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  “Moving? Your furniture? Your quarters?” Lady Jeannette gasped. “But is that not all arranged? And what have you to do in such matters? Raymond…surely Raymond…”

  “Raymond must not be troubled with such stupidities,” Alys responded, her voice sharpening for the first time. “He must be free for matters of more importance, for the doings of kings and counts, not for the arranging of chairs and beds.”

  “The steward arranges chairs and beds,” Lady Jeannette said with honeyed contempt. “Raymond or my husband will give the order.”

  “But Raymond has already told Lord Alphonse that I would see to it,” Alys pointed out, softening her tone. “Doubtless they have both forgot the matter already. And Raymond likes his things set in just such a way—”

  “Raymond’s things are already set as he likes them.” This time it was Lady Jeannette who cut Alys off. “It was not necessary to bring here a load of furniture, as if we had not enough or Raymond had not a place of his own in his house.” Her voice had lost its sweetness.

  Alys dropped her eyes. She had thought all along that the extreme delicacy Raymond described in his female relatives was merely a façade that concealed their nasty willfulness. Her suspicion was now confirmed for everyone except the youngest sister, who had not spoken at all. All she said, however, was that Raymond had ordered their furniture and clothing carried to the south tower. This brought a small shriek from Lady Jeannette, who called for her son in shrill, quavering tones that carried to where the men were seated.

  Raymond looked toward the women. He was no longer accustomed to inconsiderate demands and was annoyed by the interruption of his conversation with his father. There was an obvious hesitation before he rose and came to them. He listened to about one-quarter of his mother’s tearful protest, just enough to understand what it was she was complaining about, his expression growing blacker and still more impatient. Then he cut her off with a bellow for Gervase that shook the rafters.

  “I have my reasons for the south tower,” he said sharply to his mother, who had been shocked into silence by the way he had shouted instead of signaling for a servant to fetch the steward. “Do not trouble your head or heart, Mother,” Raymond continued. “Leave it to Alys. Leave everything to Alys. She could run this whole estate without bailiff or butler or steward and still have time to make merry with me whenever I desired.”

  As he spoke, he looked at his wife’s lowered head and was flooded by remorse for every harsh thought he had ever had about her. He had forgotten what it was like to be unable to finish a conversation without being interrupted by female irrelevancies and complaints. Masterful as Alys might be, she never had drawn him, and never would, from important matters with silly nonsense about where he would lodge.

  It was as well that Raymond did not see more of Alys’s expression because her head was bowed with seeming docility. The naughty gleam of her eyes might not have informed him that she had deliberately baited his mother into a trap, but it would certainly have raised doubts in his mind about her behavior. Counting on what Raymond had told her in the past, however, Alys was quickly planning her next move. She could not permit her mother-by-marriage to become hysterical in the hall—and that, she expected, would be Lady Jeannette’s reaction to Raymond’s strictures. Raymond might or might not be impervious, but Alphonse would not be.

  “Gervase,” Raymond said, turning his back on his mother and addressing the portly steward who had come nearly running. “This is Alys of Marlowe, my betrothed wife. From this moment, her orders are as mine, to be overruled only by my father or myself, and do not come running to either of us unless she bids you turn the castle upside down. If Alys tells you to do a thing, she has a good reason.”

  Ignoring his mother’s further gasps of outrage and surprise, Raymond went back to his father and sat down beside him again. Alphonse looked at the cluster of women with some trepidation, hearing his wife utter a strangled cry.

  “You should not be so sharp with your mother,” Alphonse protested. “She will make herself ill.”

  “Leave her to Alys,” Raymond said again.

  “Are you mad?” Alphonse exclaimed. “What can that child do…?”

  His voice drifted away as he saw Alys on one side and Margot on the other, lifting his wife bodily from the chair. Alys’s voice rose over Lady Jeannette’s sobs and Jeanine’s furious protests.

  “But, sweet sister,” Alys insisted, blocking Jeanine’s grab at her mother with her own hip and propelling Lady Jeannette away from the men and toward the stairway, “your mother must lie down. Do you not see she is unwell? She must rest and be quiet.” And then to Lady Jeannette in the sweetest of tones, “Yes, he spoke cruelly, but truly he did not mean it. He is overworn from the long journey and many other annoyances. Come now and rest, Mother. Anon, when his mind is clear of man-things, he will come to you and say he is sorry.”

  They had got to the stairs and Alys had reached behind her and closed the door before Lady Jeannette’s shock and indignation at being grabbed and hustled out of the hall had subsided sufficiently for her to release a real shriek of protest. As it smote her ears, Lady Jeannette realized it was too late. Furious, she wrested herself free from the supporting arms and turned toward the door, but Alys’s hand was still on the latch.

  Outrage gripped her again for a moment, but as Alys lifted her hand from the latch—almost like an invitation—Lady Jeannette realized it would be stupid to rush back into the hall screaming. The little yellow-haired bitch would pursue her, murmuring poisonous lies, and Lady Jeannette herself, if she were weeping or screaming or fainting, would not be able to contest anything Alys said.

  Let Alys think she has won, Lady Jeannette thought, sinking back into the supporting arms stretched out to her. She would find herself in a different situation entirely if she tried this again. There were other knives held up her sleeve, Lady Jeannette told herself, that she could use to sever the bonds that tied Raymond to this little monster. She had a way to demonstrate to Raymond the true cruelty of this creature’s nature, and Raymond would see that he had made a mistake. Leave it to Alys, should she? Very well, she would give Alys a few tasks that would expose her coarseness. She would make Raymond hate the girl so much that he would never see her or speak to her, except to get her with child.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alphonse looked after the women with amazement, then shook his head in disbelief. Raymond had not even glanced in that direction, he noticed. He had gone back to the topic in hand, which was whether it was worthwhile to pretend the wedding at Tour Dur was the first. By this time, of course, Alphonse knew it was not.

  “You promised your mother you would marry here,” Alphonse had said when Raymond first raised the question. “I had not the heart to tell her you were married already.”

  “I am not sure what to do about that,” Raymond had replied, looking at his father with wry resignation, “but I cannot imagine how you could have believed for a moment that Sir William or the Earl of Cornwall would permit their pearl without price to leave the country without being wed. They took three weeks over it, from the time of arriving to the time the guests departed. The archbishop of Canterbury married us, the king and Eleanor and Sancia and Cornwall stood witness. I told you my Alys was highly valued, but I am more than willing to marry her again, and Alys, too, thinks it is wise.”

  It was at that point that they had been interrupted by Lady Jeannette’s demands. Alphonse had started to rise with Raymond, but then sank back. Raymond had managed his mother very well the last time. Perhaps he had been hard, but he had made Lady Jeannette understand that Alphonse could not forbid the marriage so that Jeannette had not wasted her time tormenting her husband. Then Raymond’s brusque behavior and Alys’s removal of his wife had left Alphonse speechless. Raymond had sat down again as if the whole thing had not happened and was asking whether “our” vassals—through his bemusement Alphonse heard that word substituted for “your”—would have contacts in England who mi
ght have attended the ceremony.

  “I do not know,” Alphonse said vaguely, and then with concern, “that order to Gervase was of rather wide permission for your wife. What if she should decide to empty the treasury or—”

  “Alys?” Raymond laughed. “No! Her fault is the other way. She will pinch both a coin and a man until they do double service. If you have any doubts of your clerks, set Alys on their accounts. You should see how she made sense of the confusion that devil Garnier left in Ibos. Of course, there was no knowing where he threw the money and goods he gathered, but Sir Conon has a clean beginning and a certain knowledge of what is due and from where.”

  Alphonse was beginning to smile. Everything was working out so much better than he had expected. The magnificent dower had reconciled him to the marriage immediately. He could not have done nearly as well himself. And now the girl seemed to be a treasure also—a weird and wonderful treasure, but still…

  “Will she know what to do for your mother?” Alphonse asked.

  “Alys is an excellent physician,” Raymond assured his father, remembering how she had treated his wounds when he had returned to Marlowe after fighting in Wales, “but I think she will divert Mother to some happier thoughts before there is need for physicking. In any case, we will hear no more of this. Alys has been taught most firmly that women’s crochets must not disturb men’s business.”

  Alphonse’s eyes opened wide, and then he smiled broadly. “I can see now why you were willing to risk all to have her. If what you say is true, she would indeed be a treasure, even barefoot and in a shift.” He then suggested that they move to the greater warmth and comfort of the chairs by the fire.

  Perhaps Raymond was too sanguine, Alphonse thought. After all, Alys would not sleep between him and his wife, but if worse came to worst he could sleep elsewhere, and for less than constant vapors, he was accustomed to dealing with his wife. More important was that Raymond seemed so different, so sure, so like Alphonse’s own father. And he had said “our” vassals, as if he were ready to shoulder that burden. Consequently, Alphonse felt a heavy weight slide off him. Although weak, he was by no means a fool. He had served his father in diplomacy, and Raymond-Berenger’s power had been what kept Alphonse d’Aix’s vassals docile.

  However, Raymond-Berenger had been very sick only a few months previously. He had recovered, but not completely. During the time that Raymond had been in England and Gascony, Alphonse had heard that his father had been stricken again, although not so severely as earlier in the year. Nonetheless, it was plain that Raymond-Berenger could not live long. Alphonse had been dreading the arrival of news that his father was dead, and had no idea how he could quell the turmoil that would follow. There was no male heir to Provence, only one unmarried daughter. Surely there would be war. Alphonse had no taste for war.

  “As it happens,” Alphonse said, “this wedding will be of greater importance than we had thought. You may not have heard that your grandfather is not well.”

  The combination of Alys’s competent handling of Lady Jeannette’s intrusion into his conversation and the mention of the importance of the wedding reminded Raymond of how precious a jewel Alys was. Value brought fear of loss, and suddenly Raymond thought of Ernaldus, who had tried to destroy his treasure and might be at Les Baux only a few leagues from Arles. This then was connected in his mind with his grandfather’s illness and the political problems Raymond-Berenger’s death would cause. Old enemies would lift their heads again, seeking excuses to take insult. It was most unfortunate, but this, Raymond realized, was not the time to demand that a relative of des Baux be given up to justice.

  It was not important, he told himself. Even if Ernaldus’s half sister gave him shelter, a disgraced bailiff was nothing and nobody. Alys was safe in Tour Dur, and he would watch over her himself. He dismissed the prick of worry to consider the far greater problem of his grandfather’s health.

  “I knew my grandfather had been sick,” Raymond said, “and…and he looked old when I went to him for quittance to marry Alys. He gave it too easily, also. I thought I would have more ado to explain why I wished to take an English wife, but he only sighed and said he supposed it was for love. When I admitted I did love Alys, but that I had other reasons as well, he said that love was reason enough and wished me happy.”

  “Yes.” Alphonse nodded unhappily. “He has been…not childish, but…but soft, and thinking in…in odd ways. He has made a will leaving all to Beatrice.”

  “He cannot!” Raymond exclaimed. “He cannot leave the province to his wife.”

  “Not to his wife,” Alphonse explained, “to young Beatrice.”

  “To little Beatrice? But what of Margaret and Eleanor and Sancia?”

  “He said they were well settled and that he did not desire that the province be divided, with each piece going to this and that far-distant overlord.”

  “There is sense in that,” Raymond agreed thoughtfully.

  “There would be sense in it if he had chosen a proper man and got her well married, but, as I said, he has grown…peculiar. He would not hear of her marriage, not even a betrothal, saying she was too young.”

  “Too young?” Raymond repeated astonished. “Beatrice is all of fourteen.” Then he frowned. “Well, but even if she had been married, her sisters will not like this, particularly Margaret. She will not like it at all. All the daughters have rights as heirs general, but the queen of France, being so close, has more power.”

  “Not really,” Alphonse remarked. “Louis keeps a tight rein on her.”

  “But will he not support her in this? For all his piety, Louis has the same ends in mind as his father and grandfather. He wishes to unite all the lands east of the Rhine with France, but he would not mind adding Provence to that.”

  “He is not so bad an overlord,” Alphonse said hesitantly.

  Raymond opened his mouth to make a hasty remark, then closed it and frowned. After a short silence, he said slowly, “It will make problems for me if the war between England and France should be renewed, but you are right. Louis is a good overlord. He is truly just and very patient, not prone to suspicion or hasty anger, and is quicker man most to bring help in time of need. As for the double vassalage, to Henry of England for the lands in Gascony, and to Louis for these lands, well, I will not need to face that problem for many, many years, I hope.”

  Alphonse smiled. He had never thought Raymond would wish to supplant him, but the affection in his son’s eyes when he spoke was warming. “The truce has some years to run,” Alphonse pointed out. “Louis will not break it. Do you think Henry is likely to renew the war?”

  “It is never easy to know what Henry intends,” Raymond replied somewhat sourly. “It seems he himself often does not know. The only thing I fear is that if Louis should seize Provence in the name of his wife, as Margaret is the eldest that might spur Henry into action.”

  “I do not think Louis would do that.” Alphonse shook his head. “He will not try to seize Provence by force. He will contest my father’s will before the Pope, but there is another, easier path for him.”

  “Charles!” Raymond exclaimed, naming the king’s youngest brother, who was still unmarried and without any large inheritance of his own. “Louis could marry Charles to Beatrice, accomplish his purpose, and still uphold the dying wish of his father-by-marriage. Yes, of course. Does Louis know of the provisions of my grandfather’s will?”

  “I cannot believe he does not. My father made no particular secret of it, and Louis must have had informers in his court as elsewhere.” Alphonse frowned as he spoke. “My thought was the same as yours. This plan must be in the back of King Louis’s mind, but I am not so happy with it. Charles is not Louis. His disposition has little sweetness now, and I think it very likely he will sour, not mellow, with time.”

  Raymond thought that over, tapping his fingernails on the arm of the chair. Then he cocked his head to one side. “Do you think Charles would be unkind to Beatrice?”

  “I
do not think he would beat her. Of course, I do not think he will be very interesting to her as a husband, either… But my concern was more selfish. I feel that Charles is the kind who will interest himself too closely in his vassals’ affairs, and the stronger the vassal, the more interested he will be. Also, he is…ambitious.”

  “Is that so?” Raymond mused. “I do not know Charles at all. Well, then, do you think as I do that we should, perhaps, be bound directly to King Louis? If Grandfather should die, the news will come to us sooner than elsewhere. Lady Beatrice trusts you and so does Sir Romeo de Villeneuve. Hmnm. You must find time before the contracts are written or even discussed, to go to Louis.”

  Alphonse stared at his son’s strong face. “You think this to be right?”

  “Certainly not wrong, and it will be best for us,” Raymond assured him.

  “The one difficulty I see,” Alphonse said, his vacillation firmed to decision by the stronger will of his son, “will be convincing Louis to take what he may believe to be his brother’s due.”

  “He must know Charles as well as or better than you do,” Raymond pointed out. “If Charles is, as you say, ambitious, Louis will be glad to curb his power a little, or so I think.”

  “I think so, too,” Alphonse said with a touch of impatience, thinking that Raymond knew what he wanted but did not understand how to get it diplomatically. “But I need to give Louis a reason with which he can convince himself that taking our fealty is the right thing to do. Hmmm. Well, you may leave that to me. There are several paths I might follow. What troubles me more immediately is the other side to changing our fealty. What of our own vassals? Will they, too, wish to hold directly? Do you see why I began by saying this wedding is more important than we thought at first?”

  “Indeed I do. God be thanked that my mother desired this.” Raymond grinned at his father. “It was a most fortunate fancy. You sent out word that I was taking a wife already, I suppose.”