The Lark's Lament: A Fools' Guild Mystery (14 page)

I turned it toward her to show her the impression of Laurent’s signet ring. I had gotten it while pressing his hand between mine when giving him my blessing.

“Now, all we have to do is find a smith of dubious propriety and get him to cast a new seal for us,” I said. “Pantalan, you must know such a man.”

“I do,” he said. “But he’s probably out drinking right now.”

“Well, I think we should find him, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t bother,” he said. “He’s mean and useless when he’s drunk, and you don’t want someone like that handling molten metal.”

“But this could be important,” I insisted.

“I agree,” he said. “Wait here.”

He climbed the steps to his room. We heard some rummaging noises; then he came back down with a small bronze coffer. He opened it and spilled two dozen seals onto the pallet.

“Let’s see,” he said, sorting through them. “Roncelin, Eudiarde, Anselme—oh, that big one is my favorite. It belongs to Hughes de Fer, he’s the chief of the Viguerie, very grandiose, took me ages to get hold of it. Ah, here we are. Laurent’s signet ring.”

He held up a small chunk of iron with the seneschal’s seal recreated on one end.

“I didn’t know,” I said.

“Because you didn’t ask,” he said. “Now, if you would like, I could have you teach my grandmother to suck eggs. But first, open that damn letter.”

I took my knife and slid it carefully under the seal, making sure the parchment was undamaged. Then I opened.

“‘To my Lady Marie, Countess of Montpellier,’” I read. “‘Your husband attempted to raise money from Anselme and other members of the consulat, but has been unsuccessful. He has, however, prevailed upon Roncelin to accompany him to Rome, where he intends to have himself coronated by Innocent. I shall attend the Viscount so that I may further learn of your husband’s plans. I remain, as ever, your obedient servant.’”

“No execution this time,” said Claudia. “Interesting. He addresses it on the outside to this Léon person, but it is clearly meant for the countess herself.”

“He said he was a servant,” I commented. “Now we know who he’s serving. Any idea how he knew the countess?”

“Well, we all knew her when she was here,” said Pantalan. “Laurent has been with the house of Barral for over thirty years, so naturally he would know her well.”

“But in Marseille?” I asked.

“Of course,” said Pantalan. “She lived here for several years.”

“Wait,” said Claudia. “Do you mean that she’s the same Marie who married Barral?”

“Yes,” said Pantalan. “I thought you knew that.”

“I never made the connection,” she said. “But then Folc would have known her.”

“Here and in Montpellier,” said Pantalan.

“And if Folc knew her,” she said, starting to pace back and forth. “And the timing. Let me think. Yes, the timing works out.”

“Where are you going with this?” I asked her. “Do you think Marie has something to do with the message to Folc?”

“Look, when Barral died, she was pregnant with his child,” she said. “So the child would have a claim to being the next in line to become viscount, and maybe Marie could have been regent until it was of age. But Folquet comes up with the idea of bringing in Roncelin. Did Marie protest when this happened? They basically dispossessed both her and the child.”

“She didn’t utter a peep, as I recall,” said Pantalan. “It seemed very noble of her at the time.”

“Let’s say that Folc had something to do with her staying quiet,” said Claudia. “Maybe he had some information on her that kept her from asserting her claim. She goes back home to Montpellier because there is nothing left for her here. When her father dies, she becomes Countess of Montpellier and then marries the King of Aragon. That was when?”

“This past August,” said Pantalan. “And she didn’t become countess when her father died. Her brother was count, but he renounced the title and entered a monastery at the beginning of the summer.”

“Lot of that going around,” I said.

“So, she has just become more powerful than any woman since Eleanor of Aquitaine,” continued Claudia. “But maybe she still considers Folc to be a danger. Or maybe word reached him and he sent her a letter reminding her of what he knows. She sees it as a threat, and threatens him right back. Hence, the warning in the librarium. And that’s why it only surfaced after all these years. It was Marie’s marriage that brought it on.”

She stopped, grinning triumphantly. We looked at each other.

“Well?” said Claudia, looking at me.

“It’s possible,” I said. “The timing of the marriage is certainly suggestive. And it’s not like we have any better leads to follow.”

“I still like my idea about the pilgrim captured by pirates,” said Helga.

“It sounds far-fetched to me,” said Pantalan. “But if it will fetch you far from here, I’m all for it. I could use the peace and quiet.”

“Then it’s to Montpellier in the morning,” I said.

“What will we find there?” asked Helga.

“A flock of wild geese,” said Claudia. “And we are going to chase every single one of them.”

SIX

Mas vos, Domna, que avetz mandamen …

[But you, Lady, who are in control…]

—FOLQUET DE MARSEILLE,
“AMORS, MERCE! NO MUEIRA TAN SOVEN!”
[TRANS. N. M. SCHULMAN]

Portia let out a squeal of delight as Theo drove Zeus and the wain into the courtyard, and the horse whinnied in return. I brought her carefully within petting distance of his head, and she reached out with both hands, straining against my arms to stroke the monster’s muzzle. Zeus submitted to her inexpert attentions with unbridled affection, nuzzling her gently. I never understood how this great horse could be so loving with one infant, yet so carnivorous toward everyone else.

Theo and Helga took advantage of the distraction to load the wain. Pantalan stood and watched, occasionally picking up one of the lighter items and handing it to our beleaguered apprentice, all the while offering a stream of useless advice.

A voice hailed me from the entrance to the courtyard, and I turned in surprise to see Julien Guiraud hurrying toward me, waving. “Oh, good, I have caught you,” he said. “I have found him!”

“Well done,” I said. “Found who?”

“Marin Itier,” he said. “He lives, or at least did until recently.”

“Itier? Who is he again?” asked Theo, coming over.

“Ah, you must be the lucky husband of this remarkable lady,” said Julien, shaking his hand enthusiastically.

“Itier was the merchant that Folc ruined,” I explained. “I told you about him.”

“Ah, yes,” said Theo.

“I remember him,” said Pantalan, coming over to greet Julien. “He sailed off to Acre after that, didn’t he?”

“He did,” said Julien. “After that pilgrimage, he disappeared, and Marseille never heard from him again. But I made some inquiries among some sailor friends of mine, and it turns out that he ended up in Toulon! He’s a peddler there, fallen on hard times, but he still lives.”

“Toulon,” said Theo. “That’s east, down the coast a ways.”

“Exactly,” said Julien.

“Well, we’ll look into him if Montpellier proves fruitless,” said Theo. “And it may very well be a barren town for us. Thank you for the information, friend Julien.”

“Give my warmest regards to your sister,” I added. “If our path takes us through Gémenos again, I promise to visit her.”

“I am sure that she would enjoy that,” he said, taking my hand and bowing over it.

Theo rolled his eyes over the display of gallantry. I stuck my tongue out at him before Julien straightened up.

“Then all I can do now is wish you a safe journey,” said Julien.

“Thank you, Sieur Guiraud,” said Theo, and the merchant departed.

“I guess this is good-bye,” said Theo, turning to Pantalan.

“It was, if not fun, at least a change,” said Pantalan, clasping his hand. He turned to me and bowed with ten times as much flourishing as had Julien, then kissed my hand.

“That’s how it’s done properly,” I said to Helga. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Brother Fool. Take care of our troubadour friend.”

“I will, Domna,” he said. He waved and wrinkled his nose at Portia, who giggled and waved back.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Helga. “I have a question for you.”

“Ask away,” said Pantalan.

“Why do you live here, when everything that’s happening is down by the harbor?”

He was taken aback for a moment, and I could see some easy quip forming in his mind. Then his eyes softened. “There is a garden by a church up here,” he said. “A wall around it shuts out the world. A jester’s life is filled with constant chatter and noise. If I didn’t go there and enjoy the stillness every once in a while, then it would be me up in the mountains singing to the wolves instead of Vidal.”

“Oh,” said Helga.

She held out her hand, expecting him to kiss it. Instead, he shook it so heartily that it nearly came off.

“Good-bye, Little Chick,” he said merrily. “Come back and visit when you’re fully fledged, and maybe I’ll marry you. This town needs more fools.”

We clambered onto the wagon. Theo flicked the reins, and Zeus trotted out of the courtyard. I looked back, and Pantalan was waving until we lost sight of him.

We took the western gate out of the Ville-Haute, the same that we had taken to see Vidal. This time, however, we took the main road west, the sun following behind us.

Helga was uncharacteristically quiet as she perched in back, watching Marseille gradually disappear from view.

“Do you think he meant it?” she said suddenly.

“Meant what?” I asked.

“About marrying me. Was he serious?”

“When is a fool ever serious?” I asked.

“When he talks about marriage,” said Theo. “It’s a very frightening subject. It will make any fool turn sober.”

“You didn’t turn sober when we got married,” I said. “Much the opposite.”

“The subject turns the fool sober,” he explained. “The actual marriage will drive him right back to drink.”

“That’s the male fool speaking,” I said. “I, on the other hand, got drunk one fine night, and when I sobered up, to my horror found myself married to this one. That’s the only explanation for it.”

“What about Pantalan?” persisted Helga.

“If you think he’s serious, feel free to go back there and find out,” said Theo. “Once your apprenticeship is complete, you should be old enough.”

“But he’s so old!” she said. “He must be over thirty.”

Theo and I glanced at each other.

“Do you want to throw her over the side, or shall I?” I asked.

It was a four-day journey, although I don’t know if I would count five rivers. One or two were merely streams, easily forded. The Rhône, on the other hand, was wide and full of boats, and we waited in line for two or three hours before the ferrymen were able to accommodate us. The price of crossing was exorbitant, but one look at their massive arms was all it took to dissuade us from haggling.

“The name of the fool in Montpellier is Grelho?” I asked my husband as we broke camp on the fourth day.

“Right,” he said. “I’ve never met him. I was last here back in ’79, long before I ever met you. Grelho has been there about twenty years, I think.”

“So he would have known Folc.”

“Folc the merchant did business in Montpellier, and Folquet the troubadour rode the circuit from Marseille and back. If the answers to our quest aren’t found in Marseille, then they may very well be here. Unless it is that Itier fellow.”

“Or somebody else we haven’t even thought about,” piped up Helga helpfully.

“You can look for him,” said Theo.

“Or her,” I said. “The Lark is a woman, after all.”

“You know, one thing about your theory bothers me,” he said.

“What is that?”

“Why would Folc join the Cistercians when he did? Everything that happened with the succession in Marseille happened several years before that. You also don’t account for the sudden fear and haste that your gallant merchant described.”

“Maybe it had something to do with her second marriage,” I said. “Maybe we should go back and question Folc some more.”

“Maybe I should have thought of that before we came all the way to Montpellier. Look! You can see the bell tower from here.”

There was one more river to cross, a broad but shallow one that supported only barges and flat-bottomed boats. There was a bridge over it, and a road leading to a gate protected by a tower that soared some sixty feet. The combination might have been intimidating to the casual invader were it not for the fact that no walls fanned out from them, nor were there any soldiers guarding them. One solitary man sat on a stool to the right, leaning back with his eyes closed, enjoying the morning sun. He was wearing a leathern apron over his clothing, and an enormous hammer with a thick handle the length of a man’s arm rested against the stool.

Theo looked at the gate, which was closed, then glanced to the open sides. “I’m guessing we go around,” he said.

“And I’m guessing you don’t,” said the man, his eyes still closed, but his right hand now resting on the hammer.

“We go through the gate?” asked Theo.

“Yes,” said the man.

“But the gate is closed,” said Theo.

“It is; that’s the plain truth of it,” said the man, yawning, then stretching like an immense cat.

“How are we to pass through the gate if it’s closed?” asked Theo, smiling slightly.

The man finally opened his eyes, stood, and walked over to us. He turned to stare at the gate, apparently in deep contemplation.

“I could open it for you,” he offered finally.

“That would be a kind and Christian thing to do,” I said.

“But I can’t just yet,” he said. “There are things I am supposed to say first.”

“Some ritual incantation?” I asked. “Is it a magical gate?”

“Ooooh,” sighed Helga, lost in the idea.

The man looked her and the baby, and a broad grin split his grimy face. “First, I am supposed to say welcome to the cloture commune of Montpellier,” he said. “At least, it will be a proper cloture when they finish building the walls.”

“I would think a gate without walls would be fairly useless,” said Theo.