The troubadour's song (12 page)

forbidden by the Catholic Church, he would surely turn us in as heretics."

Marcia and Isabelle returned her apprehensive look, but she squeezed the older woman's hand.

"With this bound copy of the scriptures out of our hands, they can prove nothing."

"As long as you are not caught going out," whispered Marcia anxiously.

"If I am stopped, I will say I am going to the garderobe, or to visit a servant who is ill. Sir Gaucelm did not say I could not move about the household."

After assuring the two women that she would be all right, Allesandra took the circular staircase to the level of the courtyard. Then she pushed open the door and walked out into the courtyard, heading purposefully, but in no great hurry, for the kitchens. Several guards watched her progress, but did not stop her.

Once within the large central kitchen, she crossed toward the large hearth beside which several of her own kitchen staff sat. They murmured and rose at her approach, but she put a finger to her lips. Her longtime cook, Ivetta, glanced at the cloak across her arm.

"Quickly," said Allesandra. "I do not know if I am followed. I must use the tunnel. They have not discovered it yet?"

"No, my lady," said Ivetta.

The cook and a scullery maid took down the pots that hung from wooden pegs buried in the plastered wall. "You will need a light." And she reached for an outdoor lantern and some flint and steel.

"The wick is trimmed. You should have no trouble lighting it."

They pushed the panel inward, and Allesandra stepped into a passage she had not visited for many years. She saw Ivetta's plump face just before she heard men's voices and the scrape of boots coming into the kitchen, but Ivetta did not show any fear.

Allesandra held her breath as the darkness enfolded her. She

could barely hear the voices on the other side of the panel now and felt as if her heart stopped beating.

But in a moment she heard muffled laughter, then the women's voices. Perhaps the soldiers simply wanted a midnight supper. There seemed to be no panic, and Allesandra groped her way down a few steps before she knelt to strike flint and steel. Feeling in the darkness, she slid up the thin plate of horn to light the wick, and the lantern cast its dim glow.

Not waiting to find out anything more about the soldiers in the kitchen, she quickly descended to where steps gave onto hard, damp dirt. She lifted the lantern high to reveal cut rock. Now the twists and turns of the tunnel came back to her and she hurried along. When the ground began to rise, she allowed herself a breath of hope.

She came to a steeper slope and then some wooden steps embedded in the earth and climbed upward. Here she must be careful, and when she felt the cool air of night ahead, she slowed her pace. She paused where the rock of the tunnel stopped and felt the thorny branches woven into a door that hid the opening to the forest. It wasn't far to where she had to go, and it wasn't beasts of the forest she feared. Rather, she had no way of knowing if any French soldiers might be out roaming the woods at night. But why should they be?

She issued a silent prayer and then pushed the hawthorn screen open. In the moonlight, the path at her feet was clear. She pulled the mantle close about her and stepped out into the night, listening for any human sounds. A nightingale gave forth its song.

She made out a pinpoint of light ahead that one would miss unless one were looking for it. Now she hurried along the path and soon reached a clearing. In the center stood a tenant's holding with timbered manor house surrounded by a palisade. A figure came out of the shadows.

"Who goes there?" asked a young man's voice.

She pulled back her hood. "Lady Valtin," she responded. "I've come to warn the believers of danger from the castle."

"My lady," said the boy, now recognizing her. "They are within."

He opened the gate, and they passed into the yard. As she crossed to the steep wooden stairs leading to the hall above the undercroft, she caught the low murmur of prayer. The boy led the way up the stairs, giving two knocks before he opened the hall door for her.

Filling the room between the thick oaken pillars that supported the vaulted roof, thirty or so men and women stood, their heads bowed in prayer. Near the blazing hearth at one end, a man with long straw-colored hair dressed in plain muslin gown delivered a blessing, his hand raised. Beside him a blond woman was similarly garbed. There were no crosses or other icons to be seen anywhere in the room, for Cathars abhorred the gaudy opulence of Catholicism.

When the blessing was over, the congregation lifted their heads. Those who had been on their knees arose. The parfait, Bertram de Gide by name, smiled.

"My lady Valtin," he said in a welcoming voice. "We had heard that you'd returned."

She knelt to receive the parfait's blessing, and then he took her hand to raise her up again.

"I've come to tell you of more danger. Sir Gaucelm Deluc and his French soldiers are now in possession of the castle."

With a twinge in her heart, she turned to face the men and women who moved forward to better hear her words, some taking seats on the benches around the room. "He is not a cruel man, though loyal to his liege lord, Simon de Montfort, and to the king of France. However, Bishop Fulk is in Muret now, and make no mistake, his court will descend on us within weeks. I've come to warn you not to meet again, for the French soldiers will report whatever they see and hear to the inquisitors."

At the mention of the hated inquisitors a murmur of concern passed through the room.

"My lady," said Emice de Laurac, the woman also dressed in the plain garb of one who has pledged oneself to poverty and

chastity, "we heed your warning and knew that something like this was coming. We have met tonight to gain strength from our numbers. Our parfait has blessed us and sends us on our way. It will be up to individual consciences to recant or not as they must."

She and Bertram exchanged glances, and then he laid a firm hand on Allesandra's shoulder.

"Emice and I must preach wherever we may be heard. But we would not endanger our flock. In order to preserve our beliefs, we advise our followers to live quietly, not drawing attention to themselves."

"That is good," said Allesandra. "I fear you should not meet together in large numbers anywhere within the county again."

"A sad decision, but perhaps wise. Does this Sir Gaucelm say when the bishop or his inquisitors will arrive?"

She shook her head. "Only when their business in Muret is concluded. I would beware. They may arrive at any time."

She lifted the wrapped Bible from her cloak and handed it to him.

"It is no longer safe to keep the holy scriptures about the castle. We would be accused of heresy for certain if it became known that the women in the castle read it for themselves."

The parfait took it in his hands and unwrapped it. "We will keep it safe for you."

A trace of bitterness passed over his otherwise open and generous countenance. "It is one of the many evils of the Catholic church that says only priests must read and that Christians must be kept in ignorance."

The Cathars believed that only a personal experience with God was valid and refused to accept the ecclesiastical hierarchy that stood between the individual and God in the Catholic Church.

Then his kind blue eyes gazed at hers. "And you, madam. Will you remain at the castle? I am sure there are many here who would gladly help you out of the county should you wish to leave."

She shook her head resolutely. "No, I must stay and act as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. The French rulers

know that we are used to a way of life wherein Catholics and Cathars have lived peaceably side by side for many years. It is that tolerance that they cannot understand. I, myself, cannot understand the pope's wish to control the thinking of every man, woman, and child. We seek a different path here. But for myself, I believe I can convince them of my innocence."

She felt a surge of guilt as a vision of Gaucelm's arms about her passed through her mind. But she dared not ponder it now.

"Do not worry for my sake, Father."

"Very well. Then we shall pray for our torn land and for the return of a way of life that once blessed us all."

She steadied her voice as she said resolutely, "The only way that way of life can return is by the expulsion of the French. And to that end, I pledge my efforts on your behalf. Even if it costs my life."

Eight

By word of mouth and in the way that news travels across a countryside in a land where feeling is high and the people close knit, the troubadours received Allesandra's call. Those former vassals of Allesandra's who promised to swear the oath of fealty to Gaucelm were released from their imprisonment. The rest were ransomed by their families.

So a week after Gaucelm returned to what was now his castle on the Garonne, the preparations for a banquet and several days of entertainment were under way.

Once again the household was readied for guests. Wine casks were brought up, fresh rushes were strewn, and wicks were trimmed. Wall hangings were cleaned to bring out their bright colors. Even the servants were garbed in new clothing. Goblets and lamps were polished, pots were scrubbed. Fresh herbs were

gathered and tied in bouquets so that their scents would freshen the air.

On this day, Allesandra sat on the dais beside Gaucelm for the ceremony at which her former vassals would swear the oath of fealty. Gaucelm appeared in a new tunic of turquoise and a loose-sleeved surcoat of darkest blue with silver threads. His noble face wore an expression that spoke to all that this was his due. He was lord and master here, but he would be fair as long as there were no infringements to his rule.

Sitting beside him, Allesandra trembled to think how close she was to falling under his spell. Even without looking at her, he seemed to emanate possessiveness, and she feared that one false move on her part might betray a dangerous intimacy between them to those watching.

In consequence, she sat stiffly, dressed in crimson finery embroidered with gold threads. A crimson-and-gold veil, held in place with a cloth band about her forehead, flowed over hair coiled in refined chignon as befitted her submissive status. Her hands clasped the carved chair arms and she faced straight ahead as Gaucelm carried out the ceremonies. As each man approached, Allesandra said his name so that Gaucelm might know what to call him. She knew her household staff and guard personally, but Julian stood at her left shoulder to give her the name if she had forgotten it.

The men-at-arms were free men, defeated in battie, but offered the choice between following him and returning unarmed and unhorsed to their families. Their mistress had already offered her oath, so there was no need for those who chose to do so as well to feel traitor. Service to a lord was freely entered into, and this freedom of choice was jealously guarded by all concerned.

With heavy hearts they watched the French swallow up the southern counties.

The steward, Julian Farrell, now took his turn to walk to the edge of the dais and kneel on the top step. As he shifted his middle-aged body to one knee, Allesandra caught the flicker of his gray eyes before he lowered his gaze. Her heart went out to

the man who had served her and whose father had served this castle before him.

"Julian Farrell," said Allesandra, without looking at either man.

Julian put his bony hands between those of his new lord.

"Do you wish without reserve to become my man?" asked Gaucelm.

"I so wish," Julian replied. His tone was firm, but without joy. "I promise by my faith that from this time forward I will be faithful to Sir Gaucelm Deluc and will maintain toward him my homage entirely against every man in good faith without any deception, and that I will keep good faith with King Philip Augustus the second, of France."

All this was sworn next to a jewel-encrusted, finely illuminated copy of the Bible, which sat on an ornately carved stand to Gaucelm's right. He picked up a gold cross and touched it to Julian's forehead.

"I accept your fealty, Julian Farrell. Defend the true faith." Then he leaned forward to seal the alliance with a kiss on both cheeks.

Julian stood and resumed his place on the dais, so that the next man could approach. Allesandra barely moved a muscle throughout. Only her eyes held silent messages to her old servants and tenants. In those looks were conveyed secret thoughts and feelings that could not be revealed to the man who swore the vassals in.

After all the vassals were so sworn, Gaucelm stood up and spoke to them in a solemn and commanding voice. His eyes traveled over each face as if not fooled by their benign expressions.

"I accept these oaths and promise in my turn to protect each man here and his family and his property. My justice will be dispensed fairly, my interest in your affairs will be great. For if you and your lands profit, so will I and so will my lord, the king of France. Let us drink now to a new unity in France."

The assembly retrieved their drinking cups from the trestle

tables, and as Gaucelm raised his jeweled goblet, so did they lift their vessels. They swallowed and then gave a shout.

The formalities over, Gaucelm set down his goblet and turned to Allesandra, offering her his hand.

"My lady, let the entertainments begin."

She stood up stiffly, and stepped down from the dais. The vassals sought out their friends, letting servants move the benches from around the wall. Gaucelm led Allesandra to the side, out of the way of tablecloths being spread and trenchers being laid.

"All has gone well so far, my lady," he said, glancing around at his new household. "I look forward to the more amusing aspects of this evening's fete. And I am most eager to see this court of courtesy you have described."

Allesandra forced a smile onto her granitelike face. "I hope it pleases my lord."

His eyes slid to the men who had just sworn their oaths to him, now joined by wives, sisters, mothers who had also been invited.

"There are many modest young women here, it appears," he said. "Blooming youth to tempt soldiers who have been away from their homes for long and men who have been cooped up in the tower."