Winter Song (31 page)

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.”

“Yes, and I most strongly urged each to come, hinting it was
not only for the festivities and witnessing, but also that it was time to take
council together.”

“Good. Good,” Raymond approved. “Now we must make plain to
them why it will be better that they remain tied to us.”

“Yes, but I am not too eager to tell them outright what I
think of Charles—” Alphonse began doubtfully.

“Why not?” Raymond broke in. “Pardon me, Father, I did not
mean to interrupt, but to tell them of Charles’s ambition, without harsh words,
of course, may suit our purpose very well.”

“If Louis takes me as vassal. But what if he does not?”
Alphonse asked.

“All the more, then. Would it not be easier for Charles to
swallow up one small holding at a time? If we all stand together, he will choke
on so large a mouthful. Moreover, you and I will stand buffer between what is
his desire and what is theirs.”

That did not make Alphonse look any happier. “I would not
care to oppose Charles,” he said.

Raymond’s eyes flashed. “He will learn a sharp lesson if he
tries to bite a piece out of Aix. However, let us look on the bright side and
assume Louis will accept your homage. I believe it likely he will, for Charles
will not dare argue about anything until he has Beatrice hard and fast, and
Louis, as we both agree, is no fool. Either way, I still feel that the more
honest we are, the less trouble we will have with our men.”

Alphonse sighed. “Yes.”

“Then we had better be honest about the wedding in England,
also,” Raymond went on. “To be caught in a little lie would be a great mistake
at this time.”

“That is true,” Alphonse agreed, looking even more worried. “On
the other hand, what if they choose to take offense? There are those among them
who are troublemakers. I can just hear them grumbling that they were drawn to
Aix for a farce.”

“There is that. We will need to straddle the truth. Let us
admit I married in England and broached my bride there for the witnesses, but
have kept apart from her since then for the purpose of renewing the pledge and
making her truly my wife here in Aix.”

“It may serve,” Alphonse agreed, “but then you must not
share her bed until the wedding.”

“Or, at least, no one must catch me at it,” Raymond agreed,
laughing.

“And what will Alys think of this?” Alphonse asked with some
trepidation. He had found his daughter-by-marriage’s strong will useful up to
this moment, but the idea of crossing her had less appeal.

“We have discussed it already,” Raymond assured his father. “Anyway,
that was why I asked that she be lodged in the south tower. Did you forget the
secret passage that goes there?”

Alphonse threw back his head and laughed heartily. “I
wondered why you were so indifferent at the loss of so pretty a wife. You are a
sly dog, my son.”

“When I must be,” Raymond admitted, grinning. Then he
sobered. “Even if so easy a solution were not available, Father, Alys is the
most sensible and reasonable woman alive. I need only explain to her what is
needful and why, and she will engage in no female crochets to interfere with
our political purposes.”

Just after the door to the stairwell closed and Lady
Jeannette realized it was too late to use her customary methods to control her
son and husband, Alys was saying almost the same words to Jeanine. Raymond’s
eldest sister had been furious, crying, “How dare you? How dare you lay hands
on my mother?”

“Lay hands?” Alys repeated, glancing over her shoulder as
she and Margot supported Lady Jeannette up the stairs. “I never did! I saw that
she was about to cry out, and so I took her from the hall lest she disturb your
father and brother. They would have been so
angry
if a woman’s weakness
should interfere with their business. I would not for the world have my husband’s
nor my father’s anger turned upon my mother if I could shield her from it.”

They had reached the top of the stairs by then, and Margot
steered them in the direction of her mother’s apartment. Margot could not
remember so thoroughly enjoying a half hour. She still could not decide whether
Alys was stupid as an owl or clever as a witch, but it did not impede her
pleasure or her determination to aid and abet her sister-by-marriage if she
could do so without bringing trouble on herself.

“Angry?” Now it was Jeanine who repeated a word she could
hardly believe she heard. “You stupid barbarian, our menfolk are civilized, not
wild animals. They are softened by a woman’s tears.”

Alys did not reply to this until they were in Lady Jeannette’s
private solar. First she had asked with soft sweetness whether the older woman
wished to lie down, but Lady Jeannette said she was recovered and would sit in
her chair. Then Alys procured a cup of wine for her. Finally she turned her
eyes to Jeanine.

“Sister,” she said smoothly, “our men are also softened by
tears, but not when they are deep in a discussion of affairs of importance. I
will gladly yield to your menfolk the palm for gracious manners.” A smile
twitched her lips. “After all, I married one. But your aunts, Queen Eleanor and
Sancia, Countess of Cornwall, are very content with two of our barbarians.”

“How do you know the men were talking of important affairs?”
Margot asked curiously. “Most of the time their talk is as idle as ours—hunting
or women.”