Royal Dynasty: Fire Song Part 18

Aubery could not help laughing. "That seems an easy, pleasant life to me, and you like to embroider and sing."

"Yes, and I like to play games and-and gossip, too," Fenice admitted navely, "but not all day, every day. I miss, oh, at this season I would be culling the last of the herbs, brewing simples and drying those that keep their virtue dried, seeing to the salting of the meat from those animals slaughtered to thin the herds, and stocking the castle in all things for the winter. It is a busy time usually, even in Aix, where the weather is milder than England, for there are great storms in winter, and s.h.i.+ps and supplies cannot come. But you know all this, my lord," she said with a shy smile.

He drew her close and kissed her. "Aye, I know what you mean. I have had some pleasure in the war and more in this journey for the prince's marriage, but I long for my lands and my simple daily duties also. I wonder what the harvest was like in Ilmer. This year it should bring me some profit at last, if it was good, and I wonder whether the fine mare I bred to Draco foaled a mare or a stallion colt." He smiled down at her. "We must go first to Blancheforte. You will want to bid farewell to your father and Lady Alys, and I must find out whether Sir William left messages for me. But after that, we will go home."

Although Fenice was glad that she had appeased her husband and that he was pleased with her desire for a normal, simple life, she remained aware that the real cause of his dissatisfaction was not the one he had stated. No one could have believed she was pretending joy. It had welled out of her so freely that her sincerity must have been apparent.

Fenice wondered whether she should ask what had really angered her husband, but she dared not. To ask the real reason was to imply that Aubery had lied, which would set off his quick temper, and besides, Fenice was not certain that she wished to know. What if her dancing about had reminded him of his first wife and he had seen her as an unwelcome usurper? Or, if the cause was something silly and of no importance, it would be stupid to recall it to his mind.

So Fenice said nothing, but a shadow of uneasiness lay in a corner of her mind, and it began to trouble her again that Aubery still said no love-words to her. From the time they had made up their quarrel after she had been so stupid as to try to refuse entering the queen's service, she had not thought of the matter, accepting it as part of Aubery's way of doing things. He had shown her so much approval, so much confidence, bringing his worries and his joys to her during the day and joining more and more freely in love play during the night that the lack of tender words seemed unimportant.

Now she wondered. Aubery called her Fenice and sometimes, playfully or when in grand company, my lady, but he never called her my love or dear heart or flower of my soul, as Delmar used to do before Lady Emilie poisoned his mind. Even when Aubery lay under her, his eyes glazing with pa.s.sion as he watched the generation of his pleasure by her rising and falling body, and he cried out in a moment of nearly unendurable joy it was merely her name he uttered. Perhaps that was enough. Perhaps he had never used words of love because he felt they were not fitting words for a strong man to say, but perhaps it was because he did not love her.

Fenice did her best to rid herself of these unwholesome thoughts. She told herself she was an ungrateful wretch. Blessed with a husband who treated her with all the courtesy a great lady could desire, who paid no more attention to any other woman than a minimum of politeness demanded and plainly showed his preference for her in all company, how dared she ask more? But such a question only ill.u.s.trated too clearly that she felt Aubery was withholding from her some ultimate part of himself.

Since Aubery's release had arrived before they had unpacked more than what they would need for that one night, there was little to do to make ready, and the very next day they rode north to Blancheforte. Their sudden departure had given Sir Savin, who had traveled south with the king as part of Lord Guy de Lusignan's household, the hope that Aubery had somehow offended the prince or the queen. The idea had pleased Savin mightily and had reduced the urgency of his desire for revenge. Nonetheless, he had no intention of trying to restore himself to Edward's favor. He was delighted with his present situation.

Because the king's half brothers were cordially hated by many, and there had been a few unpleasant incidents, Guy de Lusignan had been perfectly willing to take into his household a strong fighter who professed himself obligated to him and his brothers and very eager to serve them. And Savin did his best to show himself useful in the weeks between his arrival and the king's departure to meet his wife, son, and new daughter-by-marriage on their return from Castile.

Sir Savin was fortunate. Circ.u.mstances provided an opportunity for him to protect Lord Guy from an exasperated merchant, and he also demonstrated his ability in intimidating those who resisted giving the various bribes and presents one or another of the brothers demanded or those who threatened to appeal to the king for redress.

Since Savin tended to add his own extortions to those of his masters, he was finding his new place profitable as well as pleasant. Thus, he avoided the prince rather than courting his notice, and hoped that Lord Guy would not remember that he was supposed to go back into Edward's service. Savin was primarily concerned about the handsome perquisites he was taking, but he still wished to kill Aubery while they were away from England, if it were possible.

The best place to do that would be Bordeaux, where Aubery was almost certainly going and where Savin had made connections of the type best suited to ambush and a.s.sa.s.sination. However, the prince was not returning to Bordeaux with his parents. The royal party was separating, Edward and little Eleanor were going to tour Gascony to show themselves as the new duke and d.u.c.h.ess. Savin did not wish to be part of this entourage. All of the prince's people would have to be on their very best behavior to impress the Gascons with the mercy, kindness, and justice of the new rulers. While in Bayonne Savin was very quiet and kept out of everyone's way.

Fenice was delighted on their arrival at Blancheforte to find that Raymond and Alys were still there. She had not been certain that they would have remained in Gascony so long after the war was actually over. They had been away from Aix much longer than usual, and Lady Alys had already been worried about her children. Not only were Alys and Raymond still in Blancheforte but Sir William was also there, grumbling about his long separation from his beloved wife but asked to remain by Richard of Cornwall, who had written that the king intended, if he could, to visit his mother's tomb and have her body transferred to the church at Fontevrault.

This was now possible because King Louis was, at long last, back in France. Alphonse, Raymond's younger brother who protected the interests of the Comte d'Aix in the French court, had written a gossipy letter that provided the cynical details surrounding the homecoming. Louis's crusade had been a disaster and had ended in his own capture by Sultan Ayyub at Mansurah in Egypt. But Ayyub had been more merciful to Louis than Louis would have been to Ayyub, demanding no more than that the French king yield what little he had previously conquered and pay a king's ransom for his release. Ayyub was content to leave Louis's soul to what Christian consolations it could find, whereas Louis would have insisted that Ayyub's Moslem soul be converted.

In fact, so stubborn was Louis in his determination to perform the impossible and drive the infidels from the Holy Land that he lingered in Syria for three years after he had been freed. All he had was the helpless remnant of a shattered army, but he hoped that his pious example would inspire other Christian monarchs to send a.s.sistance. Even his mother's death in 1252 had had no immediate power to shake his resolve. By 1255, however, he had given up hope of waking the conscience of his brother rulers and yielded to the increasingly frantic pleas of his regents to return to governing his kingdom.

Fenice and Aubery were deeply interested in the fact that Louis had again taken the reins of France into his hands. In the king's absence, those who governed uneasily in his stead had regarded the long-standing truce between England and France strictly, that is, they would refrain from attacking, but acted as if all those who owed fealty to Henry of England were enemies of Louis of France and were to be accorded no courtesies.

Thus, only under the most exceptional circ.u.mstances was an official safe conduct for pa.s.sage through France issued during the king's absence. Louis was of a more generous and flexible disposition. He had always interpreted the truce in the widest sense, as a preliminary to a peaceful accord. Thus, he had most graciously agreed to allow Henry to do what he liked with his mother's remains and, indeed, to move freely within France with a reasonable escort. Aubery would have heard the news in Bayonne had he not been so eager to avoid any official of the royal party lest he be s.n.a.t.c.hed back into service.

Having commiserated with his stepfather who was waiting to join Henry and the queen when they came back to Bordeaux preparatory to setting off for Fontevrault, Aubery asked Raymond if his brother, Alphonse, could obtain a safe conduct for Fenice and himself. Permission to travel through France would save them the choice between a most dangerous and uncomfortable sea voyage-if they were able to find a s.h.i.+p that would attempt the long sail to England at this season-or remaining in Gascony until the spring.

Raymond said that he could foresee no difficulty and sent off a messenger that very day to Alphonse. He was rather amused at Aubery's haste to be gone before the king returned to Bordeaux, commenting that most men would kill for the advantages Aubery was so eager to throw away. However, Sir William, Alys, and Fenice all supported Aubery stoutly-William and Alys because they had strong reservations about a close a.s.sociation with King Henry, and Fenice because, despite the kindness of the queen, she could not completely overcome her fears and knew she would be far happier living quietly.

Although the safe conduct they desired did not arrive before the royal party, Henry was far too happy in the company of his wife and too busy with the plans he was making to think of Aubery. Of course, had Aubery presented himself, the king would have been reminded of his existence, happy to see him, and happy to praise him for doing his duty so well. Aubery knew it and was so eager to avoid his monarch's notice that he hardly was willing to go outside the walls of Blancheforte.

By the time the royal party returned to Bordeaux, Savin had learned that Aubery was not out of favor. No one was certain why he had left so hurriedly, but the a.s.sumption was that it was some urgent personal business that called him away. Savin was annoyed, but it was too late to do anything about it. Since Aubery was still in high favor, it was impossible for Savin to believe he would not have come to court to exploit his opportunity. Thus, he was almost certain Aubery had already left for England. Besides, his gains from illicit profit were still excellent, and Lord Guy seemed satisfied to keep him in the household, so Savin dismissed Aubery from his mind. Sooner or later, Savin told himself, he would get his revenge for the injuries Aubery had done him.

Fortunately, Henry and Queen Eleanor set off on their journey before Aubery lost patience with his confinement. Only a few days later Alphonse's letter came containing a safe conduct from King Louis. Fenice and Aubery wasted no time. Every day's delay would subject them to more chance of bad weather. Since they were taking with them no more than their clothing, packing took no long time. Five English men-at-arms, half of Sir William's little troop, went with them to help guard the baggage, and they chose to take the most westerly route, through La Roch.e.l.le and Nantes to Cherbourg. The crossing from Cherbourg was best for them. That from Calais was shorter but was not practical because it would add hundreds of miles to their journey in France and because Dover was much farther from Marlowe than Portsmouth.

In the chilly predawn of mid-November, Fenice attended ma.s.s for the last time with her father and stepmother. She prayed pa.s.sionately for their long life and happiness, for the health and well-being of her half brothers and half sister, for her sister, Enid, in service with Lady Beatrice, Countess of Provence, and all those she was leaving behind, even Lady Jeannette and Lady Emilie. She knew she should be frightened and lonely at the idea of going so far away and at the possibility that she would never again see those who had been so dear to her, but truly she was neither frightened nor lonely.

Fenice did weep a little after they had broken their fasts and her father and Lady Alys accompanied her to the bailey to embrace her for the last time, but her tears were more of excitement than of sorrow. She would be a lady in her own manor again, as she had been in Trets. And even if she often lived in Marlowe where Lady Elizabeth ruled, she had nothing to fear from Lady Elizabeth. Sir William had been exactly as Lady Alys described him, and Lady Alys had a.s.sured her that Lady Elizabeth was the kindest person living.

Besides, in England no one knew she was only a serf woman's daughter. In recompense for the evil thought, forbidden by Lady Alys and an implied criticism of her dear, kind father, Fenice hugged them both again and wept a little more. Then Aubery put her up on her mare and they were off, clattering across the drawbridge, Fenice twisting in her saddle to wave and wave as long as she could see the figures watching them ride away, waving and weeping because she felt guilty at not being sadder.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

When the road bent so that she could no longer see Blancheforte, Fenice wiped her eyes and nose and turned to look at the view ahead. It was familiar at this point because they had to ride to Bordeaux to cross the river. Despite the damp chill of the morning, Fenice knew it would be a beautiful day. Ahead to the east, the sky was streaked with pink and gold. Soon the sun would be up.

"Are you afraid of going so far from your family and being alone with me?" Aubery asked suddenly.

Fenice turned startled eyes up to him. They were riding close on the narrow road, Aubery holding Draco in so that he would not outdistance Fenice's much smaller mare. The stallion was snorting and shaking his head in irritation at the constraint, and Fenice wondered whether it was because Aubery had needed to raise his voice over Draco's noise that it had sounded sharp to her.

"No, Aubery," she replied, "of course I am not afraid. You have always been kind to me." Then her clear eyes shadowed. "And closeness is no guarantee of happiness."

Aubery's first reaction to her answer was pure pleasure. He had been a little annoyed at her crying. After all, she had known from the beginning that she must eventually go to England with him, and she had seemed eager to do so. But when she said that closeness was no guarantee of happiness, he realized he was being unreasonable. It was only natural that she should be sad at parting with Alys and Raymond, and that statement could only refer to her first marriage. Her husband's lands had been very close to Tour Dur.

Although he really wanted to ask what she meant in the hope that she would say outright her first marriage had been unhappy, he did not do so. If Fenice spoke of...what was the man's name? Delmar, that was it. Would she not expect him to speak of Matilda? Aubery s.h.i.+ed away from the thought. He did not want to speak-or think-about Matilda.

Instead, he said, "Then you will not mind, I hope, if we make the best speed we may on our journey." He, too, glanced at the sky. "It will be fair and not cold today, but as we go north, the weather will not be as good, and the slower our pace, the worse it will get."

"I will not mind at all," Fenice a.s.sured him. "Let us go as far as the horses can take us."

Aubery smiled at her. Her ready response, which held no shadow of regret at the implied increase of distance from her father and stepmother, pleased him, but the remark had only been something to say. He did not wish to idle on the road but did not feel any need to hurry, either. Unless they had very bad luck, the trip to Cherbourg would take no longer than ten days, and it would be senseless to exhaust Fenice and the horses to save a day or two. That could make no difference.

In fact, Aubery had had no intention of covering as much as the forty-odd miles they did that first day. He would gladly have stopped sooner, for although she did not complain, Fenice looked very tired toward the end of the ride, but there had been no suitable place. The two villages they had pa.s.sed had been so poor and filthy that he did not for a moment consider taking over one of the huts. For a while Aubery thought they would have to camp in the open because the road pa.s.sed through a long, hilly, forested area, more desolate than he had expected. However, they met a merchant's party going south and were a.s.sured that there was a larger village ahead, where they could find food and shelter.

They found more than that. Hardly had they settled into the one decent chamber the inn afforded than there was a loud disturbance in the main room below. Fenice paid no attention, but when she came toward Aubery to disarm him, he shook his head.

"What-" Fenice began, but was interrupted by the creak of the stairs and the landlord's trembling voice at the door saying that there were gentlemen below who insisted on having the chamber.

Aubery strode forward, one hand on his sword, and Fenice's breath caught with fear. "Do not-" she cried, but he was already out the door and headed down the stairs. She followed a moment later, determined to run out and summon their men from the stable if a fight should develop, but only got as far as the stair landing when she heard Aubery say in an amazed voice, "My lord Warwick, gentlemen, what do you here?"

"And who are you to ask?" a haughty voice responded.

Followed so immediately that Aubery could not answer by a loud laugh and a second voice, saying, "Back off, John. Do you not see it is Aubery of Ilmer?"

From her perch on the landing, Fenice could not see which of the three armed men confronting Aubery had spoken, but if she could have reached the second she would have scratched out his eyes. In her experience, to say something like that was sure to provoke a fight, for the man who had been warned would doubtless feel he must prove he was not afraid. Fortunately, before the first speaker could respond to the challenge, Aubery intervened.

"I would gladly give up the chamber to you, Lord Warwick," he offered, "but my wife is with me. If I can find-"

"No, no," Warwick interrupted quickly, his voice more pleasant. "I thought you were some French or Poitevin popinjay with a doxy. I would not think of depriving Lady...er..."

"Fenice," Aubery told him.

During the conversation, Fenice had hurried quietly down the stairs. Now that the initial confrontation was over, she was certain her presence would prevent any new threat of aggression from arising. She approached the men and dropped a deep curtsy.

"I have no wish to discommode you, my lords," she murmured. "Perhaps-"

"You do not discommode us at all," Warwick a.s.sured her, casting an admiring glance over her as she rose from her bow. "In fact, if you will give us your company this evening, we will be repaid in full measure and overflowing for any small inconvenience the lack of a private chamber will cause."

Fenice cast an apprehensive glance at her husband, but he was smiling and nodded permission. Whatever uneasiness Aubery felt about her relations.h.i.+p with her first husband, he was not jealous of other men. Over the months they had traveled with the queen and prince and stayed in Castile, he had discovered that Fenice offered other men no more than common courtesy, and less if she could do that without giving offense. He no longer feared that her s.e.xual response to him was a sign of a generally lecherous nature and found himself rather proud of the attention she received and the envious comments and glances that were his portion.

"Let us all unarm, if it pleases you, my lords," Aubery said, "and when we are at ease my wife will give us a song or two to spice our evening meal. She has a sweet voice and nimble fingers with the lute."

In the privacy of their chamber, Aubery apologized. "I am sorry, Fenice. I know you are tired, but I prefer, if I can, to avoid any quarrel with Warwick. He is not a bad man, only more proud than sensible sometimes, perhaps because the earldom is through his wife. However, he is powerful enough to cause trouble if he likes."

"You are very wise, my lord," Fenice a.s.sured him warmly. "It is nothing to me to sing for a while. You know I enjoy that. I only hope that other man, the one who tried to make mischief-"

"You mean Mauduit." Aubery laughed. "He did not mean to make mischief. I think his warning was meant honestly, if not phrased in the most tactful way. After all, Warwick is near twice my age and to speak the truth was never a match for me."

Fenice shook her head. "Then he should have known that you would take no advantage of the earl, and to laugh like that..."

She left the sentence unfinished as she pulled off Aubery's hauberk, stripped him down to his s.h.i.+rt, and then helped him into one of the gowns he had worn in Castile. He started to protest when he saw what she was preparing to slip over his head and then nodded. Whatever her reasons, Fenice's instinct was right. Looking grand would be more likely to impress Warwick and his companions than a more becoming modesty, and they would be less inclined to take advantage if they were impressed.

Whether it was the elegant clothing or the companionable feeling of countrymen in a foreign environment, the evening went very well. Fenice's performance was greeted with admiration and praise, but of the greatest propriety, and the manner of the other men to Aubery despite the disparity of their ranks was civil and obliging. In the course of the evening, it was determined that Warwick's party was also headed for England, and Aubery was invited, warmly and politely, to accompany them. To Fenice's dismay he accepted with seeming alacrity.

Later, when they were again alone, she hesitantly expressed the wish that they might go on without the company of Warwick and his companions.

Aubery shook his head. "We will be safer with them. In Pons, which I understand is something more than ten miles ahead, they are to join a large party. We may have to wait a day or so for everyone to a.s.semble, but together we will be una.s.sailable. Moreover, it will be possible to hire s.h.i.+ps to take us to Portsmouth rather than wait for pa.s.sage on a merchant vessel, which might make port farther east or west."

This was too sensible an answer for Fenice to protest further, but she was still uneasy. Even though only the most civil courtesies were directed at her or Aubery on the next day's brief ride to Pons, she felt even more doubtful about the wisdom of a.s.sociating themselves with Warwick's party. She simply did not like the men and their att.i.tude. As a Provencal, she had no special love for the French herself, but she thought it unwise to swagger about criticizing and making fun of everything about a country in which they were strangers. And when they arrived in Pons, she was appalled when the earl and his friends simply dismissed their men without making arrangements for their food or lodging.

Aubery frowned over that, too. He knew that the men were probably hired mercenaries who had been paid in coin and that finding shelter was their own business; still, it troubled him that they were let loose in the town without even a warning to make no trouble. Under the circ.u.mstances, he was very glad when the prominent citizen who greeted Warwick and offered him lodging confounded himself in apologies for not having room for Aubery and Fenice. A friend would lodge them, he offered, or he would arrange that they be accommodated in the best inn. Aubery closed with the offer of the inn immediately. The inn might be noisier, more pest-infested, and less comfortable, but he could have his own men where he could keep an eye on them and prove they had no part in any disturbance when complaints about the misbehavior of Warwick's troop began to come in.

In fact, when the mayor's steward had brought them to a surprisingly commodious inn and left them, Aubery began to reconsider his decision to remain with the parry. He would wait, he told Fenice, until the entire group had gathered, and then simply ride out on his own if they all seemed as irresponsible as Warwick, Seagrave, and Mauduit. It was true, he added, that Pons had been ruled by the English until 1242, but it was no longer under Henry's control, and in any case, the towns of Poitou were like those in Gascony, independent and controlled by a commune.

Fenice was relieved and hoped that now that they were separated from the party they would be forgotten, but that hope was not fulfilled. Shortly after Aubery had shed his armor and made sure his men were settled and warned not to leave the grounds of the inn, he was called from his chamber by the arrival of a messenger from the mayor who carried an invitation to a feast in honor of the guests of the town. It was an all-male affair, so there was no mention of Fenice.

Aubery hesitated briefly and then accepted. He did not like to be discourteous and he liked even less to use Fenice as an excuse to refuse, recalling the jests concerning his uxoriousness made by the knights who had been with him in Castile. What finally decided the issue was that he learned that most of the other English knights had arrived and would attend. However, he was not completely satisfied with the situation and arranged that Fenice be served a meal in the privacy of their chamber and that his men-at-arms mount a guard before her door until he returned.

"I would like you to stay within," he told Fenice after explaining what he had done.

She nodded without comment as she helped him change his plain tunic for another elaborate gown.

Aubery frowned. He could not help remembering that one of Matilda's greatest joys was roaming the markets of any strange town and purchasing trinkets and oddities. He had often forbidden her the pleasure because he considered her extravagant, and she had died, and he could never make up for the little joys he had denied her.

"I am sorry you will have no opportunity to see the town and that you may be bored," he went on quickly. "I do not wish to deny you, but I know nothing of this place or its ways. William does not like the Poitevins. He says they are greedy and treacherous. Perhaps this is only a result of his too-great acquaintance with the king's half brothers, but he was here with Henry in '42 and '43 and might have more reason for his warnings than his distaste for the Lusignans."

Fenice had stared at him in surprise for just a moment and then threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. She thought that no husband in the world was as good as hers, surely no other would trouble to explain an order a wife was bound to obey, even if it were just a whim of her man's will.

"I will not be bored," Fenice a.s.sured him. "Truly, I take little pleasure in seeing a town without you."

She did not qualify her statements further because she did not want to confess to Aubery how tired she was. She had been so anxious about joining Warwick's party that she had not slept well, and that had prevented her from recovering completely from the fatigue of the long ride the previous day. The hours in the saddle had been harder to endure than she expected. In the past, except for the journey to Bayonne, Fenice had been accustomed to traveling with a baggage train, which could rarely go more than twenty miles a day. And although it was true that on her journeys with her father and Lady Alys they had spent as many hours a day traveling, she and Lady Alys idled away most of those hours by the side of the road waiting for the wains to catch up.

Fenice guessed that if they traveled alone, Aubery would want to move as quickly as possible, but if she admitted to fatigue, he might feel it was better to remain with the large English party for safety's sake. Thus, she was actually glad to have a few hours to herself so that she could rest, even sleep, which she would not have dared to do if Aubery had been with her, and after her meal was served, she lay down on the bed.

On his arrival at the guildhall, Aubery was divided between amus.e.m.e.nt and anxiety when he was ceremoniously led to the table of honor. It was, he realized, a natural result of his arrival in Warwick's party and the grand clothing he was wearing. Since he did not wish to suffer the embarra.s.sment of having the highborn guests already seated there reject his company, he was about to protest. However, he was welcomed warmly by Warwick and William Mauduit and introduced to Philip Marmim, who nodded cordially enough, although he was using his mouth to take in a huge swallow of wine.

Aubery politely seated himself at one end of the short, cus.h.i.+oned bench to Warwick's left-the place of least consequence-leaving room for one or two other men on that bench and two or three more on the bench closest to Warwick's chair. There was another chair next to Warwick for the mayor, who was not yet present. Aubery wondered, again with mingled amus.e.m.e.nt and anxiety, whether Warwick knew who his dinner partner was to be. He hoped the proud earl had been warned in advance and had come to accept the situation since he did not relish the thought of insulting his hosts by argument or withdrawal.

Then it struck Aubery as very odd that the chief host was not already present to welcome his guests. Nor, he saw, glancing up the table, were the places of the other, more important town officials filled. He was about to remark on this peculiar circ.u.mstance when Seagrave was shown to the table by the same man who had escorted Aubery. While Seagrave was being greeted and seated, the mayor and the others arrived. They seemed a trifle breathless and harried, and although Aubery kept his face expressionless, he was amused once more. Probably, he thought, they were not accustomed to such exalted guests and had been running about to see that the dinner and service would be properly grand.

The mild, private sense of fun put Aubery in a good humor, which was reinforced when he found that only one other man would share his bench. Three diners would have put them in rather close quarters, and as the meal progressed he would almost certainly have been splashed with wine or gravy. Now, unless the servers were particularly inept, he need only take care with his own food, and right on the heels of his thought the first course arrived.

Usually the host was expected to begin the talk, but since Aubery's table companion was silent, he remarked politely on the cordiality with which he and his fellow travelers had been welcomed by the commune of Pons. To his surprise, the official cast him a most peculiar look before he mumbled an appropriate reply. Feeling sorry for the man's evident embarra.s.sment at being in elevated company, Aubery tried again, making what he thought would be a soothingly inane comment on the probability of fair weather for traveling over the next few days.

This time the glance flashed at him was frightened, and the man's voice was just a shade too loud as he replied, "Yes, yes, of course. I hope so."

Since his attempts at conversation only seemed to be making his dinner partner more uncomfortable, Aubery desisted and addressed his full attention to the food, which was very good. The wine was excellent also, and it flowed unceasingly. Every time Aubery reached for his cup, it was full. Had his companion been more interesting-for the official did, as the meal progressed, offer a few stilted comments-Aubery would have enjoyed himself completely.

However, by the time the second course was served, Aubery began to wish the server would give him a chance to water his wine. The highly spiced food made frequent recourse to the wine necessary, and since Aubery was not a heavy drinker, he was beginning to feel the effects despite the substantial quant.i.ty of food he was eating. Once or twice Aubery put his hand over his cup after he drank from it to prevent its being refilled, but that did not solve the problem because there was no water on the table with which to fill the cup. And since he did not yet wish to mention to Warwick his plan of going on alone, he preferred not to ask for water and raise questions about why he was eager to be more sober than his companions.

Having accepted the inevitability of a miserable morning, Aubery resolved to enjoy the preceding potations-and he did. As the tide of wine rose higher, merry talk was shouted up and down the table among the English gentlemen, without regard to the officials of Pons who sat between them. Then, some time after the third course had been placed on the table, Aubery noticed that a different server was filling the cup of the man beside him. He laughed, drunkenly a.s.suming that the commune was pinching pennies by providing cheap wine for themselves, but just as he was about to point out this mean-spirited parsimony to his n.o.ble companions, the great doors at each end of the hall burst open to admit a flood of armed men.

The lesser English knights at the tables closest to the ends of the hall were overwhelmed before they realized there was a threat. Surprise prevented even a shadow of resistance. At the more central tables, men began to strike out against their attackers, but they were all without any weapon more effective than an eating knife, and their a.s.sailants were not only armed but armored in habergeons and steel helmets.

Aubery sat watching, goggle-eyed, for as long as a minute before what he was seeing penetrated his drink-befuddled brain. But he was not as far gone as his companions, and he finally leapt to his feet, roaring, "They are taking only the Englis.h.!.+"

"What does this mean?" Warwick shouted, trying to push his heavy chair back from the table and turning toward the mayor.

But the mayor had already slipped away, out of reach, and the armed men were advancing on the high table. With a single furious blow from his fist, Aubery felled the official who had been sitting beside him and had been unable to escape when Aubery rose, blocking his way. Aubery then seized the table and heaved with all his strength. The trestle top flew up and out, knocking down the few men-at-arms who were closest, and scattering food and liquid far and wide so that others slid and tripped on the unexpected obstacles. This gave Aubery time to seize the bench on which he had been sitting.

It was a well-made, heavy piece of furniture, but the outrage Aubery felt at the treachery of the commune of Pons let him handle it with ease. He swung in at those nearest him, legs forward, with all the power that fury lent his arms, and he bellowed in satisfaction as two men fell, one with the side of his face crushed to a b.l.o.o.d.y ruin. His backswing with the flat of the bench caught three more, and he let the weight of the bench pull him round to catch one attacker who had run around to take him from behind.

A blow struck him on the shoulder, but his grip on the bench did not loosen, and he paid the man who had hit him full measure for his temerity. That blow was so fierce that the legs broke, but Aubery turned the bench so that the edge was forward and swung again, shouting for Warwick and the others to join him. As a group, they could fight their way free. He had cleared a s.p.a.ce around himself by then and realized that it was too late. Marmim, insensible from drink, was being carried out, and the others were being dragged off, staggering either from blows they were too slow to ward off or from drunkenness.

The brief respite showed Aubery that he was nearly alone in his resistance and could not win, but that only increased his fury-and he had one hope. If he were too hard a nut to crack, they might give up on him. Unfortunately, that hope was groundless. In the next moment, he was charged from all sides. The bench splintered against the steel blades of his opponents, and he dropped it, running at the nearest men with his bare fists. He would have been spitted had the men-at-arms not had strict instructions that they were to take prisoners and take them without wounds, for dead men brought no ransoms. It took five of them to subdue him, and even then he struggled, throwing them off until one man brought his weapon down on the side of Aubery's head and knocked him unconscious.

More tired than she had acknowledged even to herself, Fenice slept away the entire afternoon, waking only after dusk as the room grew colder and colder because she had failed to feed the fire. She was frightened and confused for a few minutes but eventually remembered where she was and why she was alone. Fortunately, a few embers remained in the fireplace, and Fenice was able to light a candle from them. Once she had light, she rebuilt the fire, not wis.h.i.+ng to summon a servant lest word somehow came to Aubery that she had slept so long.

Having thought of Aubery, she was seized by a qualm of doubt. Surely even a very elaborate dinner should not have lasted until dark. Then she shook her head at her foolishness. Naturally once her husband was caught up in the company of a large group of men without women, he would not wish to make himself a laughingstock by saying he must return to his wife. He would, of course, join the men in any amus.e.m.e.nt they proposed to fill in the hours until bedtime. Fenice hoped they would choose to drink and gamble rather than go whoring, but she knew she had no right to complain about whatever Aubery did. He was a miracle of constancy compared to Delmar.

Still, she was very disappointed as the evening wore on and Aubery did not come back. She had been a little surprised when the man-at-arms guarding the door had brought her evening meal to her himself, but she a.s.sumed those were Aubery's orders and did not ask questions. Eventually, after playing her lute to amuse herself and embroidering for a while, she went to bed rather sadly. Every man, she told herself, must desire a little variety, even Aubery, and she must not act like a shrew, waiting up for him as if she, rather than G.o.d, was the arbiter of his conscience.

Fenice slept uneasily, waking periodically, each time more disappointed that her husband had not returned. When the sky was graying with dawn, she could lie abed no longer, and she rose and dressed, taking as long as she could over such details of her toilet as rubbing her teeth with green hazel and then wiping them with a woolen cloth, combing her hair into an unusually intricate coil before netting it, and buffing her nails until they shone. But still Aubery did not come, and she could only tell herself that he must have been tired enough, or drunk enough, to remain wherever he had come to rest. She would not permit herself to entertain the thought that any wh.o.r.e he had found could hold him so long.

But time pa.s.sed. The gray dawn gave way to sunrise, and for the first time a fear other than that of Aubery's possible preference for the pleasure a wh.o.r.e could give him began to creep into Fenice's mind. She was certain he would not have stayed to break his fast with a wh.o.r.e. At first that notion was pleasant because it implied that he had shared quarters with a drinking companion rather than a woman when he decided it was too late to go back to his own lodgings. And perhaps he was sick from too much drink, she told herself. That might make him late in rising and slow to dress and leave.

The satisfaction she felt with this idea restored her appet.i.te, and she went to the door to tell her guard to have bread and cheese and wine sent up to her and someone to empty the chamber pot. A ragged, filthy creature with a bucket that smelled to high heaven crept into the room in a few minutes to perform the latter task. Fenice stepped out of the way mechanically, without even noticing whether the servant was male or female, young or old. A few minutes later the man-at-arms again brought the food and drink to her himself, but this time he hesitated after setting down the tray.

"Have you a message from your master?" Fenice asked eagerly, and then, seeing that the man looked anxious, repeated herself more slowly in French and then tried to ask the question in English.

Apparently one of the three attempts, or part of each, got across to him because he shook his head and then slowly began to tell her something. It took several repet.i.tions-again in a mixture of the two languages, for the man-at-arms knew only a few words of French-but he managed to tell her that there had been serious trouble in the town the previous afternoon while she had been sleeping. Several other English men-at-arms had taken refuge in the inn and told them that the wild behavior of the undisciplined mercenaries had provoked a riot. Toward the end of the tale, despite her growing anxiety, Fenice found it easier to make out what he was saying. The English words Arnald had taught her were coming back to her.

Although she felt more and more frightened by the moment, Fenice knew that she must not show her fear. If she wept or acted hysterical, the men would not obey her. Lady Alys had explained that the lady of a manor could only hold the servants and men-at-arms to their work or the defense of the property if they respected her courage and judgment.