The Rebel Princess (18 page)

“Who should go with you to protect you?” he finally asked, as he signed with a flourish. “You cannot travel with less than five knights into this dangerous land.” He spoke now with the firmness of someone used to giving orders, stamping his just-finished note with the royal seal. “When you went off to Canterbury those years ago, you had four knights, and that was not enough to keep you from being abducted by John.”

“I don’t want a gaggle of knights to slow me down.” I slapped my open hand on the table to catch his attention. But he only continued writing, after which he rolled the parchment and dripped wax on it from the candle-heated silver container that was never far from his side in this privy chamber. Then he applied his ring to the soft red wax and handed the roll to me. “Hold this carefully until the wax is firm,” he said, as if I were somehow lacking in practicality.

I bowed and made ready to leave.

“Stay, Alaïs,” he said with firmness. “We have not finished. I said I will allow you to go, but only if you are properly protected. Do you have a preference as to knights? Or shall We assign them to you?”

Philippe had donned his kingly role again. Given the display of his famous temper that I had just witnessed, I knew I was lucky to get permission for the journey at all. I didn’t press him further.

“I’d like that strong young knight Roland to be with me again. Also Marcel and Thibault.” I shrugged. “Any more can be at your discretion. But I am satisfied with those three.” I paused. “And Tom of Caedwyd, if he feels fit.”

“One-eyed Tom? King Henry’s valet? He is old, Sister.” Philippe frowned, as if assessing a horse that had outlived its usefulness. “You need brawn for protection. You are riding into a hornet’s nest.”

“Tom of Caedwyd is canny, and still strong,” I said, with all the firmness I could muster. “And he is immensely loyal to me. I do not fear for my life if he rides at my side.”

Philippe nodded. Loyalty was something he understood.

“How about your personal comfort? You should have one or two of your maidservants with you. It’s not fitting for a
princesse royale
to be rattling around the countryside with only knights for company.” Philippe stood now also, his hands on his hips, a challenging look on his face.

“Philippe, Mignonne is the best of my maids. And even she would slow us down considerably. Young women servants have never been taught to ride horses for speed, as I was.” I was arguing calmly, but inside I was turbulent. This could turn into a disaster if Philippe took control of my plans. “If I take a maid, we’ll be at greater risk. Our party would then be so large we might draw attention when we stopped to rest, or change horses.”

Philippe saw the wisdom of this, and nodded. Then he suddenly laughed, taking me by surprise. “Someone should have seen that your maids learned to ride, as part of the training needed for your service. Come. I have something for you.”

He turned and signaled me with a careless movement of his hand to follow. He led me to a tall cabinet at the side of the chamber. It was broad, made of carved oak, and there were four distinct doors, each with a set of large locks on it. Philippe pulled a key from a ring hanging from the belt at his waist, and opened the center doors. He reached
down and extracted a jumble of scrolls. It took both his hands to hold them. Edging the door back into place with his foot, he motioned to me with his head to turn the keys hanging in the lock. Then we moved to the conference table in the center of the room and he opened the largest scroll, placing small stones to hold the four corners.

I looked at the vellum, moving the candle on the table closer to it. What I saw made me draw in my breath sharply. He opened several others and laid them out in a similar manner.

“Philippe, where did you get these?” I riffled through the sheets and saw the most detailed maps of the towns of the southwest, country towns ruled by lesser nobles, towns that had been accused of promoting the Cathar religion. They included the towns in the map William had waved at me, the map left in the disarray of the chambers of my missing son.

“Their provenance is of no importance, Sister. I am going to let you copy these documents to aid you on your journey. You have drafting skill and you have about an hour while I distract my counselors with food and wine.” He was pulling the cord of the bell impatiently to summon the servant even as he spoke.

“Here is parchment, here is charcoal.” He pulled blank sheets for me as he spoke, and tossed several new chunks of charcoal on the table. “The ink, alas, has been spilled,” he added dryly.

“Sorry for that, Brother,” I murmured making my voice uncustomarily meek with an effort.

“Copy this set of maps,” he went on. “Pay attention especially to the map of Toulouse, the one on the bottom that shows the defenses and streets from the inside. And don’t forget the maps that show the towns of Saissac and Foix and Laurac. These are the strongholds of the viscounts of Raymond’s land. If your lad is not in Toulouse, he may be hidden in one of the mountain towns.”

I leaned forward eagerly, scarce listening, my elbows covering Toulouse and Narbonne on either side as I examined the land between
them. In one of these small towns I would find my son. I was certain of it.

Philippe paused for a moment, then placed his hand on my arm.

“I have a message for William if you encounter him in Toulouse, but I do not want to commit it to paper. Tell him we have need of him in Paris. I do not want him to tarry in Raymond’s court. I am concerned with the treachery we have here. When he has informed Raymond of the theft of the chalice, I would see him return with all haste.”

“Philippe, you must have a care. I am convinced Amaury and Chastellain are plotting together, and the goal is to put armed French soldiers at the gates of Toulouse. Please, watch for your own safety.”

The king gave me a quick glance. “Why do you say so?”

“I was importuned by Chastellain only yesterday to intervene with you on behalf of the monks’ suit. I do not know all the threads of this, but I think your chief minister does not have the best interest of the crown in his heart.” I paused, uncertain as to whether I ought to tell the king of Amaury’s veiled threat to me, or of Pierre de Castelnau’s distressing revelations in my chamber.

But the import of Joanna’s letter stilled my desire. It was best I not complicate this conversation with too much information for my brother. My goal was to leave the court and search for my son. The rest would have to wait.

So all I said was: “I believe these two, Chastellain and Amaury, intend to create mischief not only in your court, but for William’s house as well.”

Philippe was quick to catch the inference. “Do you think they are involved in the disappearance of your son?”

“I cannot rule it out,” I said grimly.

“It is well you have warned me. This confirms what I suspect. And makes it all the more imperative that William return soon to Paris. If he can help Us, We may solve our problems here and aid in keeping war from the south. I cannot fight on three fronts at once, John in
the west, the Cathars in the south, and Chastellain in my own court chambers. We must have peace.”

“God grant it may be so.”

I closed my eyes and saw an image of the chalice and a monk lying next to it in a pool of blood. The skin on my neck prickled. But I knew I must hide my fear from my brother.

The servant Philippe had summoned appeared in the doorway, entering after a brief scratch. It was the dwarflike Miguel, a dark-skinned manservant of the south whom Philippe had inherited from my own mother’s Spanish contingent of servants. Miguel was ancient now, but—for his wisdom—closer to Philippe than any other personal servant.

“Miguel, recall my counselors. We were interrupted earlier, but I would dine with them now in my outer chamber. Summon them immediately and bring us bread and cheese, cold venison and wine. I’ll join them directly.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Bring an abundance of wine.”

“Philippe, my brother, my thanks from the heart.” I placed my good hand on his arm. “Not just for the maps, but for your blessings on my trip.”

“Why, Sister,” he said, a gently mocking tone creeping into his voice, “I know you would have gone with or without my permission. I might as well keep some semblance of command over you.” But his eyes belied the slight testiness of his voice and he leaned forward to brush his cheek against mine on either side.

“Godspeed you, Sister,” he said with great warmth. “With all this religious turmoil, you are going into the very heart of the beast on your journey. But I know your own mother’s heart calls you to do it. Send word as soon as you can as to your well-being. Greet William for me and tell him we need his wise counsel here, as soon as he can return.”

“I shall carry your message, brother.”

“And Alaïs.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “After you tell young Francis that he belongs to Our house, bring him safely back. I watched him in the tournament yesterday. He would make a splendid tutor for my son as he prepares for his kinghood. Our family must build its strength.” And a smile spread across his face like the sun.

“You may depend on me, Your Majesty.” I made a low courtesy and when I rose and met my brother’s almond-shaped Capet eyes, for a brief moment I knew I saw a mirror of my own. And I forgave him all his faults.

W
e made a brave start of it at dawn, my knights and I, moving west and south out of Paris. At Philippe’s insistence, I now traveled with a party large enough to wage a small war. Along with Tom of Caedwyd, who assured me he felt fit for the journey, and Roland the young, came Marcel and Thibault, longtime denizens of my brother’s house. They all thought that my purpose was to join with William in Toulouse, to deliver a special message from King Philippe.

At first we had easy traveling, with innkeepers happy to help those who spoke the langue d’oïl, even though we quickly left the boundaries of my brother’s realm. On the third day we came into lands controlled nominally by John and his agents. We became more watchful, although for a time things continued to go well. We found refuge at night from townsfolk outside of Tours
who were suspicious of the new English king and his expanding ambitions. These townspeople valued their independence and liaison with Blois for protection. They were not unfriendly to France, no doubt looking to the future and the hope that they were close enough to Paris to be more than a neighbor one day, particularly if Philippe’s forces continued to outperform those of the English king.

In Châtellerault a merchant provided beds in his own house, taking us for itinerant weavers. This error was understandable, for my knights wore garments of ordinary travelers to disguise themselves, their swords wrapped in their traveling bags and strapped to their horses. Neither did I now wear any insignia that identified me as royal, although I carried in my
sac
a small cloak that had such markings. Indeed, I was dressed as an apprentice, with my hair done up under a cap, as I had done when I rode to Canterbury with this same group of knights some years earlier on my first search for my son.

We did not disabuse the good-natured merchant of his notion, though when he asked about the new dye from Bruges I enjoyed a smile at the discomfiture of Tom of Caedwyd, who was posing as our leader. He could no more discourse on the merits of wool dye than I could, but he mumbled something about fatigue, and the good host shrugged and showed us to a room in his attic. I was surprised at the cleanliness of the muslin thrown over the straw bed, and pleased that no vermin were clinging to my doublet when I arose in the morning. We paid him well, and left him puzzling over how a troupe of weavers could afford the silver he was holding in his palm.

We continued moving south and soon found ourselves in Aquitaine country, Eleanor’s patrimony. We also found the turbulent chieftains there had little interest in the safety of strangers, and that their peasants and townspeople were downright suspicious of our little retinue, especially my men with their northern accents. I was certain they could understand my men well enough when they asked for food or rooms, but often they pretended they did not. I began to take the lead,
using the langue d’oc I had learned in Eleanor’s court. At first the words came laboriously, like water out of a rusty pipe that had not been used for years. But soon I got back into the rhythm of the speech and innkeepers began to respond more amicably to us.

When we could not find lodging, or if the winter sun dropped low when we were still far from a town, we took to sleeping in barns, chewing bread and drinking wine we bought from—variously—kind or greedy villagers. The daytime weather warmed somewhat as we moved south. I washed in streams when the opportunity presented itself, my knights careful to stay around the bend and I always careful to be hidden by rushes.

I fell sick as we came near Poitiers, and we sought refuge at a small convent of nuns, Benedictines who knew of my aunt Charlotte and revered Fontevraud. I was feverish for some days, and could tolerate no food. Gradually, as the body often does, I began to heal myself. I will not say the herbs and potions the nuns concocted were harmful, though. Indeed, I believe they aided my speedy recovery.

My malady cost us nearly a week of time, but, truth to tell, my knights were glad of the rest. After the first days, they went out from the convent where the nuns gave us hospitality, and frequented the markets and public houses to hear any news they could of the situation in the south. But there was no market talk of value to us, except of the endless religious debates in the Toulousain. The practical
Poitevins
did not think much of this expenditure of vitality. When I felt strong enough, we packed and continued our travels with fresh horses.

It was farther south, in the region of Périgord, that I suddenly announced a change in direction. We had stopped in a rustic roadside inn for the night, a building that was little more than two stone structures cobbled together with a drafty wooden hallway. It was there that I made a decision that surprised my men.

Because I was beginning to tire, I had insisted that we stop at an early hour. There was a brook running behind the inn, and I took
myself down to the banks and prepared to wash my face and hands. Then, on an impulse, I stripped my doublet and leggings and plunged into the cold stream, washing the dust of many days from my body.

I wrapped myself in my cloak and sat by the side of the stream, musing on the events that had brought me thus far. I could see my son’s auburn hair in my mind, and willed myself to picture him wherever he might be, to know he was safe at least, but nothing came to me. Then I recalled my final argument with William, and I played again in my head my tart words in our last exchange: “I will use every means in my power, whether it is to your liking or not.” I would I was able to call back those severe words. A trickle of regret entered my heart as I pondered that scene. All my years of commanding as a
princesse royale
had accustomed me to a certain hauteur. I did not expect anyone to gainsay me, and certainly not someone who had held me in his arms so many times and pleasured me with words and touch.

Now, perhaps, I had ruined all with my harsh words. I thought again of the map William had waved at me, and my dismissal of his assessment that it was a clue to the mystery of Francis’s disappearance. If William was right, then there was some meaning in those towns that had been circled. The only way to discover the truth was to go to those towns and see for myself what they held.

So it was that after a supper of stew and country bread, I told Marcel and Thibault they had permission to retire, and I summoned Tom and Roland into my chamber. I spread the maps that Philippe had given me on a table, and sat on a low, rough bench in front of it, so I could easily show my men the plan. The others sat opposite me, their attention fastened on the papers in front of them.

“You know that our purpose eventually is to join with Lord William in Toulouse,” I began carefully. They nodded gravely in response.

“But I have not been completely forthright with you,” I said. “I also have another mission. I told you the first night we traveled about
the young knight Francis, who was abducted from his chambers just before he was to accompany Lord William to Toulouse.”

“The youth who fought so valiantly in the tournament.” Roland looked up, interested. “You told us of his disappearance, but did not say a search for him was part of your plan.”

“Indeed, it is my first task. I promised Lord William I would look for his young protégé.” Inwardly I squirmed as I thought of how I was bending the truth and what William would have to say, could he but hear. I hastened on, hoping they would not ask too many questions as to why I wanted to find the lad. I was not yet willing to share the volatile information of his heritage, not even with these trusted friends.

“And in pursuit of that goal we are changing course somewhat. We are not going directly into Toulouse,” I announced firmly, as I traced the route we were taking that led south with my finger. I stopped at a small dot on the map, some distance to the east of Toulouse. “Here is our first destination. Lavaur.”

“But Princesse, why the change? And why Lavaur?” Roland looked puzzled. “I thought our plan was to continue south, and pick up the trail into Toulouse by following the Garonne River.”

“On the map that William’s men found in Francis’s chambers the night he disappeared, three towns near Toulouse were specially marked. Lavaur is the farthest north, the first we will encounter.” I looked at my men across from me, their faces dancing in shadows the candles threw. “If William is correct in thinking that the map was left by mistake then each of those towns must have some meaning to the abductors.”

“You told us about that map. But I thought you had doubts that the
carte
was left accidentally. You said it was a ruse to mislead us.” Tom pursed his lips.

I shrugged. “I have thought about it often, and decided I may have been too hasty in my initial assessment. It is all we have now to help us in our quest. We must begin with what we know.”

“But what do you know about Lavaur?” Roland was pushing again. “If the map was intended as a trap, perhaps we would be playing into the hands of the abductors if we seek the young knight in the towns where they bade us go.”

I sat back on the straw cushions that lined the bench, leaning against the rough wall.

“I talked briefly to the young lady whose brother is the Count of Foix,” I said, “on the day of the king’s audience where she spoke so passionately for France to stay out of the business of the southern counties.”

“She who is called Esclarmonde?” Roland brightened. He had ever an eye for a beautiful lady.

“Indeed. The very same. When we chatted, she made a point of telling me that I would be welcome at Laurac or Lavaur as well as Foix. It was almost as if she were giving me a message.” I paused. “She was quite specific. And she made a point of mentioning the women in these towns.”

Tom raised his brows. “Quite a coincidence that they would be the three towns circled on the map that was found.”

“My plan is to seek hospitality in one of these towns and begin our investigation of Francis’s disappearance by questioning these nobles, if they seem friendly to us.”

“Will you tell them at Lavaur that you seek the young knight? What excuse will you give for your appearance? Will you let them know who you are?” Roland, with his penchant for hurtling one question after another, suddenly became animated.

“I have not yet decided any of that. We shall see what the reception is at Lavaur, for our poor traveling group of…um, shall we say weavers.” I grinned at Tom. “But we should get more information on Bruges dyes at some tavern before we hazard that disguise again.”

Tom looked chagrined, but he chuckled. Then he turned serious: “Something else draws you to Lavaur, Princesse. What is it?”

“You know me too well, Tom, after all these years.” I smiled at my old friend with his one good eye, and remembered how young I had been at King Henry’s court when I saw the raptor claw his eye out while he was training the royal falcons. And how the king had made him a fast friend from that moment forward. Tom had been kind to me through many trials. He deserved to know my thoughts.

“I have a feeling, after watching la Esclarmonde, that women play a strong role here. Not like the Paris court where most women are merely decorative.”

My knights looked at each other with comical expressions.

“Well, yes,” I said, guessing their thoughts. “Perhaps that description does not fit my performance. But if I am guessing correctly, the women here may have something to do with the spread of this new religion. Their role interests me. And if they are in touch with traveling Cathar preachers, they may have news of young Francis. The lady Esclarmonde was passionate in her defense of the south when she spoke in front of the court that day. Whether it was out of loyalty to her brother, the Count of Foix, or whether she herself is sympathetic to the Cathars, I could not say. But her people may be of good use to me in my quest to find the trail of Francis.”

The two knights fell silent, and then Roland broke into something like a soft laugh. “Ah, well, if nothing else, perhaps in the south country we can pick up the trail of the missing chalice of St. Denis and the murderers who took it. The abbot and the king must surely be willing to pay if we are successful.”

I was lost in my own thoughts for the moment, and almost passed over what he said. But his words hung in the silent air for a moment too long.

“How did you know about the missing chalice?” I asked, slowly turning my head to look at him.

“Oh, it was all the talk in the palace stable the morning that we left Paris, as we readied the horses for the journey. The beautiful
chalice, the cup that everyone says was to bring the abbey of St. Denis blessings, has disappeared.” He laughed. “’Tis said there is a fat reward for the lucky man who finds it.”

I saw again in my mind’s eye the chalice lifting during the Mass, and the rapt attention of my aunt Constance following the jeweled cup. Surely the disappearance of the chalice and Aunt Constance at the same time was more than coincidence. Philippe was right: Constance was up to something, and the chalice was part of her intrigue.

“According to the tale you heard, how did this crime occur?” I addressed Roland because he seemed to have the corner on court gossip. Tom, from Wales and not always accepted in the circle of Frankish knights at court, would be the last to hear.

“The theft happened just that night, right after the great tourney. The stable lads were abuzz because it was said the sacristan was killed when the cup was taken. He must have come when he heard a commotion in the sanctuary.”

“And how did the stable boys know this news?”

“Well”—Roland shrugged—“it was said they heard it when they were all down in the courtyard helping Lord William of Caen and his men prepare their horses for the ride. You were there—” Roland stopped as suddenly as he had begun, and his flushed face could be seen even in the candlelight.

“Yes,” I responded dryly. “I’m certain the stable boys saw me there as well.”

“Anyway,” he continued, recovering with the aplomb of the young and thoughtless, “that’s where the news was bruited about. It was said Lord William must leave for the south to explain something about the chalice to Count Raymond. By your leave, Your Grace, I must stand for a while, or my knees will never more guide a horse.”