Winter Song (50 page)

He was soon rewarded for his compliance. Beatrice believed
that it was for her sake, so that she should not seem foolish, that Guillaume
had been so angry when Alys made the group laugh at lovers. Beatrice also
suspected that Guillaume was more serious than she about the game of love they
were playing. Because her conscience pricked her, she deliberately did not
dodge quickly enough when the hoodman came in her direction, and he caught her.

This was only the first stage of the game. Now the hoodman
needed to identify the person he had caught. If he could do so, that person
would take his place as hoodman and the game would begin anew. It was not at
all difficult to identify Beatrice. She was wearing a gown with a decorative
edging of fur and an intricate necklace, yet Guillaume held her in his arms for
quite five minutes, praising her sweet scent and the contours of her body and
face, over which he kept running his fingers, before he finally gave her name
and released her.

Alys did not think much about this immediately, although she
had noticed Beatrice’s delay. The first might have been owing to a distraction
of attention. Guillaume’s actions were only natural, for all young men seized
the opportunity to touch and embrace a lady if they caught one. That was a good
measure of the attraction the game held for adults, plus the rough joy of
pushing and striking the hoodman. It was only after Beatrice had been blinded
and was being pushed about—albeit a good deal more gently than Guillaume had
been—that it became clear to Alys there was some special relationship between
them.

Raymond de Villeneuve was holding Guillaume out of the crowd
surrounding the blindfolded Beatrice and saying, “Oh, no. You must stand clear.
You will let her catch you and be hoodman again just for the pleasure of having
her touch you.”
No wonder
, Alys thought,
he was furious at me for
making Beatrice laugh at love poems.
She was amused and a little sorry for
the young man. Poor thing, he might believe himself to be in love with Beatrice
even though both must know any real relationship to be impossible. Still, that
could be dangerous. Beatrice was very young, and it was possible she might be infected
by the tender sentiment. It would not make any difference in what happened, but
it could make her very unhappy.

Absorption in such subjects is not the best method for
playing a game. Slowed by her abstraction, Alys was Beatrice’s victim. She,
too, was easy to recognize because she was so small. Laughing, she complained
vociferously of being caught in her own trap and complained that the odds
against her were unfair because she did not know the names of most of the
group. However, by clever strategy she caught Raymond de Villeneuve. There was
considerable laughter and many jests about how she had pursued him, encouraged
by his loud assertions of his willingness to be pursued by Alys at any time she
chose. Eventually these were muffled by his hood, and the game went on. Alert
now, Alys avoided recapture but also found confirmation that Guillaume was
wooing Beatrice. More important, it did not seem to Alys that Beatrice was
fleeing more ardently than coyness suggested. Alys was concerned, but she made,
as yet, no obvious attempts to separate the pair, restraining herself to a
seemingly accidental interruption now and again. However, even drawing Beatrice
away to advise on a new headdress or to choose between two colors of embroidery
thread was unwise. Coupled with Alys’s previous jests at the expense of lovers
and the admiration Beatrice showed for her, Alys’s attempts to fix Beatrice’s
attention on activities that did not include Guillaume took on a sinister light
in his eyes.

So well had Beatrice responded to his attention and so
attractive did Guillaume find her that he had begun to hope force would not be
necessary. Now Guillaume took fright. He told himself he could not bear to lose
Beatrice and decided to go back to his original plan. All the next day he
avoided Beatrice until he found an opportunity to draw her aside when Alys was
not in the hall. Then he told Beatrice tragically that he must no longer force
his company on her.

“I wondered to where you had disappeared,” Beatrice said,
smiling. “Have you been avoiding me? I assure you there is no need. I do not
find you repulsive.”

“You give me life with such kindness,” Guillaume sighed,
“but I fear others read more into your mercy to a man sore stricken in love
than is good for you. I fear that, in order to part us, restraints will be
placed upon you.”

“What restraints?”

“Who knows? Certainly you will be ordered never to speak to
me or even cast a glance in my direction,” Guillaume announced tragically.

Beatrice felt like saying,
Do not be so silly, my mother
is not an idiot
, but in a way she was touched by Guillaume’s fear. It was
in the best tradition of courtly love that “friends” should be separated by
unfeeling husbands or parents. And, in fact, Beatrice knew that Guillaume’s
love could have no fruition. She would soon marry Charles of Anjou or some
other equally highborn man with powerful connections. Still, that had nothing
to do with love. She did have a tender feeling for Guillaume. He had been the
first to woo her.

“Well, then,” she said teasingly, “you will need to sing
your love songs to someone else.”

“Never!” he exclaimed passionately, “I will die! If I cannot
speak to you, I will die.”

It was very romantic to hear such professions of faith.
Beatrice sighed.

“I should not have showed so openly how I felt,” Guillaume
went on, encouraged by this display of sympathy. “Others have noticed. Sooner
or later, and I fear sooner, someone will make issue of my attentions to you
and I will be driven away.”

That statement was not so farfetched to Beatrice. She did
not fear that she would be constrained to avoid Guillaume. Such an order would
be too difficult to enforce, but Guillaume might be told to leave if his wooing
of her came to her mother’s attention. Lady Beatrice would not like hints that
her daughter was amorously inclined to come to the ears of her future husband.
She was not in love with Guillaume, nor had she forgotten Alys’s remark that
Charles of Anjou, the most likely suitor, might be more attractive to her and
she to him now that both were more mature. Nonetheless, she was touched by
Guillaume’s protestations, and she was doubly annoyed that her first “friend”
would be driven away while she was not even included in the discussions of whom
she should marry.

“I will be sorry for it,” Beatrice said regretfully, “but—”

“We could avoid being parted,” Guillaume interrupted
eagerly. And then, as Beatrice shook her head, he cried tensely, “Do not deny
me before you hear me out, I beg you. I desire your good, only your good, from
the bottom of my heart. I love you more than life. I would not hurt you or
cause you the smallest shame, I swear.”

“But Guillaume,” Beatrice protested, “you know that soon you
must go, even—”

“Only listen,” he pleaded, interrupting again, “that is part
of my plan. I know I must go, but I will die if I cannot see you. Only see you
and speak to you, I do not ask more than that. Will you let me die?”

Moved by this passionate plea, Beatrice responded, “I would
see you if I could, but I cannot guess how it may be arranged.”

“Easily, so easily, and safely, also. I will leave at once,
this very day so that any suspicion that might be raised will die, but I will
not go far, only to the Abbey of Montmajour.”

“Ah,” Beatrice cried, “of course. Mother will allow me to go
to the abbey.”

The light of adventure lit her eyes. She would have to think
of a reason for going to the abbey and of a reason for going there without her
mother. This was just the sort of adventure to appeal to Beatrice. It was
perfectly safe, the abbey was less than a league away, and she could not be
blamed even if she were found in Guillaume’s company. No one had told her to
avoid him, and it was not her fault if he happened to be visiting the abbey at
the same time as she.

“But it must seem as if we meet by accident,” Guillaume
warned. “God forbid you should be blamed or punished for your mercy to me. I
cannot watch for you. That, I fear, would give away our stratagem. You must
tell me a time and a day. Then I will contrive to be where you are, as if it
were by chance.”

“Yes, that would be best. Let me see—”

“Let it be soon,” Guillaume interrupted. “Please let it be
soon. After these days so close to your sweetness, each moment apart will be
ten years in torment. Think of my suffering. Let it be soon.”

It would have to be soon, Beatrice thought. A few days more
must bring not only a decision about her fate but the departure of all the
funeral guests. Once her mother’s attention was no longer fixed on political
matters, it would turn on Beatrice herself. Beatrice did not fear that. Mostly
it would be pleasant, but it would take up much time. A suitable wardrobe for a
bride and a countess, rather than the youngest daughter of the house, would
have to be planned, fitted, and made. Jewels would have to be chosen, and once
the offer of marriage was made and accepted, Beatrice knew her mother would
instruct her fully about her future husband and her lands. Thus, the only
possible time for a last meeting with Guillaume would be the next few days.

Beatrice thought of naming the next day, but did not wish to
seem too eager. “The day after tomorrow,” she said. “But it may be only to say
farewell. Once the conferences are over, I fear I will be kept close making
ready for my betrothal and marriage.”

When she spoke, Beatrice’s face was pensive. She was a
little sad to think this one adventure might be her last. All unwitting, she
refired Guillaume’s determination. He had begun to waver over the idea of
abducting so sweetly trusting a maiden, and he was concerned, too, about his
honor, having promised no harm would come to her. However, her apparent sadness
when speaking of her betrothal and marriage led him to believe she returned his
love and thus regretted her need to marry elsewhere. Then why should she? Why
should Beatrice not marry the man she loved and at the same time bring back all
the power the des Baux had lost?

Final arrangements about time and place were made. Guillaume
kissed Beatrice’s hands again and again, uttering passionate thanks and
declarations of love. Finally he tore himself away. He had a great deal to do,
for naturally he did not intend to be seen at the abbey himself or to allow
Beatrice to arrive there.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Oddly enough, had not Alys’s objections to love poems caused
so much amusement, Beatrice might never have fulfilled her intention of meeting
Guillaume. Raymond de Villeneuve had been so enchanted by Alys’s original
attitude toward poets and poetry that the younger Villeneuve described the
whole scene to his father, not realizing that Sir Romeo would not see it as
funny.

Sir Romeo was a wise and just man, but unfortunately his
wisdom did not extend to the management of high-spirited—not to say
spoiled—young ladies. Instead of carrying the tale to Lady Beatrice, who would
have laughed and said such an occupation was natural to young people, Sir Romeo
gave young Beatrice a sharp lecture on propriety.

Sir Romeo did not accuse Beatrice of any personal partiality.
His son had not mentioned Guillaume’s attentions because he did not think them
dangerous and he did not wish to get Beatrice into trouble. However, Sir Romeo
scolded her for allowing such behavior in her presence. Did she not realize, he
said, that she was about to be betrothed? Did she want her future husband to
hear she had no modesty? What might be fit for a married woman—although he did
not himself approve it—was not to be countenanced for innocent maidens. And so
on and so on.

Beatrice was furious. She had never liked Sir Romeo, who had
always seemed to regard her as a feeble-minded doll. Normally she would have
complained to her mother, who would have soothed her, but Beatrice was very
much annoyed with her mother. Since her father’s death, her mother seemed to
have forgotten she was a living person and acted as if she were part of the
estate of Provence, a mere piece of land.

Too young and too spoiled, Beatrice did not stop to consider
that her mother’s very real grief for her husband, which had to be suppressed
to permit her to deal with political necessities, was dulling Lady Beatrice’s
own emotions and perceptions. All young Beatrice felt, particularly after Sir
Romeo had scolded her, was that her mother did not care about her and would
allow her to be misused by anyone. In comparison, Guillaume’s passionate assertions
of love became more attractive, and the idea of meeting him, which would throw
old Romeo into a convulsion, took on a new luster.

The scolding had another ill effect. Whereas previously
Beatrice would have asked openly for permission and escort, now she began to
scheme to get away without telling anyone. This, she soon realized, was
impractical. She would not be able to get her mare saddled and ride out all
alone. Finally, she confessed her problem to Margot, who had been the most
sympathetic and was a member of her family. Margot immediately suggested that
Alys could arrange it, but warned Beatrice against telling the truth since she
was sure Alys would not approve a clandestine assignation.

Unfortunately for everyone, the appeal was made to Alys at
just the right moment. Not only was she restless from being pent up in Arles
with nothing to do, but she could not stop wondering whether Raymond had
received her letter and what his reaction to it would be. She seized on the
suggestion with enthusiasm after she learned that the abbey was less than a
league away and that the reason the girls wanted to go was to obtain some of
the special cheese and wine the abbey made.