“He has a fever,” said Constance. “I know something of herbs and curing. I will do what I can.”
“This is all the fault of that foul heretic, my husband,” said Beatritz. “May he rot in hell for his blasphemous ways.”
Beatritz started to wail again, setting off the cries of the other children, who clustered around her skirts, terrified. Constance's head felt as if it would burst from the cacophony of screams. She walked over to Beatritz and began to shake her roughly at the shoulders.
“That's enough!” screamed Constance.
Beatritz looked up in shock, but she stopped crying. The children still sniffed and whined beside her, but their cries were also shut off.
“You are upsetting the children,” continued Constance. “All your cries will not make the little one better. If you care about him, go to what's left of the market and see if you can find anything - thistles, antimony - to get this fever down.”
Beatritz walked down the stairs, still shaking, but at least quiet. Constance stood next to the feverish infant, wishing she had cool water to bathe him in and try to bring down the fever. What else could she do while she waited for the herbs? The oldest little girl, Aude, stood close by Constance's side, her little brother sucking his thumb, his face still wet with tears.
“Is baby sick?” asked the little girl quietly.
“Yes, he is not feeling very well, but we are going to try to make him better,” said Constance.
The little girl walked over to the bed and gently touched the baby's head, smoothing his sweaty hair into place. Beatritz’ sister walked up the stairs.
“My sister went to the market,” said the women, in her slow, garbled voice. “I can tend to the baby while you get something to eat.”
Constance looked at the thin, timid girl and nearly started to cry from this display of kindness. Her head was aching, she was exhausted and hungry and so very thirsty. She just nodded mutely to the girl and grasped her hand in thanks. Constance practically ran down the stairs to kitchen. The mason and Beatritz's parents were eating around the table. Guillaume, the journeyman, and the older apprentice sat near the hearth eating moldy cheese and old roots. Constance walked over to them and sat by Guillaume, who offered her cheese and a radish. She sunk her teeth into the decaying cheese and felt that she had never tasted anything so good in her whole life. But, as soon as her belly was a little full, she began to feel the deepest ache for water that she had ever experienced. She had been thirsty before, but the salt and whey of the cheese seemed to scour her mouth with an rabid thirst that made her want to jump to the table and rip the jug of wine from the hands of the nasty old woman, even if she had to hurt her to get it.
“What is the matter, Constance?” asked Guillaume.
“It is nothing,” said Constance. She shook her head, shocked at the thoughts that had been passing through it. “I am just thirsty, as are we all.”
Guillaume stood up and went to the table, before Constance could stop him.
“I am sorry to make yet another demand on your great hospitality, sir,” said Guillaume to the old man. “But, the young lady who has been caring for your grandchildren has a great thirst. I beg of you just a small bit of wine for her to slake it.”
The old woman's face turned red.
“We feed you and give you a place to sleep, and you have the nerve to ask for more!” the old woman yelled. “You ungrateful cur!”
The old man placed a hand firmly on her arm.
“I am an old man and have not much either of thirst or hunger,” he said. “Please take the rest of my jug for the young lady, to keep her strong.”
The old lady looked like she was going to speak again, but the old man looked at her and she said nothing. Guillaume gratefully took the jug and brought it to Constance. She placed the jug to her lips and felt the blessed liquid go down. She wanted to drink it all in one gulp, but after a huge initial gulp that made her cough and her eyes water, she forced herself to slow down and savor the acidic wetness.
“Thank you,” she said quietly to Guillaume.
Suddenly, the door to the house slammed open and the younger apprentice came running in, out of breath.
“They'll come to take us all! We'll be strung up and killed!” he screamed, his words coming out in a squeaky high soprano.
Instantly, the room erupted into chaos. The mason stood up and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, forcing him to stand still and calm down.
“Speak clearly, boy,” the mason said. “What has happened?”
The boy took several quick breaths and then one long one.
“The soldiers,” he squeaked. “They are looking for you. At all the sites. The Viscount wants you taken as a spy!”
No one spoke. Constance looked around the room and saw only terrified faces. Into the stunned quiet, Beatritz’ sister ran down the stairs.
“Come quick, girl,” said the sister. “The baby, he has the flux. Help me!”
“God help us all,” said Guillaume, softly.
Trencavel
Tuesday, August 11, afternoon
Trencavel stared at the man cringing before him, trembling on his knees, his face pressed to the floor. The man slowly raised his miserable face.
“Have mercy on me, Lord Trencavel,” said the man. “I would never desert the garrison. These men are liars.”
The sergeant standing over the man kicked him.
“Shut your mouth, you foul deserter,” said the sergeant. “I swear, my Lord, I saw this man trying to leave his post at night and escape over the walls.”
“That is enough, sergeant,” said Trencavel. “Stand back and let me question this man.”
The sergeant moved back. The soldier began to cry and clutch at Trencavel's boots.
“I knew that your Lordship's mercy was great,” said the soldier.
“Quiet,” said Trencavel. “I want you to answer my questions and know that a truthful response will make me see your case in a more merciful light. If you do not want to suffer, do not waste my time with lies.”
The soldier stopped crying and looked up at Trencavel.
“Why did you do this?” asked Trencavel.
“I am thirsty, my Lord,” said the man. “And scared. My cousins were killed at Béziers. These Crusaders, they know no mercy.”
“But what makes you so sure that we will lose?” asked Trencavel.
“Any fool can see that,” said the man, and then realizing what he had said, he quickly lowered his head. “I beg your pardon my Lord.”
Trencavel grimaced.
“Continue, you fool,” said Trencavel. “But watch what you say. My interest in your motives is the only thing preventing me from ordering you whipped for insolence.”
The man groveled his thanks and then timidly lifted his head.
“My Lord, the people are starting to die in the streets. Our defenses are crumbling under their siege engines. And there is hardly enough water to live. I stare all day at the river as I guard the walls under this wretched sun, watching our attackers slaking their thirst, pulling buckets for their animals, even bathing. I could not help myself - the water called me. I wanted nothing more than to drink until I could drink no more and then, if they killed me, so be it.”
“Did you desert alone or were others involved in your plot?” asked Trencavel.
“It was only I, my Lord,” said the man.
“Very well, I am finished with you,” said Trencavel.
“Your gracious mercy knows no bounds, my Lord,” said the man, his face wet with tears.
Trencavel did not look at the deserter. He gestured to the sergeant.
“Take this man and make an example of him,” said Trencavel.
The hall resounded with the cries of the condemned man as he was pulled from the room by the sergeant. Trencavel sat quietly. Bertrand de Saissac raised his hand and placed it on the young man's knee.
“The siege has been easy until this point,” said Bertrand. “It is now that y
our strength and honor will be tested.”
Cabaret stood on Trencavel's left.
“The man was a deserter and he needed to be dealt with harshly,” said Cabaret. “But, you would be a fool not to listen to his words. He is not the only one who feels that way. There will be more, no matter what spectacle you make of him.”
Trencavel turned and stared at Cabaret.
“Leave my sight, old man,” Trencavel said. “I have had enough of your cowardice, always counseling me to surrender. Whose side are you on anyway? Would you see my honor, my family's honor, destroyed before you stood willing to fight? My ancestors have been the lords of this city since the time when your family were peasants, following your sheep through the mountain passes. Troubadours were writing of the glories of our exploits when your forefathers were scraping dung from their sandals. We know the meaning of honor and courage. I listened to you when the King of Aragon came and was humiliated. The monks heard the cowardice and fear in my offer to negotiate and took advantage of it, as is only just. I will not make that mistake again. They will only listen to strength and courage and that is what I will give them.”
“You are young,” said Cabaret. “But someday you will learn that the path of greater courage may sometimes appear that of the coward.”
Cabaret turned and walked from the room.
DAY 12 OF THE SIEGE OF CARCASSONNE
Wednesday, August 12, 1209
Gauda
Wednesday, August 12, morning
I ran the comb through Agnes' beautiful locks, once again golden and shiny. She sat up in her bed, wearing a clean white chemise. A tray of sweetmeats rested on her lap and her delicate fingers placed the succulent morsels in her pink mouth. A beatific expression radiated from her. She sighed with pleasure.
“I had forgotten the pleasure given by the leisurely eating of the flesh of animals,” said Agnes.
“It is a delight,” I said.
I thought that Agnes must also be delighting in the pleasure of no longer having to keep up her elaborate hoax. For to keep a secret is fatiguing beyond belief. I knew that only too well myself. How I longed to escape this castle and the double-life I was forced to lead. I only hoped that I would not be exposed against my will, as Agnes had been. For her betrayal had been innocent compared to mine.
Agnes turned to me and smiled.
“Thank you, cousin" said Agnes. “For your kindness.”
I smiled back and remembered the pretty little girl I had once known, sweet and joyous and always so beautiful.
Suddenly, the door to the chamber opened and Trencavel barged in, sending the two maids scurrying to the corner. His breadth filled the room and his face was livid with anger. He marched over to Agnes' bed and swept the tray away with one hand. It clattered to the floor. I felt Agnes shrink into me as I stood beside her, comb frozen in my hand.
“You eat the finest delicacies of my storerooms and engage in foolish pursuits while my city is dying!” yelled Trencavel. “Do you even know or care what happens in these lands? People are dying in the streets of thirst or the flux! Soldiers are deserting and walls of this very city are crumbling! And you know nothing, you foolish, vapid creature!”
Agnes straightened her spine away from me and placed her hands squarely on her coverlet.
“My Lord,” she said. “I have betrayed and deceived, but not for my own gain, but for my protection. I will devote my life to charitable works, but I know the measure of my weak soul. I will ask again for the consolamentum, but this time on my true deathbed. I have made my peace with my God for what I have done. Can you not forgive me even if you must repudiate me?”
Trencavel stepped back and stared at her. He came forward and his hand reached out to Agnes. She flinched, but did not move. Trencavel lightly touched the golden curls cascading over her shoulder.
“What fool me,” he said. “One should know better than to fall in love with the vision of beauty that is one’s own wife. For I have pined, like the most foolish troubadour, only after you. It has clouded my vision, caused me to place the very lineage of my family in jeopardy. How I secretly hoped that you would repudiate your vows and come back to my bed. And, now I learn that it was all a lie. You could never come back to my bed or bear me more sons. I was truly pining after the unattainable lady, forever out of reach, forever far from that glorious consummation of our love.”
Trencavel let Agnes' hair fall back to her chest. He gently touched her cheek and bent down to kiss her forehead.
“I must repudiate you,” said Trencavel. “I have no choice. You must understand.”
Agnes nodded slowly. She smiled at him gently, though her eyes were filled with tears.
“After I win this siege,” said Trencavel. “I will give you a settlement of lands so that you will live comfortably the rest of your days.”
Agnes nodded, the tears now falling freely down her face. Trencavel held her hand tightly. He turned to the maids.
“Clean up this mess, and leave us,” said Trencavel. He turned to face me.
“Gauda, go now and get more sweetmeats. Tell the cellarer to provide anything Agnes asks for, the finest wines, the best sugared ginger from the East. Gauda, you will continue to care for your cousin until she needs you no more. This is the task I charge you with. Go now.”
I felt as if I had been slapped. I followed the maids out the door and down the hall, but stopped after turning a corner and tucked myself into a small alcove by the stairs, hidden by an old, moth-eaten tapestry. I tried to curl myself into the smallest ball possible as silent sobs racked my body. I stuffed my hand into my mouth and pinched my hands, but I could not stop the tears from welling out of my chest. I had always known that I provided nothing more than a physical release for Trencavel, so why did my guts feel as if they had been torn from my mouth? The Viscount was a young fool and his wife a shrew. I wanted nothing more than my due, my family lands, and a comfortable life, free from the fear of hunger or the humiliation of poverty. I was the betrayer in this little triangle. I was the one who had enjoyed the lustful pleasures of the handsome, young Viscount's bed, knowing they were temporary and that I could replace his attentions with those of a handsome young minstrel when I was finally lady of my own lands. So, why did I cry?
I do not know how long I stayed there, but finally my tears subsided and my body felt cramped. I gingerly moved my frozen limbs and peered from behind the tapestry. A shadowy figure stood in front of me. I started to scream, but he clamped his hand over my face and slid behind the tapestry with me.
“I was wondering when you would be finished with your hysterics,” said the man.
His face was covered by a hood, but I recognized the hushed whisper. It was my tormenter, the man who would betray my betrayal. He pressed a vial into my hand.
“Your task has been chosen,” he said. “This is poison. You must slip it into the wine glass of the Viscount when next he calls you to play for him. He will take wine from you, even if he does not from any other. If you do not, I will divulge your secret and you will go to the rack. Do not think of trying to warn him for I have my spies everywhere and you will not succeed. Anyway, I do not doubt that you want this to end as badly as the rest of us. For if he dies, the city will surrender. You will be free to claim your spy’s recompense. If Trencavel continues this foolish defense, the city will eventually fall and when it does the Crusaders will wreak vengeance on all of those who inhabit this city, all of those left alive that is.”
I took the vial and placed it in the small sack on my belt. The hooded man left and I waited in silence behind the tapestry, willing my heart to beat more slowly. I felt the small glass cylinder in my purse. It felt strangely like freedom and damnation all at the same time.
Constance
Wednesday, August 12, noon
“Your son is dying,” screamed Beatritz. “Would you have him rot in purgatory to pay for your sins?”
The mason took a step towards Beatritz, attempting to place a calming han
d on her shoulder. She launched into him, her fists flailing against his chest.
“Don't touch me, you foul heretic!” she shrieked. “Don't you dare defile me with your blasphemous words and your sinful ways! Find me a priest so he can baptize your infant son and maybe you will be forgiven for all the damage you have caused!”
“You idiot woman!” said the mason. “It is your foul priests who destroyed our home, ruined my craft, and are now killing our children!”
Beatritz stomped away from the mason and back up the stairs. Constance shrunk into a corner as Beatritz passed, next to Guillaume. They were the only people left in the house besides the mason, his wife, and her family. The journeyman and the two boy apprentices had been gone when Constance awoke this morning. She supposed that they had finally decided to cut their losses and try to get work elsewhere in the city before the Viscount's soldiers came to take the mason. The mason stood alone, trembling with anger, his hands clenched into fists.
Constance heard weak cries from upstairs and remembered that she had come down for more straw. The little boy and Beatritz's father had also fallen sick with the same bloody flux as the infant. Constance had nursed the ill before, but never without water or the other good women to help her. She tried to keep the sufferers as clean as possible and tried to ease their fevers with valerian, but they cried for water, their bodies parched from the fever and drained by their fluxing bowels. The baby's cries, which shrieked all last night into Constance's ears, had now become weak. The baby was dying.
The little boy had been taken so quickly by the flux. Last night he had played with his older sister in front of the hearth, but now he lay listless and depleted on his filthy straw pallet. Constance had seen death from illness many a time and could see the signs of its approach. The baby did not have long for this world. She gathered up straw from the courtyard, apologizing to the poor donkey for stealing its meal. The donkey, thirsty and miserable itself, did not even look up from where he had collapsed, too weak to even stir the flies covering his coat. She absently looked into the buckets sitting alongside the donkey's manger, hoping to see a drop of water that had been missed by every other being, human or animal, but everything was baked dry in the scorching midday sun.
The Song of the Troubadour Page 20