The Rebel Princess (11 page)

“But what of the letters from Pope Innocent?” Philippe was pushing the boundaries of my good humor. He wanted me to come up with his reasons for rejecting both the pontiff’s request and Count Hervé de Donzy’s impassioned proposal that men from the north be permitted to go south.

“But Your Grace, the holy father himself must understand that Count Raymond is your sworn vassal. Supporting an attack on your own liege man calls into question our entire system of fealty.” I paused, then my voice rose even more as I had an inspired thought. “To countenance such action as king could shake the foundations of feudalism. If a vassal cannot count on his king’s vow to protect him, the king will no longer be assured that his liege men will keep their vows to him.” There was spontaneous applause when I had finished, an event that startled me more than it did the king! Certain groups pounded their standards on the wooden floorboards, creating a great racket, which took some moments to subside.

“Oh, Your Majesty, heed the wisdom of the Princesse Alaïs,” the brilliant little Esclarmonde said as the last of the noise drifted away. She was speaking without invitation from the king, in defiance of all court protocol, as she sank to the floor in a deep courtesy.

Philippe suddenly stood, but I no longer feared that he would humble the noblewoman from the south: indeed, she was his accomplice in this little scene as much as I. And I had the uncomfortable thought that while I had been an unwitting assistant, she may have been more prepared.

“You have all heard the Princesse Alaïs,” Philippe intoned, sweep
ing his hand to take in the entire congregation. “Truly,
elle a raison.
We will take no action at the present time. Nor do we now countenance our vassals to join any conflict in the south. We will, however, watch the situation carefully. The people of the Toulousain must be united with the church of Rome. They must not allow any heretical preaching to flourish.”

Philippe’s tone was stern, as he looked down upon the petite noblewoman from Foix, now nearly prostrate on the floor. She had all but submerged herself under her cloak and skirts, her long, pointed sleeves spreading gracefully to the side as she knelt before the king. “Take that message back to the Count of Foix, and to all the nobles of the south.” He added softly, “And now, madame, you may rise.”

An audible sigh swept the room. The crisis seemed to have been resolved. The king was still in good humor and, somehow, both the royal treasury and the safety of the knights present had been preserved, despite the best efforts of the church’s official representatives.

“And now, to our tourney and then the feast afterward that has been prepared for all of you.” Suddenly the room broke into cheers, which caused a smile to spread across Philippe’s face. Leaving me behind, he swept down from the dais and raised up the southern beauty with all the grace and elegance he could assume so well when he desired. Then, smiling and nodding to each side, he led her through cheering ranks of courtiers.

Protocol demanded that I follow, and I would have done so with ill grace had not I found William immediately by my side on the dais, his eyes dancing as they could when he was amused.

“Quite a scene, that,” I murmured, forcing a smile as we passed through the crowds.

“Don’t say a word, my dearest love, and before you say what you think to your brother count twenty blessings he has provided for you in this life.” He offered his arm, and I took it, shaking my head.

“I suppose you both think you are quite clever,” I remarked, and
he broke into laughter so infectious it caught me up. If I could swallow the medicine so injurious to my pride, I could see the humor in it. And they both were counting on that. “Well, the next time you two decide to use me as your puppet, tell me ahead of time.”

“But you would not have played your part nearly as well,” he said. “You know you cannot dissemble, you are honest to a fault. You would have given the game away at the outset.” And as we nodded to courtiers on either side of us and made our parade into my brother’s private rooms, I knew that what he said was true.

And I also knew what neither William nor Philippe could know: that the little scene just played out accomplished my own ends of blocking the monk Amaury completely. And, doing the will of the king, I had given nothing of Joanna’s role away. Still, a small voice lingered in my head with an ominous message: You and this monk have not finished with each other. Not yet.

P
hilippe was occupied in bantering with the beautiful Esclarmonde when we entered his private chambers, and he refused to meet my glance when I passed directly in front of him. Only wait, Brother, I thought, until I have you alone! But William pressed my hand, which rested on his arm, and I gathered my wits about me. What was done, was done. And it was ever said I could enjoy a joke as well as the next man—or woman. After all, it had turned out well for matters that concerned William and myself. William’s diplomatic mission from the pontiff was saved as my brother was not going to commit France to war, and I could look forward to the end of my beloved’s task and our marriage and retirement to Ponthieu. Or so it seemed for the moment.

Everyone of our small group seemed to breathe more easily after escaping the crowded
assembly room. The long, private chambers, while still cavernous compared to my own modest quarters, were far less intimidating than the reception rooms. And filled with chattering crowds, as it was now, the room seemed much less formidable than it had only days earlier, when my brother and I had conferred here. The many windows allowed light, the smaller alcoves gave room for tête-à-têtes, and the rich velvet bed hangings provided color. Even the tapestries, though filled with hunting and jousting scenes, were now merely ornate backdrops to the rhythm of happy chatter and occasional boisterous bursts of laughter.

All of the hearths had fires, and large oak tables were scattered about the room filled with silver pitchers of the best wine from the Loire Valley, from Burgundy, and even as far away as Bordeaux. Half a dozen minstrels strolled about the chamber, and there was a general air of relief evident in the open greetings and knightly clasping of strong hands to renew old friendships. Put aside, if not forgotten, was the tense exchange of not an hour before in the public rooms. The crowd made ready for the tourney with great good cheer.

My uncle Robert strode over to the window embrasure where I stood alone, William having departed to secure goblets of wine for us.

“Good morrow, Uncle.” I greeted him warmly as he bent to kiss both cheeks, for he was a great favorite of mine. “It is a surprise to see you so soon again at court.”

“The tourney is always entertaining, Niece. And I have some important business with the king.” Even as he spoke, his gaze drifted over the room, pausing at the small group surrounding my brother’s chief minister. I knew from William that my uncle trusted that man not one whit. Etienne Chastellain was in deep conversation at that moment with his scribe, Eugene, his head tilted in a manner almost flirtatious toward the younger man. I thought of the court gossip about their private relations. Many were amused, since the king’s counselor’s face was already lining with age, while Eugene had yet to grow a full
beard! Eugene was a tall reed of a youth so that stocky Etienne must look up to him when they talked.

As I watched, the Abbé Amaury worked his way through the crowd to the side of the chief minister. I saw Chastellain turn with alacrity, and the younger man, as if on hidden signal, drifted away.

“Now what do you suppose the king’s trusted counselor could have to say to the fiery abbot?” My uncle voiced my own thoughts unexpectedly. “I did not know they were acquainted.”

“It bears reflection,” I responded, my eyes narrowing as I watched the two engage in an intense exchange. I turned back to my uncle.

“What think you of this morning’s entertainment, Uncle?” I had scarce voiced the question when William appeared at my elbow followed by a page bearing our wine. The two men, grand masters of the Templars in England and France respectively, bowed with great ceremony. Then they laughed and embraced heartily, for my uncle was genuinely fond of his younger colleague, even though they sometimes disagreed vigorously.

“Yes, Duke Robert, did you like the theatricals?” William’s crooked smile had something of the elf about it as he took the hammered-silver goblets from the tray and handed one to me.

“Everything came out well in the end. Philippe always manages it somehow.” Duke Robert shook his leonine head. We all turned in Philippe’s direction, but he was still deep in conversation with the noblewoman Esclarmonde. I wondered if he were planning to bed her. And then it occurred to me that he may already have done so. I recalled with a pang the picture of Francis in deep conversation with the lovely girl just before the drama of Philippe’s audience. I breathed a prayer that my son would not have his heart lanced in his first love, especially not by the hand of his own uncle!

“We cannot have outside interference in the south, not just yet. We must take any measures to avoid that.” William was speaking to
Robert with vehemence, gesturing with his free hand. “King Pedro is sitting in Aragon like an eager hawk, waiting for some movement on the part of the north to set his armies forward. He would be happy to gather his formidable troops and be in the langue d’oc country within days if there is any concerted move by Philippe into the area. The slightest excuse will do. The spoils for Aragon in such an invasion must be well nigh irresistible. Then we would see battles joined that would make mothers weep.” He paused, seeming to gather himself. “No, Philippe is taking the right path. His counselors argue otherwise, but Philippe is determined to stay out of a conflict in the south. He is wisely choosing his own way this time.”

“His counselors?” I interjected. “You mean Etienne Chastellain and his little band of puppets have encouraged Philippe to go to war?”

William nodded. “So I hear.”

Duke Robert threw his head back and gulped his wine. He passed the back of his hand across his mouth and shook it out, as if the act could erase the idea of Chastellain and, indeed, the entire privy council. “This group of advisers has not given the king prudent advice for some time. I don’t know why Philippe tolerates them.”

“What?” I said to them both, with some mischief in mind. “The counsel of Etienne Chastellain and his colleagues is not to your liking, gentle nobles?”

“You know I have never been fond of that man. I think his advice to the king is always shaped to accomplish some end that furthers the career of the chief minister himself,” Duke Robert snapped. “He surrounds himself with lackeys trained in Rome who parrot Chastellain as if he were the pope himself.”

“And I”—William cast a considered glance in the direction of the minister and his colleagues—“do not trust the man, either. He cares too much for his own power. I also believe Chastellain is playing a
game right now with regard to the affairs in the south, but I don’t know quite what it is, nor how it benefits him.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully with his thumb and forefinger.

“Why do you say that?” I turned to him, intrigued.

“His response to all of what we just heard is too smooth, too restrained.” William shook his head. “I would have expected him to offer some public counsel to the king just now, to support yours, Alaïs. Or to argue against it. But he said nothing. Just watched the interplay with that false smile. It’s troubling. It makes me think he might have some other, private plan to interfere. Hidden from all of us and thus doubly dangerous.”

I glanced again at the king, and noted that he was now engaged with the Count of Troyes. The groups around the king had reconfigured, and Francis had managed to obtain the side of the fair Esclarmonde who was now in the center of a group of women. I may have been wrong about my brother. His connection with the young woman of the south could be nothing more than that she served his political ends. Perhaps I should meet her and judge for myself.

On impulse I excused myself to my uncle and William, and made my way to the group chatting around Esclarmonde.

“Your Grace,” she said, dropping a deep courtesy to me, as did the other women. Francis bowed as if we were strangers, which amused me.

“My dear Lady Esclarmonde,” I said, raising her up immediately. “I have been wanting to make your acquaintance since last even, when I saw you in the suite of my aunt Constance. You did very well today. I admired your courage in the audience with the king. You spoke out for your beliefs.”

“Indeed I did,” she said, looking at me without wavering. “And everything I said was for one end only: to protect my homeland from invaders and those who would do us harm.” She cast her look downward for a moment, then met my glance again. “I meant no disrespect
to the knights and monks who would persuade the king otherwise. But for us it is a matter of life and death.”

“I hear good reports of your life in the south, of the sweet air in the mountains and the love of beauty in dress and song. I would enjoy visiting you some time in the future.”

She grinned as she gave me a rejoinder, a sunny, artless look coming over her face. “If you did come, I know you would be welcomed, Your Grace. Especially in my brother’s court at Foix, but also in the surrounding towns. We are blessed with strong women, and you would find shelter and hospitality in Laurac or Lavaur, our neighbors as well. They are households run by friends of my brother’s dear wife, Philippa. Please do visit us sometime.”

I returned her smile and gave her my hand. As I made my way back to William, I mused. So that self-possessed young woman had engaged the interest of my son. This could very well be a friendship worth watching.

William had scarce time to inquire what I had to say to the Lady Esclarmonde, when the heralds appeared and let fly their high, joyful notes, announcing the king’s departure for the tourney field across the Seine, and the beginning of the court’s progress. The three of us moved toward the door behind the king’s retinue.

“Speaking of mothers’ tears,” my uncle said, “I wonder how the lists have formed.” We were talking as we wound down the grand stone staircase. “Do we look forward to good sport this day?”

“I think we shall see some valor, Duke Robert. My own clerk, who once fancied himself an actor, is now taking to the field to prove his mettle in arms.”

“Oh, William, not Francis!”

He caught my elbow and pressed it hard. He wanted no clues that might lead anyone to suspect that my interest in Francis was special. But I was as timorous as any mother at the thought that my young lad would enter the lists and possibly be hurt—or worse—by the end of the day.

“Alaïs has developed a great fondness for my young knight,” William explained. But Duke Robert, who was anyway hard of hearing, continued to descend the broad stone steps ahead of us. He was completely oblivious to both my exclamation and William’s comment. “Fear not, Princesse,” William continued in a lower voice. “Francis has been well prepared. I have seen to it. Much of his training for the tourney has been at my own hand! And his friend Geoffrey has enlisted also. It should be good sport.”

Still, I was not happy. So caught up had I been in the drama of the morning that I had forgotten the tournament to come. These displays of manly courage, often at the expense of broken bones, held little charm for me. I had agreed to attend today only because Philippe had requested it, and because William was here. But my heart was unquiet to hear that my son would be among those at risk.

At the bottom of the castle steps horses had been assembled to take us across the Seine to the fields of the west bank, where the tents had been raised for the knights. From a distance the red and yellow flags of the various nobles’ houses appeared to be so many butterfly wings pinned to the white pavilion peaks. Our horses pawed the ground impatiently, but we were forced to wait for the king, who had stepped aside on the balcony at the top of the stone stairway, and was engaged in an animated conversation with the Count of Champagne. Finally he turned and bounded down the remaining steps with his athletic stride. The crowd, assembled to see us off, cheered their king. The air of anticipation in our entourage was palpable.

We rode swiftly, for the audience in the Great Hall had cost the tournament precious time. Though the October breezes were still warm under the noon sun, we knew that the games must be finished in a few hours, for the sun’s slide at the end of the day was precipitous at this time of year. And there must also be enough time left in this busy day for the grand victory banquet.

I noticed ahead of us in the train the two Cistercians, accompanied
by their flags and their many retainers. Whilst we had been refreshed in my brother’s privy chambers, they had used the time to change out of their austere white wool monk’s habits and into cloaks and tunics of blue and green that made them indistinguishable from the rest of the court.

“Note well my erstwhile travel companions ahead. I see they have decked themselves out for the games. One might almost suspect they enjoy such frivolities.” William’s smile was grim. “You know Amaury was a soldier before he became abbot of Cîteaux.”

“So you have said. It would seem, however, he has just exchanged one bloody career for another.”

William turned to me, clearly startled. “Do you know something you have not said to me about this affair?” he asked rather roughly. “Have you some premonition about how this will all end?”

“I don’t know. But something about those men, about Amaury in particular, disturbs me. When I know more, I will tell you.” I was dissembling, for I still held the secret of Joanna’s letter.

“Perhaps you ought to draw him,” William said thoughtfully. He knew my hunches were often better revealed through my art, though I might not know what would come when I picked up my charcoal. “When you see him in your mind’s eye, you may yet discover something we have overlooked.”

“It may be so,” I agreed. But privately I was not at all certain I wanted to know more about this importunate churchman.