The Rebel Princess (25 page)
W
e settled quickly into the rhythm of abbey life. Prayers before dawn, a spare breakfast, assigned work, more common prayers, a spare lunch, rest, work, and more prayers. One could easily get accustomed to this life, I thought. It seemed by far more productive than the way we frittered away time in the Paris court. On the third day, a fresh sparkling morning, I found myself alone in the hut, as the others were at their tasks. I had begged charcoal and a small piece of vellum from one of the monks in the scriptorium, and I decided to take these outside, thinking to sketch the birds I heard twittering in the trees before dawn.
As I left the hut, I came upon a surprise in my path not a stone’s throw from the door to our dwelling. I had been out earlier to pick firewood from the forest floor, and a small object
that I now noticed had not been present then. I leaned over to pick it up. On closer examination I saw that it was a ball of fabric, of a faded green color, dirty and wrinkled.
I unraveled it and saw, to my astonishment, that it was my own green scarf, the token I had given Francis at the tournament in Paris. It had the Capet royal insignia woven into one corner, as did most of my accessories. This was proof that he was somewhere on the abbey grounds! Joy leaped in my heart as I rewound the treasured object and tucked it down the front of my habit, out of sight should anyone happen by.
Despite my elation I decided it would be good to continue my plan to sketch for a while. I have long found I can contemplate as I draw if I am in the soothing presence of nature. I made my way around to the back side of our dwelling, where the absence of a path would have allowed the birds more safety. Even now they may be ready, perching on branches and waiting for my keen eye.
As I walked close to the stone wall of the hut, I saw a squirrel scramble up the chimney stones. I bent again to pick up a branch which I intended to use to harry the squirrel down from the chimney, fearing he might wind up in our fire later if I did not. As I moved quickly forward I stumbled. I peered at the ground to see what could have been the cause. A small brick ridge, scarce above the ground, was visible near the corner of the house. I picked at it with my foot, and separated the leaves and branches that had fallen around it.
In so doing, I exposed a small opening in the ground, like a miniature flue. I noted the position, close to the chimney that rose from the back that served our own small hearth.
I was puzzled. Where could this small opening lead? Was it connected to our guesthouse?
I forgot my desire to sketch and slowly retraced my steps to the front door. When I entered, I was facing the hearth. I walked toward it, my eyes scanning the floor for some sign of any stone that might
have been disturbed. I walked carefully, dragging my leather shoe on purpose through the rushes. When I reached the hearth, my toe hit a loose tile. I reached down and pried it up with my finger. Then I crouched down, and began to remove the stones around it. After working feverishly for some minutes, I was rewarded by a most amazing sight.
I knew I had gone as far as I could without help, so I quickly replaced the tiles and the rushes. Then I sat down on the one chair in the room, and thought for some time.
I was called out of my reverie by the sound of the iron doorlatch lifting. That would be Geralda, back from her work in the kitchen. Her patience was fraying, I knew, for the day before when she had returned she flopped on her pallet without a word of greeting to me. Today, she did the same.
“Geralda, you seem tired,” I said, addressing her supine figure, but I could not keep the excitement from my voice.
She looked over at me, as I stood winding my nun’s wimple around my head. “And you, dear Sister, seem unusually animated.”
“Indeed, you are observant.” I smiled, playing on her interest. “First tell me how you are feeling, and then I will tell you of my morning.”
She swung her legs over the bed, and sat upright, facing me. We were alone in the small guesthouse, Fabrisse and Grazide having gone to their tasks of sweeping the cloister walk and kneading the bread for the morrow’s meal. Geralda’s long face set, and her chin jutted forward, as a kind of preface to her remarks.
“All right, Princesse, I will speak honestly. We have been here three full days. We have swept and cooked and washed the linen of the abbey, and we still have no sign that Francis is here. We have only glimpsed the Abbot Amaury once, in procession in the church, and have not seen the king’s minister at all.” She sighed. “I am not complaining, but I am beginning to think our mission here misguided. I
do not know how we can crack open this closed egg that is the abbey. Nor am I even certain the young knight is being held here. We have seen no signs of it.”
“And so you are thinking we should give up our cause?” A grin was spreading wider on my face.
“Why look you so cheerful, madame?” she asked, a bit irritably. “Surely, my remarks could not inspire that smile.”
I came to sit beside her on the bed, and put my arm around her broad shoulders.
“Geralda, dear friend. I believe our task is nearing completion. This morning, after you and the young women left, I walked out into the forest to sketch the small animals. I had just said a prayer to Saint Barbara, the martyr, that she give me courage not to falter in my task, and my prayer was answered in the forest.”
“I thought you did not believe in the Romish religion?” Geralda leaned away from me.
“Well, I do, and I don’t. My desperation is leading me to old habits.” I waved my hand dismissively. “But hold, and listen to me. The prayers were scarce whispered, than I looked down and saw this on the ground in front of me.”
I reached down into the front of my habit, and pulled out the damp and muddy clump of green silk. Geralda who was, I had discovered, quite fastidious, wrinkled her nose.
“And what, pray, is that?”
“This, my dear friend”—and I shook out the fine piece so that she could see the corner—“is a token marked with the emblem of the royal house of France.”
“How came it here?” She was genuinely puzzled, as she took the scarf—for so it was—by the corner with her two fingers.
“It is mine. I gave it to young Francis on the day of the tourney in Paris, the very day his young friend was killed, and the day before he himself was abducted.”
She looked at me and understanding spread over her blunt features.
“He is here, then.”
“Indeed. And I now believe that he is not only being kept at this abbey, but somehow he knows I am near. This token of mine was dropped deliberately where I might find it.”
“But where can he be hiding? We have walked the abbey from front to back, almost to a point where we look suspicious, and we have discovered no trace.”
“But we have not walked these broad meadows and fields, spread behind us. Remember when we came, the hospitaler said there were three guesthouses. But we only passed one on our way to our shelter.”
I rose and smoothed my skirts. “That means that there is another one, somewhere out of sight. Whether in the woods or in the meadows over those hills, I don’t know. But we must begin to search the grounds.”
“That will be difficult. We are moving toward solstice and the light fades earlier every day.” Geralda now also had risen, as if informed by new energy at my news. “We should begin now, and go out at every opportunity.”
“Stay, my friend.” I placed my hand on her arm, though I was pleased to see her spirit returning. “I have another plan. The darkness can be our friend. We might excite suspicion if we were seen prowling about the fields and meadows when we should be at prayer. But at night, with torches sheltered from the wind, we might make better progress.”
“Yes,
vous avez raison,
” Geralda said, flopping back onto her pallet. I had taught her some of the expressions we used in the north, and she enjoyed working them into our daily conversation. I smiled. She was a born learner.
“You should rest now, and I will hurry to my tasks. Today I have been instructed to change the altar cloth, instead of working in the laundry. I shall see you back here before chapel and the midday
prayer. Tonight we shall explore our surroundings and find that third guesthouse.” As I spoke, I tucked the small bundle the scarf had become under the covers of my own pallet, where it could not be seen through the window by some inquisitive passer-by, though in truth we had seen few of those since our arrival.
I was nearly humming as I departed our little hut, as happy as I had been since I had left Paris. My visions and my sense of the presence of Francis had been accurate. This scarf confirmed it. Francis must have seen us, though how that could be I did not know. But surely it was no accident that the scarf had appeared. It was so small, so crumpled, he could have dropped it without being observed, knowing that I would recognize it when I found it.
My first stop was the laundry, a squat pile of stones set some way from the main cluster of abbey buildings where the monks lived, prayed, and ate. The sisters who did the laundry and helped in the kitchen dwelled in a dormitory attached to the side. I passed their door and went directly into the larger room. There I found huge vats of water, heated over fires, and several women stirring them with large sticks whose bark had been peeled off. The steam filled the room, and made it difficult to see beyond an arm’s length.
These sisters kept a vow of silence, so they merely nodded to me when I entered. One of them held up her hand, and disappeared into another room, returning in a moment with the white altar linen. It had been washed, laid on a scrubbed wooden table and dried under clean stones, so that it appeared flat and pristine. I marveled that such a clean-looking item could be produced from this outbuilding with its dirt floors covered by simple rushes.
I bowed to her and extended my arms. She placed the altar cloth over them, and I proceeded to the abbey church in that manner. By the time I arrived, I was grateful to bend my arms and set the cloth down, while I stripped the altar of its current covering. I had rolled up the broad sleeves of my habit and tied back my veil, the better to
have freedom to work. I had been pleased to see that no one was in the chapel when I arrived. The less I was observed by anyone, no matter how casually, the better I liked it.
But some moments into my task I heard the clip of boots on the floor, and another sound, the soft clap-clap of slippers. I decided to continue my work and did not turn around. It was well for me that I made that choice.
To my astonishment, the voices I began to hear were all too familiar. Abbot Amaury and Etienne Chastellain, for it was those two conspirators, were seated well toward the front of the church where I could easily make out their comments. They paid no attention to the back of the Benedictine nun at the altar as she slowly rolled and unrolled the used altar cloth, biding for time to hear their exchange. They spoke in ordinary tones, no doubt feeling safe in that sacred space to plot any intrigue.
“I want you to go, Chastellain. I do not like it that you showed yourself here. This was never part of our agreement.” It was the abbot’s raspy voice.
“Our agreement was based on mutual interest.” Now it was Chastellain’s turn. It seemed the tone of the conversation would be contentious. “You want gold or arms and men to fight your heretics, and I was willing to aid your request to the king of France. In return, you promised to hold your tongue about the information Eugene had funneled to King John of England.” He sniffed, as if sensing an unpleasant smell. “A situation you would not have known about if it were not for the loose lips of John’s western guard.”
The abbot grunted, but said nothing, as if contemplating his rejoinder. I dared not cast a glance backward to see the look on his face.
“But now, I tell you, you have gone too far,” Chastellain continued, his tone lower and more intense. “Abducting a young knight, a favorite of the Princesse Alaïs, belonging to the household of the king’s counselor Lord William, these rash actions were not part of our
plan.”
The church was so quiet that I could hear the rustle of the abbot’s silk sleeve moving as he flung his arm to dismiss Chastellain’s comments.
“Bah! As I told you, I had to seize the day. The king was not going to accede to our wishes, pope’s letter or no. If we can offer William information on his young ward’s whereabouts, he is much more likely to bend our way in Toulouse, where that fool Castelnau is bound for the conference with Count Raymond.”
“How are you going to tell William you have information on the lad without arousing his suspicions that you were involved in his disappearance?” Chastellain’s comment cause a sharp intake of the abbot’s breath, followed by an audible sigh. “The man has a temper. I have seen it.”
“I’ve already thought of that. I will let him know that we have captured a messenger who was taking word to the Cathars of the young knight’s whereabouts.”
“So the shadow of suspicion will fall on the Cathars,” Chastellain murmured. “Elegant indeed. But won’t the young man lay the blame on you when he is back with his master?”
“No, he’s never seen me. He was always kept in the back of the train, with a foulard around his eyes, and I took care that he did not know who we were, nor where we were going. We could actually take him to the countryside and leave him, and he could never point a finger.”
“Because if he did identify you as his abductor…” Chastellain left the unspoken words hanging in the air.
“I have considered that possibility. I will make certain he knows nothing. The alternative course of action would be to close his mouth forever, so there would be no way to trace his disappearance back to us.” There was a pause. “I have not yet made a final decision. I will see what William’s response is first. I have sent a messenger to him to tell
him I have news. I expect an answer soon.”
My heart chilled at these words. I realized how I had slowed in my work, and hoped the two men would not notice the inconsequential nun in front of them, fiddling at the altar, moving the tall and weighty candlesticks from left to right and back again.