Winter Song by Roberta Gellis Page B

control. As he helped Raymond from the ceremonial bath before
dressing the groom for the ceremony, William could not help telling Raymond to
be careful in his handling of her. “She is so small,” William said. “In God’s
name, do not hurt her.”
    Raymond regarded his future father-by-marriage with some
trepidation. “How can I help it?” he asked with mingled nervousness and
irritation, rubbing himself vigorously with the drying cloth. “If you know a
way to take a maidenhead that does not cause pain, tell me and I will listen.”
    Too anxious to be sensible, William snapped, “It is not a thing
with which I am acquainted, both of my wives having been widows. But I have
heard the great lords of the south are freer with their vassals’ daughters—”
    “They are not so free as you have heard,” Raymond retorted,
grabbing the shirt William held out. “But what little knowledge I have tells me
there is no easy way.” He drew the shirt over his head, but when his face
emerged and he caught sight of William’s expression, he laid a hand on his arm.
“Forgive me sir. I am… You must know that it will give me no pleasure to hurt
Alys.” His voice shook.
    “Nay,” William replied, taking the chausses from another gentleman’s
hand and rolling one leg so that Raymond could step into it. “Rather should I
beg your pardon, my son. God knows you have no reason but love for desiring my
daughter, and I know you to be no light ravisher of women.” He helped Raymond
into the garment, then embraced him, and laughed uneasily. “I see her still as
a child—that is all.”
    It was fortunate that the king walked in at that moment, and
further private conversation was impossible. Henry was in the best of tempers.
He smiled largely on his brother, on two of Richard’s vassals who had drawn
William away, and most particularly on Raymond, his beloved wife’s nephew, who
had provided the opportunity for him to be both benefactor and gainer.
    Having returned all greetings pleasantly, Henry drew Raymond
aside. “How long do you plan to stay in England after the wedding?” he asked.
    “To speak the truth,” Raymond replied, “it was my first
intention to go as soon as possible because the weather will shortly make
passage by sea dangerous. However, if it will serve you that I stay longer, of
course I will do so.”
    “No, no,” Henry assured him. “I have no desire to keep you,
and in Gascony you could do me a quiet little service.”
    “If I can, I will be most willing,” Raymond replied. He
could say nothing else, but inwardly he stiffened.
    The last time Henry had asked for a “trifling service”,
Raymond had ended up as a spy in his betrothed’s household. What caused Raymond’s
anxiety was that the king’s charm was so great that Raymond had agreed to the
dishonorable task with gaiety, as if it were all a jest. The dishonest purpose
had not really made an impact on him until he had met Sir William, himself the
soul of honesty and honor. Now Raymond regarded the king with considerable
caution.
    “I have allowed a thousand pounds to the mayor and commune
of Bordeaux for the strengthening of the walls of that city,” Henry said. “Since
you will be of the council, will you look at this work and see if it is being
properly done?”
    That seemed innocent enough. Raymond opened his mouth to
say, “Gladly,” and instead said, “Is this not the seneschal’s duty? Do you
believe him to have put the money to other uses?”
    “Not at all,” Henry assured him. “This money did not go through
de Molis’s hands. It was a direct grant to the mayor and burgesses of the town.
Er…you had not heard, perhaps, that it was necessary for me to reorder the
governing of Bordeaux?”
    “Bordeaux? No. I had not heard, but I suppose whatever the
form of the government, I can count on the support of my mother’s kinsman,
Rustengo de Soler.”
    The king cleared his throat. “Well…er…he is no longer the
mayor, but I