Relieved, she laughed; she got up beside Richard. With her help he shed the heavy mail shirt. The pale linen padding he wore made it easier to see him. She touched him, and he leaned down on his elbow, his head almost in her lap.
“What do you think about now? About God?”
“Now?” She put one hand on his hair. “The sea. Music. Stars. Something like that. Or the spaces between things.”
“What things?”
She shrugged. “What do you think God is?”
“God is an illusion.”
She started. She said nothing, frightened and repulsed.
“Well? Aren’t you going to argue with me?”
She stroked his hair down. He laid his head on her thigh. She said, “I’m going to miss your hair when it’s gone.”
“Stupid cow.” He rubbed his face against her body.
“Why are you so concerned about God, if it’s just an illusion?”
“I don’t know. Because it’s easier to think about God than Theobald.”
“When are you going to fight him?”
“Fight what? If we could fight it would be easy. Theobald has no army—half his friends have come over to us, and the rest are going home to wait and see what happens. Even Prince Arthur has run away.” He tugged on her hand, drawing her down above him. “Lie with me.”
“I thought that was what you wanted. Wait until I get my cloak.”
***
Agato covered the riverbank for nearly a mile, far outreaching its wall. The streets were narrow and deep in mud. The huts of weavers and wool-carders stood almost in the same streets as the tall stone houses of the cloth merchants. The tower of the cathedral rose above the town like a watchman.
When they rode into the town the cathedral’s bells were ringing. The Duke led them straight to the church, where they thanked God for their victory. When they came out again, through the middle archway, the square was crowded with townspeople. They cheered, and their voices echoed back from the two- and three-story buildings fronting on the square.
Robert brought Maria’s horse and helped her mount. The roars of the crowd changed to gasps and hisses: Ismael and the Majlas were coming up the street. An old woman on the cathedral steps made the sign against the Evil Eye. Maria urged her mare forward.
In the middle of the square Richard and Duke Henry were waiting. Suddenly all around them a tremendous cheer went up. Robert screwed himself around in his saddle. “Uncle Roger,” he said. “He sends men on ahead of him to tell folk who he is, and to start them cheering.”
Richard and the Duke had overheard him. They looked at each other and laughed. Maria stared suspiciously at her son. “That isn’t true.”
Robert smiled at her, pleased. “I’ve heard it said.”
The men who once had followed Theobald now gathered around the Duke, the dark center of a flower in the midst of their busy attentions. Gradually they were crowding him away from Richard. Maria drew her horse aside. They had decided the night before to garrison the three castles in Agato and in the morning leave to run Theobald down. She began to wish she had not agreed to stay in the town.
“Whore,” a woman screamed, in the crowd. Maria paid no heed until Robert gripped her arm.
The woman was pushing up between people toward her. She held out a cross like a charm against Maria. “Whore. Saracen whore.”
Robert thrust his horse up to shield her. His hand went to his sword. Maria caught his wrist. “No.” She could not lift her eyes to see how many people heard. Already the onlookers were bundling the woman off. Maria’s cheeks burned. The voice went on calling faintly, even though the woman was lost from sight in the crowd. The men rode off again. She pressed toward Richard, grateful to be moving.
***
Maria wiped scent on her wrists. She held her hands under her nose and sniffed the fragrance. Behind her, Louise lifted her hair up in coils on her head and fixed it there with heavy jeweled combs.
“What if they don’t come?” Catherine asked. She leaned in the window, straining to see out to the city.
“They will be here.” The army had been collecting on the plain all day long, coming in groups and columns from the north, where they had captured Theobald. Richard and Robert had not yet appeared. Raising her looking glass, she watched Louise mass her thick black hair on her head.
“I look as if I’m going to tip over.”
“You look beautiful,” Catherine said breathlessly. “Doesn’t she? Doesn’t she look splendid?”
The other women murmured in agreement. Maria stood up, careful not to dislodge her hair. Louise came smiling around in front of her.
“Here.” She stood on her toes and changed a comb.
“Everything will come down as soon as I move.”
“Sssh.”
Louise took a brush and fiddled with the long curl over Maria’s ear. The other women were dressing one another. A hum of excited talk filled up the room.
“They’re here!” Catherine screamed. “They are coming!”
Maria leaped up and ran over behind the girl. The women piled up against the window. “On the bridge,” Catherine wailed. “Oh, oh, he is so handsome—look at his hair—”
Maria leaned on the girl’s back to see. “If you blubber all through my feast, Catherine, I’ll smack you.” On the bridge below the window, Robert and Roger were crossing side by side, bearing the white dragon banner over their heads.
“Who is that? Poor creature,” Louise cried.
“Theobald.” Maria climbed on a stool to see over their heads. Theobald rode along over the bridge, his hands bound behind him and a rope halter around his neck. A footsoldier led his horse by the reins. Richard came after him, and the Duke in his black mail.
The sun was setting. Maria drew back from the window. Catherine pressed herself against the window frame, sighing like a lovebird, her eyes on Roger. Maria made sure her hair was securely fastened and went down the stairs to the hall.
Fitz-Michael had had five children, three boys and two girls, but one daughter was a nun. The others were already in the hall, listening to Maria’s musicians. She and her servants had hung embroidered silk on the walls and covered the floors with Saracen carpets. Instead of the battered furniture she had found here, they had brought in her own chairs and tables.
Stiff as icons, Friz-Michael’s brood sat in the candlelight, their hands folded in their laps. The girl was very fair, her dark blond hair smoothly coiled under her little lace-trimmed coif, her mouth artfully red—a young widow, the Duke had said. Roger had had enough virgins, he would not miss it now.
“The men are in the courtyard,” Maria said. Her page ran up to her with a stool, and she sat next to the girl, Anne of Demoges, who would marry Roger. “Do you enjoy the music?” She resisted the urge to eat from the plate of marzipan before her.
“It is quaint,” Anne said. “A peculiar style, my lady.” She aimed her gaze pointedly at Maria’s bulging front. “When the ladies of Santerois are with child, we stay secluded from public looks.”
Maria reached for the marzipan. “A good reason not to get with child. We weren’t told you had children.”
Anne pressed her fingertips to the base of her throat. Her jewels were beautiful: clusters of rubies and emeralds. “A way of speaking.”
“Do you have children?”
Anne looked down her nose, exactly like Rahman, and Maria giggled. “No,” Anne said coldly. “I am not blessed with children.”
“I wasn’t laughing at you—you reminded me of a friend of my husband’s—the Emir of Mana’a.”
“I,” Anne said, “remind you of a Saracen?”
“Yes. We are enemies, he and I—I am very vindictive. It comes of being a robber’s daughter, and not of your exalted place in life.”
Anne froze, her cheeks suddenly blotchy. “We did not ask for this marriage.”
“No. But you are fortunate to get it. We are fortunate, too. We will accept you, if you will accept us.”
Anne put her profile to her and did not answer. Maria licked the taste of almond from her fingers. It was going to be a difficult courting. The door from the hall opened, and Robert came in. Duke Henry was just behind him.
Robert had cut all his hair off. A wilting wildflower bobbed above his right ear. He came straight across the hall to his mother and knelt down beside her.
“See? I am still alive.”
“Don’t make fun of me.” She turned to introduce him to Anne, but the girl had gone to join her brothers, making much of the young Duke.
Richard walked in the door. He was still armed and in his mail. Maria stood up. The young Duke swung toward him, brushing off his male relatives. Anne he towed forward with him.
“This is my cousin Anne,” the Duke said. “My lord Richard d’Alene the lord of Marna.”
Maria put her hand on Robert’s arm to quiet him. Richard said something in greeting. Maria could not hear Anne’s reply, but Richard bridled up. He said three words to her and went off toward the door.
Anne gasped. Several people turned to look. Maria laughed. Robert was staring after Richard, his mouth open. She put her finger on his chin and pushed his lower jaw shut.
“You look like a cat catching flies.” Richard had gone out of the room.
“Mama, what—”
“The bride’s family seems to think we are baseborn.”
Robert’s face twisted. Maria caught his hand. “No. Don’t do anything. Nobody can deal with it better than Richard. Go rescue Bunny.” The Duke’s relatives had surrounded him again.
“I’m not a toady.” Robert walked stiffly away.
Maria gestured to the musicians to play. Fitz-Michael’s sons were of no consequence; she had never been able to remember their names. She went to the door to go after Richard, and it opened and Roger came in.
“Maria. What happened—? Richard just went by me looking like thunder.” He laced his fingers through hers. His eyes swept the room. “Which one is mine?”
“Roger. We all are.”
Roger laughed. He chucked her under the chin and went over to the knot of strangers. He was taller than Anne’s brothers, taller than any other man there save Duke Henry. His red hair was like a target for eyes. Robert came up to him, worshipful, and the red knight put his arm over the boy’s shoulders. On Anne he turned his generous grace.
Off to one side, the Duke stared at them. Maria went across the room to start the servants around with the wine and cakes. She had seen the Duke look once or twice at Fitz-Michael in the same way. Richard came in, dressed in his blue coat. Ismael followed on his tracks. The Duke’s expression altered. They stood together, talking.
Maria got two cups of wine and went up beside Richard. “My lord,” she said, “let me serve you.”
Richard said to the Duke, “We should hang Theobald before he gets away.”
Maria held out the cup to him, but Ismael took it. “I drink,” he said. He smiled, exuberant.
“Ismael,” she said. “That’s a sin.”
The smile widened by several teeth. “I drink.” He took a deep swallow of the wine. His face went suddenly green. Maria guessed he had been expecting something sweet, like sherbet. Richard got the cup from him.
“Go away.”
The Duke drank his wine. “My lady, do you like my cousin?”
“Oh,” Maria said thinly, “she is very beautiful, we shall have her often to Mana’a to visit.”
Ismael lingered. Richard shot him a hard look, and he sidled off along the wall. Richard turned his back on him. Maria put her hand on his arm. She glanced over her shoulder at Roger and Anne.
The Duke said, “She’s getting along with him, at least. I guess Roger could win anybody. When do you want to marry them?”
“After we hang Theobald.”
The Duke gave him a bland stare and walked away. Richard said, under his breath, “Bunny, you can back like a crayfish.”
“Threaten to leave,” Maria said. “What can he do without you?”
“He’ll do it.” He drained his cup and tossed it to a hovering page. “They are all working on him, but they know him little. Who does this girl think she is anyway, Christ among the angels?”
“She does now.” Maria watched Anne and Roger talk. The fair girl’s laughter rang out. She gave Roger an adoring look. Maria turned back to Richard.
“Did you miss me?” he said.
“Sometimes.” She ran her fingers over his chest. “How do you like my hair?”
“Down.” The page had returned with his cup. He lifted it to drink, his eyes on her hair. “It’s all coming down anyway.”
She gasped, her hands flying to her head. Richard laughed. She felt carefully of her hair, still securely fastened above her ears in its elaborate loops and curls.
“Now that was a brat’s trick,” she said.
Richard shook his head. A platter appeared between them. He took a stuffed date from it and put it in his mouth. “Theobald asked about you.”
“Theobald.” She glanced beyond him at Ismael, who was taking a bite from every piece on a tray of cakes. “Did you tell him I am well? Ismael seems to think someone wants to poison you.”
“Ismael,” Richard called. “Go away now.”
The server brought over the cakes. Richard started to send them away. “The Brotherhood poison each other in their feuds. He just wants to be important.”
“Or have a sinless taste of wine.” Maria took a cake.
Richard laughed.
Presently, the servants brought in the table and the food, and they sat down to eat. Roger and Anne sat side by side across the table from Maria and Richard. Anne fawned on Roger already, her eyes gluttonous on his face. Her brothers drank too much. The youngest slid quietly under the table during the game course, while the other two argued with anybody who would speak to them. The Duke cursed them, and one fell still and the other cursed back, until the Duke threw a cup of wine in his face. Anne leaned forward to scold her brother silent. Maria, mixing water with her wine, watched it all, entertained. Roger’s right hand and Anne’s left were hidden under the table. She knew they touched each other.
“Henry,” one brother said. “We should settle this issue of our cousin Theobald.”
“It’s all the same to me,” Richard said. “You can hang him or you can cut his head off.”
“Sir, you’d have my sister marry in mourning,” the brother said. He was striving to make his voice pleasant.
“They’d better marry soon, or I’ll want blood sign before I pay a Morgengab.”
Anne had heard him. Her cheeks went white, and her hand appeared above the level of the table. Her brother stood.
“Sir—”
A servant brought in another array of dishes. Richard leaned out to see. “Maria, you can start eating, they’ve brought in the blancmange.”
The brother put his fists on the table. “Pay heed to me, you fatherless renegade.”
Robert, on Maria’s right, started up out of his place. She held him down. Richard leaned forward. His eyes glinted. He said, “Pigs have fathers, and dogs have faith. I don’t pay heed to either of them.”
The brother stood up. “That, sir, I take for an insult!”
“Why, puss, how did you think I meant it? What were you—born in a manger? Great Muhammed’s horse, the whole family has its head up its backside. It must be the Lombard blood. Even your father knew when I was insulting him.”
“Richard,” Maria said. The Duke was smiling down at his plate. Several of the servants were listening, amused.
“My lord,” the brother said. “I don’t have to listen to that.”
Richard was reaching for the bread, his eyes elsewhere. Across the table from Maria, Roger was smiling wide. He spoke softly to Anne, who turned to look up at him, still frowning. Roger flirted her back to good humor. The brother did not speak again. Maria turned to her husband.
“How did you catch Theobald?”
The Duke
snorted. He put his elbows on the table while he chewed his meat. Roger said, “Maria, you and Theobald were fair matched, that time in Birnia.” Anne’s eyes never left his face.
Richard said, “We cut him off from Occel. You know how he is, he surrendered when he saw we outnumbered him.” To the Duke, he said, “Kill him now. He’ll start to make bargains, and Theobald can deal his way out of anything.”
“Or perhaps your wife will help him escape,” the Duke said.
Silence fell. Robert said, alone, “What?”
Richard thrust his plate away from him. “Bunny,” he said, “stop your mouth.”
“Richard,” Maria said.
The Duke got to his feet. Everyone was watching him, still as the furniture.
“I don’t like being called Bunny,” the Duke said, “and you are in my city, in my castle, and sometimes, damn it, you talk too much.”
Robert whispered, “What is this all about?”
“Sssh,” Maria said.
Richard sat back. “You’re probably right,” he said, mild as milk.
Maria let her breath out. Under the other side of the table, she marked, Roger took Anne again by the hand. The Duke sat down in his chair beside Richard. The servers brought them the fish course. The young man’s eyes were downcast.
“Maria,” Roger called. “I’ll be your champion if Richard won’t defend you.”
Maria threw a piece of bread at him. “I am my own champion. As my lord Henry knows well.”
The young man looked over at Richard. “I will hang Theobald on Sunday,” he said in a low voice.
Richard struck him on the arm. “I’ll keep watch on Maria in the meanwhile. Roger, when do you want to get married?”
They talked about that. Maria glanced behind Richard’s back at the young Duke. He was watching her, unsmiling. She looked away.
Thirty-seven
The market place of Agato, opposite the cathedral, was clamorous with people. In the midst of the square stood the high scaffold where Theobald was to be hanged. Maria rode back to the shade of the cathedral wall. Robert was beside her. In spite of the wind she was sweating and the baby kicked her painfully every few moments. The crowd banged around her mare, their curious eyes on her. People stood in a solid pack on the porch and steps of the cathedral. A cutpurse ran through them so fast she could only sit and watch him go with a dozen purses in his bag.
Great Maria (v5) Page 40