Great Maria (4 page)

Her father broke into an unconvincing laugh. “I suppose she can take care of herself. You’re not really married until you’ve drawn blood, they say, although not usually about the wife.” He went up to the hearth, chuckling, the only man in the room even with a smile on his face. He put his hands out to the fire.

Richard said, “Is that all you want to tell me?”

“Well, you could try hitting the other end.” Her father glanced at him over his shoulder. “It doesn’t show.” Odo came up beside him. They talked.

Maria let out her pent breath. They weren’t going to fight. She went back to the mess she had made of her work; her face hurt, her stomach was sour again, she wanted to cry. She concentrated on sewing the seam down flat.

Richard came up beside her. She put her hands and the shirt in her lap. “Get away from me,” she said.

“Obey me the next time, and I won’t hit you.” He leaned up against the wall.

Maria clenched her fist. All the men by the hearth were watching them, all but her father, all grinning. She hated Richard for hitting her and her father for not fighting him over it. She gave Richard a hard look.

“Now you’re asking for it, you stubborn little slut.”

She knew if she said anything her voice would tremble. He sank down on his heels. He hadn’t shaved in two days; the scratches on his cheek were crusted with dry blood. “Have you told him yet?” He glanced over his shoulder toward her father. “About the baby.”

She shook her head, wary. “I wanted to be sure.”

“Are you sure now?”

She nodded. His eyes widened; he rubbed the back of his hand absently over his cheek. “When will it be born?”

“In the summer. The midsummer.”

He took hold of her hand. She pulled against his grip. “Let me go. I have to do my work.”

“You don’t mind me so much in the dark.” He clenched her fingers hard. When she stiffened at the pain he released her. “That’s for talking back to me.” He went down the room. Her father was watching her. She picked up her needle again and stabbed it into the shirt.

Four

Maria’s father got her a saddle of white leather for her little mare. He gave it to her the morning of the first hunt of the spring, with much show of stripping off the old saddle and putting on the new one with his own hands. Beside Richard in the doorway, Maria laughed and clapped her hands, but Richard kept to a surly silence. Her father led up the white mare, and her husband lifted her up into the new saddle.

“You shouldn’t even ride anymore,” Richard said, giving her the reins. “And if you need presents, I will get them for you.” He walked around the mare’s rump toward his horse.

There were five of them to go hunting—Richard and Maria, her father, Roger, and William—and while the men got their horses and mounted, Maria trotted her mare in circles in and out of the crowd in the ward, to show off. She liked to ride, even with the baby swelling out her body round as a cushion, and the mare bent neatly to her hand, backed up, reared, and went into a lope around Richard. He was in a foul mood; she rode to her father’s side.

Loose-limbed on his old bay stallion, he leaned over her. “Do you like it, my dear one?”

“Oh, yes.” She put her hand on the carved leather swell of the saddle. Long-faced, Flora and Adela stood on the step watching her, and Adela scowled at her. They thought she should stay in her room, even in her bed, and let no one see her with child. She had needed most of a month to convince Richard to take her with them. Her father shouted, the gate opened, and they rode double file onto the hillside.

Adela and Flora were wrong, Richard was wrong, and there was nothing to be unhappy about. Ever since her father had learned she was pregnant, he had treated Richard pleasantly, and now here they all were, going out together to hunt. She could not understand why Richard was so sullen.

They rode across the valley to the west. His brothers carried the hawks, hooded in leather. The dogs scattered around them sniffing at everything. In the deep, furrowed ground of the valley floor, the serfs were bent over planting seed. Even the littlest children went about to pick up stones. The hunting party crossed into fields plowed but not yet planted and from there into the oak wood.

Maria went up beside Richard. He was a good horseman; she was proud of the way he rode. For a while he pretended not to notice her next to him. Eventually he looked down at her from the back of his gray horse.

“You should not ride.”

“I won’t. Not after this.” But she loved the spring hawking after cranes. Their horses swung into a canter, shoulder to shoulder. Two swine ran squealing into the wood away from them. The trees closed over their heads. Birds shrilled at them. In the distance the sunlight poured in through a gap in the roof of the wood.

The slope flattened into the sunlight of an open meadow. Maria’s father led them out onto a point of dry ground that ran above the marsh to the beach. The horses dropped to a jog trot. Richard reined in to let her go in front of him.

“There are boats out there.” He pointed toward the glittering water in the distance.

Maria shaded her eyes. The low surf rolled in along the beach. Beyond, the water danced green to the horizon. Near the sky, two white dots moved over the sea. One dot lengthened into a line and showed its curved sail.

Roger said, indifferent, “The villagers must fish there.”

“The villagers have no boats,” Richard said. “They are Saracens from Mana’a.”

Maria drew her mare to a halt. The sudden bright sun was hurting her head. Instantly Richard brought his horse up beside her.

“I warned you,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”

“Maria?” her father called from down the beach, and she rode away from Richard, nudging her mare into a canter across the pale firm sand.

They hunted the rest of the morning along the edge of the marsh. Maria shook off her headache. Dragonflies swooped around her, hung whirring in the light, and zigged away. The broad golden marsh smelled of rot. Once, while she stopped to rest, a little deer came up through a stand of evergreens across the cattails from her. When she moved, the deer wheeled and lumbered out of sight, its barrel round with fawn.

Exhilarated, she rode on after the men. They had reined up along the bank of a stream. Out over the marsh, a crane unfolded its great wings and gathered itself into the air. The red falcon stooped above it. The crane’s curved flight broke. Like a white feather it hung long in the pitch of the sky.

“Beautiful killing,” Roger murmured, and her father muttered in agreement, his eyes fixed on the hawk.

Richard lured it back, and William raced off after the dogs to retrieve the crane. Maria’s mare splashed across the stream. No longer hunting, the riders spread out over the beach. Richard turned his horse down to the slow breakers and sat watching the Saracen boats. At the edge of the marsh, Maria’s father was whistling to his dogs. She rode into the surf, up beside Richard.

The curling waves broke around their horses’ knees. She sniffed the brisk salty wind. On the sea before them, the Saracen boats were crawling north.

Richard reined his horse around her. “Let’s go. You are getting sunburned.” She followed him up the beach.

By late afternoon, they were riding into the foothills, where the beach disappeared and the sea came in to the rocks and the cliff. They cut across the wooded hills, reached the road, and swung north along it. Soon after they left the trees, the evening fell over them. They rode into the deepening twilight. The tired horses walked with their necks stretched and their heads down. Richard laid his rein slack on his gray’s withers. Roger sang; the others joined in the refrain. Maria ate some blancmange she had brought wrapped in a napkin. She felt pleasantly sleepy, rocked by the white mare’s easy stride.

Beside her, Richard said quietly, “Hold. Someone is coming.”

They all drew rein. William called to the dogs. Maria’s father rode up on her other side. The men shifted around her, their horses suddenly restless. A little band of men was riding toward them.

“Well met,” Odo called, and he and four men came up around them. Odo was smiling but his face was graven with harsh lines. “The darkness fell, and we decided to see what had become of you.”

Maria’s father reached for her reins. She pulled the mare away from him, warned. Richard said, “Odo, you lie,” and his hand went to his sword.

“Get him!” Odo roared.

Maria’s mare reared up. A horse burst up past Roger, between her and Richard, and the man on its back hit Richard over the head with a club. Maria screamed. The horses fought and kicked in a tangle. Richard was doubled over his saddlebows. Beyond him, the man with the club wheeled his horse to strike him again.

“Maria,” Roger shouted. “Run! Run!”

She reined her mare around hard. All around her men were fighting. Her father was gone. She caught hold of the bridle of Richard’s horse. Two hands taller than her mare, the stallion half-pulled her from the saddle. Richard was slack across its neck.

She dragged him forward, between horses, toward the open road.

A knight loomed before her. He raised his sword but she was between him and Richard and he did not strike. She galloped past him, one hand in her mare’s thick mane and the other on Richard’s bridle. Iron rang behind her. She looked back: two riders were chasing her.

“Richard,” she screamed. “Richard!”

He heard her. He heaved himself upright in the saddle. Blood streamed down the side of his face. He wrenched his horse’s head out of her grasp. Wheeling, he charged back along the road.

Maria reined in. The full moon was rising, and the evening grew bright as twilight. The fighting ranged along the road. Two men already fought on foot. A loose horse cantered away from her. Roger’s voice came to her, shouting something. The gray horse wheeled in a knot of darker bodies. Maria urged her horse forward. She wanted to throw herself barehanded into the fighting. Someone was crying for mercy. She would give no mercy. She galloped around the fighting, looking for her father.

His bay stallion stood in the middle of the road. The old man lay on the ground a hundred strides behind it. The dogs surrounded him. She rode up and started to dismount but the dogs leaped at her horse, barking, and the mare began to shy and fight. Maria struggled with the horse. In the middle of the dogs her father lay motionless on his back, his head turned away from her.

“Jonah! Lightning!” William rode up among the dogs, and they calmed down, their tails wagging. Maria made her horse stand. Two men on foot hobbled after William. They were roped together by the ankles. She dismounted and went up through the dog pack to her father.

“Papa.”

When she put her hands on him a dog snapped at her. William shouted to it. Her father moved under her hands. She remembered how he had reached for her rein, before Odo attacked them. He had known what was coming. The old man raised his head, groggy.

“Papa.”

She sat back heavily. Other horses were cantering toward them. She stared at her father, wondering who had felled him, Odo or Richard. The old man sat up, his head in his hands.

Horses pushed up around them. Richard said, “Maria, get away from him.” She climbed slowly to her feet. Richard braced his hands on the pommel of his saddle. He was still breathing hard. Roger caught her mare and brought it over to her. Dismounting, he came to help her into the saddle.

“You were very brave, Maria. They would have killed him if it hadn’t been for you.” He lifted her up on the mare’s back.

She took hold of her saddle, dizzy. William and Roger got her father onto his horse. The two prisoners waited in the road, tied foot to foot. The ride back to the castle seemed long as a pilgrimage. She closed her eyes.

“Why didn’t you take Odo alive?” William called.

“He wouldn’t let me,” Richard said. She started at the close sound of his voice, opening her eyes; he had come up right beside her.

“A pity,” William said.

They started along the road again, the two prisoners striding awkwardly along ahead of them. William led her father’s horse. The old man sagged in his saddle. The wind rose. Richard kept glancing at Maria’s father.

“Damned dirty old pig, you couldn’t even do this well.”

Maria was still holding onto her horse’s mane. She stared straight up the road. She imagined what would have happened to her and her baby if Odo had killed Richard.

“How many were there?” Richard asked.

“Five,” Roger said. “Not counting—” he nodded toward her father. His horse trotted a few steps to catch up with Richard’s. “You think he was in it with Odo?”

Richard said nothing. They rode up around the shoulder of the hill. Above them was the castle. She held onto her saddle with both hands. The two men they had taken prisoner lagged on the steep slope, and Richard’s horse trod on one of them. They skipped quickly out into the open road again.

The ward of the castle was crowded with men: the rest of the knights, standing around in the dark. “Look at this,” William said. His voice rang in the silence. “All out to see which side came back riding.”

Maria stopped her mare. Two of the men waiting in the dark came up to hold her bridle and she backed the horse away from them. Richard was giving orders. No one paid any more heed to her. She slipped down from her saddle. Her legs trembled and she held onto her stirrup.

“William,” Richard said; he rode up beside her. “Lock the old pig up—find a good strong lock.” He dismounted. His arm went around her waist. “Come on—are you nailed to that saddle?”

They went into the tower and up the stairs. Richard’s teeth were set. Once he put his hand to his head. In their room, he sat down on the bed; Roger went to stir up the fire.

“Are you all right?” she said. “Let me see.” She made him turn his head so that she could see the lump swelling up fat above his temple. His scalp had split open and his face was covered with blood.

“You’re very lucky,” Roger said. “You’re a damned lucky man.” He brought him a cup of wine.

“Oh,” Richard said. “I move fast when something is aimed at my head.”

There was water beside the bed. Maria got linen and washed his face off. Roger talked cheerfully of the fighting. Richard answered him in monosyllables. There was a knock on the door.

“Whoever that is,” Richard said, “I don’t want to see him.”

Roger went over to the door, opened it a crack, and spoke through it. Maria washed out the linen. The water in the basin was stained with blood.

“What will you do to my father?”

He looked at her over his shoulder. “Now you believe me, don’t you? You stupid sow. It’s amazing to me you still have the baby.”

She wrung out the linen and scrubbed ungently at his matted hair. Roger came over to them. “For God’s love, Richard, let her alone.”

“Who was that at the door?”

“Somebody swearing he loves us.”

“Who?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Richard laughed. Maria dried his head off. She took the basin over to the window and emptied it into the ditch. Roger left. She put the basin down on the chest again and started to take off her dress. Richard turned her around, her back to him, and undid the laces.

“What will you do to my father?”