by Tracey Warr
Upstairs in my white nightgown, made from soft Egyptian cotton, and with a red woollen shawl draped around my shoulders, I lean out of the arched window gasping at the cold beauty of the night. Trees, hillside, everywhere is white with a dusting of snow, and the river is beginning to freeze over. Buildings shimmer with icicles. The cloud is white and so low it almost touches my nose. I shutter the window and turn to the huge bed, piled high with blankets and pillows. I expect the sheets to be freezing but find that they are snug and warm. Bernadette has put a bedpan of hot water in to warm them. I slide the covered pan out, balancing it gingerly with its long handle and set it carefully down on the floor.
In the morning I am ravenous. The Great Hall is full of snoring people and dogs. I go downstairs to the kitchen where a cook places a steaming bowl of porridge in front of me. ‘To feed you and the heir, Lady,’ she says cheerfully.
Back upstairs, the Great Hall is a scene of confusion with servants running about tidying up the mess from last night’s feast. I sit down at the trestle near the fire to catch my breath amidst the commotion and then feel the first pain of my child coming. Bernadette walks me slowly up and down the hall to ease the pains for as long as possible before I must retire to my chamber. She bathes me in scented water and passes frankincense under my nose to provoke sneezing and help with the birth.
Bernadette and I pray to St Margaret of Antioch, who made her own safe passage through the belly of a dragon, as I labour to birth Pons’ heir. I don’t know what is in Bernadette’s head, but I pray that the child will not look like his father. The baby comes quickly and I have a fine new son to add to my nursery, named Guillaume. Bernadette ties the umbilical cord three fingers from his belly to encourage the development of a large penis.
Pons comes to claim his marriage debt a mere three days after I have birthed his heir and takes me so by surprise with his cruelty and violence that I cannot find excuses or a way to deter him. When he leaves me Bernadette finds me weeping. ‘My Lady!’
‘Pons has claimed his marriage debt and I am in pain,’ I wail.
‘I will fetch some healing lily unguent, Lady. His marriage debt!’ she says, her face showing her outrage. ‘He should have waited full forty days before that!’
‘Yes, I know,’ I say feebly, ‘but I could not …’
Bernadette has set up her mattress on the floor in my room and she has ranged Father Benedict and Rostagnus on palettes outside the door, to keep Pons from me. I try to find ways to accept my life as it is and hope that with each attempt I might gain one foot forward. My baby Guillaume is only a month old when I begin to suspect that I am already with child again.
The cooks cater to Pons’ extravagant tastes. Today they serve us a feast of birds: partridges, storks, cranes and larks line up down the table and in the centre there is a peacock, its meat roasted and then presented in its original plumage. Another child rolls in my belly and my stomach churns.
‘Dear wife,’ Pons says to me, ‘I hear that you have been worrying your pretty little head with men’s business. There’s no need of that. You are not a chatelaine in a minor castle now. Here, we have servants and officers doing all that for us.’ As I expected the bishop has been complaining of me.
‘And do you think that all that is rightfully yours finds its way through the filter of their fingers to your coffers?’ I ask him. ‘I am the daughter of a count and the granddaughter of a duke, my Lord. I know my business. If you will allow me I will increase your income.’
A grape is pinched between his fingers on its way to his maw, and is arrested at the moment when his mouth opens. ‘Increase?’
‘Yes,’ I say, confidently. ‘Do you know what your income was at this assembly?’
‘Well, no. Ranulf of Roaix has the tally of course.’
‘A wager my Lord that I can increase your income by 10,000 solidi or more by next Easter Assembly.’ He likes that. ‘And next year all your subject counts and viscounts will attend your assembly.’
‘Now don’t go upsetting anyone. I want no war or strife for that’s expensive you know.’
He has never warred. His court is soft and enfeebled. If it were threatened with military invasion it would fall in no time. ‘I have appointed a new Vicar of Toulouse,’ I say and the table falls silent.
Pons looks bewildered. ‘What? What’s happened to Ranulf? Ranulf of Roaix?’
‘He was dishonest and disloyal.’
Pons begins to shake his head. ‘But Ranulf, he was always …’
‘He has been defrauding you, my Lord, depleting your treasury.’
He gapes at me, very concerned at that, and the sight of his jangled brown teeth is not a pleasant one. ‘Depleting?’ he says aghast.
‘Yes,’ I say, although in my memory of that treasure room I can’t see any cause for concern. ‘I have appointed a new vicar, Arnaldus Maurandis, and I will oversee his work rigorously.’
‘Yes, yes,’ he says, stroking my cheek and hair, and then allowing the back of his hand to graze my breast. ‘I am sure you are handling it all very well, my pretty little wife.’
I am four inches taller than him and certainly a good deal prettier.
‘You are looking very well today, wife. Over your prayers eh? I will visit you tonight,’ he whispers, smirking in my ear.
I decide that this is the moment to tell him I am carrying a second child. He forgets everything else and his face lights up. ‘Do you think it another boy?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘Excellent!’ he says kissing me wetly on the mouth, trying to thrust his tongue between my teeth, his hand pushing high on my thigh. ‘And a man may sleep with his wife to within three months when the birth is due,’ he says.
‘Do you want to ruin this son too, as happened with Majora’s child,’ I ask angrily, and the lewd expectation on his face drops instantly.
‘Aye, aye,’ he says. ‘You must do what you think is right and best for the child.’
The next day I inform him that I have decided to return to Toulouse to wait for the birth as the air suits me better there.
He is angry and argumentative at first. ‘How can the fetid air of the city be better than here, where we are near the sea?’
‘Saint Gilles is full of sick people, carrying disease and malformity,’ I say. I mean the pilgrims who come to the abbey here with their staffs, their bandaged limbs, their weeping sores, to ask Saint Gilles, saint of cripples, to aid them. He looks at me askance but he gives in.
‘I shall miss you, my sweet.’ I suppress the urge to allow my mouth to curl in hatred.
22
Candlemas to Lammas 1041
It is a relief to be back in Toulouse, getting on with the business of government with my vicar. ‘If Pons continues as he is,’ I say to Arnaldus, ‘you can be sure that someone will see his weakness, will take advantage of it. Toulouse is rich, dripping with wealth.’
‘Who would threaten Toulouse? This overlordship you speak of is in name only now, Lady, surely?’ says Arnaldus.
‘No it is not. These counts and viscounts have given their oath to Pons. Who will lead the region if it is threatened by the King of France, or the King of Aragon?’
‘That is hardly likely …’
‘Who?’ I demand.
‘Well not Pons, Domina.’
‘No, not Pons, but we will be prepared to act in the count’s name, to hold the region together if it should ever be necessary. I mean to appoint my man, Piers, to assist you in this.’ He bows and I send for Piers and tell him that I am going to give him an elevated position and responsibility. He draws himself up, smiling broadly. ‘I wish you to take on the role of Marshal of Toulouse and work with Arnaldus Maurandis to ensure that we are ready should the region be threatened by outside forces. You will see that the lines of communication and the promises of service from all the lords in the region who have given us their oaths are in good order. You will ensure that the network of rural lords coming to give us their four
months guard duty is functioning well and that the albergum, the provisioning, is in place when we are on the move. You will train the boys sent here as foster children, for knightly training. There are few at present, but there will be more.’
‘My Lady I will be glad to undertake such a role.’
‘You will give me your oath then Piers. But let us be very clear. Your oath is to me and not to my husband. I want no deceit and no discord. I look for fealty.’
‘I understand my Lady.’
‘And Piers,’ I say in a low voice, close to his ear, ‘if you break your faith to me, if you betray me, I will not forgive you. I will hunt you down and string you up.’ I am looking directly into his eyes, my face close to his.
He nods. ‘I understand this my Lady.’
He pushes his floppy brown hair back from his face, then places his hands together inside mine and says:
‘From this hour forward I, Piers, will be faithful to you Almodis by true faith without deceit as a man should be faithful to his lady to whom he has commended himself by his hands.’ I kiss him on both cheeks, and am glad to see a smile on his face instead of a scowl.
I have invited the local nobility from Saint Jeury, Ambialet, Albi, Cordes-sur-Ciel, Trebas, to send their young sons into my foster care and train in Toulouse with Piers. They learn horsemanship, archery, swordsmanship and codes of conduct, and they learn to be loyal to me. They take care of the horses, clean the stables, polish armour and harness, maintain weapons. Father Benedict tries to teach them their letters and Latin. They are the entourage for my baby son, Guillaume. When they are not training, they wrestle; or I listen to the click of balls in their boule games; or they play hoodman’s blind, staggering blindfold round the courtyard trying to catch one of the others and pass on the hood. It reminds me of my father’s courtyard in Roccamolten. It is a delight to see them here and my Lusignan children: Hugh, Jourdain and Melisende, join in these games and become part of this junior court. It is good to see Piers flourishing in his new role and sporting a fetching pair of scarlet leggings.
This spring the rivers are swollen and the land is waterlogged. The Garonne shifts from green to muddy brown and brims its banks, overflowing into the water meadows where ducks gleefully swim on what once was dry land; and trees are half-drowned, rising straight out of the water; and small islands of land seem merely a precarious crust, like skin on hot milk. The flood waters encroach on many of the houses closest to the river, with water as high as their lintels. They are built for flood though, with their storage areas on the ground floor and the living quarters above. Nevertheless the townspeople are greatly occupied salvaging their wood and other goods usually stored downstairs and helping each other sweep out the thick mud when the waters begin to retreat. The farmers, however, are pleased since the flood is good for the soil. Gradually the land oozes back up from the subsiding waters.
‘Amoravis, the minter, begs an audience with you, Na,’ Rostagnus says.
‘Show him in.’ He is a tall and striking man with pale skin and black hair and beard. ‘I am pleased to see you here Master Minter.’
‘I am come to ask a great kindness of you, Na.’
‘What is it?’
‘We are approaching the Christian Holy Week and there is a tradition here of Striking the Jew in that week.’
‘Yes, I have heard of it.’
‘Last year many Jews were badly injured, Na. I ask you is there an alternative? A tax perhaps?’
‘It will be difficult to enforce.’ I am silent, thinking, and Amoravis stands silent, watching me. ‘A tax of two solidi for each adult Jew in the city, half of which will go to the city’s churches,’ I say, meaning that the other half will go to Pons’ coffers. I will be well on my way to winning my wager with Pons now.
He bows. ‘That is a great kindness from a just Christian lady.’
Lammas is past and my child is due, and Pons has written to say he will return to Toulouse for the birth, so that I will have to deal with him again. I could run. I could go where nobody would find me, not him, not Audebert, no one. I could work as a peasant in a field and live in a small hut built into the side of the mountain. I could hunt my own food, write a book of my life, but I would never see my children or my sister again. I don’t care about clothes and jewels and castles but I would miss my books. I could cope with cold and hunger and work. I am not afraid to sustain myself. My family name would suffer if I deserted Pons: my sisters, my brothers, my mother, would all be shamed. Perhaps my children would suffer more than the loss of their mother, perhaps my sons would be disinherited and no one would offer for my daughter. Yet perhaps to be unwed would be a blessing for her. I cannot seek refuge in a nunnery. It is a good life for some but it would be as a grave to me, a life that isn’t living. I cannot hate the world and its pleasures. I would rather take my chances in the world, be a wandering troubadour …
I cannot run. For my children, I must stay and wear this. The bells call the workers to meals three times a day, striking the hours; they call the monks to prayers, measuring out the day and night in small pieces, and so I must bear one piece at a time.
Abbot Durand in Moissac has written to my husband protesting at my abolition of Striking the Jews in Holy Week, but I have successfully persuaded Pons of the economic advantage to himself.
‘My Lady! Your sister has arrived!’ Bernadette bursts in.
From the window I see Raingarde alighting from her horse and waving up at me. ‘Let’s go and get her!’ I grab Bernadette’s hand and drag her behind me. She is as slow as a slow worm.
‘Take a care Lady. You are full pregnant. Like to drop any minute!’
‘As if I don’t know that, Bernadette, but with my sister here I feel as light as a dandelion head on a summer breeze.’
The sunlight is streaming through the doorway into the courtyard and I am momentarily blinded as we burst out to greet Raingarde. Her blonde head is hard to discern in the brightness, but blinking, I grasp her in an embrace, as best I am able with my cumbersome belly between us.
‘Sister! Welcome!’
She is kissing my face and hands. ‘Almodis! Almodis!’
‘Well now,’ says Bernadette, no doubt embarrassed at our effusions, ‘shall we escort Lady Raingarde to the hall, Lady Almodis?’
I ignore Bernadette and stand holding Raingarde’s hand, looking her up and down. Like me, she is a woman now and no longer a girl.
‘Yes,’ I say, at length, ‘come in Raingarde and be comfortable.’ I tuck her hand into my arm and lead her in, blanking out the noise of Bernadette supervising the baggage and Raingarde’s entourage behind me. ‘We’ve got your own chamber all ready for you.’
‘My own chamber?’ she glances around before we go in. ‘Chateau Narbonnais is so huge Almodis!’
‘It is!’ I laugh. ‘Massive!’
Raingarde has been with me three days and is settled with her maid, Carlotta. I wish she could stay here forever but she will want to go home to her husband as soon as I am recovered from the birth. I thought to have her here as protection from Pons too. Two days ride away is nothing. I will ride to see her in Carcassonne often. I smooth my dress over the great round of my stomach, hoping that my child will stay in there for a while, that I might have more of Raingarde for myself.
23
Bernadette: My Lady’s Ideas
My Lady has established her household in Chateau Narbonnais here in Toulouse and keeps Count Pons in Saint Gilles as much as she can. He does not like to travel: bum-shaking he calls it, whereas my Lady looks like she was born in the saddle and would happily live there. Worst luck, he’s back with us again now, but while she is carrying his child the count does everything he can to appease her.
Me and Carlotta are waiting at table and in between the courses I’m having a chat with the buttery servants. ‘Old Pons is ogling Lady Raingarde good and proper at the high table!’ I say.
‘Likes the look of two of ‘em does ‘e the dirty bugger?’
‘He keeps looking back and forth between them and poor Lady Raingarde is red as a poppy but too polite to pass comment. Not so, my own Lady though! Bless her.’
‘What did she say then?’
I let them wait a moment to milk the drama and then I feign her voice and manner as best I might, with my little finger cocked out from the stem of a glass and my nose right in the air. ‘“Are you suffering from an infliction, husband!” she says, after her stares and tuts have not sufficed to stop him roving his eyeballs all over her sister. “Yes, we are identical twins! Yes, we look alike! Yes Raingarde is beautiful! Is there something you would like to say?”’ I drop my act and grin at them.
I couldn’t speak a word of Occitan when I first arrived here, but Almodis has taught me and I’ve got the hang of it so well, I’ll like as not be forgetting my own tongue. At Hugh’s court there was a mix of Occitan and Langue d’Oil spoken depending on who was visiting or who you were speaking with, but here it’s only the Occitan and Almodis always uses only that with her children.
‘Oooh, bless me, what did his lordship say to that? She doesn’t mince her words, your Lady does she?’ says the buttery maid.
‘He just smirked and lowered his eyes, but not for long before he was back at it. They made some small talk and he asked after Lady Raingarde’s husband and mother-in-law, some such, you know how they do.’
‘In you go now with the next course Bernadette,’ Gilbert prods me. ‘Do you want them going hungry while you gossip?’