The Rebel Princess (8 page)

I opened my mouth to defend young Francis, but William was already voicing a firm rejoinder.

“My Lord Abbot, permit me to introduce Francis of York, my former clerk and now a knight of my household.” William signaled the footman behind him for more wine for the abbot. “He is educated and well traveled. He has spent much time traveling across the domains of the south with my retinue, as we have been exploring ways to avoid an armed conflict between north and south. He resided in Rome with me two years past, studying swordsmanship and theology.”

William paused to allow the abbot to take in his comment, but before the man could speak he added, in a quiet voice: “Francis has the protection of my office. And the holy father was quite taken with his interest in diplomacy these past months.” William turned his broad shoulders so that he was directly facing the abbot. I could see my beloved’s face as he spoke. His eyes had narrowed and there was a warning edge to his voice. Francis, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned by the exchange as he continued to exercise his hearty appetite, but he kept glancing at the abbot between bites as if he still expected a response to his comments. Finally the abbot spoke.

“Young knight, even though you are protected”—there was a perceptible softening in the abbot’s tone, although he bit off the end of this last word with menace as he leaned toward Francis—“you must learn to be careful. The situation with the heretics is complex and perhaps not quite understood by many. But these rebels present a real threat to Rome.” Here he paused as if searching for
le mot juste.
“And
those who defend heretics could find themselves accused also.”

“Here, here, Abbé Amaury,” William interjected firmly. “Francis is a knight known for his piety and his adherence to his faith. The issue of the
Cathari
beliefs as heretical is still far from settled. And you must admit, young Francis has the right of it when he talks about their imitation of early Christian simplicity.”

“I’ll admit no such thing.” The abbot had returned to his dinner, tearing at his pheasant with a vengeance, as if it were the challenging young Francis under his pudgy fingers. I observed the exchange impatiently, wanting to speak. But for once I bit back my words, knowing that I was not the person to defend Francis. I was too close. And I did not want my care of him to be noticed. The abbot did not appear to miss much. Besides, my son appeared to be the abbot’s equal with his next comment.

“As I heard it in the port taverns of Rome this summer, the main threat to the church of Rome is that the new beliefs will put many priests out of work, and then the gold they generate may cease to flow into Italy.” The abbot was taking a swallow of wine and he sputtered as Francis spoke, which gave the youth the opportunity to add, rather playfully I thought, “Not that I support that view. My duty as a knight certainly lies in defending the faith of my fathers.”

The abbot was not amused. He wiped his mouth and answered: “Do not cultivate insolence in your discourse, young knight. Pope Innocent has had enough of the pretensions of the people of the south, gold or no gold. They are not exempt from the faith as defined by our pontiff and the church councils. There have been dialogues for four decades and the Cathars still have not explained why they can call themselves Christians when they spurn the dictates of Rome. The time has come for action.”

“And what actions do you propose, lord Abbé?” I asked in a naïve voice.

“They will bend to the will of Rome, or they will feel the sword of
God.” Amaury smacked his hand on the table, and then downed the remainder of his red bordeaux, motioning for more with his other hand. My gaze met William’s, and his eyes narrowed for a moment. He pursed his lips and shook his head firmly in my direction. Discreet though his gesture was, his message to me was unmistakable. Let it go. I smiled again in his direction. I could almost feel the thrill of bear baiting, but I forbore to challenge the abbot further. Not at this time, nor in this place. We would have another opportunity for exchange, I was certain.

“What is this loud talk?” My brother ceased his exchange with his
copains
and turned his full attention to the conversation on our side, causing us all to become suddenly subdued.

“Your Majesty, we were simply talking of tomorrow’s audience, where we will present somewhat differing requests for your attention to the situation facing the south.” William clapped his hands and rubbed them together, as if to end the discussion. “We shall each make our best case, and you will decide. Meanwhile, did I not hear that your own favored trouvère, Gace Brulé, was to perform at the conclusion of this fine feast?”

The abbot ignored William’s cue and leaned around him to catch the king’s attention. “We hope Your Majesty will not be deterred from sending arms and men to the south just because Raymond of Toulouse is your very own cousin.” I felt a prickle of fear. The abbot was courting disaster. My brother did not like to have politics interjected into his feasts when he entertained visitors. He also did not favor veiled threats. His royal answer was sharp and immediate.

“We trust our cousin, the Count of Toulouse, implicitly. We have had numerous exchanges on this matter of the heretics with him. He is managing this matter.” Philippe’s voice had dropped to a lower tone, one I had come to respect as somewhat ominous. “The fact that he is our cousin is of little moment. On the other hand, the fact that he is our sworn vassal is compelling. He has our protection.”

Parry and thrust. Take that, Abbé Amaury, I thought to myself, as
the royal gauntlet went down unexpectedly.

There was a moment of blessed silence as everyone within earshot turned to look at the abbot, who sat back, finally speechless. I glanced to my right, and saw young Francis with the ghost of a smile on his face. I could not see Amaury’s expression as his face was now hidden by Francis’s broad shoulders. But I doubted that the abbot was smiling.

William interrupted again, this time with uncharacteristic abruptness. “My lord Abbot. If you please, we will delay this discussion until the morrow. His gracious Majesty has arranged further entertainment for us, and it would be churlish to continue this talk of worldly affairs.”

“Quite so.” Philippe picked up the cue quickly. “Tomorrow we will meet on these heavy matters in public audience in my presence chambers. You will have an opportunity to present your suit, Abbé Amaury. I will hear your arguments and give you my answer at that time. Meanwhile, let us attend the festivities without distraction.”

With that, Philippe waved a casual hand in the direction of Gace Brulé, who had been awaiting the royal signal. The tall, lean singer was cloaked in elaborately embroidered forest-green silk, which he casually tossed back over his shoulder as he stood. He made his way to the hearth, and pulled a bench close. Then he placed his foot on the bench and began strumming a few chords on his lute. Suddenly the chords formed a melody and he began a mournful
lai
telling the story of the end of the great King Arthur’s court. A grave quiet settled over the crowd. Philippe himself listened attentively through the first moments of the performance. I could see his clenched hand, resting on the arm of the chair, ease as the music calmed him.

Finally he placed his elbow on the wide oak arm of his royal chair and jammed his fist into his cheek as the servants approached quietly with more platters, this time of the mulled wine, fruits, and cheeses from the countryside that signaled the end of the feast.

Suddenly my brother turned to me and said in a low voice: “You
see now what we have to deal with in these importunate monks. I want you at the public audience tomorrow, when I officially hear their request.” He tapped his fork emphatically in front of me, adding abruptly, “And do not be late!”

I bent my head close to his and murmured the thought I had been turning over in my mind: “Brother, these monks bring a serious request to you. If you are set on denying them, perhaps the scene tomorrow in the presence room will be…”—I searched for a word—“difficult. Do you still plan to hold the tourney afterward?”

“Sister,” he replied, his tone as dry as autumn leaves underfoot, “have you ever known me to cancel a tourney once the knights have gathered and wagers have been laid?”

“No, Your Majesty. Never.” Tournaments were as dear to the king’s heart as my drawing was to my own. I could not disguise my amusement as a smile spread across my face.

“Then why in the name of the Virgin’s mantle would you think I would consider canceling tomorrow’s joust?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I replied demurely. Perhaps he was right. The festivities would take the edge off any unpleasantness that might occur when the monks were denied their request.

Philippe added: “Besides, Amaury is a bloodthirsty old reprobate and he, at least, will enjoy the carnage.”

“Hunh. Let us hope when you have finished with him, he does not feel he is part of it,” I muttered, causing the king to grin as he turned back to the badinage of his laughing nobles.

I scanned the faces around me. William was now engaged with Pierre de Castelnau in what appeared to be an amicable conversation. Amaury’s face was flushed with the evening’s wine. He glanced at the entertainment from time to time, but his expression was that of a man occupied with distant thoughts. The folds of his heavy face were traced by the dancing candlelight. Only Francis seemed to be watching the entertainers perform. Yet though he laughed, his brow
was furrowed. He suddenly looked my way and gave me a reassuring smile. But I was not fooled. Something was troubling him.

Gace Brulé finished his long and mournful song, and bowed low in the king’s direction. The crowd in the hall cheered. Taking the opportunity, the king rose and waved his arm to Brulé in a gesture of appreciation, then turned to leave. The Count of Champagne and the other nobles at the table stood also, still chatting together. The entertainers bowed and scattered, as was their custom when the king made ready to depart. William, now also on his feet, crossed behind the monks and offered his hand to me. I placed my hand on his right willingly. I was glad for his courtesy, yet I felt the evening was ending prematurely.
Certes,
there was more to be said on many topics. My spirit was far from tranquil as I bid the young Francis a hasty good night.

W
illiam made a show of leaving me at the door of my chamber, a charade of doubtful effect. I did not for one moment believe it fooled the guards stationed at the top of the stairwell nor the maids inside, shortly to be ordered from my room. When I entered, I found the fire had grown low in the hearth. My maids added wood at my direction. Then I sent them to retire and sat alone, watching the flames rise to lick the logs. My head was spinning with all of the strange events and mysteries that had passed this day.

Finally I blew out the great candle on the stand near the door, doused the torches near the hearth with the iron cup, and crawled into the recesses of my goose feather bed to watch the last flames. Just at that moment the door creaked. I was not alarmed. William had the habit of waiting until much of the castle was
asleep before he came to me. It was a futile subterfuge, since most of our servants knew of his visits, but it preserved his sense of honor and his discretion amused me.

Tonight, however, I was impatient to quiz him about the events of the evening. He wasted no time coming to my bed, doffing his tunic and robe as he slid in beside me, under the furs. Although the embers were still glowing in the large hearth, the room had gone chill. I could feel William’s cold feet at the same time as he surrounded me with his arms.

Suddenly he caught me and pressed his mouth hard on mine. It was some moments before I could breathe, and extricate myself from his close embrace.

“Hold, sir, if you would. Identify yourself, please!” I mocked him.

“What, you wanton? Identify myself? Have there been others in your bed, then, whilst I was away?” And I saw that he would not be denied, and so we laughed and made love that was no less intense than it had been earlier, for being less frantic and much more inventive.

At some point, as often happened, the rhythm of our lovemaking slowed. Without words, as if by mutual consent, we paused and lay quietly in each other’s arms.

“My love, why…” I was the first to speak, and it was almost as if I were just breathing rather than giving voice to my thoughts. But William picked up the thread.

“Why can’t we just stay as we are?” He knew me too well. “Together, quiet, apart from the outside world. You see, I know what you want without your words.”

“But we were happy that way, at Ponthieu these two years past, until you were called away by the pope. And just when Francis was coming back to live with us after his knight’s training. And we were to be married.”

“And all that will come to pass again,” he said, caressing my cheek with the back of his hand. “You need only a soupçon of patience.”

“So you said when you accepted the invitation from Pope Innocent to go to Rome.” I was insistent. “And yet here we are a year later and no closer to blending our lives.”

“Yes, and I have been on horseback on the dusty roads ever since. Do you think I prefer that life?” William pulled himself to a sitting position and leaned his back against the wall. He pulled a small fur around his shoulders against the cold as he spoke. I heard a warning note of irritation in his voice, but I had a task that would not be put off.

“When you could be in domestic bliss with me, instead!” I said it playfully, but I could feel him stiffen.

“Alaïs, to continue to remind me of how happy I am with you, and how difficult it is when we are apart, does no earthly good. I made a commitment to assist the holy father to settle the problem of the Cathar heretics and Count Raymond’s lax oversight of his petty nobles, and I must hold to that. You only create more unhappiness by introducing this topic over and over.” The room lay in shadow, but I could make out the outline of a frown as the moon cut a path across our bed and caught his face in the light. I edged up to a sitting position as well, so we were once again side by side, though far from an embrace at the moment.

“I am sorry to press you. I just wish…” My voice drifted off for, in truth, my only wish was that we could be together again in his lands on Ponthieu with Francis near. The thought of my son brought another pang to my heart, a needle spreading the heat of fear.

“I know you are not happy here at court.” William was speaking, but I scarce attended him. “Nevertheless, I want you to stay with Philippe until I return in the spring. Then, I promise you”—and again his arm encircled my shoulders—“what we both wish for will be accomplished.”

I did not move away from his embrace but I said nothing. He continued, as if the matter were settled.

“Now I have a question to put to you, something that has been puzzling me for hours.” He took his hand and placed it under my chin, turning my face up to his own. “I thought you said you never met the
Abbé Amaury. Yet, when you approached our group tonight in the Great Hall, you walked right up to him as if you knew him.”

I sighed. “I had a visitation this morn.”

“One of your waking dreams, as you are wont to say.” William nodded.

I swallowed, remembering the feeling of being pinioned against my cushions as if in bonds, unable to move, the strange half-light surrounding the figures who gradually became visible.

“The abbot’s face was plainly visible in the scene that was given to me. When I saw him again this evening, I was transfixed. I could not keep myself from confronting him.”

“In the visitation, what happened?” William understood my gift of second sight, and knew from experience that, no matter whence they came, these visions carried meaning.

“I saw a ring of thirteen men. One of them was in the white habit of the Cistercians, and he had the face of Amaury. It was a vivid apparition and unmistakably the abbot. Ten of the men wore red hats. Another had a tiara and one next to him wore the Cistercian habit. When the monk’s cowl fell back his features were revealed. It was the face I saw when I came to the king’s group of knights. You recall the
abbé
asked if we had met before. I told him no. That was a truth, as he had never seen me.”

“There is something you are not telling me.” William took his arm from around my shoulders and turned full to me. I met his gaze.

“I would I need not tell. But you must know. Francis was in the circle as well. I saw him clearly.”

“What transpired in the vision?” William’s staccato questions were those of a captain quizzing his lieutenants.

“The men stood in an oval. When a bell tolled, the man in the tiara gave a signal. With one accord all the men in red hats plunged their torches into the ground.”

“And Francis? What of his role?”

I shook my head. “He only stood there. As if he were a reluctant guest, taking no part.” I paused. “But as he was standing next to Amaury, the abbot threw his arm around Francis’s shoulders, as if he were a possession.”

William suddenly cast off the furs and threw his legs over the side of the bed. This time he did rise, muttering more to himself than to me. He retrieved his hastily discarded cloak from the floor and threw it on. Then he began his habitual restless pacing.

“This vision is a confirmation of what I suspected,” he said. “Amaury will go to any lengths to get what he wants.” He turned back to me when he came near the bed again, where I still sat clasping my knees. The moonshafts behind him illuminated his broad shoulders, but the shadows around us frightened me. “Amaury considers this business with the heretics a war. And he is capable of using any stratagem to obtain his ends. He sees me and my diplomacy as an obstacle. He would not be above taking my knight as hostage.”

“William!” I was stunned that he had voiced my deepest fears. “Then you must leave Francis with me. Here, where that man cannot touch him.” In my agitation I, too, began to climb from the high bed, sliding my feet into the warm beaten-wool slippers, pulling a robe from the end of the bed around me, tying the sash. All these ordinary acts were performed with a kind of frantic madwoman haste. “You must leave him here.”

“Alaïs, I’ve already explained there are agents at this court who are in the pay of John of England. If John credits the rumors about an heir surviving Henry, he will know it might involve you. You are at this court. This would be the first place he would look for that heir.”

“So Francis will not be safe from John if he is with me, but he might be in danger from Amaury if he is with you.” I placed my hands on my hips. “And if the odds are even, then I believe the mother’s heart must win.”

“You might think it so. But I tell you in this case I must assume the responsibility. I have men at my command, fast horses and willing swords. I will keep Francis always at my side. That is the only way to assure his safety.” William talked more rapidly than was his habit, as if to forestall any comment I might make. The silhouette of his hand in the moonlight made stabbing gestures, as if it were already wielding a sword to defend my son.

I turned and picked up a small fur from the oak bench to wrap around myself, feeling the night chill as William had. Then I proceeded with deliberation to light three candles nearest the bed with a taper put into the only one burning. This act created only a small circle of light, but the bed and its surrounds were illuminated. The dark, earlier so friendly to our lovemaking, now seemed threatening. I took a cluster of ribbons tied in a loop from the table and came back to sit cross-legged on top of the bed. There I wound my hair expertly into them whilst I considered carefully my next words. William began to pull his wool tunic over his head to ward off the chill. I knew now there would be no more lying together for us this night. But in truth, I was so disturbed that my desire had fled.

Finally I made my decision. “There is something else you should know,” I said with firmness. I had his attention. “Something odd occurred tonight, an accidental encounter. Or so it seemed at the time. But perhaps it was less chance than I thought.” I paused. I was about to tell him something that would bolster his case for taking Francis away, but I knew it was necessary. If I were to think of the safety of my son, I knew I must confide in this obstinate man, who after all desired the well-being of the young man we both loved.

“What came to pass?” William had pulled on his hose and reached for his sword. But he seemed to pause, and let it drop again. He came now to sit next to me on the edge of the bed, with the easy manner of one who believes he has won an argument fairly.

I pushed past my annoyance at this and tried to recall the details of
the meeting at the door of the Great Hall. “Francis and Geoffrey were with me. We were coming into the Great Hall for the feast. As we approached the door we were involved in talking, heads bent and that sort of thing. Suddenly we nearly collided with Etienne Chastellain in the company of three clerks.” I paused. “I don’t like that man, nor the clerk who seems stuck to his side, that tall one, Eugene.”

“Go on with the story.” William made an impatient, brushing motion with his hand. “What caught your attention?”

“Chastellain knew who Francis was. He greeted him and made reference to his place in your household. He made a point of saying it and seemed to enjoy my surprise.” I watched William’s face in the moonlight and could see the outline of his pursed lips. He tapped his finger against them, thoughtful.

“And one more thing. My brother told me this very afternoon that he does not know which of his counselors to trust in this court. And that includes Chastellain. What if the chief minister is in the pay of King John? And what if he has already heard the rumors about Francis? He could be in league with Amaury, each working with the other for his own ends here at court.”

“Alaïs, all of this simply confirms my earlier decision. Francis would be safest with me, where I can defend him if need be.” William clapped his hands together with maddening finality, making as if to rise.

“Perhaps.” I put my hand on his arm and paused until he turned to me once more. “But beware. You heard him challenge the abbot this very night at the king’s own table. I doubt that Amaury will forget his name, nor your defense of him. Now we have two enemies who are watching Francis.”

For a moment we fell silent. Then William rose and, taking one of the tapers, padded to the hearth where sparks still lingered among the embers. He lit it from the dying fire and used it to bring several wall torches to life. Then he came back and flamed all the remaining
candles near my bed, as if to dispel the fears I had voiced with the darkness. He edged me over on the bed and sat beside me.

“Tell me more of what you suspect about the treason here at court. Perhaps if we can clean the court of corruption in the king’s own council, Francis would be safe here.” Lest I perceive an opening for renewed argument, he added hastily: “Later, that is. After this next journey.”

I rubbed my brow. “Chastellain makes me uneasy. I do not trust him. And Philippe has said that he has a matter that he wants me to look into, a conspiracy here at court, and I am not to tell anyone. Not even his chief minister. Surely that is a signal the king does not have full trust in him, either.”

“I confess I must take responsibility for putting that thought into Philippe’s head. We discussed the matter when we were at Blois, after Raymond left.” William, restless as ever, now made his way to the long table, pouring us each a goblet of spiced and watered wine, ever-present in its earthenware pitcher bearing the royal mark of the Capet family. “Based on what the Templar agents tell me, John knows every move Philippe’s captains make in the west before they even have their orders. There is someone at this court who is feeding them information. Some person who is privy to the king’s highest discussions. Chastellain is one possibility.”

I thought for a moment. “Last Sunday at St. Denis there was an interruption right at the consecration of the host. Three knights shouldered their way to the front of the church to see Etienne Chastellain, and the king was in a choler about the interruption.”

“And did Etienne then leave the church before Mass ended?” William now seemed oblivious to all thoughts of leaving my chamber.

“No, in fact he seemed annoyed to have the interruption. Perhaps because he knew the king would be displeased.”