Well! A new complexion began to cover the whole series of events. All the men and women in Hurley would testify that he had been a good husband except for having a mistress, and that was so common that no one would think twice about it. He had never beaten Elizabeth, never quarreled with her. Better yet, she had always treated his mistresses kindly which would clearly show that she had not desired his marital attentions. Yes, he could say she had refused him her bed and encouraged him to keep other women. And William had visited often. Elizabeth had also gone to Marlowe, less often, but she had gone.
The story was now clear in Mauger’s mind. While he was away in Wales, his wife had gone to live openly with her lover. No, that would not do if William was sore wounded. But who knew he was sore wounded? Only a hireling knight, a foreigner. Hereford knew also, but Hereford was in Wales. Besides, he might not have known how badly William was hurt. Mauger thought Hereford had seen William only once, briefly, before the fever started. After all, William was only at the abbey for three days. By God, that was proof! One does not move a man half dead with wounds. Mauger smiled.
It would run thus, William pretended to be sore hurt so he could shirk his duty and run back to Marlowe to be with his mistress. Until he arrived at home, Mauger had believed William to be an honest friend. However, the story of his wife’s unfaithfulness had greeted him when he brought William’s men to Marlowe. He had not wished to believe it and had questioned Elizabeth, whereupon she had fallen into a faint. It all fitted together perfectly and, with the evidence of the men and women in Hurley, which would be given without fear in the honest belief it was true, the story would be believed.
The only remaining danger was Egbert. If he was dead, that was fine. If he had been captured… No, it made no difference at all. Egbert would not speak unless tortured or threatened by torture. Taken out of William’s power, Egbert would deny his guilt gladly. Gladly say that he had accused Mauger only to save himself. Good. That settled that problem.
All that remained was for Mauger to make sure his version of the affair was the first men heard. Well, that was no problem. When a man’s wife flies to a lover, it is natural for the man to complain and ask for help to retrieve her and punish her. Usually one would complain to one’s overlord, but Mauger was in fee to an abbey. Was this the kind of tale with which one would sully the ears of a holy abbot?
Mauger nearly laughed aloud and had to check himself, remembering he was supposed to be sad and worried about Elizabeth. Unholy devil was more like the truth about the abbot of Hurley. Mauger doubted there was any depravity that abbot had not already tried in person. However, it was a good reason to carry his tale to a more practical listener. Who? William’s overlord? That might be dangerous if Richard of Cornwall knew William. Besides, Mauger remembered that Cornwall was still in Scotland trying to stabilize the relationship of the two countries to prevent future wars.
Then who? Hereford was in Wales and might know too much about William’s injuries. Anyway, Hereford seemed all too enamored of William. Was there someone among the mighty who had a reason to dislike William? Then, like the sun rising, revelation burst upon Mauger. The king himself disliked and distrusted William. This time Mauger could not control himself and he roared with laughter. How could he have been so stupid, so bemused, as to forget that the hireling knight Egbert had apparently failed to kill had been sent by the king to spy on William?
Joy sang in Mauger’s heart. Not only would he come about from danger of total wreck, he would likely gain all his purpose. Where did rumor say the king had gone? London? Yes, London or Westminster, hard by. Even if Henry was not there, the lords of the Exchequer would know where he was. Mauger rose and made his way out to speak to the master-at-arms in person. He did not wish that the servants in the keep know his plans. Let them think he had gone to try to bring Elizabeth home.
Once Raymond had got over the humor of being lost in a town that would fit into one quarter of several of the larger cities he had navigated with confidence, he did the practical thing. He looked about for the neatest of the hovels around him and hammered on the door. This was opened with caution, only to the length of a sturdy chain. The neighborhood left much to be desired and respectable people took precautions. It did not take long for Raymond to convince the people within of his station and goodwill. He was invited to come in.
Eventually, between gestures and broken English, Raymond made clear that he only wanted a guide back to the docks. He was afraid the men-at-arms might soon report him missing. If so, it was an even chance that Sir William would guess he had been set upon by some disgruntled merchant. Then he would probably ride into town himself to direct a search and investigation. Alys will kill me, Raymond thought, and urged his guide to hurry.
Raymond need not have worried. William was too frantic about Elizabeth to think about anything else. For some time he had been only normally impatient, but as the time passed he became convinced that Elizabeth must be dangerously ill or in some other trouble. In vain Martin pleaded it was no such thing, pointing out the heavy rain and insisting that Elizabeth would not permit Alys to leave in such a downpour.
“Alys would know I was worried. She would send back a man to bring me word,” William said, chewing his lips.
“But she did not know you would be worried, lord,” Martin pleaded, hobbling after William as he paced the hall. “You were asleep when she left. She expected you would sleep until she returned. Indeed, she did not think you would ever hear Lady Elizabeth was unwell. You would not have heard if Sir Mauger had not…”
Martin’s voice faded as William turned and glared at him. “And what else have I not heard?” he grated.
“Nothing! Upon my soul, nothing!” Martin assured him fervently. “I swear all else is well.”
The hot glow of William’s eyes dimmed, and he put a hand gently on the old cripple’s shoulder. He was not convinced that all was well, only reminded of Martin’s passionate devotion. The steward was deeply and truly religious. If he swore on his soul it was not a casual thing, as it might be for another. Martin would believe that if what he swore was untrue he had committed a great sin. Yet he would swear, willingly accepting the sin and the punishment he believed would follow if that sin would help his master.
But affection could not diminish the worry that gnawed at William. His hand fell from Martin’s shoulder and he shook his head. “I must go,” he said. “I cannot bear to wait any longer. Have Brun saddled and get me a heavy cloak.’’
“My lord, I beg you,” Martin pleaded, “think! No sooner will you go out of the keep than Lady Alys will return. She will be so frightened for you. She will rush to follow you and bring you back. And what can you do at Hurley? It would not be fitting for you to go into Lady Elizabeth’s chamber. I fear Sir Mauger is already suspicious.”
It was true. William’s doubts as to whether Mauger knew and had been baiting him returned. He paced the floor and soon became uncomfortably aware that his legs were growing unsteady. He tired so easily. He went to a window and pulled aside the skins that sealed it against the rain.
“You will get wet,” Martin exclaimed.
William ignored him and leaned out. “The rain is less. Surely Alys would have come already.”
“Wait a little longer,” Martin cried. “By the time you ride to the ferry, Lady Alys will have left. My lord, my lord, Sir Mauger will think it very strange—”
Martin stopped abruptly. William’s hands had suddenly gripped the frame that held the scraped skins so hard that the knuckles showed white and his whole body had tensed.
“The boat!” he exclaimed. “I think I see the boat. God in heaven! It is gunwale deep, and the river is wild.”
Trained to act in times of emergency rather than stand frozen with horror, William burst away from the window and ran toward the stair, nearly knocking Martin down. The steward gathered himself together and began to follow but realized that was foolish. He could be of no help. Shaking with fear, he crept to the window
and nearly fainted when he forced himself to look out and did not see the boat.
“No! No!” he whimpered. “Take me instead!”
As he spoke, the little craft, which had been hidden momentarily, came into sight. Martin breathed again. It was so heavy-laden it was not answering well to the boatmen’s efforts, but it was still afloat. Simultaneously, he heard William bellowing in the bailey for horses to be brought down to the small dock and for strong swimmers to make ready. Martin pulled himself together. From the keep dock, one could see only a short stretch upriver. He called two lusty menservants to him.
“Watch the boat,” he ordered one. “Call out to Paul what it does and where it is from moment to moment. And you, Paul, stand in the window above the dock and shout down to Sir William what Hugo tells you.”
The shouted messages began as soon as Paul had reached the short end of the keep above the river. Having done what he could to help in a practical sense, Martin sank to his knees and began to pray. This he did more fervently every moment as Hugo’s stentorian roar reported the boat was still afloat and coming closer. The minutes passed, slowly at first, dragged out by fear, and then quicker and quicker as hope grew strong. The hall started to fill as more servants rushed in to be closer to the news.
“It rounds the point,” Hugo shouted.
A shrill chattering pierced Martin’s concentration. The maids had come down from the women’s chambers and were weeping and shrieking with mingled fear and excitement. Painfully, Martin climbed to his feet. Silly geese, honking away when they should be preparing for their mistress who would be soaked and frozen. He seized one of the older women by the arm.
“Fool! What do you do here? Go and send a woman to fetch a warm, dry cloak. Others should prepare a hot bath for Lady Alys. See that the fire is high in her chamber. Heat sand to be laid beside her if she has taken a chill and be sure her bed is well warmed.”
Once they had orders, the women became less disorganized. But Martin had forgotten all about them. His words had made him conscious that he was as guilty as they. He had been on his knees praying while he allowed Sir William to stand out in that rain without a cloak. He rushed to Sir William’s chamber, found the cloak, and hobbled down the stairs. Then he ran, an ugly, crabwise scuttle, around the building, through the small water gate. Here he stopped, holding his breath. The boat was in sight, tipping dangerously as the boatmen tried to bring it out of the fast, rain-swollen current. Two women were screaming hysterically, drowning out the instructions Sir William was trying to shout at the rowing men.
Suddenly a struggle erupted in the boat. Martin cried out in terror. Two cloaked figures seemed to be fighting while a third crouched at the knees of one rower and a fourth tried feebly to grasp one of the struggling pair.
One of the men-at-arms started to move. The boat tipped a gunwale under the water. A boatman shrieked a warning and the man threw himself back to trim the craft.
The hood fell back on the person nearest the stern, showing Alys’s golden hair. In the next instant she had cast aside her cloak and swung a tremendous blow, felling the person with whom she had been grappling a moment before. Elizabeth, who had been trying to pull her fear-crazed maid away from Alys, after settling Emma’s hysterics with a good slap, threw herself down on top of Maud. Both men-at-arms and Alys bailed frantically. The boat rose an inch, so that water stopped slopping in with every movement.
Now that Emma’s shrieks had been shocked into quiet and Maud’s were muffled under Elizabeth, the boatmen could hear Sir William’s voice. The horsemen plunged into the river carrying lines, and the crisis was over. Martin sank down on the wet stone and wept. William covered his face with one hand, shaking so badly he would have fallen in the river himself if one of the men had not steadied him.
The young are very resilient. As soon as Alys saw the lines made fast, her fear dropped away. By the time the boat was warped in, she was able to spring lightly ashore and run to her father, crying out that he was all wet and should go inside at once. He did not answer, only crushed her against him so hard that she could not find breath to say any more. A maid hurried forward with a dry cloak for her, and William let her go, prepared to give her the tongue-lashing of her life now that he had her safe. He never got the chance.
“No,” Alys said to the maid, “I will take no hurt from the wet. Go cover Lady Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth!” William exclaimed turning in time to receive her into his arms as a man lifted her ashore. “What…why…”
“Not now,” Alys ordered sharply. “Let us get her inside. There is a long tale to tell, and horrible—simply horrible!”
It was some time, however, before William heard a carefully expurgated version of Elizabeth’s experiences. Dry clothing had to be exchanged for wet, and Alys insisted that Elizabeth eat before she explained. Fortunately before William had really absorbed the enormity of what Mauger had done and intended and worked himself into a great enough rage to ride to Hurley with a challenge to single combat, Raymond burst in on them, muddy and bloodstained, and a new spate of explanations began.
“Then it was he, not the merchants who attacked me,” Raymond said thoughtfully. “Did you not say his servant’s name was Egbert? The man who led me to that trap called out to ‘Egbert’ inside the inn.”
“There is more than one Egbert in these parts,” William pointed out. “Still, it would be rather a great coincidence. Elizabeth, can you guess what Mauger will do if this Egbert does not return or returns and reports that Raymond has escaped?”
“I do not trust myself to guess anything about him,” Elizabeth remarked bitterly.
William leaned over and took her hand in his. “It is not easy for those with only good in their hearts to see evil in others. You do know him, my dear. You only need to add different intentions to this knowledge.”
“He is not a coward,” Elizabeth said slowly, “although he also does not wish to accept the results of his mistakes. Often he will blame them on others or seek to turn them in some way into a benefit.”
“I am afraid that is all too true of most men, myself also.” William smiled wryly. “What man likes to say mea culpa?”
“What I mean is that he will try to blame you for this. He will try to explain to the world that you deceived him.”
That made good sense and William followed the idea to the conclusion that Elizabeth would not have thought of. “He cannot attack Marlowe directly. Even if he kept the mercenaries he hired for Wales, he does not have enough men. Obviously he knows I believe you because he has sent no messenger to demand your return. Yet I do not think Mauger a man to sulk and do nothing, particularly as you tell me his purpose all along was to gain hold of Marlowe and Bix. He will seek help from some great man to attack us and right his ‘wrong’.“
“The Earl of Cornwall?” Elizabeth asked.
William laughed aloud. “If he goes to Richard, we will be blessed. Could fortune so favor us?” He paused to think then sighed. “I think not. He must know that Richard is in Scotland, and he would not take the chance of going there. Nor would he write to Richard, who might not know his name and might not look soon at a letter from a minor knight, not even his own vassal, when he is busy with affairs of state. No, he will go to some other great lord.”
“Which?” Raymond asked eagerly.
It had come to him that his high connection could win Sir William what he wanted. Raymond could ask the king himself to punish Mauger or at least prevent him from attacking William and give Hurley back into Elizabeth’s hands. But Raymond had not heard the king discussed for nearly six months without having a much better knowledge of him than he had started with. Henry would flick aside a minor knight who did not even have a powerful overlord to support him, but he would not confront a powerful man on Sir William’s behalf. He would look the other way and bewail men’s evil and dislike Sir William all the more for causing him trouble.
On the other hand, if Raymond went to whomever Mauger was trying to inf
luence, identified himself as Henry’s nephew-by-marriage, and hinted that the king would be ill pleased to have his brother’s favorite affronted… Yes. Then Henry need not be troubled at all, except to agree that William was Earl Richard’s close friend.
“That I cannot tell you,” William replied. “Hereford would be most likely, because Aubery is obviously a great favorite with him, but Hereford is in Wales and all his forces are committed to dealing with David.”
“The Earl of Hereford would not listen to him anyway,” Raymond said. “He thinks him an idiot because of the way he bungled that last action we were in. Also, he knows you too well to believe any ill of you.”
William smiled indulgently at Raymond. “No man is free from all evil, and Hereford is too wise to think me a saint. I— Oh, Diccon, take a squad of men into the town and see if you can find any men sore wounded or dead of sword blows. Likely they will be in that western part of the town you are forever warning your men to avoid or in some ditch or nearby waste ground. If you find such, bring them here. Do not rouse the town over this. It is not of great import. What is important is that I need a messenger to ride to Earl Richard in Scotland with all haste, and I mean haste.”
Having waved his man away, William turned back to his companions. “Now I regret that I avoided Mauger at court. I have no idea who his friends may be. We must do what we can to protect ourselves here. Raymond, drop the matter of the merchants, and bring in every man who can hold a sword from the town and the farms. Alys, you and Martin had better see to stuffing and garnishing this place for war. I will speak to the men and warn them to be alert, and I will write to Richard, who will do what he can, but—”
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