“My lord?” someone called, in the kitchen. The voice was uncertain.
“In here,” Richard said, around a mouthful. He shoved the milk at her. “Can’t you find me something to drink besides baby food?”
Maria tore a loaf of bread in half. A knight tramped into the pantry door. Richard turned to him.
“I want double sentries on the walls. Rouse out the Knights’ Tower. Forty men to patrol the road and the wilderness back toward Iste and bring in anybody they find.” He swallowed with difficulty and crammed bread into his mouth. “Shut the gate in the curtain wall.”
“My lord.” The knight saluted briskly. He took a step toward the door, his face turned toward them. “My lord, who is our enemy?”
“My brother Roger.”
The knight went out. Maria followed him into the kitchen for a lamp. His voice rose, excited, in the ward. Other voices called out. The kitchen door banged open, and two scullions came in, yawning. She sent one for wine and went back into the pantry.
“Do you think he’ll attack us here?”
He shook his head. “He had only one chance, to catch us in Iste or on the way here. Now he has no chance at all. He’s stupid, you know.” His voice was bitter. “He’s a very stupid man.”
“Mama?” Stephen looked in the door.
Maria got up; he came to her, and she hugged him. He turned so he could see his father. “Why did you come here? I thought you were in Iste. Can I go home now?”
Maria sat down again. She wrapped her arms around her knees. “We were in Iste—we—”
“Roger betrayed me,” Richard said. “Roger tried to kill me.” The scullion brought in a big pitcher of wine, and he drank from the edge. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
Stephen stared at him a moment. “Mama?” he said, unsure, and turned to Maria. The scullion hung in the doorway, intent.
Maria took the pitcher of wine. She watched Richard pack another chunk of bread and cheese into his mouth. She said, “He’ll escape, won’t he? To Anne’s country.”
“Maybe. If he does, Bunny will help me hunt him down.”
“What will you do to him then, Gripe?”
His head swiveled toward her. He gulped down the food. “Why, I’ll kill him, Maria. What did you think?” He got up and went out of the pantry.
She got up, shaking the crumbs off her skirts. “Mary Mother, I’m tired.” Her voice trembled.
Stephen caught her arm. “Mama. What happened?”
“What he said. Roger tried to seize us, to take Marna, and we held the baby hostage and they let us go.” She hobbled out into the kitchen. Stephen clung to her like a child. The kitchen was full of people. In the darkness she saw only eyes and wet mouths. She said, “They hounded us here all the way across the wilderness—if they had caught us, they would have killed us.” She went out into the ward.
He took her arm and helped her across to the door. The ward was swarming with knights and servants and horses. The gate banged open. Men rode out in a double column. The noise made her head pound. Her son opened the door for her. Gratefully she went into the cool quiet of the stairwell. Stephen helped her up to the top room.
“Mama, are you all right?”
“I’m just tired.” She sank down on the bed. When she thought of it, the incident in Iste seemed to have taken place in another life. She spread out her arms across the bed, forgetting that Stephen was still there.
“I hate him,” Stephen said, in a choked voice. “I hate him. I hate Roger. I hate him.” He banged out the door; she heard him running down the stairs.
***
In the morning she went to Mass in the village, to thank God for preserving them from Roger. Afterward, with her two maids beside her, she rode up toward the castle again. The fallow meadows on either side of the road were a flood of yellow wild flowers, belly-high to the horses. Clouds of butterflies hovered over them. The sun lay warm on her arms, and she pulled her sleeves up to her elbows.
A pack of horsemen waited before the gate in the curtain wall. They split apart to let her pass through their midst. Most were Christian knights, but in the gateway itself, Ismael stood with his mare’s hoof braced up on his knee. When she dismounted, he turned and flung his arms around her in a flamboyant embrace.
“Maria.” He stood back, his face glowing. “We come much fast.”
“You must have. Is Robert with you?” She pulled her reins over the mare’s head. “Come up to the castle with me.”
“No, no. I go. Robert make horse for me. I go many place of brother.” He flung his arm up to shade his face. “Much more on, I come back.”
The women called to her; they were halfway up the road. She waved to Ismael and walked after them. In the middle of the ward, surrounded by people, Robert was stripping the saddle from an exhausted horse. She came in the gate, and he brushed past the knights and servants around him and hurried over to her.
“Mother.” He kissed her cheek. “How could Uncle Roger do this to us?”
Maria put her arm around his waist. “I don’t know. God must be punishing us. Or him.” She looked up at him; his blue eyes were vivid in his Saracen-dark face.
Over his shoulder, he called, “Joseph, take that horse to Ismael-Malik, at the curtain wall.” He lowered his voice to her. “Mother, what happened? What did you fight over?”
She stepped back. Stephen was walking across the ward toward them. Robert saw him, and she got out of their way.
“Robert,” Stephen said, and stuck out his hand. Robert clasped it. In his mail he looked much the older. Abruptly they embraced each other.
“Ah, Stephen—”
Maria left them alone. She went up into the New Tower. Richard had gone off to ride the road to Iste, to harry back the men who had harried him. She climbed the stairs to the hall, which the servants were just sweeping, and went to the window overlooking the ward.
Robert and Stephen were still standing in the middle of the ward, talking. She sat down in the narrow shaft of sunlight cutting through the window. The serving women brought in fresh rushes and opened them over the floor. The rushes smelled of the rosemary dried with them.
The two young men came into the hall, and the girls all paused. The older women swatted them giggling back to work. Maria laughed. She was glad the girls thought her sons worth looking at. She watched Robert cross the room, wondering if he were still a virgin. Stephen came up beside her, but Robert stopped at the table to pour himself a cup of wine.
“Mother,” he called. “What started them fighting?”
Stephen raised his voice to send the servants out of the hall. Maria glanced at him, intrigued. Robert came up to her, a cup of wine in either hand. He held one out to her.
“There is no water, so Stephen doesn’t get any.”
The wine was whole. Maria put the cup on the floor. “Tell me what the rumor says.”
“That Uncle Roger tried to murder you at the christening.” His voice weakened on the word, and he licked his lips. He coiled himself down on his heels beside her. “Tell me the truth.”
“That’s the truth. It was a plot. They did not quarrel. Roger was kind as a mother to us the night before.”
Robert drank his wine in three long gulps. “Here, Stephen, get me some more, will you?” He handed his brother the cup. Stephen’s shoulders hunched, but he said nothing, and he took Maria’s wine with him. Robert said, “Where is Papa?”
“Halfway to Iste. I hope he comes back tonight, I have no wish to wait up for him.”
“Is he really angry?”
“Now, what do you think?”
Stephen came back with a cup for each of them. He had mixed her wine with water. “Thank you,” she said.
“So there will be a war,” Robert said softly, excited. “We’ll fight Uncle Roger.”
“Papa thinks he will stand at Iste,” Stephen said. “Papa will move up the valley, the Brotherhood will come down from the mountains. Duke Henry blocks him in the east.”
&
nbsp; “Oh, tactics. Leave that to Papa.” Robert stood up. “Are you going with us, Stephen?”
Getting up behind him, Stephen held his long hauberk by the sleeves while Robert hauled it off over his head. The mail rang continually like little bells. Robert said, “It’s not like training, you’ll like it. Come with us.”
He and Stephen laid the hauberk down across a chair. They touched it reverently. Robert put his swordbelt down on top of it. Maria had never before noticed him to do anything carefully.
“Well,” Stephen said, “there are other things to do, you know.”
Robert whacked him on the arm. “No. Tell me, hakim.”
Stephen flushed, his gaze pinned to the floor. Maria said nothing, curious to see how long he would let Robert tease him. He said, “Well, someone will have to…take care of Mama. And rule.”
Robert roared with laughter. “Stephen, King of Marna.”
Stephen chewed his lips. Maria got up. They had to let the servants back in. “Robert, come, let me find you a place to sleep. And Stephen has errands.”
“Errands. Stephen the Serf King of Marna. I thought all he did was read books.” Carrying his mail coat and his sword, he started to the door.
Maria rumpled Stephen’s hair. She and Robert climbed the stairs to the top floor, where Stephen slept. “Will you kill each other if you stay here?” The girls had not yet cleaned this room, and it was awash with Stephen’s clothes, books, and saddle gear.
“Mama.” Robert touched her. “Can’t we do something? Arrange for Papa and Uncle Roger to meet?”
Maria shook her head. For a moment they stared at each other. At last he looked away. She said, “Don’t suggest it to your father, Robert.” She went downstairs again.
Stephen was sprawled in his chair in the hall, eating off his fingernails and staring at the wall. The sun was going down. She took a long taper and lit it at the candle at the end of the hall so that she could light the lamps. A knight came in and spoke to Stephen, who answered him in a handful of words and sent him off.
“I suppose everything is well at Mana’a,” she said, “or your brother would have told us.”
Stephen did not answer. She came up to light the lamp in the bracket over his head. “I am accustomed to being listened to.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, Mama.”
She looked down at him. His hair was a darker brown than Richard’s. “What did you do with that sword I gave you?”
“I’ve worked with it.” Abruptly he sat up straight. “Did you put Robert in my room?”
“Yes. I—”
“My books.” He bolted out the door, and she heard him racing up the stairs, calling to Robert.
***
The dawn whitened the sky. Maria dismounted in front of the church and gave her reins to a knight. Richard’s men packed the road through the village and overflowed into the meadows along the river. The voices of the captains cracked in the still, cold air. Richard reined his horse in. The banner stirred heavily against its staff, and the big stallion shied from it.
Stephen came out of the church. Maria, waiting on the porch, stopped him and kissed him, and he went to his horse. He had no mail; he wore a leather tunic studded with iron. He mounted, stirrup to stirrup with his father. In his mail Richard looked twice heavier than Stephen. The boy spoke to him and he responded with a gesture.
Robert came out the door of the church, in his hand his sword wrapped in its belt.
“Mother.” He hugged her hard. “Pray for me.”
“I will. Serve God, Robert.” She kissed him.
Turning back toward the open door, he genuflected and crossed himself. A horn blew. Robert went to his horse. The columns of armored men started off through the village. Richard backed his horse up. He raised his hand to her. His horse carried him into the middle of the army, and he reined it clear and galloped up toward the head of the road. The boys followed him. Maria stood on the porch watching them go. Robert turned twice to wave to her, but Stephen never looked back at all.
Forty-six
Jilly screamed, “Mama, everything is covered with blood!”
Maria lifted her eyes across the walls of the cathedral. Her daughter’s piercing voice rang in the dome over her head. On all the walls, there were red-smeared crosses, like grotesque stick figures. She followed the monk up the center aisle. Pools of red lay drying on the tile floor. The altar and the sanctuary were splashed with the stuff, and trails of red footprints ran all over the cathedral. She crossed herself. The damage turned her stomach, like spoiled food.
“Mama.” Jilly ran after her, Henry and Jordan and their nurse galloping behind, noisy as a herd. “It’s blood, Mama—isn’t it? Mama, I’m afraid!” She caught hold of Maria’s arm.
“It’s paint,” Maria said. “Stop screaming or go wait in the cart.” She turned to the monk at her elbow. “Is there any other—is it just the paint?”
“They tried to break down the door into the vestibule.” The monk led her on across the cathedral. Behind her the children shrieked again. Maria fisted her hands, her nerves milled ragged.
The monk showed her the splintered wooden door. A splash of red paint covered the chewed wood and the lock.
Maria started to touch it, but let her hand fall to her side. It was disgusting. It was frightening. “I will send to my brother William, it’s his cathedral.” The children clattered up to her. Their racket made her angry, and she chased them away from her. “Have the watch post a man here at night,” she told the monk.
“My lady, if you will permit it, we should lock the place—”
“No. It’s a church, you can’t lock people out of a church. Whoever did this”—she took her eyes from the red ruined door—“a guard will scare them off.”
“They are all swine,” the monk said, in some heat.
Jilly took Maria’s hand. “Mama. It’s awful.” She rubbed herself like a cat along Maria’s side.
“Yes.” She signed to the monk to open the broken door. They went into the vestibule. The raped cathedral pressed on her mind. “Who are all swine?”
“The Saracens, my lady.” The monk looked surprised. “Who else did it? You’ll pardon my boldness, but if we had not treated them like decent Christians—”
“Do you have any witnesses?”
“Someone saw them in the market place, afterward—”
The children raced out into the garden, and she followed them, grateful for the warmth of the sun. The monk padded along at her elbow.
“Talk to the three-armed beggar,” Maria said. “He’s always somewhere around, he must have seen something. Find out who did this and bring them to me.”
In the garden, Jordan howled. Jilly screamed, “Give me that,” and snatched for something in his hand. Maria separated them and spanked Jilly. “Jordan, go tell the groom I am coming.”
The redheaded child ran off toward the garden gate. She lifted Henry in her arms. Turning to the monk, she said, “It should be easy to find out where the paint came from, too.”
“My lady,” the monk said, “you could choose any dozen of them off the street. They are all guilty, they all have done it in their minds.”
Maria stared at him a moment. She knew he was right. She went down the brick path toward the gateway. “Find me the ones who did it with their hands.”
Jordan strode importantly along the fence. The groom led up the cart, and the children scrambled over the wheel into it. They dragged the nurse groaning and complaining up after them. Maria mounted her horse.
There were still people in the market place, although it was early afternoon and the merchants had closed their stalls and gone home to eat dinner. When she rode around the corner into their view, the crowd cheered and hurried over and escorted her up the street, screaming to her in the Mana’an tongue she could not understand. It was easy to guess what they were saying; the Saracens who heard them were all running the other way. Silent, her eyes straight ahead of her, Maria rode up from the harbor toward
the palace.
Jordan ran to get Rahman. Maria went to the little hall. A knight stood in the sunlight coming through the window, looking out at the garden. When she came in and he turned, she saw it was one of Richard’s messengers.
“Michael,” she said, “God’s greeting. How is my husband?”
“He is well, my lady.” He knelt down gracefully in front of her and kissed her hand. “He charged me to tell you that he is laying siege now to Iste itself.”
“Are my sons still with him?”
“They are all at Iste, my lady—my lord Robert and Stephen Clerk and Ismael-Malik. They told me to bring you their greetings. The fighting has been heavy—” His face lit with enthusiasm. “It’s been a great work, thus far, full of glory and mighty deeds on both sides.”
She scratched her nose, thinking of the cathedral. This knight Michael was a handsome boy, tawny-haired, with a wide, elegant mouth. “What else did he say?” A page came in with a tray of drinks and food for the knight. “Eat.”
The knight took the nearest cup. “He wants rope and mules, iron, cloth, carpenters—” He sipped the sherbet; a lemon moustache appeared on his upper lip. “Twenty thousand ricardi—”
Maria grunted. “This great work is dear.” Rahman came in from the corridor, his perfume announcing him. Jordan trotted along beside him. “Michael, I will send for you later.” She turned on Rahman. “Your people have defiled my cathedral.”
The Saracen’s thick eyebrows rose. He clasped his hands before him. “I can assure you, none of my tribe would soil himself by touching a place of Christian ritual.”
“My lady,” the young knight said, his voice taut, “what new wickedness is this?”
“Leave me, Michael.” She frowned at him, and he went out of the room. She glared at Rahman. “It was a vile, stupid act.”
His eyes closed, and he nodded. “Yes. Not all vile, stupid men are Christian.”
“This is how you repay us for keeping faith with you,” she said. She paced around him, her eyes on his face. “When we need you most, you stab us in the back.”
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