Winter Song (36 page)

“Yes. Yes, I do. They are yours, and they are
sweet
children,” Alys replied.

“But…but what will you do with them?”

“I will teach them, of course,” Alys laughed. “I know just
what is suitable to these daughters of yours.”

Raymond looked down at the children, more aware of them than
he usually was. He remembered with a guilty pang that when he had last seen
them he had made a promise to give each a present “later”. At the same time he
was annoyed. He had something to discuss with Alys, and Fenice and Enid were in
the way. Still, the adoration in their happy faces checked his impulse to send
them away. Instead, he sat down in the chair opposite Alys, lifted one child to
each knee, and apologized gravely for neglecting to give them the promised gifts.
This time, however, he assured them there would be no mistake, because Lady
Alys would remind him.

“So I will,” Alys agreed.

There was warm approval in her eyes and her smile, and
Raymond was at the same time pleased and uneasy. It was just like Alys to accept
the girls with open arms, sweet and reasonable as she was, but he wished she
had not. She would be forever attending to them when he wanted her. It was his
mother’s fault, not Alys’s or the girls’, and it was annoying that there was
nothing he could do about it. He realized that Enid had said something he had
not caught, but Alys was laughing and shaking her head, and Fenice was
anxiously shushing her sister.

“It is not necessary,” Fenice said. “The…she…the lady is the
best present of all.”

Her voice broke with trepidation, and she crimsoned with
embarrassment because she did not know what to call Alys. But Raymond could not
help being pleased, and he gave his eldest daughter an affectionate squeeze.

“You must call her Lady Alys, Fenice,” he said, “and you may
not realize it yet, but you never said or will say a truer thing in your life.
And what did you say, little mouse, that made my wife laugh?” he asked Enid.

Enid hung her head. She had learned that if Fenice hushed
her, she was generally punished for repeating what her sister had warned
against.

“Enid has a logical mind and will take to accounts very well,”
Alys teased, “whereas Fenice will be a marvelous peacemaker. Enid said that you
could make all right by giving each of them
two
presents this time.”

The girls turned frightened eyes on Alys, shocked by this
betrayal, but a second later all was turned to joy as their father laughed and
agreed that it would be two presents. But, he said, Alys would have to furnish
one of them because she had forced him to acknowledge Enid’s logic. This made
Alys laugh, too, since she had already come to realize that she would need to
furnish both gifts if the girls were to get them.

Out of sight was out of mind as far as Raymond’s
relationship with his daughters was concerned. He was fond of them, Alys saw,
but they were not to him what she had been to her father. This warned her that
he would grow impatient with them at this stage. Later, when they could show
him some skills, he might be more interested, but at the present time the
childish prattle would be a surfeit.

“Now, my dears,” Alys said, “let your father be. Go and play,
but take care not to go too close to the fire.”

They slid from Raymond’s knees at once, accustomed as they
were to a stinging slap from their busy mother if an order had to be repeated.
Usually obedience went unrewarded, since it was expected, and disobedience was
sharply punished, but this time each had a hearty kiss for promptly doing as
they were told. Hugging their joy, they hurried behind the chairs to a private
spot where they could disinter their rag babies from the center of their
bundles where Lucie had hidden them.

“It is very good of you, Alys,” Raymond said as soon as the
children disappeared, “but there is really no reason to burden you with my…er…indiscretions.
I cannot imagine what my mother was thinking of when she suggested you take
them in charge.”

“They will be no burden, my lord,” Alys protested, smiling. “You
see how good and obedient they are.”

“But they still need to be…” Raymond hesitated, having not
the least idea of what was entailed in caring for children. “They need to be
washed and dressed and…and suchlike.”

Alys laughed at him. “I did not propose to take on the
duties of a nursemaid, Raymond. Naturally, I will employ a woman to see to such
things. Until I find someone, Bertha can attend to their physical needs, and I
will teach them. I suppose no one thought of it, and you were away too much,
but they are dreadfully ignorant. After all, they are your daughters. Suitable
matches will need to be found for them, and they will need to know the duties
of a chatelaine.”

“You are right,” Raymond said rather blankly.

He was not disturbed by the idea of providing proper
marriages for his daughters, but by the realization that he could not suggest, as
he had been about to do, that they be left in their mother’s care. Naturally,
Lucie could not teach them anything to the purpose, and the hut of a huntsman
was no place to raise them. From what Alys said, no one else had attempted to
fit them for their station, either. Probably he should have realized that his
mother and sisters would not have troubled themselves with teaching his
daughters.

“You do not mind that they will be forever under your feet?”
Raymond asked.

Then Alys saw what was making Raymond reluctant that she
care for his girls. “They will not be in the way at all, my lord,” she assured
him. “They will have their own quarters, and I will only need to take them with
me when I see to household matters so that they can learn.” She smiled at him. “They
will not be under
your
feet. A man has little to do with daughters, except
to kiss them now and again, and tell them how pretty they are, and give them
presents, of course.”

That made Raymond laugh, and since Alys never allowed the
demands of her household duties to interfere when he wanted her attention, the
frown smoothed from his brow, but only momentarily. He looked over his shoulder
at the entryway from the lower floor, and the frown returned. Then he signaled
Alys to rise, took her chair, from which he could see the doorway, and motioned
that she draw a stool up close.

“I have been down in the armory with my father,” he said
very softly, “and I am greatly troubled. Nothing is as it should be. Weapons
have been flung down anywhere, rusted and broken, and unmended armor is lying
useless. If we had to call in men, there would be no arms or armor for them. I
do not know what my father has been doing, beyond listening to lute songs.”

“There has been peace in these lands for many years,” Alys
suggested diffidently.

Raymond grimaced. “Once my grandfather established himself
and broke the power of des Baux, yes. But that is no excuse, especially since
Grandfather was so desperately ill. And it is not as if Father did not know. He
spoke to me himself of the danger of war and the doubts of our vassals.” He
made another moue of distaste. “I see now why they are doubtful. It needs a
man—” He stopped speaking abruptly.

Alys put a hand on his. “You are here now, my love, and all
will go better.”

“I love my father.” Raymond stared down into Alys’s face. “There
is no better, kinder man, but… When he saw the armory, he was appalled and
shamed, but he did not order the master-at-arms to be punished or dismissed.
He—”

“Raymond,” Alys interrupted, “your father is not only kind
but just. He would not punish the master-at-arms for his own fault. Perhaps he
will not say it is his fault, but in his heart he knows it.”

“So why, instead of coming with me to talk of how the
problem can be most swiftly amended, did he run above to seek comfort from my
mother and sisters?”

“Oh, Raymond, if you looked so black at me as you must have
at him, I would have run elsewhere, too.”

“Not you!” he exclaimed and laughed, but only briefly. “This
armory is the least of the danger. If it was neglected, so too must have been
the men. I know it is harder for a master-at-arms when the lord is neglectful,
but this man should have known his duty better than this, even without
overseeing. What am I to do? Order my father to punish the man or dismiss him?”

“The master-at-arms was with you in the armory?”

“Yes, and I did not like the way he looked, as if it were
not a disgrace to him.”

“Tell him that he has one chance to make all right, so many
days or weeks. You will know the time it must take. This much, surely, you may
do without your father’s orders.”

“Yes.” Raymond gestured impatiently. “But really this is
only the tip showing. Alys, if the vassals have been neglected as this keep has
been and my grandfather should die, half of the liegemen, more perhaps, will
break away. I can fight one or two—”

“There is no profit in fighting one’s own vassals,” Alys
said quickly.

She had heard the words many times on Richard of Cornwall’s
lips, but they had meant little to her in the days when the only vassal about
whom she cared was her father. It was totally inconceivable to her that her
father and her Uncle Richard should come to blows for any reason at all. Now,
however, the words had become more meaningful than Alys desired.

“My sage counselor.” Raymond’s lips twisted. “You are so
right, as usual, and it is no wish of mine to do so. Yet, if they feel there is
no profit in vassalage to Aix and they do not fear to be severely checked for
turning away, many will try to raise themselves by swearing directly.”

“To whom?” Alys asked. “The whole problem rests on your
grandfather’s illness.”

“Not the whole problem. If our vassals felt there was a
leader strong enough to bind them together and protect them from the
encroachments of others—say Toulouse or Navarre—”

“There is now, is there not, my lord?” Alys broke in.

Her voice was clear and steady, although her heart was heavy
at the need to urge Raymond to thrust himself forward. Nonetheless, she knew
her duty. Her father had spoken to her seriously, naming his own past failing
by avoiding public duties and warning her that her husband already had such
duties. She must support him in those duties, Sir William had insisted, not add
to Raymond’s burdens by discouraging his participation in state affairs.

“I could do it.” Raymond’s pale eyes glowed. “And I have
something to offer them, also. My father and I plan, if Raymond-Berenger should
die, to ask Louis of France to take fealty from us.”

“Louis!” Alys was shocked.

“It could place me in an awkward position in the future, but
while my father is alive—and he has many long years ahead, I hope—it will not
affect my duty to King Henry.” Raymond explained the fears he and Alphonse had
concerning Louis’s brother Charles of Anjou and the strong probability of a marriage
between that young man and Beatrice. “But I believe something more positive
must be offered our vassals than political talk at a wedding.”

“You must show you have picked up the reins,” Alys said
softly.

Raymond’s brows drew together in a frown. “I do not wish to
supplant my father.”

“No!” Alys exclaimed, although she kept her voice low. “But
if your father had other, more important duties, such as negotiating with King
Louis—”

“Alys, you have it!” Raymond interrupted. “As my father’s
deputy, I can… Yes! I can ride to each major vassal, warn them of the danger,
urge them to prepare, and give them hope of a good solution. My father is a
master of diplomacy. They will be happy that he has gone to Louis, and I hope
they will see in me the other side of the coin.”

“I am sure they will.” Alys tried not to allow her anxiety
to show. She was not completely successful, for her voice shook as she asked, “But
there will not be any war, will there?”

“I hope not.” Raymond smiled at her, his good humor restored
by the expectation of direct action that would not precipitate a conflict for
power with his father. “A war is no way to ingratiate oneself with a new
overlord.” Then his smile diminished, and a look of doubt crossed his face. “It
will mean that I must be away much of the time until our wedding. I will try to
ride back for a night or two, but it may not be possible.”

Alys dropped her eyes. She had remembered a remark made in
the past about the freedoms southern lords took with their vassals’ wives and
daughters. Then she looked up and smiled at her husband. To be jealous without
reason was to pave a path to misery for herself and Raymond.

“It is just as well, then, that I will have the children to
occupy me. But I will miss you, Raymond. I do not sleep easy in a cold bed.”

“Neither do I, my love, I assure you.” He laughed and stood
up. “I will go now to give that master-at-arms a bone to chew on.”

Before Alys could speak, he was gone. She started up to
follow him, but exerted self-restraint, telling herself not to be a fool. If
Raymond meant to be unfaithful, surely he would have said nothing. To mention
his own distaste for sleeping alone must only mean he meant to do so. Besides,
what one does not know does not hurt, Alys warned herself. It was true that it could
do her no harm if Raymond disported himself elsewhere. It should not even touch
her pride. To men, such things meant little.

But old, wise saws had little effect on her, and Alys could
feel herself flush with rage. She rose and walked to a window to cool her face
and saw that the wind had died. It was only raining slightly, and there were
pale gold streaks among the black clouds. It seemed a good time to take the
children to her own quarters and establish them there, particularly as she was
in no mood to make polite conversation with anyone.

Because it began to rain and blow again soon after she
shepherded Fenice and Enid across to the south tower, the move was successful
insofar as it protected Alys from Raymond’s female relatives. Alys’s mood
improved while she arranged where they were to sleep and delivered the presents
Raymond had promised. These were a hair ribbon for each girl—pale blue for
Fenice and red for Enid—and a silver penny, which Alys promised they could
spend as they liked when the weather cleared and it was possible to take them
into the town.