Fire Song (18 page)

How did she know where to touch him to bring him such pleasure that he shook and cried out incoherent pleas? He blushed when he thought of the helpless moans he had uttered, but all the same his genitals tightened even though he was still lethargic in the wake of past pleasure. Was that right?

But he did not feel helpless at the time. There was nothing in Fenice that gave the impression she was inducing feelings she did not reciprocate or was watching him with contempt. Far otherwise. Her own wordless cries in foreplay, the way she writhed under him while coupling, urging him on in a voice thick and choked with pleasure, or should he put the true name to it,
lust
—was that right either? Another wave of pleasurable sensation coursed through his genitals when he thought of Fenice’s strong reactions, but Aubery tried to ignore it.

Did a decent woman act the way Fenice did? Religion and the exhortations of Matilda’s favorite priest cried that such pleasure was sin, and the men and women who yielded to it were lewd and lustful. But Aubery knew that some priests, despite their vows, were less celibate than he had been after Matilda’s death.

If Matilda had been as Fenice—and suddenly his throat was tight with grief and his eyes full of tears. He would have died! He would die himself if Fenice— There he cut off the thought. Fenice was strong and would not die of nothing as Matilda had done. And then Aubery was horrified again at what his mind had brought forth. It was not Matilda’s fault that she had died, it was God’s will. He was making less of Matilda to make more of Fenice, and he had started out wondering whether Fenice was decent.

But why? Was it because of Fenice’s peculiar uncertainty that the contract would actually be signed, even though everything had already been arranged? Or that odd feeling that Alys had been hiding something from him for a day or two before the wedding? Aubery turned restlessly, and Fenice shifted her position also, slipping an arm under his neck and pulling gently so that his head lay on her shoulder. Her lashes were so dark that Aubery could see them as shadows against her cheeks in the very faint light the night candle sent through the bedcurtains. Her eyes were closed, and she was still asleep. But her hold on him was comforting, and, as if she sensed his disquiet, she pressed a kiss of pure tenderness on his brow.

Chapter Thirteen

Hereford’s fears had been unjustified. Although the king might be unwise sometimes and often too much a prey to his own emotions, he was not at all a fool, and he had become an expert at finding patches, sometimes temporary but sometimes surprisingly long-lasting, for a leaking ship of state. The first step was just what Hereford had envisioned, a strong attack, first on La Réole and then, as success and power permitted, on the other keeps held by the rebel forces encouraged by Gaston de Béarn.

This plan Henry proposed to the loyal noblemen who had come to meet him, and also to the important citizens of Bordeaux during audiences given to individuals and small groups on the afternoon he arrived and the following morning. After another state dinner, the council of Bordeaux had a formal meeting to which the king was invited. As holder of Blancheforte, which had an ancient responsibility for protecting one of the gates of Bordeaux, Raymond held a seat on the council. He had never put himself forward except as a mediator of difficulties, and he was grateful that he would not be called on to mediate during today’s meeting since the council was, possibly for the first time in its history, of one opinion.

Raymond and his uncle-by-marriage had always been fond of each other. So, after the meeting of the council, at which a formal petition to protect the city by attacking its enemies had been presented to the king, Henry beckoned Raymond to accompany him when he retired to his private chambers.

“It is surprising,” Henry remarked cynically, “to find such unanimity of opinion in Bordeaux. I was sure half the council would feel that a reorganization of the council or an investigation of a thousand petty wrongs would be far more important than putting down a rebellion.”

Raymond shrugged. “You know what they are, but this matter has grown serious to them. The destruction of the countryside is cutting their profits, and all are affected. As far as offering mixed counsel, they are not stupid, as you well know, my lord. Their echo of your intention to take La Réole first was because they know it is right. They do not want Béarn to win.”

“I am the lesser of the evils?” Henry laughed.

“You are more than that. You are a king who understands the special freedom of the cities and towns—”

“Oh, yes,” the king said with bitter emphasis. “I am come to understand a great many freedoms, all except my own.”

There was a brief uncomfortable pause while Raymond sought a way to change the subject without being too obvious and drawing the king’s irritation onto himself. Raymond was annoyed. He had tried to offer Henry a compliment that was true, not mere flattery, and had apparently touched a sore spot of which he had not previously been aware. Actually, Bordeaux’s reasons for preferring Henry to Gaston were not very flattering to the king at all.

Simply, the wine trade was tied to England, and a victory for the rebels would almost certainly mean that Henry would cut off that trade. Possibly the cessation would only be temporary, but it was also possible, since there was a truce with France that had already lasted ten years, that English markets would go to French vintners, and stay there. Other markets would be hard to find, since Spain and France grew their own grapes and preferred their own wines. In addition, Gaston was near at hand. Give him more power, and he would be more capable of extortion than a king far away in England.

In trying to avoid reference to such unpalatable truths and yet not lie himself, Raymond had trod amiss, but he realized he had a pleasant red herring with which to draw the king off the trail. Henry was very family-oriented. He was devoted to the members of his own family and was fond of hearing news even of distant relations.

“Speaking of freedom,” Raymond said blandly, “or, rather, the loss thereof, I must tell you that my daughter Fenice was married four days ago to Sir William of Marlowe’s stepson, Sir Aubery of Ilmer.”

“Your daughter?” Henry echoed, frowning. “But surely there could be no haste to marry a mere babe—”

“No, no,” Raymond interrupted. “I am sorry, my lord. It is my natural daughter of whom I speak, a mistake of my youth but a lovely, good girl. You are quite right that I have no legitimate daughter old enough to wed.”

“Ah!” Now Henry smiled. “I suppose I should censure you for your sins, but this sin seems to have brought a happy result.”

“Indeed, my lord, it has, but I assure you that I did not escape without just punishment, and I sin no more in that way.” Raymond shook his head sadly. “I have a jealous wife.”

“So your freedom is also curtailed.”

Raymond glanced up sharply, but the king was smiling kindly and the teasing was not ill-natured. Raymond knew that Henry was remarkably faithful to his queen. He grinned and nodded.

“Do I know Sir Aubery?” Henry asked. “Sir William is Richard’s marshal and a good man, but I cannot remember that he ever presented his stepson.”

“Aubery is Hereford’s man,” Raymond replied. “You may have seen him in passing, a big, blond man, very strong—”

“Ah, I do know him,” Henry interrupted in a tone of satisfaction. “He is a devil for tournaments and always takes one prize or another. But married to your daughter? Did I not remember Richard telling me that he gave one of his wards to Sir Aubery?”

“Matilda of Ardley, yes. She died late last year, leaving an infant daughter, who is in Lady Elizabeth’s care.” And then, since Henry seemed interested, he told him of the problem of Marlowe and how the matter was settled. “And with all this talk of marriages and settlements,” he ended, oh so casually, “there are rumors that you are planning a marriage between Eleanor of Castile and Prince Edward.”

Raymond was prepared to change the subject hastily if Henry showed the kind of temper that indicated he had been found out in one of his little plots. However, although he looked a little surprised, he did not seem at all angry, instead, he sighed.

“I wish I were. And, between yourself and myself, I still hope to bring it about. I suppose the rumors are a late blossoming from some seeds I planted before the death of Alfonso’s father. But at that time the matter had gone no further than an inquiry as to whether Castile would welcome such a proposal. It was clear that the king was interested, very much interested, and there did not seem to be any need to hurry. Eleanor was still too young to marry, and just at that moment I did not wish to ask a dispensation from the pope.”

“But would not a renewal of the marriage proposal cut the ground from under Béarn?” Raymond asked.

Henry scowled, and his voice grew angry. “I sent a new delegation in May, but they were coolly received and attended only in silence. I suppose after Leicester had caused rebellion, Alfonso felt Gascony would drop into his hand and he could ask even more for his sister. My envoys returned, and I did not send them again lest it seem I needed to plead for Castile’s help to control my vassals.”

“Of course not,” Raymond agreed hastily, although privately he thought Henry’s pride was misplaced and doubted Alfonso thought the province an easy prize to take. “But I still believe that the claim to Gascony was only laid to draw you into negotiations.”

“Perhaps,” Henry replied more moderately, but still frowning. “But I do not like to negotiate under a threat. Besides, who knows what lies that treacherous and ungrateful dog Béarn has told. If Alfonso thought Béarn could hand Gascony to him, he might have refused in such a way as to end the possibility of the marriage for all time.”

Raymond thought Alfonso too sensible and too cautious to act so foolishly on the basis of anything Béarn said, but Henry did have a point about not negotiating under a threat. He nodded. “Yes, I see. If we take La Réole, and Castile makes no effort to
redeem
the promises of help Béarn has given those he has led astray, you will have ready proof of Alfonso’s good intentions.”

“His
good
intentions I already doubt,” Henry snapped. “If he had good intentions, he would have refused Béarn’s fealty. I think he will send help to La Réole and try to catch me between two fires.”

But as he spoke, the drooping lid of his left eye fell a little lower, and Raymond was suddenly in doubt of the king’s sincerity again. With each year, Henry grew more devious, more capable of hiding his thoughts. From believing the king, Raymond swung back to suspecting that the delegation in May had been better received than Henry admitted.

Alfonso’s father had planned an invasion of the north coast of Africa, to cut the Moors off from their main base of strength. It was widely said that the young king intended to go forward with that plan. If so, he had no strength to waste in an attempt to help Gaston de Béarn take Gascony, particularly as it was most unlikely that the King of Navarre would give permission to march troops through Navarre.

The king was telling the truth, Raymond thought, insofar as he wished to negotiate the marriage of Eleanor and Edward under the best circumstances in his favor. And that was most reasonable. But he did
not
expect Castile to help the rebels, and he
did
want people to believe that that was a real danger. So, whether or not Aubery had been right about the fact that there were emissaries already in Castile or on their way there, he was certainly right that Henry intended to use the threat of a Castilian invasion to wring more men and money out of England.

Naturally, that did not annoy Raymond nearly as much as it annoyed Aubery, since whatever money came from England would reduce the charges on the loyal Gascon nobles and cities. Nor did he regret spreading the rumor that a marriage between Edward and Eleanor was intended. It was no lie, and there would be some time before it reached England. Meanwhile, here in Gascony, it could only do good.

“Then, I think, we had better set about taking La Réole as quickly as we can,” Raymond said.

Henry nodded and smiled at Raymond’s statement, which appeared to accept the danger of an attack by Castile. Raymond knew very well that the king thought he had been fooled, but he cared less for that than for the fact that Henry intended to get the army away from the environs of Bordeaux, where they were sure to come into conflict with the townspeople all too soon. He did not mention that, since Henry next said that the military commanders were summoned at terce the next day to plan the advance on La Réole and discuss whether an assault would be possible.

Still, “quickly” by Henry’s standards was measured by weeks rather than hours. It was late October before the army was moved and encamped around La Réole. In spite of the delay, Aubery was seldom in Blancheforte. He was not high enough in rank to come and go as he pleased, and he was fully occupied as Hereford’s most trusted deputy in the overlord’s duty as constable of the army. The longer the men were encamped near Bordeaux, the more offenses they managed to commit against the townspeople.

Prices were growing higher by the day, and many barons were niggardly in supplying their contingents. Stealing from and assaulting tradesmen over what they felt to be extortion were common, and even more common were drunkenness and abuse of decent women. The malefactors had to be identified and depositions taken. Some cases Hereford dismissed outright, experience permitting him to recognize exaggerated blame in the hope of profit. Some he was able to compound for apologies and small fines. A few were serious matters that ended in whippings and hangings.

Thus, although he knew he would miss the occasional night he was able to snatch with Fenice, Aubery was relieved when the army finally settled in around La Réole. In the company of familiar male companions, most of whom Aubery had not informed of his marriage, the talk was that of an armed camp—war, supplies, and loot.

By the third week in January, everything about the siege had palled, and everyone was bored. King Henry’s supporters had long since decided that assault on the great fortress was impractical. Those siege machines for which timber was available had been built, and new supplies only trickled in slowly. Hereford had summoned Aubery to have a cup of wine together and idle away another cold, damp afternoon. Periodically, their talk was interrupted by the crash of a huge stone against La Réole’s virtually impregnable stone wall. After a while by mutual consent they walked out to look at the result of the crashes. There was no greater effect now than when the machine had begun its work. Although they could not see the place, both knew that at another spot miners and sappers were at work tunneling under the wall.

“I have the men building another mangonel,” Aubery said. “Then we can set them at an angle to each other so that all the stones strike on the one spot. Perhaps that will speed the work.”

“There is no harm in trying,” Hereford replied without much enthusiasm, “but I think it likely that the rebels will yield before we breach the walls, whatever method we use. I would say they have been of two minds since we arrived here, one hoping that Béarn and his Castilian allies will come to do their fighting for them and the other hoping the king will make promises fair enough for them to yield to him. The king has already parlayed with them once, and you can see that they hardly resist.”

Right on the word, a huge stone from a machine on the walls flew at them. Aubery shoved Hereford violently away from their own mangonel, at which the missile had probably been aimed, stumbling after him off balance. The stone struck him a glancing blow on the left shoulder, pushing him in the direction he was already staggering so that he would have fallen heavily on his overlord had Hereford not rolled away with the presence of mind and agility that had saved his life more than once in battle.