Chatelaine of Forez

by Vijaya Schartz

  Bouchard appreciated such dedication. Of course the splendid man had been in his service since he was an altar boy... and would forever be grateful for the rewards of holding such a high office in his household.

  Smiling at the man in black, Bouchard remembered delightful times, when his body was juvenile. "Do it not for my sake, son, but for the sake of Holy Mother Church."

  "Of course, Your Grace." The man's thick lashes fanned his striking blue eyes.

  Bouchard cleared his throat. "By intent, it does not include an official seal authenticating its provenance."

  "I understand, Your Grace." The man folded the parchment and inserted it inside his tunic, under the black leather jerkin. "Lord Damas of Couzan knows me as your entrusted right hand man."

  Indeed." The power hungry baron could not possibly refuse Bouchard's offer. Not this time. "I count on you to make him accept my demands. You may negotiate as you see fit. You know where I stand on these matters." Bouchard paused for emphasis. "I count on you to get the intended results."

  "Of course." The dark brow lifted slightly. "Is there any other matter, Your Grace?"

  "Aye." Bouchard tssked. "‘Tis about Lord Artaud's Pagan paramour... Lady Melusine. They are now betrothed, and they may already have lain together... but she cannot be allowed to marry him... or bear him an heir."

  The blue eyes narrowed. "How do you wish me to proceed, Your Grace?"

  "We cannot run the risk of letting her live. Whether Damas of Couzan succeeds or fails, she must be eliminated." Bouchard pursed his lips. "But beware. I hear she is shifty, and as a Pagan, I suspect she might be in league with dark, evil forces."

  The man in black flashed a wolfish grin. "I do not fear evil, Your Grace."

  * * *

  Couzan's unfinished castle, a few days later - July 1029

  Standing in his sparsely furnished chamber, high in the keep in his castle of Couzan, Damas caressed his cropped beard as he considered the archbishop's messenger. He'd met the handsome man in black before, and felt uncomfortable around him. Not only did he always bring challenging demands from His Grace in Lyon, but he reeked of spices and bristled with weapons. He also had the lean musculature, the calm demeanor, and the quick reflexes of a well trained slayer of men.

  Of course, the fact that the entire household, including his wife and daughter, ogled the attractive messenger like a slice of honeyed cake, infuriated Damas even further.

  Brandishing the unopened missive like a weapon, he shooed the women out of the chamber. "Out with all of you. Don't you have work to do?"

  His wife left last, winking at Damas over her shoulder as she closed the door. Of course, she would want him to invite the handsome man into their bedchamber. She had no idea how dangerous that might be.

  Damas indicated a stark, wooden chair for the messenger. The man sat and crossed his high-booted legs with refined elegance.

  Feverishly, Damas ripped open the folded parchment and stepped closer to the window for light. He took a deep breath as he unfolded the missive then read:

  Dear friend of Holy Mother Church

  It came to our attention that a certain Pagan lord is abusing his power to prevent the building of churches and monasteries in Forez. This dire situation cannot be tolerated any longer. Whoever would defeat this heathen ruler in battle would be richly rewarded, and all his sins pardoned. Furthermore, with the full recommendation of the Church, our loyal Christian barons would promptly elect this blessed liberator to become the next overlord of Forez.

  Damas grunted. He'd heard reports of the incident in Lyon. "Being abducted and forced to sign away his lands did not sit well with the archbishop."

  "You know of it?" The messenger flashed a lopsided grin.

  "I have my sources." Damas cared naught about the pardon of his sins. His faith always slanted toward the mightiest political power. It had once been Artaud's father, then Artaud. As Christianity spread, however, the support of the clergy could go a long way to insure his election as the new Count of Forez... after he defeated and eliminated Artaud.

  This was his opportunity. Damas had enough of operating under his overlord's thumb. Especially since Artaud had recently posted guards at the entrance of all his gold mines, including the abandoned ones. Although he had accumulated much gold, Damas needed more. If he knew who had ratted about pilfering the mines, he would hack off his head with one stroke of his broadsword.

  Something about the missive, however, bothered Damas. He turned to the messenger. "Are you aware of the details of this arrangement?"

  The man nodded. "Aye. And I have full powers to speak for His Grace."

  "Why a battle? Why not just kill Artaud in his sleep?" To Damas, it seemed easier. "It wouldn't cost as much in gold or in men."

  The messenger smirked. "His Grace wants you to demonstrate your might, and show Lord Artaud as unable to protect his people. An assassination would only make him a martyr."

  That made sense. Still. "Once I remove Artaud, what prevents the archbishop from getting himself elected to the title of Count?" Damas had known Bouchard a long time. The weasel coveted the lands and the gold of Forez. "Renaud of Burgundy could certainly influence the Christian barons to elect his bastard brother to the title."

  The messenger inclined his head and chuckled. "His Grace is getting too old for such a charge, my lord. The new feudal states need a capable knight to rule and protect them... a fierce warrior like you, Lord Damas."

  "I see." His mind made up, Damas grinned at the messenger. If Bouchard double-crossed him, he would quietly get rid of the archbishop. "Tell His Grace that I will gladly grant his wishes. And I shall count upon him to keep his promises... when the time comes to elect a new count."

  The messenger rose in a fluid motion. "I shall relay your acceptance of this arrangement, my lord. His Grace will be pleased."

  "Damas of Couzan, Count of Forez." Damas shook his head with satisfaction. "Methinks it has a nice ring."

  The messenger saluted gracefully. Damas watched the tall man in black turn on his heel and leave the room with crisp steps. His spicy scent lingered after him.

  Then something in the pit of his stomach told Damas this proposition might not turn out to his advantage. Archbishop Bouchard was old but crafty... and greedy beyond imagining.

  * * *

  Alone on the trail cutting through the forest, Melusine kicked her heels to the white mare. She couldn't visualize anyone, but she could swear someone followed her. A protecting hand flew to her flat belly. She didn't want anything to happen to her tiny unborn sons. For the first time since she'd met Artaud, she did not feel safe. Someone lurked in the thick woods behind her.

  At a turn in the trail, she quickly wove a glamour of invisibility to envelop herself and her mare. Then she left the trail and hid among the tall oaks, calming her mare with a soothing thought and a pat on the neck. She watched the path, waiting for her shadow.

  A slim man in black leather, riding a black destrier, came to a stop at the very spot where she had left the trail. He dismounted and crouched to study her tracks on the humus of the forest floor. With a quick stab of her mind, Melusine wove a glamour over the hoof prints, erasing them from human sight.

  The man rose slowly and sniffed the warm summer air. Could he smell her over the sweet scent of wild flowers? Could he smell the mare? Not likely, as the man himself emitted a strong, spicy fragrance.

  Who was he? Many sharp blades hung from his belt and studded the diagonal strap of his baldric. A malevolent aura surrounded him. She recognized his sinister intent in the set of his jaw, in the alertness of his slender frame. A hunter of men... a trained assassin, sent to kill her?

  A shiver skittered across the skin of her back despite the sultry day. She focused on the man's mind to find out who had sent him. She drew a blank. He seemed shielded from her probing. Did he have some Fae blood? May the Great One protect her from such a dangerous foe.

  He stared right through her. Although he could not see he
r, he seemed to sense her presence. "You cannot escape me, Lady Melusine."

  His nefarious grin chilled her. He pulled a short blade from his baldric strap and threw it in Melusine's direction. She ducked. The knife thudded into the tree trunk at her side. Heart pounding, she controlled the mare and held her breath.

  "This is a warning. I will be waiting for you, whenever and wherever you show yourself next. I am a patient man, and I never miss, nor fail." The assassin emitted a ghastly chuckle, vaulted upon his black destrier, then galloped away.

  Melusine waited some time after he'd disappeared ahead, then she resumed her sedate ride, but she remained invisible. Who had sent an assassin to kill her? She had many enemies since her betrothal to Artaud, most of them thwarted brides and their staunch Christian fathers... most of them with enough coins to hire such a horrible man.

  She'd better remain behind castle walls until Artaud's return, in a few days.

  * * *

  Montarcher castle, a few days later - July 1029

  Artaud rode into the castle of Montarcher, happy to be home from his fruitful campaign in Lyon. Armies moved slowly, and he could not wait to see his beloved again.

  Lads and servants ran out of the buildings toward their master and his knights and cheered. Artaud waved at them. The news of his victory had preceded him.

  Artaud spotted Melusine near the stables. She fidgeted from foot to foot. No smile adorned her lovely face.

  He halted his stallion next to her. "‘Tis good to see you."

  She barely smiled as her hand came to rest on the fold of his high leather boot. "Damas has erected his fortress in your absence."

  "What?" Artaud didn't expect Damas to be so efficient and prompt. He dismounted and handed his stallion to a stable boy.

  "He is gathering an army in Couzan." Melusine sounded out of breath.

  "Truly?" Artaud motioned to Ida still on her mount behind him. "Tell the men to make camp in the outer bailey."

  Ida smiled and waved at Melusine, then turned her mount away and trotted toward the soldiers awaiting orders outside the main gate.

  Artaud embraced Melusine and kissed the top of her head. Her hair always smelled so good.

  "We must talk, but not here." He led her by the hand toward the keep.

  Melusine trailed behind him as they crossed the bailey. He shortened his stride to match hers.

  "I saw it with my own eyes," she said, out of breath. "About ten days ago. Damas has almost a thousand men there."

  "A thousand men constitutes a powerful army." The betrayal stabbed Artaud worse than he expected. "Stealing gold is one thing, but attacking Montarcher is another matter. What can Damas possibly expect from such a confrontation?"

  "I'd say he fancies himself as the next ruler of Forez."

  "Ridiculous." Things had gone too smoothly in Lyon. Artaud should have hurried his return. "I am the rightful Count of Forez. Even Bouchard now recognizes my sovereignty."

  "Aye. On parchment." She followed him inside the keep and up the winding stairs. "But we both know this agreement was coerced. It does not change the way the archbishop feels about you."

  "True enough." Artaud reached the landing and pushed open the door to their private chamber, a little harder than necessary. The door banged against the wall tapestry inside.

  Melusine entered behind him and closed the door gently.

  Artaud dropped into his favorite chair by the cold fireplace, and held his head in his hands. "Do you think Bouchard is plotting with him? Damas is Christian after all."

  Melusine shrugged. "Damas leans wherever there is most to gain. I wouldn't be surprised if Bouchard promised him your title and your gold."

  "A pity. He will never have either." Artaud straightened in his chair and patted Caliburn for reassurance. Armed with the magic sword, he could survive any assault.

  Melusine lowered her gaze and bit her lips. "Another thing happened while you were away."

  "You seem troubled." Artaud rose, went to her, and encircled her waist, still slim despite her condition. "What is it?"

  She avoided his gaze and laid her head on his chest. "I met an assassin in the woods."

  "An assassin?" The blood drained out of Artaud's heart. He tightened his hold around her waist. He could not stand the thought of losing Melusine... especially when she carried his future sons.

  "The man could not see through my spell, but he must have some Fae blood, because he could sense my presence." She hesitated. "He challenged me and told me he would not rest until he killed me."

  The blood throbbed at Artaud's temples. "What did he look like?"

  "A spry young man, all dressed in rich black, with a charming but malevolent grin, baby blue eyes, and a spicy fragrance."

  "By Jupiter's balls! I will tell the sentries to be on the lookout." The very thought of Melusine in mortal danger turned his stomach. Fae folks were not immune to murder. "Perhaps you should carry Caliburn until the danger is past."

  "Nay." Melusine raised her river gray gaze to his and smiled sweetly. "You need it to defeat Damas if he comes ramming at the barbican."

  She was right, of course. He took her hand and led her to the bed. "I hate waiting until he attacks."

  "Won't you attack him first?" Melusine the strategist had returned. She eased herself next to him on the bed. "Before he gets too strong?"

  "I wish I could, but I am not prepared to raid his new castle." Damn the treacherous Damas. "Besides, it would be perceived as a deliberate act of aggression on my part."

  "You fear it would gain him support among the Christian barons?"

  Artaud nodded. "Until Damas attacks Montarcher, I must behave as if he is still my loyal commander."

  "But you know better. He stole your gold. He planned in secret, built his castle in your absence. ‘Tis blatant he plots against you."

  He squeezed her hand. "That is why we shall gather our forces, and discreetly prepare for a siege. Montarcher is strong. We defeated the archbishop and his Burgundy soldiers, we can defeat Damas the traitor."

  She bit her rosy lips. "He may already have the support of other Christian barons."

  "It matters not. I believe in the strength of our castles." Artaud grinned at her. "Some wise woman once told me that a strong fortress, manned by warriors with a noble heart, is the surest guarantee of victory."

  Melusine flashed a timid smile. No doubt she'd recognized her own words. "Yes, it is, my lord."

  "Then let's prepare for what we know is coming."

  * * *

  Montarcher - August 1029

  Artaud scanned the tree line from the rampart with confidence. Damas had finally gathered his men in the woods around Montarcher. Ida, in full armor, stood at his side on the walls. He was glad for the well trained army from his march upon Lyon, and hundreds of soldiers from his secondary castles.

  Soon, the first wave of enemy foot soldiers stepped out of the forest and within arrow range at the bottom of the hill. Artaud gave the signal. His archers launched uninterrupted volleys that whistled through the air like small demons, decimating the unfurling wave of running men.

  Cheers rose on the ramparts.

  "Let fly again!" Artaud yelled over the cheers.

  More arrows flew. The enemy cries, too far to be heard, dissipated into the summer breeze.

  Still, the enemy advanced, but their raised shields, heavy and awkward from bristling arrows, didn't stop the slaughter. A third of the initial wave reached the foot of the outer wall.

  Artaud raised his arm and let it fall quickly. "Drop the fire!"

  Flaming oil and hot lead cast from the spaces between the merlons, splashed and burned enemy troops below. Set ablaze, human torches screamed and ran blindly, tumbling down the hill, setting the dry summer grass on fire. The smell of seared skin and smoke filled the air.

  In the distance, a second wave of foot soldiers emerged from the woods. Artaud's archers let fly again.

  "Watch out!" Ida yelled. "Ladders!"


  Already, a few enemy propped tall ladders against the wall.

  "Get the poles." Artaud nodded to Ida. "Throw the stones!"

  Well aimed projectiles bombarded these unlucky footmen from above. Those who climbed the few standing ladders met with repelling forked poles. Most attackers tumbled to their death from great heights, screaming all the way down, until the impact silenced their scream.

  The second wave of foot soldiers suffered a similar fate, as a third wave launched itself from the tree line, again met with a whistling cloud of arrows.

  By now, ladders led enemy soldiers onto the top of the rampart. Artaud unsheathed Caliburn and rushed to push them back over the parapet between merlons. Ida joined the fray, pushing, shoving, piercing armor, and killing like a true knight.

  In the summer heat, the stench of sweat and blood, the war cries, and the screams of the wounded filled the warm summer air. Cries from above made Artaud glance up. Large griffon vultures circled overhead, waiting for the battle to end, so they could feast on the corpses below.

  The fourth wave of enemy soldiers proved unsuccessful. Then the enemy deployed a ram.

  "To the barbican!" Artaud shouted.

  Damas must have expected a quick breach, but the barbican held with many defenders. The ram was useless until the portcullis rose.

  Ida pointed in the distance to a cloud of dust. "Look!"

  Damas led a mounted charge with his knights across the battlefield.

  Finally, a worthwhile confrontation. "To the stables!"

  Artaud and Ida rushed down the stairs to the outer bailey, followed by many knights. A lad brought his black stallion. Artaud vaulted in the saddle. Ida and the other knights mounted as well.

  "Open the gate!" Artaud ordered, brandishing Caliburn straight to the sky. "And close it as soon as we are all outside."

  When the gate opened with a grating of wood, and the portcullis rose in a clang of metal and chains, Artaud galloped out at the head of his knights, Ida at his side. They trampled in their wake the enemy soldiers manning the ram. He glanced back to see the gate closing behind his riders, making sure no enemy had crossed the gate.