Winter Song (45 page)

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 of 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.