by Tracey Warr
‘Your grandmother acts against you, against family.’
‘Yes, it’s true she does. She incites the rebel lords, Mir Geribert and Besalú, against me.’
‘Why? What will she gain in the end by this?’
‘She wishes to hold onto her own power. She thinks I innovate too much and should continue to defer to her advice. I have not thought so since I was fifteen. Since I saw you in Toulouse in fact and she disagreed so violently with me then, taking me away against my will. Now, of course, I have offended again and proven her view that I am not fit to rule by kidnapping you, causing a great scandal.’
‘Perhaps she has a point,’ I say.
‘Am I not fit to rule with you my glorious queen?’
‘Now you flatter me!’
‘No, I don’t think so. All Occitania sings praise of your government of Toulouse.’
‘All Occitania! Berenger of Narbonne perhaps!’
‘All.’
He is thoughtful for a moment. ‘My grandmother is looking for ways to avoid relinquishing her power. She does not wish to be a dowager countess.’
‘I can sympathise with that.’
‘My father tried, unsuccessfully, to limit her to Girona.’
‘She is a remarkable woman.’
‘Oh certainly. My father died when I was eleven and she took control as my regent, even though my father had wanted the Count of Urgell to act for me. When I came of age I initially allied myself with the rebel lords in an attempt to challenge her. Then those same lords, led by Mir Geribert, rebelled against me; and factions in the city, led by Bishop Guislabert and the Viscount of Barcelona, who is married to my father’s widow, his second wife, also rebelled against me. People went so far as to lob missiles from the clock tower of the cathedral at the comital palace!’
After a pause, I say, ‘The system of the Council of Good Men works well in Toulouse. You could introduce that here. It is a way of acknowledging the leading men of the city rather than allowing them to grumble against you.’
‘Will you organise it?’
‘But you know the leading families, the personalities of people,’ I say in surprise.
‘And you will find it out,’ he replies with certainty.
In every way he has involved me fully in government since I stepped off the ship. All orders and documents are issued in both our names, Conde Ramon and Condessa Almodis de la Marca, as it is in Catalan. I am getting used to this sound and the change in my fortunes.
It will be six months before my household can risk themselves to the sea voyage and they cannot come overland over the mountains in the winter or the spring mire and floods. Father Benedict has asked if he might return to the abbey and I have given him leave. I am very pleased that Rostagnus has asked to come to me. The bishop has given him permission and he will travel with Dia, Lucia, Bernadette, Melisende, Hughie and Adalmoda. Dia writes to me that they are the guests of Berenger and Garsenda in Narbonne who are lavishing affection on my children. Hughie and Adalmoda must be bewildered at my sudden disappearance. My poor babies, they will hardly remember me and will think that Bernadette is their mother. By the time they get here I will have another baby in my arms, Ramon’s child, that will come in March. He asks me about my children.
‘Adalmoda is four and Hughie is five. I have negotiated for him to go to Cluny. We have nicknamed him Hugh the Bishop. Melisende is the child of my first marriage and she is twelve now and betrothed to the son of the Lord of Parthenay.’
‘You can be sure that Garsenda is taking good care of them.’
I am jealous at the loss of six months of Hughie’s time with me. I have so little time with my sons. Ramon suggests that I keep him with me here in Barcelona until he is twelve or thirteen and then send him to Cluny.
‘Dia was my principal trobairitz here,’ he says, ‘before I sent her to you as the gift of my love,’ he kisses my hand. He besieges me with his love and kindness at every opportunity. ‘It will be good to have her back here again.’
I must acquaint myself with Ramon’s court and the political situation. Whilst I ruled in Toulouse, covertly and behind Pons’ back, and in Lusignan because my lord could not, here it is clear that Ramon regards me as his co-lord and that my counsel is of the utmost importance to him. ‘What,’ he jests, ‘did you think I married you for love! Did I risk all the opprobrium that is being heaped on our heads because of your beauty. No, no, it was merely your ability to write, count and organise that appealed you see.’
Despite his jokes, his every word and action breathes his love and yet I cannot allow myself to trust to it.
Ramon has received a letter from Countess Ermessende and passes it to me:
As you well know a marriage of inclination is strongly condemned in Catalonia and it is a miserable situation that you, the Count, should so fail in your duty. This marriage that you have engaged in is no marriage. Your true wife, Lady Blanca, waits for you to return to your senses and turn away from this lunacy. Children born of this outrage will be bastards.
I place my hand on my stomach. Ah good, I think, now I have something to do, something to contest.
The second letter he opens seems to cause him much more concern. ‘It’s from Rome,’ he says, his face serious for once as he looks up and hands it to me. ‘We are excommunicated and our marriage ruled illicit.’
I scan the document. This will undermine his authority.
‘The church should stay out of the business of lords,’ he says angrily.
‘It is not entirely unexpected,’ I say to him.
‘It is my grandmother’s doing.’
‘With or without her intercession, it was inevitable.’
‘My grandmother took Lady Blanca with her to Rome to complain of me to the pope.’
‘It will not last,’ I say. ‘We will weather it and next year we will sue for it to be lifted. We will send emissaries to the pope. And gifts.’
He nods.
‘We will hurry on the building of the new cathedral. Its dedication will win us favour.’
‘Yes,’ he says, squeezing my hand, ‘you’re right.’
He shows me around the new, half-built cathedral. ‘If we die before its completion,’ I say, ‘since we are excommunicated, we would go to hell. What if I die in childbirth?’
‘You won’t die,’ he says, blasé, ‘and neither shall I. We have too much living to do together now.’
We knew that our marriage would carry a heavy price. The bad news continues to roll in over the next weeks.
‘Besalú has broken fealty with me again.’
‘Still, the majority of your neighbours have reconfirmed their allegiance.’
He nods. ‘Thanks to your efforts.’ Shortly after my arrival I began working on this, inviting and corresponding with the Counts of Urgell, Empurias, Pallars Sobirà and Pallars Jussà and all the neighbouring lords.
‘Any good news?’ he asks, gesturing at my correspondence.
‘Yes. Dia has made the arrangements for my household’s journey here in the spring, and my sister, Lucia, is coming with them.’
‘Good!’ he says, his expression brightening.
‘My mother writes to offer us her allegiance.’
‘Excellent!’ he says and I smile wryly at him. It is hardly recompense for being excommunicated.
My brother has remained silent, neither condoning nor condemning my marriage. He sent me no wedding gift. I do not suppose that the scandal has been especially helpful or pleasant for him. However, my sons have all written to me. They seem so far away now.
‘My son Jourdain writes from the Priory of Lusignan to tell me that he is working on a history of his grandfather, Hugh IV, and my sons who are training with Count Geoffrey in Angers, that is Hugh of Lusignan, Guillaume and Raymond of Toulouse, they have written together.’
Ramon raises his eyebrows, surprised I suppose that Pons’ sons should write kindly to me.
‘They are all my sons,’ I say to him, jutting out my ch
in.
‘So I shall be of little consequence, then,’ he laughs, ‘with our children?’
I shake my head, smiling. ‘Shall I read you their letter,’ I say.
‘Please.’
‘Chère maman, La Condessa de Barcelona, we greet you and kiss you and send you our happy wishes that you are safe and well. We decided to write to you together and tell you how dearly we love you and cherish you and will cut off the heads of anyone disparaging your name.’ I look up laughing to Ramon. ‘It is a boys’ letter: Hugh is fifteen, Guillaume fourteen and Raymond thirteen. They tell me about their dogs and hunting and their bruises and scrapes from training and who is good at this and that.’ I hand it to him to look at, to cheer him up. ‘I suspect that the letter itself is the work of Raymond but they have all three signed it. And then there are five postscripts.’
‘Five!’
‘See: Raymond first writes in a postscript that his cousin, Audebert’s daughter Almodis, is named for me and is very beautiful and Guillaume is mooning over her. Guillaume has written under that: Raymond is an ass. Then Raymond writes that Hugh has been chastised by Count Geoffrey for kissing the cook’s daughter and seems to have gained some training from my old groom, Piers, who was well known for his womanising. So Hugh writes: Raymond is an ass. Finally Raymond adds that Hugh is rightly named ‘The Devil’.’
News of my children lightens the bad news. Last week I received a formal letter from Pons repudiating me, signed by the Bishops of Toulouse and Albi. We hear that Sancha of Aragon will take ship in the spring to wed him, poor child. Pons’ letter demanded the return of all his children, but in the case of Hugh the Bishop and Adalmoda I have refused on account of their age and in the case of Guillaume and Raymond they have written themselves from Geoffrey’s camp at Domfront where he is now resisting the siege of Duke William of Normandy, to say that they cannot leave. Raymond wrote to me, ‘I told father we will of course attend him when our training is completed and Count Geoffrey can spare us. I expect that to be quite a few years yet, Mother.’
Of course none of my family know the full circumstances of my flight, of Pons’ threats to me, my adultery and pregnancy. Though they may all start calculating when my baby is born in March, none of them can prove it or be sure now that I am safe here with Ramon.
‘Since a marriage of inclination is very much condemned here in Catalonia,’ I say, ‘why did you send Alfaric for me, especially since you didn’t know that I was carrying your child.’
‘I thought you might be convinced by the romance of me sending a musulman to whisk you away,’ he says with characteristic levity.
I am surrounded by strangers again, including my husband and must get to know him. He is beautiful to look at. He is fair where Hugh was dark haired. His skin is olive brown and slides like silk under my hands. He is gentle, humorous, open-minded, quick-witted. I keep waiting for him to show some bad trait but, so far, none is evident.
34
Christmas 1052
‘I have a surprise for you.’
‘A surprise?’
Ramon takes my hand and I follow him out of the hall and into the wing of the palace where I knew he had some building work in hand. We reach a door, a high arched double door made from shining wood, faced with intricate silver metalwork in the shape of flowers with a gem at the heart of each.
‘Oh, this is beautiful, Ramon,’ I say, running my fingers along the maze of metal and jewelled blooms.
He laughs. ‘That’s just the door!’ He hands me a large key, kissing me on the lips. ‘This is my morning gift to you Almodis.’
‘You already gave me a morning gift,’ I say, bemused. ‘And this one is rather late!’ I fit the key to the lock which turns smoothly, push open the heavy door and step in with Ramon behind me.
‘A library!’ I look around me dazed, delighted. Winter sunlight floods the centre of the room from arched windows opposite, that reach from ceiling to floor. A long table of fine wood stretches the length of the room. Ten men could lie end to end on it I guess, marvelling. Exquisite lamps of green glass are placed at regular intervals in the centre of the table. Around the walls, the shelves are set back, protected from the sun, but I see glinting there their promises of worlds I can enter, ideas I can argue with. On the table is a complex golden contraption, driven by water wheels, a clock of some kind with the metal figure of a small man in Arab dress holding a pointer to show the time.
‘It’s a water clock,’ Ramon tells me. ‘In Greece they call it a water thief. It is a wedding gift to you from the ruler of Dénia. He writes that it has been designed by the engineer Ibn Khalaf al-Muradi. In the ancient world they were used to time the pleadings of lawyers in the courts, a sick patient’s pulse, or a client’s allotted time in a brothel!’
I look at Ramon, shaking my head. I am speechless.
‘There’s a ladder,’ Ramon says, pointing it out, ‘to reach the highest shelves.’ Some of the shelves hold books and scrolls and others are empty. Four caskets stand alongside the empty shelves. I pick up one of the books nearest to me and look at its gorgeous cover, its title page. There are books here I have longed for, heard about.
‘This is William’s copy of Dhuoda’s Manual,’ Ramon says, handing a small book to me.
‘Her son’s?’ I say astonished.
‘Yes, he died here in Barcelona.’
I open it and wonder at what I am holding. ‘This is perhaps her handwriting,’ I say.
‘Very likely.’
I replace it carefully. ‘Oh Ramon, I am overwhelmed. Thank you.’
‘This is your library,’ he says. ‘All yours,’ and he is beaming at me. ‘No one else will set foot here without your invitation. Not even me.’
I step close to him and hold him by his upper arms, looking into his eyes. ‘Thank you.’ I kiss his mouth for a long time, but when he begins to respond, I pull away playfully, biting my lip.
‘Look in the caskets,’ he says. He is like a boy on his birthday, gleeful at my pleasure.
I open the lid of one casket and see familiar books there. ‘My collection from Toulouse! How?’
‘I sent Berenger to negotiate it with Pons,’ he says. ‘Of course he was reluctant. He told him at first that he had burnt them.’
I heave a groan.
‘But Berenger had a letter that my lawyers drafted asserting your rights to your property and threatening legal suit. Berenger persuaded him it was for the best. The couriers brought them over the mountains through the winter weather. I couldn’t be sure if they would arrive in time for Christmas, but they have.’
I wander away from him picking up old friends, exclaiming at new ones.
‘I will leave you to your unpacking and send Marta to help you.’
35
Bernadette: Reunion
It’s late March 1053 when we reach Barcelona. The ground is tipping up and down, up and down, as I try to regain my land legs. Through waves of nausea, I realise it is my dear Lady that I see coming to me, her arms wide to greet me. I thrust the baby at Melisende and run helter-skelter to her, bending this way and that, sure I shall fall at any moment, for I’ve been on the rolling ship so long I don’t know what is earth or sky anymore. ‘Oh, after the rain, nice weather,’ I cry out, reaching to hug her but then noticing how vast is her belly. ‘Already?’ I say muffled against her shoulder, puzzled.
The rest of the party arrives and she is exclaiming over them all with more hugs and kisses: ‘Lucia! Melisende! Hughie! Dear Dia! Hello Rostagnus, I am so glad you are here!’ And then in a quieter voice, ‘Hello my little Adalmoda, and, oh, who is this?’ she is saying, gesturing at the baby in Melisende’s arms.
Oh Lord, I’ve forgotten all about that. My face is red and hot and I can’t seem to speak. I stare at my boots all white-spattered with salty sea spray. There is a moment of silence.
‘The baby is Bernadette’s,’ Dia says quietly. ‘He is named Charles.’
‘Bernadette’s?’
I glance up at her and straight back down at my boots, seeing her perplexity. ‘Happened last summer,’ I mumble, but I can’t go on.
‘The father is …’ Dia begins in a quiet, measured voice again.
‘Piers,’ pipes up Hughie.
Another silence. Eventually I look up fearfully, for I must to make sure she isn’t dashing my boy’s brains against a rock or aught else, but I’m surprised to see instead that she has taken hold of Charles and is staring into his eyes, all smiles.
‘Hello Charles, hello Charles,’ she coos to him. ‘I am your Lady Almodis. Oh Bernadette, you fool,’ she turns to me, ‘why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Why didn’t you?’ I respond, as the penny finally drops that she must have been pregnant before she left Toulouse and Pons wasn’t the father. She smiles briefly at that too.
‘I’m so glad to see you all.’ She hands Charles back to me.
Count Ramon has been standing back, waiting for her to finish her exclamations and steps forward now with a tall boy, older than Hughie. What a handsome man the count is. ‘With a change in age, comes a change in fortune, my Lady,’ I say to her with relish.
Count Ramon and Dia are greeting each other warmly and Almodis introduces him to her sister and her children, and then to Rostagnus and me. ‘And this is Bernadette’s son, Charles,’ she says, as if she’s known about it all along.
‘You are come in the nick of time, Bernadette,’ the count says to me.
‘A stitch in time saves nine,’ I respond, ‘and I can see that.’ I am eyeing her great stomach. ‘You should be in bed right now,’ I tell her.