“Nonsense,” Poncia said. “We can’t back away now.” Jehan stared for a moment, then clenched his jaw and walked past them.
Auda frowned. Jehan was usually outspoken, effusive even, and never without a smile. Was he angry on account of her?
“Pay him no mind,” Poncia said in a low tone as Jehan threw back the door and disappeared into the supper hall. “He worries easily.”
Auda crooked her finger into a hook. Why?
Her sister pulled her forward. “God only knows what drives men and their ambitions. Come.”
Safe?
What if Jehan had summoned those churchmen to question her? Maybe he planned to give her to them. What did she know of this man, with his wealth and worldly concerns? What did Poncia really know of him either?
“It’s safe, Auda, I promise you.” Poncia sighed and touched Auda’s cheek. “Remember what I told you, about Maman’s wish for us? She said to me, when you were still a lump in her belly, that what fortunes waited for you waited for me too. And what grace I was given should be shared with you.”
So Poncia said, but what would their mother really have wanted had she known she would birth a witch-child?
Her sister’s voice dropped. “My prosperity is yours, as your happiness is mine.” She laid a kiss on Auda’s head. “I don’t want you ever to forget it.”
Chapter Nine
The sisters entered the supper hall hand in hand. Auda gasped. The room loomed twice the size of their father’s entire plot of land—house and barn. Dark wooden benches fitted with red cushions lined one wall, and a long table with twelve chairs stood next to a fire burning high in the hearth. Costly candles flickered on the walls, dripping light and wax onto the ground.
Poncia tugged her forward and smiled at her guests. Her eyes widened when she spied a tall man standing in the back of the room. Auda followed her sister’s gaze. The stranger was dressed in a rich blue tunic and seemed to be holding a miniature court in the back of her sister’s supper hall. Not far from him stood a woman in a gleaming green gown. Regal and bejeweled, the woman was speaking to an older dame and ignoring the three men clustered around them.
Jehan stepped in between the sisters, bobbing his head at Auda even as he turned to her sister.
“I tried to warn you,” he murmured. His face and lips stayed flat, but his tense voice carried a hint of sympathy.
Auda tried to look around for the miller. All she knew of the man was that he was mature and wealthy. Poncia nudged her forward and led her toward the tall stranger in the back of the room, where Jehan was already headed. As old as her father, the stranger had pocked skin and straight gray hair, with an angular brown face and thin lips that curved into a smile. Handsome, despite his age and thin frame, he moved with vigor, holding his head high and casting an indulgent smile over her sister in her own home. In his rich-scented presence, even Poncia and Jehan’s matching woolen finery seemed mediocre.
Surely this wasn’t the miller? Auda swallowed, unsure whether it was anxiety or thrill that coursed through her blood. Perhaps a little of both.
Poncia pulled her into a deep curtsy.
“My lord,” Jehan began with a bow. “We are honored you’ve come to our humble home.”
“You do us much favor attending our supper,” Poncia said, her voice shy. Auda glanced up at the uncharacteristic deference but Poncia squeezed her hand.
“I am fortunate to be able to do so.” He gave Auda an indulgent smile. “You must be Lady Poncia. But who is this fair maiden?”
Auda curtsied again. Feeling the man’s eyes upon her covered head, she touched a hand to her laced cap.
Poncia tugged on Auda’s sleeve. “My sister, Auda, my lord. She cannot speak, an incident as a babe.”
“Not at all the curse it would seem,” the man said with aplomb. “After all, a silent wife…”
Poncia’s laughter was immediate. Auda whipped her head up at the crude but common joke, and the man’s eyes, seeing her face, widened for a mere second. Poncia gave her a light frown and Auda dropped her head, but not before she caught a look of curiosity pass across the lord’s face.
Jehan stepped in. “My Lord Vicomte, if you please, there is someone I’d like you to meet.”
“If you’ll excuse me.” He bowed.
My Lord Vicomte? Auda put her hands to her reddening cheeks. This was the town’s lord? Amaury the Second, heir to a dynasty of vicomtes, wedded for centuries to Narbonne and her people? No wonder Jehan hadn’t wanted her at the meal!
Auda had seen the lord only once before, from the back of a large crowd at a town celebration. He’d gleamed like a gilded painting, standing with his wife, Jeanne de L’Isle-Jourdain. Dressed in their family colors of green and black, they had presided over a brightly dressed troupe that mummed around the city’s fir tree, decorating it with apples and red berries.
“You should watch your manners,” Poncia said in a low voice, still smiling in the direction of the retreating men. “I’d not expected him to come, nor his lady wife.” She nodded at the regal woman dressed in matching green.
Nervous shame surged once more across Auda’s cheeks. How was she to know the vicomte himself would attend her sister’s supper? She’d thought he was the miller! Her flush deepened. No doubt she was the only one here naïve enough not to know who the tall lord was.
She swallowed, aware of how different she was from everyone else in this room. These were people used to going about the world with business in mind—not like her, a lowly girl who’d barely left the confines of her father’s house on the outskirts of town. Would this miller be as worldly as the rest of Poncia’s guests? Would he encourage her to attend events like this, to learn and write and share?
How had Poncia managed? Somewhere along the way, her sister had found her way into a world beyond their father’s life. Maybe the miller would be just like them. Poncia had done well for herself; maybe this was Auda’s chance too.
“Come,” Poncia said, looking around at the guests. “I’ll introduce you to Edouard, the miller.”
A plain, doughy-faced man was wandering toward them. “My lady,” he said with an awkward bow. “My ladies.”
A feeling of dread sank into Auda’s gut. So this was the miller. He had to be. He was everything she had feared: a large man with a belly that hung over his belt, lackluster brown hair that barely covered his skull, ears that stuck out too large, and a tendency to bob his head when he spoke. Fat and old, but more plain than ugly—and she, of all people, knew the perils of judging on looks alone.
Poncia smiled. “Ah, my lord Edouard, I am so glad you were able to come tonight. I know you don’t often come to these engagements. Please, come and meet my sister. I’ve told her much about you.”
The man returned her smile, though the curve of his thick lips seemed an odd expression on his wrinkled face. “Lady Poncia. It’s true I don’t often get out. Fine suppers are a frivolity I’ve little time for. But I understand it is an important thing for ladies.” He nodded at Auda, who forced herself not to droop under his words.
“Isn’t it, though?” Poncia beamed at him. “I’ll leave you two alone to get acquainted,” she said, squeezing Auda’s shoulder. Auda couldn’t look at her.
The miller surveyed her up and down, nodding. “You are as your sister says. No obvious blemish, except for your hair and your tongue, I suppose.” He gave a half shrug of his thick shoulders. “You don’t have need of either, really.”
Auda clenched her fists. What had he just said?
“I won’t need a dowry,” he continued, tugging at an ear, “and our courtship will be short. Jewels and rich clothes will do you no good anyway as I rarely have time to attend fancies like this.” He gestured at the minstrels.
Auda schooled her face into a mask. She didn’t need jewels or rich clothes either, nor anything more than his approval to do what she loved most—work with her father and write for herself. She would be marrying for safety, she reminded herself, for a hom
e to call her own. Not the gilded fortune that Poncia had built for herself.
The miller must have sensed her disappointment. “You’ll have everything you’ll need to run a good household, I can promise you that. I’ve enough to build a second story atop my house by the river. Construction starts next week. We need not wait until the formal marriage to keep house together either. Best to get familiar with the routine, and start on getting heirs.” He nodded and spoke in a lower tone, as if talking to himself. “I’ve wasted too many years already, with no sons to show for it.”
Auda trembled at the thought, bearing this stranger’s children, keeping his house, tending to his needs. Would she too come to think of it as a life wasted? Surely it would be better to dream of finer things than to settle for this. Had Poncia really thought Auda could be happy with him? Safety is better than happiness, her sister would probably say. At least her mother died bearing a child out of love. Would childbirth serve her so well?
Too many questions when she really only wanted to know one thing about him, only had one type of creation she’d ever dreamed of. Reaching into a pouch that hung on the belt of her dress, she pulled out a tiny scrap of paper she had brought with her to Poncia’s house. She unfolded it, thinking of the single question she had written upon it: what form of story do you like best?
Fingers shaking, she smoothed the page out and held it out to the miller.
Edouard frowned, surprised, and accepted the scrap. He turned it over in his hands. “What is it?”
Auda edged closer to him and pointed at the words.
“Hm. I can’t read.” With an air of dismissal, he handed her the page. The scrap fluttered to the ground before she could take it.
“We’ll talk again soon,” he said, then with a bob of his head, left.
Auda scrambled for her note, swallowing against tears. She wouldn’t marry this man, couldn’t. There had to be another way.
A horn sounded the meal and Poncia extricated herself from a nearby knot of guests to find her. “You will have to tell me all about Edouard after the meal. Please, Auda, this is a good chance—use it to your advantage!”
Auda bit her lip and turned her face from her sister’s expectant looks, grateful for once that she couldn’t speak.
Poncia sat her near the middle of the board and settled beside her, across from her husband, a finger’s length above the dish of salt. Auda stared around with her with dull confusion. Her gaze fixed on the salt. Growing up, they had never had such a valuable spice. The vicomte and his wife were ensconced at the head, at the warm end of the board, also in reach of the salt.
Across from Auda, a large man with his nose buried in his ale cup ignored his suppermates. Next to him, an old dame with drooping lips was conversing with her younger husband. The others present, all persons of importance within the Artisan and Trade Guilds, sat below the salt along the remaining length of the board, each dressed in bright cloth and jewels. The miller sat near the other end, despite Poncia’s entreaties to sit closer to them.
Hiding her exasperation with a false smile, Poncia sat at her place. She bent her head toward Auda’s and guided her eyes toward the guests.
“See the sleepy one? That’s Prades,” Poncia whispered. “He heads the craft guilds. The fleur-de-lys under his seal means he’s a consul. And that one there”—Poncia nodded toward the man married to the old dame—“he heads the Draper’s Guild, and you won’t find one richer.”
Auda nodded without listening, unable to comprehend anything but the horror that would be marriage to the miller.
At last Jehan stood and lifted his cup of wine.
“We are pleased you’ve joined us this evening, despite the rain and portents that we may be doomed shortly,” his voice boomed. “It is a fine night to be gathered together in warmth. And we are honored to be graced by the presence of our good lord, the Vicomte—”
“No, no,” the vicomte interrupted, raising his cup higher. His deep voice drowned out Jehan’s toast. “It is a fine enough thing that you hold such a cheery supper in these dreary times. I trust you were able to get past the archbishop’s tiresome priests, and the obscenity that is to be his next offering to God? I must apologize for the muck and rubbish he has cast all about my town.”
Frowning, Jehan swallowed his wine, and Poncia shifted in her seat. Was it because the lord had preempted his toast, or because he maligned the men of God? The vicomte had to be a bold man to speak out against the Church. One never knew who might be listening. Auda refused to look at the miller, to see what his reaction was.
The vicomte refilled his host’s cup. “Let us drink to happier things. To cheer and health. A la vòstra,” he said, raising his own glazed goblet, and his wife held up her own.
Auda struggled not to choke on the unwatered wine, a red vintage that burned her throat. When would this evening end? Around her, conversation settled into two groups, one on either side.
“If the Vicomte is so concerned with the cheer of his people,” the draper said in a low tone, “he might show it a little more public concern. Perhaps ease the anxiety in people’s hearts with a speech to counteract the fear the Church spreads around.” He dipped his fingers in the water.
“Oc, but the Vicomte has his own anxieties,” the man seated next to the draper said. He glanced at the tall lord, who was conversing with Jehan, and leaned in. “A bad bit of business, this pariage that gives Narbonne the Crown’s protection, unasked, and for a fee no less. We’ll see if he finds time away from his concerns to keep out the inquisitors as he says.”
So the rumors were true—the inquisitors had cast their eyes toward Narbonne. A surge of fear resurfaced in her mind.
“Not that he’s done anything to stop this half-witted hysteria over the rains,” the draper continued.
The man sitting across from Auda shrugged over his wine. “As long as he keeps the inquisitors out of Narbonne, what do we care?”
“Well,” the dame observed, “at least the Crown’s touch will bring a bit of fashion back to the city.” She smiled at Lady Jeanne and raised her voice. “Surely, you must miss the court, domna?”
The vicomtesse shrugged and arched a thin brow. Auda lowered her head, wondering whether the well-coiffed woman’s powdered face and rouged lips attracted her husband’s gaze. Was that the way one found love? The lady didn’t seem like a retiring maiden. Did the vicomte mind?
The servants entered with plates and bowls of steaming food. First came sugared almonds, white bread with fat drippings, and a nutty yellow cheese. A game stew with venison and herbs dressed in verjuice and mint followed, along with a pork roast prepared in sweet fat and parsley. A large platter of smoked fish—smelt and trout—served with mustard appeared at Auda’s elbow, and fish jelly with figs and wafers not far from that. Such a feast in her sister’s home! The warm odors of meat, fat, and syrup mingled in the air.
Auda took a smaller sip of wine and, letting its drowsy warmth calm her nerves, positioned herself so the miller was not in her view. She concentrated on the vicomte’s words.
“Ever the complaint is the taxes,” the consul Prades was saying to him.
“Oc, oc, lower the taxes on this, eliminate the surcharge on that,” the vicomte replied, speaking over Poncia’s head. He selected a sugared almond and popped it into his mouth. “The absurdity of the masses—they quibble over pennies and never realize those pennies add up to pave the roads their caravans travel, and to pay the banderii who guard them.”
“Not to mention the market space you arranged in town,” Jehan agreed.
The vicomte shook his head. “Just this afternoon, some trader imprisoned by the Church petitioned me. The man sold artifacts from the Levant, some more genuine than others, I gather, though who am I to care? If a fool wants to buy infidel relics from a dishonest merchant, why should I point out his idiocy? Though this trader’s the true idiot. He set up shop right under the archbishop’s nose and neglected to pay the tax on religious items. Now the halfwit fin
ds himself in prison and calls to me for help! Horse’s ass.”
But who else could he go to? Auda wondered, intrigued by their talk.
Jehan coughed on his meat and took a deep drink of his wine, trading a terse look with his wife. “Threats against money, threats against soul, and still these people keep dealing with the Moors. Just punishment would be to have this trader take the cross.”
Poncia stiffened, but said nothing.
The vicomte shrugged. “For him. But I need the trade to pay off the king’s pariage. Between the Church and the Crown, they’re squeezing me like shit from a dog. Already I have to raise taxes in the Old Market.”
“My lord!” Prades said, turning raised eyebrows upon him.
The vicomte raised a hand. “And without a tax, where will the money for the new scriptorium come from? The archbishop’s allotted a poor share for it, and the Old Market pays far less in taxes than the archbishop charges in his own market. At least now everyone can curse over the same rates,” he added with a bitter laugh.
Auda cast an excited look at Poncia. A scriptorium—now this was fine news! Small rooms set up with desks and easels for scribes to copy books and scrolls, scriptoriums were usually only attached to libraries or monasteries, reserved for rich towns or those with large abbeys. Poncia had forever told their father to seek employment as a scribe up at the abbey’s scriptorium in Fontfroide, a half-day’s walk from Narbonne.
Still aside from those wanting copies of textbooks or religious documents, who would need a scriptorium here? Perhaps one built by a nobleman might go in other directions entirely. All manners of documents might need to be copied, deeds and writs arranged for easy access. Maybe even verse. Auda felt her heart beat faster at the thought.
And who would be the armarius, directing tasks, distributing materials and overseeing the work? A churchman? Or someone who would look past parchment, and cast an approving eye over her father’s cheaper paper? A man such as that might order whole reams at a time. Auda couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Perhaps her father could quit scribing and devote himself fulltime to making paper. She could help him—no time to get married.
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