by Rachel Bard
“I see. That leads me to thank you for befriending my wife. I was pleased to see the two of you chatting earlier as we approached Beaucaire. Frankly, Elaine will need a friend while we’re here. It was hard enough for her to be uprooted from Béziers for Toulouse, and now this. What a primitive pigsty!”
She looked at him in surprise, then examined the room more attentively. The tables were scrubbed and polished, the chairs reasonably comfortable. The floors had been swept clean. There were no mice darting into holes or hungry hounds skulking in corners on filthy rushes.
“If I were a pig, I’d be perfectly happy here. Especially if my meals were served as expeditiously as ours are today.”
He ignored that. “It’s just that it’s nothing like what she’s used to.” He sighed like a solicitous husband. But Joanna had her doubts. There was something false and devious about this man. She felt he would bear watching.
“It won’t be easy for any of us to adapt to new circumstances. But of course I’ll do my best to make things pleasant for Lady Elaine. Tell me, if you were so happy in Béziers, why did you leave?”
He shot a wary glance at her. She could almost guess what he was thinking: I’ve said enough. “Perhaps you’d better ask your husband about that. It was his wish.” And he turned back to his plate, picked a dripping thighbone out of his stew and began to gnaw on it. It struck her that he looked rather like a pig.
Very well, thought Joanna. I will indeed ask Raymond.
By the time she and Raymond were alone that night in their bedchamber, she had quite a list of things to ask him. But first they made love—gently, tenderly, carefully, so as not to disturb the new life within her. Afterwards, reclining on a pile of pillows, Joanna absently stroked Raymond’s hand that rested lightly on her breast. She looked around the room with its stone walls softened by tapestries, the cream-colored damask curtains for their bed, and gilded candelabra in sconces on the walls. A fire was cheerily aglow and a-crackle, with two chairs drawn up before it.
“Why is this so much nicer than the other rooms in the palace?”
“It was my father’s doing. He found himself spending a good deal of time in Beaucaire, and he got tired of the drab, comfortless old castle and set out to do something about it. But he didn’t get any farther than Aunt Mathilde’s rooms and this apartment before he died.”
“Bad luck for Sir Henri. He compared the castle to a pigsty.”
“Ha. He would.” Raymond snorted. “He takes a morose view of the world in general.”
“So I decided. If he’s that kind of a man, why did you appoint him to come along? Some of your other counselors seem much more congenial.”
Raymond pulled himself up to a sitting position. “So they are. I’ve been meaning to tell you about Henri de Jarnac. I strongly suspect him of being the instigator of the troubles we’ve been having in Toulouse. I brought him to Toulouse from Béziers when I first had information that he planned to lead a rebellion against me. I thought if I could keep an eye on him he’d be less able to make trouble. But he’s a wily sort and I finally decided my best course was to remove him from his fellow conspirators altogether. When I’m not here, you’ll need to watch him carefully.”
“But what if he appears to be up to something while you’re off in Paris? It would take days and days to get word to you.”
“I’ve thought of that. The captain of the knights will stay here in the castle. I trust him completely. He’s a resourceful man. If you suspect anything, tell him at once. He’ll take action if he sees fit and he’ll send a swift messenger to me.” He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek and smoothed her hair. “Now don’t look so alarmed. I’m sorry to place this responsibility on you, but very likely nothing will happen. Besides, you’re pretty resourceful yourself. From what you’ve told me you’ve been through a few palace intrigues in Sicily.”
“I suppose that’s true.” She thought of her disputes with William’s underhanded chancellor, Matthew of Ajello, and with William’s unspeakable mother, who’d tried to kill her. She’d been a young, untried queen yet somehow she’d managed to circumvent their scheming. “But now…” She didn’t go on. She wanted to say, what about the safety and security you promised me if I’d marry you? But this wasn’t the time. She still had questions. Raymond had lain down again and was yawning. She snuggled next to him.
“I wish I were going to Paris with you. I’ve never been there. And I’ll miss you.”
“I promise I’ll take you one day, but you must take care of yourself now. No more jolting horseback travel until after the child is born. Besides, this is no pleasure trip. King Philip has summoned me, but I know it isn’t an invitation to a garden party at his grand Parisian palace.”
“What is it then?”
“Very likely a command to stamp out the Cathar heresy that defies the church and the pope and insists on seeking salvation in its own way. He’ll order me to turn all suspects over to the church for questioning.”
“And what will you say to that? I know you have some sympathy for the Cathars.”
I’ll say yes sir, and that will be that.”
“But will you do as he asks?”
“I shall procrastinate. As long as they’re law-abiding citizens I see no reason to deprive them of their place in society. Some day I suppose I’ll have to take a stand. But I hope that day’s long in coming.”
After Raymond fell asleep, Joanna lay awake, worrying. She thought Raymond was more apprehensive than he let on about the interview with King Philip. It’s no light matter to disregard an order from one’s king. But more than that, she felt uneasy about being responsible for what amounted to spying on Sir Henri. Whom could she turn to? She didn’t think Aunt Mathilde would be much help. Her talents lay in household management and crafting a fulfilling life for herself in her chosen solitude. When Berengaria came at least they could talk freely but she wasn’t sure what they could really do if some crisis arose. It was reassuring to know she could call on the captain, but Raymond had placed the primary responsibility on her shoulders.
What she really needed was her old friend Brother Jean-Pierre with his calm, wise counsel. But as far as she knew he was in England on some mission for Queen Eleanor. But if he were here, what then?
She closed her eyes, not so much inviting sleep as summoning up his brown, lined face with the little smile that said, “I’m on your side and always will be.”
And his words?
“Joanna my dear, you’ve reached a point in your life when all your past can be drawn on to support and guide you. You’ve risen to new situations and found the way to navigate new paths. You’ve been a princess, a queen, a widow, a countess, and soon you’ll be a mother. Now you may be called on to act on your own. Don’t be fearful. Ask God for strength and wisdom and he will hear you.”
She opened her eyes to darkness, except for the flickering light of the dying fire. Beside her Raymond snored almost inaudibly.
She closed her eyes again. She murmured, “Thank you for your advice, Jean-Pierre. I’ll sleep on it.”
Chapter 63
“And what do you think of Henri de Jarnac? Have any of you had time to form an opinion?” Joanna asked. “How about you, Aunt Mathilde?”
The ladies had sought refuge from the July sun in Mathilde’s grape arbor. She’d just led a tour of her garden. It wasn’t large, but presented a nice balance of floral display (roses, columbines, daisies) and utilitarian plantings (lettuce, beets, onions, herbs). Berengaria and her companion, Héloise, who had their own garden at Beaufort, made intelligent comments. Joanna, never much of a gardener, confined herself to admiring exclamations. But she liked the way the expanse of vibrant colors, where all was vigorously alive and in order, offered such a cheerful contrast to the gray, forbidding Beaucaire castle.
In only a few weeks the foursome had established an easy-going rapport. Joanna had taken to Héloise at once, partly because she knew Berengaria was so fond of her. In appearance she was almost a
caricature of Mathilde—tall, long-legged and so thin as to resemble a stork. But she’d come to terms with her ungainly body, wore loose flowing gowns and walked without hurry and with surprising grace. She had a calm, unruffled demeanor and none of Mathilde’s brusque outspokenness.
At Joanna’s question, Mathilde exploded with a derisive “Henri de Jarnac? Ha! Indeed I have an opinion and it’s not favorable.” She folded her arms and glared at the others as though accusing them of Henri’s shortcomings. “I can’t imagine why Raymond keeps him on his council, such a crude example of humanity.”
Joanna was about to explain Raymond’s reasoning (keep the potential troublemaker in plain view) but caught herself. It would be a breach of her husband’s trust to divulge their private conversations. She merely said, “I agree. And I deplore the way he treats his wife, poor woman.”
“Only yesterday,” said Berengaria, “when she said at dinner that she particularly liked the peas with onions and saffron, he growled, ‘What are you babbling about? There wasn’t any saffron. Turmeric, more likely. You wouldn’t know saffron from sausage.’ And poor Elaine was as deflated as a pricked bladder. She didn’t say another word for the rest of the meal.”
But the Elaine now approaching through the garden with Adelaide looked far from deflated. For once, Adelaide was doing the listening as Elaine enthusiastically pointed out the herbs and their names and uses. Joanna had never seen her look so animated. She resolved to try harder to befriend her.
The newcomers found room on the benches in the arbor and sat down with sighs of relief. “So hot!” said Adelaide. “So much hotter than Poitiers.”
“Well, of course. We’re considerably to the south of Poitiers,” said Mathilde.
Joanna was feeling the heat too, and longed for a nap. She’d found carrying her unborn child around increasingly fatiguing. And she was disinclined to spend time discussing the weather. She rose.
“I believe I’ll go in now and have a rest.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Mathilde. “I must make sure the cook got the message that we’ll be ten at dinner. And bless me, I forgot to make sure he ordered up enough partridges. We’ll need at least fifteen. I fear I may have told him a dozen.” She muttered to herself, counting on her fingers, while Joanna, fascinated, observed her. Besides admiration for Mathilde’s attention to detail, she felt profound gratitude that she herself didn’t have to worry lest, should the worst befall, she’d have to divide twelve partridges among ten diners.
Fanning themselves, they made their way slowly back to the palace. They’d barely set their feet on the first step when they heard the rapid clop-clop of hooves on the drawbridge. A horseman rode into the bailey at a near gallop but, when he saw Joanna and Mathilde, approached more sedately.
Dismounting, he mopped his red and perspiring face with his sleeve, drew several deep breaths and addressed Joanna.
“I bring you a message from Count Raymond, my lady.”
“Then you are very welcome. We haven’t heard from him for three weeks. Come in out of the sun and we’ll send for cool water.”
Inside, Mathilde sent the page on duty for water and wine. The messenger gratefully accepted a mug of water and dispatched it in three gulps. He came to attention and delivered his message.
“Count Raymond sends greetings and informs you that he is on his way to Beaucaire from Toulouse with three of his counselors. He plans to hold a meeting of his council tomorrow and hopes that the countess will feel well enough to attend.”
“I see,” said Joanna, but she didn’t. She’d seen Raymond only once since coming to Beaucaire in May. He’d stopped on his way back from Paris to tell her that he’d correctly guessed why Philip had summoned him. Raymond was directed to show more zeal in apprehending the heretics. Beyond that, King Philip told him that the church, under instructions from the pope, planned to send several more inquisitors to speed the subjugation of the Cathars.
“It might be quite unwise for me to delay and try to avoid strict obedience,” Raymond had told her. “I’ll need to hurry back to Toulouse and get a better idea of what the situation is.” So, after conferring with the physician and assuring himself that Joanna’s health was all it should be, he’d left again. But why was he coming now, she wondered, and planning a council meeting? And why had she been bidden to attend? He’d never asked her to do so in Toulouse. But the messenger, now appreciatively drinking his wine, wouldn’t have the answers.
Mathilde too had questions, but she could voice hers. “When will they arrive? Surely not in time for dinner?”
“No, Madame, they are still half a day away. They should arrive tomorrow in time for a late breakfast.”
Relieved, Mathilde went on to the kitchen. Breakfast needn’t involve partridges.
Joanna thanked the messenger and retired for her nap.
Raymond arrived the next morning at nine and breakfasted privately with Joanna. Though he’d taken time to wash and change from his travel-worn clothes, he still looked tired. When he greeted her and kissed her she saw with concern that his face showed lines of worry on his forehead and around his eyes.
He sighed with relief as he sat down opposite her at the small table by the window, just right for two. A servant brought a plate of cold meats and fresh bread. A flagon of ale was already on the table. Raymond poured himself a mug and surveyed Joanna.
“Are you really my very pregnant wife? It’s hard to tell what’s concealed by that voluminous gown. Are you feeling as well as you look?”
“I feel very well, thanks be. The physician can find nothing to be concerned about. I do tire very quickly. I need a lot of sleep, but he says that’s to be expected and good for me.”
“I wish he’d prescribe more sleep for me. I’ve been on the road for ten days, all the way from Montpellier.”
“I suppose you were there because of this matter of the heretic Cathars? And is that what the council meeting this morning is all about?”
“You’re right.” He drew a deep breath and let it out before going on. “I’ve decided to make a show of complying with the king’s orders. I’ve enlisted a few of my most influential vassals to help me carry out my scheme. There’ll be Arnaud Cabot from Montpellier, François Compagne from Toulouse, Jacques de Fauchet from Carcassone and of course Henri de Jarnac from Béziers. You may remember the other three from seeing them in the palace at Toulouse from time to time.”
“I certainly remember Arnaud Cabot—a big, noisy, black-haired man. He always seemed to be shouting at his companions or laughing immoderately at some bon mot he’d loosed.”
“That’s Arnaud all right. But he’s always been loyal and willing to help when I need his services. In fact I think I can count on all of them, except possibly Henri de Jarnac. I gather he’s shown no signs of plotting or collusion or I’d have heard from you or Captain Floret.”
“I can’t point to any signs of misbehavior on his part, but that’s because we see so little of him. Captain Floret says he seems to spend most of his time in the town, drinking with his cronies among the knights. We see him only at dinner, if then.”
“What about his wife? Have you been able to learn anything from her?”
“Not really. I’ve tried to get to know her better. I do feel sorry for her; Henri is so unkind. But when I try, as tactfully as I can, to feel her out about him she becomes close-mouthed or tries to turn the conversation to me, and what I hear from you. I have the idea by now that Henri has instructed her to dig up what she can about you and your intentions. Of course she learns nothing from me. So we actually cancel each other out. She’s not a very good secret agent.”
After a pause she added ruefully, “But then neither am I.”
He laughed and placed his hand on hers where it lay on the table. “Ah, but you have other attributes, my dear.”
“Such as?” She loved it when he relaxed enough for this kind of intimate raillery.
“Such as…motherhood. It seems to make you even more b
eautiful. Do you have any idea how your face just glows with some private happiness?”
“I don’t know how I look but I know how I feel, and I am happy, eager for the birth but content to wait until God says the time has come.” They smiled at each other in quiet, shared anticipation. He drew her to her feet and embraced her.
“Much as I’d like to stay here, we must be off to the council meeting. Are you going to be warm enough? It gets a bit chilly in that room.”
“I’ll put on a wool shawl, and that will also help conceal my ungainly figure. But Raymond, you haven’t really told me why you want me at the meeting.”
“No, I suppose I haven’t. I’ll explain quickly, while we walk along. I’d like you there because I’m afraid you’re going to be called on to get more involved in my affairs. When I was growing up I used to wonder why my father was gone so much. Now that I’ve been count of Toulouse for two years I understand. The count must oversee all of Languedoc, from Gascony in the west to the Rhone in the east, and from the Mediterranean to the borders of Queen Eleanor’s Aquitaine. He must stay ahead of events, and that means constantly calling on his vassals, allaying their concerns, rewarding them for their services, deciding whether they’re about to foment some mischief and asking them if they know of others who might do so.”
“I never thought of it just like that. It’s a tremendous responsibility. How can I help? How can we smooth out those wrinkles?” She reached up to brush her hand across his forehead. He took her hand and pressed it between both of his while fixing his eyes on her face.
“I need a surrogate in Toulouse when I’m away, and you’re the only one I can trust absolutely. You’ll need to meet with the Toulouse counselors and hear what they have to report on local affairs and anything else they think important. You’ll need to get word to me if you think it’s necessary. We’ll have time later to talk about this. I don’t plan to travel much until after the child is born.”