The troubadour's song

by Patricia Werner

  "My lords," he began in a reasonable voice. "A political solution that has left the heretics untroubled is unacceptable to His Holiness, the Pope. The count of Toulouse and the other southern lords have told us in the past that they would make a serious effort to eradicate heresy, and yet they do nothing." His voice had risen in irritation, and he paused to bring it under control. Nevertheless, his speech was insistent. "We have ceased to trust them. Therefore, His Holiness encourages those of you who wish to fight for truth to take up the cross again in the spring when the ground is thawed."

  The king's chamberlain stepped forward. "Reverend Bishop, I am sure that His Majesty will agree with me. It is not that we disagree that the heretics should be banished. It is that there is no money left in the treasury to support another crusade."

  He stretched out his hands, long fingers spread apart as if to emphasize his point. "Our feudal levies command only a certain

  number of men for forty days' service. After that, they will again go home. A sustained crusade must have paid mercenaries to sustain sieges and remain in the field. Where are we to get this money?"

  The king knew what his chamberlain had planned to say, and now he lifted his black-and-gray brows with interest to see how the papal legate would respond. But Frosbier very smoothly ignored the issue of money.

  "If a new crusade were undertaken to eradicate heresy once and for all in the South," said Frosbier, "I am also aware that there is the matter of who would lead it."

  "Indeed," agreed Philip. "Our best general is dead. I myself am in ill health and cannot think of taking on such a venture."

  "There is your son, Your Majesty," suggested Frosbier.

  There was a stir in the hall, and Gaucelm and Andre exchanged glances. Yes, Louis might be just the man to take on a new crusade.

  "A good suggestion," agreed Philip. "What do my knights say to that? Would you have Louis lead you in the coming season?"

  Andre stepped forward and spoke. "Your Majesty, if I may speak. Your knights would follow Louis gladly, but he is busy in Poitou. It has taken a very firm hand to establish French royal authority in that county. Louis has broken the rebels' resistance, but the border zones are uncertain and the king's authority unsure."

  "Precisely the reason for finding such an expedition desirable," suggested another baron. "For the border zones run into Languedoc."

  For some moments Gaucelm had been aware that the king's intelligent eyes had been on him; now Philip singled him out.

  "Gaucelm Deluc, you have been last season in those parts. What say you to the idea of a new crusade?"

  Gaucelm uncrossed his arms and stepped forward with a nod to his sovereign. "I am torn, my lord. The lands are very desirable, but the people resent us deeply. As to the rooting out of heretics, that is not my business." He glanced at Frosbier.

  "But from those I knew in the South I would say it will not be easily done."

  The king rubbed his cheek with his finger, considering. Then he turned again to the papal legate. "You must ask His Holiness then, my lord bishop, just how much the Church would be willing to pay to meet the expenses of a fully mounted crusade. I am not saying that Louis will go. But if he is to take up the cross, then the Church must be the sponsor. I can see no other way."

  Bishop Frosbier bowed. His expression showed that he was not completely pleased but that he would hold his opinions to himself. "I will ask His Holiness, then, if the church coffers can fulfill such a request."

  The assembly broke into individual groups of murmuring knights and barons, and Philip made no move to silence them for some moments.

  Andre said sidelong to Gaucelm, "A clever move by our sovereign. He is setting a precedent that if the Church wants us to defend Christendom, then she must pay for it. Clever indeed."

  "Furthermore," the king finally interrupted, and the crowd quieted down. "We must be free to annex any lands overrun by our army."

  Frosbier angled his mitred head in a nod. But Gaucelm did not miss the look of consternation that crossed the legate's face. He could well imagine that the pope did not really want a strong ruler in Languedoc. The pope must dream of a prince in Toulouse who would be a dutiful vassal of the Holy See. Therein did the Church maintain her power.

  Whatever the legate was thinking, he said only, "We have learned that the southern counts will not persecute their own subjects; therefore a strong French presence is necessary to punish and expel heretics from the lands and to preserve the rights of the churches. I will see that His Holiness the Pope hears your offer to raise an army provided the Church will outfit her and pay to keep mercenaries in the field. As to the matter of annexing the lands that you overrun, I will see if His Holiness is in agree-

  ment. With all due haste I will take these negotiations to Rome. Do I understand your requests completely, Your Majesty?"

  "I believe you do," answered Philip.

  "Then I will take this message back to Rome."

  The council concluded, and Gaucelm followed Andre out of the hall and into the sunlit wintry day. They pulled their fur-lined mantles tighter around them and went in the direction of the tavern where young knights like themselves met whenever in the He de la Cite on the king's business.

  There, they could toast themselves by a fire and speculate about what would happen come spring. In the tavern, scholars fresh from their debates in university cloister and lecture room drank heartily and continued their arguments in French and Latin.

  Andre led his friend to a bench at the end of a trestle table. When the buxom tavernkeeper's daughter came to bring them refreshment, Andre gave her a suggestive wink and grasped her hand in flirtation, forcing her to stay with them for a few moments.

  "Mademoiselle," said Andre to the dark-eyed wench with full, sensual lips and a flirtatious look in her eye, "where have you been? I have longed for you all this month."

  "I've been right here, monsieur," she responded. "It is you who have been absent."

  Andre turned her hand over to kiss her wrist and ran his fingers along her inner arm.

  "Ah, how foolish of me. For a man without feminine company is not living."

  He pulled her down on the knee he thrust outward from the end of the table, so that he could nuzzle her throat.

  "What say you to some time together, eh?" Her Jbosom was temptingly close to his hand, but she gave him no chance to fondle her. She thrust his head away and jumped up to the floor again.

  "Monsieur, have a care. I have business to attend to, and you are not my only customer."

  Andre gave her a lewd grin. "Ah, but perhaps I could pay to become your only customer."

  She hesitated, and he saw the greed flicker in her dark eyes. Then she gave a toss of the head. "What makes you think I am for sale?"

  Andre gave a look of mock horror. "Mademoiselle, I did not say that you were. It is just that my desire for your company has overcome me, and I would hire a private hall for us to dine in and be left alone. A palace, if I could afford it." Then he sighed sadly. "But alas, I am a poor knight and I cannot afford such things, even for my lady."

  She laughed then, completely won over by his charm. She bent to murmur in his ear, her hair tickling his face, the neckline of the smock that peeked over her gown sinking to offer a tempting view of flesh. "Perhaps if you order us supper this evening, I can find a room where we can enjoy it," she said. "Come back then."

  Andre felt his loins tingle in anticipation. And he held her there for one kiss on her plump cheek. "How fortunate for me, mademoiselle." Then he slapped her rump. "Now, bring us wine. I must do something to liven up my friend's spirits."

  Gaucelm had watched the seduction with minor amusement. He knew that if they asked, the girl could find a friend for him. Not that his body wouldn't find release in a woman's flesh. But there was still only one woman that he craved. And she was hopelessly far away. He knew he was a fool to save himself for her. For the only way he could hope to claim her again was to arrive at her castle at the head
of an army.

  The girl brought wine, and the two men drank deeply. Then Andre brought up the matter of negotiations between king and pope.

  "If Louis is already in command of Poitou, perhaps the Languedoc will be more easily subdued this time. What do you say, my friend? You were there."

  Gaucelm lifted the corner of his mouth in irony. "I agree that

  Prince Louis is a good man in the field. Though I have never fought with him, I have heard of his exploits."

  Andre nodded. "He is a good leader, from what I have seen. If anyone can subdue the South, he will be the one."

  "Yes," replied Gaucelm, "if anyone can. But it will not happen soon. You heard the negotiations. You know how slowly these things move. The legate must travel to Rome, and then the pope will have to consider the king's requests. It is a very large undertaking."

  Andre did not miss the discouragement in his friend's tone. "Gaucelm, my man, all this winter you have been melancholy. I understand your bitterness at having secured lands in Langue-doc, only to have the rebels rise up and snatch them from you. But if Louis mounts a new crusade, surely this will be your chance to reclaim them. Does this not give you hope?"

  Gaucelm gave a grunt, but smiled wearily at his friend. "Indeed, it does. And you are right, the winter months hang heavy on my hands."

  "You did the king's bidding along the new borders, did you not?"

  "All well and good," answered Gaucelm, "but I did not find the borders to my liking. It had been a long while since I had to speak English to gain information for the king."

  "Hmmm, but you do speak Provencal now ..." Andre raised sandy brows in speculation, with more meaning behind his words than he spelled out.

  "Yes," said Gaucelm, lifting his wine cup. "I do speak Provencal. And many of the southern nobility have learned French if only to defend themselves from us."

  "Yes," said Andre. "I take it you became acquainted with a few among this nobility."

  Gaucelm swallowed his sip of wine and shifted his body to lean one elbow on the table and gaze at the fire. "A few."

  Andre gave a long sigh. "Ah, as I have been suspecting, you have been mourning these last months because of a woman."

  Gaucelm did not try to hide his response. He smiled ironically. "And what if I have?"

  "Hmmm," said Andre with a sad shake of the head. "The worst type of malaise. I myself love women, as you know. But there has never been one who would make me forget all else. Tell me, is this woman that you pine for of a love so great?"

  Gaucelm dropped his tone of irony and knit his brows seriously. "I promised her I would return to her."

  He did not add that he had done thus before he learned of her treachery regarding Simon de Montfort.

  "And so you will."

  "Ha!" Gaucelm exclaimed. "With an army at my back, you mean."

  Andre smiled and tossed back another swallow of wine. "I see your dilemma. Perhaps she fell in love with you, but she will not forgive you if you destroy all that is hers. Something like that, hmmm?"

  "You have it, my friend." Then he shook his head and lowered his voice. "But worse, even if I am again in the South and we are victorious, I am afraid she will be persecuted for her beliefs."

  "Ah, you mean she is a heretic. Did she admit as much?"

  "No. These southerners are very secretive about such things. To all appearances she could be a good Catholic. But I think she may have sheltered heretics nonetheless. At least that is all I suspected at the time."

  His troubled frown led Andre to delve deeper. "Since you have not seen her since you marched northward, what has made you doubt her further?"

  "I stole something from her, took it to remember her by, something for my comfort."

  "Oh?"

  His look softened and he stared into his empty cup. "Her poetry." He glanced up at Andre." She is a patron of the troubadours. But more, she writes poetry herself."

  "Yes? And what is it about this poetry? Love songs, battle songs, are they not?"

  Gaucelm shrugged. "I thought so at first. But as I sit by my fire and reread them, I now see meanings I did not see before."

  Andre gave a quick glance over his shoulder. "Then you must keep the poetry out of the hands of our bishops. Perhaps you would be better off to burn it."

  Gaucelm nodded. "It would be safer so."

  The two men drank silently, the noise around them filling the background with the sounds of levity. Gaucelm knew that negotiations for another crusade could take many months. He must find something else to do in that time or go mad.

  Surely his friend was right. He should burn the book of Alle-sandra's poems, lest they be stolen or fall into the wrong hands.

  Fifteen

  King Philip Augustus was dying. Negotiations with the pope reached a standstill as France waited to see just how soon they would have a new king. In the meantime, the kingdoms so hard won in the Holy Lands needed protecting. And Jerusalem was still in Muslim hands. And so rather than remain in He de France with nothing to do, Gaucelm took himself off as part of a badly needed contingent of Christian forces.

  They rendezvoused in Cyprus and spent the next months fighting small-scale operations against the Muslims. He was part of the great invasion of Egypt and helped to capture a defensive tower on the Nile. They dredged a canal, and in November, they took Damietta. But the Christians were paralyzed by a leadership argument.

  When the Egyptians blocked the supply lines from Damietta and broke the dykes to flood the surrounding land, the crusaders were doomed. They left Egypt. Once more, Gaucelm sailed home to He de France for another winter.

  When Louis VIII was finally crowned, he turned to his negotiations with the pope. And so it was that the trusted knights and barons of the royal counties were again summoned to council. Gaucelm and Andre rode into the He de la Cite on a fine spring day, with a clear, azure sky and the fragrance from the royal gardens assaulting their senses.

  Andre had seen the changes in his friend. Gaucelm had toughened and hardened from fighting in the East. His eyes lacked luster, and what he felt, he kept to himself. Andre could see the impatience in his friend. As if he were waiting for something, dissatisfied, biding his time.

  Now they were summoned to the palace once again. Perhaps what Gaucelm had awaited more than a year would happen.

  "Surely we are not summoned to hear bad news," speculated Andre. "With the weather so fine, the king will want to expand his borders."

  "Hmmm," said Gaucelm. "Let us hope so."

  The knights joined others of their class in the great hall. An entourage of ecclesiastics hovered beside the dais. Then the doors opened, and the men parted for King Louis.

  He was a muscular warrior with thick blond hair and beard and sharp, intelligent eyes like his father's. He wasted no time, but after greeting the assembly and the pope's emissaries, he addressed them all.

  "My lords and holy fathers, I welcome you here to discuss the matter that my late father, the king, was engaged upon before he passed away. It has been my purpose to continue what my father began, and in these last months I have turned all my attention to securing the borders of Poitou."

  He stepped down from the dais to walk among the men, looking each in the eye, giving them the reassuring feeling that he knew them. "As it turns out, the Mother Church also has business in the South. Many of you were here when this issue was discussed with my father."

  Murmurs answered him. He took his time surveying all present as if getting a sense of agreement. Then he returned to the dais, but did not mount it. "His Holiness the Pope still desires our help in routing out heresy in the South. To this end taxes imposed on the clergy have been raised to pay for such a venture."

  Now the room erupted in a greater murmur and Gaucelm exchanged glances with Andre. Louis raised a hand for silence.

  "We have word from the bishops in Languedoc, who still do not trust the count of Toulouse or his rebel friends. Count Raymond VI is too ill to fight, but his son Raymond VII i
s devoted to his father's cause. He is their leader in the field now. We could not trust the father, and we will not trust the son. Our late general, Simon de Montfort, fought well for us and died for his trouble. We will mount an expedition to the South in May this year to right that situation."

  The assembly knew that the king wasn't finished speaking so withheld their cheers, but excitement passed through the room and looks of speculation and interest were exchanged.

  The king now accepted a rolled parchment handed to him by the tall, confident papal legate Frosbier. Gaucelm studied him and decided he had not changed in the year and more since he'd seen him. He looked quite pleased with himself, and if anything, more ambitious. The king untied the cords that bound the scroll and then unrolled it to read the terms from it, summarizing for the assembly before him.

  "To finance this crusade, beginning in the spring of this year, the king receives a tenth of ecclesiastical revenues of the French clergy for five years."

  Andre whispered in Gaucelm's ear, "A large sum, eh?"

  Louis continued. "We have the right to quit the crusade whenever we choose. We acquire all lands we overrun. All who participate in the crusade receive indulgences for their sins to the full extreme."

  Gaucelm's mind wandered as the king went over the finer details. They were going to ride south. Already his blood began

  to move again in his veins. He could feel the fatigue of travel from the Holy Lands recede from his bones and the warm winds of the South call to him. For these many months he had tried to forget Allesandra. Her face had grown vague, only a shape that still glowed in his mind. But he remembered her body in every detail. And he still recited her poetry in his mind. In the hot, arid climate of the Nile, her poetry had kept him sane when he'd despaired of life. He could not even any longer dredge up the old resentment that she had killed Simon in battle.

  He did not allow himself to think that if he rode south with a crusading army that Allesandra Valtin would hate him for coming as her enemy. He had no doubt of her loyalty to her southern friends. They were enemies still. But if he came so near, surely he would at least see her. What had the year wrought for her? Would she have changed? Perhaps she was beautiful no longer, burdened as she must be by running a castle.