The Lark's Lament: A Fools' Guild Mystery (20 page)

“No. Tell me.”

“Maguelone was the daughter of the King of Naples, a rare and virtuous beauty. A brave knight fell in love with her, and entered a tournament to win her. After many heroic battles, he was victorious and they pledged eternal devotion to each other. He gave her three golden rings in a cloth bag to keep by her heart. But a seabird swooped in and stole the bag. The knight promptly pursued it by boat, and was lost at sea.”

“How sad.”

“But it didn’t end there,” he said. “She searched for him, and ultimately ended up here, where she founded a hospice for the sick and abandoned. Meanwhile, it turned out that he had been captured and made the slave of a sultan. After many years, he grew ill and unrecognizable, and the sultan cast him off by a miraculous coincidence at this very spot. He was carried to the hospice and nursed back to health by Maguelone, who didn’t recognize him. When he recovered his health and memories, he revealed himself to her, and they were married and lived happily to the end of their days running the hospice. Now, many come to Maguelone to ring the bell outside the cathedral to be blessed by her before marrying in the cathedral.”

“Did she ever get her rings back?”

“The story doesn’t say,” he said. “Probably not.”

“Why did you join?” I asked. “You don’t seem to be the monkish kind.”

“That’s that curiosity of yours,” he said. “Do you know Grelho?”

“I’m staying with him in town,” I said.

“He was my father’s fool, and mine, too,” he said. “I remember his telling me the story about the fool who wanted to find his identical twin. Do you know that one?”

“No,” I lied.

“He saw him at the bottom of a well, and drowned trying to embrace him,” he said.

“And what is your exegesis of this foolish parable?” I asked.

He sat down to put on his sandals. “Ever since I joined here, men have journeyed from the city to see me,” he said. “Powerful men. Rich men. All wanting something from me, because I am the last of the Guilhems. I have nothing to give them, but they won’t accept that. And, although they don’t know it, they end up giving me something valuable and dangerous.”

“What is that?”

“That they came to powerless me, knowing that my sister is the countess. Which means that they are a threat to her.”

“And being a good brother, you pass that information on to her.”

He nodded.

“Will you be telling her about me?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet,” he said. “You are neither rich nor powerful. And you played football with me. I like that. And, I confess, you have aroused my own curiosity. I’ve never been sought out by a fool before. I reserve judgment. Tell me what you want to know, and remember that lying is a sin.”

I bowed briefly. “I have no interest in your sister, or the affairs of Montpellier,” I said. “I am tracking down an old story, probably from before your time. Ever hear of the troubadour Folquet of Marseille?”

He stopped.

“I thought you had no interest in my sister or the affairs of Montpellier,” he said. “Folquet is a forbidden topic.”

“Ever hear of the Lady Lark?” I asked.

“The Lady Lark,” he repeated. “A ghost of a rumor. I once heard my father referring to a lady at court by that name when I was young. Someone who died before I was born.”

“Did you know her real name?”

“No. But he said that she sang like a bird until someone put her in a cage, then she pined away and died.”

“A sad story,” I said. “Was Folquet part of it?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps it was just another parable. Is that all you wanted?”

“Yes.”

We climbed over a stile into a large vegetable garden. He picked up a sack and a hoe and sighed. “I really don’t mind gardening,” he said. “Life is so much simpler now.”

“There was simplicity in the Garden of Eden,” I said.

“And when they chose knowledge and exile, they bred and produced a fratricide,” he said. “I chose to return to ignorance and innocence.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because if I hadn’t, either my loving sister would have killed me, or I would have been forced to kill her,” he replied. “A mortal sin was avoided either way. Will you be leaving Montpellier once you find what you need?”

“Yes.”

“Then I won’t tell Marie about your visit,” he said. “Thank you for playing with me. Go with God.”

“And you, Brother Guilhem,” I said, bowing.

I left the garden, retrieved my horse, and got the hell out of there.

*   *   *

It was close to sundown when I returned Zeus to the stable. He had barely broken a sweat with only me for his burden, but I treated him to a bath and a thorough brushing, which he pretended not to enjoy. I patted him on the neck and gave him a bunch of carrots as a final treat, then went back to Grelho’s. I ran into my family at the door.

“Well met,” said Claudia, kissing me. “Take Portia.”

“Has she been to the palace?” I asked as the baby clung to me like a monkey.

“She has,” said Claudia. “Made quite the impression on the countess. I barely had to do anything.”

“You are proving to be a great help,” I said to my daughter. “Pity you can’t stay this age. We’ll just have to keep having more babies.”

“That is not going to happen,” said Claudia in a voice that had steel in it. Very sharp steel.

“Just a thought, good wife,” I said meekly. “And how was your day, Apprentice?”

“I have been playing with dolls for hours,” said Helga. “I had no idea fun could be so wearying. But I didn’t learn anything helpful.”

Grelho opened the door. We looked at him and cheered. He was in motley and makeup. “Come in, come in,” he said merrily. “I have dinner prepared.”

“You actually spent money?” I said in mock astonishment.

“I’m celebrating my comeback,” he said. “I had a good day in the markets. Some people actually threw sausages, which I hope was meant as a compliment.”

There was fresh cheese and superb wine to go with the sausages. We were sated and happy in a very short time.

“Did you find Guilhem, husband?” asked Claudia.

“I did,” I said. “He likes to play games, although he’s left the main game to his sister.”

“That was a prudent move for him, I think,” said Grelho. “But it would have been better for the town had he stood up to her. Did he know anything?”

“He said the Lady Lark had been a woman at his father’s court who died before his time,” I said. “Does that narrow things down for you?”

“A recently banned family with a lady who died say in the late eighties,” mused Grelho. “I can think of three who meet those characteristics. But before we go gallivanting after them, I have found someone who might help us even more.”

“Really? Who?”

“Turns out Rafael de la Tour had a younger sister,” he said triumphantly. “Turns out she’s still in the area. And best of all, they say she sings like an angel.”

“So the gift ran in the family,” said Claudia. “She might know more about ‘The Lark’s Lament.’ Where is she?”

“Married to a farmer a few miles north of town,” he said. “We can go tomorrow.”

“Well done,” I said. “All right, we should—”

A pounding on the door interrupted me. We sprang to our feet, the senior fools with hands to weapons and Helga picking up Portia and retreating to the stairs at the rear. I nodded at Grelho.

“Who is it?” he called.

The pounding repeated, but weakly this time. Then there was a soft thud. Grelho slid back the bar on the door and pushed it open a crack.

“There’s a man lying in the street down near the bottom of the hill,” he said. “He’s moaning.”

“Let’s see who it is,” I said. “Helga, stay here with Portia.”

For a change, she didn’t argue.

It was near midnight, and there was only little moonlight to guide us. We stepped quietly toward the prostrate form, guarding against attack from where the alley met the next street.

The man was on his back, one arm feebly beckoning to us for help. Grelho and I stepped past him to make sure no one was waiting for us around the corners, then turned to look back at him. He was a large man, and cloaked. Claudia knelt by his head.

“It’s Brother Antime!” she exclaimed.

“Who’s he?” asked Grelho.

“Did Folc send you?” I asked, kneeling by him.

“Told me to come here,” he said hoarsely. “To find out what you’ve learned.”

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Grelho, nervously looking up and down the street.

I ran my hands across his chest and felt something thick and wet. “He’s been stabbed,” I said. “What happened, Antime?”

“The other man,” he gasped, and I heard a bubbling sound as he did.

“What other man?”

“The other man following you,” he whispered. Then he coughed twice and fell silent. I felt his neck for a pulse.

“Let’s get back inside,” I said. “He’s dead.”

NINE

En chantan m’aven a membrar

so qu’ieu cug chantan oblidar!

[It happens that, by singing, I remember

that which I thought, by singing, to forget!]

—FOLQUET DE MARSEILLE,
“EN CHANTAN MA’VEN A MEMBRAR”
[TRANS. N. M. SCHULMAN]

We sat in darkness by the barred door, listening.

“Who was Brother Antime?” asked Grelho.

“He was a Cistercian monk at Le Thoronet,” said Theo. “He was the cellarer.”

“The big monk?” whispered Helga. “He’s dead?”

“Stabbed,” said Theo.

“And you just left him there?” she asked incredulously.

“If anyone had seen us, I would have called for the guard,” said Theo.

“No one saw us, so we left him for the nightwatch to find,” said Grelho.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“They would have suspected us in his death,” I explained. “Even if we could have talked our way out of it, it would have made our mission more difficult.”

“Isn’t it anyway?” asked Helga.

“No question,” said Theo. “I think we made it safely inside. Let’s go to bed as if nothing happened.”

“How can we possibly do that?” asked Helga.

“Lie down, pull up the covers,” I said. “When the nightwatch bangs on the door, we will sound like we’ll be getting out of bed because we will be.”

“I’ll be upstairs, then,” said Grelho. “We’ll talk in the morning. When there’s light.”

He slipped upstairs, and the rest of us crawled under our blankets.

There was no sleep to be had for Theo and me. We carried on a silent wake for the dead monk, waiting for the first shout of discovery, the alarm, the rousting of the tenants house by house, inexorably approaching our own as we prepared our startled expressions, our shock and horror that murder had struck so randomly and so near.

Only for us, it wasn’t random.

“Helga’s asleep,” said Theo softly. “In spite of everything, she can sleep.”

“She’s still a child,” I said. “And she didn’t see the body.”

“Right,” he said.

We lay silently for a few minutes.

“This is embarrassing,” I said.

“Extremely,” he said. “Bad enough that we’ve been followed by one man ever since we left Le Thoronet without spotting him.”

“But to be followed by two is shameful,” I said. “Father Gerald would have us back in class with the beginners. Antime must have been a very good soldier in his time.”

“Good enough to follow us, but not good enough to watch his back,” said Theo. “And now his time is over.”

I shivered suddenly, and he pulled me close and held me.

“The rats will be at him by now,” I said. “Maybe the dogs. And the crows will be out at daybreak.”

“It’s hours before dawn,” said Theo. “I must say, I’m not impressed with the watchfulness of the watch.”

Then there was a shout, and a flurry of footsteps. A horn blew, was answered in the distance. More footsteps, more shouting, then shutters being thrown open, cries of anger, surprise, fear. Boots tramping up the street, doors struck with mailed fists, protests of ignorance and innocence.

Theo got up.

“Too much noise to feign sleep,” he said wearily. “I’ll open the door and wonder what’s going on.”

He poured some water in a basin and quickly scrubbed his whiteface off. I did the same, then mussed my hair so it looked slept in. He pulled open the door, looking tired. A soldier was just getting to Grelho’s house.

“What’s going on?” asked Theo as I peered around him, squinting as the torchlight hit my eyes.

“Someone’s been killed,” said the soldier.

“Killed?” I gasped, crossing myself. “Where?”

“Down at the next street,” said the soldier. “Far as we can tell from the blood, he got stabbed in the chest, fell, then managed to pick himself up and get as far as here before he collapsed and rolled back down the hill.”

“Who was he?” asked Theo.

“Don’t know,” said the soldier. “Nothing on him. Must have been a robbery. Want to take a look, see if you recognize him?”

“If it will help,” said Theo. “Shall I wake Grelho? That might not be easy. He had a lot to drink last night.”

“Oc, if you can,” said the soldier. “We’re running everyone in the neighborhood past the corpse just in case.”

“I’ll get him,” I said, and I went upstairs.

“The watch is here,” I whispered.

“I know,” said Grelho. “I’ve been listening. Give me a minute.”

I came back down.

“He’s on his way,” I reported.

“Thanks, Domna,” he said.

Grelho stumbled down the stairs and caught himself before hitting the wall. “Jacques, is that you?” he said, shading his eyes. “What’s this about someone getting killed?”

“Take a look,” said the soldier.

We trooped down to where a small crowd of people had joined seven of Jacques’s companions who stood in a circle facing away from the body, their spears held horizontally to form a barricade.

“Anyone know him?” asked a sergeant. “Anyone see anything? Hear anything?”

We all shook our heads. I don’t know who there besides us was lying.

“Of course,” grumbled the sergeant. “We’ll catch the bastard who did this. And if it turns out any of you was in on it, we’ll make sure we have lots of fun before you swing. Go back to your safe warm beds while we do our jobs.”