The Rebel Princess (10 page)

William, tall and regal-looking in his black tunic with his short cloak of matching wool and fox tossed carelessly across one shoulder,
nodded to Amaury to begin. A wise stratagem, I thought, since it would give William the final word of the audience.

The court herald called in a loud voice: “The papal legates Pierre de Castelnau and Arnaud Amaury, abbé of Cîteaux, request permission to address the king of France.”

“I understand you have letters from the pontiff in Rome with a request for me,” Philippe said. “You have permission to speak.”

The two monks moved forward, with Amaury a few steps ahead of his comrade.

“Your Majesty.” Amaury’s bow was low, but then his voice lifted for all to hear. That sonorous churchman’s voice again. Observing him from the side as I did, I could see his jowls quivering, but whether from fear or passion I could not tell.
Certes,
he did not seem to be a man who would be possessed by fear, even in front of the king of France.

“We carry a request from the pontiff to aid him in correcting the grave situation in the south. You have already heard from us how the Cathar heresy is spreading. Christianity itself is in peril. The pope asks, nay insists, that you commit men and money to stop the spread of this plague.” Amaury stopped and ran his tongue over his lips. A few courtiers took the opportunity to cough.

“Our holy father says events are even more ominous than when he wrote you last year. He both begs and commands your material support to put this disease to rest.” Here the abbot paused again, as if gathering strength.

Then he resumed in a voice that echoed in the rafters of the hall: “He asks that you lead an army alongside us to the south, to threaten the Cathars and their protectors with extermination if they do not give up their heretical beliefs and practices.” Amaury stepped back, extending his hand to his companion, yielding the attention to him. “And so says my brother in Christ, Pierre de Castelnau.”

Pierre de Castelnau had no choice but to move forward and speak as well. His words, however, were delivered in lower tones calculated
to be heard only by the king and those standing closest to him. When he spoke, his comments were surprisingly restrained.

“Your Grace, we beg you to consider our request. Use your best judgment as to the worthiness of our cause. We stand for honor and for the best interpretation of the gospels of Christ Jesus our Lord.”

The monk of Castelnau then stepped back beside his partner, who cast a quick, fierce look in his direction, obviously displeased with his colleague’s vague and passionless statement. Both men bowed again to the king, as court protocol demanded.

Phlippe nodded brusquely to the two monks and then motioned them aside. He gestured to William, who had remained standing respectfully at a distance.

“Lord William, we will hear you now.” The king sat forward, his hands firmly placed on the arms of his throne, indicating to all that his full attention was given.

A slight whisper, like the rustling of dry leaves, ran through the room when the herald called out, “Lord William of Caen, grand master of the Knights Templar of England.” The whisper gradually turned into an audible buzz. While many courtiers knew of William’s visits to the court, or had seen him in the company of the king, few except the king’s counselors knew he was grand master of the Knights Templar in England. Still fewer knew he was also a lord in his own right, with lands in England granted by King Henry when he was still living. Yet no one but I knew that the lands were a reward to William for keeping my son Francis safe for all the years of his youth, years when I thought the boy had died.

William did not often promote his title, but he was not above using it when needed to add to his diplomatic weight. Clever William. Clever Philippe. I had an utter certainty that Philippe already knew what William was about to say. It seemed as though I were watching a carefully scripted morality play.

William stepped forward showing the confidence I knew so well.
He extended his arm in the direction of the throne as he began to speak, as if inviting the king to listen. His voice was strong and could be heard, I was sure, to the far reaches of the presence chamber.

“Your Majesty, the holy father did indeed ask for arms and men to help in the south but the letters he sent with his honorable legates presented here were written some months ago.” William paused and, with almost exaggerated courtesy, bowed to the two monks.

Then he continued, not a trace of mischief in his lifted voice. “However, the pontiff is aware of your own difficulties in defending parts of your land against John of England. After some discussion with me, and further thought, the pontiff wrote a later letter to the king of France, one that offers an alternative.”

Here William, with his fine sense of drama, moved toward the throne and proffered a large rolled scroll with a seal visible as a splash of scarlet that could be seen by all near him. Chastellain moved forward with the speed of a fox chased by hounds, and nearly snatched the scroll from William before he could hand it to the king. Chastellain then turned to the king, but Philippe motioned him away impatiently, continuing to focus his gaze on William.

“The holy father has entrusted these good monks with a mission.” William gestured politely in their general direction, while keeping his gaze on the king. “That general mission, to settle the matter of theological disputes in the south, is still in force. However, as to your own role, the letter I bear suggests another course of action than do the good monks. The holy father asks you to withhold your men and arms for the time being, in order to give diplomacy a chance for victory. He desires one more meeting between Count Raymond and the papal legates here, to see if some agreement can be reached. I am directed to assist such a meeting in Toulouse, as soon as it can be arranged.”

I was beginning to enjoy this audience. Perhaps I would not have to battle Amaury at all to assist Joanna. At least not in public, nor with my brother.

Arnaud Amaury made an almost imperceptible movement forward, but Pierre de Castelnau, standing on his other side, placed his hand firmly on his colleague’s arm. Amaury’s face darkened, but he held his tongue. It was clear the abbot had had no warning that the pontiff had sent William to Philippe with a compromise, an excuse not to commit his men to Amaury. I recalled with amusement what William had told me; the good abbot had not shared his mission with him on their long ride to Paris from Lyons. Why should William have shared his message with the abbot? Turn about—fair play, as the children say.

Philippe pursed his lips, his habit when he was displeased. He scanned the room, then came back to rest his gaze on me. I thought for a moment he would address me, but to my surprise he turned back to the assembly.

“I would hear any of the rank of knight or above who choose to address me on this matter.” I tried to keep the expression of astonishment from my face. It was not Philippe’s habit to consult his subjects on major decisions.

The room fell silent. Either his courtiers were stunned by the offer, or no one wanted to risk a comment that might run counter to their sovereign’s wishes.

“Your Grace!” Hervé de Donzy, Count of Nevers, pushed forward and stood in the center of the room. William fell back slightly, as if to give the count space. The papal legates did not move.

“We will hear you, Count of Nevers,” Philippe said.

I disliked this noble heartily. He was a tall, sinewy reed of a man, clean shaven except for his black moustache which he kept carefully turned upward with the aid of boar grease. Only ten short years earlier he had been a minor knight in the
Nivernais
. But through warring on his overlord—a clear breach of his oath of fealty—he took both the man’s daughter and his title. I reckoned him among my least favorite courtiers, vain, greedy, and without redeeming grace. He stood now
before the king, exuding confidence.

“Your Grace, I bear a letter from Duke Eudes of Burgundy, telling me of the tales coming into his court from the south, of the spread of heresy and the danger to holy mother church. He instructed me without delay to bring this news to you, and to beg you to name an army of a thousand men, with Your Royal Highness at its head and the duke and myself to assist, to go to the south and grind this new heresy out of the people. And now, here we have the same urgent message from these good monks.” The Count of Nevers paused to wipe his brow with a square of linen that he produced from his sleeve before he continued.

“But Your Majesty, if you will not go yourself, or send your armies, permit my humble self and Duke Eudes to represent you, to take our own men and go south at our own expense. I have a score of knights and a hundred yeomen, my own vassals led by Simon of Montfort, my liege man, who are willing to go to the south and fight for Christ and the pontiff of Rome.” The count’s voice trembled. “Permit us to take our own men and conduct a campaign for the glory of France and of our holy mother church.”

The count, seemingly overcome with emotion, went down on his knee and bent his head as if he were a docile child. I was close enough to see the beads gathering again at his temples. One could never be certain how the king of France would take such importuning. He was as like to fly into a temper at such a request as he was to cordially grant the boon. The count was playing a huge game of chance.

Philippe regarded the bent figure thoughtfully, tapped his lips with his forefinger, and then looked out over the crowd as if the count were not there at all.

“Are there others who would be heard?” A silence filled the chamber. After a moment, it became palpable. There were few present who wanted Philippe to engage an army to go to the south in Rome’s cause. All knights and liege men would be required to do service if the
English threat in the west widened. Should the king engage an army of mercenaries to fight in the south, it would drain the royal treasury. But the audience waited to see which way the king would move.

Suddenly drama appeared from an unexpected source. The strange and beautiful diminutive woman in my aunt Constance’s retinue, she who had been conversing with my son Francis so intensely, stepped into the center of the room. She advanced until she was standing next to the still-kneeling count. His knees must ache by now. It appeared that Philippe had forgotten to bid the man rise, but I knew that was not the case. Philippe forgot nothing in the royal public appearances.

The woman made a low courtesy, then rose and looked boldly at the king. “Your Majesty, if I may speak.” Her voice was surprisingly full for one so slight. Her bottom lip trembled as she spoke, and I knew Philippe could see it. If she only knew how the king reacted to such tactics from women she might have exercised more control. He cared not for such womanly manipulations. Or so I thought then.

“Who are you?” Philippe barked. I wanted to put my hand on his knee, which was within reach, to counsel patience. But I dared not. He was, after all, the king and we were at a court assembly.

“I am Esclarmonde of Foix, sister of Raymond-Roger, Count of Foix, the vassal of Raymond of Toulouse and thus Your Majesty’s vassal also.”

“And what is your suit? What have you to do with these issues?” But Philippe must know exactly what she, a noblewoman from the south, had to do with these issues. A shadow of suspicion rose in me. I recalled the king’s lingering glance on her at the banquet the previous evening. Could Philippe have planted this woman, like a rose in a cabbage patch, to do his work here? What game was he playing?

“I beg Your Majesty, do not respond to these men who would have you send barons and knights to the south. We of the south are a peaceful people. We do not prepare for war. We are farmers and keepers of animals. Our villages are full of people who are not learned, and who
mean no one any harm. We are not heretics. We know a few among us hold unconventional beliefs. But these people are good Christians. Their only difference with Rome is that they want more simplicity in their lives. Protect your friends, the people of the south, Your Majesty. Our overlord, Count Raymond, is your liege. Honor that relationship. Do not send wolves to devour us.”

After this long speech, the young woman turned boldly and glanced at the two monks standing to one side. The abbot returned her look with an impassive face, while Pierre de Castelnau looked down at the floor to avoid meeting her eyes.

In the silence that followed, the Count of Nevers’s head slowly turned upward and the expression on his face was almost comical. His visage registered disbelief and anger and defeat all at once. For he now understood what I had grasped a moment ago. He had been trumped by the little woman from the south.

“Rise, Count of Nevers, and return to your standard. I will announce my decision in a moment.” Philippe finally seemed to take notice of his subject. Hervé rose, somewhat awkwardly due to the length of time Philippe had kept him on his knees, and backed away from the throne until he was some distance from the king. Then he melted into the small group gathered around his pennant, still visible by his height to those who sought him.

“Princesse Alaïs.” The king unexpectedly turned back to me. “You have heard what has been said. You are known for your wisdom. What is your sage advice?” Philippe lifted one eyebrow in question. I sighed. Why did I have the utter certainty that Philippe knew exactly what I was about to say?

“Your Majesty.” My tone escalated and rang out with great clarity, a voice calculated to be heard by all the court. “You have more than six hundred men engaged now outside Chinon, holding back John of England’s forces. I believe any further deployment of the knights and arms of France should be to defend or expand your own borders. On
the other hand, if you hired soldiers—not of France—to go to the south, it would deplete your own royal treasury. More important, such action would violate feudal law and custom, since our cousin Raymond of Toulouse is your liege man. Once such violations begin, no one will be able to trust the bonds between vassal and lord, for everyone will then do only what is convenient.”