The troubadour's song (39 page)

"So," she said. "It is accomplished at last."

"Yes," he said. His face was set, his lips hardened into a straight line. When he spoke, he gazed out, staring without interest at the rooftops on the He de la Cite.

"You think I have betrayed my people," he said without any accusation. It was merely a statement.

Her shoulders sagged. "I see that you had no other choice. We are to be swallowed up by the French monarchy."

"Perhaps it will be for the better in future generations."

"Better for who? Oh, I'm sorry, my lord, I will not irk you by offering barbs at every turn. Indeed, I fear I shall turn into a bitter old woman because I am too attached to a world I thought I would never lose."

She fought the twist of her heart inside her and leaned on the cool stone window seat.

"I could not make our people suffer more bloodshed. Perhaps the French rule will not be too hard to bear."

She gave him a sharp glance and shivered. "We have not seen the end of it, my lord," she said in a hushed voice. "We will be made to submit to the Church. The bishops will descend on us to squeeze out every trace of heresy. Many will suffer."

He glanced about to make sure they were not overheard. "We will try to help them get away before that happens."

Allesandra pushed away from the window opening. "Then may I have permission to return home? I need not stay to witness the treaty. I have given you what advice you needed, my lord. The agreements are made."

He nodded. "As you wish. Take an escort and return to Toulouse. Take the news with you. Have it cried in the town. Meet with the town council and tell what I have done. They will not be so surprised."

"Yes, my lord."

His gaze seemed to return from the difficult place to which

his mind had wandered and he studied her in a more personal way. "And you, my lady? What of your life?"

She remembered Gaucelm's accusations of the night before and stiffened her jaw. "My fate is up to you, sir."

His mouth relaxed into a gentle smile. "We will have to discuss that when I return."

She swallowed. He would no doubt renew his suit for her hand. Perhaps Gaucelm was right; by declaring where her loyalty lay, she was in danger of trapping herself into a marriage out of duty. But then, according to the troubadours, when was marriage ever based on love? Love was a romantic notion to be shared between lovers. Marriage was a political responsibility between nobles.

Tears suddenly threatened at the edges of her eyes and she made a small nod and retreated. She found her way to her chamber and then sent the maid to find Jean de Batute.

When he came to wait on her, she told him what had happened. "I've been given leave to return home. The count must stay here to sign the treaty. Will you escort me?"

"Of course, my lady," replied Jean. "I will make sure we have a good party of men-at-arms to travel with you. When do we ride?"

"At dawn tomorrow."

He left her to make arrangements. Thinking that tomorrow's departure would allow her time to find out what had happened to Gaucelm, she returned to the hall. But Gaucelm was nowhere to be seen at dinner, and foreboding began to fill her. She tried to find a way to ask indirectly and finally had to admit to Raymond what she wanted to know.

He did not give anything away by his expression, but she felt that he must know why she wanted to know what had happened to the knight Gaucelm. After the meal, while the musicians were playing, he came to seek a word "with her.

"The knight Gaucelm Deluc has left Paris, so it seems," he told her in a casual manner. "He has been sent to escort the pope's legate on the Church's business."

Allesandra's spine prickled. "So, it begins."

She shook her head bitterly. In all their times together, she never imagined that Gaucelm cared much for religion. His loyalty was to the Capetians and their kingdom. But perhaps his own bitterness had made him engage in service to the Church.

"Thank you, Raymond. I just wanted to know."

She started to turn away, but Raymond laid a hand on her arm. "Allesandra, forget him. I know there was love between you. But I think that you are too noble to bow to love that is so foreign to all you believe in. You would be doing the House of Toulouse a great honor if you would become my wife and sire me a son. The dynasty would continue in spite of treaties and kings."

She trembled at his words, tears glistening in her eyes. "I know, my lord." Her words choked her throat and she looked down. "I will think on the matter."

He released her. "That is all I ask."

At dawn the next day, Allesandra left Paris with Jean de Batute and an escort of their own soldiers. Her heart was heavy, but she was soon distracted from her own trouble as they stopped at inns along their route. Everywhere the gossip was about the peace that had been signed with the count of Toulouse. She overheard comments about the counts of Toulouse being worthy foes. Some expressed pride that France had managed to bring the rich lands of the Languedoc within French boundaries.

Jean tried to keep her from listening to the talk. But when they came to the River Lot and had to wait for the ferry to return from the other side, Allesandra got her first breath of a chill wind.

There was no mistaking a bishop's carriage, and the crosses emblazoned on caparisons and shields of a religious retinue. Allesandra and Jean sat on their mounts, their soldiers stretched in a line behind them as they watched the white horses led from the ferry, pulling the ornate carriage behind. Several long-robed priests followed on foot. The water carried voices across, though the words were indistinct as the party of churchmen, guarded by knights, struggled to form up on the bank.

The figures moved about, small from this distance, but gold glittered off a tall mitre as she saw a bishop descend. Evidently, the embankment was too steep, and even His Holiness was forced to walk. The man turned for a moment, and she almost felt as if he saw her where she sat her horse. She felt a shiver. Then he turned and picked up his robes to climb after the carriage, once the horses reached the top.

Jean was the first to speak. "We will find out in Cahors where they are bound."

"Indeed."

She had not seen Gaucelm among the escort, and again she wondered where he had gone. But there would be many such entourages of religious orthodoxy winding into the southern lands, now that Raymond had promised his help in finding heretics. Having had one such hearing forced upon her at her own castle when Gaucelm had been castellan, she could well imagine the disquieting effect a whole army of inquisitors could bring upon their lands.

At length the ferry crossed to carry them into the town of Cahors. They dismounted at an inn and Jean went inside to make arrangements. Allesandra handed her horse to the groom and then looked to her left along the street. The end of the narrow street became a window on a scene being enacted upon the church steps beyond.

The bishop's coach had halted and the bishop descended. Allesandra slipped along the street to get a better look. Several priests had come out from the impressive church with square towers rising above the houses and buildings crowded along its sides. She couldn't hear the words, but she could see from the gestures that introductions were being made. Two other impressively garbed churchmen had descended from the carriage and stood to one side. Even from across the road, Allesandra could see the haughty expressions on their faces and felt uneasy looking at them.

As the evening fell, lamps were being lit at the church portal and flickered at the stained-glass windows. A religious confer-

ence was about to begin. Jean came up the street to join her, and following her glance, he ascertained what she was watching.

"Ah, there they are. I heard at the inn. The pope has wasted no time in sending his inquisitors southward. The iron grip of the church."

His words were bitter and tense, and Allesandra only shook her head. "They will not be popular here, but Raymond has promised his protection."

She turned back in time to see Jean's eyelids close halfway at her last remark, but he said nothing. She wondered if he'd already picked up more gossip at the inn, but her head was aching from the long ride that day, and more than anything else, she wanted to rest.

After refreshing herself from a basin and ewer in her room, she descended to join Jean and the others for a meal. She found the inn strangely quiet. There were knots of patrons who whispered over their ale and their food, but as soon as she passed between them, they guarded their words or looked aside. Some such inns could be rowdy of an evening, but an eerie pall had fallen over the guests here.

Of course Allesandra could surmise that the mood of the town was darkened by the arrival of the inquisitors. For now the trials would start in earnest again, and property would be confiscated. Punishments meted out. Raymond thought he could satisfy his part of the bargain by handing over just a few who openly professed to be heretics. But somehow she felt that he was wrong. And what part was Gaucelm going to play in all of this now?

"Madam, you have hardly touched your food," commented Jean after he had picked his trencher clean and broken off pieces to toss to the dogs.

"The wine was bracing," she said, and sighed heavily. "I saw a small garden at the back of the inn. I feel the need for some fresh air. I think I will walk there before I retire."

Jean glanced about the company and then lowered his voice to speak. "I would advise against going outside tonight, madam."

She looked up sharply at the ominous trace in his words, and

suddenly wondered what he knew that he wasn't telling. Nevertheless, she took his advice and retired to her room.

"Have the horses ready at first light, Jean," she said. "And tap on my door when you rise. I doubt I'll oversleep, but I want to be gone as soon as there's a gray light to ride by."

"Very well, my lady. Sleep well. Do not let any of the city sounds disturb you." He glanced over his shoulder and again she did not miss the warning in his words. "And keep your door barred."

The wine and the little food she had eaten did not lull her mind. The quiet evening in the dining room of the tavern with the averted gazes and the pent-up energy held some meaning. And then her mind returned to the sight of the Church's inquisitors, come to disrupt the fabric of a society that now must bow to a king. She shivered but nodded to Jean and closed the door, sliding the bar across it. Then she made ready for bed.

All the hard riding of the last week made it easy to fall into a deep slumber. No cries in the night woke her. No alarms were given to rouse a sleeping town. And she was wide awake as darkness began to lift its curtain the next morning. She was dressed and opened the door when Jean came to knock.

They went down through, a silent inn and outside where the morning air refreshed the normal smells of a walled city. And at the city gates, they had to rouse the gatekeeper to let them through. Then their horses trotted briskly out to the road and away. Daylight lay claim to the day, and they slowed to a walk. Jean said little, and it wasn't until they had stopped to water their horses near a stream late in the day, that the news caught up to them. A traveler pressing to reach his home where the Garonne flowed into the Aueyron stopped to exchange a few words.

"We are bound for Toulouse," Jean told the stranger. "We were at Cahors last night."

It was always wise to refrain from telling anyone that Allesan-dra was a noble lady with vast lands in case strangers decided her party was worth robbing.

But the ruddy stranger, whose clothing was made of good

cloth and whose horse was not just a common nag, eyed them with interest.

"Ah, then, if you came from Cahors, perhaps you left too early to hear the news."

"What news is that, friend?" asked Jean.

The traveler looked over his shoulder, though they stood in a clearing just off the road. And there were no other travelers in sight but themselves. "There was a group of inquisitors arrived there."

Allesandra nodded, and Jean glanced at her before saying, "We saw them."

The traveler lowered his voice so that it wouldn't carry past the trees of the little grove where they watered the horses. "Murdered in their beds last night. The culprits were not caught."

Allesandra's heart missed a beat. Murder! Then she understood the furtive glances and the hushed mood of the tavern. The town had known. Perhaps had planned. But better that she and her party knew nothing of who was behind it.

The traveler went on to share his views. "Perhaps it'll make the pope in Rome think twice about sending his judges here."

None in Allesandra's party spoke. Her own lips were slack, but she didn't have any response. Her men-at-arms, who had heard the traveler's news, looked at each other and then back at the horses they watered. She daren't risk a glance at Jean. If he knew something about this, it was better he didn't speak of it.

"Murder is horrible," she said as the traveler led his horse up from the riverbank. And she shook her head.

"Indeed it is," said Jean. "Let us hope there are no reprisals."

Hopelessness tugged at her already lifeless heart. "So soon after a treaty has been signed. What can this mean? Will there never be any rest?"

"Eventually, the people of the South may learn to live with the people of the North," answered Jean philosophically. "And someday there may be a religion that satisfies all of us. But that day has not yet come."

The breeze came to make the leaves above them sigh. Jean

cupped his hands to give Allesandra a step up to her stirrup. Then they all mounted and rode thoughtfully back to the road.

The rest of the journey was fairly uneventful. Allesandra knew she could never banish thoughts of Gaucelm entirely, but when she reached her home, she bent her mind to the tasks at hand. Her lands were vast and she had been absent a long while. While her steward had been capable, there was still much to attend to. In the evenings, her minstrels, and the troubadours when they paid her a visit, would sing softly. But the entertainments were subdued, melancholy, with gentle melodies that soothed.