Great Maria (35 page)

“Maria.” Eleanor put her arms around her. “My dear.”

“Let go of me,” Maria said.

Eleanor fought for breath. “I have—misused you. I know. Please—forgive me.”

Jilly ran up to them, and Maria stooped and lifted her. Eleanor put her arms around the child’s waist, saying, “You’re tired—let me take her.” She tugged; Maria hung on, and Jilly yelped in pain.

Maria let go so suddenly that Eleanor sat down hard in the high grass. Jilly’s cry struck her like an arrow. She longed to be back in Mana’a, with all her children there, her household, the things she loved to do.

Eleanor said, “Maria, come, have some breakfast, you have not eaten yet.”

Maria allowed the other woman to steer her around to the monks’ kitchen. They got some warm bread and honey and sat under the trees to eat. Jilly fell asleep in the grass at Maria’s feet. A village girl brought two buckets of milk into the monks’ porch. Maria ate without interest and threw the crumbs to the geese and chickens.

“We cannot stay here the rest of our lives,” Eleanor said reasonably. “If not to Castelmaria, where? Will he let us go into a nunnery?”

“Oh, God—” Maria pressed her hands to her eyes. “I would die of boredom in a nunnery.” She thrust her arms between her knees, bunching up her skirts. “I have thought of finding another place in Mana’a. I don’t know if he will allow it.” She rubbed her forehead on her wrist. “I suppose I shouldn’t care what he will allow.”

Eleanor leaned toward her. “Maria, make him give you your own castle. Castelmaria is yours. You can live in Mana’a, but don’t let him take what is rightfully yours.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Maria shook her head. “Don’t talk to me now, I am still thinking about it.” If she lived in her own house, she could take a lover. She knew how Richard would feel if she did; the idea grew steadily more attractive.

“Whatever you do,” Eleanor said, “get everything you can from him.”

Jilly lay asleep at her feet, her arms sprawled across the crisp autumn grass. Maria bent to pick the child up. The exhilaration of revenge was already fading away. She took Jilly into the guesthouse. The prospect of another day in this place, with Eleanor for her only adult company, stretched flavorless before her.

***

That group of pilgrims prayed and left, and a few days later another came down the road, drank from the well, and took the beds in the guesthouse. Maria and Eleanor washed their clothes and took them out to the meadows to dry. In the afternoon, carrying the laundry on their heads, they walked back through the village.

Eleanor had held off all day, for once, but now she said, “Have you given any more thought to where we will go when we leave here?”

“To Hell,” Maria said. They came up to the door into the guesthouse, and she reached for the latch. Stench reached her nostrils; she made a face; an instant later she whirled to face Brother Nicholas.

“My sister,” the monk said. “Please come talk to me in the common room.”

“Yes. Eleanor, will you—? Thank you.” She put the bundle of laundry inside the guesthouse door and followed the monk across the dusty yard.

It was past nones. When they went into the monks’ house, all but Brother Paul were up at the shrine. Brother Nicholas signed to her that she should sit down on the wooden bench along the wall. Brother Paul sniffed, rose, and moved to the far side of the room.

“I have been to Agato,” Nicholas said. “The Archbishop is heartily sorry for the disrespect with which his servant Mauger treated you. Of course he is more heartily sorry that Mauger was brainless enough to be caught at it. They’ve lifted the ban from your husband and his brother because Mauger promised you it would not fall on them. If your husband will allow the priest to return while the case is put before the Curia in Rome, the Archbishop has said he will take no further action.”

She began to speak. He held up his hand. “Let me go on. I have talked with my superiors in Agato, and we are taking your lord’s part in the issue and will speak for him before the Curia.”

Maria stared at him, amazed. She said, “Nicholas, you have done a miracle. Has Richard agreed to it?”

Brother Nicholas scratched his armpit. “Yes. I had some trouble meeting him, as you said I would.”

“What did he say about me?”

“Nothing. I told him that we were doing what we could because of the great love we owe you, but as far as I could see it made no mark on him.” He rubbed his chin with his forefinger. “It was no miracle. He’s a reasonable man. I expected another sort entirely, by what you said. I rather like him.”

“You like everybody,” she said. She hunched her shoulders. Richard would not take her back. She would not go begging him to be taken back. She would lie with Roger and let Richard know it. She said, “Thank you for what you have done. I still think it was miraculous.”

“What have I done? For mistreating the priest, I’ve charged Richard to come here and fast three days and pray in the cave. I want you to stay here until he comes. That way, at least, you may heal one another.”

“Heal,” she said. “How can I forgive what he has done to me?”

The monk scratched himself idly, his eyes steady. “When I left, you thought you had mortally offended him. God will help you, my sister. I know you will do God’s will.” He rose and went out of the room.

***

The rain fell in a battering, drenching downpour. Occasionally the thunder muttered in the distance and an indefinite flash of lightning lit the air. The path up the hillside was a running waterfall, and Maria took the long way, by the road.

In the fog the sodden countryside was deep in mud and strange as another world. She had left her cloak behind, as a kind of penance. She went into the chapel. She knelt at the altar and prayed for help. Not even the monks had stayed up on the hillside during the storm. The crashing of the rain on the roof deafened her and made it easier to think. She went out the side door of the church and crossed the yard to the cave.

Two candles burned at the foot of the statue. The cave itself was dark. Maria stopped just inside it. Her mouth dried up. The thunder outside rolled a long sustained crash, like a barrel falling downstairs.

Richard took hold of her hand. He fumbled her Saracen ring back onto her forefinger. With her free hand, Maria scraped her wet hair back off her face. He pulled her into his arms, and she pressed her face against his chest, fast in the circle of his arms.

Part Three

A Few Choice Words

Thirty-two

When they reached Birnia again, the priest was already back in his church. William instantly found an errand that took him off across country. Richard, shriven, his public penance done, sat all day long in front of the fire and drank.

After supper, Maria went up to him. “Come upstairs with me.”

“No. Stay. I want to talk to you.”

She had been expecting something like it all day. She said, “Well, come up here and let me spin, if you are going to keep me awake anyway.” William’s spinning woman had died, leaving half the season’s wool piled in the storeroom.

Richard followed her, carrying his chair, and drove the two pages dozing in the corner away to the far end of the hall. “I talked to that monk about settling some of his Order in the valley of Iste.” While Maria threaded the wheel, he sat down in his chair, tipped it back on its hind legs, and balanced. In his left hand he held his cup. She had never seen him fall over. He said, “Not a big house. A dozen monks. What do you think?”

She took off her shoe to work the spinning wheel with her bare foot. “It might make up for some of the things we have done.”

“I thought more of having a place to train clerks.” He braced himself with one hand on the wall. “The garbage in the Roman streets turns out a Pope. I can’t have my way over a village priest.”

Maria watched the spinning wheel, drawing out the wool between her thumb and forefinger. She had apologized to him three times, and each time she thought he gloated, behind his reassurances and kisses. He preened his moustache, staring at her. “You and your stinking monk. He made me swear not to persecute the priest—he preached me lots of the Gospel, too; I didn’t tell you about that. I haven’t suffered so much piety since the last time I heard Mass. Did he make you promise anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“I want you to spread a rumor in the town that the priest misused you.”

“He never touched me.”

“Maria,” Richard said, “you did this to me. Now you must help me, damn you.”

She took her foot off the pedal. “You want me to tell lies for you.”

“That’s right,” he said. “You’ve told enough to me.”

The wheel had stopped behind the treadle. She rolled it forward half a turn. Richard brought the chair down on all fours and leaned toward her. “I didn’t ask you to get involved in this, you know.”

“Do it yourself.” She pressed her foot down on the treadle. “Brother Nicholas will never find out.”

“Me—they won’t listen to me—” His voice rose, whining with temper. “I am the man who hit his wife in the church during Mass.” He tramped away down the hall. Maria could hear him swearing.

She spun three or four steps of the treadle. She remembered that Brother Nicholas had called him a
reasonable man,
and she laughed. A page came in the door from the outside. The shoulders of his rumpled coat were spotted with rain. He went over to Richard. Maria watched the wheel spin, devising a story to tell about the priest, in case he talked her into it.

Abruptly Richard was there beside her, and she startled. He sat down on the chair and stared alertly at the door.

“What is it?” she said.

“Theobald.” Richard’s eyes never wavered from the door. He rolled his cup between his palms. “Theobald is here.”

Maria bent to pick up another roll of carded wool. Fluffing one end of the wool with her fingers, she meshed it with the tail of the spun yard. When the door opened, she looked up without raising her head.

Richly dressed, his cloak’s wide hood lined with marten fur, Theobald strolled in, his eyes and hands moving. His sleek chestnut hair was sprinkled white. He wore a long coat like a townsman—Maria had never seen him in mail—and a belt with a long-sword in a gold-studded scabbard. Behind him came two other men, one obviously his son.

Richard stood up. “I’m sure you have some good reason why I should not take you prisoner.”

Theobald’s neat, rat-chinned face only smiled. “You will want to hear what I have to say.” He turned his gaze on Maria. “My lady, I am pleased to see you again.”

Maria put her hands in her lap and did not try to spin. A knight had come in behind them, one of Richard’s men; Richard signed to him to wait. Theobald’s son brought him a chair. Composed, his eyes glinting, Theobald sat down.

“We have had our differences, Marna, but surely nothing that cannot be put aside in favor of some mutual profit?”

Richard smiled at him. He stood in front of his chair, the cup in his hand. “Go on.”

“For some years now, we and the other main tenants of Santerois have been content to fight one another, dealing with Fitz-Michael one at a time. The duchy is completely overturned now, no one wins anymore. We—other men and I—want to join together, overthrow this green Duke, get rid of Fitz-Michael and his pack, and see peace shine on our corner of the world again.”

Maria looked from him to Richard. Richard’s face was rigidly expressionless. He said, “What other men?”

“I cannot tell you that until we have your pledge of support.”

“I cannot pledge you anything until I know who you are.”

Theobald’s hands twitched over his belt. Sitting down, he had to look steeply up to meet Richard’s eyes. He seemed uncomfortable. He said, “Perhaps I can change your mind. We have the resources to give you what you most desire. Join us, and you will be the Duke of Marna.”

For a moment Richard did not move, his eyes on Theobald. Against the wall by the door, the knight waited, intent on them. At last Richard lifted his cup.

“Get out,” he said to Theobald. He drank.

Theobald’s face fell still. He blinked once, looked at Maria, and stared up at Richard again. Slowly he got to his feet, and his son brought him his cloak. They went out the door in single file.

Maria stood up. The knight started after them. Calling him back, Richard sat down in his chair.

“Holy Cross,” he said. “He must have been hatched out in a dunghill.”

“You should have taken him,” Maria said.

“Oh, no.” Richard nodded to the knight. “Go to Agato. Keep to yourself, watch the Duke. You heard him, just now. Whatever happens, I want to know about it.”

“My lord.” The knight saluted him and left the hall.

Maria put away the spindle and the spun yarn and poked her feet back into her shoes. Under his breath, Richard said, “Duke of Marna,” and laughed. She went up beside him.

“Come to bed.”

He drank his cup empty. Drops of wine glistened in his beard. “Will you start the rumor for me? About the priest?”

“God’s blood. Do you forget nothing?”

He smiled at her, sleek as Theobald. “Do it.”

“I will. I suppose as long as the poor man’s here you’ll just make him miserable.”

“That’s right.”

They went out the door and started up the stairs toward their room. Maria said, “You should warn Fitz-Michael and the Duke.”

“Why should I help them? It’s their Archbishop who has been giving me all this trouble.” He pushed her ahead of him through the door. “I thought you wanted to go to bed?”

***

The ostler’s daughter looked relieved to see her. When they had settled in one corner of the sunlit kitchen and the scullion had brought them a tray of jam tarts, she said, “So you let him back into your grace again. You are broad-minded.”

Maria brushed crumbs from her dress. “Every husband beats his wife, now and then.”

“Not necessarily before the holy altar during the elevation of the Host.”

While the other woman sewed placidly beside her, Maria ate another of the tarts. Eventually, cautious, she said, “I am afraid that this priest really must go.”

The woman lowered her hands and her work. “Oh? Everyone thought they had been reconciled, when Dragon sent the Saracens away.”

Maria shook her head. “No, it is impossible.”

“I’m not surprised.” She stitched rapidly. “Especially after yesterday’s sermon. You were not there, we all marked it.”

Maria broke open a sweet cake and picked out the nuts. When the ostler’s daughter did not go on, she said, “Well?”

“He spoke on that charter, the Saracen charter, that was sinful—corrupt, he called it, that word he likes.” She nibbled a tart quickly away to nothing and licked jam from her fingers. “He is an unpleasant man. What were you thinking of doing?”

“Richard said to start a rumor. That he abused me, or something of the sort.”

The ostler’s daughter chewed steadily. “Ramkin will be here within the next few days. You know Ramkin, the charcoal vendor.”

“The crier of Birnia,” Maria said drily.

The other woman laughed. “If I tell him the priest winked at you, he will have it to the next dozen houses that you escaped his lust only by the personal intervention of Almighty God.” She crossed herself. “It will take little enough. No one likes him here, that priest; all he ever talks about is our sins.”

Her cook came through the back door of the kitchen, and the ostler’s daughter called him over. They had a short, sharp dispute over the discreet use of garlic. The cook marched stiff-necked over to the hearth. The woman settled back again, soft and white as a Saracen dumpling.

“I thought you would be married again,” Maria said. “Have you turned them all down?”

“Hah.” The woman’s eyes sparkled at her. “Your battle in the church reminded me of the evils of marriage. I have put on a nice cushion now—” She stroked her plump round arms. “I have no wish to run myself to a skeleton for a man’s sake.” Maria laughed. They turned to talk of their sewing.

***

Ramkin drove his charcoal cart out of the forest. Maria stayed out of the town, lest anyone ask her to deny the rumors. William had come back. His spies reported that the town was full of scandalous talk, the church ill-attended, and the priest more adamant than ever.

They all went hawking after rabbits in the fen beyond the river. Maria took Jilly in front of her on her mare. When the child fell asleep, she sat with Eleanor under a hedge and held the little girl in her lap, watching Richard and William ride out across the bleak sweep of the fen.

“Don’t you want to come back to Castelmaria?” Eleanor asked. “Don’t you miss us?”

“Of course I do. But—” Maria shrugged. “Perhaps it is the sunlight in Mana’a, so close to the sea—I like it there.”

Eleanor nagged her a while longer, reminding her of all the wonderful things at Castelmaria. Far down the brown fen, the two brothers were racing their horses. The sky was full of light clouds, darkening along the western sky. Between the fen and the dun sky, there was no color anywhere. Jilly woke, yawning, and sat up.

“Well,” Eleanor said, “there is a knight in Castelmaria, not a young man, but in the best of life—he says he wants to marry me.”

Maria crowed. “Eleanor. Are you? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I’m not certain I want him. I thought—if you came back to Castelmaria—” The woman’s hand gave Maria’s arm a loving touch. “I would have stayed with you. But if you will not be with us so much anymore—”

“What is he like? Who is he? Do I know him?”

Eleanor turned her profile to her. “He knows of Roger—he says he honors me that I have kept faith with him so many years. He has fought with Roger in the mountains.”

“Why marry this man if all you can think of still is Roger?”

Eleanor lowered her eyes. The fading light made her soft and pretty again, as she had been in her youth. “I don’t love Roger. I never did. But he was so handsome, and he talked so well…”

She smiled, remembering. At last, Maria said, “What did you quarrel about, you and he?”

“He said he would marry me, if I came away with him, but when he had what he wanted—” Eleanor clasped her small, veined hands, white from the potions she used every night. “I could not lie with a man who thought me unworth marrying.”

“Come to Mana’a. It’s better now, you’ll like it now.”

“No. I can see that you must stay with Richard, but not I. He’s a heretic and a blasphemer. He has no feelings.”

Maria said, surprised, “That isn’t true. His feelings run very deep, I think.”

“Then he doesn’t show it.” Eleanor sat staring down the fen. Beyond, over her shoulder, the sun sinking through the clouds turned sickly yellow. “He doesn’t care about you, Maria.”

“You don’t know him.”

“Know him—he’s my cousin! He’s cold as a snake.”

Maria stood Jilly on her feet and rose. Across the long fen, fading into dusk, the twilight wind ran. She could not see Richard or William. She went to her horse, Jilly trotting at her heels.

“Maria,” Eleanor said.

Maria lifted Jilly up into the saddle. Eleanor came up behind her and took hold of her arm.

“Please.”

“Take this knight,” Maria said. “We will endower you, you won’t marry like a serf.” She put her foot in the stirrup and swung up behind the little girl. Eleanor clutched her skirt.

“I apologize. I meant nothing. You know how I talk.”