The Rebel Princess

by Judith Koll Healey

  It was so painful to mount my palfrey, even with the good help of Roland and Tom, that I wondered if I would swoon or ride. I collected myself, however, and tried to hide my discomfort. Tom was more concerned with the wound in my arm, but I knew that was not the true problem. The three kicks I had taken to my side before I could get up and fight had created a constant burning sensation, and every time my horse’s hooves hit the dusty road I felt all over again the stabs of pain, worse even than the original had been.

  I was determined not to show my hurt to my knights. I surmised that they had not seen the beginning of the attack, since the trees hid the clearing from the road. And I had no intention of riding into the castle at Foix slung over some knight’s horse like a sack of oats. As it took all my effort to block the effects of the jostling ride I made no conversation for some time.

  When we reached a fork in the road, I was surprised to see Marcel and Thibault riding toward us. “They were sent the long way round, whilst we took the road by the river,” Tom volunteered, when he saw the surprised look on my face. “We knew not where we would find you.” After briefly greeting their comrades, my knights insisted we continue and I complied, although the jabs of pain in my side were growing worse.

  To distract myself, I asked for their story. “What brought you to this place? How did you know I would be riding north at this time?”

  “When you disappeared from Lavaur, we had no way to know where you went. The Lady Blanche seemed to be in charge of the household as Lady Geralda had left to attend to her brother in Montréal, so they said. But Lady Blanche was no help to us. First she told us you were ill. After three days, we demanded to see you, and stormed the room where they said you were. But the room was empty.”

  “Tom,” I began apologetically, thinking for the first time how ill I had used my faithful knights with this trick. But he waved my explanation away.

  “We have found you, that is all that matters now, lass.” I could hear a gruffness in his speech that almost signaled tears. “But you led us a merry chase.”

  “Why did you choose this road today?”

  “We had no way to know how to begin our search, what direction you had taken. The Lady Blanche acted as though she shared our surprise, so we knew it was no use to harass her. She would not give up your plan. So we headed for Toulouse where we knew the Lord William was to come soon, for the great meeting of Count Raymond and the papal legate, Pierre de Castelnau.”

  “And there you found the Lord William.” The clop-clop of the horses’ hooves, like the sound of some relentless church bell calling peasants to pray, echoed in my head as I fought the pain. “I can guess that he was not happy to hear the news of my activities,” I said ruefully.

  “Ah, Princesse. He was in a state when he heard you were in the south, and missing at that. But he also had the crucial conference with Raymond and the papal legate and he must put his mind to that.”

  “So did he send you to look for me then?”

  “No, at first he said we must wait until the conference had concluded, so he could come with us. But then two days later Pierre de Castelnau arrived at the count’s palace. He was closeted with Lord William for some time. When Lord William emerged, he told us to head south at dawn and not stop until we had reached the abbey at Fontfroide. He must have had news from the Cistercian monk that gave him to believe you were near Fontfroide Abbey.”

  “And what were Lord William’s instructions, should you find me?” For a brief moment, I allowed myself to feel these men were treating me like a lost package, but then I pushed that thought away. I knew in my heart William cared truly for my well-being.

  “He merely said when we found you, we were to bring you to the château at Foix. The Viscount Raymond-Roger at Foix is someone he trusts. He said he would join us there as soon as he could.”

  “Hmm,” was all I could muster in response.

  “Lord William said we were not to tarry, but to make haste on the main road in the direction of the sea and so we did. But a few miles back, at the place where we saw a small dwelling, the road splits. We did not know which path you had taken.”

  “Tom, did you notice anything about that hut? Was there a man about the place?”

  “Yes, some tough-appearing man came to the door. He must have heard our horses. We stopped long enough to ask if he had seen a young lad on horseback, and he said he saw a figure answering that description riding past earlier, and that the young squire had taken the road off through the fields. But we didn’t trust him, so we split up at that point. I thought you would have stayed by the river.”

  “And so I did. It is well you didn’t trust that peasant. I believe that man told my attacker where to find me. He knew I had silver on me.” I shuddered. “You arrived just in time.”

  “Princesse, I thank our God it was not two moments later, or you may not have survived,” Tom said, his usually taciturn voice full with feeling.

  “Tom,” I said, after a moment’s consideration, “if Lord William thought I was in danger and was so keen to send you after me, why did he not come himself?”

  “My lady, all the court is talking about the conference that is taking place today. Many hope that with Pierre de Castelnau in Toulouse, and with Lord William to moderate, and Count Raymond finally in a mood to listen, some accommodation can finally be made between Rome and Toulouse, some agreement that will prevent open warfare.”

  “Ah, yes, the important conference.” I had paid little attention to William’s diplomatic mission, but the news carried by Pierre of Castelnau when I saw him in the pilgrim’s hostel now made sense. William’s mission was an important one. And I was in error to have been thinking only of my own problems. Still, he had promised to find Francis when he left Paris and he had not done so. And so I fell silent, occupied with my pain for a time.

  Daylight was slowly dying when the formidable castle of the counts of Foix came into sight. I could only pray to the saints that the lady of Foix had returned from Lavaur and would be there to greet me, and that there would be a bath with water from the hearth pot. By this time the pain in my side was almost unbearable, and even the wound on my arm had begun to throb mercilessly. My dearest hope was that Francis would already have arrived, and once more we could be united. This time I would not part from him until I had told him I was his mother.

  The castle of the counts of Foix was situated much like the one at Lavaur, built into a hillside for safety. But it was much larger and more forbidding than Lavaur and set much higher with the only access a narrow path winding around the small mountain. Entry was made especially difficult by deep trenches dug at ground level, so steep that even when the mountain streams do not fill them with water they require that one must depend on the drawbridge to advance into the redoute. Between the barrier of the trenches and the climb necessary to achieve the entrance, I knew that I would feel secure once we had been admitted to the fortress.

  My knights hailed the guards on the top of the castle’s battlements. They waved back with a shout. After we identified ourselves, they bade us wait. A seemingly long time passed, during which the sun worked its way down toward the mountainous horizon at an alarming rate. I recalled with a shiver how fast the darkness fell in the mountains and wished the guards would make haste. Suddenly a tremendous clanking signaled that the drawbridge was being lowered.

  Though the pain cost me dearly, I gathered myself and cantered across it ahead of my men and picked my way up the stony path that wound around the hill on which the château was built. We could only make that last piece of the journey one horse at a time, and so I was alone when I entered the grand courtyard of the castle. When I saw the round, small figure of the Lady Philippa advancing from the Great Hall to welcome me, I felt a surge of relief. I reined in my horse and began to dismount, but found my legs would not obey. Instead, I slid to the ground, only to feel a great wave overcome me. Then I passed into darkness.

  .26.

  The Castle at Foix


  When I regained my senses I was flat on a feather bed in a large chamber. The light flickered from many torches, but still it was difficult to see.

  I felt for the sore spot in my side, but instead met a large cloth wrapped around my entire midsection. In truth, I was so tightly bound I wondered I could still breathe. I felt rough muslin fabric, a shift no doubt, and I knew I had been undressed and bandaged while I was in the darkness. Every breath caused a new stab of pain, and so I took in air and let it out carefully.

  I seemed to be alone in the room, but I dared not sit up. I would need help and anyway I was not yet ready to face the seizure of pain that would accompany me when I changed position. Without thinking, I sighed audibly.

  “Your Grace?” Tom’s cautious voice seemed to come from directly beside me. I turned my head to see him, faithful servant, sitting next to the bed.

  “Tom, how long have I been asleep? What hour is it now?”

  “It is yet some time before daylight, Princesse.” He spoke softly, through a large yawn.

  “Before daylight.” I spoke with effort, the rush of air creating an unexpected jab in my side. “I have been asleep since sunset of yestere’en?”

  “Your Grace, why didn’t you tell us of your side wounds and bruises? We would never have allowed you to ride as you did.” Tom sounded genuinely peeved. I had to smile, which turned into a grimace of pain.

  “I’ve never seen myself as a burden on my men,” I retorted.

  “You keep this up, begging your pardon for impudence, Princesse, and you won’t be a burden on anyone for long.” Tom cleared his throat to cover a quaver in his voice, and I drifted back into sleep again. I felt safe with him beside me and the pain was mercifully gone when I slipped into darkness.

  When next I knew anything, it was mid-morning. I opened my eyes and turned my head slightly to look at my surroundings. There were large windows set in the stone of the east wall of my bedchamber, and the early winter light sliced into the room through them.

  “She is coming round, Countess.” I heard Roland’s voice this time, and when I turned my head, it was he sitting beside me.

  “Princesse, are you now awake?” The cheery, red-cheeked, and very welcome face of Philippa of Foix came into view.

  “I am awake,” I said, “and I want to sit up.” I began to struggle, despite the discomfort. Roland carefully put his arm behind me and lifted me upward. With this, the pressure was released from my back and the spasms that had troubled me ceased. I found I could be upright with little pain. Philippa settled the pillows behind my back, clucking like a mother hen.

  “What hour is it? What day? How long have I been asleep?” Philippa had motioned a servant forward, and was giving instructions while I was rattling off questions. “And is young Francis here? William’s young knight? He is coming here for safety.”

  “Please, Princesse. I can only answer one question at a time. I am sending for some victuals for you. Have you a preference for your first meal? Could you manage more than bread and wine? When did you last eat?” My hostess smoothed the furs around my shoulders.

  “I don’t know. I think I had some bread and cheese just before I was wounded.” My head felt full of clouds. “Anything will do. Bread. Perhaps some cold chicken or pheasant.” My mouth began to water, although there was a queasy feeling in my stomach. “But I want to see young Francis. Has he arrived?”

  “You have eaten nothing in days?” Philippa’s honest face opened with surprise. She had ignored my questions about Francis. I was about to repeat myself when there was a tumult outside the door. In a moment the large oak door flew open, and, to my astonishment, the Lord William appeared. He rushed in, cloak flying, shouldering past the servant who was attempting to announce him.

  At one glance I could see the anger blazing in his face. I closed my eyes against the sight, but there was still this pulse in the air between us. In my weakened condition I did not feel ready for this interview.

  “Countess,” William said, with barely a glance in her direction. “Knights, leave us please.” There was no mistaking the order.

  “Don’t go,” I said to my men, aware that my weak voice was no match for William’s command.

  “You may wait outside.” He overrode me. “If your mistress needs you, she will call.”

  “I have sent for food for the princesse. She has not eaten for several days and she needs sustenance,” Philippa said bravely. “Here is a bell to call the servants if you have need,” she said, deliberately brushing past William, who had positioned himself beside my bed. “Need of anything,” she added, casting a look back at me.

  “Send the meal in when it arrives,” William said with a curtness I rarely heard him use. He tossed his sword and cloak off to a side bench, and ran his hand through his hair.

  Tom glanced in my direction. I shook my head weakly and shrugged. Of what use to protest? William no doubt had his men with him. With the Knights Templar at his beck and call, he could enforce his will. The knights and the countess understood, and left the room wordlessly.

  William and I were alone. He stared down on me. I looked him full in the face, the face that had once been dearer to me than anything on earth. I felt tears come, and pushed them back. I refused to give in to the sentimental woman who lurked deep within me and placed demands on me when I was weak.

  “And you, Lord William. Do you not want food? You must be tired after your journey,” I said, trying to make my voice flat of the emotion I felt.

  “I’ll take food later.” He turned abruptly and went to the side table, where a flagon of wine stood. I watched as he poured himself a good measure. He cast a quick look in my direction and poured another for me, which he carried back to the bed.

  “I don’t know if wine will agree with my empty stomach.” I pulled a wry face. “I have eaten little in the past day. And I think the countess gave me a sleeping draught yestere’en.”

  “Drink it,” was all he said. I complied, sipping a little, then resting the goblet on the bedcovers, my good hand shaking slightly as it curled around the cold stem.

  William pulled up a small bench and seated himself near me. In other times, he would have sat informally on the bed, close to me, touching my hand or even my body. In those days, though the fur covers lay between us, I would have felt the heat we generated. Now, all was cold.

  “What did you think you were doing, Alaïs?” He sounded like King Henry grilling his lieutenants after a rout.

  I sighed. “What was I doing when?”

  “Yes, you might well ask ‘when.’ In any of the following: leaving the safety of your brother’s Paris court to come to the south, when you knew the unstable situation here. Going to Fontfroide when you knew Amaury was there. Traveling alone so that you were prey to routiers and cutthroats. Putting your life in danger day after day. You are an intelligent woman.” His voice dripped vinegar, so tart was it. I kept a blank expression on my face, looking straight ahead. “Why did you not stay in Paris as I ordered? You were nearly killed.”

  “That’s quite a litany of misguided actions, or at least misguided in your eyes. But I had good reasons for everything I did.” I kept my voice steady. “How did you know I was nearly killed? And what brought you here to Foix?”

  “As soon as you arrived the countess sent a messenger to me at Raymond’s court. She thought your injuries might be fatal. She didn’t want a princesse of the blood dead in her castle, without sending word.”

  I took a deep breath. “I came south to find my son. You knew I would when we parted in Paris.”

  “I knew no such thing. My instructions were for you to remain at your brother’s court. I assumed you would follow them.” He bit off the ends of his words, his tone unforgiving. “I told you I would find Francis.”

  “But I wanted to find him.” I finally flared up at him. “You had other tasks to distract you, and I could not lurk about Paris, knowing that I might never see him again, that he might never know I was his mother.”
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br />   “Impatience has ever been your Achilles’ heel.” William shook his head. “I heard from Pierre de Castelnau when he arrived in Toulouse some days ago that he had met you on the road heading to the sea, that you believed Amaury held Francis at Fontfroide.”

  “That is true. I had a premonition as you know I sometimes have. And the Cathar preachers said there was much activity apparent when they passed the abbey. Then, when I met Father Pierre at the hostel at Verdun, and he said that Amaury was suddenly interested in visiting Fontfroide Abbey, my hunch became a certainty.”

  William cast a sharp look in my direction. “Have a care, Princesse. Even to use an expression that implies touching the hunchback for luck could get you into trouble in this volatile time.”

  I made an impatient gesture with my hand, as if to toss an imaginary ball into the air. “You know that I do not believe in that sorcery. Only that my second sight sometimes appears in the guise of something I know, from somewhere deep inside. I cannot account for it.”

  “Yes, I do know,” he said, placing his hand on my arm, touching me for the first time, though briefly.

  I took another draught of the wine, feigning not to notice his gesture, nor that his tone had softened. “I was desperate to find Francis. If his life was in danger, I did not want him to die without knowing that I was his mother.” I could not keep the feeling from my voice, though I was ashamed of the quaver it produced.

  William shifted on his bench, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, now holding his head in his hands. But he did not speak, so I continued.

  “After you and I quarreled that evening, I was desperate to take action. So I beseeched my brother the next day to give me and my men permission to come to the south.”

  “And Philippe let you go?” The rising notes reflected his assessment of my brother’s actions. “I find that hard to believe. He must be truly distracted with the intrigues of his court.”