The troubadour's song (24 page)

"Excellent." Gaucelm saluted the man and rode on.

The village was a straggle of timber-framed wattle and daub houses and thatched farm buildings along the road. A stone church dominated the scene. As he rode through, the villagers stopped their gossip and their work to turn and bow, the women to curtsy. For they recognized the younger son of the house of Deluc, back from fighting in the South.

After riding through the gatehouse of the fortified chateau and handing over his mount to a groom, he was received with honor and warmth by his mother, still lovely in her middle age, who waited for him by the large stone fireplace in the hall.

"My son, our prayers have been answered and you have returned safely to us." She beamed affection at him.

"Thank you, Mother," he said, kissing her hands. "And are you well?"

"Quite well, my son. We prosper. Your brother's wife is with child again, they are so blessed."

"That is good."

His pregnant sister-in-law, Marie, entered the hall and came across to hold out her hands to him. Gaucelm kissed her cheeks.

"You are radiant with good health, sister," he said, smiling down at his brother's bride.

"I'm pleased that you think so/And we are glad of your return. Rene will be glad to see you. But he is today at the manor near Amiens, and will not return for a week."

"Then you must tell me all the news," said Gaucelm, accepting a goblet of wine brought by a servant.

He knew his mother and sister-in-law would pamper him until he could stand no more. But he owed them his attention for a few days at least.

"Then you must rest and refresh yourself," said his mother, laying a fond hand on his arm. "We will prepare a banquet and some entertainment."

He could not help smiling at these women who welcomed him with open arms. Truly, it nourished a man to be so loved. But as he looked at them, he felt a tug in his heart. They loved him, but only in second place to the heir to the estate, his older brother. Rene would allow Gaucelm all the time he needed to stay here until he could decide his course. But a younger son was merely a guest in his family's demesne. Such was the way of the world. Even now Gaucelm felt that he had his own fate, and he would find it.

He was plagued with thoughts of the beautiful Allesandra, the traitorous enemy who loved him passionately. But how two such foes could join in love and harmony for a life together seemed at the moment impossible. So Gaucelm pushed away those thoughts, which caused in him an indescribable longing, took the seat by the fire, and turned his attention to the women's news about their lands.

Later that evening, Gaucelm's squire lit a fire for him in the chamber that would be his as long as he stayed in this household. His favorite dog found him not long after his arrival, and now the hound stretched out in front of the fire, head on paws, eyes on his master. The squire lit lamps suspended by chains from

iron hooks in the paneled walls and left his master alone. Gaucelm picked up the bundle his squire had left rolled up after unloading his saddlebags.

He carefully unrolled it, revealing a small volume of vellum sheets, bound with thongs between leather-covered boards. He smiled to himself as he brought the book to the comfortable chair by the fire and opened it. No expensive illuminated work this, but simple, flowing handwriting floating across the page.

Gaucelm had picked up enough Provengal to be able to read it, though he knew that the more hidden meanings would escape him. But he formed the words softly as he began to read the somber, mournful poem. He held the book so the light fell across the page, and he gave a strong voice to the poems. The dog lifted his head and perked floppy ears, listening.

"You'll do as an audience, I think," said Gaucelm to his pet, breaking off and allowing a smile to curve his sensual lips. "Tell me what you think this means."

The dog whined, but Gaucelm continued reading. "Bitter, bitter my anguish be, and never, never, must I give up hope/ Great and overwhelming grief is life/ Dare I give heed to passing joy?" He lowered the book. "Dare I think that she speaks of me?" he whispered softly to the dog, who got up to come and put his head on Gaucelm's lap to comfort his master.

"Good boy," he said. "Yes, I miss my lady Allesandra. It seems hopeless, eh? That I will ever see her again. And now Simon's death stands between us."

Gaucelm felt no guilt over having stolen the collection of poetry she had admitted to writing. It was his one memento of her. And if she discovered the theft, perhaps she would realize it was small payment for his friend's life. She might be angry that the poems were gone, but perhaps she would hope that one day he would be able to restore them to her.

"And what of this one?" he said to the dog, then quoted another poem written by her. "No troubadour will sing for me, for I have raven hair." He smiled to himself, remembering how all the songs

written by the poets who went from court to court praised flaxen-haired beauties.

He lowered the book, envisioning Allesandra's body stretched out on the bed, her raven hair fanned out over the pillow, and felt a powerful surge of desire.

With winter, campaigns were over for the season. Gaucelm was sent to help the king patrol counties newly won from England. Then everyone turned their attention to the Christmas feasts. Gaucelm returned to his family. To keep fit, there was hunting on fine winter days. When things were too quiet, he and Andre and other French knights jousted in tournaments. Gaucelm wore the favor of a lady no one knew. But for all that, the winter months passed slowly.

And yet, Gaucelm was aware that King Philip had not entirely forgotten Languedoc, for the king was reminded of it on a regular basis by letters from the pope. Noblemen in Gaucelm's position itched to march south again, to expand their fledgling demesnes gained by the wars against England. And so Gaucelm was present at a council convened by King Philip and attended by the papal legate Frosbier.

Gaucelm and Andre were both dressed in new tunics, surcoats, and fur-lined mantles. The royal guards stood with lances upright as the invited knights and ecclesiastics passed from gatehouse to inner ward, across cobbled courtyard and then up a wide set of stone steps to the arched entrance to the great hall. They waited in groups until the doors at the far end of the room opened and the king entered, robed in white and blue with gold fringe about his mantle, and a large ruby gleaming from his ring. He took a seat on the dais, and the council began.

"My lords," he said with a sweep of his hand to include them all. "You are here to advise me on this matter of a further crusade in the South, which 1 can ill afford. At the request of the Holy Pope of the Mother Church, we have crusaded there for two years in order to eradicate heresy. And yet those of you who have been

there can attest how tenacious and slippery the southerners are. Conquer one county and what do they claim? 'There are no heretics here. We know no heretics.' Conquer the next county and it is the same. Why? Because the southerners protect each other. Their culture is what binds them, not their religion. I do not see the sense in further crusading if we cannot at least extend our territories to the south. But even in this, the southerners have presently foiled us."

He put his finger beside his cheek, his elbow resting on the chair arm as an indication that he was finished speaking. The turquoise eyes were alert and penetrating, making each man feel as if he looked directly at him.

"Your Majesty," said the tall, aristocratic legate, Frosbier, stepping before the king. "May I speak?"

"Go ahead, Reverend Bishop. I am aware that you speak for the pope. I do not wish to hide His Holiness's wishes from this assembly." And he gestured that the bishop should take the floor.

The bishop Frosbier, garbed in white robes with gold and silver threads, and his tall mitre on his head, nodded and then turned so he could also face the men assembled in the hall.

"My lords," he began in a reasonable voice. "A political solution that has left the heretics untroubled is unacceptable to His Holiness, the Pope. The count of Toulouse and the other southern lords have told us in the past that they would make a serious effort to eradicate heresy, and yet they do nothing." His voice had risen in irritation, and he paused to bring it under control. Nevertheless, his speech was insistent. "We have ceased to trust them. Therefore, His Holiness encourages those of you who wish to fight for truth to take up the cross again in the spring when the ground is thawed."

The king's chamberlain stepped forward. "Reverend Bishop, I am sure that His Majesty will agree with me. It is not that we disagree that the heretics should be banished. It is that there is no money left in the treasury to support another crusade."

He stretched out his hands, long fingers spread apart as if to emphasize his point. "Our feudal levies command only a certain

number of men for forty days' service. After that, they will again go home. A sustained crusade must have paid mercenaries to sustain sieges and remain in the field. Where are we to get this money?"

The king knew what his chamberlain had planned to say, and now he lifted his black-and-gray brows with interest to see how the papal legate would respond. But Frosbier very smoothly ignored the issue of money.

"If a new crusade were undertaken to eradicate heresy once and for all in the South," said Frosbier, "I am also aware that there is the matter of who would lead it."

"Indeed," agreed Philip. "Our best general is dead. I myself am in ill health and cannot think of taking on such a venture."

"There is your son, Your Majesty," suggested Frosbier.

There was a stir in the hall, and Gaucelm and Andre exchanged glances. Yes, Louis might be just the man to take on a new crusade.

"A good suggestion," agreed Philip. "What do my knights say to that? Would you have Louis lead you in the coming season?"

Andre stepped forward and spoke. "Your Majesty, if I may speak. Your knights would follow Louis gladly, but he is busy in Poitou. It has taken a very firm hand to establish French royal authority in that county. Louis has broken the rebels' resistance, but the border zones are uncertain and the king's authority unsure."

"Precisely the reason for finding such an expedition desirable," suggested another baron. "For the border zones run into Languedoc."

For some moments Gaucelm had been aware that the king's intelligent eyes had been on him; now Philip singled him out.

"Gaucelm Deluc, you have been last season in those parts. What say you to the idea of a new crusade?"

Gaucelm uncrossed his arms and stepped forward with a nod to his sovereign. "I am torn, my lord. The lands are very desirable, but the people resent us deeply. As to the rooting out of heretics, that is not my business." He glanced at Frosbier.

"But from those I knew in the South I would say it will not be easily done."

The king rubbed his cheek with his finger, considering. Then he turned again to the papal legate. "You must ask His Holiness then, my lord bishop, just how much the Church would be willing to pay to meet the expenses of a fully mounted crusade. I am not saying that Louis will go. But if he is to take up the cross, then the Church must be the sponsor. I can see no other way."

Bishop Frosbier bowed. His expression showed that he was not completely pleased but that he would hold his opinions to himself. "I will ask His Holiness, then, if the church coffers can fulfill such a request."

The assembly broke into individual groups of murmuring knights and barons, and Philip made no move to silence them for some moments.

Andre said sidelong to Gaucelm, "A clever move by our sovereign. He is setting a precedent that if the Church wants us to defend Christendom, then she must pay for it. Clever indeed."

"Furthermore," the king finally interrupted, and the crowd quieted down. "We must be free to annex any lands overrun by our army."

Frosbier angled his mitred head in a nod. But Gaucelm did not miss the look of consternation that crossed the legate's face. He could well imagine that the pope did not really want a strong ruler in Languedoc. The pope must dream of a prince in Toulouse who would be a dutiful vassal of the Holy See. Therein did the Church maintain her power.

Whatever the legate was thinking, he said only, "We have learned that the southern counts will not persecute their own subjects; therefore a strong French presence is necessary to punish and expel heretics from the lands and to preserve the rights of the churches. I will see that His Holiness the Pope hears your offer to raise an army provided the Church will outfit her and pay to keep mercenaries in the field. As to the matter of annexing the lands that you overrun, I will see if His Holiness is in agree-

ment. With all due haste I will take these negotiations to Rome. Do I understand your requests completely, Your Majesty?"

"I believe you do," answered Philip.

"Then I will take this message back to Rome."

The council concluded, and Gaucelm followed Andre out of the hall and into the sunlit wintry day. They pulled their fur-lined mantles tighter around them and went in the direction of the tavern where young knights like themselves met whenever in the He de la Cite on the king's business.

There, they could toast themselves by a fire and speculate about what would happen come spring. In the tavern, scholars fresh from their debates in university cloister and lecture room drank heartily and continued their arguments in French and Latin.

Andre led his friend to a bench at the end of a trestle table. When the buxom tavernkeeper's daughter came to bring them refreshment, Andre gave her a suggestive wink and grasped her hand in flirtation, forcing her to stay with them for a few moments.

"Mademoiselle," said Andre to the dark-eyed wench with full, sensual lips and a flirtatious look in her eye, "where have you been? I have longed for you all this month."

"I've been right here, monsieur," she responded. "It is you who have been absent."

Andre turned her hand over to kiss her wrist and ran his fingers along her inner arm.