Winter Song (55 page)

It was not until he entered Arles that Arnald remembered an
essential omission. He needed a clerk. The story he had to tell was too long
and too complex, too important to trust to the memory of a man-at-arms.
Besides, even if the best French-speaker among them were sent, he would be sure
to garble so involved a tale. Lord Raymond’s English, while sufficient for most
things, could not be trusted in so desperate a case. In addition, like most
illiterate people, Arnald had a superstitious feeling that writing a thing down
made it more true and convincing.

Arnald heard the noise before he entered the great hall, and
he hesitated slightly, but in the next moment he gave a great cry of relief and
joy and ran forward. Whether or not Lord Raymond’s rage was going to consume
Provence, it had already overset the fat into the fire and ignited the great
hall at Arles.

Standing in the middle of the floor, bare sword in hand
pointed at Sir Romeo’s breast, Raymond was bellowing at the top of his voice, “Where
is my wife?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

“In God’s name, I beg you—” Sir Romeo cried.

But Raymond did not wait to hear the rest. “What foul plot
have you hatched?” he roared. “My mother is ‘too ill’ to speak to me. My
sisters are ‘attending on her’. Lady Beatrice is ‘busy’. Man, you have one
minute to bring forth my womenfolk—”

“Only come—” Sir Romeo tried again.

Raymond’s sword quivered.

“My lord! My lord!” Arnald shouted. “Lady Alys has been
stolen away with Lady Beatrice and Lady Margot. I have been trying—”

“Oh, my God,” Sir Romeo groaned, his face going grayer. Then
he turned to Arnald and roared, “Hold your tongue!”

“I will not!” Arnald shouted back. “I have guarded my
mistress since she was a babe, and if she has come to hurt through your
henchmen—”

“Raymond, curb your man,” Sir Romeo grated.

Raymond put his hand on Arnald’s shoulder. “If she has come
to harm through Sir Romeo’s doing, no man, woman, or child will go out of Arles
alive, and I will take down this place stone by stone until there is no more
sign of it.”

Although this threat obviously could never have been
accomplished, and Raymond knew it, he had made it to calm Arnald, for it was
obvious that the man was beside himself. Moreover, Raymond knew there would be
no need to try to make good any part of that threat. The moment young Beatrice’s
name was coupled with Alys’s, Raymond knew that Sir Romeo could not have had
any part in their disappearance. Arnald’s ignorance of the political situation
had led him to a mistaken conclusion from the true fact that Lady Beatrice and
Sir Romeo wished to keep the heiress’s abduction a secret.

Raymond’s rage had also been caused by a misunderstanding.
He had arrived in the late afternoon and, on asking for Alys, had been told
that she had not yet returned from an expedition into the countryside. Raymond
was disappointed, for he had been looking forward to confronting her and having
his little joke before loving her soundly, however, for a little while he had
pacified himself with the pleasant idea of her coming upon him suddenly in the
hall.

He had gone to remove his armor and to change his clothing
when it struck him that it had been raining for several hours. That meant that
Alys must have gone out quite a while ago. Could she have guessed he was coming
and gone out to avoid him? He dismissed the idea. It was ridiculous, but it
left a bitter taste in his mouth.

When he had changed and drunk some wine, he sent a servant
to announce his arrival to his mother, and was considerably surprised to be
told she was too ill to see him. Usually his mother was only too eager to have him
come to her when she felt unwell. She loved to complain and have him express
concern and sympathy. Even before Alys had opened his eyes, he had often
suspected that his mother’s illnesses were not nearly as severe as she claimed.
Could she really be sick this time? Raymond sat worrying about that until he
happened to glance out the window.

Because of the rain, the torches and the central flambeaux
had been lit when he first arrived. Thus, he had not noticed the coming of true
darkness. Only when he looked out the window did he realize it was night. Then
everything seemed to fall together. Alys would surely have returned before dark
or sent a message to say where she would spend the night. No matter how sick
his mother was, and particularly if she were desperately ill, one of his
sisters would have come to speak with him.

Instantly a horrible suspicion gripped Raymond that his
wife, mother, and sisters had been seized as hostages to enforce some political
action on himself and his father. Before he could think over the idea and
realize the flaws in it, Raymond leapt to his feet and demanded audience with
Lady Beatrice. He was refused. That, however, was an unfortunate error. Had
Lady Beatrice known that Raymond was due to arrive, she would have made an exception
in his case to the order that she would see no one except Sir Romeo.

The refusal confirmed Raymond’s suspicions. Never in his life
had his grandfather’s wife refused to see him. Nonetheless, Raymond would not
commit the solecism of invading Lady Beatrice’s chamber. Besides, his rage and
fear required physical expression, and he could not threaten Lady Beatrice with
a sword. He had begun to bellow for Sir Romeo, who had not until that moment
been aware that Raymond had arrived. This was essentially Alys’s error. Since
she had not told anyone she had written to summon Raymond, Sir Romeo had not
instructed his guards or servants to inform him of Raymond’s coming.

The last error, however, was Sir Romeo’s. Instead of sending
immediately for Lady Jeannette and Jeanine and insisting they appear, he had
tried to draw Raymond into his private chamber to explain. This only convinced
Raymond that his worst fears were true. It was most fortunate that Arnald had
appeared at the moment he did, or this comedy of errors might well have turned
into a tragedy. Now, although it could not be said that Raymond was no longer
excited, at least he understood why everyone was behaving so oddly.

It was Arnald who unwound the whole tangled skein, for as
soon as Sir Romeo had led them into his chamber, Arnald unburdened himself of
his whole tale. When he came to the previous day’s fiasco, Sir Romeo
interrupted with horror.

“My God, man, why did you not come to me?”

“Who are you?” Arnald responded hotly. “All I know of you is
that you have long held power here, and I have seen a sprig of your line
attending on Lady Beatrice. How should I know whether you desired her for that
sprig so that you might continue to hold the power?”

Sir Romeo turned purple, and Raymond, despite his anguish,
had to laugh. “No,” he said to Arnald, “upon my oath, Sir Romeo is a just and
honorable man and, I dare say, loves Beatrice as you love Alys. He would do
nothing to harm her.”

“I would give my life to have her safely back,” Sir Romeo
sighed. “Did you not think,” he added, “that the child’s mother was in agonies
of fear and that was why she refused to speak to anyone?”

“No, I did not,” Arnald replied sturdily. “Lady Alys does
not close herself in her chamber to weep when ill befalls. She
does
something.
She would have sent out men to search for a missing daughter.”

“You do not understand,” Sir Romeo groaned. “There are
reasons why we did not wish it known that Beatrice is missing. And where were
we to search?”

“I can tell you where,” Arnald snapped, “if you know who
bears these arms.” And he described once again the colors and bearings.

“Des Baux!” Sir Romeo roared, bounding to his feet. “Des
Baux!”

Raymond’s mouth opened in soundless protest. His voice was
frozen in his throat with terror. He had done nothing about Ernaldus, and now
Alys was a prisoner in his power—or dead.

“I should have known!” Sir Romeo groaned. “When my son told
me that a young whelp of that treacherous brood was sniffing around Beatrice, I
should have had him killed.” Tears came into his eyes. “There is no taking Les
Baux. We will have to starve them out, and by then Beatrice…”

“But will Lady Alys be safe?” Arnald interrupted anxiously.

Sir Romeo was suddenly aware of Raymond’s stricken face. He
came forward and gripped Raymond’s shoulder hard. “There is nothing to fear for
Lady Alys or your sister. Even that young fool would not dare do them any harm
if he hopes to rule Provence. To make a bitter enemy of your strongest neighbor
would be insane. It is only Beatrice for whom I fear.”

Raymond sucked air into his lungs. It was true that des Baux
would not permit Alys to be hurt and des Baux, not Ernaldus, ruled. It was not
even certain that Ernaldus was there. Raymond strangled his fear and started to
think.

Actually, by then Sir Guillaume would gladly have turned all
three women over to his torturers. Since he could not, he had turned on the man
who had introduced the scheme to his mind. He came roaring back into the keep
after he had washed the sand from his eyes and the filth from his face and
body, struck Ernaldus, shook him until his head snapped back and forth, threw
him on the floor, and kicked him, all the time screaming, “You brought this on
me! Get me out of it! Find me a way to save myself without marriage or I will
kill you. I would not marry that bitch to be king of heaven. Find me a way out!”

Again and again Ernaldus shrieked for mercy and promised a
resolution to the problem if Guillaume would only cease from abusing him and
let him think. Having relieved the worst of his fury and frustration, Guillaume
snarled that he had better think quickly and strode away. But there was nothing
for Ernaldus to think about. He knew there was no way to stave off punishment
except for des Baux to marry the heiress and get her with child. He crawled to
his feet, knowing he must escape and knowing also that there was no way he
could save anything beyond his life. He further realized that if he did escape,
he would soon die of cold and starvation, a penniless outcast. With that
knowledge came hatred and with hatred an answer.

Sir Guillaume and Les Baux could not be saved, but Master
Ernaldus could save himself—save himself and probably garner a handsome reward.
He had only to carry to Arles the news of who had the heiress and that there
was a secret way into Les Baux. Ernaldus began to hurry, whining with pain but
terrified that Guillaume would return for his answer or remember to tell the
castle folk and guards not to obey him or to keep him from leaving. All day he
scurried from room to room in the keep and then into and out of a certain
tower, always keeping to dark corners and peering around anxiously to see if he
was noticed.

At dusk, the serfs who owed
corvée
and were assigned
tasks within Les Baux left to go back to their huts outside the walls. The keep
itself did not cover the entire flat surface of the strange isolated plateau on
which it stood. To the east was an area large enough to be farmed, and those
who attended to the farms lived on them in huts. Some did day labor in the
keep, some carried in produce and carried out slops for the animals and manure
for the earth. Among these people there was an extra.

The laborers were tired after a day’s work and more
interested in getting out of the rain than in their companions. No one actually
looked at the extra. The casual glance or two that passed over him recorded a
face that was vaguely familiar, which was not surprising, for almost everyone
had seen Master Ernaldus. Nor was it surprising that no one recognized him. He
was far more portly than natural, what showed of his face under the hood that
shadowed it was puffed and bruised, and he walked awkwardly and painfully.

Besides, the serfs had only seen Master Ernaldus dressed in
velvets and furs with a fine cap on his head. Now he wore a coarse, dirty cloak
and under it the gown of a clerk. The hood hid more than his face, for he had
cut his hair away from the crown of his head in a rude tonsure. It had occurred
to Ernaldus that only the most desperate of men would harm a man in holy orders
and that he would do well to imitate that condition in life until he was safe.

As soon as he could, Master Ernaldus dropped behind the
group and sought shelter between some bushes. He wept with rage and pain and
fear as he crouched there, execrating Sir Guillaume for every vice of character
and evil, except the ones he truly had, youth, a hasty temper, and a limited
understanding. Ernaldus credited himself with extreme cleverness in having
eluded his master, but the truth was that Sir Guillaume was no more eager to
see the bailiff than the bailiff was to see him.

Guillaume’s outburst had been the result of frustration and
fear. Once it was over, he was rather ashamed of it and of having misused an
elderly man, frailer than himself. Nor did Guillaume want to hear what he knew
was the truth, that there was no way out of the tangle except to marry Beatrice
or accept whatever punishment would be meted out. Moreover, it had never
entered Sir Guillaume’s mind to order the servants not to obey Ernaldus or the
guards to prevent him from leaving, anyway. As he was essentially an honorable
young man, it was impossible for him to believe that Ernaldus would
want
to leave. Sir Guillaume would never have abandoned a man committed to a plan of
his making.

A good part of Ernaldus’s curses should have been directed
against himself. First, there was no need to leave. Ernaldus could have gone to
bed and cosseted himself with no opposition from Sir Guillaume. Second, so long
as he had not done it directly in front of Sir Guillaume, Ernaldus could have
packed all his money and possessions, and a good part of his master’s, had the
things loaded on horses, and ridden out of the gates without question. Not
everyone in Les Baux liked Master Ernaldus, but all accepted his authority.
Without a direct order from Sir Guillaume, no one would have questioned
Ernaldus’s authority to do what he liked.