst might too soon have
brought back their misery. Not that the little sips cured hunger or thirst. It
was the delightful feeling of having cheated and outwitted their captor.
Temporarily strengthened by this notion, they all felt that if they had done it
once, they could do it again.

“You know,” Alys said, “Guillaume cannot really mean to
starve us, so someone will come today with an offer of food in exchange for
compliance. What we must do is get the food brought into the chamber. Then, if
there are no more than one or two, perhaps we can wrest the food away from
them.”

This was agreed to with enthusiasm, and they began to plan.
That sent them all down the stairs to feel around in the dark. They came up
with several more poles that were intended to push off scaling ladders and a
bundle of quarrels that had fallen down in a dark corner as well as anything
else they thought would be useful. Some time was spent happily in learning how
to use the crossbow, but as the light brightened and Guillaume did not come,
the voices of Margot and Beatrice dulled and they began to lose interest in the
plan. Alys felt depressed and desperate herself, and was just about to suggest
another round of wine when the door opened.

All three girls gasped, and Alys dropped hastily to her
knees behind the bed. The crossbow had been hanging from her hand. But
Guillaume did not cry out or leap at her, his eyes had found Beatrice. She and
Margot clung together instinctively, but, almost at once, Margot began to back
away. Alys stifled a sigh of relief. Guillaume looked at Margot and then away,
dismissing her movement as a result of fear of him. Beatrice drew herself up
proudly but remained silent. Her eyes flicked to the servant who had entered
behind Guillaume carrying a large, loaded tray that smelled like heaven. Alys
felt like cheering. There was more in Beatrice than she had dreamed.

“Well, mistress,” Guillaume said, trying to make his voice
hard when it was more inclined to shake. Why, he wondered, staring at Beatrice’s
dirty, tear-stained face, her heavy eyes and dry mouth, the hair straggling
through her coif and snaking untidily around her face and shoulders, why had he
ever thought her beautiful and desirable? How had he let her lead him into this
mad adventure? Now he would be stuck with her. But there was wealth and power
to be gained, he reminded himself. Ernaldus had devised a speech for him. Automatically,
he used it.

“I hope you have grown more civil,” Guillaume said, “and
that you have learned what comes of a too-high stomach. Obedience is the first
virtue of a wife, and my wife you will be.”

“No, I will not, you low cur,” Beatrice responded, her voice
cold with disdain and hard with determination. What gave Guillaume hope and
kept him from leaving the room was that her hands were fumbling nervously with
the tie of the small pouch that hung at her waist. “You have given me little
enough reason to change my mind,” Beatrice continued, but now her voice
trembled a little. “If this is the way you enforce obedience before marriage, I
would have no hope for any future.”

“I see your stomach is still too high,” Guillaume retorted,
almost pleased.
Nasty bitch, let her go hungry
, he thought. “No doubt
hunger will lower it at last. When you learn to speak me fair, viands will be
set for you, but too much pride deserves—”

The measured speech ended suddenly in a cry of pain and shock.
Guillaume had been speaking with growing confidence because all three women had
been slowly approaching him and the servant. It seemed to him they were being
drawn irresistibly closer by the sight and smell of the food. Moreover,
Beatrice was raising her hands, which tightly clutched the little pouch. It
looked to Guillaume as if she were trying to restrain herself from clasping her
hands prayerfully to plead with him.

And then, suddenly, she let go the top of the pouch with one
hand and thrust it at his face with the other. He stepped back instinctively,
but it was too late. His eyes and mouth were full of sand. Behind him, he heard
the servant cry out and then a woman’s voice, high and vicious, “I will stick
you through the throat! Let go the tray!”

Guillaume was blinking desperately, blinded by tears,
reaching out to grab Beatrice in a fury, but a fierce blow struck his hands so
hard he gasped with pain, and hands whirled him about from behind and thrust so
hard he staggered forward. He heard the servant shriek with terror and the
sound of falling, and he opened his mouth to cry out—he knew not what threats
or promises—only to choke instead as he was doused with the contents of the
chamber pot. The foul stuff blinded him anew, stinging in his sand-scored eyes,
and he retched, so disgusted he had no room for fear, as another strong push
sent him down the stone stairs to a momentary oblivion.

“Do not throw the pot after him,” Alys cried, half choking
with laughter, “We will need it.”

Beatrice shook the last few drops disdainfully down the
stairs, and stepped back into the chamber. “We could get out now,” she said, “or
we could kill him.”

Alys ran back to get a quarrel, but by the time she
returned, it was too late, Guillaume was already half upright, bellowing for
help. He had landed atop the servant so that his fall was mostly cushioned.
Alys could do nothing but go back into the room quickly, and the girls shut the
door and dropped several poles into the bar slots. The poles were too thin to
hold the door against a determined assault, but at least they would provide a
warning before they gave way. Crowing with laughter, all sank down beside the
bed, which would serve as their table. Still, before she reached for the
portion that was hers, Alys wound and loaded her bow. Perhaps they would be
left to reconsider their sins in peace. Perhaps Guillaume would instead return
with many men to lesson them more directly than by starvation.

When Arnald got back to Arles with the information the
wounded men had given him, he found no one could name the owner of the armorial
bearings he described. He had assumed that the abductor would be one of the
great lords of the area and that anyone to whom he mentioned the arms would
identify them. But ten years had passed since the power of des Baux had been
broken, and being enemies even before that time, they had not frequented the
court of Raymond-Berenger.

Once more Arnald tried to speak to Lady Beatrice. It took
some time before he found anyone who would even listen to him, but he dared not
say he had news of the missing heiress. No one in Arles seemed to know that
young Beatrice, Lady Margot, and Lady Alys were missing. Arnald became very
frightened when he was told that Lady Beatrice was asleep and no one would wake
her for any reason whatsoever.

After a day of desperate anxiety and a sleepless,
tear-drenched night, Lady Beatrice had collapsed. But Arnald did not know this.
He began to wonder whether Lady Beatrice had done away with her daughter in
some scheme to seize the province for herself. In utter desperation he now
asked for Lady Jeannette, and she refused to see him, as did Lady Jeanine! Now
Arnald was sure they were all involved in a plot and his poor mistress was an
innocent victim of it.

Arnald would gladly have risked his life to cry the dreadful
crime aloud, but he did not know to whom to complain. Moreover, who would
believe a common man-at-arms when the mothers of two of the girls who were
missing took quiet naps and pretended nothing was amiss. Nearly insane with
grief and anxiety, Arnald rode back once more toward the abbey, seeking along
the road for signs of the abduction. Perhaps he could pick up the trail of the
men who had seized Lady Alys.

Unfortunately, so much time had been spent in his fruitless
attempts to see Lady Beatrice or Lady Jeannette and in even more fruitless
worry, that the light failed before Arnald accomplished anything. Hopeless, he
turned back. It had started to rain. Arnald did not care that he was wet to the
skin and had not eaten all day. Had there been a hope of a moon, he would have
searched all night, but the dense clouds made that impossible. Order or no
order, he told himself, the next day he would bring out the whole troop to
search. And he would send a message with the whole story to Lord Raymond as
soon as he entered Arles. Arnald was comforted by that thought and smiled
grimly. Ignore him, would they? They would not ignore Lord Raymond. He would
set the whole province afire if need be.