Revenge of the Rose

by Nicole Galland

  She had told only one person.

  He would tell only one person.

  12

  Travesty

  [a work deflating something that someone else has highly praised]

  19 July

  It was hard for Willem to believe it had been little more than a week; his life was permanently altered, and he was already used to it. He had a lover, who was— most confoundingly— his best friend, and a friend who was— almost as confoundingly— his emperor. At Konrad’s insistence the three of them spent the leisure hours of every afternoon together, once affairs of state and squire training were completed. On the three occasions when affairs of state (often in the form of jealous, intruding courtiers) demanded Konrad’s attention through the day, the lovers were adept at spiriting themselves away, twice into the cellar and once down to the densely wooded hillside below the castle. Just by taking off her clothes, Jouglet would make the remarkable transformation into a woman, and for a while he’d forget this was the fellow whose eye he’d blackened back in Dole last month, even forget it was the jongleur who made him and Konrad laugh so hard watching the squires at their practices.

  Willem had despaired of convincing her to reveal herself publicly. No woman could retain the status Jouglet now did as favored court performer. And unmasking would be dangerous: the more public the revelation, the more foolish Konrad would appear for having been deceived, and thus the more needful of meting out a public comeuppance. But danger presented itself from another quarter too: Paul pressed his campaign to gather evidence to denounce them as sodomites. So Jouglet insisted the best way to combat both these threats was for Willem to find himself a court lady and become publicly enamored of her. At least once a day the minstrel would playfully encourage various ladies to flirt with him. He hated it. He was bad at flirting; he much preferred to watch Jouglet’s bantering with the women. Such occasions, however, sparked in him a mild jealousy, although he was never certain whom he envied— Jouglet for being so delightful to the ladies, or the ladies for being the public object of Jouglet’s delight.

  Alphonse often managed to insinuate himself into their social gatherings, to Willem’s unease; likewise Erec, of whom Willem was becoming rightly proud. Having reassured himself there was a constant supply of female flesh to cool his overabundance of dry, hot humor (although the physician had expressed concern he was depleting his internal heat and moisture), the squire from County Burgundy was maturing into a fine young man. An able fighter, he might be fit for knighthood, as Willem had been, before he had even reached his majority.

  The emperor had decided Willem should continue his training program for all the royal squires; before his muscles had stopped aching from his tournament victory, he was spending each morning working a pack of devoted, almost worshipful youths. Konrad came down briefly each day to visit with his full imperial processional, banner lofted high lest any of the squires or watching villagers mistake him for some other emperor.

  Today’s training, postponed to afternoon, was an exercise Willem had improvised to prepare the boys for jousting. The full royal entourage followed him out to the rocky walled yard on the north flank of the castle, by the hawk house. The footing was sharply sloped and uneven here, so Konrad had had a long stretch of boards laid out, leveled and fastened, forming a deck.

  Willem, at one end, ordered each squire in turn to sprint at him from the other end while aiming a blunted, lightweight training lance straight at his chest. He himself also had a lance and leapt at them dramatically as they approached. Almost without exception, the boys would flinch or close their eyes when he sprang. Willem wanted to make them stop that, to make them keep their gaze steady, because a rider had to see not only his target, but at least a third of his own unwieldy lance clearly, to have any chance of striking true. He asked the entourage to stand behind him, studying the squires’ faces as they neared. If a boy ever looked down or closed his eyes— in other words, if his aim ever wavered— the entire audience would shout at him from the front, which would lead to his peers jeering at him from behind, and thumbing their noses at his backside while producing sounds akin to flatulence. Peer pressure had remarkable effects on boys this age.

  Erec, a seasoned veteran of this humiliation from training back in Dole, was excused from the afternoon’s drill and allowed to stand with the adult jeerers on the platform behind Willem. Between the squires’ sallies, he made himself useful, assisting Willem and Jouglet in entertaining the emperor by describing the lovely lady His Majesty might end up married to. Her brother emphasized the ways in which she was a good Christian maiden, devoted to her family, adept at all the womanly arts that make a good wife. But Jouglet and Erec, huddled together beside Konrad’s left elbow when not ridiculing the squires, knew what His Majesty really wanted to hear about: they had teamed up to paint a merry picture of Lienor’s physical charms. Every curve on her body was given poetical (by Jouglet) or pornographic (by Erec) elaboration, and both of them groaned with exaggerated lechery about the effect her face produced in them. The emperor, already in good humor from shouting at the squires, had been grinning without pause for an hour.

  “When we first met, we nearly came to blows over her,” Jouglet reminded Erec cheerfully, as if perversely delighted by the memory.

  Alphonse edged in between Paul and Konrad and turned his back on his younger nephew to face his older one directly. “Such is the desirability of she who will be our future empress,” he chimed in, obsequious.

  Paul gave the back of Alphonse’s head an accusing look, as if he’d been betrayed, and muttered, “Uncle, your fellow lords may have another view. Remember how popular was your earlier proposition of the Besançon girl.”

  Alphonse, more interested in what was good for him than in what was good for nobility in general, ignored this. “Judging by her brother’s merit she is of excellent stock, it isn’t as if His Majesty were planning to marry a ministerial’s spawn.” To Willem, almost confidingly, he said, “Did you know the ministerials are actually serfs? Most peculiar custom, I don’t think it ever caught on in Burgundy. Marcus, His Majesty’s own steward, for all his pomp, is legally really nothing but a bondsman. You and your sister far outgrace— “

  “He may be nothing but a bondsman, but he very nearly runs my government,” Konrad interrupted, his voice a little tight.

  “There is little to run, sire,” Alphonse countered. “The princes and dukes are all independent, even the cities self-govern. There requires only a ruler, and you alone, in your wisdom and ability, fill that role.”

  “The princes and dukes are not that independent,” Konrad said sharply.

  Alphonse tried to make up for the gaffe. “No, no, sire, but they are very loyal, of course, they don’t need whipping-in, especially by upstarts.”

  Konrad regarded him for a moment and then turned to Willem. “Our uncle is a snob,” he explained loftily. “He clings to certain class distinctions in a most old-fashioned way.”

  “Proudly,” the count agreed. “Or I would be a poor father when it comes to my daughter’s future.”

  As Willem, feeling awkward by this discussion, lifted his lance in preparation of the next oncoming squire, Cardinal Paul frowned at Count Alphonse and muttered quietly, “If you were truly interested in your daughter’s future, you wouldn’t contemplate— “

  He was cut off by a call from the curtain wall above them. They all looked up: a garrison knight was calling down to them, and having gotten their attention, gestured broadly down behind the squires, toward a slow-moving, dark-haired figure descending to the yard.

  “That’s Marcus,” Konrad said at once, and held up his hand for a pause. Willem and the squire lowered their lances. “What’s wrong with him? He looks dreadful.”

  Soon the steward had arrived in the rocky yard, all the young squires clustered in curiosity behind him. The rest of the group, around Konrad, waited at the other end of the run, intrigued and concerned.

  Marcus cringed inwardly at the tim
ing of his arrival. There were nearly fifty people here; he had not anticipated a crowd. He had not even anticipated Willem and Alphonse, although obviously it made sense that the Count of Burgundy would attach himself to Willem like a tick. The thought of Imogen’s name passing between those two brought the taste of bile to his mouth and cemented his determination to go through with his plan.

  “God’s balls, man, are you all right?” Konrad demanded. “Where the devil have you been? You look half dead!”

  “Your Majesty,” Marcus said in a lifeless voice, bowing. Enervated, he crossed the length of the decking. “Your Majesty, forgive me, but I must speak to you in private. It’s very urgent.”

  “Personal or political?” Konrad asked.

  “Both, Your Grace,” Marcus said, dropping his gaze.

  “Excellent,” Konrad said playfully. “I assume that means it will embarrass some immediate member of my family, so please share it with us all.”

  “Alone, I beg you, sire.” Stiffly, slowly, Marcus lowered himself to his knees before Konrad.

  Konrad grimaced. “Wouldn’t you like to collect yourself first? We’re having a marvelous time terrorizing our little greenlings here.”

  “I think, sire, you will want to hear what I have to tell you straightaway.”

  “Is it a border issue?” Alphonse demanded worriedly.

  “Oh, Lord, something has happened to His Majesty’s niece!” one of the women said to another fretfully at the back of the crowd— “niece” being the polite way to refer to Konrad’s bastard daughter.

  “Has the pope excommunicated His Majesty again?” asked an older lord near the back of the group.

  “Reginaud,” Paul said sharply.

  “Your Majesty, please,” Marcus repeated. “Alone.”

  Konrad pointed up to the curtain wall. “We’ll watch from there as we speak.”

  Marcus grimaced. He wanted to be out of Willem’s reach for this. “Even the clouds have ears, my lord. This would be better done within a closed room.”

  “Such mystery.” Konrad sighed. Marcus again looked down, silent. “Oh, very well,” the king said at last. “To my suite. The rest of you stay here, Willem may continue with the humiliation. With Marcus’s permission?” he added archly. Marcus nodded, not looking up. His hands were trembling, and his own skin looked grey to him. Would he really do it? When the moment came— would he even be able to speak? “Good!” Konrad said. “We’ll be back shortly, and then I want all of you lads ready to show me how well you keep your eyes open.”

  Even more stiffly, Marcus rose to his feet. The two old friends climbed the steep slope toward the palace wall.

  * * *

  “Well then,” Konrad said soon after, gesturing around the dayroom. “You asked for privacy. Here it is. What is the mystery?” He crossed his arms and remained standing, determined not to be kept long from the yard.

  “No, absolute privacy,” Marcus said, nodding toward the page boys at the doors. Konrad dismissed them with a wave, and they stepped into the two outlying rooms of the imperial suite. “No,” Marcus said firmly. “Go outside, all of you. Even the guards.” Bemused, they retreated farther yet, two out of the bedroom to the west, two out of the receiving room to the east, each shadowed by a frowning guard. Marcus waited until the doors were closed.

  Konrad made a gesture of expectancy. “What is this dread news? Where have you been for the past ten days? I sent for you in Aachen, and they said you had no ailing uncle. I never really thought you had an uncle in Aachen; I’m relieved to know that he is well.”

  “I did not go to Aachen,” Marcus said, in a hangdog voice. “Sire, I did something very foolish, and I have been debating all these days on the road if I should tell you this or not, but I think I must. I would not rest easy in my conscience if I didn’t.”

  “Then do it quickly. There is a future generation of my soldiers waiting on us.”

  Marcus took a deep sigh and began. He crossed near to Konrad, lowering his head respectfully, and leaned in to speak softly, although there was nobody else around. “I learned that Alphonse was calling off my engagement to Imogen— “

  “He was what?” Konrad snapped. “He can’t do that without my consent!”

  Marcus hesitated. Perhaps he had been alarmist; perhaps his fears could all be handled very simply and honestly, with Konrad’s support.

  But on second thought, that was most unlikely. “Would you deny your consent if his intention was to marry her to Willem instead?”

  Konrad calmed immediately. “Oh, that’s different, that would be a very good match. And then you might marry my daughter, like Jouglet’s always said you should. I’d been toying with that idea, anyhow. That all works out excellently, in fact.”

  “It does not work out well for me. I was distraught about it. I went a little out of my head.”

  “I am sorry for you, Marcus, but I think this was not a total surprise.”

  “I rode down there, I can’t even tell you why, because I wanted…I don’t know, I suppose I thought that if I got there before the messenger I could keep it from happening. Of course I couldn’t.”

  Konrad took a step away and considered Marcus shrewdly, knowingly. “You’ve taken her, haven’t you?”

  The king’s tone seemed to encourage confession, and Marcus opened his mouth to comply, about to sob with shame and relief at what he would now not have to do. Yes, he would say, Yes, forgive me and forgive her, and then he would be chastised, perhaps publicly humiliated, but then the wedding would take place because it would be the best way to salvage everybody’s honor—

  But then Konrad continued speaking. “You’ve taken her after swearing to me you wouldn’t. Is that it? Is that what you’ve become, Marcus? I won’t give away a wanton as a bride, especially if she’s my cousin— how does that reflect on me, that I can’t even control a kinswoman? If you’ve ruined her, she’s to an abbey for life, which I don’t mind frankly, since then Burgundy would revert to me when Alphonse dies— but you will be at Alphonse’s mercy, and you know as well as I do that he’ll kill you.” He grimaced and looked directly at Marcus, who somehow managed to return the look steadily. “Please tell me that the man whose judgment I rely on to run my court has not committed such a monumental act of betrayal and idiocy.”

  So the last honest door slammed closed.

  “I swore I had not had her,” Marcus said unsteadily. “I did not lie.”

  “Good!” Konrad boomed, visibly relaxing, and headed toward the door.

  “But, sire, that is only the beginning.”

  With theatrical exasperation, Konrad returned, perched on the bed and gestured. “So. To your business.”

  “I…I gave my horse his head and let him wander for a day or so, and eventually I found myself in a field, I did not even know where I was. There was a beautiful blond woman in the field, well dressed and very debonair. Lovely, and playful, and I would have taken her for a novice nun until she began to flirt with me.”

  “Yes, yes, women always flirt with you, Marcus,” Konrad said with impatient affection. “Are you feeling guilty for enjoying the attention of another woman so soon after losing Imogen? Is this one of those romantic dilemmas? And if so, do you need me to pardon you? I do, Marcus, I do, and now I really must— “

  “We made love, sire. She was…” He hesitated. “She seemed experienced and sure, until it came to the very act, and then she proved to be a virgin, but she begged me to, so I…did.”

  “Marvelous! A woman’s virginity is the cure for so many things these days.” Konrad rose to leave. “Please, Marcus, I have more entertaining things to— “

  “Bear with me a moment, Your Grace, and you’ll see why I am telling you this.” He could hardly believe it was his own voice coming out of his mouth. “Afterward, we were lying in the grass, and she pointed out we did not even know each other’s names. I told her mine. And she told me hers.”

  Konrad sighed with growing impatience. “This is the sort of sto
ry you ought to be sharing with Jouglet, he can make a song of it. What is it that you want from me? Do you want to invite her back to court? Do you want to marry her?”

  “I want to tell you who she is, sire,” Marcus said, sounding strained, and stood up. He took a long moment to steady his breathing. Konrad crossed his arms impatiently. “She said her name…” He could barely make himself say it. “Her name was Lienor of Dole, sister to Willem the knight.”

  “What?” Konrad spat. He leapt back across the room at him, startling the sleeping dogs, who yelped with frightened indignation; he grabbed Marcus by the shoulders and raised him off his feet, shaking him roughly. “What are you telling me? Are you mad?”

  “I didn’t know who she was!” Marcus insisted. “Good God, sire, do you think I would— “

  “How do you know she was telling the truth?” Konrad demanded, but he released him. He crossed himself on reflex with one jeweled hand. “There must be many around those parts who would be jealous of Lienor and try to ruin her name. I won’t believe it’s her without proof. I cannot think that of Willem’s sister.”

  “I have proof,” Marcus said miserably, rubbing his arm where Konrad had gripped him. “If I had the slightest doubt, I would never trouble you with it. I can describe her body. There is a little birthmark on her upper left thigh, in the shape of a rose. She told me only her family knows about it— and frankly, if he is a decent man, Willem himself will hardly remember it since infancy.”

  Konrad glared at him. He strode across the room, through the receiving room, and hurled opened the door. “Bring me Willem of Dole,” he ordered one of the pages outside. “Immediately.”

  Marcus cringed. “Sire, Konrad, please, I beg you as a friend, don’t make me be here with you when he arrives. That will only make us both wretched. I’ve told you what I have to tell; please, ask him about the birthmark alone, and act accordingly.”

  “If you took her virginity, you are accountable to the head of her family,” Konrad said furiously. “This is almost as bad as if you’d taken Imogen.”