Almodis

by Tracey Warr

  Servants are carrying supplies down to the boat which is large with a flat bottom as the river is shallow in parts, and it is named Hearth Bound. It has a big, yellow sail with the badge of Toulouse on it and at the prow of the boat is a bare-breasted woman with fish in her tangled hair, which Raymond and Hugh are giggling at together.

  Eventually everything is loaded and we step onto the boat. We wave to Melisende and Bernadette until they are out of sight. As we journey up river I watch the steep sides of the valley give way to fields of crops growing close to the water and the occasional village where people stop to wave their hats as we glide past.

  I wake the next morning in a nest of blankets on the deck and we are making haste towards Bordeaux. Several times along the way the sailors pull the boat into the bank and we stop to eat and talk of the boys’ future. ‘A squire’s training concentrates on strength, fitness and skill with various weapons,’ I tell the circle of their avid faces. ‘Individual training is only part of it. A knight must also know how to fight as part of a team of horsemen.’ I glance surreptitiously to Jourdain to see if he is showing any signs of misery at being excluded from this military coterie but he is looking happy with his nose in a book.

  The river journey passes without incident and we step off the boat in Bordeaux three days after leaving Toulouse. Piers, who leads my escort, sends some of the soldiers to search for horses and provisions. We spend the night in the guest house of the abbey where Dia and I share a bed and the boys sleep on palettes on the floor.

  After the first day’s riding, we camp in the forest and the soldiers build a fire and teach the boys drinking songs. There are two men on watch throughout the night. I wake briefly when the soldier next to me is shaken awake to take over the guard. There is a full moon overhead so I can see the sleeping forms of my companions huddled around the fire, and the horses snorting cold breath through their nostrils at the edge of the camp. I see the two soldiers on guard exchanging words and mugs of hot ale and the two who have just finished their watch squirming and hunkering down into their cloaks to sleep as best they can on the hard ground. I hear an owl calling repeatedly and the occasional crack of twigs and branches. Little creatures scurry in the undergrowth.

  Late the following afternoon we ride into the town of Saintes and find an inn. The soldiers are obliged to sleep in the stables with the horses, but they seem happy to have a night of drinking, playing dice, singing songs and no doubt kissing the serving wenches. Next morning we are up early and heading for Niort. ‘After that,’ we will be within spitting distance of Lusignan,’ says Piers, and my heart tumbles at the name.

  At Niort we are the guests of the lord and lady. They offer us food and wine in front of the fire and then warm and comfortable beds without bedbugs. Hugh is itching all over from the inn beds and has little red spots up and down his arms, round his ankles and in his hair.

  ‘Try rubbing this liniment in,’ Dia tells him, producing a small, round tin from her pocket filled with an oily, bad-smelling cream. Hugh rubs it all over his lice bites and then we all have to move some distance from him and his stench.

  ‘If you get any more bites,’ says Jourdain, ‘they will join up and you will just be one gigantic smelly red lump.’

  In the morning, Piers tells us to saddle up for the last leg of the journey. Three hours riding through forest and we will reach Lusignan.

  The castle rears up ahead of us: that once familiar sight of pale turrets and walls surrounded by vineyards. I had thought never to see this place or its lord again. I remember that day when I was repudiated and birthed Melisende all in a moment, and that terrible parting from Hugh and going to a new husband I knew I would not like. Yet my worst imaginings did not do Pons justice. I do not want to see Hugh again. The wounds will reopen and I will find Pons all the harder to bear but I had to come for my boys’ sake. We rein horse to look at the view. ‘Your new home, Jourdain, the Priory, is close to the castle walls, and one day, Hugh, you will rule this land that we are riding through.’ I spur my horse forward again, steeling myself for this meeting. At least Audearde is gone now, cold in her grave that she rehearsed for all her life.

  The gates creak open and we ride through. There is bustle in the courtyard, maids craning their heads from windows or setting down pails to stop and stare at us. This courtyard is so familiar to me and its memories rush at me. It was here that I greeted Geoffrey and Agnes when they came to claim our fealty, here that my brother and Hugh had to carry me in labour, after my repudiation. And here he is, his hair a little streaked with grey but it suits him, still Hugh the Fair. He looks pleased to see me and overjoyed to see his sons. He greets Dia warmly and is friendly to Guillaume and Raymond too. What a good father he would have made. Why could he not have been a good husband? I had imagined, distant from him, that perhaps my earlier feelings were just the romantic moonings of an adolescent girl, but I have to take this idea back, now that I confront him as a woman, seven years on, and my eyes still hanker to linger on him. I reflect that perhaps I was lucky after all that our marriage had difficulties, for I know that Audebert would have pressured me to take Pons even if I had been happily married to Hugh. How much harder it would have been to be forced to leave him if my love had been returned and I were a happy wife.

  Our son Hugh will inherit Lusignan and he needs to know the twists and turns of alliances and enmities hereabouts, to live and breathe them. The southern air of Toulouse politics would be of little use to him. Hugh is a handful. He has my temper, not his father’s, my determination, my pride. He will make a fine ruler. His nickname is already Hugh the Devilish, not Hugh the Pious like his father or Hugh the Brown or even Hugh the Loving, like his ancestors! Ah well, if he is devilish it is from me and it will serve him and he will serve Lusignan with his temperament. He will do things, I think, looking admiringly at him as he struts around the new household like a king.

  Times are changing with regard to the succession in families. In times gone by a division of rights and properties was made between all children, including daughters, and it was only the title that was handed down to the first-born son if there was one, and if not to the first-born daughter. Now, more and more, because of the weakening of holdings that these divisions have caused, everything is focussed on the first-born son and second sons, like Jourdain, usually go to the church or at least do not wed in order to keep all the family’s rights concentrated on the one strong lord.

  My former husband asks after Melisende and I describe her beauty and gentle character to him. ‘We might look about us for a lord in this neighbourhood for her betrothal,’ I say, and he begins to think about that. I glimpse for a moment a vision of he and I growing old together, just here in Lusignan, taking care of our children and our grandchildren.

  When the children have gone to bed he pours us one more glass of wine, takes my hand and kisses it, and I feel the rapid burn of desire that I thought never to feel again. ‘In time to come no one will remember my time as Lord of Lusignan,’ he says, ‘except in that I married you and you have given me such fine children.’ I look into his black eyes. If he asked me to bed now I would go with him, but, of course, he does not.

  The following morning we prepare to take Jourdain to the priory. With my four sons assembled, I give Jourdain a beautiful psalter. The room feels crowded and cosy as the boys bend their blond heads close together to look at the book with its red-leather cover and the gold on the edges of every page. The pages are thick vellum made from calf’s skin and there are exquisite illustrations in gold, blue and red.

  ‘Dia, tell us again about Melusine,’ clamours young Hugh, when a book and sitting still become too boring.

  ‘Melusine became the fairy Queen of the forest of Colombiers in the French region of Poitou.’

  ‘Here!’ says Hugh.

  ‘That’s right. She married Lord Raymond, with one condition: that he would never see her on a Saturday. She built the fortress of Lusignan in a single night. She and Lord Raymond had
ten children, but each child was flawed. Urion had ears like the handles of a vase and one red eye and one blue one.’ The boys giggle. ‘The second child, Odon, had one ear bigger than the other. Guion had one eye higher than the other; Anthony had a lion’s foot on his cheek.’ We all gasp. ‘Regnald,’ Dia continues, ‘had one eye,’ and she screws one eye shut and glowers at us comically out of her other. ‘Geoffrey had a tooth that protruded out more than an inch.’ The boys are snickering at Raymond who is sticking one of his front teeth out at them over his lip.

  ‘Froimond had a mole or tuft of hair on his nose.’

  ‘Not so bad?’ I shrug at them.

  ‘But,’ returns Dia slowly, to increase our suspense, ‘the next child was named Horrible and he had three eyes, one on his forehead; and then there were two more sons Raymond and Theodoryk.’

  ‘Many ugly sons!’ I call out. ‘In spite of the deformities,’ I pick up the story, ‘the children were strong, talented and loved throughout the land. One day, Lord Raymond’s brother visited him and made Raymond very suspicious about the Saturday activities of his wife. So the next Saturday, Lord Raymond sought his wife, finding her in her bath where he spied on her through a crack in the door. He was horrified to see that she had the body and tail of a serpent from her waist down.’

  They are gasping at that and Hugh falls to the floor flapping his legs together like a mermaid. When they have recovered themselves, I go on.

  ‘Lord Raymond accused Melusine of contaminating his line with her serpent nature, thus revealing that he had broken his promise to her. As a result, Melusine turned into a great serpent, circled the castle three times, wailing piteously, and then flew away. She would return at night to visit her children, then vanish. Lord Raymond was never happy again. Melusine appeared at the castle, as a dragon wailing, whenever a Count of Lusignan was about to die or a new one to be born. It was said that the noble line which originated with Melusine will reign until the end of the world. Her children will include the King of Cyprus, the King of Armenia, the King of Bohemia, the Duke of Luxembourg, and the Lord of Lusignan.’

  ‘Have you seen her,’ Raymond asks his eyes looking like two round pennies.

  ‘No, but I’ve heard her. When Melisende was born, I heard her in the moat, swimming around like a giant fish and wailing. She wails because she is exiled from her family forever by her husband’s failure to keep his promise. She mourns that she can no longer take human form and play with her children and grandchildren.’

  ‘Let’s see!’ shouts Hugh, and leads them in a rush out to the black waters of the moat where they try to imagine wailing and the sound of something big swimming in the water.

  ‘Imagine,’ says Dia, ‘you would hear the wailing getting louder and louder as she rounded the walls and then there she would be, right in front of your eyes. Her head above the water is that of the most beautiful lady but behind her you can see the thrashing of two great, green scaly tails. Tears are falling in little waves down her face and her mouth is open in a wail and the moon glints on her sharp teeth.’

  The children hold their breath in horror.

  ‘One of her tails,’ I say, ‘flicks up in the air behind her, and her naked breast and head rear up out of the water close to Hugh’s petrified face.’

  ‘I’m not petrified a bit!’ he objects.

  I smile and continue, ‘Her hair is long, blonde and tangled. She wears a golden crown studded with green jewels. She holds out her arm and hand to Hugh. It is a deathly pale white. It looks like the arm of a dead person.’

  Raymond holds his own very pink and muddy hand and arm out for kissing to Hugh who spurns it.

  ‘The serpent-woman smiles at Hugh,’ I say, ‘and the smile on her small red mouth is frightening too. Hugh takes a stumbling step backwards as Melusine slithers out of the moat and on to the bank. As she touches the land she briefly shimmers into the form of a normal and very beautiful woman, but this lasts only seconds before she returns to the fearsome serpent shape again. Hugh looks into Melusine’s beautiful face and large green eyes. He feels he might drown in those eyes. He tries not to look at her monstrous tails dripping and slimy on the grass. There are worse things in the water than jelly fish, he thinks!’

  ‘You should have written the book, Lady Almodis,’ says Dia. ‘It seems as if you have really met this lady.’

  With my husband, my former husband that is, I take Jourdain to the Priory to be entered as an oblate. Hugh reassures me that he will visit our son often. The chamberlain removes Jourdain’s child’s clothes and dresses him in a linen shirt and a novice habit so that he looks like a comically tiny adult monk. He is presented to the prior and the formula of oblation is read to us and signed by us both. The wafer and chalice of the Mass are put into Jourdain’s hands and then all are wrapped around with the altar cloth so that he and the offering might be received into the church together. The prior blesses his cowl and puts it on his head.

  The boys in the oblate’s school sing in the choir but they do not keep the fasts or the night-time services of the adult monks. When he is fifteen Jourdain will decide whether to become a monk or whether to withhold his consent and re-enter the secular world. He seems to be taking the whole thing very cheerfully. I kiss him goodbye on his forehead. How bitter are these partings but I must not let them see me weep. I may never see him again. I try not to think of that and to hope that I will. The boys will write to me often, at least I know that Jourdain will.

  Outside the priory my boys are waiting for me and I wish goodbye to my former husband.

  ‘I will take good care of Jourdain,’ he tells me again. ‘Good luck in Angers, boys, and write if you need anything.’ He brings his horse close to me and drops his voice, taking my hand. ‘I am glad to have seen you Almodis. I think of you every day and every night, you know.’ There is a lump in my throat and I can’t answer him for too long a time, but eventually I say, ‘I think of you often with affection also my Lord’. Dia, the boys and I turn our horses towards Roccamolten and I do not look back to where my love sits his horse and my little boy wears his cowl.

  In Roccamolten my brother’s wife, Ponce, is to my liking. She manages my brother well since he is not as bright as he should be. The La Marche kin: how grand we all are these days: my brother, the Count of La Marche; I, the Countess of Toulouse; and my sister, the Countess of Carcassonne.

  ‘And two more sisters to wed to Occitan counts,’ says my mother, looking at my younger sisters, Lucia who is thirteen and Agnes who is twelve. Lucia has the same colouring as myself and Raingarde and some similarity of features. You can see that we are related. She is a little shorter in height, has a different mouth and her eyes are brown whilst ours are green. Lucia might make a good marriage, but Agnes is plain and very shy. She busies herself with her baby nieces and nephews and the puppies playing under the table. She seems perhaps fit for the cloister so I am surprised when my mother says, ‘Agnes has taken a foolish fancy to a clodhopper in Charroux.’

  ‘He is not a clodhopper,’ Agnes says through gritted teeth. ‘He is the son of a respectable land-holder.’ She looks at me with appeal but I cannot help her against all these, though I feel for her. Audebert will no doubt marry her to someone she does not like in a year or two.

  Preparing for our homecoming feast, Guillaume and Raymond amuse my mother and brother, vying with each other for the hardest task. ‘I will set the fire,’ says Raymond.

  ‘No I will set the fire. I am the eldest and the heir.’

  ‘I will move the trestles then.’

  Once we are all seated and eating, my mother remarks, ‘So your former husband is still unmarried.’ I do not answer. Since they are neighbours, it is not a question. ‘Odd,’ she goes on. ‘He is still a young man.’ Since this elicits no response from me she opens another topic: ‘Agnes’ daughter has wed the Emperor of Germany. Imagine how pleased she is with that! She intends to move to her daughter’s imperial court you know, now that her son is of age and she must cede th
e Regency of Aquitaine to him.’

  ‘Well it has taken him an extra few years to prise her fingers from the throne of Aquitaine,’ I say.

  ‘Umm,’ my mother seems distracted. ‘I was thinking of doing the same myself,’ she says looking directly at me.

  ‘You are thinking of moving to the Imperial German court?’ I say with mock innocence and Audebert guffaws, spitting meat onto the clean white linen. When he stops choking I turn back to my mother who is looking seriously affronted.

  ‘Well I’m so glad I amuse you both,’ she says, but she is looking at me.

  I cannot have my mother at my court in Toulouse. I need to be nimble in my arrangements to cope with Pons and continue my plans. I am past a mother. I had to get past a mother when I left home a five-year old hostage, but I feel I have been unnecessarily cruel. ‘Have you considered visiting with Raingarde in Carcassonne?’ I ask, trying to mollify her. ‘You should see if the South suits you before making any decisions. Now that Raingarde is with child, she would be glad to have your help. You could bring Lucia and Agnes with you.’ My mother nods but is still looking at me with hostility.

  ‘Lucia, perhaps,’ says Ponce, ‘but I need Agnes here to help with my babies.’ ‘Yes,’ mother says, recovering her poise, ‘I will write to Raingarde and see if a visit from myself and Lucia would suit her.’

  ‘What do you make of this scandal of three popes, Almodis?’ asks my brother, bored now with where women will be and who will look after whose babies.

  I can see that my mother is smarting at my rejection. For the next few days I am as kind as I can find the patience to be, but I see that she will not forgive me for refusing her and I do not care to explain why.