Plaint for Provence

Home > Other > Plaint for Provence > Page 15
Plaint for Provence Page 15

by Jean Gill


  Chapter 16

  When a woman brings forth an infant, from the time she gives birth through all the days of its infancy, she should keep a jasper on her hand. Malign spirits of the air will be much less able to harm her or the child… Also, if a serpent sends out its breath in any spot, place a jasper there. The breath will be weakened, so that it will be less harmful, and the serpent will stop breathing in that place.

  Physica, Stones

  Estela laughed for the first time since she’d seen her stepmother. ‘You’d have faced trial by combat? For Nici?’ The dog wagged his tail.

  ‘No.’ Dragonetz stroked her face. ‘For you. I’d do it for you.’

  ‘And Gilles.’ Estela’s smile died. ‘And Musca. If only we could put that woman on trial and let God decide!’ A pause. Flat-voiced, she said the hard words. ‘You found her attractive, didn’t you.’ It was not a question.

  He didn’t insult her, or them, by lying. ‘Until she spoke, yes. I didn’t know who she was.’ It was not said as an excuse. Facts, reactions existed, regardless of whether they were embellished.

  Estela felt like a child again, gawky and desperate to please this angelic being who’d come into her father’s life. Nothing and no-one could replace her mother but surely this vision of sweetness would help her grow into someone prettier, more confident - like Costansa herself. ‘I felt the same,’ she told Dragonetz. ‘Until she spoke, lied, got my father to whip me. She’ll kill Gilles for helping me escape, now she knows he’s happy. She won’t let go until her prey is dead.’

  There was no chance Costansa would give up and the longer Etiennette postponed a lawsuit, the more rumblings of discontent there would be among the minor nobles. Unfortunately, the law was on Montbrun’s side in everything except Estela’s inheritance. She knew that she would be laughed out of the Hall if she told the truth.

  Who could look at her stepmother’s frail beauty and believe what she had done? Even Dragonetz probably thought Estela was exaggerating. She shivered. Only Gilles, her rock since her mother died, knew what it had really been like at Montbrun.

  She rehearsed what she could say in front of her judges in the Lower Hall to prevent Costansa claiming Gilles, Nici and the oud. ‘The woman my father married (she could not bring herself to call Costansa any kind of mother) had me falsely accused of theft. After getting my father to whip me (she would not show the scar that still remained) she hired a murderer. Gilles, my mother’s loyal servant and mine, helped me fool them, let them think I was dead, so that I could escape with the oud, the lute my mother passed down to me while still alive. The dog was no good with the sheep and he ran away too, followed me. They cut off Gilles’ right hand for theft he never committed. She did that. So he followed me too.’

  Even in her imagination, Estela could hear the laughter, see Costansa’s victorious smile. Nobody would believe such vicious schemes weren’t the invention of a jealous stepdaughter. The worst of it was that, were she judging the case, she would find against herself.

  Since her mother’s death, Gilles was a bondsman of the Lord of Montbrun, who undoubtedly owned Nici (though he had no chance of mastering the dog!). There was no chance of reaching her father’s conscience. He had long believed everything Costansa told him and doted on her - what man wouldn’t!

  The law and justice were very different matters; Dragonetz and Estela were united in choosing justice. They quickly agreed on their immediate action and help came from an unexpected quarter. After consulting Malik, Ramon was sending Petronilla back to Barcelone while her pregnancy was in its safest stage for the journey. On the surface, this was merely a husband protecting his wife and child.

  In the power game below the surface, it was an interesting move. Although this would split his army, it would strengthen his position, should there be armed conflict. No general fought better with his pregnant wife on the battlefield.

  Bringing her with him had been a declaration of peace; sending her home, however good the excuse, left him ready for war. The nobles summoned to make obeisance at Les Baux could be asked to show exactly who their allegiance was to, without Petronilla tempering Ramon’s response.

  If there was an extra wagon accompanying the Queen’s party, with a one-handed man-at-arms who knew how to use both sword and dagger, so much the better from Barcelone’s point of view. Nobody need ask any questions about the others in the wagon, nor why they would all leave the main party north of Marselha.

  ‘Won’t you go with them,’ Dragonetz asked her, for the third time. ‘I would feel happier knowing you were safe.’ Like Ramon, better able to wage war if need be, thought Estela. But she was not Petronilla. The girl-queen had also pleaded with Estela to accompany her, not realising what extra motives the troubadour had for being tempted. To go south with the mother-to-be, away from these tensions and beside her own toddler, free as a peasant. To leave Dragonetz and run away from Costansa.

  ‘No. I won’t leave you and I won’t run away.’

  ‘You’re making it more difficult for me!’

  She had a twinge of guilt but not enough to become someone else, a scared girl on the run with only her oud and a large white dog. She didn’t even have her oud! But she was not that girl any more. She summoned a smile for him. ‘I must fight my own battles, my Lord, but I own it’s good to have Talharcant guarding my back.’ She could say no more, crushed against him.

  ‘At least Musca will be out of harm’s way,’ he murmured. ‘And Gilles will be only too pleased.’

  Estela struggled out of his embrace. ‘How so? He has a lady-love here so I can’t imagine he wants to go back to our villa. I thought it might be Lady Sancha,’ she confided. ‘I don’t know what to say to him if it is!’

  Dragonetz laughed freely. ‘You are backing the wrong horse completely - Sancha has found the man of her dreams but it’s not Gilles. Nor does Gilles lust after her.’

  ‘Who then?’ Estela reflected quickly. It must be someone in Petronilla’s train because Dragonetz had said Gilles would be happy going with them. Someone with them… then it dawned on her.

  ‘Prima!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Quite,’ Dragonetz teased her. ‘You haven’t noticed the dalliance going on right under your eyes, with your own child for witness. Tsk tsk. Hardly the perfect mistress, are you.’

  She flirted a glance under long lashes. ‘That’s not what I’ve been told, my Lord. But God’s body! Prima! That’s not such a bad thing, you know.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed cheerfully. ‘We’d have had the devil’s own job to get him to leave you otherwise and it’s still going to be hard. Won’t you…?’

  ‘No!’ she said but somehow her heart felt lighter. Whatever came, she and Dragonetz would stand against it, together. Musca, Gilles, Prima - with her own son - and, of course, Nici, would be safe and happy in the villa. All that remained was for her to be suitably astonished on hearing that her manservant and her dog had taken flight - and to announce that the child had taken colicky so he and his Nurse had withdrawn to healthier air.

  ‘Isn’t that the truth!’ observed Dragonetz. ‘And you can borrow my lute,’ he promised as he kissed her.

  As predicted, Gilles did not want to leave Estela. He accepted the need to protect Musca but was fiercer than Dragonetz in challenging her reasons for staying at Les Baux herself. The notion of her supporting Dragonetz was ridiculed and Estela could visualise her lover nodding in agreement as Gilles lectured her on how she would be a hindrance, a woman in a war zone; how Ramon had more sense; how Etiennette no longer counted as a woman because her death would be irrelevant - she couldn’t fight and her four sons were man enough to make their own lives. Unlike Musca.

  Estela smelled the toddler who wriggled in her arms, his black hair warm, rosemary in sunshine. Sleepy with milk, Musca snuggled into her breast, contented and safe. She would do anything to protect this love child: die, kill - or leave him go. She could not tell Gilles that she had to prove something to herself, that she could not run away fro
m Costansa a second time, that she was an adult now.

  The last thing she wanted was for Gilles to feel that he was running away, however sensible that might be, given his status. She wanted him and Musca hidden far away from the woman who’d married her father - and, however feeble it might be to care, she wanted Nici safe too. The dog had been her friend when she had nobody, when she was nobody, and he had never let her down.

  She could just give him the order but she owed Gilles the courtesy of an argument he could accept. ‘She will find me, Gilles. You know she will. If Musca is out of sight, she will concentrate all her hate on me. You can keep Musca hidden and safe but no-one can hide me any more.’ It was true and Gilles knew it. Roxie de Montbrun could have hidden but not the troubairitz, Estela de Matin. The more acclaim she received, the more her movements would be public knowledge, easy to track.

  ‘Raoulf accepted this, when my brother tracked us down,’ she reminded him, ‘and Dragonetz’ man is no coward, nor disloyal to me.’ She paused, let him think about the last time, the attempts on Musca’s life that all too-nearly succeeded, then she delivered the coup de grâce. ‘If you really don’t feel up to defending Prima and Musca, I can send Raoulf instead.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ he said instantly and she tried not to smile. The thought of Raoulf and Prima thrown together again, like a family, had obviously clinched matters. Thank you, Dragonetz! ‘Thank you,’ she said aloud. ‘Make as little fuss as possible in departing. Just blend in with Petronilla’s train. I must say goodbye now so as not to draw attention to you. And you’ll need a leather muzzle and rope.’

  ‘I remember,’ Gilles said grimly. ‘That’s something Raoulf can help with.’ This time, Estela did smile, remembering Musca’s birth and Nici’s reluctance to leave his mistress. She left Gilles to make his arrangements while she made hers.

  On finding Prima, Estela gave her sleepy child to the nurse and picked up his foster-brother for some attention. She might have to act like a noblewoman in bringing up Musca but she saw no reason to deny simple affection to the little peasant who’d shared his milk from birth.

  Little Primo had benefited from the comforts in which Prima lived and he was chubby-cheeked with health. Anyone might have mistaken the two boys for blood brothers and watching Primo cuddle up to Estela, the affection for both mothers would have left doubts as to who had birthed which child.

  Prima still looked a bit peaky but she didn’t dislike the idea of going back to the villa with the children. The further away from Raoulf the better, judged Estela, hoping that the whey-face wasn’t a sign of being with child. That was a complication they could all do without, Prima included.

  There would be a last chance to hold Musca again at bedtime but after that Estela would let go, without drama. She was a wise enough mother to know that the more fuss she made, the more likely she was to upset the child. The more ordinary the day seemed, the more relaxed both children would be.

  There was one more adieu to say and Estela couldn’t resist burying her face in the deep, white fur, then running her fingers along the side of Nici’s face as she whispered in his ear the same words she’d used once before, the time her dog had saved her son’s life: ‘Take care of Musca for me.’

  As long as Costansa thought there would be a trial and that she could hurt Estela - and Nici - more by taking him back to Montbrun, there would be no attempts at poison or ‘accidental death’.

  Nici was allowed one last evening under the trestle table, scavenging for scraps and titbits. Then he lay snoring, peacefully replete, while his mistress sang of a heroic horse called ‘Stupid’ and defiantly plucked her borrowed lute, in front of an audience that included her father and her stepmother.

  Constansa’s attempts at spiteful comments during the song were shushed by her neighbours and even she had to accept that she was outnumbered. The best she could manage was a noisy exit in the middle of an emotional verse but the audience closed ranks behind her as if she’d never been in the hall, and she wasn’t missed.

  Dragonetz was the only one in the hall who could hear the change in Estela’s singing and playing when Costansa had gone; every breath in the right place, the phrasing natural and every note true, of voice and lute - a victory song.

  He’d had a minor victory of his own during another meal that filled the eye and stomach to bursting. A word with Etiennette had made sure that the Montbruns’ suit was scheduled for three days hence and he’d informed her that the subjects of it would be long gone by then. With disarming generosity, Etiennette had given support to her troubadour, within the letter of the law, while, at the same time, letting Estela’s lover know that the offer of marriage was still open.

  The Lady of Les Baux could not have judged her throw of the dice better; Dragonetz owed her a favour and she’d shown that marrying Provence did not mean losing Estela. To the contrary: Estela was benefiting from Les Baux’s protection and doing what she loved best - performing in front of one of the most refined audiences in Christendom, earning praise and honour.

  Etiennette’s unspoken message was clear: ‘Marry me and your lady can only profit. I accept and I will respect your mistress, with no jealous fits. Marry me and you lose nothing. Marry me and you save Provence.’ Every exchange between Dragonetz and Etiennette led to this conclusion.

  But it was her conclusion, not his, so he said, ‘Perhaps an entertainment, outdoors, is in order? One that will keep the ladies amused as well as their lords?’

  Eyes narrowed, Etiennette looked at him and waited.

  ‘I believe Les Baux prides itself on the finest hawks in Provence? Why don’t we test them? Offer the Comte de Barcelone some distraction after his wife’s departure? And afford entertainment for those ladies who have accompanied their lords to what must be some tedious business of oaths and fealty.’

  Etiennette nodded, her eyes sparkling with understanding. A way to keep the Montbrun woman too busy to vent her rage over a cancelled lawsuit.

  Dragonetz turned to Hugues, who was nursing a full cup of wine, not his first. ‘My Lord, what say you to a hawking expedition this week? Show the Comte de Barcelone the quality of your mews?’ according to Dragonetz’ source, his pigeon-keeper and ex-falconer, hawking was one of the skills in which Hugues would show to advantage, especially on home territory.

  The young man’s eyes brightened instinctively at the prospect then chilled, sullen once more. ‘As you wish,’ was his curt reply. No doubt he was chewing over some insult from a Porcelet. Although constrained by larger politics (and probably by orders from Ramon and Etiennette) petty acts of spite between the rival families were a daily occurrence: horse dung on a sword hilt or flies in a wine goblet. Like Ramon and Etiennette, Dragonetz turned a blind eye and just hoped Hugues could keep some sense of perspective.

  Undaunted, Dragonetz put the proposal to Ramon, who accepted the invitation with a ready smile. Shrugging off Hugues’ mood - he had so many! - Dragonetz withdrew into his own thoughts. Although he knew how to busy himself, he could not forget that his son was leaving the next day; leaving for safety, yes, but that didn’t prevent the absence aching. For the last two months, his nights had been accompanied by the chirrups and bubbles of babies’ sleep noises.

  He and Estela had the luxury of watching over their son together, hearing his vocabulary expand from ‘Icky’ to ‘Mar’, ‘Par’, ‘Pweem’ for Prima and of course, like every small child,‘volt’ for ‘want.’ Sometimes, these distractions from the importance of his task had irritated Dragonetz, although he knew Estela had tried her best to spare him domestic trivia and Prima was an excellent nurse.

  Now that the children were leaving, Dragonetz knew that he would miss the daily treasures they had offered him: Estela singing a bedtime song of love and nonsense as she rocked Musca’s cradle; the smile of wild pleasure on his son’s face when thrown in the air; the appearance of black hair and dark eyes that promised a true baby Dragon.

  What would his grandfather make of the boy? As Aliénor
’s Commander, Lord Dragon was no doubt busy in Aquitaine. Dragonetz had been too busy himself to wonder what problems his liege lord and his sire might face. More thoughts to be dismissed. He was still too busy.

  The next day, he would oversee the departure of Petronilla’s expedition. It was safer if Estela went nowhere near the company but nobody would give a second glance if Dragonetz gave last minute instructions to John Halfpenny, who was heading back to Marselha accompanied by three crates of pigeons; one for his own use. Nobody would know if Dragonetz lingered in adieus with those who shared Halfpenny’s wagon.

  God willing, he would be able to reassure Estela that all had gone smoothly and then he would spend time at the stables. The hunt would need careful planning for horse, hawks and hounds, just the thing to lift Hugues out of his doldrums. It might even draw him close to Ramon, in an enthusiasm where they could both show expertise without having to compete. Dragonetz would then be able to build on any complicity between the two leaders in his plans for the tourney.

  Costansa would certainly accept an invitation and Estela would not be given one. His mood was almost light-hearted, smug at outwitting Costansa, protecting his family and keeping the storms at bay in the castle but he should have known from experience: every victory has its price.

  Chapter 17

  Nature established a certain purgation especially for women, that is, the menses, to temper their poverty of heat. The common people call the menses ‘the flowers’, because just as trees do not bring forth fruit without flowers, so women without their flowers are cheated of the ability to conceive. This purgation occurs in women just as nocturnal emission happens to men. For nature, if burdened by certain humors, either in men or in women, always tries to expel its yoke and reduce its labor.

 

‹ Prev