Song Hereafter

by Jean Gill

  It was worth it to have the notary’s mark on a legal document, Dragonetz reminded himself. Examples of such were strewn on the table and if complexity of design were an indication of professional status, Master ben Aaron was a paragon among lawyers. His mark included five criss-crossing strands like a cat’s cradle and what could have been a crow’s beak or an instrument of torture scrawled across the ensemble. Not easily forged, which presumably was the point.

  Once more seated, Master ben Aaron clasped his hands and cracked the knuckles. His quill remained unemployed in its stand. There was more clarification required. Dragonetz sighed.

  ‘You wish to make provision for your concubine, who is of noble birth and in an adulterous relationship with you. You also wish to acknowledge her issue, specifically one male, named Txamusca, as your son and heir.’

  There was no judgement intended by the notary’s words but Dragonetz had to force himself to spit out the word, ‘Yes.’ His instinct was rather to draw Talharcant and slash things. What did lawyers know of love and complications? He looked at the books Master ben Aaron had laid on the table, Liber Iudicorum, Lex Antiqua. Maybe the lawyer did know something of complications.

  ‘There is a presumption of fatherhood in the husband’s favour, you know? You could find a way to dissolve the marriage, make your situation regular through wedlock but leave the child’s status as the legitimate son of his married parents.’

  ‘The husband never consummated the marriage and I want to acknowledge my son.’ How Dragonetz hated speaking of such private matters but, whatever he said, the lawyer maintained the same matter-of-fact tone. It was all codas and clauses to him. And, of course, gold, when he was paid for his work. A lot of gold.

  ‘Aha!’ Ben Aaron’s tone was more enthusiastic. ‘If the husband is impotent, that makes an annulment easy.’

  ‘He has four children from a previous marriage.’

  Pause. A new line of attack. ‘Adultery gives the husband the right to a divorce under Visigothic law... you could come to an arrangement with him?’

  ‘No,’ said Dragonetz shortly.

  ‘Hmm... under Roman law, the lady herself can end the marriage if she wishes?’

  ‘No.’ The husband had been a gift from Queen Aliénor and Viscomtesse Ermengarda of Narbonne, a gift suggested by Dragonetz himself (for which he cursed himself daily) and extricating herself would not endear Estela to those two powerful women.

  ‘Even if she did,’ pursued the notary, ‘and the two of you married, the adultery remains a legal problem, as does the bastardy.’ Dragonetz winced but the notary didn’t seem to notice. ‘You should be aware that canon law proposes some constraints on the advancement of an illegitimate child, of whichever category. If, in the future, canon law is applied in a more systematic way, and if you acknowledge the child as spurius, then your issue will face more restrictions on his future activity than if he were the presumed child of your concubine’s husband.’

  ‘For God’s sake, stop calling my Lady that! And what in the name of hell’s demons is a spurius?’

  Ben Aaron brushed a non-existent speck off his jubba and looked down his nose. ‘Legal terms avoid ambiguity,’ he declared, without apology, ‘and I use them as you, my Lord Dragonetz would refer to a weapon by its name. You came to me for my expertise. My point is that annulment of the woman’s marriage should in no way affect the legitimacy of issue from that marriage. Only think of modern France; Queen Aliénor and King Louis’ children are legitimate even though the marriage was deemed incestuous.’

  Chastened, Dragonetz accepted the implied rebuke, while thinking that he had not been so humiliated since childhood, when his tutor had made him stand on the table to recite a bible passage that he had bungled earlier.

  ‘The law recognises different categories of bastard.’ Ben Aaron fixed him with a stern gaze and ticked them off on his fingers. ‘One, a child born before its parents marry; two, mamzer, the child of a whore; three, nothus, the issue of a low-born woman; and four,’ he ticked off the fourth finger, ‘spurius, the child of illicit sexual relations, such as your own, or indeed the issue of those who have sworn vows of chastity.’

  ‘And what difference does it make?’ Dragonetz spoke through gritted teeth.

  ‘I cannot foresee what difference it will make in the future.’ How like a lawyer to protect himself from future plaint! ‘Precedent allows for many born of concubine mothers,’ he stressed the word ‘concubine’, with a frown at Dragonetz, ‘to reach greatness. William, King of England; Sancho of Leon-Castile, whose concubine mother was Muslim – except he died in battle, of course, but he was heir – and then the half-sister, who was also of concubine mother, but a Christian one – what was her name now? The half-sister, not the mother... But in none of these cases was the child born of an adulterous relationship.’

  Dragonetz could feel his anger mounting and was about to say something he’d regret when ben Aaron’s next question caught him off-balance.

  ‘What is the estate you leave to the child? Of what are you yourself heir?’

  What, indeed? Dragonetz’ personal wealth was considerable, both from the paper mill and from the mission to the Holy Land, but what of his inheritance? His right to Ruffec had been relinquished when he told his father to go to hell. What if his father knew of Musca?

  Enough of these weasel words! ‘I leave my estate to the child. Surely to God that’s clear enough! Pick up your quill and I will tell you what to write. You may put it in your unambiguous terms but I shall have my will!’

  Ben Aaron took his quill from the stand, dipped it in the inkwell and held it poised over the blank parchment. His mouth formed a thin line of disapproval but he held his tongue.

  ‘In her lifetime, I leave all my worldly goods–’

  ‘That would be dominium, not possession, and include largissime, communiter and proprie,’ muttered the lawyer as his nib scratched away.

  ‘That would include everything,’ Dragonetz stated baldly, without a clue as to what any of the terms meant.

  ‘To the Lady Roxane de Montbrun, known as Estela de Matin...’ He paused to let the quill catch up with him. Reading the Latin upside down, he saw that Ben Aaron had started with the date, the place, the nature of the document, some formal opening, and then used ten words for every one Dragonetz had dictated, but it was close enough.

  ‘Her married name?’ queried ben Aaron blithely.

  ‘Not needed,’ Dragonetz said, thinking it a miracle the man was still alive.

  Ben Aaron opened his mouth to object, then changed his mind, shaking his head.

  Dragonetz continued, ‘...in trust for my son and heir Txamusca.’ He glared at the notary, daring him to ask for another name.

  Meekly, ben Aaron asked him, ‘Do you wish to make provision for more issue my Lord?’

  Dragonetz barked a harsh laugh. ‘More bastards, you mean? Not to my knowledge. I have but one.’

  ‘And if my Lord should be blessed with more, you will need to add a coda to this will or make a new will to ensure provision.’

  Dragonetz just grunted. It was enough to put a man off having children, the very thought of another such ordeal by clause and precedent. ‘That will do well enough,’ he said, ready to leave. ‘How much do I owe you?’

  Appalled, ben Aaron said, ‘You must sign the document, with witnesses. Please, my Lord, wait here an instant.’ He rushed out the room as if worried his client would disappear in his absence.

  Dragonetz took the opportunity to read the document but, irritating as it was, he could do no better by his family.

  The notary returned with his two witnesses, who barely murmured good-day, so accustomed were they to doing their duty and departing. Dragonetz signed his name, the witnesses wrote theirs and left, while ben Aaron carefully scribed his mark, made a final flourish and blotted the whole.

  ‘There are many accommodations possible within the law,’ ben Aaron informed Dragonetz. ‘Indeed, our illustrious Queen’s father not on
ly left the sanctity of the cloisters to do his duty by Aragon but also arranged matrimonio en casa for her and the Prince – that is, betrothal at any age, however young, to preserve the patrimony. Ipso facto, we now have the continuing line of Aragon. It therefore behoves you to consult again with a lawyer who is well-informed in such matters, such as myself, when you have given them proper consideration.

  I will have a copy made for you and the original will rest with me unless you take up residence elsewhere and wish to transfer it to another notary.’

  ‘That will do.’ Coin changed hands and Dragonetz left, wiping his boots on the doorstep as he left. As he returned to the palace by the riverside instead of the city streets, he still felt unclean, as if he’d betrayed Estela rather than provided for her. And his thoughts turned to his family home in Ruffec. His ex-inheritance.

  He didn’t need the letters in his hand to see the formal words by which his father had disinherited him or the tear-stained note from his mother. His sire’s readiness to believe he was an oath-breaker was just one more blow in a stormy relationship but his mother’s affirmation that she loved him ‘despite everything’, her pain at his disgrace, still unmanned him worse than poppy withdrawal had done.

  He had banished all thought of Ruffec since he’d sent the message telling his father to go to hell but how could he think of Musca’s future without thinking of where his son came from, where he came from? Did they know they were grandparents? Had they named Dragonetz’ eldest sister in his place as heir? Or preferred a male cousin? If he’d had a brother no doubt his father would have passed him over as the chosen one long since! But his rogue imagination insisted on a picture of Musca hand-in-hand with his grandmother, picking herbs in the knot garden that was her pride and joy. As he had done.

  Musca with his wooden sword, and pride in Lord Dragon’s eyes as he played with his grandson. Saying, ‘Well done, son,’ to Dragonetz. Didn’t every child want to hear those words? Especially from a father who found them impossible to say.

  He did without a mid-day meal, sitting on a tree stump, watching the current carry driftwood where it willed, swirling and rushing, going underwater, then popping up somewhere quite different.

  Hours passed.

  It was with a heavy sense of foreboding that he left the river bank to keep his appointment with Ramon Berenguer IV, Comte de Barcelone, Prince of Aragon.

  ‘I HAVE LETTERS FROM Malik addressed to you and Estela,’ announced Ramon, without ceremony, inviting Dragonetz to sit and take the letters.

  ‘Estela told me he’d been ill.’ Dragonetz’ worst fears pounded all sense to dust, so loud in his head that he barely heard Ramon’s quick reply.

  Ramon repeated, ‘He’s recovering, Dragonetz, but still weak.’

  The pounding diminished, slowly. Dragonetz noticed the seals had been broken. If Ramon wanted to read letters surreptitiously, his ministers could open seals and steam them shut invisibly, so this flaunted intrusion was deliberate. Dragonetz swallowed the insult, told himself it saved time in the discussion that was inevitably to follow. Ramon was prepared and he was not, but his Liege had done him the courtesy of letting him know this.

  Should he read the message to Estela at all? He hesitated, looked at Ramon, who nodded. So be it. ‘Dearest colleague and daughter of my heart, greetings...’ Dragonetz scanned the words that could only be from Malik to Estela, that were written in recognition of a life nearly lost, a life saved.

  He looked up from his reading. ‘Malik speaks of a gift?’

  Without words, Ramon handed him a wooden box with marquetry lid. Dragonetz opened it, saw the neatly ranged surgical instruments, each in its velvet bed. Malik’s own instruments.

  Dragonetz frowned and opened his own missive. ‘Dearest friend of my mind...’ Had it been only four years since Dragonetz read those words and discovered his friend’s true identity? Four years since he’d been given Sadeek, a gift as precious as was Estela’s now? A gift that had also been a farewell and an explanation. Dragonetz took his time, considering not only the words but their implications for the conversation that was to follow, in this room. There had been another gift from Malik, in the letter to Dragonetz.

  There was too much he did not know so he merely stated what he did. ‘Malik is no longer able to serve as your commander. He is giving up his work as physician too. He is staying in Barcelone and offers his country home here, near Zaragoza, to my family for indefinite use.’

  Ramon just nodded.

  ‘I should have gone back to Barcelone instead of coming here! I should have gone to see how he was!’ What if he’d died? While Estela and I were singing for one loss, what if there had been another?

  Ramon shook his head. ‘No. Malik sent word to me too, that he was out of danger and that you must not change your plans for his sake.’ Similar words had been in the letter to Estela but Dragonetz still doubted. The urge to see his friend, in case it should be a last time, flooded him.

  Ramon smiled. ‘His words were, ‘as far as any man can say he is out of danger. Who shall say what God wills’. But he asked my permission to leave our service. He said, ‘Tell Dragonetz I shall not be a weak stone in his wall.’ This means something to you?

  A nod. ‘Nobody can replace him,’ he told Ramon and realised at the same moment that somebody already had. ‘De Montcada,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. Nobody starts off with experience but he has the skills and background.’

  ‘And you want me to train him.’ Inevitably. The idea of riding beside Malik’s replacement already fretted at Dragonetz like a saddle sore.

  ‘I would have liked that.’ Ramon’s level gaze read Dragonetz easily. ‘But it will not be possible. There is another letter for you.’

  This time the seal was unbroken. A seal Dragonetz recognised and had last seen on the letter accusing him of oath-breaking, of ignoring a summons from his ancestral Liege Lord, of disgracing his country, his family and himself. Aliénor did not usually spare words when her temper was roused.

  Dragonetz read the opening, his lip curling. ‘Aliénor, by the grace of God Queen of England to her vassal Lord Dragonetz of Ruffec... He was torn between fury – how dare she assume rights after such treatment of him! – and a hope that had never been extinguished – this was his chance to clear his name completely. How like the fiery Aliénor to appeal to his loyalty, offer a reward and then threaten him!

  ‘When I sent for your help in my hour of need, you came not. Now, there is a mission I can trust to nobody but you, which could decide the fate of our kingdom. You may, by this act, make up for past wrongs and be well rewarded for the service. By your oath of fealty, I command you to attend my pleasure in Angers, with all speed. And you do not, may God be my witness, you shall be held as an example of a faithless knight, throughout Aquitaine and England!’

  ‘You know the letter’s contents?’ Dragonetz asked.

  ‘Queen Aliénor wrote me a polite request that I should release my commander to pursue matters of state. She did point out that you are her vassal and owe her allegiance before me.’ Ramon’s tone was neutral but Dragonetz was not misled. Neither did he overstep his rank and congratulate Ramon on receiving a polite letter from Aliénor.

  ‘You are willing to release me?’

  ‘I fear I must. The misunderstanding is partly my doing. If I’d let you know that the Duchesse was at war, you would have left Les Baux to lead her armies and Barcelone would have been the poorer this last year. And, as I recall, I gave you permission to go for a pilgrim. I was not expecting you back this year so I had already made preparation.’

  ‘Even without Malik? You would let me go?’

  ‘There is no question. You must go.’ Long afterwards, too late to ask him, Dragonetz would wonder about Ramon’s ready acquiescence. He should have known that Barcelone and Aragon came first for El Sant, always. At the time, he was grateful to have a clear path in his duty. A pilgrimage of a different kind, perhaps, however unexpected.

  Perhaps n
ot so unexpected to others. He frowned, then considered the potential use of a wiry, muscular Mintmaster as his squire on such a journey. Especially when said squire would be beside himself with gratitude at gaining an interview with she who called herself Queen of England. John Halfpenny had supported Queen Matilda and would no doubt wager his future on this new queen without hesitation.

  ‘My Lord? Could you also replace the English moneyer? His knowledge of those barbarian lands could be useful to the Duchesse.’ Should he call her Queen? Where did Ramon stand with regard to northern politics? ‘I would take him with me as squire.’

  The Prince nodded. ‘He’s a troublesome little man anyway. I get complaints every day regarding weights and standards. He has served his purpose and the mint will function more smoothly without him. Take him with my blessing!’

  ‘Thank you, my Lord.’ Dragonetz knelt, kissed Ramon’s ring and wondered whether that was true of him too. Troublesome, as El Rey Lobo had observed, and too keen on standards.

  ‘Dragonetz.’ Ramon’s expression was severe, almost pained. ‘You have my thanks for all you have done. I know your worth and nobody could value you more highly; you and Malik together have been my right hand. I will miss you, beyond words. You have kept your oath and I will always keep mine.’

  This most reserved of rulers clasped Dragonetz in his arms, man to man.

  ‘Some training is priceless,’ Dragonetz replied. ‘The three of us my Liege: you, me and Malik; we made a whole. When my service for Aliénor is done, I shall return,’

  Ramon released his grip, said nothing about the future, so Dragonetz bowed and walked away. When he glanced back, his lord’s gaze still followed him, unwavering, until the door closed between them.

  Pausing in the passageway, Dragonetz sighed, realising that the path of his duty would perhaps not seem as clear to Estela.