The twin blades - Chapter 10

Aloïs touches her shoulder. The wound has completely closed. The injury had only been superficial, as Mélisande pointed out. The young woman should not have panicked in such a way.

The fear of being exposed by Baudouin had certainly influenced her reaction to the wound. Yet now that her condition has improved, her thoughts keep returning to the two thieves who escaped Baudouin and Enguerrand. Only God knows what misdeed they are preparing next. Aloïs is aware that she has an advantage: she knows their faces. And there is no question of asking Baudouin for help. After their last exchange, the only thing she desires is never to see him again!

The young woman lifts the hay in the sheepfold. One of the sheep enters the building and startles her. Aloïs stifles a cry at the sight of the intruder and pushes it back outside.

— It is hard to find any peace…

The young woman sighs. In any case, Baudouin has shown no greater concern for her condition. He now spends his time training in combat with Enguerrand. Having only just returned, her husband asked to take a bath. It is undoubtedly the best moment to slip out again.

She pulls out her clothes, cleaned and repaired by Marie, from behind the bundles of straw stacked above the animals. Aloïs smells them and waves her hand in front of her nose.

— One cannot have everything: discretion and a pleasant scent.

But as she is about to place them back into her bag, doubt seizes her. The image of the man raising his knife and striking her comes back. The memory of her wounded flesh, of the pain tearing through her shoulder, makes her shudder.

Aloïs closes her eyes and feels her hands tremble. It may be too soon… unless all this must come to an end. Baudouin could have exposed her. Those men could have killed her. She had not expected to face individuals capable of fighting in such a way, and without Baudouin’s arrival, she would not have escaped so easily.

The young woman places her clothes into a hemp sack and remains still for a moment, lost in thought. She cannot bear the idea of being a prisoner of this fear, no more than she endured it when Berthe died.

Aloïs stuffs her garments into a large basket with a sharp, decisive motion. Nothing and no one will keep her confined. It is not yet too late to return near the place where the thieves had been. Perhaps she will find clues that will lead her to their hideout.

She leaves the sheepfold, adopting a composed expression. In the bailey, the serfs are busy. Between tending to the animals, changing the rushes, watching over the domain, preparing meals, they have no time to question the mistress’s movements.

Aloïs casts a glance toward the manor where Baudouin is. He must still be in the bath. She strides purposefully toward the great gates of the castle. Strangely, they are closed. She addresses the guard on duty and orders him to open them. He suddenly seems uneasy.

— I am sorry, my lady, but Sire Baudouin said that no one was to go out.

Aloïs lets out a short laugh.

— That cannot be. He must have meant the servants, but I believe I still have the right to come and go as I please.

The guard looks away, increasingly embarrassed.

— Sire Baudouin was quite clear: no one, including… you.

Aloïs feels her cheeks flush with anger. She turns on her heel without another word and heads back toward the manor. Yvain comes to meet her.

He bows and gives her a timid smile. She is beginning to know him and is aware that he rarely holds his tongue, which, in her opinion, can sometimes be a virtue.

— Can you explain to me what my husband is thinking by forbidding me to leave?

— I understand that you are angry. You like long walks in the forest. But Sire Baudouin, he is thinking of you and of your safety.

Aloïs can hardly believe her ears. Her husband cares nothing for her nor for her health, and now he keeps her as a prisoner for his own convenience!

The young woman brushes past Yvain and hastens into the chamber of the hall. When Baudouin sees her, he sinks lower into the water.

— What is the meaning of this? You cannot enter thus whilst I bathe!

The apparent embarrassment of her husband gives Aloïs boldness, and she plants herself before the tub.

— I am told I may not leave the castle, by the guard and by your servant.

— That is so. None goes out of here without my leave.

Aloïs lets out a bitter laugh.

— Your leave? I knew not I was kept here as a prisoner.

— No, it is not so… I cannot be ever at your side to spare you every fall or foolish deed. And since I know you would lose Marie as easily as you please, I will not risk that aught befall you again.

— Is that irony, or but a cruel show of courtesy?

Baudouin splashes water upon his face and exhales, plainly wearied.

— I do not take your meaning.

— You claim to care for my welfare, yet you heed it only to spare yourself the burden of another disagreeable union.

— And what of it?

Aloïs flushes with anger and seizes fennel seeds set in a wooden bowl, casting them at Baudouin.

— What has come over you? he cries, shielding himself from the assault. Those are for the breath, not to wash me!

— You are right, I should use soapwort to scrub your tongue and teach you how to speak to a lady.

— A lady? I see no lady here.

Aloïs is about to retort when her husband makes as though to rise. She cries out and stretches her hand before her to stop him.

— Do not move!

A mocking smile spreads across the young man’s face, the lower part of his body still hidden beneath the water.

— And why not? We are wed. If you be a lady, you should not be ashamed to see me bare.

Aloïs casts him a dark look.

— You are right, I am not like all those women you have doubtless kept company with in your life.

He is silent for a moment, then resumes.

— I have more… experience than you in such matters, that is certain. Yet I do not relish being stared upon in my privacy. Pray turn away, that I may rise, for the water grows cold.

Aloïs turns her back as Baudouin steps over the edge of the tub. He dries himself in silence. The young woman refuses to leave in such a manner; it would feel as though she yielded, which she cannot abide. Yet she can find no more words. The very thought that Baudouin has known other maidens troubles her suddenly.

The young lord dons his camisa, his braies, and then his short, embroidered linen bliaud. He ties a woollen belt about his waist.

— Be that as it may, to deem you a lady seems somewhat hasty after your exploits at Count Henri’s court.

Aloïs turns sharply.

— My exploits?

— Indeed. You are like… a mouse set loose in a granary full of cats. You are no doubt more at ease out of doors, like our folk.

Her anger flares beyond restraint, and Aloïs rushes at Baudouin, shoving him.

— I will not have you speak to me thus! What do you mean by it? That I am some country wench?

— You come near enough to it.

Aloïs’s finger wags before his face, threatening.

— And you, you are but a vain little knight who desires only one thing: to live far from the Court. You claim to be at ease there, yet you prefer the battlefield or the tourney to bowing before great lords. We are far more alike than I ever thought.

He falls silent for a moment, then replies:

— I think not… Who would wish to be like you?

Aloïs clenches her hands until she feels her nails bite into her palms.

— I shall never forgive your words. Never!

Aloïs remains motionless for a moment, then turns away and departs, leaving Baudouin behind. A sorrowful smile settles upon the young man’s face.

8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡW4qLw65QIw

Baudouin leads his horse back to the stables and brings him to Enguerrand.

— What a beast, murmurs the servant. He shows great endurance.

The knight strokes the neck of his destrier.

— I grant that the lord from whom I won Mars may well have been displeased to lose the tourney…

Baudouin sighs.

— I long to take to the road again and win a few more jousts… Yet I must still wait.

Enguerrand watches his master in silence. He must suspect that words were exchanged between Baudouin and the Count of Anjou at the time of his marriage concerning plans to come. Henri has no mind to let the crown of England slip away, yet he would first secure support in France ere crossing the Channel.

Yvain comes to collect the game just taken. He relieves Enguerrand.

— Thou couldst have caught more!

The boy makes no reply and removes the saddle from Mars’s back. Yvain takes the hare that Baudouin hands him.

— Ye are strong in the chase, Sir Baudouin. Ye always strike the doe… or the buck.

Baudouin casts him a sidelong glance. Feigning not to notice his master’s look, Yvain goes on.

— And as for that, Dame Aloïs is still shut up in your lodging all the day long. Your command hath been well heard, I think.

Baudouin sighs.

— How fares she?

Yvain feigns innocence.

— Her wound, Sire? ’Tis almost healed. That was your question, was it not?

— Thou knowest tongues have been cut for less than that.

— I still thank the knight who lost to you… else I should likely be dead this day. Though with you, I do much walking…

The servant clears his throat, as if of no account.

— Yet I do not rightly understand… Yvain continues, as though idly.

— What is it thou dost not understand?

— Why say ye that ye hate Dame Aloïs? She lacks not for spirit, yet she is a young lady who heeds others. The folk are fond of her.

Baudouin strokes his horse’s neck one last time before stepping aside to face Yvain.

— It is easier to forget a loathed spouse if he—or she—should die upon the field of battle.

Yvain nods slowly, a knowing grin upon his lips.

— Ah… so ye are harsh with Dame Aloïs, that she be not struck with sorrow after…

The servant lowers his eyes beneath his master’s tense expression.

— See to the tasks I have given thee. I shall concern myself with my wife.

Baudouin and the two men leave the stables just as one of the guards announces a visitor.

— The provost would speak with you.

Baudouin’s brows draw together. The comital officer is ushered in, and Baudouin greets him warmly.

— To what do I owe your visit? A gesture of friendship?

— I would it were so, Raoul sighs regretfully. Yet I bear chiefly a message from the count.

Baudouin leads his guest toward the lord’s hall.

— We shall be more at ease within to speak.

Raoul follows him.

— And how fares your wife? I have heard she was hurt.

— Indeed, but nothing grave. She recovers.

— What befell her? Some ill encounter?

— Aye… with a cat.

Raoul raises his brows, doubtful.

— A cat?

— ’Tis a long tale. Yet I thank you for your concern.

— Might I have the pleasure of greeting her?

— No doubt, she tendeth to our folk in the sheepfold. I shall have her called.

— Doth she not embroider in her gynaeceum?

— Such occupation doth not draw my wife, alas…

The two men seat themselves in the aula. Yvain serveth them wine ere slipping away. Raoul then draweth forth a document from a leather satchel.

— A letter from Henry.

— What would he have?

— I leave you to see for yourself.

Baudouin unrolleth the parchment and readeth the message. The count chargeth him to go unto the abbey of Fontevraud and present his respects unto the abbess Matilda, his aunt. His half-sister, Emma, abideth likewise in the secular convent of women. He could not make the journey, being constrained to take again to the road, and expecteth at the least that Baudouin go in his stead. He then biddeth him join him at the fortress of Chinon, where his brother Geoffrey already is.

— He would have me watch over his younger brother.

Raoul noddeth.

— Doth this mean Henry seeketh to keep the lands of Anjou?

— All may be supposed.

Baudouin readeth the letter again and pauseth upon the young count’s signature.

— Very well. I shall go thither.

He falleth silent for a moment, deep in thought, then speaketh again:

— Might I ask a service of you?

— Aye, of course

— Would you keep watch over my domain?

Raoul letteth out a small laugh and taketh up his goblet of wine once more.

— I am becoming well used to being warden here. I shall do so with great honour. And should your wife have need of—

— She shall come with me.

— Pardon?

Raoul halteth mid-gesture, his drink near his lips, and stareth at his friend.

— You would have Lady Aloïs go unto the abbey of Fontevraud and then to Chinon, to court?

— Indeed.

Raoul leaneth back somewhat, setteth down his drink, and foldeth his arms across his chest.

— Think you truly she is equal to it? Call to mind what befell at the banquet in Henry’s honour. We enter, mayhap, into troubled times, and ye must be wary of the words that are spoken.

— Just so.

Baudouin foldeth the missive and tucketheth it into his belt.

— Aloïs may prove an unexpected and precious asset for Henry. I gathered that he took pleasure in her spontaneity. Mayhap she shall soothe certain tensions.

— Or stir them further. Moreover, did you not tell me she had been wounded? Is it wise to take her with you?

Baudouin turneth toward his guest and remaineth silent for a moment ere answering:

— For all her vexing ways, Aloïs hath a gift with folk. I would make use of it.

Raoul falleth silent. His lips press together in a doubtful expression.

— I see… After all, you are like the better judge. And if you speak true, I should not refuse a measure of her diplomacy, in such case.

Two vertical lines crease the space betwixt Baudouin’s brows.

— For what cause?

— A quarrel hath broken out between two lords near Le Plessis.

— What is the matter of it?

— It turneth chiefly upon the uncertainty of the bounds of their lands. They contend to know whether one may graze his sheep upon such or such a meadow, and the charters are not ever reliable to determine who is in his right…

The sound of footsteps telleth them someone draweth near. Aloïs then appeareth. Baudouin marketh a slight recoil in the young woman when she espieth him. Yet, by reason of Raoul’s presence, she is constrained to enter and come greet them.

— Madam, we were even now speaking of your condition, saith the provost. I am truly glad to see you in such good health.

Aloïs thanketh him with a graceful inclination of the head.

— I must, alas, take my leave. Duties at my own castle call me away. Yet I hope I shall soon have the pleasure of seeing you both again.