Gabrielle looked into Ian’s eyes as if she had seen him for the first time. “You’re so assured of yourself when giving healing advice.”
“My mother taught me well. I wish she could have lingered longer. There’s so much more she could have taught me, but I have her Book of Healing.” Ian clasped Gabrielle’s hand to his chest, bent down, and kissed her on the forehead.
“She must have been a wonderful woman.”
“She was.”
Two weeks later, Luc clambered into bed anticipating an enjoyable romp with Gabrielle. Her infection had been cured, and she had been acting playful all evening. He wore nothing under his nightshirt even though the evening air was cool. He had closed the window and the bedchamber door anticipating some noisy escapades.
Gabrielle emerged from her dressing room clad only in his imagination and jumped onto the bed like a frolicsome teenager. Their regular romps kept Luc and Gabrielle a happy couple when many of Luc’s friends had affairs or mistresses on the side. Luc’s playful wife was his joy to behold.
After a delightsome half hour of sexual acrobatics, Luc lay against his pillow with Gabrielle snuggled against his left side and asked, “Do you think I’m too hard on the boys?”
Gabrielle, still stewing in the hot juices of her fantasies realized, slowly replied, “You’re too lenient with the boys, Luc, as always.”
“I don’t mean am I too lenient; I mean, am I holding them back too much from their dreams of going on a pilgrimage?”
“Of course not, dear. They’re too young to be going off thousands of miles into countries bedeviled by cruel and bloodthirsty people. They need to stay here where they’re safe.”
“I’ve been doing everything I can without being too obvious. I can’t keep them here forever.”
“Keep them here until I’ve passed on, mon amour.”
Seven
The sun was warm and glowed in the September morning sky. Ian and Jacques supervised the harvesting. Ian dismounted from Tonnerre Noir as needed and assisted with the loading of the heavy baskets of grapes onto the hauling cart, especially when Rosemarie’s baskets were full. Louis drove the cart back and forth between the vineyard and the barn and unloaded the baskets.
That afternoon they prepared for the stomping of the traditional family vat of grapes. Luc insisted that one vat be a family endeavor at each harvest.
“This is the only part of being a vintner that I enjoy,” Jacques confided to Ian, “pigeage, or stomping the grapes.”
Jacques and Ian had both bathed and changed into knee-length lightweight tunics and drawers. They approached the large wooden vat full of Mourvèdre grapes, clambered over the side, and stepped in. As Ian’s feet penetrated the cap of grape skins covering the mash and juice, the escaping fermentation gases filled the air with a delicious aroma. Ian felt the grapes pleasantly squish under his feet and between his toes.
Ian said, “I hope everyone washes their feet before they stomp the grapes.”
“Of course they do,” replied Jacques, “and besides, the alcohol kills any nasty stuff in the wine before we drink it.”
“What do we do with the leftover pulp and skins when the juice is all drained off?”
“My father has most of it fed to the swine, and the rest is added to compost for fertilizer. Nothing goes to waste, and we have some of the finest tasting pork in Toulon.”
“I wondered where the wonderful flavor came from.”
Ian spotted Rosemarie and Esmeralda approaching the vat. Each was dressed in white shifts, with short sleeves and even shorter skirts. “Halloo, Rosemarie and Esmeralda,” Ian greeted, then reached down and assisted Rosemarie up into the vat. Jacques assisted Esmeralda. As the girls clambered aboard, Ian noticed that Esmeralda wasn’t wearing anything underneath her gauzy shift and guessed that Rosemarie wasn’t either. He tried to avoid looking too closely.
Jacques held Esmeralda’s hands and they stomped in unison while circling the vat.
Finding it difficult to maintain his balance in the slippery squishy grapes, Ian felt clumsy until Rosemarie held out her hands for him to hold. Ian took her hands in his and Rosemarie led him in a stomp dance. He tried to follow her lead as best as he could. Ian saw that Rosemarie wasn’t wearing anything underneath her shift and didn’t seem to mind letting him see her feminine attributes.
Luc and Gabrielle appeared at the side of the vat and Luc asked, “How are my children enjoying the pigeage? I want this to be an extra special batch of wine. I’ll name it les enfants du raisin in your honor.”
Gabrielle nudged Luc in the side, gave him a mischievous look, and said, “Oh, Luc, why don’t we join in the fun?”
Luc returned her look and replied, “I’m game if you are. Children, we’ll be right back,” and they scurried off hand in hand.
Jacques, Esmeralda, Rosemarie, and Ian joined hands in a ring and stomp danced around the vat. Ian felt so happy and relaxed in the activity he began to smile uncontrollably.
Jacques asked Ian, “Why are you smiling like the village idiot?”
“This is fun.”
“I told you.” Jacques scooped up a handful of grape pulp and threw it at Ian, hitting him full in the face. Taking his cue, Ian wiped his eyes, scooped up a handful of pulp and returned fire, but Jacques instinctively ducked and the goop hit Esmeralda on the neck.
‘Harumpf,’ Luc growled for attention at the side of the vat. “We can’t leave our children alone for a few minutes and they turn into feral creatures.” Luc and Gabrielle had arrived dressed for pigeage.
“Sorry, sir, we were just having a bit of fun,” Ian said. Ian and Jacques helped them into the vat.
They formed a larger circle with the six of them holding hands and did a walking stomping dance circling the vat and singing a Frankish song Ian didn’t recognize. Jacques broke his grip with Gabrielle long enough to grasp a handful of grapes and throw them at Rosemarie, splatting her in the bosoms. Rosemarie broke her grip with Luc and fired a handful at Jacques.
Luc asked, “Are my children turning into savages?” whereupon Rosemarie threw a handful of grapes at her father. Then the grape slinging became rampant, with everyone throwing handfuls of grapes and goop at everyone else.
Ian was surprised at the spirit Gabrielle showed, giving tit for tat throwing grape pulp. Ian hesitated at throwing grapes at Luc until Luc blasted him with a double handful.
In the melee, Rosemarie shoved Ian and he lost his balance and fell. He caught himself before he went completely under, but before he could get to his feet, Rosemarie grabbed his shoulders and shoved him down all the way under. Struggling to stand, he reached up and accidentally touched Rosemarie’s damp bosoms.
She flashed him an evil grin and shoved him back under again. “Take that, heinous villain!” she shouted.
Ian heard Rosemarie’s shout just prior to his head sinking beneath the slurry. Fortunately, Jacques came to his rescue only to be dunked by Esmeralda. Jacques grabbed onto Luc’s leg as he fell, and Luc held onto Gabrielle’s hand as he fell, and both tumbled into the grapey liquid.
Luc emerged from the grape soup, helped his wife to her feet, and sputtered, “Truce . . . truce. I give. . . surrender.”
Gabrielle, wiping the grape slurry off her face, shoved Luc back under the slush again, but being the gracious Frankish woman she was, she helped him to his feet, grinning like a schoolgirl. “Here, my darling, I’ll help you.”
Luc said, “I give,” and wiped the grape slurry off his face. “I enjoy drinking my wine, not drowning in it.”
“Agreed,” replied Gabrielle, adjusting her shift to cover her nearly bare legs. “Let’s all be more like civilized Franks and not common ruffians.” She gave Ian and Rosemarie knowing winks and blithely clambered over the side of the vat with as much poise as possible, given her wet shift was plastered to her body revealing all of her voluptuous curves.
“Wait for me, Gabrielle. I’ve had enough fun for one afternoon; I mean, pigeage fun. I’m coming with
you.” For the first time since Ian had met Luc, he noticed that Luc’s always perfectly waxed handlebar mustache drooped. Luc sloshed his way out of the vat and, hand-in-hand, walked back toward the mansion with Gabrielle with all the dignity he could muster.
Ian, Jacques, Esmeralda, and Rosemarie watched them walk away, then looked at the grapey mess each had become and laughed out loud.
Jacques quipped, “They say the family that stomps together, stays together.”
Ian, Louis, and Jacques loaded the wine barrels onto the wagon. Ian admired the LLduT monogram branded on each barrel indicating Luc LeFriant of Toulon. Louis informed Ian that with the new wine fermenting in the barn in white oak barrels, it was time to sell off the last barrels of the previous year’s crop. Luc liked to pace the sale of his wine throughout the year rather than sell it all at one time. On average he received a better price over the year by selling a percentage of his crop each time.
Louis had built a two-rail ramp to roll the fourteen plus stone weight barrels into the wagon. Ian suggested that he could lift them into the wagon by himself, but Louis was adamant that Ian not ‘show off’ and hurt his back. Ian relented to Louis’ wishes, since his protests seemed to fall on deaf ears.
Luc gathered Louis, Jacques, and Ian together at the back of the wagon and said, “The road to Marseille, as you know, is full of cutthroats and thieves . . .” he paused for effect, then continued. “With Louis driving the wagon and you and Ian, my aspiring knights, riding guard, only foolish highwaymen would try to rob you. Be assured there are robbers and desperate men on the highway ready to steal a vintners’ harvests. We’ve never lost one of our shipments, but there’s always the first time.”
Luc spoke to the three of them, but directed his next comments to Louis, who had negotiated the wine sales many times for Luc. “You have the names and addresses of the three brokers we’ve dealt with in the past. If the first doesn’t offer at least as much as I have indicated on this note, go to the second and the third until one meets or exceeds my price.”
Louis nodded and stuffed the note into his breast pocket.
“Jacques, pay attention to Louis’ negotiations in case you have to make them next time. Some of the brokers are crooks, and will try to pay much less than the going rate. I think some of the brokers work with the highwaymen to get even better bargains. These barrels. . .” Luc patted one of the barrels on the side, “contain some of the finest wine we’ve ever produced. I’d rather store it for another year than sell it underpriced.”
The trio all nodded in unison indicating they understood.
Ian, who had waited until Luc was through, said, “Luc, I asked Louis to include Old Dun as the front left horse of the two pair. Old Dun may be slow, but he’s a steady Irish plow horse and will only respond to Gaelic voice commands. If someone tries to steal the load, Old Dun could be told to stop and stay put and the robbers couldn’t make off with the wagon unless they removed him from the harness. I taught the Gaelic voice commands to Louis, which are ar aghaidh leat, or go ahead, stopadh, or stop, and fanmar a bhfuil tu, or stay put. As a plow horse he also recognizes gee, as in go left and haw, as in go right.”
“Very creative, Ian, I’m proud of you. Besides, from what I’ve seen of Old Dun, he’s strong as an ox.”
“Yes he is, and the other horses will follow his lead.”
The first day’s ride of the fifty-mile trip to Marseille was uneventful. The next morning Ian noticed some trees overhanging the woodland trail and considered how convenient it would be for robbers to lurk over the trail in the branches, and drop down onto a wagon to pursue their mischief. He alerted Jacques and Louis to the potential danger. Louis patted the old pitted sword at his side.
As the wagon passed under the branches, Louis flicked the reins on the rumps of the two back horses, startling them so they lurched ahead.
Two robbers dropped down onto the lurching wagon. The first robber stumbled, losing his balance on the barrels, and the second landed behind Louis. Without missing a beat, Louis dropped the reins, picked up the sword and stabbed the off balance robber behind him in the chest, then engaged the second in swordplay, blade clashing against blade.
Two riders rode out from behind the trees at Ian and Jacques. Jacques and Ian fought them hand to hand, back and forth, while the wagon rolled slowly ahead with Louis battling his second adversary on top of the barrels.
Ian called out, “Stopadh,” and Old Dun came to an abrupt stop, knocking Louis’ adversary off his feet.
Louis yelled, “Die, bastard,” and stabbed the second robber in the throat.
Ian yelled, “Fanmar a bhfuil tu!” Old Dun held the wagon in place despite the skittishness of the other three horses.
Ian and Jacques maneuvered their horses so they were back to back and continued to battle sword to sword with their respective foes. Louis took up a bow and arrow from under the wagon seat and shot an arrow at Jacques’ opponent, piercing the third robber’s neck. The third robber toppled from his horse to the ground, dead on impact.
Ian backed his opponent to where the third robber lay dead on the ground. The robber turned to run away, but Ian yelled, “You can’t escape from me,” and pursued him. Tonnerre Noir easily outran the robber’s horse. Pulling up alongside the robber, Ian swung his sword in a wide swath and lopped off the man’s head. The man’s headless body fell to the ground and his horse ran off rider-less.
Ian rode back to where Jacques was talking to Louis. “Louis, you saved my life with your bow and arrow. I didn’t know you were so skilled.”
“A lucky shot,” said Louis. “What should we do with the bodies?”
“We’ll load them into the wagon and take them with us to Marseille. We’ll show the authorities there how we deal with highway robbers in Toulon,” answered Jacques.
Eight
Jacques, Ian, and Luc felt exhausted after their three-hundred-mile trek from Toulon to Clermont to hear Pope Urban II give his speech. They had spent the night in an inn in Clermont, arriving late and leaving early. Ian was anxious to hear Pope Urban II’s message, so he talked Jacques and Luc out of eating the inn’s included breakfast. Jacques grumbled about missing breakfast, but Luc sided with Ian. Ian wanted to obtain a close position to the platform set up for Urban’s speech.
The highest-level clergyman Ian had ever spoken to, in fact the only clergyman Ian had ever spoken to, was Friar McCarthy. Urban had been traveling through the south of France for several weeks and they speculated among themselves what he was going to tell this large throng of people. The rumor was that Urban’s message would encourage pilgrimages to Jerusalem.
Everyone who was anyone was there on 27 November 1095. Ian, Jacques, and Luc held their horses’ reins and pushed as far forward as they could in the multitude. Ian wanted to be able to hear the Pope first-hand as he spoke to the assembled crowd on the Champet outside the church of Notre-Dame-du-Port.
Urban stood on a platform and spoke clearly and loud enough so Ian could make out most of the words even as far back as they were from the podium. Ian noted that Urban was tall, somewhat handsome of face, and probably in his fifties.
The crowd silenced as Urban said, “I, or rather the Lord, beseech you as Christ’s heralds to publish to all people of every rank, poor and rich, foot-soldiers and knights, to carry aid promptly to our Christian brothers in Palestine, and to destroy those keeping our Holy Lands from us. I say this to those who are present, it is meant also for those who are absent. Moreover, God commands it.”
Ian poked Jacques in the ribs and asked, “Did you hear that?”
“Listen!” Luc ordered.
“. . . this land which you inhabit is not enough for your large population; nor does it abound in wealth, and it furnishes scarcely food enough for its cultivators. Hence, you wage war on one another. Let therefore animosities depart from among you, let your quarrels cease, let the wars end, let all your conflicts and controversies with each other fade away.
As knights of C
hristianity travel the road to the Holy Sepulchre. Wrest that hallowed ground from the wicked, and subject it to yourselves. . . God has conferred upon you above all nations great glory in arms. Accordingly, undertake this journey for the remission of your sins, with the assurance of entrance into the Kingdom of Heaven.”
Jacques turned to his father and announced above the din, “The Pope wants us to go to Jerusalem as knights.”
Luc frowned at Jacques, but nodded his acknowledgement of Urban’s demands and promises.
“Let those who have been fighting brother against brother, friend against friend, and neighbor against neighbor now fight against the barbarians. Let those who have been serving as mercenaries for filthy lucre now fight for God and gain an eternal reward. Do not put off the journey, but rent your lands and prepare yourselves for the journey; and as soon as spring comes, eagerly set out on the way with God as your guide.”
“The Pope wants us to leave in the spring, Father. Will you go with us?”
“No, this is a young man’s errand. I must stay home and take care of the estate, and your mother and sister. I served my God and my King enough in days’ past.”
“But Ian and I can go, can’t we?”
“If that’s your hearts’ desire, but I want you to be well prepared. You need training and proper equipment.”
Ian restrained a groan, hearing his Uncle Dylan’s counsel once again.
Jacques undaunted, shoved Ian slightly aside, and said, “We’ll do whatever you ask, Father.”
As Pope Urban II closed his notes, he motioned for several monks to mount the platform with armfuls of cloth crosses and said, “Volunteers, please come forward for my blessing and obtain a crimson cross to sew to your outer garments proclaiming your mission to the world.”
A noble near the front of the platform stepped forward and claimed a cloth cross. The crowd roared, “God wills it! God wills it!”
Luc stared at the noble accepting the cloth cross, and exclaimed, “Why that’s Raymond, the Count of Toulouse and St. Gilles!”
The Honorable Knight Page 7