Almodis (24 page)

‘You are very welcome, Captain Alfaric.’

‘Thank you gracious Queen,’ he says. ‘My master is an ally of Ramon of Barcelona. They are also great friends.’ He sips his wine. ‘It is not often that one comes across a man so open, so intelligent, full of such a grip on life, as the Count of Barcelona.’

I nod and keep my face neutral.

‘I have a ship at Narbonne, Lady, a fine ship named
Wave Walker,
and it is my wish, my very great wish, to place this ship, at your command.’

I cannot believe what he is saying for a moment. Escape? Ramon is offering me escape? But to what? I wait but he says no more. ‘Do you have orders for the destination of this ship,’ I ask eventually.

‘I have only your orders, Queen Almodis,’ he bows. ‘I and the ship know the way well to Barcelona of course. The tide is good to sail at daybreak but we near the edge of the sailing season and soon it will be dangerous to put to sea. I will wait for you for three days, three daybreaks starting tomorrow,’ he says.

I need to be alone, to think. What does Ramon mean by this? He does not come himself. ‘Thank you, Captain,’ I say, rising. ‘You may leave now and I will consider your kind offer. If I should decide on a voyage I will be with you in Narbonne before daybreak, before the tide, on one of the next three days.’

He rises with me, bows low, kisses my hand, and is gone.

What would Ramon do with me if I reached Barcelona? Perhaps he means to ‘retire’ me too. I would be an inconvenience. He would offer me a kinder retirement than Pons’ anchorite cell to be sure: abbess of a luxurious convent near Barcelona or offered as wife to one of his allies. My stomach churns at the thought of yet another man, not of my choosing, with rights over my body.
Or, I will not be Ramon’s unwed paramour bearing him bastard children, hidden away, whilst Blanca is his countess. If he thinks that he is mistaken.

My children need me to be out in the world, negotiating their marriages and legal matters, giving them advice, standing as regent for them if – and here I indulge myself in a prolonged fantasy: if Pons should die in agony from a disease that attacks first his genitals and then his bowels – then Guillaume who is yet twelve would need me to stand regent for him. I would have to act as Regent of Toulouse.

I return to my own situation. If Ramon’s intentions are not to my liking then what options do I have? None of my children are old enough to offer me a home. Would Hugh take me back? Again I linger in a fantasy of that, but no, he could not. He could not shelter scandal, raise the enmity of Pons and the Court of Aquitaine against himself. I could write to Audebert and he would have to take me but what then? I would be a shamed and
repudiated
wife in his household, a single woman with no role, no point, with less status even than my youngest sister. Audebert, would I fear, be inclined to send me to a nunnery himself, to avoid
embarrassment
. Perhaps my mother and I could set up house together in one of my properties, but whilst I was in Occitania, with no military, no male, protection, I would be vulnerable to any
violence
Pons cared to make against me. So I am facing Ramon’s offer, whatever that is, or a nunnery. I could buy the post of abbess somewhere agreeable I suppose, but again I would have to leave my children to fend for themselves in worldly matters if I did so and I have no inclination to it.

At dawn, two days after Alfaric’s visit I know I must go to the ship at Narbonne. I have no choices. I must leave behind
everything
I have built here in my county of Toulouse over the last twelve years. I rouse my household and Dominic, my Sergeant at Arms, with his cohort of five soldiers, and I tell them to prepare to ride with me. I creep to Raingarde’s door and rest my head against the wood. I cannot go in. Her husband would wake and then the whole house. I have left her a farewell note telling her not to worry.

We have left the city far behind. The road is still dark and not far ahead I can just see that it enters thick woods. We have been riding for an hour. We all have our hoods raised against the heavy rain but even so I feel like I have been dunked in a puddle.
Everything
is dripping: the trees we are riding through, the edge of my hood, my nose. My hands are cold and underneath my cloak, my thighs are wet. We bedraggled women and children ride in the centre of the group on five horses, with the soldiers around the edges, protecting us. Bernadette has four-year-old Adalmoda clutched in front of her. Five-year-old Hugh is perched in front of his aunt Lucia. Dia is riding her beautiful Spanish horse and Melisende, who is twelve now, manages her own horse well. As the trees around us become thicker and thicker the soldiers crowd closer to us and I sense they are on the watch for trouble.

‘Are you watching out for bandits?’ I ask Sir Dominic.

‘Them and the pixies, trolls and hobgoblins also,’ Dominic responds with a completely serious look on his face.’

‘Th-th-uu-tt!’

An arrow wings past my ear and strikes deep into a tree behind him.

‘Defense position!’ shouts Sir Dominic.

‘Th-th-uu-tt! Th-th-uu-tt!’

There are more arrows in the air twisting at high speed and clanging against armour. One of the men falls from his horse, an arrow protruding from his neck. My soldiers raise their shields over the heads of their charges and maneuvre the whinnying horses towards the cover of the trees. They draw their swords, so I follow suit, dragging my knife out of its scabbard.
Reaching
the edge of the trees, I see that one of my soldiers has Dia on the ground, sheltered under his shield. Bernadette, Lucia and Melisende have dismounted and run a little way into the trees with my two young children. I glimpse Hugh’s wide eyes and Adalmoda with her face buried in Bernadette’s skirts. I stay on my horse and wonder if flight is an option.

A large group of well-armed men ride out of the trees on the other side of the path and they far out-number us. ‘Stay back, Lady,’ Dominic shouts to me and he and the five soldiers advance to engage in combat. Swords ring loudly in the cold air, spears are
flung and thrust, maces and axes whirl and slice horribly above men’s soft heads. Soldiers fall from horses, squelching in mud, gasping in pain, rolling to try to avoid the bucking hooves of bloodied horses. Shouting and the clashing of arms echo loud in the quiet wood but it is all over quickly. The ground is strewn with my dead men and their horses are running aimlessly. Sir Dominic lies with his eyes open to the sky, a lance sticking from his ribs. The attackers circle behind us and herd us close together. They hold us at swordpoint, catching their breath. The leader rides up to me and wrenches the knife from my hand, lifts his visor, and I see that it is Piers.

‘Vicar Piers, what is the meaning of this? Is this
paratge
?’ I say, meaning what is right and honourable.

‘Off the horse,’ he says brusquely, as if he has never met me before. Afraid for my children, looking at the terror in Melisende’s face, I comply. ‘Tie their hands. Put the hoods and gags on them,’ he says, emphasizing the word ‘gags’ as he looks at me.

The men have placed brown wool hoods over Dia and Lucia’s heads and I can see Lucia desperately sucking her breath in and out through the fabric. Forcing a confidence into my face and my voice that I do not truly have, I call out to my children before they lose sight of me. ‘Do not fear little ones. You are the royal children of the House of Toulouse.’ I turn to hiss quietly to Piers, ‘And only a craven fool would touch you.’

‘They’ll not be harmed,’ he says to me, avoiding my eyes.

Piers pauses with a hood in his hands in front of Bernadette who is shaking and weeping. ‘Piers!’ she implores piteously. He gently caresses her hair out of her eyes, tucks a few strands behind one of her ears and then places the hood over her face and her muffled cries. His expression shows that he finds he does not have as good a stomach for terrorising women and children as his master, Pons.

I step towards Piers, and the soldiers bruise my arms in their struggle to restrain me and keep me from him. I spit my words at him: ‘You swore an oath of fealty to me, Piers, you proven traitor, you low-born bastard! You will not see February. I will cut off your arms and legs …’

I lay jolted in a carriage with the itchy hood over my head and face. My hands are tied tightly in front of me, a gag is forcing wide my lips and tastes foul. There are other bodies and muffled noises around me in the carriage. I long to reassure my children. I breathe hemp and will myself to stay calm. I want to vomit but then I would die.

The cart stops. We have arrived somewhere. Hands pull me roughly from the cart and drag me on unsteady legs across wet grass. The hood is pulled off and the gag removed. I can’t see for minutes and double over coughing, heaving. My hands are still tied in front of me. Eventually my eyes adjust and I see a grass square surrounded on all sides by red and cream brick cloisters. Piers, looking ashamed of himself, and a stern-featured nun, are standing before me. I cannot be in Moissac. It is much further than we have travelled.

‘Where am I?’ I demand.

‘You are a guest of the Abbess of Lagrasse, Countess,’ the nun says, ‘on the orders of the Count of Toulouse. Please come with me.’

‘It is impossible for me to walk like this,’ I say. ‘Untie my hands.’

Piers looks at the nun hesitant, but she nods and he cuts the rope around my wrists. The pain in my wrists becomes worse now that my arms are freed. Piers no doubt has not fared well for his failure to take me straight from Toulouse to Moissac last week and looks determined to brook no dereliction of his orders now. I go meekly enough with the nun but I determine that no sleeping draught will pass my lips and I will be making no onward leg of this journey to Moissac. I size up the nun.

We arrive in the guest dormitory on the first floor where I am relieved to find my household is unharmed, although they
are shocked and afraid. The dormitory is flooded with morning sunlight and there are two neat rows of beds. It seems almost normal. Bernadette is holding Adalmoda on her lap. Dia is holding Melisende’s hand and Lucia and Hughie sit close to Bernadette. I see on the other side of the room that there are two other maids who I do not know. Other more willing visitors I suppose. Perhaps they could take a message of our plight to Carcassonne or Narbonne.

‘You will be served food in here and you should rest,
Countess
,’ the nun says. ‘You have a long journey ahead of you.’

‘What of my family and women? Will they travel with me?’

‘Back to Toulouse, I think,’ she blurts out and bites her lip, no doubt under instruction to tell me nothing. She hands me a goblet of wine.

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Leave us now.’

She looks at me in surprise, unaccustomed to being
commanded
perhaps, and she glances at the goblet which I have set down on the trestle.

‘Go,’ I say menacingly, taking a step towards her.

When she is gone, I empty the contents of the goblet into the unlit hearth and turn back to the dishevelled huddle of my women and children. ‘There was a sleeping draught in it,’ I say. ‘They mean to ship me to Moissac.’

‘So I will go in your stead and you will make your escape on this ship that is waiting for you in Narbonne.’ I am amazed to hear Raingarde’s voice and to see her throwing back her hood. She is one of the unknown ‘maids’ on the other side of the room. ‘Why didn’t you tell me,’ she demands, and there is real anger in her voice.

For a moment I am speechless. I see that the other woman is Carlotta. ‘How did you get here?’ Then, only just realising what I have heard her say, ‘And no, you will go nowhere in my stead.’

‘I knew there was something wrong. I had Carlotta watch you and when you all slunk off at dawn, we came with you. Two more maids. It made no difference to the men at arms at the back of the company.’ She is looking very pleased with herself. ‘You see,’ she says, ‘you are not the only clever one.’

‘Oh, Raingarde, I do not wish you here! Embroiled in my troubles.’

‘Dia has explained everything to me: that Pons plans to
incarcerate
you and to take the Aragon princess to wife,’ she finishes, looking unreasonably cheerful. ‘We change clothes,’ she says. ‘You go now. I will feign sleep and let them take me to the boat. I have left word with my husband that bad business is afoot and he will need to rescue me. You must send him word when you reach Narbonne to wait for me at the dock in Moissac.’ With Carlotta’s help she has already taken off half her clothes and is handing them to Bernadette, who puts down Adalmoda and approaches me with them. ‘Come on, quick. We don’t know how long we have and the boat will only wait for you until sunrise tomorrow.’

I protest and refuse but they all assist her in disrobing me and swapping our clothes. I am desperate at the thought of Raingarde walled up in that cloister.

‘My husband will find me,’ she says, certain.

‘They will mistreat you. You have no idea what could happen to you.’

‘And you should suffer it but I cannot?’

‘I will go with her,’ says Carlotta, surprising us all for she is
usually
so silent, and she draws a vicious hunting knife from her boot and then sheathes it again.

‘They will notice one maid is missing.’

‘If they do, we shall say that she climbed out the window but the rest of us were too afraid to follow.’

I look dubiously at the window. An old oak stands close by and it is just conceivable I suppose to leap across and climb down through its branches. If you were an acrobat.

‘Go on,’ says Raingarde, pushing me to the window.

I resist her, but she does not give up shoving me. ‘I can’t do that!’

‘For large evils, great remedies, mistress,’ Bernadette cries out.

‘I will ensure that the children and your women are sent on to you. They will not suffer. Do it, Almodis, now!’

All this time I thought she was my shadow, a pale reflection, my gentle sister in contrast to my hard grip on life and power but
I see her standing there in my clothes and I see that I have been wrong. She is my brave sister. I look round quickly at each of their faces, I take a deep breath, I wriggle my feet in my boots for good purchase, I grip the window frame and haul myself up onto the sill. Unfortunately I look down and am immediately dizzy and irresolute. I should tell them I am with child and just can’t … but then without thinking about it, without deciding, I am flying, really flying. I collide with a branch and the wind is punched out of me. I slither ungainly down the tree, coming to the ground with a thud that winds me again. I look up at their faces crammed into the stone frame of the window, signal that I am fine and set off running to the trees.

In the forest I find an ass tethered outside a hut. I dare not wake the people sleeping inside and ask for help in case they betray me back to the abbey. I silently slip the animal’s rope, coax him into cover and make my way, travelling close to the river, looking for a boat that might carry me to Narbonne, thinking all the while that I should surely miss Tortosa’s captain, that he will sail without me. I think of the story my father told me of how on campaign once he tricked his pursuers by putting cloven cow-shoes onto his horses’ feet. I pass a small cave with a shrine to the Virgin strung with flowers and small offerings: a baby’s shoe, a rotting veil. ‘Protect me mother Mary,’ I whisper to her. ‘I wish to be a mother to this child.’

At last I see a small, shallow-bottomed boat bobbing near the bank. It has a long pole and a paddle. I loose the ass to find his way home; I thank him and regret the loss of his living company as I face the river to continue my journey alone. I step into the
rocking
boat and pole myself away from the bank and into the centre of the river where the current takes me forward swiftly. It is
nearing
twilight and clouds of mosquitos and midges hover above the surface of the water. Green trees and rushes rise up on both sides all around me, green reflected in the water, even the sky is tinged with green as the light fades. I feel a sense of unreality moving through this shrouded world. I fear at any moment that armed men will burst through the green curtain to the water’s edge and haul me by my hair from the river to a stone prison.

This is the river Orbieu which eventually will join with the Aude and take me all the way to the port of Narbonne. I am
hungry
, thirsty, weary, chilled to the bone and my ankle throbs where I landed badly on it. I need only fend off the bank or fallen trees on occasion or pole myself through choked and shallow parts of the river. Cicadas begin their frictions. At dusk the Devil is abroad is one of Bernadette’s sayings. I wish I hadn’t remembered it. I must go on through the darkness in order to get past the towns of Fabrezan and Ferrals unseen. At Ferrals a watchman calls out, ‘Who’s there?’, but I pole myself into the centre of the river where the current is strong and pass by silently in the gloom.

Before the Orbieu joins the Aude, I haul my boat onto the bank, meaning to rest a moment before I attempt to pass Narbonne and anyone watching for me. I am bone tired. ‘Lady!’ A hiss in the trees terrifies me but I see that it is Captain Alfaric.

‘How did you know I was here?’ I say amazed.

‘A letter from your sister, told me you were in trouble and to look out for you,’ he says, giving me more cause for surprise at Raingarde’s effectiveness. She must have sent this letter as we were leaving Carcassonne. He helps me haul my boat further into the trees where it will not be seen and then tells me to follow him a little upriver where his own boat is waiting. As we walk I explain what has happened: how my sister Raingarde has taken my place with my kidnappers and how I must get word to her husband. Alfaric frowns and grimaces all the way through my story. ‘Such deceit and betrayal. Such violence to a beautiful lady,’ he says
tasting
the words as if they are curdled milk in his mouth.

‘You cannot go to Berenger,’ Alfaric says. ‘Pons is in Narbonne and the city is swarming with Toulousain men-at-arms. They must be watching to make sure you do not break from your
captors
and attempt a sea escape. We must carry on along the river straight to the port and my ship, and elude them.’ He points out another small boat, waiting for us, but this one has four
oarsmen
for speed. Alfaric hands me to a cushioned seat in the boat and takes his own seat behind me at the helm. The four oarsmen smile at me. At Alfaric’s soft commands they quickly pick up a pace, moonlight glinting on the sweat of their faces, biceps and thighs as they move back and forwards together, and the boat
thrusts and jerks ahead. Now that I am become a passenger, I begin to shake with cold and stress. My teeth chatter and my stomach is churning on its own hunger. Alfaric drapes a thick blanket around my shoulders and hands a wine skin to me. I take a long draught of the strong wine and feel warmed.

As night falls we draw near the walls of Narbonne. On one bank is the city and on the other its new town, the Bourg. We travel under the seven-arched Roman bridge that carries the old Roman Road, the Via Domita, that splits in four directions, to Spain, Toulouse, Aquitaine and the Atlantic. In the gloom I can just make out the butchers, at the end of their day’s work,
discharging
blood and offal into the river.

Alfaric changes the sail on the mast to a plain red one and the soldiers cover the coat of arms of Barcelona on their surcoats with their large woollen cloaks. I cover my head and part of my face with a hood. The soldiers look uneasy. If we are caught now we will be in a world of trouble. Everyone keeps as silent as
possible
and the lamps are doused. I listen to the lap of the water against the boat and against the walls.

I recognize the shape and position of the guest chamber where I stayed the night that Ramon was there. ‘That’s likely Pons’ chamber, up there,’ I whisper. This is the most dangerous part, if someone should happen to look out at the river and see me. I try to keep my eyes on the deck and hold my breath, catching a glimpse of that window slowly opening. A woman’s head appears and then a bucket and a stream of urine is thrown into the river, close to where our boat is hugging the wall.

‘If it comes to a fight there’s nothing to worry about,’ one of the soldiers whispers. ‘We’ve got Morning Star and Good-day and Holy Water Sprinkler here to safeguard you.’

‘What’s that?’ I ask puzzled. ‘Is it magic?’

‘No Lady, this here is Morning Star,’ says one soldier holding up his huge mace, a club with blades sticking out of the top.

‘And this is Good-day,’ says another in a low voice, holding up an equally evil looking weapon, ‘and Captain Alfaric’s,’ he says pointing at another mace leaning against the boat’s side, ‘is the one called Holy Water Sprinkler. Do you get it?’

‘Quiet,’ hisses Alfaric. ‘We don’t want to be using our
weapons on the townsmen if we can help it, whatever their damned names are.’

They fall silent. When the boat has passed the city we heave a collective sigh of relief.

At its mouth the Aude opens up into the great bay of Narbonne where ships lay at anchor protected by the hills from winds from the north, and by islands and a line of sand bars from the Mediterranean sea storms. I hear the sound of a treacly, lazy sea washing back and forth across rolling pebbles.

The rowers pull us into a dark pier and one man takes a note that I have written to Raingarde’s husband and a purse from Alfaric and disappears towards the harbour front in search of a safe messenger. We wait in silence. Two of the rowers grip the edge of the pier, holding the boat in place; the third is crouched on the pier with the rope in his hands ready to cast us off in
seconds
if we are threatened with discovery. I can hear drunken
singing
from a nearby tavern, a wild shriek of a woman’s laughter, the boat bumping gently against the pier. Thick clouds have covered the moon and it is pitch-dark. I begin to wonder if the man with my note has been taken. Then he jumps softly into his place, nods briefly to me and Alfaric, and we are moving again, making for the black expanse of the harbour.

We are running dark, relying on the sweep of the lamp from the lighthouse to help us navigate our way between the other boats. Alfaric must remember the position of anchored ships and our route through them, with each brief flash of illumination. We pass through narrow gaps between vast warships that could crush us to kindling in seconds, their curved wooden sides
disappearing
far above our heads like mountain slopes, the eagle’s nest lookouts at the top of their high masts dipping and swaying. Occasionally we bump and scrape against another boat. I keep my hands clenched in my lap, away from the edge of the boat.