I held my breath until Stephen replied. Considering his earlier mood, I feared he might become angry at what I took to be a subtle reprimand. But the king only agreed and said blandly that he supposed he might have inherited much from his uncle and then smilingly asked why they had rushed to see him before he broke his fast if they had not come because great numbers of pressing affairs had arisen in the few days of his absence.
“One affair is pressing enough,” Salisbury said. “I would like to send a royal messenger to King David this very morning with terms for a treaty.”
“It was David who was defeated,” Stephen remarked, suddenly standing, turning his back, and throwing off his bedrobe. A squire leapt forward, holding out a pair of chausses and another came with a shirt. “Why should I hurry to send terms to him? That would seem as if I doubted Aumale’s ability to take back the royal castles from David’s men.” His voice was muffled as he drew on his clothing.
“I am sure King David will not think you doubt Aumale,” Winchester said. “He will believe that you wish to save fruitless bloodshed on both parts. Stephen, I know David. You will have more leverage with him if he believes a treaty will save his men’s lives than—”
“Save their lives for what?” Stephen interrupted bitterly, turning to face his brother, his hair tousled from pulling his shirt down. “So David can gather them and bring them down on me again? Let them die. When he is too weak to fight, he will sign what I want him to sign as meekly as he did for King Henry.”
Winchester looked shocked. “But our men will die too,” he protested uncertainly.
“I am sorry for that,” Stephen replied, gesturing away the squire who was trying to slip under his arm and tie his shirt at the neck without interfering with the conversation, “but David’s losses are more important than mine in the north.” He paused and then went on, his voice sharp with exasperation, “Henry, do you not see that I cannot call a levy on the northern shires as long as David is strong so that losses among those men do not weaken me. God knows, I wish they were at peace and not dying, but—”
“Then let us at least try,” Winchester urged. “I tell you, I know David. If he can be brought to sign a treaty and swear he will no longer support Matilda’s cause, he will keep that treaty.”
“Perhaps.” Stephen shrugged.
“My lord, there is another reason for offering a treaty now,” Salisbury put in before Winchester could insist again that King David was a man who kept his oaths. “We hope, as you do, that Robert of Gloucester will not be able to find entry into England and that the unrest caused by his defiance is at an end, but if rebellion should burst out again, there will be far less chance of bringing King David to an agreement favorable to us.”
Stephen laughed, and my heart sank. I desired peace in the north more fervently than the bishops. Northumbria was my home; it was men I had fought with in Alnwick and Jernaeve who would die, and innocents, like a little whore I knew in Alnwick village, who might be destroyed by the fighting. For my own sake, I had hoped the king would listen to Winchester, though I knew from a military point of view that the bishop’s argument was not convincing.
What Salisbury had said was entirely different. So far, it was true that Gloucester had shown little desire to act in his sister’s cause, but that could change. It was also true that the rebels against Stephen had not joined forces and had been easily suppressed. That too could change. And if, God forbid, Gloucester should find a way into England and rally the rebels into a powerful, coordinated force, King David would surely refuse to sign an unfavorable treaty. There would be too great a chance to win back all he had lost with Gloucester’s help.
My worst fears were confirmed when the king made an obscene gesture and cried, “Gloucester? Aumale will have time to clean out Northumbria and take half of Scotland before Gloucester can make up his mind what to do.”
“Do not be too sure of that, my lord,” Salisbury warned. “Now that he is in company with Geoffrey of Anjou, he may be spurred to action. Anjou is a man of firm decision, and he has a fluent tongue and convincing manner that could arouse Gloucester. And Anjou has very good reasons to foment trouble in England. If you are at war here, you would be unable to fight him in Normandy.”
“Nothing will stir Gloucester,” Stephen scoffed. “Even if he should try to come, Maud’s ships will stop him in the channel. And should they miss, the coast is closed to him. Moreover, I have taken the heart out of the men who might have rallied to him if he had come earlier.”
When I heard that, I knew the king’s easy optimism and perhaps his remaining anger because his brother had accused him once of carrying his father’s cowardice were blinding him to the truth of Salisbury’s warnings. The more they argued, the more stubborn Stephen would become, I feared, and my fear was realized. The argument continued for some time longer, the bishops yielding only when Stephen finally lost his good humor and roared that he would not be driven into an appearance of weakness. I had not dared intrude, but when I opened the door to let them leave, I followed them out into the great hall.
“My lords,” I said, “if you would allow me a word?”
“What is it, Bruno?” Winchester asked kindly, although his lips were set in a thin line.
“If you would bring this matter of the treaty to the queen’s attention…” I let my voice drift, unable to say too much, but I hoped the bishops had seen, as I had, Stephen’s special deference to Maud’s opinion. “Women always desire peace,” I added hopefully.
“Women have not the brains of lice,” Salisbury snarled, and pressed on past me.
Winchester tried to smile and shook his head. “Maud is too bound to Stephen’s desires,” he said and went on past me too.
They were both wrong, I thought, but I could do no more except hope that Stephen would be right. I tried to put the matter out of my mind, but later in the morning when a page came and asked me to attend the queen I hoped that Winchester, who knew Maud well, had spoken to her after all. Even if Maud was angry that I had dared to interfere and had summoned me to remonstrate with me, she would still think about the advantages of making peace with King David now. And if she thought that best, I believed she would be able to change Stephen’s mind.
Only the lesser petitioners were left by the time the queen’s page arrived, and it would matter less if one of them were offended, so I went up to the king and asked him if I could go to the queen before dinner. He gave permission at once, but he did not meet my eyes or make any teasing remarks, which surprised me a little. I was surprised again when the page told me to follow him, for the child knew I was familiar with the queen’s apartments. However, he led me out and into the garden, where I found Maud walking alone among the strong-scented herbs.
“Madam?” She turned at my voice. I bowed, and she watched me. It seemed she was angry, but I had acted for what I thought was the best and I withstood her gaze without flinching or changing color.
“Melusine has told me you intend to take her north with you. Is this true?”
I was so surprised by this total change from the subject I expected her to broach that I must have stared blankly for a minute, and Maud repeated her question sharply.
“Yes,” I replied, still too off balance to do more than confirm that Melusine would go.
“I thought you would have more sense,” the queen snapped. “Has the woman turned your head already?”
By then my wits had come back. “I do not think so,” I answered honestly. “It was not Melusine’s idea to travel with me. She did not know I had been chosen to carry the king’s thanks to Espec and Aumale and the others and was greatly surprised when I told her that I had begged and received the king’s permission to take her.”
Maud examined my face as if her eyes could scrape away the layers of skin and flesh and come to grips with my soul. I tried to soften the impassive mask I had worn since childhood, first to hide fea
r from my father and later to hide weakness from anyone so I would not invite hurt. I wanted Maud to read me, to know I was telling the truth, that the desire that had wakened in me for Melusine had not and could not ever shake my loyalty to Stephen and her.
“Why?” the queen asked.
“I wished to make her known to my…to Lady Audris at Jernaeve.” I hesitated a moment and then decided that I must speak honestly and without regard to giving some offense. “I have no land, madam, no source of income but the king’s favor. If circumstances should press on my lord so bitterly that he is forced to tighten his purse and you should no longer be able to keep Melusine, I would have no means of caring for my wife. In such a case or if I should die in the king’s service, I could send her to Jernaeve, where she would be safe and comfortable. Her future will no longer burden my soul, and I will be able to continue my service to the king without regard to anything beyond my oath of loyalty.”
“And so you could send her whether or not she was known,” Maud replied coldly, staring at me. “I know Lady Audris is your sister and fond enough of you to welcome your wife known or unknown to her.”
I stared back. “Yes, madam, Audris would welcome her for my sake, but how would Melusine feel, knowing herself to be an object of charity and thrust into a strange place without introduction to the people or having any idea what they feel about me. She is my wife,” I said, “not a dog to be sent from kennel to kennel without knowledge or explanation. I must live with her for the rest of my life, and my life will be far sweeter if I can make her happy and bind her to me so that she obeys me willingly. Making her hate me can serve no one’s purpose, for if she hates me, will she not hate you and King Stephen more for tying her to me?”
At that the queen’s eyes dropped and she walked ahead silently for a few minutes, gesturing me to walk with her. “Of course it is true that it would be best if she does not hate you,” she agreed with a sigh. “One of the reasons Stephen and I settled on you for her husband was that we knew you would be kind to her. But Melusine troubles me.” She sighed again. “I have never known anyone before who could play a part so faultlessly for so long. Such desperate determination implies an equally great cause, and I cannot see what that cause could be except a full-scale rebellion in Cumbria. And this would be the worst time, the very worst time for such a rising. The rebels may be quiet, but they are still rebels at heart. All they need is the rising of a whole shire; they would fly to arms again and the Scots would fly to support their dear friends in Cumbria, and—” Her voice shook and she stopped speaking, no longer looking at me but staring ahead into a bleak future.
I listened in growing delight, realizing that Maud had been building great castles of plots on a foundation of the wet sand of fear. Not that I dismissed completely either her projection of the damage a rising in Cumbria could do or her suspicions of Melusine. I simply did not believe it would be possible for anyone, particularly a woman, to wake rebellion in Cumbria after the winnowing the king had given that shire in the beginning of the year. As to Melusine, it was indeed possible that she had been playing a part to accomplish a purpose—but I was reasonably sure that purpose had great significance only to Melusine herself.
I could not tell the queen of Melusine’s attempt to kill me because, prejudiced as she was, Maud might demand that my poor wife be punished. Yet that attempt on my life was one good proof that Melusine had no larger purpose in any of her actions than an ultimate escape from fear and despair. She must have known that, had it been successful, my murder would result in her own death and thus in the failure of any political move connected with her presence in Cumbria. Thus, had she had a political object in mind, she would not have tried to kill me. Nor were her actions since we had made a truce enough of a single piece for a person with a fixed and overwhelming purpose.
With all of this evidence in Melusine’s favor, I still could not ignore the queen’s fears. Maud was too keen a judge of people for me to follow my own opinion. However, I did not agree that the solution was to mew up Melusine. Eventually I would come to hate her from the constant tension of needing to be her keeper. Better to bring her to Cumbria and test her so that any doubts of her purpose could be resolved.
“I assure you, madam,” I said, stepping around in front of the queen so that she had to stop and look at me, “that Melusine will raise no rebellions in Cumbria. I will kill her if I must,” I promised grimly, “and I will swear that by any oath you desire.”
It was an easy enough promise to make. I was very sure that Melusine’s purposes were all personal—perhaps only finding a little peace and happiness for herself after her losses and sorrows, perhaps winning back her estate. However, if I was wrong, I would keep my word to the queen, for a creature able to manage so deep a deception was surely a creature of the devil and better removed from this world.
Chapter 12
Melusine
For some minutes after I woke the morning after Bruno told me he would take me to Ulle, I continued to lie with closed eyes listening intently. I could not remember exactly what I had said and done, but I knew I had given way completely to my grief. Bruno—my husband—had been as good and gentle to me as Papa…No! No, I must not allow myself to think of him as good and gentle. What if he had killed Papa and Donald?
There was a faint sound of breathing in the room, but no movement. Could Bruno be sitting and watching me? What would I say to him? Could a man who had killed my father and brother show such concern for me? Yes, of course he could if he wanted Ulle and a peaceful life, and he had told me outright that was what he wanted. Tears stung behind my closed lids. I would have to thank him as coldly as I could and then send him away.
When I had conquered the tears, I opened my eyes, but it was only Edna sitting on the chest and staring out of the window. By nature every creature flees pain, so I fled from the problem my husband’s kindness created to the much simpler problem of what to do about Edna. Having used the pot and washed—she having served me most deftly and in silence, although I could feel her look at me whenever I was turned away—I said to her when she began to dress me that Bruno had told me she could no longer practice her trade and asked her why.
“I got with child and could not birth it,” she replied, her eyes staring past me into nothing. “Three days I screamed and it could not come. I was dying. They thought they could save the child, so they cut it out of me. Somehow I lived and it died, but if I get with child again, I will die.”
“Do you mean to tell me that the—the place you work permitted you to refuse?”
“No, madam.” She looked at me and a smile I never hope to see on another face twisted her lips. “They ‘persuaded’ me until I agreed, but I could not. When a man came to me, I fought. I could not help myself.”
“I should think they would have cast you out then. Yet Bruno found you there.”
“I served as maid to the others and cooked and cleaned. Also—” Edna looked away again. “There are a few men, not many but a few, who only take pleasure in forcing a woman. They kept me for those.”
I recalled the bruises I had seen on her and felt sickness well up in me, but I also knew that women bred to Edna’s trade were also bred to deception and dishonesty. I knew the bruises could be dyed into the skin with plant juices and the emaciation be deliberate, but I could not make myself send her back—and she was a skillful maid who was clean, spoke French, and could not have any loyalty to anyone in the court except myself and Bruno.
All the while we talked, Edna had continued to slip garments over my head. By the time I admitted to myself that I must keep her, because even the smallest chance that the tale she told me was true was too great, she had finished lacing my bliaut. I sat down on the chest carved with Bruno’s name and gestured her toward the other.
“Do you wish to stay with me as my maid?”
Edna began to sob aloud. The first day she had wept, but silently. Now she s
lipped from the chest and crawled to my feet and bent and kissed them. I grasped her arm and jerked her upright.
“Do not use such extravagant gestures to me,” I said. “My people are faithful to death, but they do not grovel. I take it that you do wish to be my servant?” Still unable to speak for sobbing, she nodded vigorously. “Very well, I will accept you on terms. You will be fed and fed well, and I will see that you have decent clothing fit for all weathers—that is all I promise. Perhaps Sir Bruno will find a coin for you now and again, but we are not wealthy people. For your part, your duties will be much what you have done already—to clean our clothes and make the bed and suchlike—except that you will need to learn to sew and perhaps embroider. You are too old to learn to spin or weave.”
She still crouched before me, struggling to master her sobbing, and gasped out, “I will do anything, learn anything if only I may stay with you. Only be a little patient with me. Do not cast me out for—”
“The only thing I will cast you out for is stealing or lying to myself or Sir Bruno. I know stealing is the custom of your trade and you do not think it to be wrong, but I will not suffer it. I am not talking only of your stealing from me or Bruno. In fact, I think you would not be so foolish as that, but if you steal anything at all from anyone at all, I will cast you naked into the road wherever we are. And for lying also—but only for lying to me or to Sir Bruno. One cannot be a servant in court without lying to others; only do not be so fanciful that you are caught in your lies.”
I could not help smiling as I said that, and Edna wiped the tears from her face and timidly smiled back. “Madam,” she whispered, “we were not allowed to steal. Great lords came to that place, and had one missed a ring or a coin, the punishment might have been death or maiming for all of us. But I am very good at lying.”
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