by Amy Maroney
The marionette show was a favorite of wealthy merchant families as well as the commoners who frequented the market each week. Lord and Lady de Vernier’s girls were sitting in a choice spot near the stage on a small bench that a footman had carried from their residence. Blanca turned, spied Mira, and squealed. All three girls waved at her, beaming. Blanca babbled excitedly until she was hushed by Heloise, who gave Mira a curt nod.
Rose clung wide-eyed to Arnaud’s neck, her tiny fingers digging into his flesh.
Two boys nearby began to shove one another, arguing about who had the better vantage point. An older girl, probably the sister of one of them, got between the boys and scolded until they fell quiet, scowling. The circle of people swelled.
The sounds of a high-pitched accordion wafted from behind the stage, which was just a modified oxcart. A drumroll began, signaling that silence was required. The audience stared in rapt attention as a simpering voice spoke behind the curtain and a doll dressed as a fine lady came to life. Now a priest strode into view, and next a fat merchant, his arms and legs jerking on their strings. Each new character brought a round of applause from the onlookers. When the dashing prince appeared, a sigh of delight went up.
Mira fell under the spell of the story, her attention unbroken until she felt the tug of someone’s gaze. She looked to her left and saw through the crowd a figure dressed in a black cloak, the hood pulled down low over his forehead. The person was clearly staring in their direction, not at the stage. Distracted by a squeal from Rose, she turned back to the show. When she looked again, the hooded figure had vanished.
Now the crisis of the play was unfolding. The prince, who had declared his intentions to the fine lady, received news that he was to go off and fight in a war. How the lady cried! The merchant had a whispered meeting with the priest, during which he handed over a large sack of jangling coins. The priest took them with reverence. Next the merchant came to comfort the sobbing lady. He kissed her hand, knelt, and held out a pink rose.
“Don’t take it!” voices cried. “Wait for the prince!”
The lady considered the rose, then turned back to the prince. She covered her face with her kerchief, gathering herself, and declared she would confide in the priest before making her decision.
Boos and jeers rang out. A roar of laughter swelled as the priest beckoned to the lady and the merchant danced a hasty little jig behind them both.
Mira laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks. She glanced around, catching sight of Deedit’s face. Deedit, wide-eyed with alarm, watched something just past Mira’s shoulder. Mira turned her head, searching for the source of Deedit’s anxiety. In the next instant, she was pushed savagely to the ground. Deedit rushed in front of her, collided with a cloaked figure, and fell.
Mira screamed.
The man backed away, his pale face half-hidden by the hood of his cloak. Then he melted into the crowd, which had pressed forward around them. People were whispering and pointing at Deedit, some women covering the faces of their children with their aprons.
Mira gasped when she saw the dark stain spreading across the bodice of Deedit’s dress. She dropped to her knees and pressed her palm against the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Arnaud stood over them, Rose wailing in his arms.
“How did he know?” Mira asked Deedit, leaning close.
“It wasn’t because I’m a Cagot. He wasn’t after me at all.” Deedit reached for Mira’s hand, her eyes full of anguish. “I tried to push you aside. He was—he was coming for you.”
Arnaud thrust the baby at Mira and swept Deedit into his arms. As they hustled through the crowd, Mira could hear Blanca’s voice calling her name. They hurried along the streets, finally turning down the lane toward their lodgings. A curious group of onlookers tagged along behind them at a distance.
When they arrived, the landlord was waiting outside.
“I’ll not let that one in,” he declared, pointing at Deedit. “She’s a Cagot, and so’s her whelp.” He jerked his head at Rose. “I’ve only just discovered it. Deceitful scoundrels, the lot of you!”
“She is gravely injured!” Mira protested. “Let us in. We pay you well, and faithfully. Allow us upstairs.”
“No.” The landlord spread his legs wide, fixing them with a glare.
“Do you want Lord de Vernier’s men on your doorstep?” Arnaud asked. He stepped up close to the landlord, Deedit clasped in his arms. “When he hears of this, he won’t hesitate to dispatch them. I doubt you’d welcome being the target of such a man’s anger.”
The landlord wavered at this. “Blood everywhere,” he said in distaste, staring down at the red stain on Deedit’s bodice. “You’ll ruin my bed and my floors.”
“We can pay,” Arnaud growled. He took another step forward. “The lord will hear of this within the hour if you don’t let us in.”
“Fine,” the man relented, standing aside. “You’ll pay all right. Mark my words, you’ll pay.”
Arnaud muscled past him through the door and Mira followed. Upstairs, they bound Deedit’s wound with clean linen and made her comfortable in the bed. But the color was draining from her face and she did not respond to their entreaties. Her breath came shallower and shallower, her chest ceased to rise and fall. The pale afternoon light faded to darkness as the life bled out of her.
Mira rocked a sleeping Rose back and forth in her arms. She was not even aware she was weeping until she felt an odd tickling sensation on her cheek, wiped a hand across her face and felt dampness on it. Arnaud paced back and forth, grim and silent, stopping frequently at the shuttered window to listen.
“Why?” Mira said in a strangled whisper. “Why would someone do this?”
Arnaud said nothing.
“Who was that man?” she asked.
“I didn’t get a clear look at him.”
“Before this happened, I saw a person shrouded in black from head to toe in the crowd. I could swear he was staring at us. I could not see his face.”
Arnaud stopped his pacing and looked at her.
“I saw a person shrouded as you say, the day the shipment came from Belarac,” he said. “Staring in through the doors of the merchant’s home.”
“Yes,” Mira said. “I saw him too.”
Fear roiled in her chest. She kissed the top of Rose’s head and breathed in her sweet scent. Panic would serve no purpose at this moment, she told herself.
“Deedit said he meant to kill me, Arnaud. Why?”
“Who knows what she saw? There’s no telling what he truly meant to do.”
He was gruff, but Mira could tell from his voice that Arnaud was worried.
“How did our landlord know Deedit was a Cagot?”
Arnaud shook his head. “She said as much to you just now, in the square. Others could have heard, could have run ahead of us and told him.”
Mira tightened her arms around Rose, her eyes on Deedit’s lifeless form sprawled across the bed.
“Someone has been watching us, Arnaud.”
He did not disagree.
23
Spring, 1505
Toulouse, France
Mira
Mira slept later than usual the next morning. She found Arnaud in the sitting room, carving a block of oak with a sharp-nosed tool. Rose sat fussing on the bed, mystified by the absence of her mother.
Arnaud wiped the blade of his tool on his apron. “I took Deedit to the Cagot cemetery outside the city walls in the night.”
“Did you see her buried?”
His expression tightened. “I could have been jailed for that. I found a Cagot man nearby. He promised to do it. I paid him well.”
“And you trusted him?” Her voice grew shrill. “How could you...”
“Stop!” Rarely did Mira see Arnaud lose his temper, but he was very close to doing so at this moment. “We can�
��t risk a tangle with the bailiff. I’ve been working illegally for months. They’ll lock me up or worse if word gets out. We’ve already drawn too much attention to ourselves as it is.” Before she could protest again, he shook his head wearily. “The other tenants complained to the landlord about Rose. They want us out, and he’s willing to go along with it. Only the threat of the lord’s wrath convinced him to let us upstairs. If that threat turns out to be empty, he’ll turn us out.”
“What harm can a baby do them?”
“She’s a Cagot. They must live apart from other folk.”
“Those rules are wrong!”
“You’ll find little sympathy for that view. It could get us into trouble.”
“I do not care!”
Rose began to scream. Mira scooped her up and jiggled her.
“She’s hungry,” said Arnaud. He resumed carving the wood. “Wouldn’t take what I offered her.”
“Boiled millet and goat’s cheese is all we have. She will learn to like it.”
“We should find her a wet-nurse.”
Mira transferred Rose to the other hip. “Who would nurse a Cagot baby?”
“We’ll find a Cagot family. They’ll be glad to take our money. Let her go to one of them, and improve their fortunes at the same time.”
“What?” Mira was incredulous. “She can’t live with strangers. Deedit brought her here for a better life. At my urging. I want to keep Rose with us.”
Arnaud put down his work again. “Is that truly what you want?”
“I just said so.”
“It’ll change the course of our lives forever. Raising a child is no small thing.”
“You forget I helped raise many children at the abbey.”
Rose let out a piercing shriek. Mira realized she had stopped bouncing. She began jiggling the girl again.
He watched them thoughtfully. “I fear you won’t like the consequences.”
“You want to give her up because she is a Cagot,” Mira accused him. “Are you like all the rest of them?”
There was reproach in his brown eyes. “You know the answer to that.”
She dropped her gaze. “Forgive me.”
“I only want you to understand the hardships you’re taking on.”
“I swear to you I do,” Mira said. “Please let us keep her.”
He regarded them for another moment, then stood and made for the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To find another place for the three of us to live.”
“Wait. We can go to Lord de Vernier, as you said. There’s no one in Toulouse more powerful than he.”
“And if he despises Cagots as much as every other citizen?”
She shook her head. “No. He is bound to us now. We have a contract. I know he will want to help us, and his wife will too.”
Arnaud’s expression darkened, but he stayed silent.
“You shall see. I’ll go at once, and make things right.” She handed Rose to him.
Her fingers trembled and her heart thudded as she threw on a cloak and slipped out the door of the lodging house. She dreaded another confrontation with the landlord or other tenants, but luck was with her. No one was about.
Quickly she strode through the streets, praying that her employers would show more mercy than the common citizens of Toulouse, would use the power of their position to help them keep their lodgings and protect baby Rose. The lord had finally warmed to them, and his wife was Mira’s true ally.
The thought of turning Rose out to the crumbling alleyways of the Cagot slums was unbearable.
24
Spring, 1505
Toulouse, France
Mira
At the doorway, Heloise blocked Mira’s path into the kitchens.
“If you think the leading lady of Toulouse will allow a woman who lives with Cagots to trespass on her generosity, let alone teach her daughters their lessons, you are the biggest fool in this city.”
The hostile words hung in the air between them. There was a look of triumph in Heloise’s eyes that made Mira want to slap her.
“That is for Lady de Vernier to decide,” Mira said coolly.
Before Heloise could respond, a cook dropped a copper pot on the floor, spilling hot milk everywhere. In the resulting chaos, Mira slipped out of the kitchens and up the curving staircase to the nursery. In the corridor, Lady de Vernier emerged from a doorway and intercepted her.
“Follow me,” she said in a low voice.
She led Mira into a small room furnished with Moorish tables and Venetian oil lamps made of jewel-toned glass.
Lady de Vernier shut the door and went to stand by the window, gesturing at Mira to draw close. The faint sound of voices floated up from the street below. Through the window, Mira saw dark clouds racing toward the city from the mountains in the south.
“There is nothing I can do for you unless you give up the child,” Lady de Vernier said. “My husband will turn you out.”
“So Madame Heloise has sounded the alarm.” Mira folded her arms across her chest. She made no attempt to hide the bitterness in her voice.
“A Cagot will only bring heartache and troubles upon you.”
“Perhaps if we simply find work and lodging across the city in a different quarter...”
“It will follow you, this scandal.” Lady de Vernier looked out the window and sighed. “Gossip flows like wine through these streets.”
“We will go someplace where Cagots are unknown, then,” Mira said resolutely. “No one will know who or what Rose is.”
Lady de Vernier studied her a moment. “I sympathize with your plight. You have a mother’s instinct, and I commend you for it.”
Mira was taken aback by the compliment. “I—thank you.”
“You and your husband have obligations in the west. You may want to reconsider your plans, for I happen to know the Cagots are fewer in the east. If you go far enough in that direction, you’ll find people who have never heard of a Cagot. Do you know of Perpignan?”
Mira shook her head.
“It is a great city by the sea, with a history far more illustrious than Toulouse can boast.” Lady de Vernier toyed with the ruby that dangled at her throat. “I have a cousin there who longs for portraits of her family painted in the Flemish style. Apparently her great rival has a Flemish painter in her employ and talks of nothing else. I will write to my cousin and tell her you can do the work in the style she desires. You will still be employed as an artist, though unfortunately not by me. With my cousin’s good word in hand, you should find steady employment amongst the merchant classes there.”
Tears stung Mira’s eyes. “I shall not forget this kindness, my lady. One day I will return and fulfill the contract we made.”
“I would be pleased if that should ever come to pass. As for this agreement, it will stay a private matter between us. No one else here, not even my husband, will know I’ve made the arrangements for you. From one woman of Aragón to another, I am glad to do this. My daughters will sorely miss you. As shall I.”
She smiled. In her eyes there was a sadness Mira recognized: a longing for home.
25
Spring, 1505
Nay, Béarn
Carlo
Carlo Sacazar had sent his most trusted servant on an errand. Upon his return, the two of them retreated to the study and barred the door. When Carlo was satisfied with the man’s answers, he passed him a handful of coins and sent him on his rounds again. Then Carlo sat staring into the fire until suppertime, his mind snarled with questions and worries. It would not be possible to carry out any meaningful task while he was caught up in this mess.
Amadina had told Carlo she was called away to Pau because a notary there desired to introduce her to a merchant who traded in lace. She was attempting to b
uild relationships with merchants from the north, especially Paris, where lace was all the rage.
Carlo often dropped in unannounced at the convent when his sister went abroad. It was for security’s sake, and she was grateful for it. After all, he was the only person in Nay—in all of Béarn, for that matter—whom she trusted.
So when he made his appearance at the convent’s door, it was a matter of routine. What was not routine was his timing—he chose an hour of prayer. He navigated the kitchen courtyard with long strides, batting aside the linens that hung from flax ropes affixed to the walls, stepping over chickens and skirting the giant wicker baskets that lay ready for the laundry once it had dried. In the stable, he stood for a moment letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. He went into the mules’ stalls one by one and ran his hands along the beasts’ flanks, searching for their brands. One was different than all the others. His eyes widened in recognition. Then he turned and slipped out the stable door.
Inside the main building, he took the back stairs to his sister’s chambers on the second floor. The corridors were empty, since everyone was in the chapel. He softly opened the door to Amadina’s private rooms.
Methodically Carlo searched the bed chamber. Then he turned his attention to the sitting room. In the bottom of a great chest, his fingers searched for a secret latch. When it sprang open, he found a rectangular canvas-wrapped parcel in the space below. He slipped it from the wrappings and leaned it against the chest. Rocking back on his heels, he shook his head, regarding the find in astonishment. He passed a hand over his brow and it came away damp with sweat. Slowly he got to his feet, looking around the room again grimly. What else had his sister hidden away?
A collection of silver boxes atop a low table caught his eye. Some had been in Amadina’s possession since she was a girl. In fact, one was a gift from the Moorish family who had for generations pole-barged Sacazar wool down the River Ebro to Tortosa, on the sea. He remembered working the fastenings of the box as a child, delighting in the clever way it was secured. Amadina had struggled to open it even after he patiently taught her how. Now he opened each box in turn, saving for last the gift from the Moors. As if no time had passed, he slid open the silver bars in just the right order and the box clicked open.
