Baudouin cannot tear his gaze from Aloïs, who lieth upon their bed. The young woman hath remained insensible since her return. Mélisande hath been summoned to tend unto her and hath confirmed the grievousness of her wounds. Though her hours seem no longer numbered, her state requireth complete rest.
The knight standeth unmoving, uncertain which emotion he shall suffer to overwhelm him. That his wife hath been so sorely mishandled filleth him with a wild rage. And to behold her thus afflicteth him deeply. It is as though a dagger thrusteth slowly into his belly. The torment lingereth without end and devoureth him from within.
Aloïs stirreth suddenly. Her brows knit and she groaneth, raising faintly her hand as though to shield herself. Baudouin draweth near at once and taketh her fingers within his own.
— I am here, Aloïs. I leaveth thee not.
She seemeth to struggle within a cruel nightmare. Sorrow and distress suffocateth Baudouin. He presseth his lips upon the cold palm of his wife.
— I am sorry… It was not for thee that such misfortune was meant.
A knocking soundeth at the door. Marie appeareth in the threshold.
— I would not trouble you, sire, but Mélisande hath bidden that Dame Aloïs drink oft.
Baudouin riseth and yieldeth place to the handmaid. The reddened eyes of the servant beareth witness to the grievous moments she too hath endured. Belle cometh to stand beside her mistress. Baudouin marketh that the child hath grown in these past months. Two teeth have fallen since his departure. The affection Belle beareth toward the young lady showeth in every gesture, in every word.
All these folk were here, beside Aloïs, and yet she was taken. Baudouin would know—he must needs know.
— Inform me if aught should occur.
The young lord quitteth the chamber and returneth unto the baile, where Enguerrand and Yvain await him. He speaketh unto the guard.
— And now, I hearken unto thee.
The sergeant draweth breath and recounteth in full the happenings of the past months. He telleth of the thefts whereof the voyer had come to complain, and of Raoul’s silence on these matters.
— Dame Aloïs did suppose that he would rather speak thereof directly unto you, and deemed himself answerable during your absence.
— That may well be, knowing the provost.
Enguerrand speaketh of the monk’s murder, of Aloïs’s concern for the archdeacon, of the outrage done unto young Anne. And then of the passing of Dame Hersende.
— After this death, our lady was no longer the same. She seemed to have lost all will.
Baudouin rubbeth his chin. He had not reckoned all the trials his wife had endured in his absence. He, fulfilling his duty as befitteth his rank—she, standing alone against it all.
— And then, the merchants did arrive.
— What merchants?
— Travelling traders, who bore precious wares for the fair. Dame Aloïs then conceived to lay a snare for the thieves, by granting the travellers lodging for the night.
— A madness! exclaimeth Baudouin.
— Thou art a fool! addeth Yvain toward the young servant.
— Understand, my lord, the attacks had grown perilous. They extorted all and sundry, even to the point of entering castles. And none could lay hand upon them.
— And so?
— When night had fallen, the women departed with Dame Aloïs unto the hamlet. We awaited the thieves.
— We?
— Jehan, the voyer, and certain men of the countryside did aid us. Shortly after the supper, the assault began. Whereas we had thought them four or five at most, they came in number exceeding ten.
The countenance of Enguerrand showeth his deep dismay.
— They proceeded as mercenaries at the taking of a stronghold, and with marvellous swiftness. We fought, striving to guard the stores and the goods as best we might—but in vain. They had borne away chiefly several sacks of pepper. Three of the guards had been wounded. These outlaws knoweth war.
Baudouin listeneth with heed and maketh a sign unto the sergeant to continue.
— Alas, they escaped, and we did but seize… a corpse.
These words astonish the young lord.
— Thou meanest that ye slew one of the thieves?
— Aye. I would rather have taken him alive, yet one of the guards cast him down as he sought to climb the ramparts, and he died thereof. The provost hath taken the body. None among us knew him.
— And my wife?
Enguerrand seemeth distraught.
— I believed her at the hamlet, Sire, I swear it. Yet at morn, when the women returned, Dame Aloïs was lacking. Marie was seized with dread and told us she had gone back toward the castle to aid.
— Knowest thou why she wore that garb of a man?
— Not at all.
Baudouin espieth the chambermaid leaving the hall to go unto the kitchens. It were vain to question her; if Aloïs hath erred, Marie will strive to shield her. Yet at this hour, Baudouin would give all to gather the missing pieces of this matter. He turneth unto his sergeant.
— Go, fetch me the voyer.
— Aye, Sire.
The servant hasteneth toward the stables.
It is time to learn the truth of these matters.
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The voyer standeth before Baudouin in the hall of the lordly house, his features strained. The man’s gaze seemeth near to faltering. He standeth upright only by the strength of his will. Enguerrand hath placed himself by the door, silent. Baudouin remaineth standing, unable himself to be still. He claspeth his hands behind his back, his eyes fixed upon Jehan.
— Thou knowest wherefore thou art summoned.
— Aye, Sire…
The voyer presseth his lips.
— Hath Dame Aloïs been found?
Baudouin lifteth his chin and letteth doubt linger a moment upon the man.
— Aye.
— God be praised…
Relief showeth at once upon his face, as though he might breathe anew. Yet Baudouin perceiveth somewhat else therein: guilt.
— What knowest thou of these thieves?
— Naught, Sire, naught more than thou.
— Thou didst consent to aid my wife in this design. Wherefore?
— We must needs act. None could stay these bandits, and their crimes grew ever more grievous.
Baudouin steppeth closer unto Jehan, who meeteth his gaze.
— Wherefore returned Dame Aloïs unto the castle?
The voyer holdeth his head high for a moment, then turneth aside.
— It is by my fault…
— What meanest thou?
Sorrow falleth upon Jehan’s shoulders. His eyes glisten suddenly.
— I did ask her to aid me.
— Aid thee how? In setting this snare?
Jehan shaketh his head.
— In truth, I learned somewhat I would rather not have known.
— What speakest thou of?
Jehan biteth his lip and casteth a glance toward Enguerrand, who standeth still in the corner of the hall. Baudouin addresseth his sergeant, astonished.
— Knewest thou of this?
— Nay, Sire.
Jehan affirmeth.
— I knew it, for thy wife did save me.
Baudouin’s brows rise.
— How so?
With difficulty, the voyer recounteth the first night wherein Aloïs came to his aid against that band. He telleth how deftly she bore herself.
— I knew her not at once, yet I had my doubts. It was when Matthieu’s daughter was assailed that thy wife confessed she had aided me that night, and consented to teach me how to defend myself.
Baudouin sinketh upon his seat, his mind troubled.
— Aloïs can fight?
— Aye, Sire. Her uncle taught her when she was but a child.
— And she clad herself as a boy to go forth?
Jehan hesitateth, then giveth his assent. Baudouin turneth slowly toward Enguerrand.
— Then in sooth, the masked wight whom we did meet upon the road to Angers, caught within a snare, and later in the pursuit of the bandits not far from the castle, was none other… than Aloïs?
The sergeant’s lips part in astonishment. The young lord’s fists clench anew in wrath. He casteth a dark glance upon the voyer.
— Thou knewest then that my wife meant to fight that night? That she would be in peril?
The man remaineth still.
— I understand that thou bearest me ill will.
Baudouin striketh the table with great force.
— Bear thee ill will? My wife might have died—she hath been set upon by those brutes!
Jehan’s eyes widen, and his lips begin to tremble.
— I thought not it would come to pass thus. Dame Aloïs was to remain without the castle and give us warning of their coming. She should not have been within the fray. Yet she refused to let us fight whilst she hid herself in the hamlet. Thy wife deemed it her duty to be there.
— Wherefore didst thou not warn me? crieth Enguerrand.
— I had made a vow…
Jehan boweth his head, ere he faceth once more the lord’s wrath.
— A vow which I have now betrayed.
— Hadst thou not betrayed it, saith Baudouin in anger, it is I who would have slain thee the day I had discovered it.
The two men fall silent.
Baudouin draweth breath and speaketh again more calmly.
— I would have thee inform me of all that passeth about the castle. Some man must needs have tidings to give us. If this band of thieves was forewarned of the merchants’ coming, then was it by one from this place.
The voyer boweth.
— I shall do so without fail, Sire.
The lord casteth upon him one last look.
— I trust thou wilt. Never again shall I suffer thee to hide aught from me…
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