The Black Lyon

an accomplished eavesdropper, but even he was unaware of the valet’s expertise. He doubted if there was a word he’d ever said to anyone in his own house that Hodder had not heard.
    Hodder told Ranulf all of Amicia’s treachery. He told of the letters, the ribbon, the woman’s braggings.
    “Lyonene did not believe these things the woman said?”
    “Aye, she did, but not at first. She was angry when she felt the woman’s words to be true, but she believed you meant no ill toward her as your wife.”
    “That was good of her,” Ranulf muttered sarcastically, barely heard above the noise of their fast travel.
    “You cannot blame Lady Lyonene. Even I would have believed the woman’s threats did I not know you so well.”
    Ranulf half-turned in the saddle to stare at his valet. “And what reason do you have to believe in me when confronted with such proof?”
    Hodder shrugged. “I but looked at Lady Lyonene and then the bony Amicia. I have come to know the type of woman your greedy lust leads you to.”
    Ranulf would have laughed had not the moment been so serious. “These letters are what caused my wife to refuse to answer my letter. I knew something was awry when I returned home. The woman is a fool, a brainless fool, to think I write words of love to one woman and then neglect my duties when I but think my wife has a low mood. There is joy in a wife, but there is much pain. Think you twice before you take a wife, Hodder.”
    The valet was indignant. He recovered himself and continued. “She was happier after your visit, but Amicia brought more news.”
    “What news—more letters?”
    “Nay, my lord. She came with the news that she carried your child.”
    “My child! That any man’s seed could take root in that barren ground is a wonder. Lyonene did not believe her?”
    “Nay, she did not. She said she would go to you and see that there was naught between you.”
    “This is the only bit of sense I have heard. She did not come, though.”
    “Nay, but she did. Kate and I rode with her to your camp.”
    Ranulf was silent for a moment, cursing the foolhardiness of a wife who would travel across the turbulent Engish countryside with only a girl of a maid and a thin, weak man for protection.
    Hodder understood his master. “We dressed as merchants’ apprentices. We had no trouble.”
    “Why did I not see her then?”
    “We sat on a hill by your tent and watched.”
    “Go on, man! There must have been more reason as to why my wife refused to see me, why she has fled me.”
    “She saw the woman Amicia in your embrace, my lord.”
    “Nay, she could not have!” Then he remembered the time when Amicia had barged into his tent and he had gone outside to escape her. There she had kissed him, and he had had to control himself from striking her. She was no better than a bitch in heat. She came often to his camp during the siege, and from the sounds, several of his garrison knights had enjoyed her favors. She had made numerous advances to Ranulf, but he had been repulsed by her—her long thin arms, her whining voice, her false avowals of being a duke’s daughter.
    The day after the storm Ranulf had sent a message to France to learn of the Duke of Vernet. The answer had arrived only this morn. The Duke had indeed been on the wrecked ship, but the man was near eighty years and had never had a daughter. Amicia had merely used the story for a purpose as yet unknown to Ranulf.
    Filled with foreboding, Ranulf urged Hodder to continue his story.
    Hodder told of Amicia’s last visit, how she said King Edward would force Ranulf to marry Amicia to prevent a war. Ranulf could only shake his head in amazement that Lyonene could believe such a story.
    “What of the rest of it? You have not explained where or why my wife is hiding. Have you searched all the cabins, the glade?”
    “Aye, everywhere, and she is not to be found.”
    “I shall shake her teeth from her body when I find her,” he said through a clenched jaw.
    “I believe the woman Amicia had some hand in planning Lady Lyonene’s hiding.”
    “I do not understand you.”
    “The woman is most clever. I could not listen longer for she routed me from my place and fell into whispers. I should have guessed her intentions.”
    They rode on, silently, to Malvoisin, Ranulf alternately cursing and praying for his wife. His pride wounded, he berated her for her lack of trust, for believing that he would choose such a woman as Amicia for the reasons that had