Great Maria (v5)

by Cecelia Holland

  “Ralf,” she called, and the young knight strode toward her.

  She gestured into the darkness nearby them, where some recent travelers had left a dead firebed and a frame for a cooking pot. “Perhaps we could make that seem to be part of our camp.”

  “I beg my lady’s pardon,” he said blankly.

  “As if”—she lifted her hand toward the road—“some fifteen or twenty men have just gone off. So that we will not seem so small a band.”

  He swallowed; he gave the meadows a distracted glance. “My lady, I don’t really think—”

  “I don’t care what you think,” Maria told him between her teeth. She turned her shoulder to him and carried Stephen over to the fire.

  Ralf and three other knights built a fire in the meadow, put some gear about, and moved the tethered horses over between the two camps. Maria sat by the fire and toasted bread on a stick. An old knight sank down beside her. He took Stephen into his lap and the little boy fell asleep. The knight rubbed his bald, freckled head.

  “This tadpole Ralf is troubling you, isn’t he?” the knight said abruptly.

  “What?”

  “Well. The others of us will know what to do when the thing comes to it.”

  In the meadow, the bonfire blaze crackled and snapped embers up into the night sky. Ralf and the other knights were trudging back to their supper. Maria clasped her arms around her knees. What the old knight said only made her more uneasy. If Theobald took her prisoner here, she would kill herself. She would kill Theobald, too, somehow: seduce him and kill him.

  “You know,” the knight said, “in his great days, girl, your father was a mighty man. Richard d’Alene would not have done that to him, not in Strongarm’s prime age.”

  “Richard did nothing to him,” Maria said sharply.

  The old knight patted her knee. Rising, he went to join his friends.

  When the campfires had sunk down to heaps of coals, Theobald and his men appeared on the road. In the darkness the other army seemed to cover the meadows like a flood. Maria reminded herself that in her own demesne, new come from worship at her own shrine, she was right and Theobald was wrong. She called up Ralf again.

  “Go over to Count Theobald,” she said, “and tell him I am here and will see him now.”

  Ralf squared off his shoulders. “My lady, I must unfortunately once again suggest—”

  “No,” Maria said. She stared at him. After a moment, in a show of courtesy, he looked away. “Go get him,” she said. “Now.”

  Ralf bowed elaborately to her and went off to do her orders. Maria sat down again. When Eleanor spoke, behind her, she jumped.

  “I certainly hope God is remembering us,” Eleanor said. She reached up to undo Maria’s coif, and Maria pushed her hand aside.

  “No. Count Theobald is coming, do I meet him half-dressed?”

  “Tonight?” Eleanor said. “Here? I would liefer have the Grand Mahound into a convent.”

  “God will help me.”

  Eleanor said, “You ask too much of God,” and got up and went away.

  Maria did not call after her. She asked the other maid to bring her cloak and sat listening to the wind comb through the dry meadow grass. The knight Ralf returned and stood to one side, on her left like an honor guard, his hands folded on the buckle of his sword belt. Maria wished she had some work, to keep busy, but the firelight was too dim for sewing.

  A slender man, late in middle age, came up into the light of her fire. “My lady Maria,” he said. “I cannot tell you how delighted I am at this meeting.” A servant came after him, carrying a little stool, and Theobald waved to him. The servant put the stool down behind him.

  “Sit, my lord,” Maria said. He was a small man, neatly turned out down to his hair and shoes, his smile fixed as a star. “We were at the Cave of Our Lady when your message came, or I would have invited you to Birnia.”

  She met his gaze. Richard had said that Theobald out-talked him, and he did seem serpent-like, slender and quick as the green snake Stephen had chased. He had wanted to marry his daughter to Richard and set her and Ceci aside. She smiled at him, hating him, and he bowed again, the firelight catching on all the little ornaments of his coat.

  “I am here, actually, for the sake of your shrine,” Theobald said. “Since God took my Countess from me”—he crossed himself—“I have come now and then to that pleasant place to refresh my soul.” His meaningless smile danced on his face. His quick eyes took in every detail of her camp. “You travel very lightly, my dear, if I may give tongue to my opinions.”

  “Our roads are safe,” she said. “We are the only robbers in Birnia.”

  Theobald’s smile stuck an instant. Maria gestured to Ralf, where he stood in the background, and said, “Will you serve us some wine? It’s cold, in this wind.”

  Theobald nodded. “A crisp wind, this one, very unusual for the season.”

  “You are going to the shrine, then,” Maria said.

  “Yes. Of course, I may not require so great an escort as I have, since you say your roads are safe.”

  Maria tucked her hands in her lap. “Take them, if you wish—it is a Godly place, all men should see it.” She looked guilelessly at him. “My lord and I are happy in the service of God, he in his way, and I in mine.”

  A crease appeared across Theobald’s forehead. His fingers played with the gold brooch at the shoulder of his cloak. Ralf brought him a cup, which he took.

  “Do you require a hostage of me, perhaps?”

  Maria sipped her wine, cool from the night wind. Ralf had mixed it liberally with water; at least he remembered her tastes. She was tempted to accept Theobald’s hostage but when she thought it through, she realized he would spy on her. She put the cup down.

  “I trust you, my lord. I ask only that you keep to the road and treat my people kindly.”

  Theobald smiled at her. “You are as gracious as your lord. How does his fighting go? We have heard, of course, of the oaths taken in Iste. Fitz-Michael is angry over it, you know—some of the men who swore forced oaths to your lord are barons of the Duke.”

  Maria shrugged her shoulders. “I will tell him you mentioned it.” She remembered the little boy Richard had stolen away from Theobald.

  “He is a cunning man, your husband.” Theobald drank his wine. Ralf took his cup away. “But I think he overreaches himself, attacking the Saracens in the mountains. He should be content with Iste.”

  Maria drank another sip of her wine. “I know nothing of it, my lord, except it is our Christian duty to fight the Saracens.”

  “Yes. Ah, yes. Crusades are the pilgrimages of the young. If I myself were young—” He puffed a little, spoke of the time when to ride from Occel to the Cave of the Virgin was a dangerous penance. His fingers moved without pausing, pleating his sleeve, rubbing over the chased surface of the cup. He made a joke, and she caught herself laughing. His face smoothed out. Maria smiled at him, trying to charm him.

  “Your lord’s brother, Roger,” Theobald said sleekly. “The finest knight in the south, some men say—men who should know. I have never had the honor to encounter him, either at parley or in the field.”

  “Roger is a hero,” Maria said with pride. “He is an arrow of God.”

  “And the older brother, William—quite another sort, we had some dealings, he and I—he too has taken the Cross?”

  “Ye—”

  Maria bit off the word. Ruffled, she saw she had told him what he wanted to know, and she said, “William told me somewhat of his talks with you.”

  Theobald smiled at her. He rubbed his upper lip with his forefinger. In the cart, Stephen woke and called out, and Eleanor quieted him. Maria looked Theobald in the face.

  “I wonder you should be going off to the shrine, though, so near to the fall quarterday.”

  Theobald shifted on his stool, still favoring her with his sleek smile. “Earlier in the summer I was busy elsewhere. Had I the leisure, I should have come at once, child.”
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br />   “I wish you could stay on then,” she said, “but you will want to be back in your own demesne before the quarterday, won’t you?”

  Theobald’s smile broadened. “I understand you.” He got to his feet. “You have been most courteous to me, I shall not forget your favor.”

  He bowed to her; she gave him her hand, and he kissed it. He said, “Let me hope, child, that while you are mistress of Birnia, you will think of me as a dependable friend.”

  “I shall, my lord, with many thanks.”

  He made another bow to her, and with his servant carrying his stool started away. He swung wide off his track to look over the other campsite and its dying fire. Maria sat down again, angry. She felt like a fool for letting him know where all three brothers were.

  “Ralf,” she said. “We shall go home tomorrow.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Send a messenger to Jean, tell him that we are coming. Put a watch on Theobald’s camp.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Maria walked up and down between the cart and the fire. She wondered how much Theobald could know of the garrison in Birnia—if her pretense of strength might not trick her more than him. He took her lightly; she had marked it in his tone of voice. Creeping into the back of the cart, she lay down next to Eleanor, pulled the blankets over her, and tried to settle into sleep.

  ***

  From the Rood Oak, she traveled south toward the Tower of Birnia, while Theobald and his forty men took the high road toward the shrine. Of the knights in her escort, Maria sent all but Ralf to keep on Theobald’s heels and watch him. Ralf she took with her.

  For most of the day, the cart crossed the fens, yellow and stinking in the late summer heat, the stretches of tall, stalky grass broken here and there by a scummed pool ringed in cattails. Twice they had to stop, unload the cart, and use Maria’s mare and Ralf’s horse to help drag the wheels up out of the mire.

  Eleanor prayed loudly all day long. Stephen, tired of the cart and tired of traveling, cried or nagged or fretted. No one else spoke. They saw no sign of other people through the whole day.

  Maria finally took Stephen in front of her on her horse to keep him quiet. Not a breath of the wind moved the air. The fen stretched flat and unchanging around them, as if they made no progress at all. The sun climbed to the zenith of the sky and dropped down into the west. At last they reached the river, winding thick with weed, and forded it.

  Here the fields stood shoulder-high in ripening grain and beans. Marigold studded them to keep away bugs. In the last of the twilight, the serfs were walking home from their fields. Maria and her people camped beside the road at the crossroads.

  The following noon, they reached the town of Birnia and drove past it to the Tower. Jean was on the wall, his face running with sweat in the afternoon heat, and when they rolled into the ward, Robert raced down the outer stair of the Tower to meet them.

  “Mama,” he said, before she could speak. “I am in command here, now, you must obey me in all things.”

  “Oh,” Maria said. “Another one of you.” She slid down from her mare; a groom led it away.

  “And you must tell Eleanor,” Robert said. “And make her obey me.”

  Maria patted his cheek. In the cart, Eleanor was giving everyone orders. Stephen had gotten away from her and was lowering himself carefully down the high cart wheel to the ground. His long arms swinging at his sides, Jean came across the ward.

  “Is there any word from Richard?” she asked him.

  “Nothing, my lady. Will you come in? The sun is so bright out here.”

  Maria followed him toward the stair. Eleanor was directing the serving girls here and there with their baggage.

  “I sent out all the other men but one to ride the road while Theobald is here,” Jean said. “I thought it best to let him see as many armed men as possible, so that he may think we are strong.”

  Stephen on his round legs raced across the ward toward her. His aim was off, and he ran headlong into Robert instead. His brother thrust him aside so hard the little boy sat down with a thump. Wheeling back to Maria, Robert grabbed hold of her arm.

  “Mama, you must—”

  Stephen let out a howl. Maria bent to pick him up. To Robert, she said, “I will not obey you unless you are worthy. See how you made your brother cry.” She kissed Stephen’s grimy face. With Jean just behind her, she went up the stair to the doorway into the hall.

  “Mama!” Robert shrieked, but she ignored him.

  In the hall the air was cool. A serving girl was sweeping the ashes back into the hearth. Maria sent her for water and linen, so that she could wash her face. Jean came up before her, his expression bland. She sank down into a chair.

  “You think I was rash to meet him there,” she said.

  “No, so long as you are here again,” he said in a mild voice. “What passed between you?”

  The maid came back with a basin of water, and Maria splashed her face and dried it. Robert raced in to hold the linen for her.

  “Mama, I am your knight now.”

  “Yes,” she said, and patted his head. “Sit, Jean. Robert—”

  The boy had already gone down the hall for a stool. When Jean was sitting, Robert leaned on his shoulder, and the old knight put his arm around the boy and smiled at him.

  Maria repeated her interview with Theobald to Jean. “So he knows that Richard and his brothers are all in the mountains, far from here. I was stupid.”

  Jean grunted. “Yet he must be unsure of us. He would not have passed the chance to take you prisoner unless he thought we could do him some damage.” He scratched his jaw, eying her. “That was clever, that with the campfire. That may serve, against a cautious man like this Count.”

  “We must have spies in his county, to tell us if he calls up his army.”

  Jean nodded at her. “I have arranged that, my girl, you do not have to tell me my work. But if he decides to attack us, there is nothing we can do.”

  “Something will happen.”

  Jean regarded her a moment. Deep pleasant lines marked the corners of his mouth; his eyes were clear pale blue. “Something never happens.”

  Maria gestured irritably at him to go. “I will talk to you later. Robert, go—”

  “You can’t give me orders. I am the commander here. Jean, tell her.”

  A hot answer sizzled in her throat, but he stood so straight, as if he were trying to be taller, that she had to smile. “Well, then,” she said, “if it please you, would you ask Eleanor to see to our dinner? Thank you.”

  Robert made a salute to her and ran off. She sat alone in the hall, her mind on Theobald, his clothes and his restless hands. Two pages came in, boys of Robert’s size, carrying a sling full of firewood: hostages from Iste. There were twelve hostages, ranging from a boy no older than Stephen to a young man. Richard had given her everything in Birnia except what she needed. She knew that was unjust. She got up and went to her room to change her travel-stained clothes.

  Eighteen

  Theobald lingered at the shrine, bribing all the monks. Maria began to worry that to challenge her he would stay past the quarterday, but at last he went back to his city of Occel. The quarterday passed. For many days thereafter she worked constantly, getting the goods stored away in the cramped spaces of the Tower. One morning, while she was overseeing the kitchen knaves stack up kegs of salted meat, a page ran into the storeroom to tell her a messenger had come.

  Maria sent the knaves away to their dinner and the page for a cup of wine, and she went out to the ward. The messenger stood beside his steaming horse in the shade of the wall, just below the gate. His grimy face belonged to one of Ponce Rachet’s men.

  “Joscelyn,” she said. “What news from the East Tower?” The page dashed up to her with the cup of wine, and she gave it to the messenger.

  He did not drink. He said, “Lady, the news is bad. My lord Richard has been captured by the Saracens in the mountains.”

  “Captured.�
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  The page was standing a little way off, watching her. Heavily she gestured to him to go. She lifted her face toward the messenger’s.

  “Where? What happened? Is he alive?”

  “I don’t know, lady.”

  “Drink,” she said.

  The messenger lifted the cup to salute her and gulped down the wine. She clasped her hands together. She struggled to make herself think calmly.

  “Have they asked for ransom?”

  The messenger held out the cup to her. Around his mouth the dirt was washed away, leaving a circle of clean skin.

  “Lady, I know nothing of it. If I knew anything—” He spread his big hands. “He was taken alive. That’s all we know. Ponce Rachet says if you are attacked, you shall come to the East Tower. Don’t try to stand here.”

  Maria licked her lips. Obviously he believed, and Ponce Rachet believed, that Richard was dead. When Theobald heard of it he would certainly attack her. She said, “Go get something to eat in the kitchen. Please, for my favor, say nothing of this to anybody.”

  “I wish I had not had to say it to you.” He led his horse away. The oldest of her hostages from Iste was loitering near the stable door. He came up to take the knight’s mount. Maria went up to the hall.

  Robert had gone off somewhere with Jean. By the hearth, a serving girl was teaching a page to lay out the fire. Maria sat down at her spinning wheel, but she could not spin. Her hands shook like an old woman’s. While she sat trying to calm herself down, Eleanor walked in.

  “The purple yarn is dry,” she called, “and I think there is enough of it to do the border of the new tapestry.” She came up beside Maria, ready to talk of the design. Maria made herself speak normally and listen to what Eleanor said.

  Jean came into the hall, Robert on his heel with a string of questions about horses. The old knight answered him absently. Coming up behind Eleanor, he said, “The messenger says he has already spoken to you.”

  Maria nodded. “Yes, there was—there has been a battle.” She got up, searching for a good lie. “They have lost ground—they were beaten back.”