The Lark's Lament: A Fools' Guild Mystery

by Alan Gordon

  “We have to go to Gémenos, Theo,” I said. “We have to see her. She’s the last piece of the story.”

  “Poor woman,” said Pantalan.

  “Which one?” asked Theo.

  “Both of them,” said Pantalan. “By the way, it’s been a long time, but don’t you think young Philippe bears a striking resemblance to his father at that age?”

  “You knew the Hawk?” asked Theo.

  “No, but I knew Folquet,” he said. “I wonder if the boy knows.”

  “I doubt it,” said Theo. “It is not our place to tell him. There’s enough woe in his life. Let him vanish beyond the sea.”

  “I wonder if he sings,” said Helga.

  * * *

  We loaded up our wain immediately upon our return.

  “I am not going to say good-bye this time,” said Pantalan. “If I do, you’ll only show up again. Tell Folquet that his prick has gotten us in much too much trouble, and that I sincerely hope it has fallen off.”

  “If it hasn’t, we might arrange something,” I said.

  “You must let me know what you learn,” said Pantalan. “I am beside myself with curiosity.”

  “We will,” said Theo. “Until then.”

  We could not make Gémenos by nightfall, so we made camp. Helga took the first watch without being told. We rose at dawn, none of us having had much rest.

  We reached the Valley of the Eagles by midmorning. In the distance, we could see members of Hélène’s order on the hillside with their herd.

  “How do you think she did it?” asked Theo. “How do you stampede cattle?”

  “With dogs,” I said. “A pair of dogs so obedient that they become an extension of your own will. She had such a pair with her when I met her. God, she sat and told me all about Lady Mathilde’s death, and she smiled as she did it. It was a joke to her, and we only just got it.”

  “It’s how you tell it,” he said grimly. “How do you want to handle this? She may be dangerous.”

  “So are we,” I said. “Let us all go. Watch out for cows.”

  The women watched as we approached. One detached herself from the group and walked up to us. “What would you here?” she demanded curtly.

  “We seek Hélène of Marseille,” I said.

  “You are the ones who saw her before,” she said.

  “Oc, Domna.”

  “She is not here,” she said, and turned to leave.

  “Please, Domna, we must see her,” I begged. “There may be lives at risk.”

  “I told you she is not here,” she said.

  “Where is she?” asked Theo.

  “She left,” said the woman. “Two days ago, a man rode into Gémenos and sought her out. They spoke, and she started screaming and tearing at her face and clothes. Something about her brother’s death, and then the most vile imprecations against her husband. Is it true that Sieur Julien is dead? He was a great patron to us, thanks to his sister.”

  “We heard nothing about it in Marseille,” I said. “Tell us, Domna, when did she leave?”

  “We had to subdue her to keep her from doing further harm to herself,” she said. “I gave her something to help her sleep, but when we woke the next morning, she was gone.”

  “Let me ask you this, Domna,” I said. “There was a death here, maybe two months ago. A new member of your order.”

  “That is none of your business,” she said.

  “I am afraid that it is,” I said. “Her name was Mathilde, was it not?”

  She was silent, then nodded briefly. “She was new to our ways,” she said. “As a novitiate, she had to learn how to tend to the herd.”

  “Who was tending the cattle with her when it happened?” I asked.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” she asked. “It was an accident, a horrible stupid accident.”

  “Who was with her?” I shouted. “Was it Hélène?”

  “Oc, but you cannot—”

  “Was she on foot or on horseback?” asked Theo.

  “We have only the two horses for the wagons,” she said. “She left them.”

  “Alone and on foot,” said Theo, thinking.

  “She’s not alone,” said the woman. “She took her dogs with her.”

  “She has a day and a half lead,” Theo said to me. “But she has to go through the massif to get to Le Thoronet, and she’s on foot. I can catch up to her if I leave you here.”

  “Go. We’ll be all right,” I said.

  “What are you talking about?” demanded the woman.

  “There will be time for explanations later,” I said. “Theo, take us to the farmhouse we stayed at.”

  He turned us away from the hillside as the woman stared after us dumbfounded. We reached the farmhouse in short order. He jumped down from the wain and unhitched Zeus. Helga tossed him his saddle, and he threw it on the horse’s back.

  We came down to join him. He gave Helga a quick hug, kissed the baby, then kissed me much harder.

  “You be careful,” I said. “A woman out of her mind can be more dangerous than you know.”

  “I learned that lesson a long time ago,” he said, smiling at me.

  He kissed me one more time, then vaulted onto Zeus’s back.

  “If I am not back within a week, go back to Marseille,” he said. “I will find you at Pantalan’s. Oh, and you had better take these.”

  He reached into his pouch and pulled out a pair of scrolls, which he tossed to me. Then he waved and kicked his heels into Zeus’s flanks. The horse shot off like an arrow.

  I looked at the scrolls in my hand, then opened them carefully.

  “What are they?” asked Helga, looking at them over my shoulder.

  “This one frees me if he ever joins holy orders,” I said. “This one is his will.”

  “Sealed by a notary,” she said, impressed.

  I watched the pair of them galloping up the road through the forest.

  “You son of a bitch!” I screamed after him. “Don’t you dare make me use these!”

  Then I collapsed to the ground, weeping until Portia crawled into my lap and demanded to be nursed again.

  FOURTEEN

  Farai o doncs aissi co·l joglars fai,

  aissi com muoc mon lais lo fenirai …

  [I will do as a joglar does / and end my verse as I began it…]

  —FOLQUET DE MARSEILLE, “S’AL COR PLAGUES, BEN FOR’OIMAIS SAZOS” [TRANS. N. M. SCHULMAN]

  There are two ways up a mountain. One is to take the easy road, trotting safely back and forth using the switchbacks, laboriously repeating yourself, getting a little farther up each time until you reach the top and have to come back down the other side the same way.

  The other is to go straight up the slope in reckless disregard of all hazards and sense.

  I looked at the road, then at the steep ascent.

  “She didn’t take the road,” I said to Zeus. “The climb is easier for a two-legged beast than a four-legged one.”

  He snorted and pulled at the reins.

  “Fine,” I said, yanking him to the left. “But if you break your leg, I leave you.”

  We reached the chapel at the Eagle’s Pass in no time, and I was breathing harder than he was.

  “The corollary is that if I break my neck, you leave me,” I gasped. “All right, we have proved that we are sufficiently brave, stupid, and masculine. Let’s see how fast we can get across the massif without a wain and family dragging us down.”

  The trip had taken three days coming from the other direction, but that was at a wain’s pace. Still, this was not the place to let Zeus go all out. At his top speed, we would have plunged off the first cliff we came to. I spent the day reining him in from a full gallop until my hands bled from the effort. By the time night fell and forced us to stop, I was so exhausted that I barely had the strength to gather wood for a fire. I poured Zeus a pile of oats, then shared my water skin. In my haste, I had brought only food, no blankets or bedding. The remains of an
old shepherd’s lean-to gave me some shelter, but no amount of dead leaves could compensate for the cold of a November night in the mountains. I wrapped my cloak around me as tightly as I could and missed my wife intensely. Not just for the warmth, either, although I confess that became the predominant desire after a while.

  I awoke early and rolled out of the lean-to. I didn’t bother with a fire, but I did do my stretches. No amount of urgency would make me forgo that routine, especially with another day of riding facing me. Zeus looked at me blearily.

  “Cheer up, old friend,” I said, putting his saddle on. “We should be off the massif by noon. Then you can stretch your legs.”

  I winced as I gripped the reins. The early morning mists were clinging to the mountain, and even Zeus saw the wisdom of a relatively cautious pace. I huddled into his neck on the straightaways, hoping to draw some warmth from the animal, but we were high up and the chill refused to leave.

  Then I heard a wolf howl, somewhere off to my right. It seemed far away, but it echoed through the mists and crags. I hoped that we were not its prey. A second answered it, much nearer, and that was all Zeus needed to hear. He bolted, with me screaming at him and hauling back on the reins to no avail. The road twisted and writhed like a pinioned serpent ahead of us, and with each turn I was thrown to one side or the other. Finally, I just wrapped the reins around my wrist and clung to his neck, hoping and praying that we would emerge unharmed.

  After an eternity, we burst through the last pass on the massif and I managed to bring him down to a trot, then a walk. Finally, he stopped, his sides heaving, his eyes rolling wildly.

  There was the sound of a stream somewhere ahead of us. I slid down into an untidy heap, my right wrist still tangled in the reins. I had to pry my fingers from them. My hand looked like it had been whipped repeatedly.

  “Well done,” I croaked. “Come on. I’ll buy you a drink.”

  I led him to the stream, and he plunged his muzzle in, sucking in the water greedily. I plunged my blood-caked hand in quickly, hoping that the cold would numb the pain, but I only ended up with a hand that was frozen as well as in agony. I washed the blood off and clumsily wrapped my kerchief around it, tying the knot with my teeth. Then I drank. The water was as cold, crisp, and clean as any I have ever tasted, and I would have gladly traded the entire stream for one cup of wine right then and there.

  It was near noon, but the clouds still covered the sun. After a couple of false starts, I succeeded in heaving myself back onto the saddle, taking the reins in my left hand.

  “Maybe this is all for naught,” I said to Zeus as he walked down the road. “Maybe the wolves took her, or the cold. Maybe she despaired and threw herself into one of those ravines you kept barely missing, thank you very much.”

  But she had her dogs with her, I thought. They wouldn’t have left her on that massif. They would have stayed by where she fell and howled in mourning.

  Was it the dogs and not wolves doing just that as we plunged madly through the massif? Were they what had panicked Zeus? The howling sounded like wolves to me, and I have done enough hunting in my youth to know the difference. Still, I could have passed her on the massif.

  I looked out at the plain stretching ahead of us. I saw some farms, and a small village. I did not see a woman with two dogs.

  We reached the base of the descent an hour later. There was nothing but even terrain ahead.

  There was no point in searching for her. Either I was right about where she was going, or I wasn’t. Either I would get to the abbey at Le Thoronet before her, or I would be too late. Whatever the possibilities were, my course of action was the same. My only goal now was to stay on my horse for the rest of the journey.

  “No more mountains,” I said to Zeus. “Shall we?”

  I took a deep breath, then nudged Zeus’s flanks lightly with my heels. He took off like a stone from a catapult. We scattered a flock of chickens as we passed by the nearest farm; then we were on the road heading east, my cloak flapping in the breeze. The sun finally broke through the clouds and warmed my back. As it began to set, I sighted the hill with Le Cannet to the south, and I knew the road to Le Thoronet must be near. Either I could ride through the woods in the darkness to reach it, or I could stop and find shelter for one more night.

  But I still hadn’t seen her on the journey. I stopped at the edge of the forest so that we could have one more meal, then found a dry tree limb that could serve me as a crude torch. I lit it from the small fire I had made, then pulled myself up onto the horse.

  Every muscle I owned ached. Zeus was looking much the worse for the journey himself, and was clearly disinclined to leave the safety of the fire for the gloom of the forest.

  “One more push,” I urged him. “Only a few miles, and I promise that I’ll let you rest for two days. Three if I get killed. Come on.”

  Reluctantly, he trotted ahead.

  The torch did not light our path very well, but I was hoping that it would keep any wolves at bay. Of course, it would also alert any human predators that we were coming, but that was a chance I had to take. There was little moon to help us tonight, so I had to trust to my sense of direction and my memory of the previous time I had come this way.

  Then I sensed the randomness of the forest changing into the regular spacing of the groves by the abbey, and I thanked God, who watches over those too foolish to care for themselves.

  I got down from Zeus and slapped him approvingly on the rump. My torch was out. I tossed it into the stream running by the abbey, then led the horse to the entry door and started pounding on it.

  “Open up!” I yelled. “Open up in the name of God!”

  I did this for a long time, but eventually I heard soft footsteps approach and a bar slide back. The door creaked open, and a very sleepy and irritable-looking monk stood before me with a torch.

  “What do you seek?” he asked grumpily.

  “God’s mercy,” I replied.

  “Find it somewhere else tonight,” he said, and I saw for the first time that he had a sword in his other hand.

  “I need to talk to the abbot,” I said. “It’s a matter of life and death.”

  “My orders are to admit no one after sunset,” said the monk. “Come back in the morning.”

  He started to close the door. I shoved it into him, sending him staggering backwards.

  “Help!” he screamed. “Intruders! Bandits!”

  “Stop it,” I said wearily.

  Other shouts came from beyond him, and I could see a group of robed men pour into the end of the entry hall, staves and knives at the ready.

  “I bring news of Brother Antime’s death!” I shouted.

  There were gasps and murmurs, but no attack.

  “I was here to speak with your abbot some weeks ago,” I continued. “Many of you saw me. Some of you may have been in the group that so graciously escorted me.”

  “He was that fool who was here when Brother Pelfort was killed,” said one of them.

  “That’s me,” I said. “The mad fool who runs errands for the abbot. I must speak with him immediately.”

  “What happened to Brother Antime?” one of them asked.

  “I will first speak with Abbot Folc about that,” I said. “Will you let me pass?”

  “Throw down your weapons,” said the monk who had first opened the door.

  My dagger and knife clanked onto the stone floor by his feet.

  “Will you consent to be bound?” he asked.

  “I will not,” I said. “I will consent to your taking my horse to your stables and treating him better than you have treated me. He is a heroic beast, and I have run him nearly to death in your abbot’s service. Let me pass.”

  I strode forward, tossing Zeus’s reins to the startled monk. The others fell back, then surrounded me as I emerged into the gallery by the cloister. There was a frightened yelp behind me.

  “Mind his teeth,” I called over my shoulder.

  I looked around at the
circle of staves and blades pointed at me.

  “I’m in a generous mood, so I won’t take you on,” I said to the group. “This way.”

  I set off down the gallery to the steps to the church, my escort shuffling quickly around me to maintain the circle. Then I stopped.

  “This is the right way, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “It is, if it’s salvation that you seek,” said Folc from the top of the steps leading to the church. The torches held by the monks around me cast their light unevenly on his face from below, putting his eyes into shadow.

  “The salvation that I seek may not be my own,” I said. “I am the bearer of sad tidings. Brother Antime is dead.”

  “How did he die?” asked Folc.

  “For your sins,” I said. “Care to discuss them?”

  He looked at me impassively, then turned abruptly, beckoning me to follow. The monks in front of me separated. I started up the steps. They did not follow.

  Folc was waiting for me inside the church, holding a lit candle. “My office is this way,” he said, indicating a small flight of steps to my left.

  “No bodyguard?” I asked.

  “Some things must be done in private,” he said.

  We walked up the steps and through a door. We were facing the dormitorium, which was above the librarium and chapter house. Folc’s office was a cell to the left, not more than eight paces by six, with a tiny writing desk below a small rectangular slit of a window. He put the candle on the desk and turned to me, his face in shadow.

  “Close the door behind you,” he said.

  I did.

  “You wished to discuss my sins,” he said.

  “Here is a turnabout, when the fool confesses the abbot,” I said. “I do not know if we have time enough to discuss them all. Let me begin with the one that cost so many lives.”

  “Lives?” he said. “More than just Brother Antime?”

  “Since I was last here, seven men have gone to their doom,” I said. “I would say to their graves, but some may still be lying where they fell. All because you are a coward and a liar.”