They walked to the stairs. He took hold of her arm.
“They’ve always hated each other. When you were building the chapel, down at Saint Mary’s, I remember it from then.”
She said, “One day they’ll hurt each other.” They went up the staircase and into the anteroom to their bedchamber. The Saracen woman was rocking Henry in her lap. Jilly sprawled asleep on a cushion beside her. Maria took the baby, and for a moment the two women stood looking down at the child and talked of little, innocent things.
“Good night,” the Saracen woman said. She touched Henry’s cheek. “God keep us all.” She went away.
Maria carried Henry into their bedchamber and across the layers of carpet to the cradle. He trembled in his sleep. For an instant his lips worked busily.
Richard put Jilly down on the bed. Maria put out two or three of the lamps so that the stars in the ceiling began to shine. Although it was November, the perfume of the garden reached her, satisfying to her senses as wine.
“What are you thinking about?” he said.
“I feel different just for being in Mana’a. It’s very strange.”
He kicked his clothes away, standing naked in front of her. His body was worked and thickened with muscle. Across his hip the scars lay like chains under the pale skin. “You are mad. You and Stephen.”
“Let me call Lalla to take my clothes off, or help me yourself. You like Stephen.”
“He is a priest. He thinks too much.”
Maria laughed. He lifted off her heavy surcoat and pulled her gown up over her head. “I like the girls best,” he said.
She brought him a cup of wine. “You might not, when she gets to Robert’s age.”
“I’ll marry her to Bunny.” He stood looking down at Jilly.
She sat down on the bed. A candle at the far end of the room guttered out. The dark crept toward them. “She’s just a baby.”
“It’s you he loves.”
“God’s blood. You’re the one who’s mad.”
They got into the bed together. “Whom can he compare you with?” Richard asked. “You and Anne are the only women he knows.” He handed her the empty cup. “Even I prefer you to Anne.”
Part Four
Saracen Defense
Forty-four
Maria held out the coat, and Richard slid his arms into it, settled it on his shoulders, and did the gold hooks up the front. “How do I look? The color is too bright.” He twisted to admire himself while she brushed up the nap of the dark red velvet. “It’s comfortable at least.”
Maria came around in front of him, pleased. The coat looked better than she had pictured it. The deep-cut sleeves reached just below his elbows, and the fitted sleeves of the undercoat were of the same gold satin as the wide cuffs. The jeweled hooks had come all the way from Africa. “Put on your belt.” In his short brown beard and the velvet, he looked like a prince.
She went across the room, nodding to a page to bring her cloak. Through the window, she could see the green valley that lay before Iste. No one worked today in the fields: they were all celebrating the christening of Roger’s son. When she turned back toward Richard, a strange knight stood in the doorway.
“My lord, my name is Walter, I served you—”
“In Santerois. I remember,” Richard said. He was buckling on his belt. “Speak.”
The knight crossed the room toward him. Maria turned away to let them talk alone. There was a looking glass on the chest below the window, and she stood it up.
“Maria,” Richard said sharply. “Come here.”
She went up to him. His voice alerted her, she signed to the page to wait in the doorway. To the knight, Richard said, “Say this once more.”
The knight cleared his throat. “When you and my lady come from the church, after the christening, my lord Roger intends to take you prisoner and make himself the lord of Marna.”
Richard was watching her, his face settled in angles. “Do you believe this?”
Maria rubbed her sweating palms together. She wondered why the knight would lie. “Yes,” she said. “That is why you are not the baby’s godfather.”
Richard lifted his head, his eyes on the knight. “How do you know of this?”
The knight said, “My lord, it is openly talked of here.”
“Then it may be just a rumor,” Maria said.
“We have to go through with the christening,” Richard said. “Walter, you know where my escort is quartered. Tell Renald, he is the commander, tell him when we have gone to the church they should leave Iste and wait for us on the road to Castelmaria. Quietly.”
Walter strode out. Maria beckoned to the page with her cloak. Richard walked in a circle. “It must be a lie. It cannot be true. Devil damn him. Do you believe this of him? Devil damn him.” He snatched the cloak out of the page’s arms. “Get away from me.”
Maria sent the little boy downstairs to tell the others that she and Richard were coming. She put one hand on Richard’s arm. “I will hold the baby over the font. When the ceremony’s done, I shall keep hold of him, we can walk away. If nothing happens he will never know.”
“I can’t take a sword.” He dropped the cloak in a heap and unhooked his coat. “Get me the long dagger.” He stripped off the coat.
She brought the dagger and helped him strap it to his chest. When he had the coat on again, she shifted the long blade until the natural folds of the velvet hid its shape. Her heart was hammering. She took a deep breath to settle herself.
Richard said, “I don’t like using babies.”
“It must be done. Help me.” She turned her back on him. He picked up the cloak and slung it around her shoulders.
The page rushed in. “My lady—”
“We are coming now.”
She shook out her skirt. Richard shut his eyes and smoothed the expression from his face. When he opened his eyes again, he smiled, bland as a monk. They went down the stairs. Maria thought of their own children, thankful they had left them in Mana’a. They walked into the open, sunlit hall.
Her hands were scummed with sweat. People came up to her, bowed, spoke to her, smiled into her face. Beside her, Richard made a joke, and there was laughter. Roger stood across the room. His hair was like a torch. Someone complimented her on Richard’s coat. Slowly she made herself speak pleasantly to these people. She knew Anne and her family had brought Roger to this.
Before the christening, they heard Mass in the domed cathedral of Iste. Through the prayers and the rehearsal of the Passion, she wondered what Roger would do to them. He would have to kill them, sooner or later, Richard first. She could not believe he would kill Richard. She put her hand against his, and he took hold of her fingers and squeezed them. They knelt to pray.
She and Anne’s brother received Christ. The congregation went to the side of the cathedral, to the green marble baptismal font. Drawn and pale, Anne stood opposite Maria, her brother at her elbow. Roger came up behind her. The baby in its long lace shirt lay first in the brother’s arms, while the priest spoke, and the brother answered.
Maria took the baby, supporting his head expertly against the curve of her arm. To her satisfaction he was not as pretty as her babies and not redheaded. The priest anointed his forehead and made the sign of the Cross over him. Now the brother took him again, and the priest sprinkled the baby with blessed water and welcomed him into the community of God. Maria glanced behind her. Richard in his magnificent coat stood with his eyes on her. The priest rang a bell. The ceremony was over. The brother still held the baby. Anne, her arms crooked, was reaching for him. Maria slid between her and the font and plucked the baby from the brother’s grip.
“Anne, my sister,” she said. “How beautiful your baby is.”
Anne’s face went brittle as ice. Maria followed the crowd toward the front doors of the cathedral. Anne pursued her.
“Give me back my baby.”
Maria moved at speed up the nave, beneath the painted dome.
Richa
rd came up beside her, unhooking his coat with one hand. The baby cried. She put the tip of her finger into his mouth to quiet him. The congregation was spilling out across the porch into the sunlight. She and Richard went through the double doors.
The bright sunlight hurt her eyes, and she stopped. By twos and threes, on foot and on horses, the crowd scattered off through the town toward Roger’s castle. Richard took her by the arm and propelled her down the steps and into the churchyard.
From either side, groups of men pushed swiftly up around them. They wore mail. They carried drawn swords. Richard pulled the dagger from his open coat.
“Wait,” Anne cried. “Roger—”
A dark knight came from the men surrounding Maria and Richard. “My lord, you have no escape,” he said, and saw the baby.
“Wait,” Anne called, and sobbed once.
Richard went up to the dark knight and yanked the sword out of his hand. “Go fetch our horses.”
The dark knight took a step to one side, confused, and from the mob of armed men an apprehensive murmur rose. Behind them, unseen, Roger called, “Do as he says. Get their horses.” He walked up in front of Maria. The dark knight dashed back into the crowd.
“You are brave to come so close to me,” Richard said.
Roger turned away from them. He was unarmed, except for the short dagger even Maria carried. He put his hands on his belt. The band of knights broke in half. Through the gap the dark knight led their horses.
Maria gave Richard the baby. He laid it in the crook of his arm and put the dagger on its body. A woman moaned. Maria hoisted her skirts up and climbed into her saddle. The poised knights around them were watching Richard like a pack of hunting dogs; waiting only for Roger to give an order.
“Take him anyway,” one man called. “Take him, for God’s love.”
With her rein and her heel she edged the white mare over to Richard. When she lifted the baby again the blade caught the sun in a flash that dazzled her. She cradled the baby against her shoulder and thrust the dagger into her sleeve.
Richard vaulted up onto his horse. The sword across his saddlebows, he circled the stallion around his brother.
“Roger,” he said. “I will never forgive you this.” Spurring his horse, he crowded Maria on before him across the churchyard.
Maria lifted the mare into a canter to cross the open market place. The baby was crying again, and she shifted his weight against her stomach. They galloped out the gate and veered to either side around a wagon.
“They are coming.” He pressed his horse over beside the white mare and grabbed hold of her rein. Maria took the baby in both arms, careful of the dagger in her sleeve. They rode down the short slope and out across the valley. On either side the brown fields stretched toward the hills, speckled with new green. Richard glanced back. Ahead of them, their knights rode in a triple file up from the crossroads.
“Stop,” Maria called. “The baby.”
Richard sat back in his saddle and pulled the horses to a ragged halt. The baby was screaming with rage, its eyes squeezed tight into a hundred wrinkles and its mouth half the size of its face. Maria kissed its forehead. She swung her right leg over the pommel of her saddle and slid to the ground. A hundred yards up the road, the knights from Iste were drawing rein. Their dust hung brown in the air over them. She scrambled across the ditch to the field, put the baby on the ground, and pulled off her cloak.
“You are a pretty baby,” she said, “but you have wicked parents.” She laid him on a double thickness of satin and ran back to her horse.
Their enemies shouted and charged after them. Maria hauled herself up into her saddle. Richard threw her reins to her and shooed her on ahead of him. Over his shoulder he called a long, taunting curse. Their escort trotted up around them.
“Where?”
“Castelmaria.” Richard spurred his horse, and they galloped down the road into the valley.
***
During the night, they stopped once to rest their horses. Three or four of the knights had been clever enough to bring skins of wine, and everybody sat around in the dark on a hillside, getting drunk in the cold. Since Roger and his men had been on their heels at sundown, they could not risk lighting a fire. Maria hugged her arms, shivering.
“Why did you leave your cloak? You are witless sometimes.” Richard stamped away from her into the darkness. A moment later he came back and sat down beside her, his arms on his knees. “How could he do this to me? What did I do to him to make him betray me?”
“It was Anne,” Maria said. She brushed against him, and absently he slung his arm around her shoulders. She yawned. “If Roger had ordered it, they would have taken us, baby and all.”
“Walter,” Richard called. He turned to her. “If they had, would you have let me kill it?”
Maria said nothing. Footsteps crunched on the grass, and the knight from Iste came up between the trees. “My lord.”
“How many knights does my brother have?”
“All the great men of Iste,” Walter said. “Some of them are not so loyal to him as most, but they all—” he stopped.
“What?” Richard said.
“Well,” Walter said. “You know. They all think you are”—his eyes flicked toward Maria—“a little too pleased with the Saracens.”
Richard lifted his hand, and another knight came over to him. “Is that his excuse? At least no Saracens will help him. His wife’s brothers will bring their powers, too. I judge his strength at one hundred and fifty knights and three or four hundred men on foot. He’s not green at this, he must start at Castelmaria, and I will go there.” He nodded to the other knight. “Take my horse and the next two strongest and kill them getting to Mana’a. You can find fresh mounts at Simleh on the Ridge Highway. Tell my brother William to hold Mana’a. My son shall meet me at Castelmaria. Al-Kitab at Simleh is to hold until I call him. Walter. Ride to Agato. Tell Duke Henry to his face what has happened here. He will know what to do. Go.”
The knights disappeared into the darkness. Richard went after them a little way and brought back a half-empty sack of wine. He sat down beside Maria in the grass. She reached for the wine skin, her teeth chattering. While she drank he took off his coat and draped it around her shoulders. She settled gratefully into the warmth his body had left.
“Are you coming with me?” he said.
“What do you mean? Where else would I go?”
“You’ve always had a certain tenderness for Roger.”
“God’s blood,” she said, “I have a certain tenderness for you.”
He threaded his fingers nervously through hers. “How could he do this to me?”
“I don’t know.”
Richard dragged her up onto her feet. “Come along. We can’t stop now.”
On foot, the knights came up around them, bringing their horses by the reins. The white mare moved like a ghost in the busy darkness. Renald led her up to Maria. “My lord,” he said, “take my horse.”
Richard boosted Maria up into her saddle. “I’ll walk.”
“My lord, you and your lady must get out of danger—we have twelve men and ten horses, two men will have to stay behind.”
“Renald,” Richard said. “I will do the thinking. Get on your horse.” He walked off into the dark, and Maria reined her mare around and followed him.
***
Just before dawn, they reached a stream and stopped again to rest. Maria had slept in her saddle, and the fresh light brought her spirits up, but Richard was limping hard and leaned exhausted against her mare. She dismounted, made him sit, and took the horse down to drink.
This stream rumbled down a hillside into the meadowy floor of a valley. Streaks of mist lay on the dark green grass under the trees. The knights sank down on the ground around the stream and let their horses graze. The water was cold enough to numb her hands. She washed her face, took off the velvet coat, and turning her back on the men nearby, she hiked up her skirts and ripped away the muslin undersk
irt. She buried the cloth in the water. While it soaked, she slipped the bit from her mare’s galled mouth and knotted up the reins. Her hands were dead with cold. She took the dripping cloth back to Richard.
He was sitting with his back against a tree, taking his shoes off. The feet of his hose were sodden with blood.
“Here,” she said. “Wash your face, you’ll feel better.”
He took the wet cloth and plunged his face into it. “Unh.” He raised his head. “Get me something to drink.” He scrubbed his face vigorously.
Maria ran down again to the stream. Her skirt was soaked through from the dewy grass, and even her sleeves were wet. From one of the knights she got an empty wine skin, flushed it out with water, and went upstream from the others to fill it.
Now the sun had burned away the mist. The sky showed pale blue above the hills. She lifted the heavy wine skin by its thong and started back up the slope. A knight was climbing a tree; she veered to watch him through the lower branches.
Richard was washing his feet off with the wet linen. “Tell me why any sane man walks. Give me that.” He seized the wine skin and drank thirstily. Maria, sitting down beside him, shook out the muslin. Blood stained it.
“Renald,” Richard shouted. “Do you see anything?”
In the tree, branches shook furiously. “No,” the knight called.
Richard made a sound in his throat. He drank again, slopping water down his front. All his clothes were ruined, especially the velvet coat. She took it in her hands and turned it over, looking for anything she could salvage.
“If we’d brought Jilly and Henry, we would never have gotten away,” Richard said. He leaned his back against the tree and stretched his legs out in front of him and sighed.
“Are you going to sleep?” she said.
For a moment he said nothing, his eyes closed, and she thought he was already sleeping, but at last he moved and sat up. “Not yet.” He took the torn and filthy velvet from her. “Poor Maria.” He laughed. “I told you the color was wrong. Make the next one blue.” He wrapped his arm around her neck, pulling her against him. “My talisman. You always bring me luck.”
Great Maria (v5) Page 48