SirenSong (31 page)

“Why? Are you going to tell my daughter that I am so
delicate that a shock would throw me into a decline? She will never believe
you.”

“Do not be ridiculous,” Elizabeth giggled. “You are not the
declining sort, William. You glower. No, it is most reasonable. Alys will
understand that if Raymond speaks and you do not approve or even feel you need
time to think, you will have to send him away. Then, if there should be trouble
of any kind, you would naturally feel obliged to put on your armor and settle
it, even if you were not sound.”

“I see that you prefer me as an idiot to a decliner. What
the hell good would I be to anyone if I was not well enough to wield my
weapons?”

Elizabeth raised a brow. “What you consider well enough and
what Alys and I consider well enough will be sufficiently different to keep her
and Raymond silent for some weeks.”

In the antechamber the tray Martin was carrying began to
tremble in his hands. He was an old man and had never been strong. Normally
Raymond or Alys would have brought the tray, but they were both out. Now, of
course, Martin saw that decision as Divine intervention. It would have been
beyond measure horrible if anyone else had seen the master and Lady Elizabeth
kissing. It was not the kind of kiss that could be explained away. They were
clearly lovers. Martin had recoiled instinctively from the sight. It was a sin,
a dreadful sin. Lust was one of the seven deadly sins. But, as he stood rooted
with shock, he could not help hearing what they were saying. There was no lust
in their voices or words. There was a tender love for each other, and for Alys,
and even for Raymond. Could such love be a sin?

Martin did not feel guilty about overhearing the
conversation. There was no harm in his hearing. He might even be able to help.
So, when the weight of the tray became too much for him, he coughed and
shuffled forward as slowly and noisily as he could.

“Oh, it is you!” William exclaimed with relief. “Elizabeth,
take that tray from Martin before he drops it. Dear man, whatever made you
carry that load?”

Elizabeth had taken the tray and put it on a table. Now she
tried to tuck her hair under her wimple.

“Take it off and redo it,” William advised, laughing at her.
“You have it all rucked up on a side, and you look like a drunken elf.”

He spoke quite uninhibitedly, as if Martin were not there,
and in a strange way that was true. Over the years, William had begun to think
of Martin almost as a part of himself, an extra hand, pair of eyes, brain. It
no more occurred to William that Martin would betray him than that his own
right hand would suddenly seize a knife and cut his throat.

In that sense, William was right. Martin would no more hurt
him or Alys than their own bodies would. The old cripple had purpose and
volition, however. He thought for himself and thought well. What made him
responsive as an extra limb was love, and unconsciously, William fed that love
continually. His eyes did not slide away from Martin’s deformed body and ugly
face. He called him “dear man” and meant it.

The careless exposure of his master’s darkest secret—his
relationship with Elizabeth—was to Martin a greater and surer symbol of
affection and trust. Martin was still aware that their love was a sin, but,
naked now, the sin was no more revolting to him than his deformity was
revolting to his master. Somewhere deep inside he wished there was a way to
take that sin upon himself, but he knew it to be impossible. To love unwisely
was a sin of the strong and beautiful.

“Sit down, a minute, Martin,” William said, while Elizabeth
spread a cloth over the covers to protect them from crumbs and spills and moved
the tray to his knees. “Lady Elizabeth and I believe that there is a fondness
between Lady Alys and Raymond. Is this your opinion also?”

“Indeed, my lord, it is,” Martin confirmed, nodding his too
large head. “I was greatly troubled in my mind over it, and wished to speak to
you, not that either child has done a thing or said a word that could be
blamed, but I feared their hurt from so unsuitable an affection. I was afraid
to tell you also, while you were so weak. My lord, I must confess, I overheard
what you said to Lady Elizabeth.”

“How much?” William asked calmly.

“That you did not oppose the marriage but for some reason do
not wish to give permission at this time.”

“You might as well hear the whole,” William said and
explained the situation with regard to himself, Elizabeth, and Mauger,
finishing, “I do not want the children to suffer, Martin. If there is any way
for you to ease their minds without giving them the notion that they may act as
a betrothed couple, you may do what you think wise for them.”

“I understand,” Martin said, “but I do not think you need to
worry about their suffering. I know Raymond has already been much distressed,
probably he wished to speak to you and feared, as I did, to worsen your health.
I can take that need away by warning him that, he must on no account confess
his own sins before you can bear arms, just as my lady said. This will ease his
conscience, and he will cast off all worry for a time. And if he is happy, my
lord, Lady Alys will be happy.”

Chapter Sixteen

It was not long before William had proof that his advisers
had judged correctly. Alys and Raymond came home for dinner, and Alys,
trembling with renewed terror, crept to her father’s door. She heard an oath,
followed by a hearty burst of laughter and flew through the antechamber to the
bedroom doorway. There her relief and joy were confirmed. Her father and Lady
Elizabeth were playing chess, and from the look of the board, he was being
soundly beaten.

“Papa,” she cried, “you are all right.”

“Of course I am all right, you silly chit. Do you really
expect me to be murdered by my own servants if you and Raymond are out of the
keep for a few hours?”

“No, but—but you said your head ached, and you looked so
strange, and Elizabeth got all pale… I thought—I thought…”

“I am so sorry, dearling,” William said contritely,
realizing for the first time that he had frightened his daughter when he sent
her away. “I had been wakened suddenly and I was—er—cross and—er—” He glanced
at Elizabeth, but her face was wooden with suppressed laughter, which did not
help in the least. “I was just stupid with sleep, Alys. I am fine. I will get
out of bed tomorrow for a while.”

William thought that the announcement would distract Alys,
and it did, but it did not produce quite the enthusiasm he expected. Alys said
she was glad, but there was a shade of reserve in her voice that William did
not think had anything to do with fear that he was not well enough to get up.
Hastily, to forestall a confession he did not want to hear, he asked what she
had seen on the demesne.

“The hay is nearly all in,” she replied, “and the crops are
very good. Next week the men will begin to harvest the south slope. There was
something though—” Her eyes sought Elizabeth.

“Something about the farm, love?” Elizabeth asked brightly,
her eyes warning.

“The town—” Alys said hesitantly.

William slapped a hand on the chess board, sending the
pieces flying. “Sorry,” he said to Elizabeth, “I concede,” and looked back at
Alys. “Do not tell me that they have put up buildings at the near curve of the
river. I—”

“No, Papa, no,” Alys soothed.

“Something is wrong in Marlowe?” Elizabeth asked, the
warning gone from her voice.

The question was clearly permission to discuss that subject.
Alys now understood that Elizabeth had been warning her away from mentioning
any personal matters that might distress her father, and she was relieved.
Raymond’s anodyne for fear had been most efficacious. Once out of the keep,
with her attention fixed on the fields and the serfs, her terror had become muted.
Raymond had suggested that they ride through the town and look about there
also. Here, he was more cognizant than Alys. He was well accustomed to dealing
with tolls and fees from towns and commerce. Although much of his experience
was with larger places, the principles were the same.

The busy wharfs had gained Raymond’s approval, but he had
begun to frown a trifle when an obsequious merchant hurried up and began to
explain the activity as most unusual. When the merchant also made obvious
efforts to lure them away from the area, the frown disappeared and Raymond
began to look so bland and guileless that Alys had some difficulty in
restraining herself from laughing. She took her cue from him, however, and
agreed to everything the merchant said, like a perfect fool.

They had ridden home after that, but Alys had no chance to
be afraid because Raymond had pressed her with questions about Sir William’s
arrangement with the town. Was it chartered? Was it Sir William’s land? Was it
a “farm” with a stated fee? If so, was the farm “at pleasure”? Was it
contracted for so many years?

For once Alys had to confess herself at a loss. She knew the
town was not chartered and that the land was in her father’s fife, but little
more than that. One of the guildmasters had come with money, and she had
entered the sums in the account books. Her father had never complained, but
then, he was not a greedy man. Raymond’s questions reminded her of her own
doubts. Alys was not greedy either, but she objected violently, as would Sir William,
to being cheated.

Thus, she was glad Elizabeth thought her father well enough
to answer such questions, and even gladder that she had been wordlessly
forbidden to mention more personal subjects. The hours she had spent with
Raymond had increased her desire to be his wife. There was an ease, a meeting
of minds, a fitting together of knowledge and experience, one complementing the
other, that gave great promise for a rich life together. The better that life
seemed, the more nervous Alys became about her father’s reaction to Raymond’s
true status and reason for being with them.

“Is it really all right to talk business with Papa?” she
asked outright. “He may get angry.”

“That is a damned stupid thing to say, Alys,” William
remarked, laughing. “First of all, I will be angry before you start if you
introduce a subject like that. Secondly, you now must tell me because I will be
even angrier if you do not. Very well, out with it. What is wrong in Marlowe?”

“I think Raymond can explain better than I, Papa. May I call
him in?”

“Certainly,” William said, but he cast one glance at
Elizabeth.

She smiled reassuringly at him as soon as Alys was out of
the room. “She will warn him to say nothing. She understands that business is
not so heating to the blood—for you, at least—as love.”

“How true that is,” William responded with a leer.

“Shameless!” Elizabeth reproved sternly, but William nodded
with such enthusiasm that she burst out laughing.

Alys found Raymond coming out of Martin’s chamber. “Oh,
there you are,” she exclaimed. “Papa wishes to speak to you.”

“Now?” Raymond asked apprehensively. “But I was just talking
to Martin, who said I must, on no account, ask your father—”

“Not about us. Do not dare even hint at that.” Her smile was
brilliant. “I was wrong. Papa is quite well. He wants to know what is going on
in Marlowe. Lady Elizabeth thinks it is quite all right to talk business, even
if it makes him angry, but I could not explain clearly enough.”

“Yes,” Raymond said, his jaw hardening, “that needs
explaining.”

He marched firmly into William’s bedchamber, sufficiently
intent on the business in hand to be rid, temporarily, of his feeling of guilt.
Moreover, he knew this was a subject about which he probably understood more
than his “master”. It eased his conscience somewhat to know that he could do
Sir William a good turn. In a few minutes he had the basic facts concerning the
town’s obligations to its overlord clear.

“Then you are being badly cheated,” Raymond said angrily,
adding hastily, “I beg you not to lose your temper, sir.”

“No, I will not,” William remarked calmly, although there
was a grim tightness in his lips. “It is mostly owing to my own neglect and is
almost as much my fault as theirs. One should not set temptation in the way of
common men. They have no sense of honor. To them, what will make a profit is
good.”

And William did manage to keep his temper as they discussed
the matter thoroughly, deciding that the first step was to set a guard on the
docks and determine what was shipped in and out. Raymond’s only doubts were as
to the value of the goods here in England.

“Martin will know that,” William said, “but I do not like to
send him into the town. I know you will not let anyone hurt him, Raymond, but
getting him there will be a problem and he feels it so much when people make
signs at him to ward off evil—”

“I know also, Papa,” Alys put in brightly.

“It will not be necessary for anyone to be with me,” Raymond
said stiffly. He realized that Alys was trying to push her father into a tacit
acknowledgment of her right to be with him. “I can write down how many bolts of
cloth, bushels of grain, and so on, and—”

“And we will need an interpreter to understand what you
write,” Alys laughed. “I could hardly read a word of your letter. Perhaps I
should go as your clerk.”

William bit his lip, torn between anger and laughter. He
understood quite well what Alys was doing, and if he had not been almost as
eager to get her out of the keep as she was to be with Raymond, so that he and
Elizabeth could have some privacy, he would have been furious. As it was, he
was amused and tempted, all the more because Raymond seemed more reluctant than
eager for her company.

“You do spell most vilely, Raymond,” William admitted.

“He does not spell vilely,” Elizabeth protested, before Raymond
could decide whether Sir William was using this excuse to give Alys the
permission she desired or had spoken the simple truth as he saw it without
realizing where it would lead. “He writes a fair hand of the French of the
south. Anyway, it does not matter how he spells, since he will be here to read
his own writing.”