The Rebel Princess (14 page)

“How would you like me to help?” I said finally, willing to place my gifts in his service.

After a moment, the sobbing ebbed and he lifted his tearstained face to me. “I have two requests,” he snuffled as he gradually gained control. “First, use all your influence with your brother to help him hold to his resolution not to get involved in this malicious business.”

“Easily done,” I said, seating myself once more, this time on a stool in front of the saddened monk. “I share your view against war in the south. And especially that it should not come by the hand of France. And the second request?”

“If anything happens to me, find a way to help my sister.”

I reached out to him, not as a
princesse
of the royal house of France, but as a woman who had had a sister once and now had none. My right hand covered his and I felt how cold were his fingers. “Why do you
think your sister is in danger?”

He looked me in the eye without flinching. “She may, in fact, have done what Amaury says. But she is a good woman, nonetheless.”

I held his hand deliberately for a time, and then I rose. I went to the fire and gazed into the flickering flames for a long moment.

“I will help you, Pierre de Castelnau,” I finally said when I turned. “I will help you because I think Amaury’s venture is woefully misguided. And because I like him not. And because I, too, once lost a sister.”

I moved back to him and stood directly in front of him. “But I will help you in every way I can most of all because I despise fanatics. And your colleague, with his devotion to arms and power, seems to be altogether more fanatic than any so-called heretic.”

The monk rose with a stiff movement and bowed low before me. “If you were not a princess, and I not a priest of God and legate of the holy father, I would embrace you for what you have just said. I know you have the courage to keep your word, and I give you thanks with all my heart.”

For a moment I stared at him, and then I amazed myself. I, a royal princess of France, lifted my good hand to this monk’s shoulders and reached up to brush his cheeks on either side with my own. Then I stepped back.

“Ah,” he said with wonder in his voice, “you have the healing touch. You are one of us.”

“I embrace you also with my spirit,” I said, nodding to him. “Go with God. Be of good heart.” But my own heart was heavy as the door closed behind him. I felt great sadness at the monk’s grief for what he had seen of the future.

As I reflected gloomily on recent events, my puzzlement increased. Where was appearance and where truth in these scenes? What was the meaning of the conference I had observed between my aunt Constance and Abbot Amaury? The monk, Pierre, who seemed
an ally to the evil abbot, was not; and my aunt, who seemed his enemy, might not be what she appeared, either.

I scarce had time to ponder these thoughts before Mignonne appeared at my door. She was a whirling storm of movement and a glad distraction for me. Her ministrations brought me back to the present. Hot water had been ordered from the kitchens and I was glad to shed my dusty gown and sink into the warmth of the oak tub. My hair felt dusty from the tourney field, and I wished for time to soak it, too, and smooth it with oil, but I knew my presence was required in the Great Hall soon. Tonight I would wind my tresses into braids with jewels and coil them on the crown of my head and wear the scarlet gown and pearl-laced velvet redingote and William would be most pleased. But even that thought could not push aside the fears that were gathering in my heart.

I
t was not an hour later that, dressed and composed, I entered the Great Hall. Whilst we had been at the tournament lackeys had brought in huge oak tables and set them on trestles, then covered them with colorful woven cloths. The trenchers the servants had used for their midday meal were replaced with silver plates and platters and all looked ready for another festive evening. Clusters of nobles and their ladies stood everywhere between the tables, talking and taking goblets from the trays Philippe’s liveried servants carried as they circulated among them.

All of the visiting nobles, their knights and ladies, were invited to dine with the king. I knew that their retainers were having their own fill of meat and wine in the bowels of the palace, dressed in their daily leather jerkins and no doubt happy with their lot. But this hall was filled with jewels, rich robes, color, and laughter. I marveled at the cheer spilling around the room as if nothing dire had occurred at the tourney only a few hours earlier. For myself, I could take no part in it; Geoff’s pale face was still etched before me.

My gaze swept the room, searching for William. With surprise, I saw my aunt Constance making a low bow to my brother. What, I wondered, had propelled this hermit into the company of the court twice in one day?

William usually watched for my entrance, coming to my side
before he lost me in the crowd. Tonight, however, when my glance alighted on his tall figure, he was already occupied. I was startled to see him deep in conversation, and with no less a personage than my aunt Charlotte, abbess of Fontevraud! When had she arrived? She had not been at the tourney, nor did Philippe tell me she was expected at court this autumn.

I paused for a moment. Their conversation appeared intense. I noted what a handsome couple they made—my tall, elegant aunt with her utter disregard for abbey protocol, dressed as she was in deep green velvet and mauve silk robes, the hint of cream silk slashing her long, pointed sleeves, and William in his own court finery and broad shoulders. I knew that my aunt had been chosen to attend some of the debates between Cathar believers and churchmen of Rome in the south and I wondered if she brought news for William to aid his mission.

Charlotte saw me first. She broke from William, and came to greet me with great affection, and I returned her embrace right willingly. My gratitude for her recent role in reconciling me with my stepmother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, was still strong. And I so admired her style!

William came after her, and made the customary bow over my right hand. My withered left hand, gloved as usual in public, slipped into my pocket after I embraced Charlotte. Both Charlotte and I began to speak at the same time, then we laughed and she held up her hands in surrender. I began again, more slowly this time.

“Aunt Charlotte, what a delight to see you. And what brings you to court? We had no word you were coming, or at least none I heard.” As soon as the words were spoken I regretted them. I hoped my greeting did not sound like a rebuke.

“Alaïs, I had no time to send ahead. I arrived only this afternoon. I have received news from Moissac Abbey that I thought Philippe should hear. And I wanted to bring it myself.”

“What news, pray, Aunt?”

“The abbot at Moissac has paid a visit to the court of Count Raymond at Toulouse and encountered rude challenges from some of the nobles, who appear to follow the new religion. Charlotte thought Philippe should have the letter from the abbot that describes the painful confrontation.” William responded for her. “It will be a help for me to know, also, what news there is before I leave on my mission.”

As if on cue my brother joined us, providing a temporary distraction. “We have been waiting for you, Princesse, before we take our places for the feast. Pray, let us tarry no longer.” Philippe took my elbow in a way that brooked no resistance, and we led the group to the table on the dais.

“Did you know of Charlotte’s coming?” I dropped my voice, so as not to be overheard.

“No. There was no message ahead of her arrival. She whispered when she greeted me that she carries a letter from the abbot at Moissac. She doesn’t trust couriers. She seemed quite secretive.”

“What could be in the letter? Have you seen it yet?” Philippe was handing me up the steps to the high table and I turned as I spoke, keeping my voice low.

“I had no time. She just walked into the hall before you. I told her I would see this missive tomorrow morn, before the hunt. No sooner were the words from my mouth than William joined us and eased her away for a private conversation.”

“Have you found out more about Constance’s clandestine meetings in Créteil?” I whispered so the footmen standing along the stone wall would not hear.

“No, and I don’t want to talk about this where others may overhear.” Philippe smiled as he spoke, looking beyond my shoulder in that annoying way he had sometimes of appearing to search for more interesting company while talking to me. He nodded at someone and I turned to see the two papal legates mounting the dais. Amaury appeared refreshed, apparently recovered from the trauma of view
ing combat that afternoon. Pierre’s eyes were downcast and he did not meet mine, though I tried to give him a reassuring gesture. My brother beckoned the page to assist me into the seat left vacant, once again, by the queen.

I prayed Philippe would not motion Amaury to the seat on my right, longing instead for William to take it. But it was not to be. A royal motion sent the abbot to my side and I turned to make a quick grimace to my brother’s back. On Philippe’s other side sat my aunt Charlotte, then William, then Pierre de Castelnau.

With surprise, I saw my aunt Constance being led to the place on the other side of Amaury. Well, well, this might prove interesting, indeed. Perhaps through listening to their casual dinner conversation I would gain some clue as to the meaning of the earlier, more intimate, meeting I had stumbled upon. Evidence was mounting that my aunt Constance, who appeared so seldom in public, had a remarkable affinity for more personal conversations, and not only at Créteil.

I turned in my chair to greet my aunt as she passed behind me, led by one of the king’s pages. We were not on such close terms that we embraced. Still, her brother had been my own father, so I gave her my hand and accepted her slight bow of courtesy to me (she was, after all, now only the wife of a deceased count and sister to a deceased king whereas I was a reigning king’s sister and a
princesse
in my own right).

“You are well, Aunt?”

“Yes, I have been so. I saw you in the presence room this morn, Niece, but we had no chance to speak. You did well with the role the king assigned you.”

Did I mistake her look, or did her eyes narrow somewhat as she spoke? But then she continued in her throaty voice, “You must come visit me. It has been too long since we have spoken.” This was the invitation I had waited for. I glanced at her, observing her closely. Her wizened face, small and expressionless under the lace mantilla held
in place by the tall combs, gave nothing away. At such close range I noticed the wrinkles of age. And the thin lips, tightly drawn, that gave her face such a forbidding expression. She had the almond-shaped eyes of the house of Capet, though, no mistaking them, and they shifted warily from my own to the figure of the king next to me.

“I would be delighted to do so, Aunt. Mayhap tomorrow, shortly after the noon meal? The nobles will have departed by then, and the castle will be quiet.” I was pleased that she had made the offer. When we met I could probe for the answers to the king’s questions at my leisure. The burden of the conversation would be on her.

“I think not on the morrow. I will be much fatigued after the festivities today. And the morrow is
dimanche
and there will be the Mass in the morning. But the day following would do.” She lowered her short, rather stout body into the assigned chair, and now the abbot’s bulk was between us. He acknowledged her presence by rising slightly and producing a half-bow. She looked up as he resettled himself. Even seated, he towered over her.

“Abbé Amaury,” she said in a manner not at all friendly.

“Countess.” He gave a perfunctory nod.

“I wonder that my nephew seated us together. It cannot be comfortable for you to find yourself next to the mother of your enemy.” I stared straight ahead while overhearing these words, glad a servant’s efforts to pour wine hid my surprised look.

Philippe had given the signal and the trumpets sounded the entrance of the roast boar, which was carried on a huge slab of wood, shoulder high, by six stout servants. The crowd, which had grown hungry, shouted its approval. The boar, already sliced, was set on a table in front of the dais and a flock of servants descended on it and carried away platters to all corners of the hall, serving first the king and high table. The trumpets announced the entry of the kid, the next course. The pageant was repeated, and the crowd finally fell silent
as platters of meat were placed on every table and the courtiers proceeded to the business of hearty eating.

“Countess”—I could hear the abbot’s gravelly voice as a break occurred in the noise—“I do not blame you for Count Raymond’s shortcomings. Nor do I bear your son any ill will.”

“Yet you seek from my brother’s son, the king of France, arms and men to use against my own son.” Constance spoke in tones laced with bitterness.

“Madame, I seek to do the will of God. I have no intention of harming the count or any of his vassals.” The abbot slammed down his goblet. “But he seems unable to stem the tide of disbelief in his realm. We intend to help him. I have no doubt that the sight of the good men of the north, loyal sons of Rome all, coming to aid him in persuading his nobles to reform their ways will be welcomed by Count Raymond.”

I was increasingly puzzled by this conversation. Had I not seen these two erstwhile enemies not an hour earlier deep in intimate conversation framed in twilight streaming through the arch in the castle wall? But here they were, trading jibes as if they had not talked before. Was it for my benefit?

Without warning the abbot swung his powerful bulk in my direction, his beetle brows coming together fiercely over a strange half-smile. He managed to appear both sardonic and ingratiating. I waited for his opening sally.

“I suppose you think the performance you gave at the king’s audience today was quite successful. You no doubt believe you have blocked my mission here at court?”

“I don’t understand your meaning, Abbé,” I replied, busying myself by tasting the soup that had just been set before me. “I merely gave an honest opinion when the king asked for it. My advice has nothing to do with you. My brother’s realm is my concern.”

He placed his elbow on the table and propped his chin with his hand, affecting a focus on me that was meant to be disconcerting. His
tone was low, intense and provocative.

“I don’t know what your motive is, my lady, but I knew from our first encounter last evening that you have designated yourself my principal adversary here at court.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. I glanced at him and saw hostility written broad upon his face.

“But I know you and those like you. Your faith is weak and you will not triumph in the end. They say you have special gifts. But we know the source of those gifts, don’t we?”

Now I stopped eating, and turned to look full at him. I let the silence between us run to an uncomfortable length as I waited for him to fill it. Finally, as I had hoped, he went a step too far.

“Perhaps you can exercise your so-called special gift, and help the king see where his interest will lie in the future, now that John of England has him on the run in the west. He needs all the allies he can get, my lady. He should not be making enemies at this time. You, who can tell the future it is said, should know that.”

The abbot turned back to the table and appeared absorbed in stirring small pieces of dates into his almond cream pudding. So casual was he that I wondered, for a moment, if I had heard the words correctly. Then he added: “Just as you no doubt knew ahead of time, through your special gifts, what would befall the young knight of Lord William’s household today at the tourney.”

The servant set a plate of sweetmeats before me, giving me time to take a long breath and gather my wits. The last question had caught me off guard. The memory of young Geoff was still raw, but I held in my anger and did not respond. Carefully I brought a piece of raisin cake to my mouth, chewed it thoughtfully, and washed it down with a splash of wine before I answered.

“Special gifts,” I murmured. “I don’t understand what you mean by such a term, Abbé.”

“Well, let me be clear then. Rumor has it that you have powers most of us ordinary mortals lack.” ’ He ran his tongue around his lips,
as if savoring some special delicacy. “It is said that you are marked, that you can see things others cannot, visions and such.” He made a rolling motion with his hamlike hands. “I thought perhaps you could see what will happen if the Cathars are allowed to run free in the south. What a threat…”—here he paused for effect—“the war that is sure to come could pose to a France already weakened by the English armies’ victories.”

I had a flash of desire to ask him how he knew about the English victories, but chose the other path. I knew this exchange would define our future dealings. With just a little more effort, we would finally have honesty between us. Then there would be no going back.

“Well, Abbé, I lay claim to no such a gift as you describe, a gift I believe is known as second sight. To admit that I had this gift, as you must know, would surely be a danger in these times.”

I pulled my malformed hand from its pocket and removed the glove from it. I deliberately laid my arm in front of me along the edge of the table, so that the claw almost touched his arm, resting on the table. “If I did have such a gift, I could never admit it. Holy mother church might look upon me as a witch, an aberration just as she looks on the heretics of the south. And we know the fate of witches and heretics, do we not?”

I looked straight into his eyes. He held my gaze, but I could feel his bulk pull back slightly. I knew he had glanced at my withered hand when I laid it before him. He must know the peasants thought such a misfortune to be the sign of a witch. The abbot was using every part of his will not to stare at it. A man of learning, he still had just enough superstition to be slightly afraid.