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  “May I ask one of the women to collect the children’s clothing, then?” Alys asked. “They are cold.”

  “Nonsense. Serfs do not feel the cold any more than dogs. Anyway, the clothes are here.”

  Lady Jeannette gestured to two bundles, feeling more and more pleased with her ploy. Alys had wasted her time trying to conceal her anger, a reaction which Lady Jeannette had expected. Lady Jeannette would herself have been furious to have baseborn bastards thrust upon her. No doubt Alys would complain to Raymond. He would not like that, Lady Jeannette thought, neither the aspersions cast on his daughters nor the anger displayed toward his mother. And then, all that sweetness to the little girls. Surely that was a clean cover over ugly intentions.

  Raymond feels the cold, Alys thought, and his blood runs in these veins. But she did not give voice to the words in her mind. She only told the children to hold to her dress while she stooped to pick up the bundles of clothing. Raymond’s blood. The thought brought a rush of tenderness and then a prick of jealousy as she thought of the mother. But the mother was gone, and these little girls were no more threat to her, Alys knew, than she had been to Lady Elizabeth. There were many ways a man could love, and a father’s fondness for his daughters did not encroach on what he felt for his wife.

  “I will take them down to the hall,” Alys said, “so that their noise will not disturb you.”

  Alys could not bring herself to say “mother” this time, but Lady Jeannette did not seem to notice the omission and merely nodded. It was well that Lady Jeannette had already implied so strongly that the children were not to her taste. Had she been less open, Alys would have had them change their dresses before the fire in Lady Jeannette’s solar for the sake of warming them more quickly, and that would have precipitated a bitter quarrel. Alys’s caution would not have been proof against her temper when she saw the bruises the edge of the stools had made on the legs of the little girls in the hours they had been forced to sit and wait.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Actually the rage Alys felt at Lady Jeannette’s cruelty to her helpless grandchildren produced, strangely enough, a most happy effect. Unable to vent her fury on her mother-by-marriage, Alys turned it to tenderness toward Fenice and Enid, which further melted the reserve they felt toward this very different great-lady-mother. Enid, who because she was younger was less imbued with her mother’s fear of the lords, began to chatter. Fenice was quiet unless a direct question was asked her. A sense of her own unworthiness had been deeply implanted in her, but she saw that Lady Alys listened to Enid with pleasure and amusement. Fenice stood as close as she dared to this kind, beautiful “mother” and, when she thought Alys would not notice, gently touched her sleeve or dress to reassure herself that Alys was real.

  It was easy to direct Enid’s artless confidences. Alys discovered that the children had been taught nothing. Their speech was better than that of common serfs because they echoed the accent and vocabulary of the maids, and Fenice could do some rough sewing and knew the elements of weaving. They adored their father and were timidly fond of their grandfather. Both men were kind, whenever they noticed the children, but Alys gathered this notice came infrequently. They had been told, it seemed, never to approach either man, especially their grandfather. Enid began to explain this further, but Fenice shushed her. Alys assumed Enid had been about to admit that it was Lady Jeannette who had ordered them to keep out of the way, and the wiser, more politic Fenice had not wanted her sister to criticize their grandmother.

  Alys did not press the question. Instead she smiled at Fenice, who confessed, “But sometimes we do speak to Father. He always seems glad to see us.”

  “I am certain he is, my loves,” Alys assured them, “and you must understand that he does not seek you out more often because his mind is filled with large, important things. But you will both see more of him now because we will all live together. When he has time, I will call you, and we will all play games.”

  “Play games?” Fenice echoed.

  Alys laughed. “Not the kind of games you play with your sister or with the other children. These are special games, but you will enjoy them. Only I will have to teach you how to play. Then we will surprise your papa with your cleverness.”

  “Are we clever?” Enid asked.

  “Yes, indeed, and beautiful, too,” Alys said and then felt a little surprised because she realized she had spoken the truth.

  The children were very pretty, with masses of dark, curling hair, rather tangled and not as clean as it should be, but that would be easily amended. And there could be no doubt at all that Fenice was Raymond’s. His light eyes, not so hard and bright, but his nonetheless, looked out of her face. Her skin, however, was quite light, not the translucent alabaster of Alys’s, but a warm cream. Enid was the one with Raymond’s complexion, dark and smooth, but her eyes must be her mother’s, large, luminous, and soft as black velvet. Their mother must have been beautiful, Alys thought, with another stab of jealousy.

  Emboldened by Alys’s praise, Enid had just begun to say how quickly and well she would learn the new games when Raymond’s voice cut across hers. “Fenice! Enid!” And after a slight pause, “Sacre bleu, Alys!”

  The girls ran to him, and he stooped and caught one in each arm automatically, but his eyes were on Alys and his skin was dark flushed red. It was clear enough that he was appalled by the association of his wife and his natural daughters. Fearing he would say something that would hurt the little girls, Alys forestalled him. “Your mother gave the girls into my care, my lord,” she said quickly. “And I am most happy to have them. Your mother said they belonged in your household, and I agree with that, too, with all my heart.” Conflicting emotions rippled across Raymond’s face, anger and relief and embarrassment. “You…want them?” he stammered.

  “Yes. Yes, I do. They are yours, and they are sweet children,” Alys replied.

  “But…but what will you do with them?”

  “I will teach them, of course,” Alys laughed. “I know just what is suitable to these daughters of yours.”

  Raymond looked down at the children, more aware of them than he usually was. He remembered with a guilty pang that when he had last seen them he had made a promise to give each a present “later”. At the same time he was annoyed. He had something to discuss with Alys, and Fenice and Enid were in the way. Still, the adoration in their happy faces checked his impulse to send them away. Instead, he sat down in the chair opposite Alys, lifted one child to each knee, and apologized gravely for neglecting to give them the promised gifts. This time, however, he assured them there would be no mistake, because Lady Alys would remind him.

  “So I will,” Alys agreed.

  There was warm approval in her eyes and her smile, and Raymond was at the same time pleased and uneasy. It was just like Alys to accept the girls with open arms, sweet and reasonable as she was, but he wished she had not. She would be forever attending to them when he wanted her. It was his mother’s fault, not Alys’s or the girls’, and it was annoying that there was nothing he could do about it. He realized that Enid had said something he had not caught, but Alys was laughing and shaking her head, and Fenice was anxiously shushing her sister.

  “It is not necessary,” Fenice said. “The…she…the lady is the best present of all.”

  Her voice broke with trepidation, and she crimsoned with embarrassment because she did not know what to call Alys. But Raymond could not help being pleased, and he gave his eldest daughter an affectionate squeeze.

  “You must call her Lady Alys, Fenice,” he said, “and you may not realize it yet, but you never said or will say a truer thing in your life. And what did you say, little mouse, that made my wife laugh?” he asked Enid.

  Enid hung her head. She had learned that if Fenice hushed her, she was generally punished for repeating what her sister had warned against.

  “Enid has a logical mind and will take to accounts very well,” Alys teased, “whereas Fenice will be a marvelous peac
emaker. Enid said that you could make all right by giving each of them two presents this time.”

  The girls turned frightened eyes on Alys, shocked by this betrayal, but a second later all was turned to joy as their father laughed and agreed that it would be two presents. But, he said, Alys would have to furnish one of them because she had forced him to acknowledge Enid’s logic. This made Alys laugh, too, since she had already come to realize that she would need to furnish both gifts if the girls were to get them.

  Out of sight was out of mind as far as Raymond’s relationship with his daughters was concerned. He was fond of them, Alys saw, but they were not to him what she had been to her father. This warned her that he would grow impatient with them at this stage. Later, when they could show him some skills, he might be more interested, but at the present time the childish prattle would be a surfeit.

  “Now, my dears,” Alys said, “let your father be. Go and play, but take care not to go too close to the fire.”

  They slid from Raymond’s knees at once, accustomed as they were to a stinging slap from their busy mother if an order had to be repeated. Usually obedience went unrewarded, since it was expected, and disobedience was sharply punished, but this time each had a hearty kiss for promptly doing as they were told. Hugging their joy, they hurried behind the chairs to a private spot where they could disinter their rag babies from the center of their bundles where Lucie had hidden them.

  “It is very good of you, Alys,” Raymond said as soon as the children disappeared, “but there is really no reason to burden you with my…er…indiscretions. I cannot imagine what my mother was thinking of when she suggested you take them in charge.”

  “They will be no burden, my lord,” Alys protested, smiling. “You see how good and obedient they are.”

  “But they still need to be…” Raymond hesitated, having not the least idea of what was entailed in caring for children. “They need to be washed and dressed and…and suchlike.”

  Alys laughed at him. “I did not propose to take on the duties of a nursemaid, Raymond. Naturally, I will employ a woman to see to such things. Until I find someone, Bertha can attend to their physical needs, and I will teach them. I suppose no one thought of it, and you were away too much, but they are dreadfully ignorant. After all, they are your daughters. Suitable matches will need to be found for them, and they will need to know the duties of a chatelaine.”

  “You are right,” Raymond said rather blankly.

  He was not disturbed by the idea of providing proper marriages for his daughters, but by the realization that he could not suggest, as he had been about to do, that they be left in their mother’s care. Naturally, Lucie could not teach them anything to the purpose, and the hut of a huntsman was no place to raise them. From what Alys said, no one else had attempted to fit them for their station, either. Probably he should have realized that his mother and sisters would not have troubled themselves with teaching his daughters.

  “You do not mind that they will be forever under your feet?” Raymond asked.

  Then Alys saw what was making Raymond reluctant that she care for his girls. “They will not be in the way at all, my lord,” she assured him. “They will have their own quarters, and I will only need to take them with me when I see to household matters so that they can learn.” She smiled at him. “They will not be under your feet. A man has little to do with daughters, except to kiss them now and again, and tell them how pretty they are, and give them presents, of course.”

  That made Raymond laugh, and since Alys never allowed the demands of her household duties to interfere when he wanted her attention, the frown smoothed from his brow, but only momentarily. He looked over his shoulder at the entryway from the lower floor, and the frown returned. Then he signaled Alys to rise, took her chair, from which he could see the doorway, and motioned that she draw a stool up close.

  “I have been down in the armory with my father,” he said very softly, “and I am greatly troubled. Nothing is as it should be. Weapons have been flung down anywhere, rusted and broken, and unmended armor is lying useless. If we had to call in men, there would be no arms or armor for them. I do not know what my father has been doing, beyond listening to lute songs.”

  “There has been peace in these lands for many years,” Alys suggested diffidently.

  Raymond grimaced. “Once my grandfather established himself and broke the power of des Baux, yes. But that is no excuse, especially since Grandfather was so desperately ill. And it is not as if Father did not know. He spoke to me himself of the danger of war and the doubts of our vassals.” He made another moue of distaste. “I see now why they are doubtful. It needs a man—” He stopped speaking abruptly.

  Alys put a hand on his. “You are here now, my love, and all will go better.”

  “I love my father.” Raymond stared down into Alys’s face. “There is no better, kinder man, but… When he saw the armory, he was appalled and shamed, but he did not order the master-at-arms to be punished or dismissed. He—”

  “Raymond,” Alys interrupted, “your father is not only kind but just. He would not punish the master-at-arms for his own fault. Perhaps he will not say it is his fault, but in his heart he knows it.”

  “So why, instead of coming with me to talk of how the problem can be most swiftly amended, did he run above to seek comfort from my mother and sisters?”

  “Oh, Raymond, if you looked so black at me as you must have at him, I would have run elsewhere, too.”

  “Not you!” he exclaimed and laughed, but only briefly. “This armory is the least of the danger. If it was neglected, so too must have been the men. I know it is harder for a master-at-arms when the lord is neglectful, but this man should have known his duty better than this, even without overseeing. What am I to do? Order my father to punish the man or dismiss him?”

  “The master-at-arms was with you in the armory?”

  “Yes, and I did not like the way he looked, as if it were not a disgrace to him.”

  “Tell him that he has one chance to make all right, so many days or weeks. You will know the time it must take. This much, surely, you may do without your father’s orders.”

  “Yes.” Raymond gestured impatiently. “But really this is only the tip showing. Alys, if the vassals have been neglected as this keep has been and my grandfather should die, half of the liegemen, more perhaps, will break away. I can fight one or two—”

  “There is no profit in fighting one’s own vassals,” Alys said quickly.

  She had heard the words many times on Richard of Cornwall’s lips, but they had meant little to her in the days when the only vassal about whom she cared was her father. It was totally inconceivable to her that her father and her Uncle Richard should come to blows for any reason at all. Now, however, the words had become more meaningful than Alys desired.

  “My sage counselor.” Raymond’s lips twisted. “You are so right, as usual, and it is no wish of mine to do so. Yet, if they feel there is no profit in vassalage to Aix and they do not fear to be severely checked for turning away, many will try to raise themselves by swearing directly.”

  “To whom?” Alys asked. “The whole problem rests on your grandfather’s illness.”

  “Not the whole problem. If our vassals felt there was a leader strong enough to bind them together and protect them from the encroachments of others—say Toulouse or Navarre—”

  “There is now, is there not, my lord?” Alys broke in.

  Her voice was clear and steady, although her heart was heavy at the need to urge Raymond to thrust himself forward. Nonetheless, she knew her duty. Her father had spoken to her seriously, naming his own past failing by avoiding public duties and warning her that her husband already had such duties. She must support him in those duties, Sir William had insisted, not add to Raymond’s burdens by discouraging his participation in state affairs.

  “I could do it.” Raymond’s pale eyes glowed. “And I have something to offer them, also. My father and I plan, if Ra
ymond-Berenger should die, to ask Louis of France to take fealty from us.”

  “Louis!” Alys was shocked.

  “It could place me in an awkward position in the future, but while my father is alive—and he has many long years ahead, I hope—it will not affect my duty to King Henry.” Raymond explained the fears he and Alphonse had concerning Louis’s brother Charles of Anjou and the strong probability of a marriage between that young man and Beatrice. “But I believe something more positive must be offered our vassals than political talk at a wedding.”

  “You must show you have picked up the reins,” Alys said softly.

  Raymond’s brows drew together in a frown. “I do not wish to supplant my father.”

  “No!” Alys exclaimed, although she kept her voice low. “But if your father had other, more important duties, such as negotiating with King Louis—”

  “Alys, you have it!” Raymond interrupted. “As my father’s deputy, I can… Yes! I can ride to each major vassal, warn them of the danger, urge them to prepare, and give them hope of a good solution. My father is a master of diplomacy. They will be happy that he has gone to Louis, and I hope they will see in me the other side of the coin.”

  “I am sure they will.” Alys tried not to allow her anxiety to show. She was not completely successful, for her voice shook as she asked, “But there will not be any war, will there?”

  “I hope not.” Raymond smiled at her, his good humor restored by the expectation of direct action that would not precipitate a conflict for power with his father. “A war is no way to ingratiate oneself with a new overlord.” Then his smile diminished, and a look of doubt crossed his face. “It will mean that I must be away much of the time until our wedding. I will try to ride back for a night or two, but it may not be possible.”