“Heigh-ho,” Alys sighed, smiling wryly. “Look at the new Alys, a most daintified fine, fine lady, who lisps Provençal love songs and trips, delicate as a dewdrop, down a rose-strewn path. I cannot give up Raymond, thus, I suppose I must take what comes with him.”
Chapter Four
In Marlowe keep, however, no one realized that a new Alys had been born. What they felt was that they were seeing a great deal too much of the old one. She seemed to be everywhere at once—harrying the maids to get on with their sewing on her new clothing, out on the farms driving the serfs and villeins to bring extra produce to the keep, insisting that the huntsmen lure game into Marlowe woods by putting out salt and fodder. It was as if, having decided to take the plunge, she wanted it over and done with as soon as possible.
Swift as Alys’s preparations were, they were barely in time. The king, as Elizabeth had guessed, leapt at the suggestion brought by his brother. He was delighted with Raymond’s idea for a multitude of reasons. Henry loved doing favors, he particularly enjoyed doing favors for his wife’s relatives, whose polished manners and tastes for literature and art he found far more congenial than those of many of his own nobility, who were more interested in cattle and crops than the ethereal lift of the arches and spires of Westminster Abbey. Better still, Henry liked doing favors that cost him nothing and were highly unlikely to have repercussions from his brother and the other barons. In this case, Richard had suggested the arrangement, and considering the condition of Gascony, none of Henry’s barons wanted anything to do with it. They would be indifferent to the granting of lands in that uneasy province. Best of all, Henry liked to make a profit out of doing a favor, and it was certain this time that he would do so.
In exchange for four estates—two of which were rich properties indeed but were in the area contested by Gaston of Béarn a third which was small and whose overlordship was contested by the Vicomte de Marsan, and a fourth which was not only worthless but just outside Bordeaux, where Henry expected raging violence to erupt any day—Henry would receive a large sum in hard gold and twenty pounds of good English silver every year. He would also obtain a vassal with every practical reason to be loyal to him, as well as a blood bond reinforced by real affection for his queen.
Henry was delighted with his bargain, and so was Raymond. The two rich estates were in a fertile river valley of the northern Pyrenees. The holder of Amou and Ibos had died without direct heirs during the war Henry had waged so unsuccessfully against King Louis. The drawback to Amou, however, was that it was only about two leagues from Orthes, one of Gaston de Béarn’s strongholds. While Gaston had been Henry’s “dear friend”, there did not seem to be any reason to appoint a strong overlord for Amou and Ibos. When Gaston turned in opposition, the problem became acute. Henry needed someone loyal in Amou if he wanted to keep control of the area. But to place there an overlord openly antagonistic to Gaston would only have precipitated open war. Raymond was the perfect compromise. It was Richard of Cornwall who had thought of it, but Henry now felt the idea was his own because Raymond would be loyal to Henry. Nonetheless, he was Gaston’s great-nephew, the Countess Garsenda being his grandfather’s mother. It would be difficult for Gaston to object to Raymond becoming master of Amou.
The problem with Ibos was different, although it, too, was in contested territory. When the overlord had responded loyally to Henry’s call for support in his war with Louis, the castellan of Ibos had cried defiance and given his homage to Raymond of Toulouse, who was lord of Tarbes nearby. Henry had done nothing to amend the situation, having more serious troubles, thus, Ibos was legally Raymond’s, but whether he could put out its current holder and take control of it was his affair. At least Raymond no longer needed to worry about Raymond of Toulouse supporting his vassal. Louis had tamed that violent and ambitious man, and Raymond would not scruple to appeal to his other uncle-by-marriage for redress if Toulouse attacked him.
Of the smaller properties, which were all Raymond had hoped to obtain originally, one was contiguous with his own lands near the great keep of the Vicomte de Marsan. It had been wrested from Marsan’s ancestor by King Richard some sixty years earlier, but the Marsans, ancestral or modern, had never yielded their claim. Periodically one Marsan or another would remind himself and attack Benquel so that over the years the lands had yielded more bones and blood than wheat. The current holder of Marsan had not, so far, initiated any private war, however, if his men-at-arms ran a little wild on Benquel lands and dragged off a few women or burnt a farm, Marsan became afflicted by deafness and blindness to any proof or complaint. Now, since Raymond had already done fealty to Marsan for several farms near Mont de Marsan, he would lose nothing by adding Benquel to the properties held from the vicomte.
Raymond was sanguine that the feudal dues would be moderate and the loyalty would raise no problems. In the past Marsan had vacillated between supporting the Comte of Toulouse and the Duc de Gascogne, who was also king of England. However, Toulouse had been thoroughly curbed by Louis, and Marsan infinitely preferred a somewhat indifferent distant overlord in England to a most attentive one much closer at hand. In any future quarrel between Louis and Henry, Marsan would support Henry, unless, Raymond feared, it was clear that Louis was winning. For the next three years, however, the truce would hold. Raymond would not worry about conflicting loyalties until then.
The last minor property was Blancheforte, which was so close to Bordeaux that it was of no military significance. Any determined assault from the town would reduce the keep in a few days. For that reason, no recent holder had made any attempt to improve it. Raymond did not intend to do so either, beyond making it a comfortable residence. There were virtually no lands, those having been gobbled up by the burghers of Bordeaux years earlier, but a small demesne, enough to support the residents of the castle, existed. What was important was that the holder of the keep had the ancient duty of guarding one of the gates of Bordeaux and, therefore, the privilege of sitting on the council of the city.
Raymond had every intention of making the most of that privilege. His mother’s estates of Villandrau, Durance, and Labrede were greatly affected by the tides of power that flowed back and forth between two families, de Soler and Colom. To know how the tide was flowing and to influence it, even a little, would be of infinite value.
Considering what had been accomplished as he rode back to Marlowe, Raymond began to understand why everyone had been so disturbed about the lack of equality between Alys’s fortune and his own. He was not a greedy man, nor could he love Alys any more now that she was so well dowered. He had loved her too much almost from the day they met. Nonetheless, there was a rich sense of pride added to that love when he thought of how he would say, “This is Alys of Marlowe, my wife, who brought me Amou and Ibos and Benquel and Blancheforte.” Now no one would think he had been trapped by a pretty face.
Raymond did not allow that thought to color his words when he gave Alys her betrothal gift, because with the king’s sanction the contracts had been written and signed, and the betrothal was formal. She looked only briefly at the jewels—hair ornament, necklet, and bracelets of sapphires and diamonds set in elaborately worked gold—and then asked about the land. Raymond laughed and embraced her. Every woman he knew would have rushed to put on the baubles and pose and preen. Only Alys understood what was really important.
It was thus with considerable enthusiasm that Raymond described the gains to Alys. Of course, he was not fool enough to imply to any woman, not even one so sensible as Alys, that her value could be increased by her property. For a reason Raymond found obscure, women seemed to demand that a man desire them for themselves alone. And he did, of course, so desire Alys. He had been quite willing to accept her with nothing, even without Bix if that had been Sir William’s condition. Still, he knew Alys would be enraged if the true source of his satisfaction showed. Still, he was surprised at her reaction.
“Mine?” she said. “How can such lands be mine? Assuredly they were grante
d because you are nephew to the queen.”
“That helped, no doubt,” Raymond replied, “in that Henry felt he could trust me and, therefore, was willing to give more. However, the lands are yours—your father and your ‘uncle’ Richard saw to that.”
A faint flicker of anger lit Raymond’s eyes when he recalled those earlier deliberations, but it died quickly. When the way the lands were to be held was discussed, Raymond and Henry had expected to have a free hand with them. Richard and William stood adamant that they were to be Alys’s at her will. Naturally, her husband would administer the properties during his life and while his wife lived, however, she could will them as she pleased, and if her husband should die before her, the lands would revert intact to Alys herself, not to her son or sons. Those children would be the wards of her husband’s male relatives who could take them and the land from Alys, leaving her with nothing.
Henry had been startled, Raymond appalled. “Do you not trust me?” Raymond had asked furiously. “Do you think I would cheat Alys or flout her desire? Perhaps you think I will murder her, or—”
“Do you not trust Alys?” William had countered sharply. “What do you think she will do, die before you apurpose and leave the lands to displease you? Do you want her to be utterly in the power of your father or younger brother?”
That had stopped Raymond’s protests. “They would treat her with kindness,” he assured William, “but you are right. It is not good to be a helpless pawn without even the right to an opinion. And if some mischance should destroy my father and brother before me, God knows where the right would go. My grandfather is old and has no legitimate sons.”
Somewhat similar arguments had been advanced by Richard to Henry. “Do you want Alphonse d’Aix or the heir of Raymond-Berenger to have a claim on the lands?” Richard had asked his brother. “For God’s sake, Henry, they must go only to the girl. She is English and, through her father, my vassal, thus yours. The lands may be administered by Raymond. He is a good man, honest and loyal, but they must be held in the lady’s name only.”
Alys now noted the flicker of anger on her betrothed’s countenance—she noticed everything about him these days with a piercing clarity. “Perhaps you had better explain to me just what you mean when you say the lands are mine.”
Temptation flashed through Raymond. He knew he could tell Alys anything, and she would believe him. It was a trust he could not violate. No land or power was worth the ugly knowledge that he had lied to Alys, who believed in him so implicitly. He explained as clearly as he could the terms of the marriage contract. Alys wrinkled her brows in thought.
“That means that if I wish I can hire a knight and rule the land myself, that the dependent vassals will do homage to me. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” Raymond said somewhat stiffly.
Alys stared at him for a moment, then turned her eyes to her own fingers. She had understood him, but could not believe that what she heard was true. The shock of Raymond’s flat yes, which made of her a rich and independent woman, momentarily blotted out all other responses.
“And I will sit in justice, as my father does, and as I do when I am his deputy?”
“Yes.”
“And look to the accounts of the lands?”
“Yes.”
Shock had given way to joy. Alys was so absorbed in her growing sense of liberation that she failed to notice the increasing coldness of Raymond’s responses. She smiled brilliantly, closed her eyes, and sighed with relief.
“Thank God I will not need to sit all day sewing a fine seam,” she breathed. Then her eyes snapped open. “You will have to tell me just exactly what to do and say, Raymond,” she said very seriously. “I know everything will be all different in Gascony, I mean the customs and rights. You will really have to do it all at first. And you will have to convince the vassals and castellans that I am not a fool and that your sword will back my word.”
Raymond burst out laughing as the chagrin he felt melted. There was no one in the world as sensible and reasonable as Alys. Of course she must seem to rule. If she did not and he should die, the legal tenure of the land would be nearly meaningless. Whereas, if the men knew and trusted her, they would protect her until her sons reached maturity or some other arrangement—Raymond could not even think “until she married again”—could be made. He agreed warmly that she would take homage and do justice and he would stand beside her to back her word in all things.
But instead of being satisfied, Alys’s brow furrowed even deeper, and she asked again about the nominal worth of the lands. When Raymond replied, her breath hissed in. “The king would not lightly part with such revenues. Will you have to fight to put out the present holders?”
More than once Sir William had commented wryly that Raymond would find there were disadvantages to the cleverness he praised so highly in Alys. This was the first time Raymond had cause to remember that and agree. It would not, he suspected, be the last time.
“I hope not,” he temporized. “However, the sooner we are there in our own persons to make our claim, the less chance there will be for any contest. The king has already sent letters to name you overlady and me as your husband. Still, the quicker we are there to take all in our hands, the better. Thus, need and desire match perfectly for once. The sooner we marry, the better.”
“Yes, of course, but from what you say, Amou is strong and very rich. Ibos is also rich, and the other two of less worth but still not to be despised. Why should the king give so much unless the lands are not his to give.”
“They are his to give,” Raymond said, recognizing his defeat in trying to turn Alys’s attention, “but it is a long way from Gascony to England, and the revenue diminishes by each hand through which it passes until it is either nothing or a debt by the time it comes here. Thus, the twenty pounds a year from Bix is worth more than the several hundred marks we will have from the lands. Moreover, Earl Richard gave the king in hand three thousand marks, which is what he would have given to you as a wedding gift. You do not, I hope, object to its bestowal in land.”
“No, not at all!” Alys exclaimed. “How kind of Uncle Richard! And I know that Henry is always in desperate need of money. But, Raymond, it still seems a great deal for relatively little. Do you truly believe the men who hold the keeps now will yield them to you without war?”
Clever, clever—entirely too clever, Raymond thought, looking into Alys’s face and not daring to lie. After all, the truth would become obvious as soon as they reached Gascony. “Blancheforte is empty except for the serfs of the demesne,” he began, “and the man who holds Benquel will not dare contest with me because the Vicomte de Marsan will come to my support and cast him out, whereas accepting my rule will bring peace to his lands and cost him nothing. Besides, I know him a little—Sir Oliver is his name—and he is a good enough man who has done his best in an impossible situation.”
“I am not an idiot, Raymond,” Alys said. “I was not asking you about those lands, and you know it.”
Raymond grinned at her. “It never hurts to try. I do not believe in holding my neck extended to get my head chopped off. But really, love, it is not near so bad as you seem to think. Henry is certain the castellan of Amou will be overjoyed to see me. He is a Sir Conon, an older man, without heirs, and said to be both honest and honorable. He has been writing angry letters that Béarn has been threatening him and trying to obtain the revenues.”
“Then you will have to fight Béarn?”
“Not an open war, anyway, and certainly not immediately. Do not forget, Alys, that Gaston is my great-uncle. I know it is silly, he is no more than twelve years my senior, but he and my grandfather are half brothers. Garsenda was first married to Alphonse of Provence and bore him Raymond-Berenger. Many years later when Alphonse died, she married the Count of Béarn and bore him Gaston. I doubt he will oppose me in arms. He will try to win me with soft words and promises.”
Alys examined his face carefully for a moment. He was not, she decided
, telling a half-truth about Amou, but there was something… “Then it is the other estate, the one at Ibos, that you will need to take by force,” she said.
Raymond’s lips tightened. “Most probably, yes,” he replied, “although it is not certain. Now that Toulouse is cast down, Sir Garnier may think better of his defiance, but truly, Alys, I hope he will not. I could not trust him. I think I would have to tell you to refuse. In any case, I think I will need to take Ibos by force.”
Alys did not say that she would not refuse, even if he told her to do so. She knew she would obey, however little she liked the result of that obedience. Moreover, it was her duty and probably one of the conditions under which the estate had been granted, because Henry’s reason for granting it was that Raymond should win it back from French influence.
“How likely are you to hold it if you can take it?” she asked, wondering whether she was going to have to look forward to a whole lifetime of futile war.
“There will be no trouble about that. Toulouse had no right to take Garnier’s fealty, except that Tarbes is Toulouse’s. Louis certainly will not press the point during the years that remain for the truce, and even after that, I doubt he would try to unseat me. His sense of justice is very strong, and I am Margaret’s nephew as well as Eleanor’s, you know. Of course, Margaret is by no means as fond of me as Eleanor is, nor does Louis listen to her as Henry listens to Eleanor, but still the blood bond must mean something, and by law the land is mine—no, yours.”
“Ours,” Alys said.
Raymond smiled at her. Now his face was clear, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. Alys repressed the thought that it only took one war to kill a man and comforted herself with the conviction that Raymond understood the policies and politics of France and the duchies that surrounded it far better than she. In any case, it was stupid to worry about things months or years in the future. Raymond would take possession of the uncontested lands first and, if he had to fight for Ibos, would spend some time gathering strength. By then, perhaps God would smite Garnier dead. At least she was not to be a painted image, she would have tasks and duties.
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