Winter Song Read online

  Raymond had slept very well. The tranquility of the place and of the soft-voiced brothers seemed to have seeped into his soul. He was still ashamed of having forced Alys, but the sense of honor that had oppressed him and driven him to act with such haste and violence was gone. Well-rested, he understood why he had misused his wife. He knew he had been exhausted beyond rationality. He realized that he might have some difficulty explaining this to Alys, since he doubted she had ever reached that stage of fatigue in which one feels violently excited rather than tired. Nonetheless, by unfairly accusing him, she had been in the wrong. She would have to forgive him.

  Being able to think clearly and with the hysterical need for haste gone, Raymond took the opportunity to pay a brief visit to another vassal. This confirmed his better mood. The man was visibly delighted that a plan for defense was being organized and that Raymond had taken direction of it into his vigorous hands. The politics of the situation were beyond this man, but since he said he would gladly trust Lord Alphonse to know what was best, Raymond was well satisfied.

  The castellan of Gordes was very much surprised, to say the least, when he heard Raymond’s purpose, however, he had no objection. He liked Gregoire and said the man had settled well to his work despite his different background. Fortunately, the huntsman was not in the field and came promptly when summoned, but the poor man almost fainted when he saw Lucie. He thought his indiscretion had followed him, and he was about to die horribly for touching the lord’s woman. No fool, Raymond guessed from Gregoire’s distress that Lucie’s relationship with the man had not been as innocent as it should have been, but his interest in Lucie had always been minimal and his mood was too good for this to make him angry, once he had determined that Gregoire had not come to Aix until after Enid had been conceived.

  The only thing that annoyed him was the time it took to convince Gregoire that he was about to be married, not hanged. Eventually, however, this was accomplished, although Raymond thought that Gregoire might be too stunned by his good fortune to make the necessary replies to the priest. Lucie was almost as disoriented by the journey to Gordes as Gregoire had been by fear. She had never before ridden on a horse, and she had been bruised and terrified by the experience. Despite these problems, however, the pair was finally united.

  Still kneeling after the final words were said, Lucie swiveled and caught at Raymond’s hand. She kissed it and thanked him and begged with tears that he would be kind to Fenice and Enid. Raymond patted her carelessly, much as he would a dog, but he assured her that his daughters would be well cared for and added, suddenly remembering that she might miss them, that perhaps some day she and Gregoire could return to Aix. To that, Lucie only bowed her head. She did not wish to return to Aix if Gregoire was content with his place. Although life was strange among the mountains and she would miss her girls, she would be safe from Lady Jeannette. Besides, she would have other children, Lucie thought. Anyway, Fenice and Enid had never really seemed to belong to her. They were noble born. Gregoire’s get would be all hers.

  Soon after the wedding was over, the messenger from Aix arrived. Raymond’s mouth tightened when he heard the news. He was truly sorry, for many reasons, that his grandfather was dead, but he was not inclined to burst into tears. What he felt most strongly at that moment was surprise that his father had acted so promptly to notify him, for the messenger reported on being questioned that he had been sent out very soon after the news came to Aix.

  Naturally, Raymond did not examine the seal on the letter since he was sure who had sent it. Thus, he was again surprised to see a strange handwriting. Assuming the chaplain had written the letter for his father, Raymond skipped the salutation and looked at the body only to realize that many words seemed unfamiliar. He looked back at the salutation, and it struck him like a blow. Alys! He should have known it would be Alys who had sense enough to act quickly in a crisis. His heart filled with gratitude for a wife who, however hurt and angry, could put aside her feelings when there was grave need.

  By the time he had read the opening sentences, Raymond could barely restrain himself from ordering the horses saddled and rushing back to Aix, so desperately eager was he to take Alys in his arms and comfort her, assure her he was not angry any longer. But the length of the letter restrained him. Alys was not one to waste parchment in a long lament, and a few minutes more could not matter, though it took more than a few minutes to decipher the strange spelling. Many times he had to stop and think how the words sounded in Alys’s voice before he could make sense of them. Each time he did, a thrill of emotion passed over him, but the meaning of the letter soon quelled softer feelings.

  Alys was right. Everything she had done was right and for the best, but Raymond was torn several ways at once. He recognized the unwritten warning that he must stay away from Arles. It was not impossible that Sir Romeo might try to seize Aix itself or other portions of his father’s domains if he learned that Alphonse was on his way to King Louis. Raymond hoped that Sir Romeo either would not discover where Alphonse was going or that he would understand Alphonse had no intention of asking Louis to make him Count of Provence because he was Raymond-Berenger’s son. Sir Romeo should have sense enough, even if he did not trust Alphonse, to realize that Louis would not consider such a thing even for a moment. Still, crises warp men’s judgment, and Raymond might have to protect his property by force.

  Equally, Raymond knew that the arrival of every female member of the Aix family, including even the “future” wife of the heir, would go a long way to steadying Sir Romeo’s judgment. And, even if Sir Romeo believed Alphonse had sent the women to Arles to cover some treachery, Sir Romeo would not do the women any harm. The worst that would happen was that he would keep them mewed up until everything was settled. Thinking further, Raymond made a faint sound of dissatisfaction. Alys was right in what she had done, but he wished she were less clear-sighted. He would far rather meet Sir Romeo’s suspicions, even defend his estate by arms, than lose his wife for the months it might take to settle the affairs of Provence.

  Then another thought occurred to him. Ernaldus! Raymond had completely forgotten about him in the various stresses that had filled his mind. He stood up, intending to call for pen and parchment to write a warning, and then he sat down again. To whom could he write a warning? Certainly not to Alys. She had enough on her mind without his adding fear to it. Besides, his father would not be in Tour Dur to receive his letter. As for his mother, Raymond did not even think of writing to her, she would be worse than useless. So would Jeanine, and Margot was too young. He bit his lip. Arnald wouldn’t do, either, for he could not read and would automatically take any letter addressed to him to his mistress.

  Then Raymond’s anxiety faded. It was true that many would attend Raymond-Berenger’s obsequies, but probably not des Baux. They were longtime enemies and would scorn to honor the man who had broken them. Moreover, Raymond had considerable doubt that Sir Romeo would even send notice of Raymond-Berenger’s death to des Baux. Sir Romeo might well believe the information would act as a spur to rebellious activity. Thus, Ernaldus might not even know the count was dead. Besides, the bailiff almost certainly thought his plot against Alys had succeeded. He would think she had been buried in Gascony and would not be looking for her.

  In any case, it was ridiculous to think that des Baux would bring a bailiff along if he intended to come to the court of the Count of Provence. Thus, Raymond pushed the thought of Ernaldus out of his mind. It was insignificant in comparison with the current news. Picking up Alys’s letter, he began at the beginning again, reading more easily now that he was familiar with her hand and spelling.

  When he came to the final lines of the letter, however, Raymond began to bite his lower lip. He read the lines again and again. Apparently Alys believed he intended to punish her in some way, yet it was impossible for her to be ignorant of the fact that he had taken Lucie away to get her married. She knew he had gone to Gordes because she had written to him there, and assured him o
f her love, but… Raymond read the lines again. No, her love was the one thing of which she did not assure him. Could Alys be hoping they would be kept hostage?

  Again Raymond had to subdue the impulse to rush back to Aix. This time he was dissuaded by the bitter thought that if Alys was so desperate to avoid him that she preferred months of confinement, it would do him little good to go to her. Moreover, he did not believe he could arrive before Alys got the family started for Arles. Had the journey been under his mother’s or even his father’s direction, he probably could have walked to Aix from Gordes and arrived in time. With Alys holding the whip, however, they would doubtless be on the road before dawn.

  *****

  Raymond was not quite correct in his estimate of the time of departure, but he was not far off. Actually, although everything was packed and loaded by dawn, Alys did not expect to get the women out of Aix before tierce. She was far less worried about that than about whether she would be able to convince Alphonse to go directly to King Louis without stopping at Arles to pay his respects to his father’s corpse. It was surprisingly easy, however, so easy that it seemed to Alys that she must have had Divine help.

  Alys had not gone to the south tower that night and was sitting in the great hall by the fire reviewing what she had done and trying to think of what still remained to be done long after everyone else was in bed. She had just got to the disposal of Fenice and Enid. The chaplain was to take them and Bertha to Lady Catherine, who, Alys had been assured, was kindness itself. Bertha would give the girls some sense of stability, Alys hoped, and would report honestly on whether they liked Mistress Sophia.

  Suddenly a flicker of movement across the hall near the chapel entrance attracted Alys’s eye. She held her breath and tiptoed silently after. It was, as she had hoped, Lord Alphonse. Alys had been nearly frantic trying to think of a way to talk to him alone.

  For a few minutes she listened and then gave most sincere thanks to God. Alphonse was praying quietly, not weeping. After a few minutes more, Alys entered and knelt down beside him, softly echoing the prayers for the dead. Had he been alone too long, Lord Alphonse might have slipped back into despair, but the knowledge that someone was with him steadied him. When the prayer was complete, he turned his head.

  “Alys? What do you here at this hour?” Alphonse got to his feet and helped Alys to hers.

  “Very little, my lord,” she replied quietly. “I only wished to be near if some service were needed.”

  Alphonse drew her closer and kissed her forehead. “Raymond has brought a true blessing into this house,” he said, “but you will be overtired, my dear. Why do you not go up and share Margot’s bed? She will welcome you, I am sure.”

  “Perhaps I will,” Alys agreed slowly, trying desperately to think of a way to introduce the subject of his trip to King Louis.

  She knew it would be impossible to raise the subject in Lady Jeannette’s presence. Lady Jeannette would have a fit. She would weep and plead, and Alphonse would be torn apart before he went, if he went at all. Most dangerous would be that Lady Jeannette might convince her husband that his presence would be necessary for the safety of his womenfolk during the journey. Once in Arles, Alys feared, Lord Alphonse would not get out again. If only she could get him to leave before Lady Jeannette woke in the morning, everything else would be easy. Since only failure loomed on every side, Alys decided to take the bull by the horns. She laid a hand on Alphonse’s arm.

  “It is dreadful that affairs of state must press upon one at a time of grief,” she said softly, “but I must tell you that all is packed and ready, and the men who will accompany you have been warned. You may leave for France at first light.”

  Alphonse looked at her with utter blankness.

  “Raymond said that you decided it would be best if you yourself brought King Louis the news of our great loss,” Alys went on, as if she were certain that everything was settled, “and at the same time offered him your fealty. Is this not still urgently necessary? Raymond seemed to think that the overlordship of Charles of Anjou would be very harsh, whereas that of King Louis would be just and merciful.”

  “Raymond told you…” Alphonse repeated uncertainly, unsure of how much his son had revealed and also astounded that he would discuss such matters with a woman.

  Alys never gave a thought to the true cause of Alphonse’s amazement. Her mind leapt to the conclusion that Alphonse would be hurt and angry at the revelation of his weakness and neglect. He must not think that Raymond had mentioned that.

  “He was so proud that you had found an answer to the problem,” she said hastily, “that he could not resist explaining it to me.”

  “Ah.”

  Alys took the indeterminate sound for acceptance and satisfaction and hurried on. “So I took the liberty of having your manservant pack your clothing and the master-at-arms choose ten men to accompany you. You have only to call for your arms, and you may leave when you are ready. If you do not wish to wake your wife so early, why do you not lie down in Raymond’s bed? It is all ready. I will explain the necessity to Lady Jeannette in the morning, or you may leave a letter for her.”

  Again Alphonse stared. He did not remember clearly the talk he had had with Raymond about offering his homage to Louis, but he did not think the possibility of his not attending his father’s funeral had been mentioned. Still, he knew that such an idea would not shock Raymond. Raymond was hard, he thought, but the resentful thought was followed by a wash of shame. Raymond had ridden all the way back from Gréoux to apologize to him and tell him that the vassals were faithful despite his negligence, not that Raymond had put it that way. He had said, most handsomely, that Alphonse’s good qualities had ensured the devotion of his men.

  Alphonse firmed his jaw and straightened his shoulders. He would not be weak and negligent again, he told himself. If Raymond felt he must go to King Louis at once, he would go. Moreover, he knew his father would by far have preferred that he save his lands and people from hurt rather than pay respects to a dead body. After all, the soul had already fled. Alphonse vowed that he would stop at every church and abbey he passed and pay for Masses to be said for his father’s soul, and would go to the bishop of Paris himself and have that high prelate pray for his father. A sense of purpose and satisfaction filled Alphonse.

  “Yes,” he said, “I will go. Daughter, I have been stricken by a great loss, but you have softened that blow as I would not have believed possible for a woman to do.”

  Impulsively, Alys kissed him. “And you have repaid me a thousand times over by your kindness for any help and service I may have given.”

  She led him from the chapel and helped him into Raymond’s bed, holding her breath all the time lest he suddenly begin to have second thoughts. But by the time she had made up the fire, Alphonse’s eyes had closed and Alys hurried back to the chapel with prayers of thanks. She was sure that the holy place had had an influence and that God or His saints had convinced Alphonse.

  Still, Alys did not yet feel easy. Until she saw Alphonse ride out through the gates, she did not really draw a comfortable breath. Alphonse had a few difficult minutes at the end, when he began to worry about how his wife would be affected, but Alys reminded him of how strong Lady Jeannette had been when grief had overpowered him, and assured him that his wife would rise to the need of supporting her daughters. More sincerely, Alys promised that in case Lady Jeannette should be afflicted, she herself would care for her. Fortunately, Alphonse found this last promise sufficiently reassuring, for he kissed Alys, called her a treasure once more, and departed.

  Alys was, in fact, less worried about the storm she knew would break over her head from Lady Jeannette’s direction than that Alphonse would lose heart and turn back. In this, however, she was mistaken. Once on the road, Lord Alphonse was overtaken by an enormous sense of freedom. He was totally unaware of how much he had feared Raymond-Berenger, of the dread he had felt at being required to advise Lady Beatrice and Sir Romeo because, somehow, he knew
his father would be listening and his advice would be wrong. Now he had a clear duty, one of which he knew Raymond would approve and one he knew he could perform perfectly. Alphonse was equally unaware that his son had taken his father’s place.

  Having waited a little while to make sure Alphonse would not come back, Alys went wearily back into the keep. She looked dully around the great hall, where servants were laying away pallets and beginning the duties of the day. Gervase hurried over to her.

  “Will you break your fast, my lady?”

  Alys blinked heavy eyes. She had been to Mass at lauds with Sir Alphonse, and it was perfectly in reason to eat now if she liked. But she had no desire for food and shook her head. Gervase looked at her with considerable anxiety. Alys’s face was white and strained, and mauve rings circled the eyes that showed lids blued with fatigue. Never in his years of employment at Tour Dur had Gervase had a day like the one past.

  When Gervase had heard the news of Raymond-Berenger’s death, he had almost wished for his own. Not that he was so attached to the Count of Provence, although he knew him and reckoned him a good man, but Gervase had dreaded the days that would follow. Sir Alphonse, distraught with his own grief, would be further tormented by his shrieking, fainting women. Orders would be given, then canceled, renewed, changed, and Gervase would be blamed for every failure and confusion.

  However, the seemingly childlike bride-to-be of Lord Raymond had grasped the reins firmly in her small hands. Under Alys’s tactful guidance, Lady Jeannette had comforted her husband instead of adding to his troubles, and both were out of the way. In addition, Lady Jeanine had shown more energy and decisiveness than Gervase ever remembered, and Lady Margot also had been actively helpful. A miracle had come to pass.