SirenSong (19 page)

The whole thing was ridiculous anyway, William thought
exasperatedly. No one wanted him dead. God knew what the dog died of, maybe too
full a stomach. The fight in the camp was an everyday occurrence. The arrow had
doubtless been loosed by a thoughtless idiot who was scared out of his wits by
his near miss and had hidden himself away. William would never have given any
of the matters a second thought if it had not been for the way Raymond reacted.
Suspicion not being enough, the young knight now dogged his master’s steps with
the watchfulness of the nurse of a precious heir.

It was embarrassing and yet so good and kind that he had not
the heart really to scold Raymond. The anxious care would have been completely
comical, except for one thing. William knew Raymond liked him—it was mutual—but
he was sure such devotion was owing to Raymond’s terror of needing to tell Alys
that harm had come to her father and he had not been there to prevent it.
Raymond and Alys… Raymond had no lands, no home, and he loved Alys. If Raymond
was there to protect Marlowe and Bix and Alys, he could take Elizabeth…
William’s eyes closed and at last he slept.

Just at dawn, he woke with a start, listening, but whatever
sound had dragged him from his delightful dreams—if it had been a sound—was
gone. He lay, thinking about those dreams, acknowledging with pain that
Elizabeth was not bound to Mauger but to Hurley and, even if he were free of
the responsibility of Alys and his lands, she would not be similarly freed. He
sat up suddenly, and then looked guiltily toward Raymond, sorry if he had
wakened him. He realized at once that Raymond had not been asleep. His glance
had been so close to his quick movement, that he caught Raymond’s unguarded
expression. William’s heart was wrenched. He knew that look too well. His own
face had worn it too often for him to mistake the misery it betrayed.

William said nothing. Raymond had already turned his back.
In any case, what could he say? If Alys could be happy with the man Richard had
in mind for her, should he deprive her of luxury because he wanted her with him
or because he wanted to ease Raymond’s suffering? Then it occurred to William
that, although Richard loved Alys dearly, he had no idea what it was to want a
woman he could not have. Richard had married twice for duty and both times had
been fortunate. His first marriage had been happy, if not wildly passionate.
His second looked to be even more successful.

Without doubt, Richard would expect Alys to do the same.
William had never thought about the matter before. He knew Richard would do no
more than suggest as long as he was alive, and he had always rather counted on
the marriage to Aubery. Richard knew about that plan. He had not been
enthusiastic, saying Alys was worth much better, but agreed that if she wanted
Aubery the union would make a nice block of power and land in a rich area.

Things had changed, however. The plan concerning Aubery was
ended, and William thought suddenly,
I am about to go into battle today. I
am not immortal
.

He had not even been scratched in the two skirmishes thus
far, but accidents did happen. If that arrow had been a few inches more to the
right… They were about to set a trap for the Welsh in a small village this very
afternoon. By some crazy mischance it might happen that he could be killed.
Richard was far away, still in Flanders or marching toward Scotland. Alys
would
be left naked. He used to count on Mauger to protect her, but Mauger would be
in the same action this afternoon, and even if Mauger came out unscathed, he
was no safe protector for Alys. He would force her into an unwanted marriage.

No. No more forced marriages. William drew on a bedrobe and
got his writing desk. Setting it across his knees, he explained the whole
situation in great detail to Richard, including his wish that Alys be permitted
to marry Raymond if that was what she desired.

When William looked up from sealing the letter, he found
Raymond’s eyes on him, “Sometimes,” he said with a smile, “I think I am a fool.
All the times I have gone to war before, it was in the Earl of Cornwall’s tail.
Thus, I have never had to think what would befall if I were hurt or killed.
Richard, as you know, would care for Alys as if she were his own. This time,
however, he is far away, too far away, if…” William hesitated, then told
Raymond of the plan for marriage with Aubery that had been aborted.

“Does Sir Mauger know you are opposed to it now?” Raymond
asked, suspicion rising in his eyes.

“No. I did not think this a good time to tell him. He is
not…not easy with his sons. I was a little afraid he would be harsh with
Aubery, blaming him for not fixing Alys’s affection. There is another reason
too,” William said slowly, “which is private to me. However, you need not
suspect Sir Mauger of wishing me ill. My death could not profit him because
Richard, who is my overlord, has no reason to favor a marriage with Aubery
except to oblige me.”

Raymond nodded, but his face was frozen. The talk of Alys’s
marriage was tearing him apart. It was impossible for him to offer for her,
impossible from every way he looked at it. His father would have a fit, would
probably disown him for taking a wife who brought no fortune and no alliance.
On the other side, he would do Sir William, whom he loved dearly, great harm if
he married Alys. She would need to live with him in Aix, and Marlowe would have
no master. Worse would befall the estate than what William was now saying he
feared for it.

Raymond already understood that Sir William, who was well
young enough to father and raise a male heir, would not marry again. The
subject had come up in an early talk with Alys. She had only shaken her head
and said, “There is a woman he cannot have. He will take no other.” In the
beginning, Raymond had thought that attitude lunatic. Now, when he thought of
marrying some woman other than Alys for lands or power, he felt sick. Sir
William thought he would leave the estate to Alys and her sons. Could Raymond
take even that away from him?

Reason was all on one side. Reason told him that when this
war was over and he had proof to give King Henry that Sir William was a loyal
man, he should not return to Marlowe. As he thought of it, such a pang of
longing tore at him that, involuntarily, his breath hissed in. Surprisingly,
Sir William did not ask about it, did not even look at him, but went on
explaining how dear Marlowe was to him and that he hoped Alys’s husband would
be willing to make it his home.

Reason flew right out the tent door flap when Raymond
realized Sir William was subtly encouraging him, whom he thought to be a
penniless and homeless hireling, to try for Alys. “Sir—” he gasped.

But Sir William shook his head firmly. “There is no need to
consider such matters now. Only if I should die, you must go at once to Marlowe
to make sure that no one tries to seize Alys or to influence her against her
will until Richard should be free of his duties and able to take her into his
care. Here is a letter for him, explaining all I have said to you.”

“You think that there is great danger in this raid that is
planned?” Raymond asked, rather surprised.

William smiled. “No. More than in the two previous ones,
yes. From what the scouts have told us, the village might be a trap, but it is
a trap we wish to spring and precautions are being taken to avoid excessive
danger.”

“I did not think you were deliberately leading me to my
death,” Raymond said, grinning. “You would not do that without telling me in
the fairest manner, as you told me, most truthfully, that there would be no
loot in Wales.”

“Puppy!” William exclaimed, looking fondly at the young man
and laughing at his teasing. “However, I have not told you all. Go get us
something with which to break our fast and I will confess everything I learned
in council. It is time for you to know.”

It was true that William knew a great deal more than he told
Raymond or anyone else, for he was deep in the council of the Earl of Hereford.
De Bohun, despite his youth and Richard’s fears, was no fool at all. He had
guessed why Richard always knew what the lesser men were thinking. Hereford was
a good leader and went out among his men, but he knew there was always some
restraint in what they said to him. Probably they would warn him if what he
intended would cause a disaster, but they were chary of offering too much
advice lest they offend someone much mightier than themselves. Sir William,
childhood friend and close companion of Earl Richard, had no such reservations.
So Hereford had invited William to come to the war councils which were
ordinarily reserved for the great vassals that held directly from the king.

Thus, William had all the news and a much wider view of the
planning than the other minor knights. Now, only hours before the action was to
begin, William felt free to describe the situation fully to Raymond.

“You have heard, I imagine, that the king was faced with a
war from Scotland as well as this little business here in Wales,” William
began, after a servant had brought them bowls of some cereal mush flavored with
bits of salt meat and cheese.

“It was rumored about, yes,” Raymond answered. “Some of the
men say it was agreed between David ap Llewelyn and King Alexander.”

“Perhaps, although I think ‘agreed’ is too strong a word.
Having married the daughter of Ingelram de Coucy, Alexander was too swayed by
his father-by-marriage’s proud talk and his offers of support. He cried
defiance to Henry. David, most reasonably, chose to use Henry’s preoccupation
with Scotland to accomplish his own ends without waiting for the slow and
uncertain deliberations of the pope.”

“Does the war with the Scots go ill?” Raymond asked.

William shook his head. “Far to the contrary. Richard
obtained the Count of Flanders’s support. With this and the levy and other
mercenaries, the king marched north. Meanwhile, Ingelram had died in a most
peculiar fashion. His son John upheld his father’s promise but the barons of the
Cinque Ports were warned, ships were out, and the French were turned back.”

“I suppose that cooled Alexander’s ardor,” Raymond said.

“Yes, it did, more especially because John de Coucy made it
plain that he had honored his father’s promise but did not agree with him and
would do no more.”

“Then Henry had a clear victory?”

“You might call it that,” William said, laughing, “but no
one did a lick for it, except my poor Richard, who rode back and forth between
the parties until terms were agreed.”

“Then they did not fight.”

William laughed again at the disappointment in Raymond’s
voice. “No, they did not.”

Raymond frowned. “But the king has been at considerable
cost, I guess, to bring the Count of Flanders and his men here. What kind of
victory can be won without a fight?”

“I do not know the terms of the peace,” William replied. “I
can only guess that we are back where we were before Alexander cried defiance.
Possibly Alexander will pay Henry’s costs. I do not know, but with the Scots,
this peace will last a little longer, I hope, than one gained by force of arms.
That is some advantage.”

The look of doubt on Raymond’s face, which must have
mirrored his own, made William laugh aloud. “In any case,” he went on, “the
peace with the Scots does not concern us, except that when the Welsh hear of it
they will doubtless believe that Henry will bring the great army he has
gathered here to use against them. Thus, they will divide into small parties
and flee up into the mountains so that it is impossible to bring them to battle.
No, do not shake your head. This is their practice.”

“But that will leave their lands defenseless,” Raymond
began, and then started to laugh himself. “Where there is nothing to defend, I
suppose it does not matter if the land be defenseless.”

William shrugged. “The older men tell me that large armies
have repeatedly been driven out of Wales this way. A large army soon starves in
this wilderness, and its spirit can be broken by harassment. There has been
considerable surprise that we have been so little troubled by raids on the camp
and arrows on the march. They think that David is not so skillful as his father
and might be fooled. Thus, Hereford and Clare are agreed that we should spring
this trap and see what comes of it. Indeed, if we wish to inflict any real hurt
on them it must be within the next few days before they hear about the peace
with Alexander.”

“We are to be bait?” Raymond asked.

“Yes, exactly. The men who know Welsh ways think there is a
large force nearby. If we go into the village and seem intent on looting, we
hope it will bring the large force down on us. They like to wipe out small
detachments and then fade away into the woods. We must seem like a renegade
group, carrying skins of wine, spread out over the village to loot, and seeming
half drunk. Hopefully we will be too tempting a target to resist.”

Raymond’s brows shot up. “You say well. In such disorder, we
will
be slaughtered.”

“I hope not. As soon as they attack, you will fire the
largest barn, which we will have soaked with oil—that is what will be in our
‘wineskins’. When the smoke from that is visible, and it should rise in
minutes, Sir Mauger will bring his troops to our aid if we are engaged with a
small group. If the main army should take the bait, Mauger will send signals to
Hereford, who will be ready with the full army.”

“I am not accustomed to such actions,” Raymond said, but his
eyes were bright with interest.

“Nor I,” William admitted. “I fought in Wales in my youth as
Chester’s squire, but we were defending keeps in the usual way or sometimes
raiding a village in retaliation. Still, the men who fought against old Prince
Llewelyn think this is the best hope to draw the Welsh into battle.”

“I hope so,” Raymond replied, “but I cannot understand the
need. They are brave men. I could see that when we engaged with them. Why then
must they be tricked’ into battle. Why do they not attack us and drive us out?”