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  William scratched his head and sighed. “Very well, Richard, I will do my best. Do you want me to call up extra men and buy stores?”

  “No extra men, de Bohun has a grant of money for that—I think. As to the stores, I will send you a list from Wallingford of those stewards who are to furnish stores from my keeps and towns.”

  “Oh, damn you, Richard, are you going to make me quartermaster for your men?”

  Eyes alight with laughter, Richard replied, “Yes.”

  William groaned dismally. “Richard, have mercy. I have not kept accounts for years, and I had no great skill at it when I did.”

  The earl now laughed aloud and cried shame on his vassal for putting the burden of accounts on his young daughter. But when William protested in self-defense that Alys liked to do them, Richard relented and promised a clerk would come with the list who would do the actual labor of recording what was received and disbursed. William would only be responsible for checking the records and for making sure that they were honest. He spoke gaily, but there was a warning in his eyes, and William did not ask why Richard could not check his own accounts. Later, when they were embracing before Richard mounted up to ride away, the earl explained that he was not going to Wales at all. He was off to obtain mercenary forces from Flanders for the Scottish war.

  “It must be kept secret lest the French intervene,” he said softly, “so do not speak of it. And I go tomorrow so I will have no time to talk further with you. William, you have hidden it well, but I have seen that something lies heavy on your heart. Can I help?”

  “No one can help.”

  “A curse on this need to fly away,” Richard said passionately. “Could I stay, I could at least draw it out and share the burden.”

  William smiled. “Not this burden. It will pass, Richard. It has passed before and will pass again.”

  Chapter Seven

  It was not the truth. William had never completely shed the burden of his love, but there had been many years when it was barely perceptible. After the first few months of his marriage, when he felt he could not live, William had been back in service with Richard and sufficiently interested in acquiring the skills necessary to knight and landholder that the worst misery had passed. Although Mary was like a limp wet cloth abed, she never refused him, so that there was an outlet for his physical needs when he was at Marlowe. Away from the keep, and he was there as little as possible in those years, on campaign or at court with Richard, he forgot he was married. There were plenty of women who were glad to entertain William, both for his own sake and as the favorite of the earl of Cornwall.

  When Elizabeth had returned to Hurley, there had been another peak of misery. In some ways it had been worse. She was there, close by. He saw her often. It was like a sore tooth that one cannot resist touching and biting on. William spent much more time at Marlowe then, unable to tear himself away from the siren lure of her nearness and the pain-pleasure of her company. However, with time a sort of ease had come, and the pleasure had outweighed the pain.

  This time, William thought, was worst of all. He could not hate Elizabeth as he had the first time, nor feel she was unreachable, even unapproachable, as she had been when she returned to Hurley, a wife with two sons and, for all he knew, another babe under her belt. Now he knew she loved him still, desired him as much as he desired her. He could find no peace. He could not rid himself of the feeling that, if he were only clever enough to see it, there was a way to have her, although he admitted that what she had said to him was true.

  He had one piece of luck, bad or good William would not define. Mauger had come the previous week, bringing Elizabeth. William had been at Wallingford to meet and bring back to Marlowe the clerk Richard assigned to do the accounts. It hurt to have missed Elizabeth, yet it would have been worse to see her. Alys said she had dealt with Mauger, and William thought no more of it. Alys knew William preferred his relationship with Richard to be kept quiet. William guessed Mauger had come to have a look at Raymond, but why bring Elizabeth? How awful to have missed her. Perhaps… No. He would not think about Elizabeth.

  Richard’s visit had been a major blessing. Although he groaned and complained, William knew himself quite capable of handling the burden Richard had laid on him, Richard had tried to induce him to take on far greater burdens, in fact had begged him more than once to be marshal of his lands. In the past William had always refused, partly because he was not ambitious and really did not care for the hectic striving in the world of the great men but far more because, if he accepted, he would have been away from Marlowe—no, from Elizabeth—all the time.

  Suddenly William groaned aloud. He had completely forgotten that Richard’s last marshal had died just before his marriage to Sancia. This business in Wales must be the toe in the door, the “you see it is not so bad, come, take the place” introduction to another offer of the marshal’s position. Perhaps he would take it this time, William told himself. It was impossible to go on living with this desire burning in his gut. He must either have Elizabeth or leave her. Leave her? He could not!

  Damn! He would not think about Elizabeth. But he would not have thought about her on campaign anyway, not much, at least. Why had Richard chosen to push this on him now, he asked himself petulantly, then laughed. Campaigns had always been a time for merry roistering. Not this time. William did not at all like the look of the fat, smooth clerk who had come with Richard’s lists and letters. Nor did he like the way his questions about suppliers had been answered—or half answered and that much only after hard prodding.

  A frown grew between William’s brows. A dishonest clerk could not prove a task easy, but might be a device on Richard’s part to show how ill served he was and how badly he needed an honest marshal. Richard was the best and sweetest man in the world, but not above a stratagem when he felt it would be the best for everyone. If the clerk was dishonest, there might not even be time properly to oversee his own men, William thought. That problem had never troubled William before. The castellan of Bix had seen to such things if Richard was making heavy demands on William’s time.

  Raymond would have to pick up that burden now, William decided. Even without roaring around drunk one night out of three and thereby losing the following day also, he would have no time for his own troop, specially not if he was to discover the unniceties of fighting in Wales from the older vassals of the Marcher lords. William sighed and swung his legs out of bed. There was plenty to do already.

  Diccon, the master-at-arms, and most of the experienced men-at-arms would have to remain behind in Marlowe—and some at Bix. Alys could manage the estate fairly well, but she could not protect it. There was not much danger of any attack on the keep. William was on good terms with his neighbors. However, there were bands of marauders about, and Marlowe was rich. There was no sense in leaving an open invitation for the lands to be raided by outlaws, and that was what it would amount to if it became known that the master was gone and the keep was manned only by raw recruits.

  The only way to leave enough experienced men at Marlowe and Bix was to hire or train new ones to take to Wales. William considered his finances as he dressed. He was not behindhand, but he did not like the idea of needing to spend money on mercenaries. There would be the costs of Alys’s marriage soon. He would not need a money dower, of course, because Bix was hers and would be her portion, but the clothing and feasting would be very costly, and his income would be decreased by a third when the revenues of Bix went to Alys’s husband.

  Besides, it was a good idea to have some of the men on the estate trained to arms. There were some likely boys on the demesne farms and the outlying freehold lands beholden to Marlowe as well as in the town itself. All together, there should be a good crop of sons eager to learn to wield a sword.

  Many of William’s peers did not approve of training the serfs and villeins and putting weapons in their hands, but he did not agree. He never turned the trained serfs back to the land, of course. He kept them on at the castl
e, or passed them into Richard’s forces if they took well to the life. Several had found advancement and were now free men, masters-at-arms themselves. They were grateful to their old master.

  The villeins were different. They were free men to begin with. After a campaign, they could do as they liked. Some elected to stay on in William’s small army. A few younger sons joined a mercenary band or sold their swords as individuals. Most went back to their farms or businesses, proud of their extra abilities and serving as a nucleus of a large defending force if Marlowe should ever be attacked.

  Dressed and washed, William came out into the hall to break his fast. Alys and Raymond were at table already, talking and laughing eagerly. William hesitated, struck by a special light in the two young faces. Damn! He had been too wrapped in his own troubles these past two weeks. He had not noticed that the liking between Alys and Raymond was growing out of bounds. Raymond was a fool to let his heart get the better of his common sense, but the real fault was with Alys, who should know her worth better. She could easily have discouraged the young knight. That would not stop him from loving, perhaps, but it would have kept him from being hurt by hope.

  Fortunately there was an immediate, if partial, remedy at hand. Raymond could go out with Diccon to pick the men for training and after that could stay at Bix training them until it was time to leave for the muster at Hereford. Once Raymond was gone, William could remind Alys that a penniless adventurer knight, no matter how attractive, was not a suitable husband for a girl with a good estate.

  Even as he thought it, a doubt flicked at William. Why not? If the young people loved each other, why not? He liked Raymond. Working closely with him over these past weeks, he had come to respect the young man’s quickness of mind, his willingness to work hard, his earnest attempts to learn to understand the language and customs of the people with whom he now lived. It was true that Alys’s beauty and dower could take her up a step in the social scale. Even if she married Aubery, she would end as the mistress of four keeps, a state approaching real wealth. Of course, if her affections were unalterably fixed on Raymond… No. He would give her no encouragement to throw herself away. When they returned from Wales, if…

  “Papa! Why are you standing like a stock staring at us?” Alys asked.

  “I was just thinking,” William replied, coming forward and taking the cup of wine Alys held out.

  She frowned. “You have been thinking a great deal recently, and it appears your thoughts are not as pleasant as they could be.”

  “No,” he answered, and allowed his eyes to move to the door where Richard’s clerk lodged and through which he had not yet come. Late and lazy the creature was, but William had not yet caught any evidence of dishonesty.

  Alys accepted her father’s unspoken reason for thoughtfulness, although she had her own ideas. William did not read those in her face nor, though he watched her covertly, could he find any sign of guilt when he told Raymond the duty he would begin that day. Alys did look disappointed, perhaps somewhat more disappointed than when Harold was sent away, but that small thing was swept away in her concern when she understood her father’s decision.

  “You will not go with untrained men,” she cried. “Oh, Papa, please do not. I will manage well enough. And Sir Mauger would come to my aid if I sent to him. Even if he was away, Elizabeth would send out her men to help us.”

  “Do not be silly, Alys. By the time we go to Wales the men will be trained. That is why I am sending Raymond and Diccon to choose them now and begin training. The march across country will harden them, and the little, early skirmishes will blood them and finish them finely. Besides, I will take some of the veteran men-at-arms to stiffen my force.”

  “But Papa—”

  “Alys, do not make me tell you to mind your needle. I am no hotheaded young fool to court danger unnecessarily. I assure you I will take good care that the men are ready.”

  She subsided obediently. William was well pleased with his plan. It seemed to him that, although Alys was only a little regretful at losing her companion, Raymond had been sore stricken. William had caught the way he looked at Alys when he first heard they must part. It was time, and past time, William thought regretfully, that Raymond be sent away.

  Mauger had been exactly opposite to William in his perception of the growing attachment between Alys and Raymond. He had noticed too much for his own comfort the preceding week and had been so enraged by what he saw that he almost forgot his initial reason for coming to Marlowe. When he saw the way Raymond backed up every word Alys said, Mauger suddenly realized it would do no good to get rid of William if the girl was not formally betrothed to Aubery or had a protector she preferred to Aubery.

  Mauger had heard some things about Richard of Cornwall that worried him. The earl was known to have supported several women who had said they were unwilling to marry, and Alys would have a strong case if the slightest suspicion concerning William’s death fell on Mauger. It was not unreasonable for Alys to object to marrying the son of the man who was suspected of killing her father, no matter how justifiable the act was. Moreover, Richard might wish to keep Alys unmarried and collect the revenues of Marlowe and Bix, or he might have a pet henchman for whom he wanted to find a good livelihood.

  All the way home, Mauger had ranted and raved to Elizabeth about William’s carelessness in permitting the close association of so young a hireling knight with his daughter. Elizabeth did not answer, but her heart swelled with tenderness. She did not think it was carelessness. She read Alys better than her husband and could see the girl was not yet deeply touched. Doubtless William would set Raymond a task that would separate them before any damage was done. Meanwhile he would have weaned Alys away from the notion of marrying Aubery, which Elizabeth was convinced would end in misery for both her son and his daughter. Poor William. It was very unselfish of him. When Alys married and went away, he would be all alone.

  As if the thought had passed to her husband, Mauger said, “I must talk to William about this. He must get rid of that fellow at once. I did not like him at all. I am sure he is a spy in the king’s pay. Did Alys say to you how long her father would be away?”

  “No, Mauger,” Elizabeth answered, “but I am sure it would not be more than a week. She would have said something, I believe, if William was to be away longer than that.”

  “Well, you had better think of something you need from her or want to tell her,” Mauger ordered. “I need an excuse to go back there next week. I am going to write to de Bohun to send Aubery home for a while. He had better exert himself to get that girl to agree to a marriage, or…”

  He stopped, aware of Elizabeth stiffening beside him. She was crazy about those two idiots she had borne him. He had better not admit what little use he had for either of them, sniveling fools, mouthing chivalry and honesty and service at him when he asked them to get a favor from their lords or squeeze a tenant or a merchant on the sly for money. Why the devil did they think he had placed them with such powerful men if not to make a profit from their positions? But Elizabeth need know nothing about that. The only time she had ever defied him had been over those sons of hers. He glanced at her expressionless face, remembering suddenly how she had looked then. He had been almost frightened of her, but he had dropped the idea and it had passed.

  The truth was that Mauger was much braver in his own mind than in actuality in dealing with his son’s powerful patron. His letter was not, therefore, a bold command but a mild request filled with “if it please your lordship” and “if it will be no inconvenience to your lordship.” It did not please Humphery de Bohun however, to part with a squire who had become a favorite because he was quick, clever, and aggressive. He wrote a brusque refusal, stating his own need of Aubery’s services.

  This did not improve Mauger’s temper and made him all the more frantic to do something, yet he could not think of an excuse to go to Marlowe and fell back on the idea of “accompanying” Elizabeth. She acceded docilely to his demand and searched
out a length of fabric of a color that did not suit her but would suit Alys. Mauger applauded the idea of making Alys this gift, thinking it would please the girl and make her more willing to accept advice. The next day they set out for Marlowe right after breakfast. Elizabeth’s heart fluttered. She did not know whether she hoped or feared that William would be at home.

  William was at home. There was no reason for him to ride out with Raymond and Diccon recruiting. He had plenty to do around the keep. He was, in fact, coming from the stables when Mauger and Elizabeth rode in. The look on both faces was sufficient confirmation of Mauger’s belief that something had happened between them. Elizabeth grew ashy pale, and William stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her for one long moment. This gave Mauger less satisfaction than it would have given him a week earlier. He had decided definitely that his original plan would not work. If he killed William as an outraged husband, he probably could not marry Alys to Aubery. William’s death would have to come about less directly.

  Another pack of “outlaws” such as those who had killed Elizabeth’s brothers? Not easy. William was a convivial soul and invited all his neighbors to join him when he went hunting. A knifing in the town would be best. Mauger knew that William frequented several of the whores in the town. The trouble was that probably no one who lived in the town would dare, not even the whores themselves or their men. They all liked William.

  The thoughts milled around in Mauger’s brain while he greeted William and Elizabeth presented her excuse for coming to see Alys. William swallowed as if there were something stuck in his throat and finally got out, “She is within. Shall I take you?”