‘My lord, are you feeling more restored today? How may we serve you?’ Lady Marie set aside the homespun tunic she was sewing and rose to greet him as he entered the women’s solar. He guessed her labour would clothe a ‘Good Man’, some Cathar preacher, but he did not inquire.
Restored? Perhaps he looked glossier, like a horse with arsenic in its oats. Two of the young women who had served Alys curtsied beside her, their eyes chastely lowered, their smiles coy.
‘Good day to you, Marie. I need to speak to Lady Yolande. Is she not here?’
Marie clapped her hands. ‘Demoiselles, go seek her.’
‘Bid her make haste and attend me in the grand chamber. I have a meeting of my councillors shortly.’ Left alone with Marie, he felt her blessing reach out to him with an invisible hand, but he was not ready to confide, nor was she willing to let him leave. ‘My lord, dare I wish your purpose is to inform Yolande that you have decided on a new marriage for her?’
‘It may be discussed.’
‘Oh, I pray so. She needs a husband to harness her forwardness. Forgive me, but I perceive plenty of ill-will in the woman, ill-will to all of us.’
Ill will, powdered and poisonous?
Yolande must have bitten her lips on the way in to redden them and if her crimson neckline had been a fingernail lower, the pink of her nipples would have been visible. Richart grimly set aside the dispatches upon his knee and steeled himself against her wiles. Her evil mischief might have been avoided if he had found her a new husband, instead of making her his mistress. Today he needed to blunt her claws so she could do no further harm.
Rushing forward in a froth of skirts, she threw herself down beside his chair of estate, laying her head against his thigh. ‘My dearest lord, I am overjoyed to be with you again.’
‘Alas, your joy will be brief.’
‘Why is that?’ she purred, her eyes narrowing to slits.
He uncurled his fingers so she could see the two halves of the bezoar. ‘I also ask why, Yolande.’ He watched intently as she took the two pieces and examined them with seeming innocence. He had trusted her, been a fool to take her fidelity for granted. Obsession came in many forms.
‘Such workmanship, Richart. I did not know it was hollow. I suppose this powder must turn a different colour if poison is present. Oh no! Is that what happened?’
Still marvelling that she could be so untrue, he rose and went to stare up at his grandfather’s sword. He picked his words carefully before he turned. ‘You know when the Blessed Christ healed the blind beggar, the Holy Gospel says the scales fell from the man’s eyes and suddenly he could see? Well, things are becoming clear to me, too. Arsenic was found in my grandfather’s bedchamber when he lay a-dying. Someone had convinced him that arsenic could make him virile again. Someone young and beautiful whom he desired.’ He raised his eyebrows questioningly and when she did not answer, he continued, ‘But why seek to poison me, Yolande? I have given you jewels and fine clothes, allowed you the income from your estates. Was that not enough?’
The distraction of a wisp of grass on her skirt lent her time to rally a defence. ‘I have no notion what you mean, my lord.’ The well-lashed gaze rose, beautiful, reproachful. ‘What’s more, I find these unkind accusations so unlike you. This unicorn stone was a gift to safeguard you and well intended, but … believing those who love you intend your death may be evidence of an unhealthy mind and that concerns me.’
Richart almost laughed aloud. ‘Strange, that. It concerns me mightily.’
Her breast rose with a sigh. ‘I pray you, my dear lord, send for a new physician. It is already common gossip that you are not yourself.’
‘Nor am I meant to be, with arsenic working its foul sorcery. I ask you again—why, Yolande?’
‘There is no why.’ Like a fond wet nurse, she shook her head at him indulgently.
‘For the love of Heaven,’ he growled. ‘How have I deserved your treason! What would content you, domna, when all these worldly goods have failed to please you?’
She shrugged, her smile playful. ‘It’s true I did want to be your comtesse, Richart.’
Did?
‘And now?’
She rose to her feet with a pretty frown. ‘You’ve changed. You are spent. Whoosh.’ A derisive, carnal gesture. ‘Try and send me away, my lord. See what happens.’
Stroking a hand across his chin, he stared at her, feeling more perplexed than angry at such further insult. If this was a confession at last, then how in Hell was she so confident of his forgiveness?
‘Be glad I am not asking you to take the potions you intended for me, my lady. I want you out of Mirascon within the hour. Return to your estates at Pont-sur-Tarn and never come again within my sight.’
‘Or?’
‘Or you’ll be taken to a convent under escort. Now get out! I have a meeting of my council to attend.’
She made obeisance and backed towards the door where she curtsied again with a smile that would have graced Medusa. ‘I did warn you, my lord. Un, dos, tres!’
With a great shriek, she ran into the great hall. Her hysterical sobs could have panicked villagers beyond the walls. Richart did not realise his error in hastening after her and ordering his servants to restrain her. Nor did he see his uncle and several of the town consuls watching from the other end of the great hall.
‘Your master is mad,’ Yolande screamed, edging along the wall, crossing herself, feigning terror as Richart came towards her. ‘Send for his kinsmen, for the love of Christ! He thinks I tried to poison him. I, who love him with all my heart.’
And then there were a dozen of his guard rushing at him, not her. His dagger was snatched from his belt and his arms were gripped and forced behind his back.
‘The council chamber, now!’ rapped out Seguinus, and Richart, cursing loudly, was hauled along the passageway of his own castle, leaving Yolande surrounded by sympathetic servants.
‘What in Hell are you at?’ he shouted, struggling to free himself. It took four of his own men to force him onto his seat at the head of the board. ‘No, you don’t understand,’ he exclaimed, shocked that they were binding him to the back of the chair, tethering his arms to his sides. ‘They’re trying to poison me.’
‘This is for your own good, nephew,’ Seguinus exclaimed, false pity saddening his eyes. ‘We’ll see what your councillors have to say, shall we?’
Richart writhed, almost overturning the heavy chair in his furious attempt to free himself. ‘You are in this with Yolande, trying to poison me, you bloody Judas! What have you promised the stupid woman, marriage with Jaufré?’
‘With your heir? What an absurd suggestion, my lord. But you clearly dangled some hope in front of her.’ He turned to two of the soldiers. ‘Fetch Sir Jaufré.’
‘But he’s a prisoner, my lord.’
‘While the vicomte is incapacitated, I give the orders. Do it!’
‘Don’t listen to him! I am not incapacitated!’ Richart yelled. Oh, God, he had walked blindly into a massive spider’s web of conspiracy. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
‘Ah, gentlemen, you arrive in good time.’ Seguinus spread his hands in welcome. ‘Take your seats, please.’
Richart watched in disbelief as his chamberlain, steward and the ten consuls representing the city took their places without the usual banter and greetings. He was appalled by the shocked stares. Some not so shocked either.
‘Unbind me, Uncle!’ he said with skin-deep calm. ‘There is nothing wrong with my wits.’
‘We will come to that, nephew.’ An avuncular pat on the arm.
Henri and Tibaut were the last to arrive. Richart read the disappointment souring his cousin’s face. That boded ill. And if his uncle had somehow hobbled Henri, he must ensure the old man was not harmed. The instant his uncle finished the prayer that began the meeting, he grabbed the reins.
‘Good morrow, my lords and gentlemen,’ he cut in dryly, as though his roped status was of no consequence. ‘Shall we begin our busin
ess. First on the agendum is the matter of repairing the base of the city’s north wall, between Saint-Severin’s Tower and North Gate. Castellan, perhaps you would care to comment?’
If Henri perceived the irony, he showed no indication. ‘Indeed, you are correct, my lord Vicomte. The wall—’
‘Wall! Tarradiddle!’ exclaimed Seguinus. ‘You may seek to mock us, nephew, but we shall not be distracted. Your health and wellbeing are of paramount concern to us this morning.’
‘I mock no one, Uncle. I have no understanding of why you have placed me under restraint unless …’ he fixed a bitter gaze upon Seguinus, ‘you are conspiring to undermine my rule. Messieurs, do I appear short of my wits? No, I do not think so.’ Instead of meeting his direct stare, the councillors, save for Henri and his chamberlain, found the boards of the long table to be fascinating.
‘My lord,’ Henri urged, a warning in his eyes, ‘perhaps if you were to answer the charges brought against you, then we may judge the matter fairly and, most likely, in your interest.’
‘Charges? Oh, you have been busy, Uncle. Very well then, let us hear your accusations.’
‘Observations, nephew,’ corrected Seguinus. ‘Ah, here is Sir Jaufré come to join us.’ He looked down the board of faces. ‘Now to continue. Since Lord Richart’s return from England, many of us in this chamber have observed a difference in his behaviour. It is as if he brought a demon back within him, one that is wrecking his judgement, not just in his dealings with his family and intimates but in his decisions concerning the welfare and future of his people.’
‘You mean I refuse to do as you advise and drive out the heretics in our midst!’ Richart sneered.
Seguinus’s fingers flicked the air dismissively. ‘No, I am speaking of your unreasonable fear that you are being poisoned. Today your accusation was made against an innocent young woman. Well, do you deny it?’
‘I deny her innocence.’ The damned whore!
‘You mean you have had carnal knowledge of the widow Yolande, who was formerly your grandsire’s ward. It is common knowledge you used her for your pleasure.’ A mutter of disapproval.
‘Not before she was married.’
‘You admit to adultery?’
‘O, Jesu, you twist every word, Uncle. This is like having a conversation with the Devil.’
‘Ah, you are familiar with such conversations?’
Richart took a deep breath. ‘What is it you want? That I abdicate my authority so you can wear my treasonous brother on your hand as a glove?’
‘I speak more sense than you do,’ Jaufré retorted. ‘Masters, I propose that my brother take some time of ease for a few weeks until he is himself again. The news of his bride’s sudden death has overturned an already burdened mind.’
Richart shook his head. ‘What great lord is not weighed down by the cares of his people, especially when we could be at war in a matter of weeks?’
‘War can be avoided,’ asserted Seguinus, ‘if you would follow your overlord’s example and join the crusade.’
‘Crusade! Against half my own people.’
A few of the consuls nodded, but one of the younger men leaned forward. ‘If Sir Jaufré’s suggestion is agreed to, who is to rule Mirascon in the interim until my lord is restored?’
‘Oh, I think Sir Jaufré and I can manage that with your help, good sirs,’ exclaimed Seguinus.
‘Oh, I’ll warrant you can,’ snarled Richart. ‘Who else brings charges against me or is it just my uncle and my heir who desire me to be disempowered? Henri, cousin, will either of you speak up on my behalf?’
Tibaut wrinkled his nose. ‘I consider Sir Jaufré’s advice very reasonable, my lord. I do regret to say this, but you have been like a man possessed ever since you saw the serving wench, Adela, jump from the battlements at King John’s castle in Corfe.’ He let the ripple of curiosity run through the company before he added, ‘Perhaps my lord cousin acquired some disease of the mind in England or he was bewitched. Masters, even after her death, he saw this servant girl everywhere! In the Bordeaux marketplace and—’
‘But she was in Bordeaux.’
Tibaut predictably ignored the interruption. ‘Then he saw her in a drawn likeness of Lady Alys. He even saw her in Lady Alys herself.’
‘For Heaven’s sake, cousin, she was Lady Alys! I mean she was pretending to be Alys.’
Seguinus pounced. ‘But, my lord nephew, if you believed that this creature was a pretender and possessed by an evil spirit, why did you still desire to be handfasted with her?’
‘Aye,’ agreed Jaufré, ‘is that the decision of a sane ruler?’
Richart drew a deep breath. ‘Nom de ciel! There was no demon in her. She was an intelligent, gracious woman even if she was a servant. And, cousin, be not so swift to accuse me of stupidity when it was you who introduced her to the city as Lady Alys. We were all taken in by her. It was only Père Arbert, on the eve of the wedding, who informed me who she really was and when I straightway confronted her, she confessed to it.’
As the consuls began to exclaim, Jaufré cut through the hubbub. ‘See, another example of his delusion. Masters, I admit I did believe the witness Herliva at first, but common sense made me later see that her accusations were born out of spite and hatred. Surely no one here would argue that Alys was not a true lady—her wit and learning, her manners and nobility of nature. We all admired her greatly and regret her passing.’ Lifting a hand, Jaufré devoutly crossed himself.
Richart stared at him in disbelief. The lie was enormous even for Jaufré.
‘Summon Chaplain Arbert,’ he commanded, manifesting a calm that argued with the growing horror in his gut. ‘The good father will tell you that the real Lady Alys was murdered by the outlaws.’
‘If you wish,’ Seguinus offered reasonably, and then his voice dropped to condescension, ‘but I should inform you, gentlemen, that Arbert is old and almost blind.’
‘She—Adela—admitted the deception,’ Richart declared firmly. ‘I should have realised earlier. Every time she tried to tell me, I refused to listen.’
‘You refused?’ Seguinus asked, humouring him with a polite lift of eyebrows.
‘I had no idea she wanted to confess. Heavens, she was a woman. She might have been wanting to talk about her apparel for the wedding. How was I to know? As for being handfasted to her despite her being a pretender, it was because I desired the alliance with England and Gascony at any cost. What, you think me wrong in that as well? Anyway, we shall never know the entire truth since both the women are … dead.’
Dead!
The enormity of the danger he was now in stole his breath like a dagger slicing into his very flesh. Adela, Herliva and now … him. They were all being snipped away like untidy threads. Oh, he had underestimated his uncle.
Merciful Heaven, how much more can they bring against me?
All his behaviour these last months had been noted, every word, every action? All ready to be twisted, distorted in the common hearing. He could feel the telltale sweat beading on his forehead, see Seguinus observing him with an inquisitor’s rapture. And Tib, who should have been his greatest ally, was stacking the flaming bonfire. Was he doing it in innocence, the lackwit? Moreover, why was Henri keeping mum? But of course! Jaufré had been spreading the word that the old man was incompetent and these numbskulls were beginning to believe it. God help him! Had he no friends at this table?
‘Does the council mind if I finish my remarks on this matter?’ his cousin was asking huffily in the uncomfortable silence and Richart had to force himself to pay attention. ‘Admit it, my lord cousin, several times you confided to me that you felt you were losing your mind. You even hurled a cross at Lady Alys the third day she was here, believing her to be an evil spirit. We have three witnesses who saw you do so. Is that not true, Castellan?’
Henri nodded grudgingly.
‘And I have their depositions.’ Seguinus set a ringed hand on the papers lying before him. ‘If there was demoniac possess
ion, I pray to Our Heavenly Father that the curse has been removed from my lord here, and that given time to heal, his mind will clear again.’
‘It-is-clear-now, Uncle!’ Richart looked down the table. ‘Sirs, I agree I have made some errors of judgement—been too trusting of some,’ he added meaningfully, ‘but these concerns have been aired now, so free me and let there be no more said. I will hold no grudges.’
He had to make his councillors see sense. Otherwise, what in Hell were Jaufré and Seguinus going to do with him? Slit his throat in a dungeon? He swallowed painfully, realising that was a very close possibility.
‘I regret there is one further matter.’ Jaufré twisted to face the rest. ‘Instead of ransoming our grandfather’s valuable hostage after the old lord’s death, my brother here lied to us, told us the tower held a lunatic.’
‘Is this about the missing prisoner?’ asked someone.
‘It was a secret matter, messieurs.’ Richart sighed. ‘Anyway, the issue is no longer of importance. I regret to say she escaped on the morning of my wedding, probably with inside help.’ He raised an eyebrow at Jaufré.
The board missed the point; instead, they were humpfing and spluttering with astonishment.
‘She, my lords?’
‘A woman!’
‘The hostage was a woman?’
‘Jeanne, the mercenary Girard d’Athée’s sister,’ Jaufré explained, ‘commonly known as L’Aiguille.’
‘Mon Dieu!’ exclaimed one of the older consuls, dewlaps quivering. ‘We have all heard of her, Sir Jaufré. It was she who permitted the ravishment of the demoiselle your sister. An insult to God, she is! And you held this fiend but did not ransom her, my lord?’ Mostly traders, they were now looking at Richart with moneybags jingling in their heads.
‘She was part of the bargain I made with John Plantagenet.’ A grey truth.
‘But think of the gold that could be paid for her,’ argued one of the merchants.
‘Could have been,’ corrected Seguinus. ‘She escaped due to our seneschal’s negligence.’
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