Raoul foldeth his hands upon the table of the aula, never taking his eyes from his old friend. Baudouin striveth to show naught of his feelings, yet before the provost, the mask falleth. Without, a fine and bitter rain hath soaked the ground of the baile since morn. A brazier spreadeth a kindly warmth within the chamber.
— And how fareth she now? asketh Raoul.
Baudouin sigheth, wearied.
— I cannot say with certainty. She mendeth, yet hath scarce regained her senses. Her handmaid and little Belle leave her not. At times, she seemeth to sleep in peace, and the next instant she stirreth and striveth, yet waketh not from her nightmare.
— I am sorry to hear it. I received but this morn the message from your wife, telling me she would receive certain merchants within the castle for the night. Had I known sooner, I would have come myself, to see that all went well.
— I doubt it not.
The provost presseth his lips.
— Havoise would also have me convey unto you her support.
— I thank her…
Baudouin drinketh a cup of pimen and keepeth his gaze fixed upon it.
— A thousand times did I think I should perish…
The provost straighteneth, his eye turning toward his friend.
— Upon the field of battle, my death was assured. All those men pierced with arrows, the wounded stabbed, the lances driven through hearts… How could I have survived such a thing?
The knight meeteth Raoul’s gaze.
— Yet I felt no fear. I had come to understand that my fate was to die there. In having so greatly desired to live what my brother was meant to live, I found myself at last facing the truth—and perchance punished for my jealousy.
His cheeks tighten.
— I had accepted it… I had not thought that my wife…
His throat tighteneth, yet he mastereth himself and goeth on.
— I had not thought that my wife would come so near unto death. I deemed her safe.
Raoul presseth his lips together.
— Your wife is like unto no other. She is courageous, resolute, steadfast…
— Stubborn.
The two men exchange a glance touched with mirth. Baudouin taketh care not to reveal how greatly Aloïs might astonish, choosing rather to guard the secret of his wife’s nightly wanderings. The young lord hath given strict command unto Enguerrand and Jehan: none must know how Aloïs was taken captive. The tale given unto all is that the young lady, seized with concern for the castle, returned and was taken. A telling that shieldeth her from scandal—or worse.
— Great virtues for a lady destined to govern a domain, addeth Raoul.
— I find it hard indeed to fathom this fate that ceaseth not to toy with us…
Baudouin remaineth silent, deep in thought.
— She desired to know the progress of the inquiry into the thefts, saith the provost.
— I know it. And I know as well that you refused to keep her informed.
— Believe me, I did so to preserve her.
Baudouin layeth his hand upon his guest’s arm.
— I know it. And unto me—wilt thou consent to entrust these matters?
Raoul giveth a faint laugh.
— Aye, of course. Though in truth I have uncovered but little concerning these outlaws, and I deem that the greater part hath already been told thee.
— The man who was slain in the baile—hast thou identified him?
— Not at all. He is known neither here nor in the surrounding lands. He wore dark garments of linen.
— A costly cloth.
— If we hold that this be indeed an organized band, given the number of their thefts, we may judge they possess enough goods to afford such raiment.
— Yet they must needs sell their plunder.
— We have found none of the stolen goods in Angers. Be it the precious pieces of the churches, some of gold, or the iron from the forges, or the sacks of harvest… all seemeth to vanish.
— Then they send it beyond Anjou and prosper thereby.
— One thing is certain, saith Raoul, they have scoured a great part of the land.
— Think you they might depart from here?
— That dependeth upon their purpose.
— What mean you by that?…
The provost leaneth toward his friend.
— I mean that all this worketh much harm unto the count. I have likewise uncovered matters yet more troubling, though I must still confirm them.
A shadow appeareth in the doorway: Aloïs! pale and undone, clad in her white shift, a simple mantle cast upon her shoulders. She standeth as upright as she may.
— I would not disturb you.
Baudouin riseth at once and goeth unto her. He setteth his hand about her waist, supporting her gently. Beneath his palm, he feeleth her body falter. Raoul hath risen and boweth.
— I am glad and relieved to see you awakened, Dame Aloïs.
— Yet I deem it were better that you remain still…
Baudouin hath no time to finish, for Aloïs swayeth against him. He lifteth her and beareth her back unto the chamber, laying her gently upon the bed.
He is about to withdraw, yet his wife holdeth him by the hand.
— Leave me not…
The knight sitteth again at her side and keepeth her fingers within his own.
— I remain with you, be certain of it. And I shall not depart until those who have done you this be punished.
Aloïs closeth her eyes a moment, then openeth them anew. Even this small act seemeth to cost her dearly.
— You must be wroth.
— I am wroth against those who have wronged you.
The young woman’s eyes meet Baudouin’s, whose calm countenance seemeth to soothe her.
— Have any thieves been taken?
Baudouin passeth his hand over Aloïs’s hair.
— We shall see to that when you are stronger.
He hesitateth, then turneth toward a chest covered with sheepskins.
— I would have waited, yet I think I may now give you that which I have brought for you…
He draweth forth a garment and unfoldeth it before her: a splendid gown of red silk, adorned with drops of rock crystal.
— I saw you admire the queen’s gown.
A faint and sorrowful smile passeth over Aloïs’s face.
— I am no queen…
— Yet you deserved better of me… And thus you may present yourself at court without shame. But for now, I bid you rest.
Aloïs closeth her eyes once more. Little by little, her breath groweth calm and steady, filling the chamber. Baudouin lowereth his gaze to her fingers, which he taketh again in his hand.
— I shall not let you go…
*
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Aloïs manageth to finish her meal, seated upon her bed. Oil lamps have been set in divers places about the chamber to ward off the darkness. The wind sweepeth over the roof and seemeth to whistle betwixt the boards.
Marie entereth and poureth another bucket of water into the tub prepared for her mistress. She then taketh up the bowl.
— Would you have more?
— Nay, I have had enough.
The chambermaid maketh a doubtful face.
— You must regain your strength.
— I am already somewhat better…
Color hath slowly returned unto Aloïs’s cheeks, and her bruises now turn yellow and green. Her lip hath lost its swelling. Only her ribs still pain her sorely.
— Your bath is ready.
Marie draweth back the coverings and helpeth Aloïs to rise. The young woman keepeth her hand upon her side. Fractures hinder her in many movements. She cannot draw a deep breath and must take great care in all she doth.
She casteth off her shift and setteth herself upon the cloth laid within the tub. Slowly, she sinketh beneath the warm water, which soon covereth her hair. When she riseth again, Marie taketh a comb and smootheth the long golden locks of the young woman.
Aloïs beholdeth traces of dried blood upon her arms. The sight holdeth her fast. The images she hath striven these past days to banish burst forth violently behind her eyes: those shadows that fell upon her to wound her, that man who struck her again and again, his vile words, the fear that grippeth her belly…
Aloïs seizeth the soapwort and beginneth to scrub her skin. She ceaseth not, even unto hurting herself.
— My lady, murmur eth Marie, I think it is gone…
The young woman heareth no more and presseth on upon her limbs. Tears gather upon her lids, prisoners of her wrath. She would forget, erase all, erase her memories, erase the pain, erase those men…
A hand is laid upon her fingers and stayeth her at once. Baudouin standeth by the tub, near his wife. His eyes show both sorrow and dismay.
— Aloïs, it is enough.
The young woman feeleth the pillars that held her begin to crack. Tears flow suddenly, and her body is shaken with sobs. She poureth forth both her rage and her suffering. Drops fall upon the still surface of the water. Soft cries escapeth her lips.
She perceiveth her husband’s hand gently stroking her wet hair—a balm upon her wounds. A balm she had so sorely longed for when she was captive…
The storm abateth little by little, having spent the last of her strength. Baudouin leaveth the chamber, entrusting her unto Marie’s care. Aloïs clotheth herself and dresseth her hair. A hollow emptiness taketh the place of the anger she had but moments before. She hath no strength left to fight. She would go forward and forget. The need for fresh air draweth her without.
Before the hall, Baudouin awaiteth her. He studieth her features with care.
— How fare you?
The young woman draweth a steady breath and foldeth her hands before her.
— Well… better.
Baudouin pointeth toward the castle gate.
— Would you walk with me?
A shiver runneth through her: to go forth, to pass beyond the walls, seemeth suddenly beyond her strength.
— I shall remain with you.
She turneth toward her husband, who ceaseth not to look upon her. Aloïs giveth a faint smile.
Together they cross the baile and take the road. The sounds of the court fade little by little, drowned by the gusts of wind.
— Aloïs, I have need that you tell me what you remember. I know that what I ask is cruel. Yet if we would take these men, who seem most cunningly ordered, any knowledge shall avail us.
— It is hard… I was shut within a small chamber where many things were stored.
— Stolen goods?
— Like enough…
Aloïs forbeareth to speak of the blows she suffered, yet she telleth of the coming of that master whom the band seemed to fear.
— Named they him?
— Not that I recall.
— And how escaped you?
— They set me free… After their leader had come, they gave me food and drink. They seemed minded to help me recover. Then they bound mine eyes and bore me upon a horse, and left me in the midst of the fields. By the time I loosed my bonds, they were all gone.
A shiver shaketh Aloïs. She draweth her cloak about her. Baudouin keepeth his gaze upon the road a moment ere he turneth again toward her.
— I know this is hard to speak of, yet there is another matter I would fain understand…
Aloïs biteth her lip.
— Concerning why I left the hamlet?
Baudouin taketh her hand and meeteth her gaze.
— I know… that you have greatly advanced in the art of combat since your childhood.
— Then you know… sigheth Aloïs.
— It could scarce be otherwise.
— Who told you?
— The voyer, constrained and compelled.
The lady noddeth.
— Why? Why have you such a desire to render justice by your own hand?
She falleth silent. Her eyelids closeth for a brief moment. She looketh once more upon her husband.
— I have lied unto you.
— In what matter?
— Concerning my sister.
Baudouin holdeth his peace and letteth his wife go on.
— She took not the fever—she took her own life.
The young lord starteth.
— You must be shocked? asketh Aloïs in a broken voice.
— Nay… I think rather that I cannot fathom what she endured to come unto such an end.
His wife claspeth his fingers, tense.
— Berthe loved to walk abroad at length. Yet that day, my sister had no wish to go forth. She seemed troubled. She told me she would rather remain. I besought her to change her mind. We might slip away from the nurse and go seek some wild strawberries.
The young woman sigheth, lost within her memories.
— My sister yielded at last, as she oft did for me. We had but just drawn near the woods when a man sprang forth. He seized Berthe and cast her upon the ground. She cried out, bade me flee, bade me run. I saw a shadow in the thicket—another man who came toward me. I fled…
A sob shaketh Aloïs’s shoulders.
— I ran unto the castle to seek aid. Yet the harm was done. Berthe returned, broken. Some weeks thereafter, she drowned herself in the river.
— I am sorry…
Aloïs presseth her fingers tight, overcome with feeling. She layeth her hand upon her lips to stifle her tears.
— I abandoned my sister…
— You could do no more.
— Aye… I should not have pressed her to go forth.
Baudouin remaineth silent. The young woman sniffeth and draweth a deep breath. Her voice groweth calmer.
— My uncle chose, after that sorrow, to teach me how to defend myself, that such misfortune might not befall again.
— I understand the better.
— The reason for my kinsman’s teaching?
Baudouin halteth and turneth to face Aloïs.
— The reason why I admire you…
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