The Rebel Princess
Page 16
“You are well, Aunt?”
“Yes, I have been so. I saw you in the presence room this morn, Niece, but we had no chance to speak. You did well with the role the king assigned you.”
Did I mistake her look, or did her eyes narrow somewhat as she spoke? But then she continued in her throaty voice, “You must come visit me. It has been too long since we have spoken.” This was the invitation I had waited for. I glanced at her, observing her closely. Her wizened face, small and expressionless under the lace mantilla held in place by the tall combs, gave nothing away. At such close range I noticed the wrinkles of age. And the thin lips, tightly drawn, that gave her face such a forbidding expression. She had the almond-shaped eyes of the house of Capet, though, no mistaking them, and they shifted warily from my own to the figure of the king next to me.
“I would be delighted to do so, Aunt. Mayhap tomorrow, shortly after the noon meal? The nobles will have departed by then, and the castle will be quiet.” I was pleased that she had made the offer. When we met I could probe for the answers to the king’s questions at my leisure. The burden of the conversation would be on her.
“I think not on the morrow. I will be much fatigued after the festivities today. And the morrow is dimanche and there will be the Mass in the morning. But the day following would do.” She lowered her short, rather stout body into the assigned chair, and now the abbot’s bulk was between us. He acknowledged her presence by rising slightly and producing a half-bow. She looked up as he resettled himself. Even seated, he towered over her.
“Abbé Amaury,” she said in a manner not at all friendly.
“Countess.” He gave a perfunctory nod.
“I wonder that my nephew seated us together. It cannot be comfortable for you to find yourself next to the mother of your enemy.” I stared straight ahead while overhearing these words, glad a servant’s efforts to pour wine hid my surprised look.
Philippe had given the signal and the trumpets sounded the entrance of the roast boar, which was carried on a huge slab of wood, shoulder high, by six stout servants. The crowd, which had grown hungry, shouted its approval. The boar, already sliced, was set on a table in front of the dais and a flock of servants descended on it and carried away platters to all corners of the hall, serving first the king and high table. The trumpets announced the entry of the kid, the next course. The pageant was repeated, and the crowd finally fell silent as platters of meat were placed on every table and the courtiers proceeded to the business of hearty eating.
“Countess”—I could hear the abbot’s gravelly voice as a break occurred in the noise—“I do not blame you for Count Raymond’s shortcomings. Nor do I bear your son any ill will.”
“Yet you seek from my brother’s son, the king of France, arms and men to use against my own son.” Constance spoke in tones laced with bitterness.
“Madame, I seek to do the will of God. I have no intention of harming the count or any of his vassals.” The abbot slammed down his goblet. “But he seems unable to stem the tide of disbelief in his realm. We intend to help him. I have no doubt that the sight of the good men of the north, loyal sons of Rome all, coming to aid him in persuading his nobles to reform their ways will be welcomed by Count Raymond.”
I was increasingly puzzled by this conversation. Had I not seen these two erstwhile enemies not an hour earlier deep in intimate conversation framed in twilight streaming through the arch in the castle wall? But here they were, trading jibes as if they had not talked before. Was it for my benefit?
Without warning the abbot swung his powerful bulk in my direction, his beetle brows coming together fiercely over a strange half-smile. He managed to appear both sardonic and ingratiating. I waited for his opening sally.
“I suppose you think the performance you gave at the king’s audience today was quite successful. You no doubt believe you have blocked my mission here at court?”
“I don’t understand your meaning, Abbé,” I replied, busying myself by tasting the soup that had just been set before me. “I merely gave an honest opinion when the king asked for it. My advice has nothing to do with you. My brother’s realm is my concern.”
He placed his elbow on the table and propped his chin with his hand, affecting a focus on me that was meant to be disconcerting. His tone was low, intense and provocative.
“I don’t know what your motive is, my lady, but I knew from our first encounter last evening that you have designated yourself my principal adversary here at court.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. I glanced at him and saw hostility written broad upon his face.
“But I know you and those like you. Your faith is weak and you will not triumph in the end. They say you have special gifts. But we know the source of those gifts, don’t we?”
Now I stopped eating, and turned to look full at him. I let the silence between us run to an uncomfortable length as I waited for him to fill it. Finally, as I had hoped, he went a step too far.
“Perhaps you can exercise your so-called special gift, and help the king see where his interest will lie in the future, now that John of England has him on the run in the west. He needs all the allies he can get, my lady. He should not be making enemies at this time. You, who can tell the future it is said, should know that.”
The abbot turned back to the table and appeared absorbed in stirring small pieces of dates into his almond cream pudding. So casual was he that I wondered, for a moment, if I had heard the words correctly. Then he added: “Just as you no doubt knew ahead of time, through your special gifts, what would befall the young knight of Lord William’s household today at the tourney.”
The servant set a plate of sweetmeats before me, giving me time to take a long breath and gather my wits. The last question had caught me off guard. The memory of young Geoff was still raw, but I held in my anger and did not respond. Carefully I brought a piece of raisin cake to my mouth, chewed it thoughtfully, and washed it down with a splash of wine before I answered.
“Special gifts,” I murmured. “I don’t understand what you mean by such a term, Abbé.”
“Well, let me be clear then. Rumor has it that you have powers most of us ordinary mortals lack.” ’ He ran his tongue around his lips, as if savoring some special delicacy. “It is said that you are marked, that you can see things others cannot, visions and such.” He made a rolling motion with his hamlike hands. “I thought perhaps you could see what will happen if the Cathars are allowed to run free in the south. What a threat…”—here he paused for effect—“the war that is sure to come could pose to a France already weakened by the English armies’ victories.”
I had a flash of desire to ask him how he knew about the English victories, but chose the other path. I knew this exchange would define our future dealings. With just a little more effort, we would finally have honesty between us. Then there would be no going back.
“Well, Abbé, I lay claim to no such a gift as you describe, a gift I believe is known as second sight. To admit that I had this gift, as you must know, would surely be a danger in these times.”
I pulled my malformed hand from its pocket and removed the glove from it. I deliberately laid my arm in front of me along the edge of the table, so that the claw almost touched his arm, resting on the table. “If I did have such a gift, I could never admit it. Holy mother church might look upon me as a witch, an aberration just as she looks on the heretics of the south. And we know the fate of witches and heretics, do we not?”
I looked straight into his eyes. He held my gaze, but I could feel his bulk pull back slightly. I knew he had glanced at my withered hand when I laid it before him. He must know the peasants thought such a misfortune to be the sign of a witch. The abbot was using every part of his will not to stare at it. A man of learning, he still had just enough superstition to be slightly afraid.
“Je crois que vous avez raison, Princesse,” he finally agreed. He scanned my face, then added: “It is surely not a gift you would want to flaunt, not in these times.”
I had seen him flinch and that was enough for me. I turned away and made an effort to take no further notice of him.
A servant came between us to pour wine, and in that instant my aunt Constance demanded the abbot’s attention. I looked out over the table at the milling crowd, nursing my thoughts. I had been brave, nay perhaps foolhardy, to set that discussion in motion. Still, we had taken the measure of each other. I had now been introduced to the real Abbé Amaury, a driven and unscrupulous man, one willing to threaten obliquely and perhaps powerful enough to breach the protection of the crown. And he was now, officially, my declared enemy. I didn’t need the gift of second sight to tell me there was a feeling of apprehension gathering in the pit of my stomach.
Suddenly my morose musings were interrupted and all thoughts of Amaury fled. I saw de la Ronde, who had just entered the hall with three men, nearly running toward the king’s dais. He clutched a scroll and had not even taken the time to doff his hat. I placed a hand on my brother’s arm, and nodded toward his aide. When de la Ronde reached us he bounded up the short distance and came directly to the king, falling on one knee. Philippe’s attention was fully engaged.
“De la Ronde, what is the meaning of this interruption?”
“Your Majesty, this message just came for you. The page carrying it says it is urgent. It is from your head counselor, Sir Etienne Chastellain.”
Philippe motioned de la Ronde forward and took the scroll, frowning.
“Shall I see an answer delivered to the chief minister, Your Majesty?” De la Ronde’s face was grave.
Philippe held up his hand as he shook open the scroll. His lips tightened as he read the contents. Amaury and my aunt brought their odd exchange to an end as their attention was drawn by the disturbance.
When he had finished reading, the king rose and motioned to William, who came immediately to the king’s side. They moved a bit apart from the table. On impulse, I slipped from my chair and joined them. William put his hand on my shoulder and drew me closer as my brother was speaking in a low tone.
“William, would you see what this means? I can scarce credit this news from my chief minister.” Philippe handed him the rolled message. Those at the king’s table had momentarily ceased conversation when the messenger arrived, but the hubbub slowly began again.
William scanned the note, glanced at me and then at the king. “What would you have me do, sire?”
Philippe looked briefly at me before he spoke to his friend.
“I want you to go to St. Denis immediately, this night, and see what has happened. If this message proves true, I order you to leave for Toulouse at dawn.”
“What is so important that you must send William away? He has scarce arrived at court.” My rising voice betrayed my concern as I suddenly thought of Francis. He would go with his lord. Must he now, so soon after our reunion, be separated from me? And on the day of his friend’s murder on the field!
“Raymond must hear of this matter directly from my personal envoy.” The king’s tone was stern. “There is too great a chance for misunderstanding if it were otherwise. Alaïs, we are trying to avoid war. I am sorry for it, but this is no time for personal consideration.”
“But what could be so important?” I persisted.
The king shook his head, his face grim. “Etienne writes that a theft has taken place at St. Denis.”
“A theft? Why would they disturb you at dinner for a simple theft from the abbey?”
Philippe leaned closer to me, and spoke so low I could scarce catch his words. “The chalice we talked of earlier, the one with the gold braid wrapped around the stem.”
“The cup of Saint John? The one Raymond gave you for safekeeping?”
“Yes. Well, it’s gone. And the sacristan on duty, who may have seen the thief, was killed in the event.”
“Murder in a sacred place!” While I had no love for the fanatics of religion, I was a great believer in spirits. It was not wise to tempt them with such acts.
“There is some political aspect to this, I know it.” Philippe could not hide his distress. “This theft and murder is an effort to divide Raymond and myself even further, but I don’t know who is behind it.”
“That explanation assumes the thief knew that the chalice belongs in Toulouse,” I said sensibly. “We don’t have evidence of that yet, Your Majesty.”
“That’s why you are to investigate now, William, and leave immediately for the south if the report proves true. The disappearance of the chalice could affect the success of your diplomatic mission to Raymond’s court, as well, and destroy all Our efforts to avert war. Someone wants you to fail and they want to see France weakened. We must discover who or what conspiracy did this dastardly act.”
I recalled the abbot’s words, uttered moments earlier: “What a threat the war that is sure to come could pose to a France already weakened by John of England.” My sense of foreboding increased as I watched William move swiftly through the hall with de la Ronde. He would be leaving and so I would lose Francis yet again. I was certain of that. But, for once, I could summon no vision, no picture that might help me know what was to come after.
.13.
PARIS COURT
Chambers of Princesse Alaïs and the Courtyard
Later that night, I was roused from a sound sleep by a familiar voice. “Your Grace! Mistress! Princesse Alaïs!” The thin, sweet voice rose as it called each new title. The wave of sound was moving unmistakably closer to my ear, and I could no longer ignore it, although I could scarce pull myself upward from my deep slumber. I had been dreaming of a flock of doves, pure and white, flying low against a blue summer sky. I desired to join them and began to float upward. One dipped low and brushed my forehead.
“Your Grace, you must attend. Please, wake. Please!” I opened my eyes and saw my maid’s sweet face hovering over me, unaware that the end of her soft veil was brushing my face. Her own countenance, seen in the uncertain light of the candle she held high over my head, was the picture of dismay.
“What is it now?” I asked, sleep crowding my voice. “Have I not just begun my rest for the night?” But I struggled to sit upright with her help. Even in my half-awake state I knew that Mignonne never disturbed me without good reason.
“Princesse, you are needed at once in the courtyard.” She was breathing heavily, as if she had been running.
“The courtyard? At this hour? Have you gone mad, Mignonne? It is quite the middle of the night. Even the moon has gone to sleep.” I was still brushing the cobwebs of dreams from my eyes with the back of my hand.
“No, my lady. It is the Lord William who sent for you. His man is even now standing at the door, waiting to escort you.”
I glanced to the still-open door and saw the outline of a burly man of some height, holding high a torch that flickered in the gusts of air that swept through the open spaces along the outer wall. His cloak danced around him.
I sprang from my bed, throwing a fur robe around my shoulders, stuffing my feet into the felted-wool slippers that stayed always by my bed. They were a protection against the cold stone that could be sensed even through the rushes covering the floor.
“Run ahead, Mignonne, and tell the Lord William that I come in haste.” As I entered the outside corridor the winds that flew through the palace in the winter, especially at night, clipped my face. Mignonne, fleet-footed always, flew on ahead while the man with the torch stayed just in front of me.
I used the wall along the way to steady myself, my right hand sliding over the moss that lined the stone stairway, the flickering light of the torch held overhead providing little help in the narrow, winding passages. Even though there were rough stone edges jutting out from the wall, the slime that covered them did not allow for a good hold for my hand. I was forced to feel each step with my toe before proceeding, which slowed my progress considerably. A mouse squealed under my foot and, no doubt as startled as I, fled.
Why was William sending for me at this odd hour? Something must have happened. Perhaps he had changed his mind, and was willing now to let Francis stay! I hardly dared to hope, but what else could this summons mean?
As I came into the courtyard I spied him immediately, always nearly half a head taller than the knights who surrounded him. I ran forward.
“William!” I called out. “Will you let Francis stay after all?”
He was busy shouting orders to the right and to the left, and his groom was saddling his horse with dispatch. William turned at the sound of my voice. He appeared oblivious to my question.
“Alaïs, you have come. Good,” he said, in the terse manner he adopted when he was commanding his men or his servants. “Come, I must talk with you where we will not be disturbed.” So saying, he drew me to the side of the courtyard, where there were no men or servants, and very little moonlight. It was impossible to read his expression, but somehow I knew my initial guess had been an arrow well off course.
“William, why did you send for me?” He was pulling me along, in his hurry, to a place where a bench sat against the outside wall. The milling men and horses were only two stones’ throw away, but I blocked the noise so as to focus on what he had to say. After drawing me to sit near him, he hesitated, seeming to have trouble finding the words to speak.
“Alaïs, it’s about Francis,” he began. My heart leaped.
“Oh, William.” I placed my hand on his arm. “You will let him stay with me after all.” He stared at me for a moment, as if I had lost my senses.