"Who goes there?"
"The lady Allesandra Valtin to see Count Raymond."
Not being too quick to admit a band of knights, he strolled forward to inspect them.
"These are three trusted knights of Languedoc," she said. "Send word to the count that Lady Valtin is here with an escort."
He did not bid them enter, but nodded to a sergeant, who left to take the message.
While they waited, their eyes scanned the walls. A contingent of people worked by torchlight where the wall needed repair.
Heavy granite blocks were being hoisted into place by windlasses and mortared into place by masons above. It would not be completely dry by tomorrow, but it would give the appearance of strength.
A messenger hurried out from the gatehouse at last. "Count Raymond bids the lady Valtin and her friends join him at the castle," he said.
The sergeant did not need any further proof but ordered the portcullis raised, and the troubadours and Allesandra walked their horses across the bridge that spanned the moat.
Once inside the city, they could see the beehive of activity going on. The count of Toulouse's banners hung everywhere, the symbol of Languedoc patriotism.
In the torchlight, knights, burgesses, ladies, squires, and children pushed wheelbarrows of hewn stones to the windlasses that lifted them into place. Between the double thickness of stone blocks, the mixture of mortar and small stones was poured in.
"We are not too late," said Jean, as they rode in pairs down the cobbled main street.
Soon they had to go single file through the street, crowded as it was with carts, donkeys, citizens, horses, and dogs, as if it were the middle of day. Some of the shop owners even had their shutters open and their hinged tables in place to sell food and supplies to the busy crowd. It warmed Allesandra to see the determination of the citizens to withstand the threat from the French. And now that she was here, she was ever so anxious to see her old friend, the count.
They wound through the hilly streets, the troubadours behind her shouting greetings and encouragement to those working through the night. They passed the cathedral and came finally to the count's palace, where grooms came out to take their horses.
The entourage climbed the wide steps to the entrance, and since they were expected, they were shown at once into the vaulted hall. Raymond VI of Toulouse came out from behind a table surrounded by his advisors and crossed to greet them. Allesandra hurried forward to place her hands in his. It was
the first time they had seen each other since the fatal day of the battle of Muret.
"My lord, how good it is to see you."
His broad, round face broke into a smile. He was a man of about fifty, and even without armor, he looked solidly built, with graying hair cut in bangs across his forehead and below his ears. Beneath his thick brows, his blue eyes shined in delight at seeing Allesandra, who had been his ward since the death of her husband and therefore very much like a daughter to him. He kissed her on both cheeks.
"My dear, I did not think to lay eyes on you so soon since the French vanquished us at Muret. I was saddened to hear that your lands have been taken over by one of de Montfort's vassals."
"Gaucelm Deluc, though I have to admit he has not been a cruel victor."
"Thank God for that."
He gazed pleasantly at her and then turned to motion his son, young Raymond, forward. "Look who has arrived."
Allesandra was also well acquainted with the son Raymond, who would be Raymond VII when the title passed on to him, providing they held on to the title in these present difficulties. The younger Raymond was a handsome youth, slender but strong, with long brown hair flowing in curls past his shoulders. His looks were almost feminine, but those who took that to mean that he was weak or had irregular sexual tastes were quite mistaken. Allesandra herself knew several young ladies who had capitulated to the young Raymond's charms, for he was one of the foremost troubadours of their times.
"Welcome, my lady," said the younger man. "I am glad to see you safe, as well as your friends."
He turned to eye his old comrades. "What brings this party-together? I had thought you scattered to the four winds after the disaster at Muret."
"And so we were," answered Peire, "until we were summoned by the lady here.
"Were you in distress then?"
She colored slightly. "None other than submission to Gaucelm Deluc. But he was willing to learn of the music of the troubadours and so had me send for these gentlemen to entertain him."
Young Raymond barked out a laugh. "Don't tell me there's hope? That some among the French seek refinement?"
His father spoke. "Even if it were true, there is the more serious matter of the strictures of the Catholic Church. I still work to negotiate. But their demands are greater every day. But come, you will want to rest after your journey. Have you supped?"
"No, my lord. We paused only long enough to water the horses and eat fruit and dried meat on the ride."
"That at least we can take care of. My son will show you to quarters. When you have refreshed yourselves, meet back here. I will have something hot brought up from the kitchen. There's a pig roasting on the spit."
Glad to be out of the saddle, Allesandra followed the younger Raymond out. He led the way up stairs to a gallery encircling the two-story vaulted hall and directed the men to their quarters. He then offered his arm to escort her to a guest chamber.
"Did you hear any news on the road?" he asked her.
"Only that de Montfort was marching here, but not when or with how many."
"I've heard he has reinforcements from the North." He gave a long sigh. "Ah, me, perhaps we are in for a siege. But we are ready. You saw the work on the walls."
"Yes, we did."
"And de Montfort must know that even if he musters enough forces to surround our city, the Garonne flows past on one side so that there will be no shortage of water or of supplies brought in by boat."
"True." She smiled. "Toulouse is the very symbol of resistance to French domination, and you and your father the chosen leaders of the people."
He stopped in front of a large arched door set into the stone walls.
"You should have seen it as we marched up from Narbonne.
When the people of the towns saw our banners, they rushed toward us as if my father had risen from the dead. And when he entered Toulouse, the people fell on their knees, barons, ladies, merchants, all received him with joy and happiness. When we got down they kissed our clothing, our feet, our hands and arms. The sound of bells filled the city."
She gave a deep sigh. Only now did she realize what oppression she had been living under. The unlikely attraction to Gaucelm had distracted her. Perhaps he had fooled her with his kindness and with his love. But now in the center of things, she was reminded of the great cause.
"I must not keep you," said young Raymond. "Refresh yourself here. I will send a woman to help you. My father will be wanting to tell you of these things himself."
He left her, and she found herself in a comfortable chamber. A woman brought ewer, bowl, water, and towels. And she put on a clean gown provided for her. With hair brushed and coiled, she felt ready to meet her friends again.
Indeed, at the meal laid for just the six of them in front of a blazing fire, a great deal was exchanged. From outside the shuttered windows, they could hear the sounds of the work on the city walls being carried on into night.
Young Raymond was arguing with his father about the count's latest plan.
"You think you can bow to the storm," said young Raymond, his cheeks flaming with his passionate beliefs. "But I tell you it will never work."
As usual, Count Raymond refused to get excited.
"We must give it a chance to work. I have already sent a message to the archbishop, offering to persecute the heretics in my realm. We'll persecute just a few, enough to satisfy the church that my rule here can protect the Catholic faith. Thus, they will have no further reason for conquest. If th
e southern lords join the crusade, there can be nothing to confiscate, nothing to attack, and the northerners will have to go home. You see?"
He partook of the roast turkey and lamb while the troubadours
spoke at once, adding their arguments. Jean, especially, was critical of any plan to strike a compromise with the hated French. It seemed to Allesandra that he was itching for another fight.
"The Church will hardly accept the promises of men who have already promised much and delivered little," said Jean. "It's true that Pope Innocent III might go along with you, but his legates don't trust you. I think they mean to finish the job this time."
"Then we must finish them," said Christian, brandishing a drumstick. "When they attack, we must drive them back from Toulouse and chase them north. Then we will regain all the properties they've laid their hands on."
"The Church is corrupt," said Peire. "We mock the clergy in our songs, if they but understood our words. Priests keeping mistresses, wasting the wealth of their churches, and neglecting their duties. While in the South, Catholic and nonbeliever live in harmony. But the bishops insist that all must conform to their way. Who can think of making a compromise with such men?"
"Was it not at Paris," said Christian, "that priests refused to bury the dead until heavy fees were paid? And at Rouen, a deposed bishop stabbed his successor to death. They are hypocrites, ravening wolves in sheep's clothing."
"Many of the priests are illiterate," agreed Jean. "Some of them scarcely know enough Latin to say the mass."
"How can they expect to be literate?" asked the count, lifting his wine cup. "There are no universities in which to train them. I, myself, have offered to the bishop that if we can reach an agreement, I will build a university here in Toulouse."
"A noble suggestion in any case," said Christian.
"I can excuse illiteracy when they are named to their posts by feudal lords who hold the parish," argued Jean. "But I cannot condone drunkenness. In some dioceses, the priests even indulge in gambling."
"And what of the king?" broke in Allesandra. "All of this talk of the church is very well and good, but it is the soldiers of the king that you fight on the field. Will you be able to overcome
them this time?" She looked hopefully at Raymond, wishing she could feel more confidence in his ability as a general.
"This Simon de Montfort is a brilliant military man," she said, turning to look all her friends in the eye, one by one. "You have to admit that, after what he did at Muret. And he has other leaders who are just as clever."
"You mean Gaucelm Deluc, who wrested your castle out from under you while you were in Muret."
Her cheeks warmed. She was not sure that one or all of them did not know of her folly. If she were forced to explain, she would be at a loss. She hoped her burning cheeks only demonstrated her passion for the discussion and her embarrassment at having been away when her castle was seized.
"He was clever enough to trick my guards into letting him into the gatehouse. At Muret we suffered from lack of cooperation. How can you all sit here and talk about throwing back the enemy when the count of Foix and the count of Comminges go their own way? Tell me, my lord, have you spoken to them of your idea of compromise?"
Count Raymond gave a slight shrug, but instead of looking her in the eye, he tore off a piece of meat with his knife. "I have."
"And do they agree with your plan to persecute their own men?"
Young Raymond answered for his father. "They do not. They are for one more concerted effort."
"Well," said Christian, "it seems we will have that chance. It looks as if the walls of the city will be ready. What of the corps?"
"They are drilled, their weapons readied," said young Raymond, eager for the fight. "As soon as we have first knowledge of the enemy's approach, we will assemble within the walls. Let them come. Just as they expect to settle down for the siege, we'll ride out to attack."
Allesandra could not banish the image of being in Gaucelm's arms from her mind. Yet she knew that her duty and loyalty lay here. The French intended to destroy the southerners' coun-
try and their way of life. That must not happen. She must help them fight.
"How can I assist?" she asked. "Surely with the soldiers fighting, the women will operate the siege machines. I have experience there."
"Excellent idea," said young Raymond. "I will make sure you command one of the most important machines."
"Good," she said.
Suddenly she was not hungry. She would fight the French, for they did not belong in the Languedoc. She only hoped that she would not be forced to fire a weapon at Gaucelm. For that she did not think she could do.
It seemed that she had only just fallen asleep on the feather mattress in her chamber. Now the calls and songs of the night before had crescendoed to war cries. She sat up in haste, momentarily confused, and then she reached for her clothing. These cries and shouts were no building of the walls. This was the sound of battle.
She dressed quickly and then flung open the shutters. Her window faced into the town and gave a view of the southern town wall as well. Indeed, a battle was in progress, for now cross-bowmen lined the crenelated battlement. Their steel-tipped bolts flew through the air toward attackers below. The projectile-throwing engines had been drawn into place within the town walls, and crews of men and women loaded and fired them. Stones flew high over the walls to no doubt harry the enemy forces outside.
She hurried from the room and to the spiral staircase within the turret. There, she hesitated. Having no idea what Raymond would wish her to do, she tried to decide where she would be most useful. On the ground she could assist in loading the projectile engines. There had been no time for Raymond to assign her to one. But from above she would have a view of the field and could better see what was taking place.
She decided on the wall walk and hurried upward. There on the top of the walls, the crossbowmen spelled each other in firing from the notches in the crenelated battlement. They had to alternate in taking shelter behind the protective wall to load their wooden shaft bolts by means of a mechanical windlass. From the top of the turrets above her, longbowmen aimed their feather-flighted arrows at the enemy camp.
She gasped as she peered over the shoulder of a bowman at the camp assembled below. Frenchmen were everywhere, returning fire with their own weapons and dragging siege machines into place. A small corps assaulted the gatehouse off to the right. She looked anxiously for colors to identify who the leaders were. The fleur-de-lis and de Montfort's pennants were firmly planted in the fields, and the besieging army encircled the town from the river to the curve in the wall, as far as she could see.
"Woman," shouted a sergeant-at-arms, "you're needed there." He pointed to a smaller version of the projectile throwing engines, mounted some distance along the wall.
She nodded and started forward. " Keep below the battlement," he ordered.
And she hunched down, keeping well behind the bowmen while arrows, bolts, javelins, and stones were flung above her head.
She got to the mangonella that had been rolled into a position where it could command the gatehouse below. The mangonella's long arm of wood was lengthened by a sling, which two women were filling with stones. Allesandra reached the pile of stones and assisted in the loading. A soldier inspected the heavy weight that would actuate the beam.
"Ready!" he called, and the women stood back.
He let go the weight, which caused the beam to describe a quarter of a circle. The sling flew upward, discharging the missiles. Below, the stones fell onto a knot of soldiers, causing them to draw back. The women lost no time in reloading the missile.
Suddenly there was a thundering on the bridge, the portcullis was drawn upward, and she glanced down to see young Raymond
lead a charge outward. A war cry went up, and the southerners rushed into the fray. Allesandra saw Simon de Montfort, in the field, turn from where he was leading a group of soldiers and charge to meet the fight.
<
br /> Metal rang out, cries went up, the mangonella fired once again on the confused enemy. This time the southerners did not disperse as they had at Muret, but stayed tightly together and pushed the Frenchmen back. But Allesandra turned her attention to the soldier commanding their war machine.
"Aim there," he pointed at the enemy. "I cannot tell which one is their leader."
"That one," she shouted above the din, "in the black-and-silver surcoat."
He nodded, and they pivoted their machine on its wheels. At the sight of their own soldiers in the field, those on the walls redoubled their efforts to drive the Frenchmen outward. Allesandra loaded stones furiously, her heart thundering from the exertion and excitement. She looked again to make sure Simon was still within their range. She gave the sergeant a nod. He reached for the weight and was almost ready to drop it when an arrow caught him in the shoulder. His face twisted, he gave a scream, and fell back.
Allesandra ran to him as he sank against the wall. The arrow had nipped his shoulder. But it cut through the cloth and made blood flow before it clattered to the walkway behind him. He touched his blood and looked at her blankly, more stunned than hurt.
"You're wounded," she said. "Here, I'll bind it quickly."
She got his sleeve off him, then she ripped away a piece of her linen chemise to tie the wound. "Hold that tight to staunch the bleeding."
"I'm all right, go back to the fight," he finally told her, grimacing with the pain.
She rose, perspiration dampening her temples, grime from the rocks on her tunic. She took his place at the mangonella and reached for the weight. Then she waited until she had Simon de
Montfort in view again. Truly, the southerners were pushing the French away all along their lines. The siege machines before the town walls had been abandoned as those operating them turned to flee. Some attempted to defend themselves in hand-to-hand combat against the men of Toulouse who'd rushed out to fight behind Raymond's forces.
The troubadour's song Page 16
