Royal Dynasty: Fire Song Part 13

Chapter Seventeen.

Aubery and his men would have been overwhelmed in an instant except that even those militiamen who had not been warned understood what was happening. With renewed energy they attacked Bearn's men, whose attention was now divided. In addition, select groups of Bayonnese surged forward, not directly through the ma.s.s of fighting men but as close to the walls as they could get, their courage and energy renewed by a bright expectation of victory.

In minutes the second half of the gate swung shut. In the echo of that sound, Aubery raised his voice again. "Yield and quarter!" he bellowed. "Yield and quarter!"

The cry was taken up by a dozen other authoritative voices. Since no serious damage had been done to their city and because they had the victory, most Bayonnese held no grudge against the soldiers. The anger they felt was against Gaston de Bearn and more violently against whoever had accepted the bribe to open the gate and let in their enemies. Soon the individual militiamen were offering quarter, and by the time the sun had risen, the battle was over.

It was not, of course, the end for Aubery. He felt responsible, since he had been the first to offer quarter, and he stood by to see that the prisoners were treated fairly, that food and drink were provided in the guildhall where they were penned, that their wounded were gathered up and eased as best might be, and that their dead were placed decently to await burial. Then the leaders of the militia wished to thank him, and he could not seem ungracious to fellow fighters, but when the mayor and some of the peers appeared with formal speeches at the tips of their tongues, Aubery had had enough. He pushed forward the militia captains to receive the honors and rode rapidly away.

His one thought was to see to Draco's needs, for he knew that although the animal's leather armor had protected the destrier from serious injury, it had been hurt at least once. Aubery shouted for the grooms as he entered the courtyard of his lodging before he swung out of the saddle. To Fenice, that call was a release from a purgatory that even the fire song could not ease. She had tried to listen only to that, not to hear the dull murmur, which was all the sound of battle that penetrated to her room. She piled logs high so that the fire roared and screamed, but somehow that other sound was inside her head for all the long hours Aubery was gone.

For the s.p.a.ce of three breaths Fenice struggled for control, remembering that her husband did not like any overt sign of emotion, but even her fear of his disapproval could not hold her. She had to see him! His voice was not enough. Forgetting that she had been too sick with fear to dress, she ran down the stairs, out the door, and across the courtyard, crying, "Are you safe? Aubery, are you safe?"

The grooms were lifting off Draco's armor, and Aubery spun to face his wife. "I told you there was no reason for you to fear," he said, not having heard her clearly and a.s.suming that she had asked if "we" were safe. But in the same instant that he spoke, he took in the loose hair, the bedrobe, the bare feet, and her questions sounded again in his mind, this time correctly. He drew breath, intending to call her a stupid b.i.t.c.h, coming out near-naked with bare feet into the cold and filth of the courtyard, but the harsh words stuck in his throat, and instead he strode toward her and lifted her into his arms.

"What a fool you are," he said, but gently. "Look at your feet, all bruised, and you are s.h.i.+vering with cold."

She did not answer that she was shaking with joy and relief, not with cold, but her arms were so tight around his neck that Aubery thought amusedly that it was fortunate his coif protected his throat, or she would have strangled him. Despite the ache in his bruised arm, he would have carried her up the stairs, but she relaxed her grip once they were inside the door and lifted her head away from his cheek, which she had been kissing.

"You are safe," she sighed, and then added, "I beg your pardon, my lord. I know you do not like me to show fear or act so silly, but I could not help it. I will try to do better. Please put me down. I know you wish to see to Draco's comfort, and I must make sure that food and drink are ready when you come in."

"Wash your feet first," he ordered. "If you cut them in that dirt, the sores might not heal."

As he turned to go back to oversee the care of his horse, Aubery felt as light as a feather. He did not a.s.sociate the sensation with happiness, nor did he realize that he was now free of that odd flicker of dissatisfaction he had felt when Fenice accepted his need to fight so calmly. He had closed the feeling out of his mind, and he had not consciously recognized it again or realized that it had intensified into a nameless weight on his spirit when she helped him to arm without speaking a single word to him or asking him to take care during the battle. The practical comment that his success would serve best to protect her had only added to the burden.

Other things conspired to add to his satisfaction. The cut that had made Draco scream was smaller than he had feared, and the horse seemed unaware of it, not favoring that limb. There were other marks on the animal, bruises where blows had not penetrated the armor, but none near any place that could disable the stallion. Aubery discussed with the grooms what should be done to reduce the swelling and ensuing stiffness and then turned toward the house. Had they come straight from battle, he would have stayed longer to gentle the excited destrier, but that was not necessary.

The roaring fire was another pleasant surprise. Aubery had not seen so large a blaze since he left his native land, and it gave him a feeling of homeliness. It seemed natural, and he did not question why the fire was roaring up the flue, though actually he knew it was not usual. The less intense cold of Gascony did not require enormous fires, and wood was not plentiful in the neighborhood of towns like Bordeaux and Bayonne, so fuel was used with discretion. When he entered, Aubery did not realize that the room was really too warm. After the heat of fighting, his sweat-damp s.h.i.+rt and tunic had become cold against his body while he discussed the treatment of the prisoners and made suitable replies to grateful remarks and speeches. The heat was pleasant.

It was pleasant, too-now that he was certain how welcome he was-to be disarmed, then undressed, and finally wrapped in his bedrobe in a silence broken at last only by a quiet question as to whether or not he wished to have his bruise treated. Aubery opened his eyes, which had been closed, and Fenice bit her lip.

"Am I not supposed even to ask, my lord?"

Aubery shook his head wearily. "Not that, but I do not think you would have time to do anything worthwhile. I will just eat and get warm. Then I must go up on the walls and see what can be seen of Bearn's camp, and after that I must question the prisoners, and judge, if I can, what force is arrayed against us here."

"You do not trust the men of Bayonne, then? I mean, even those who helped in the fighting?"

"Some I do not," Aubery admitted, "but for most it is not a question of their loyalty. I just do not believe they know what questions to ask or that they would understand the answers given." He began to shrug contemptuously and made an angry exclamation of pain as his stiffening muscles protested. "They are tradesmen."

"You do not think," Fenice asked as she placed a cup of warm spiced wine in his hand, "that Bearn will be discouraged and withdraw? You say there were prisoners taken. Could that not reduce his force sufficiently so that it will be impossible to besiege Bayonne?"

"I never thought it would be possible for him to try seriously to besiege Bayonne in the first place," Aubery replied, sipping the wine and watching Fenice put a slice of meat pasty, a chunk of cheese, and chewable-size pieces of meat on a platter. "He cannot possibly have an army large enough, but he may still hope to win by treachery or by trickery. As you and I have discovered, the commune will yield if he can convince them he is strong enough to take the town, whether it be true or not. It is that I must guard against."

Of course Fenice would have preferred that Aubery go to bed with a warm pack on his shoulder, but since what he said implied there would be no more fighting, she was quite content. Nor was that contentment broken by any disappointment. Aubery had guessed correctly again. Gaston de Bearn pretended to set up a siege that lasted for something more than a week while he continued to hope that those who had tried to give him the town by treachery would manage to convince the mayor and commune to yield to empty threats.

He might have succeeded if Aubery had not demonstrated so clearly that the threats were empty. After all, the mayor and peers did not have much to lose. They would have been protected by any agreement made. The sufferers would have been the common folk, the small tradesmen, artisans, and merchants from whom Bearn would have extracted money and on whom his army would have preyed. They would have been the sufferers again when the king came to take back the town, for the mayor and commune would have yielded as readily to Henry for a promise of immunity.

Not that Aubery was considering the common good when he demanded permission to speak at the meeting of the commune, argued against every point Bearn's messenger made, and applied a few subtle threats of his own. He had accepted a charge from the king and implied in that charge was that he must do everything in his power to protect the king's property and uphold his authority.

The good of the people and the good of the king coincided in this case. One morning Bearn's force had vanished, doing Bayonne no more harm than the deaths and injuries its citizens had sustained in its protection. Not long thereafter, Aubery and Fenice took their departure also, bearing with them letters and pet.i.tions for King Henry's attention, as well as gifts to sweeten the requests.

On the day they arrived in Bordeaux, the king was too busy to see Aubery, and he reported what had happened in strictly factual terms to the king's special clerk, John Mansel. That the clerk was back in Bordeaux from the marriage negotiations in Castile was very interesting to Aubery, but he asked no questions. It was Alys who told him that the negotiations had sped so well that only one piece remained to be fitted in. Alfonso had insisted that he would not make contract without a personal meeting between Prince Edward and Princess Eleanor. The King of Castile spoke in terms of fearing any antipathy between his much-loved half sister and the prince who would affect her happiness, but in Alys's opinion Alfonso did not trust Henry and wanted to be sure that Edward was not a weakling or a halfwit.

This did not worry Aubery, who knew the prince to be strong and clever, indeed, a great improvement over his father. He said if Edward's character was all Alfonso doubted, the marriage was as good as settled, and set off for La Reole the next day in the best of spirits to make his excuses to his overlord for overstaying his leave and report himself ready for duty. What Aubery did not suspect, for he was not a courtier and did not even desire the king's attention, was that more than one letter described not only in detail but in highly inflated terms his activities in Bayonne.

The writers, misled by King Henry's letter, a.s.sumed Aubery was already a favorite and that by praising him excessively, glory would reflect upon themselves. But John Mansel knew nothing of Henry's device to deceive the Bayonnese. He compared Aubery's sober account of what he had done, looked over what evidence he brought to support his conclusions as to who the traitors were, considered the fact that Aubery had no connections with anyone in Gascony except Raymond d'Aix, and decided that Aubery of Ilmer was the ideal man to undertake the protection of the prince and queen when they traveled to Castile for the meeting with the young Eleanor.

It was, Mansel thought wryly, a great misfortune that diplomatic skill and high office were so seldom wedded to youth and great physical prowess. Not that the clerk was concerned with Aubery's abilities as a negotiator. The queen and Peter of Aigueblanche, the Bishop of Hereford, would put the final polish on the contracts. But there were sure to be great celebrations. Edward was to be knighted as well as married. That would mean a tournament, most likely, and the prince must have a champion.

Edward would be sufficiently chafed at not being permitted to take part himself, but he was not yet fifteen and, while headstrong, not at all a fool. However, it would be the final indignity, Mansel feared, if there were no Englishman present capable of playing the part with honor so that Alfonso either had to appoint a champion for the prince or order his own champion to hold back his full power. No, that would not suit Prince Edward at all, but from what had been said about Sir Aubery in those letters, he was just the person to uphold English honor in pa.s.sages at arms.

Mansel frowned worriedly. Or was it a good idea? Would it merely increase Edward's taste for war? How long would it be possible to restrain the prince from active partic.i.p.ation in fighting? He had followed Henry right down to the dock where the s.h.i.+ps were loading, pleading and arguing, and weeping with rage and frustration when his father would not take him to Gascony. The prince was as a.s.siduous in the practice of arms as any simple baron's younger son who would need to win his livelihood by his sword.

But Edward had no experience in real fighting, and Mansel feared the prince's tutors were influenced by his position and dealt out praise more liberally than they should. Could Edward have gone as squire to some great warrior, like Simon de Montfort, who would have trained him, protected him while taking him into actual combat, and given him the experience he needed, all would have been well. But even if the king and Lord Simon had not quarreled so bitterly, a prince could not be any n.o.bleman's squire. And there was no king to whom Henry would trust his precious son, for which Mansel did not blame him. Used as a hostage, Edward could be a disaster to Henry and to England.

The trip to Castile was safe enough, since the large army operating in Gascony could be turned against Alfonso if he developed any peculiar ideas. But Mansel hardly gave that a thought. He had taken Alfonso's measure carefully. He knew all Henry's ravings about the threat from Castile were a ruse to extract money from England. Alfonso was prepared honestly to uphold the agreement made, so long as Gascony was part of the settlement upon Eleanor, which would satisfy his claim and his pride.

The demand to see Edward personally, Mansel was sure, was an attempt to determine whether the prince was more likely than his father to stand by his word. Well, there would be no trouble about Edward's firmness of character, far otherwise. Mansel pursed his lips. He believed Alfonso was wise enough to recognize that the prince's youthful pride and arrogance when he was crossed would be tamed by time. Nonetheless, it would be best to avoid, as much as possible, any display of Edward's less appealing characteristics, and Aubery of Ilmer might well be the answer to that problem.

Edward was always gracious when he was pleased. a.s.suming Sir Aubery made a good showing at the tournament, the prince would be at his best, the soul of modesty and good behavior. And Sir Aubery had other points in his favor. He was no loud-mouthed braggart, nor was he coa.r.s.e in his speech and behavior as were too many mighty warriors. Show Edward the letters from Bayonne, and he would, for a time at least, try to model his behavior on that of Sir Aubery. Mansel smiled wryly. The prince could do worse. Sir Aubery's quiet but self-confident manner would be a pleasant change.

Nor was Sir Aubery likely to be a sycophant and agree to any wild ideas the prince might have for the sake of gaining his favor. Had he been that kind, Sir Aubery would have insisted on presenting himself to the king in person. Best of all, he was no great baron to think he had a right to join the queen and bishop in the making of the contract and, perhaps, spoil all for some minor point of baronial privilege. Yes, indeed, Mansel decided, having convinced himself by his reasonings, Sir Aubery of Ilmer should command the party of knights that would escort the prince and his mother to Castile.

The king, having heard Mansel's report and read the letters he presented, was utterly delighted. He credited himself with a deep perception of Aubery's character, rather than simple opportunism in having chosen him to manage royal affairs in Bayonne. Moreover, he was able to add information that Mansel did not have. Not only was Aubery as skilled at jousting as he was in the arts of true war, but he was married to a great-niece of the queen. True, the girl was only a natural daughter of Raymond d'Aix, but Eleanor would not care about that, for she adored Raymond and would be delighted to have his daughter, left hand or right, among her ladies. And the fact that the news of Bearn's failure to take Bayonne was the final straw that broke the resistance in La Reole and induced the defenders to yield, on highly favorable terms, was an additional mark in Aubery's favor.

Aubery was not surprised to be summoned to the king soon after the fall of La Reole. The army was moving to Bazas, and a second siege, which promised to be as dull as that at La Reole, was about to begin. Actually, Aubery had some hope that Hereford would reply that his va.s.sal was needed at the moment and would come as soon as the army was resettled, but the earl only looked sour when Aubery presented the summons. "Yes, go," he said. "I know about it. I will be sorry to lose you, but I will be returning to England very soon."

Since his overlord's temper recently had not been such as would encourage even mild argument, Aubery made no protest. Still, he was not very happy at the implication that he was to be employed directly by the king, and he silently cursed the accident that had brought him to Henry's notice and then made his errand in Bayonne more of a success than anyone could have foreseen. Further service for Henry might be a path toward riches and power, but Aubery was not dissatisfied with what he had. Besides, he knew of the king's penchant for blaming those who failed him, whether or not the failure was their fault, and Aubery feared he had no turn for the kind of deviousness needed to avoid becoming a scapegoat sooner or later. However, it was foolish to begin to bawl before he was scalded, let him first hear what the king had to say.

Aubery was, in fact, far better pleased than he expected. To be the military leader of the knights accompanying the queen and prince was well within his powers and training. He had no doubts at all of his ability to fulfill such a commission to the king's satisfaction, and he looked forward with strong enthusiasm to acting as Edward's champion in any war games Alfonso of Castile proposed. And, to crown his pleasure, he would have Fenice with him.

Their separation when Aubery returned to duty had not been painful since both knew he would be in little danger and probably would be able to visit Blancheforte periodically. The latter expectation had not been fulfilled, however, because Aubery had been fully occupied after the yielding of La Reole. But his duties and male companions.h.i.+p had not excluded Fenice from his thoughts. Frequently, Aubery had the urge to recount to her various incidents and conversations and had felt disappointed that he could not hear her laugh at the humorous circ.u.mstances or her warm praise for a quick answer or wise decision on more serious occasions. And when he pa.s.sed a dark shelter or secluded corner and heard the sounds men and women make while coupling, he missed his wife intensely.

Therefore, Aubery's expressions of grat.i.tude for the honor the king was bestowing upon him were warm and sincere. Henry glowed with satisfaction. The king loved to be generous, and the knowledge that this act would cost nothing and please everybody made Aubery's thanks even pleasanter.

Scarcely able to contain his excitement, Aubery galloped the mile to Blancheforte to lay his prize before his wife. Since nothing is more damping to enthusiasm than being unable to find the person to whom you wish to communicate it, he was fortunate to discover Fenice at once. She was overseeing the gathering up of the leftovers of dinner to give to the beggars who waited outside the gates, and she dropped the basket she had been examining when he entered the hall, and ran toward him. He caught her in his arms and swung her around and around while she clung to him.

Accustomed to considerably more formality in Aubery's greeting, Fenice cried, "What is it, my lord?"

And Alys said, "Put her down, Aubery. You will make her sick."

Since he was growing a little dizzy himself, Aubery gave Fenice one more enthusiastic squeeze, laughed, and stopped rotating. "I wished to prepare her for my news. If she were already giddy, she could not be affected by the exalted company we are to keep."

Exalted company was no pleasure to Fenice, but she believed her husband was only teasing her, and she also laughed and again begged to hear what had given him so much pleasure.

"I am appointed to command the knights who will accompany the queen and Prince Edward to Castile," he said.

"Oh Aubery, how wonderful! That is an honor, indeed," Alys exclaimed.

"Why wonderful?" Fenice cried. "Who better deserves such honor? I do not understand how it took the king so long to acknowledge his debt."

"Little innocent," Aubery said, grinning. "Royalty as often acknowledges a debt with a blow as with a prize. I had hoped to escape without any further notice from the king, but this is a reward I can savor."

"You are right," Alys agreed. "Dealing with Henry is a chancy business. He is not unknown to turn and bite the hand that serves him. Eleanor is different altogether."

"And to serve the prince, who will be king someday, is also very good," Fenice remarked thoughtfully.

"It had not escaped my mind," Aubery admitted, still grinning. "From what little I have seen of him and the more I have heard, Edward is very different from his father. I must say I am looking forward to making his closer acquaintance. I have heard he is a most serious student in feats of arms, so it will do no harm either that I am appointed to be his champion."

Fenice was watching Aubery's face, not Alys's. All she saw was his lighthearted delight. She did not notice Alys catch her breath and bite her lip, and the term "champion" sounded to her like some formal, honorary position, such as sword-bearer in a court ceremony.

"I am sure you will be a perfect champion," Fenice said, clapping her hands.

"Yes, and win Edward's admiration," Alys seconded, knowing there was no point in warning Fenice that the honor the king had bestowed so lightly and Aubery had accepted with true pleasure could easily be fatal. It was far better that Fenice remain in ignorance as long as possible so that she could enjoy herself wholeheartedly until Aubery actually had to play the part of champion and Fenice discovered what it meant. Alys had found a smile, and if her voice was a trifle strained and her lips somewhat stiff, Fenice was too taken up with Aubery to notice.

But Fenice's pleasure was already dimming. "How long will you be away?" she asked.

Aubery frowned. "That is the one drawback. I do not know how much longer this will keep us from returning to England. Lord Hereford told me he intends to go back very soon, I think as soon as Bazas yields, and that can be no long time."

"You need not worry," Alys said soothingly. "Elizabeth writes that all is quiet in England. It is true that the barons refused Henry's pleas for money, but there will be no trouble about that. Leicester arrived in England not long before the Parliament was called, and he a.s.sured the barons there was no threat from Castile, that the movement of troops was only to hold Navarre quiet while Alfonso turned his real power against the Moors."

"Good G.o.d!" Aubery exclaimed, diverted momentarily from his own concern. "Are you sure that will not set Cornwall at Leicester's throat?"

"No, no," Alys a.s.sured him. "I suppose Richard was not well pleased by Leicester's interference, but under the circ.u.mstances he is too wise to doubt Lord Simon's honesty or to press the barons to pay."

"Oh well," Aubery said, dismissing the subject, "all in all it is better for Leicester to be in England just now."

Alys smiled and nodded, and seeing that she and Aubery had said all they wanted, Fenice recalled them to what was most important to her by saying, "I am afraid my question was a selfish one, but I wished to know how long we would be parted, my lord."

"Not at all," Aubery replied, turning to her with a broad smile. "You did not understand me. You are to come to Castile, also, Fenice. You are to be one of the queen's ladies."

Fenice stared at him, wide-eyed, stricken. "No," she whispered.

To play the part of queen's kinswoman among the merchants of Bayonne was bad enough, but that was only because Fenice had feared some lack in her might be thought unbecoming to her heritage. Rich and powerful some of the merchants might be, but they were not n.o.ble. To be accepted by the queen as kinswoman was far more dangerous. Fenice was sure Queen Eleanor could not know her mother was a serf. Lord Alphonse would not have announced to the queen the birth of a base-blooded b.a.s.t.a.r.d girl. Thus, the very act of presenting her to the queen would be a kind of lie, a mute a.s.surance that she had a right to be presented, that her mother might have been sinful and foolish but was gently born.

What if Queen Eleanor found out? Fenice was not afraid for herself. No punishment dealt out could be worse than the agony her humiliation would cause her. But Aubery... She could not let Aubery present her, but bound by her oath to Lady Alys, she could not tell him why, either. He would not even know he was committing an offense, yet the punishment would fall upon him. Perhaps Queen Eleanor's rage would even reach back to her father. Fenice shook her head.

"No! Please, my lord, you do not understand-"

"Do not be a fool, Fenice," Aubery interrupted, still smiling. "I know you are shy, and you have told me often enough that you do not crave a life among the great and neither do I, but this is not a matter of our choice."

"I am a simple girl," Fenice cried. "I will not know how to behave. I will be an embarra.s.sment to you."

"Nonsense," Aubery said heartily, "you were perfect in Bayonne. You had the dignity of a queen and the kindness that made that dignity a pleasure to others."

"It is not the same!" Fenice's eyes were full of tears, her voice rising toward hysteria.

"No, it is not the same. Service with the queen will be much easier," Alys said soothingly. "In Bayonne, you were the center of attention. You will be one among others as a lady to the queen. Very little will be asked of you. Eleanor is accustomed to having silly young girls placed among her women to be trained. Moreover, she is very kind, and she loves your father dearly."

"But to be called kinswoman-"

"Fenice!" Alys's voice cut like a knife. "You are the queen's kinswoman," she added quietly. "Your father is her nephew, and you are her great-niece."

Aubery had been looking at Fenice with sympathy. It seemed perfectly natural to him that a girl should be frightened at the idea of living in intimacy with the great. He preferred not to do so himself, and although he was well accustomed to the company of the Earl of Cornwall and his wife, who was Queen Eleanor's sister, he was more comfortable with the knights and barons, who were his equals. Believing he understood the problem, he had been about to a.s.sure Fenice that she would not always be on show, but his stepsister's sharp tone, obviously meant to convey a warning and cut off what she feared Fenice would say next, startled him into silence. The following sentences sounded like a rea.s.surance, but to Aubery's ear they rang false.

Obviously Fenice knew her connection with the queen, it had been stressed in Bayonne. It seemed to Aubery that Alys was emphasizing the blood bond to cover something else. Aubery was reminded of Fenice's fear that her marriage contract would not be signed and of other oddities in her behavior. There was a secret Fenice was hiding from him, and just as he had thought from the first, it was a secret Alys knew.

In a sense the fact that Alys was privy to the secret was good. If Alys knew, Aubery was certain it could not be a dark or dangerous secret, not something that could touch his honor or his security. Very likely it was a little thing, only of importance to his wife personally, a thing that made her shy and fearful when she must appear in a public capacity but did not shadow her private life. Perhaps, as a child, Fenice lost control of her tongue in public and stammered, or even fainted or had fits from shyness. Clearly she had outgrown whatever problem she had, but feared it would return. The fact that the secret existed did not trouble Aubery. The fact that Fenice felt that he must be excluded from knowing it hurt and angered him.

"I told you it was not a matter of your choice or mine," he said harshly. "It is the king's order, and you must obey, as must I."

"But-" Fenice began, looking pleadingly at Alys.

"Fenice!" Alys's voice was ominous with warning again.

The byplay between the two women infuriated Aubery still further. Had Fenice addressed her appeal to him, he would have asked her what she was hiding and a.s.sured her that he would somehow protect her from whatever she feared. Since she clearly felt her stepmother to be closer to her and more important than her husband, she could just manage without his help. He was not such a weakling or a fool as to be curious about a woman's silly secret. Let her keep it to herself or share it with Alys. He did not care.

"I am very sorry that your pleasure in my reward does not equal mine," Aubery said resentfully, thinking that Matilda might have tried to hide some little thing from him, but only out of fear, and she would never have shared the secret with someone else.

"Oh, I am so sorry," Fenice cried, turning toward him and stretching her hands to him. "I did not mean to spoil your pleasure. Forgive me, my lord."

"It does not matter," he answered coldly, stepping back so that Fenice could not touch him. "I will take my news where it will be more welcome."

"Aubery!" Alys exclaimed. "Do not be foolish. We are both-"

That "we both", coupling Alys and Fenice, put the lid on his fury. On the words he turned and began to stride down the hall, ignoring Fenice, who followed crying bitterly and pleading with him to wait. Unfortunately, she had no idea about what he was really angry, so she kept trying to explain how happy she really was about his appointment, and hers also. Her voice was clogged with sobs, the words scarcely distinguishable. No one could have been convinced by the protestations. Once, Aubery said, "Let me be," but he did not repeat it or push her away.

He allowed her to follow him all the way down to the door of the forebuilding before he turned and dealt her a stinging slap. The tears and the a.s.surances of joy were meaningless. Amid all her hysterical pleading, she had said nothing of her reason for wis.h.i.+ng to avoid service with the queen. Frightened as she was, she would not confide her secret to him. Very well, let her keep it.

"When I want you, I will come for you or send for you," he said. "You, I am sure, have no need for me."

Chapter Eighteen.

Fenice staggered back against the wall of the forebuilding and sank to her knees under the force of Aubery's blow. It had not been a very hard slap, Aubery could easily have shattered the bones of her face if he had unleashed the full power of his arm. Although Fenice had been unprepared for the blow, her recoil was as much from the words he spoke as from the force or pain.

For a minute or two she was too stunned to move, then she levered herself to her feet and away from the wall, crying her husband's name. She was halfway across the bailey when she saw him riding full tilt through the gates. She stopped where she was then, staring after him, tears running down her cheeks so freely that the bosom of her gown was all wet. Over and over she heard his words, "You have no need for me." What could that mean? He was her life, the sun in her sky. How could she have no need for life, for the sun?