“Here,” Maria said. “You will have this room.” She stood aside to let Anne go by her. Anne stood just inside the door. Her eyes took in the room, its light-filled windows, and the low Saracen furniture.
“You see,” Maria said. “We are good robbers. Better than you. I will give you three people to serve you. You will eat here, too. I don’t know what Richard means for you and your baby, but if you make trouble for me—”
Anne walked forward two steps and turned to face her. Maria met her eyes. The hot impulse filled her to leap on Anne and scratch her face and rip off her clothes. She went hastily out into the corridor and pulled the door shut behind her.
Forty-seven
The two fighting cocks hurtled together across the sand pit. With screams the Saracens around them urged them on. Blood spurted from the whirling white feathers. The birds screeched. Maria leaned forward to see. The cocks’ racket cut through the howls of the men. Abruptly, the white cock flopped in the dust, spraying blood across the dirt. The red cock’s handler scooped up his champion and paraded him at arm’s length over his head. All around the alleyway, voluble, the men turned to paying off their bets.
Maria held out her hand, and Stephen gave her a ricardus. She tossed it to the beggar loitering nearby.
“I’m a good judge of a fighting cock,” she said. “I usually win. Bet on the next.” She recognized the little cock they were bringing up to fight; she had won with him before.
“Mama, you will make me poor. Come back to the palace.”
She turned her mare out into the street. They rode at a walk down the narrow sloping pavement. Behind them, the ringkeeper called in his shrill voice for bets.
“Have you seen the messenger from Iste yet?” she said.
Stephen nodded. He reined his horse toward hers to avoid a train of donkeys coming up the hillside toward them. “Papa wants me to come back. He says I am the only one who listens to his orders.”
Maria watched him through the tail of her eye. His eyes and the shape of his face were Richard’s, his coloring, even his long hands. They passed the Saracen moneyers’ where Richard had all his money made.
“What is it like? Do you fight every day? I’ve always been told sieges are boring.”
“Robert thinks they are. Uncle Roger attacks us every few days—something happens in one place, and we go to see, and in three other places Roger’s men break out and fight. Papa calls it a Saracen defense.” He smiled at her. “He says that’s a trick that doesn’t work.”
Maria thought of Rahman and laughed. They were riding through a place where rich men lived. Some of the walled houses, above their sweeping parks, were as large as the palace.
“When are you leaving then?”
“Tonight,” he said. “It’s too hot to ride in the daytime.”
“You could stay another day,” she said. “A few more days.”
“Papa wants me back.”
Maria looked away, angry; Richard had never wanted him around before. They rode out into the hot white street again, past one of the big public baths. Men in veils stood around the entrance, their eyes painted with kohl.
“Roger wants to fight,” Stephen said. “He and Papa, hand to hand. Just the two of them. Papa will not. He’s lame again, you know; when he rides his leg hurts.”
She looked around at him. “Does he ride much?”
Stephen smiled. “Well, sometimes he sleeps on the ground.”
“God’s blood,” she said. “He’s cursed. He’s driven.”
“Robert offered to fight Uncle Roger, but Papa wouldn’t let him, and they had an argument—just talk, but you should have heard them.”
“Have they been fighting?” she said, alarmed.
Stephen shook his head. “No. Just that one time, they fought.”
Maria braced her hands on her saddle. “Everything is coming apart.” She lifted her head up. “What’s going to happen when he takes him?”
Stephen said nothing. Their horses carried them up across the park.
“Does he talk about me? Does he miss me?”
“We all miss you, Mama.”
“Good.”
He shook his head, smiling. They went into the east ward, and she dismounted.
“I’ll take your horse down.” He bent and got her mare’s reins and led it off. Maria went into the palace.
On her way through the Dragon Tower, Anne’s page came to ask a hearing and Maria sent him back for her. The call to prayer sounded. The Saracens of her household assembled in the garden. Maria went to her hall. Rahman would be at his prayers; until he came she could not try the afternoon’s cases.
Two women were spinning flax in the sunlight. She dismissed them, asking one to bring her the children. From the chest under the window she got her looking glass and fixed her coif. She thought of Robert, fighting with Richard; of course she fought with Richard constantly and little came of that. She would have to tell Stephen to tell Richard that she was pregnant again. She turned her head slightly, to see herself in the glass from her best angle. She liked her mouth, but her short nose was bony. She put the glass down.
Jilly and Henry rushed in, laughing, and danced around her. Maria hugged them. While they trod gleefully on her skirt and tried to trip her, she pulled the screen out from the wall. Jordan hurried in to help her. They put the matrah down on the floor beside the screen and Jilly brought over a cushion for Maria to sit on.
Panting, Henry’s nurse arrived. Maria signed to her to wait by the wall. Jilly sat down cross-legged in front of her mother and lapsed into a daydream, while Henry carefully took off his shoes. Maria brushed Jilly’s hair. Two lutenists and a fluteplayer came in, crossed to the alcove, and sat down behind the curtain to practice. She wanted one of the musicians to learn to play tambor, but they disdained it for a street instrument. Jordan leaned against her.
“Aunt, aren’t you hungry yet?”
“Go find the Emir Rahman for me. He’s probably somewhere with Stephen. When you’ve done that you can go to the kitchen and have them bring us all dinner.”
He jumped up and ran out of the room, past Anne’s page, who came up before Maria and bowed. “Madonna, my lady Anne is here.”
“Tell her to come in.” She smoothed down Jilly’s hair over her shoulders. Fine as a web, it curled at the ends. “You have your father’s hair, down to the root.”
Anne in a yellow gown walked into the room; she clashed with the Saracen prayers on the walls. Her sullen maid carried the baby behind her. Anne settled herself in angles on the matrah opposite Maria.
“I will go at once to my petition, my lady, since we have no liking for one another. I want to go home to Santerois. My mother will pay a ransom for me and my son.”
“You should have asked Richard. What did he say to you?”
Anne’s face was white and slick as clay. She put her hand to her round throat. “He gave you no order?”
“No. Richard loves secrets, he never tells me anything. Did you speak to him?”
“I never saw him.”
Maria raised her eyebrows. A thought ran into her mind, and she brushed Jilly’s hair, musing. She did not care about the risk of Richard’s temper if she could rid herself of Anne. “I might be able to arrange something—I have a messenger here now, from your cousin Duke Henry.”
Anne’s face brightened. She bent toward her. “My lady, if you would, Heaven have mercy on my lady.”
“I will do what I can. I have not forgotten I am your son’s godmother.”
Rahman came into the room. Several of his pages brought him a matrah and spread it on the floor on the far side of the screen from Maria.
“Go,” she said to Anne. “I’ll talk to you later, after supper—no, you will sup with me.”
Anne thanked her many times and left. Rahman sat on the other side of the screen, and Jilly went around to him, holding her hand across her face like a veil. Through the screen, Rahman said, “My lord will not like word of this, that you plo
t with the wife of his brother.”
“Jilly, come here.” Surely he had heard nothing. He was guessing. “I don’t plot, Rahman.”
“My lord will know of it.”
Maria drew her daughter down against her. “You offend me when you bear lies to my husband.”
“My lord will judge.”
They sat in silence. Maria chewed the inside of her lip. The Duke’s messenger was leaving in the morning. If Richard intercepted her, all the way from Iste, God wanted Anne to stay in Marna. Jordan ran in, breathless.
“Aunt, there’s a messenger!”
“Bring him in.”
***
While she and Anne ate, they spoke seldom, of their children or of the food. Anne had come alone. She looked curiously all around her at the star-covered ceiling, the furniture, the four servers who brought their food and gave them milk and sherbet. Maria held her hands out so that a maidservant could pour water over them, dried them, and nodded to the servants to go.
Anne’s eyes turned up to the ceiling again. “It’s beautiful, like an autumn night, all the stars twinkling.”
“It’s Saracen glass.” Maria rose and went across the room to trim the lamps, to show off the ceiling at its best. “The Saracens think the stars show the future, they have names for all of them.” Jordan came in. She stooped to listen to him.
“Aunt, Stephen is in the Tower of the Prophet. Someone is there reading.”
Maria nodded. “Thank you. Stay in the antechamber. I left some cake for you.” Rahman had given a farewell feast for Stephen, and they would be there all night probably, talking, listening to poetry and music, and drinking. She went back to the table and sat down.
“The messenger leaves in the morning for Agato. A knight of mine will go with him to set the ransom. Give me a token that your mother will know.”
Anne took a beryl ring from her hand. “I cannot find the proper thanks, my lady. You are most gracious to me, in truth I did not expect it.”
Maria shook her head. “It is not done yet. If Richard catches us, we may both wish we were safely in the castle of Iste with Roger.”
“Then why do you risk it?”
“To be rid of you.”
The fair girl’s puffy face hardened. “God’s eyes. You are the only one of your whole clan who tells the truth.”
Maria threw her head back. “Roger was light, when you met him, but he was no traitor.”
“He betrayed me too.” Anne fisted her hands. “He left me in the street to be taken, like a—”
Whore, Maria thought, but did not say it. The other woman leaned toward her, her hands cupped before her.
“I want to go home. I’ll do anything—I’ll pay you anything.”
Maria looked away. The stars twinkled in the ceiling overhead. She found Charles’s Wain; as a child she had known some wish-poem on the star in its tail. She looked down at the beryl ring. “This is a pretty stone, so smooth.” The clear yellow echoed the faint light of the lamps.
“It was my father’s ring.”
Maria laughed. “I knew him, a little—you know, he and Richard never got along either.”
“My father was an upright man,” Anne said sharply, “who got less than he deserved.”
Maria shrugged. “I don’t think we should talk of it. Are you comfortable where you are? Are you properly attended?”
“Yes, we are cared for.”
They rose to their feet. Maria led the other woman toward the door. In the light from the lamps in the antechamber, they faced each other.
“Jordan,” Maria said. She watched Anne’s face. “Take my lady Anne to her chamber.”
Roger’s bastard came up beside her. She put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. When she saw him, Anne started violently. At last she mumbled something and went out the door. Jordan followed her. Maria stood in the antechamber. The Saracen woman sat in one corner, Henry asleep in her lap.
“And that is al-Nasrani’s wife.”
“Don’t call him that. The Christian in him did not sin.”
“Perhaps not.” The Saracen woman touched the little boy’s hair. “But he will always be the Christian knight, to me.”
Maria shook her head. She went out the door and down the stairs, crossed the palace’s ground floor to the Dragon Tower, and let herself out through the postern gate into the inner ward.
It was dark, although in the west, between the towers, a trace of red sky still showed. Maria walked along the edge of the ward, where the vines perfumed the air. The first pip of the moon peeked above the shield of the mountains.
Someone came out of the Tower of the Prophet. She turned her back to him. Gravel crunched under his feet: one of Rahman’s guests come out to piss. The knight Michael strode around the building before her, his silk surcoat blue in the late light. He knelt.
“Madonna. Order me.”
She gave him Anne’s ring. “Tomorrow go to Santerois with the Duke’s man.” She glanced over her shoulder at the Saracen squatting in the vines. He stood up, arranged his robes, and went inside again. She turned to the knight.
“I expect the journey may take you through Iste, but if you stay to yourself, no one there should recognize you.”
The young knight gave her a slow smile. “Yes, Madonna. I understand.”
“Michael. You are clever. From Agato go north to the Castle of Becquis. Give the ring to the old Countess, and tell her I will take five thousand crowns in ransom for Anne and the baby.”
The young knight rattled off what she had said, word for word. Carrying messages had taught him to memorize. Maria gave him a purse. “This will help you make your way. Don’t linger in Agato. If she thinks the ransom is too much, ask her for four thousand.”
Michael bowed over her hand again and went out of the ward. In the Tower of the Prophet, quick music began to a flutter of cymbals. She was forbidden to go in there, although naturally she did, to show them they could not keep her out. They did nothing worth spying on, for all Rahman’s secrecy. She turned back toward her own tower, to go to her room and her empty bed. Suddenly, thinking of Richard, she was so lonely she almost cried.
***
Stephen in his glistening mail made his horse dance. He circled Maria and came up on her right. “Mama, Rahman says it was you who threatened to seize the Imam, not William at all.”
They rode down the path beneath the fir trees. A deer galloped away around the side of the hill. Maria said, “Rahman has a wonderful memory. It doesn’t really matter now, anyway. Will you do what I said about the Jews in Iste?”
“Yes,” he said impatiently. “I promise. Don’t change the subject. Rahman says you and Anne are spinning up some plot together.”
“Rahman, Rahman. Can’t I hear anything else? You are leaving me alone and all you can do is talk about Rahman.”
Stephen laughed at her. “You are in a guilty frame of mind.” They rode on through the park. Suddenly he drew rein, and she stopped her mare and looked in the direction he was staring. Jilly and Jordan were crawling on their hands and knees playing horses in the sunlit park. Neighing, Jilly reared up and pawed at Jordan. Her long hair flew.
“You’re going to have to do something about that,” Stephen said.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t give me that stupid look, Mama.”
She stared at him until he lowered his eyes, flushing. Down by the gate, his knights were drawn up in a double column. The porter was opening the other side of the gate so they could go through two abreast.
Stephen said, “Jordan’s father betrayed us. I’m not going to treat him like my brother.”
“Jordan is mine,” Maria said.
Stephen looked away. His horse lowered its head and scratched the side of its face on its knee.
“Do you want to say something?” she asked.
“No.” He gathered up his reins. Leaning forward, he kissed her cheek. “Good-bye, Mama.”
“Stephen. Tell him I miss him.”
“Mama, how can you say that—when you are plotting against him—”
“Stephen,” she said, “go be virtuous.” She drew her mare aside.
“Goody-bye, Mama.”
He rode away down the last of the hillside, to join his men. Maria started toward the children in the park. Abruptly she reined in. He had said he wanted to leave at night—that it would be cooler to ride at night. She watched the knights trot out the gate, two by two. He had stayed for Rahman’s party, naturally, but now here he was, riding off into the first heat of the morning. She wheeled the mare again. Probably it was nothing. But she thought of the Saracen who had seen her in the ward with Michael, and her muscles tightened, as if at a shout of warning.
***
She was not surprised, several days later, when Jordan said that Michael had returned, although he could not possibly have gotten to Santerois. Jordan had found her in the little hall, where she was working on her tapestry. She changed the color of the yarn before she nodded to the page to bring the knight in.
He walked into the room and knelt. “Madonna.” Like them all now he wore his pale hair cropped close to his head. She turned back to her work.
“What happened?” She wove three rows of Aristotle’s djellaba into the tapestry.
“Madonna, I did as you told me, I stayed out of Marna’s way, but the Clerk came looking for me. I am to give this back to you.” He took Anne’s beryl ring out of his wallet.
The ring lay heavy in her palm. “That’s not fortunate.” She picked up the bobbin again. “Whom did you see there—only Stephen?”
“No—he took me to Marna.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t say anything. They found the ring in my purse.” The knight shrugged one shoulder. “You know I am loyal to you, Madonna, but they never let me lie. They never asked me a question.”
“What did he say?”
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