The troubadour's song

by Patricia Werner

  we will stand firm. I go to assist Avignon. He knows that city will be less easily bowed to the king."

  The soldiers lifted their hands in salute and then turned back to the road to ride at a less frantic pace with their news. Allesandra could see that Raymond would not show discouragement. She struggled to find words that would encourage him while at the same time truthfully assess their situation.

  Her jaw tightened in sudden anger. Somewhere to the north a huge army marched south to squash her land under their heel. And with that army was a man she once loved. In that moment, sitting in the sun on her fine mount, she blamed Gaucelm. Reasonable or not, she thought, surely he could have kept the king away.

  "Come," said Raymond at last. "We must hasten to Avignon. It is important we reach that city before Louis does."

  The city of Avignon was neither part of the kingdom of France, nor of Languedoc. It was a city of the Holy Roman Empire and wished to remain so, though it lay on the east side of the Rhone, in the county of Provence.

  "The Holy Roman Emperor has no authority in Provence," said Raymond, voicing these thoughts.

  "Yes," said Allesandra. "Avignon is more like one of the Italian city-states than a French municipality."

  "And yet the presence of a large French army near this independent republic is bound to cause fear."

  "But the idea of letting that army march through its streets will be repugnant to the Avignonese, do you not think?"

  "I do so think. We must get there as quickly as we can and assist them in seeing it that way."

  They urged their horses to a faster pace, though they were too far from their destination to spend the horses thoughtlessly. They stopped to dine and rest in separate chambers at an inn. Louis's army was marching slowly. They would have time.

  Raymond and Allesandra approached the city of Avignon three days later to see much construction going on outside the city

  walls. Raymond approached a workman and inquired what was being built.

  "A new wooden bridge," replied the man with the grime of work on his face but a determined countenance. "It crosses the river as you can see, but goes outside the walls of our city."

  "Ahhh," replied Raymond, at once comprehending. For the great stone bridge led across the river and into the heart of the city and through it. They rode forward.

  "Why do they build a new bridge?" inquired Allesandra.

  "For the crusading army, no doubt. They must have promised Louis access, but just as you said, they do not wish the army to come within the walls of their town."

  They made their way around the construction and over the stone bridge. Along the quay, bales of supplies were being unloaded from barges and carted into the city. Inside the walls, commerce hustled and bustled, and they asked their way to the city governors. They were directed to a fine three-story stone house belonging to the head councilman, Thomas Wykes. At the house they were told that Master Wykes was at the guildhall, engaged in very important matters.

  They found the guildhall at a very busy intersection of two narrow streets in the heart of the shops. When it was made known that an important personage was here, Master Wykes broke off from his conversation at a large trestle table and came to greet them. But Raymond stopped him from inquiring as to exactly who he was until they were guaranteed privacy. They were led to an upper chamber and the door shut before Raymond threw off his hood.

  "My lord," Master Wykes began upon recognizing the son of the count and the marquis of Provence. He made a reverence, though not so great as to imply that Raymond's status was so very much above his own. "What brings you to our troubled city? Ah, but before you answer that question, may I offer you some of our local wine?"

  "You may. The lady Allesandra Valtin and I have come all the way from Toulouse on the same business I believe that causes

  you to construct a bridge outside your town. But do let us begin with refreshment. That will make whatever follows that much easier."

  Master Wykes bowed to Allesandra and bade his guests be seated at a stout trestle table. Flagons were brought, and the local wine tasted and commented upon. Then the business at hand was addressed.

  "As you know," Master Wykes began, "we are not subject to the king of France, but we do not mind showing him respect. Our feudal lord is Frederick II of Germany. However, if the French king wishes to pass by our town, we have no reason to resist him as long as he makes no move to interfere with our government. We reached an agreement with him that allows him free passage."

  "But you do not want him within your city walls," said Raymond. He respected these independent burghers, and if the situation were not so dire, he would look forward to watching them face off a huge army led by the king of France. Avignon was one of the great cities of the South, as proud as Marseilles, and as confident of its strength as Toulouse. But alas, he did not have the luxury of relishing the event. Too much depended on it.

  Master Wykes's gaze turned to Allesandra. "And you, my lady. Have you also been subject to French rule in your lands?"

  "I have, sir. Before we finally repelled them more than a year ago."

  "Hmmm. And do you also have an interest in Avignon?"

  His question made her careful of her reply, but surely this complete stranger knew nothing of her personal history. "Only as a spy and as advisor and friend to Sir Raymond and his father, the count. I am their ward."

  Wykes's eyes became more assessing. "Ahh, I see. The king's army will arrive in a few days. By then the wooden bridge will be ready. We will send out an emissary to receive them. Beyond that, I cannot say."

  "It will be to your advantage not to make it known that I am here to gain information. You could easily sell me to the king,

  of course. But I take you to be a man of honor and not in need of profit so slyly gained. If you would guarantee our safety within your walls, we can advise and help you should any negotiations become needed."

  "A fair assessment," said Wykes, "and one I accept. You are right. While I know no such man who would stoop so low as to sell your presence to the king, I cannot speak for all the foreign merchants and their servants who come and go. While most of them flourish from our present economy, there may be the one black heart that would be so traitorous. I will say only that a nobleman from the West is visiting with his ward. Would that be acceptable to you, madam?"

  "Yes, quite. My identity ..." She hesitated, wanting to phrase her words so that they would be taken in the right light. "My identity would also be recognized by some of the leaders of this crusade, if those who fought beside Simon de Montfort return now with the king "

  "Ahh, I see. So we will keep your name a secret as well."

  "That would be best." Politically, of course it was. And yet, Allesandra could not help thinking . . . and yet if he knew she was here, what might he do?

  She pushed such thoughts aside. She was here to help defend her land. They needed to learn where the king would strike next, after he marched around Avignon.

  The meeting concluded, they were taken to Master Wykes's own house where they were introduced to his wife as a lord and lady of the West. The good woman understood the need for secrecy and showed them to comfortable rooms. Allesandra's room looked over a small alley. But beyond the corner of the house opposite, she glimpsed the city walls and could feel the breezes off the river.

  Left alone, she leaned against the shutter and allowed herself to think of Gaucelm. In three days he would be on the other side of those walls, passing so near. And yet she could not reach him. He would not even know she was here.

  * * *

  Mounted on a white horse, Gaucelm was among the vanguard of crusaders that approached Avignon and saw how their path was laid out to veer off to the right. Lances were set in the ground with pennants flying, and citizens had turned out to greet them and cheer. The way across the stone bridge into the town was blocked by the crowd and the lances, and more citizens and a few men-at-arms lined the path to what appeared to be a wooden struct
ure that crossed the river and led beside the town walls.

  "Well," said Andre, who rode beside Gaucelm, "what do you think of this? They've built us our own bridge. Pray it is sturdy enough to hold our army."

  "There come the gentlemen we may ask," said Gaucelm, watching a party of richly dressed burghers approach from where they stood near the foot of the new bridge. When they were within hailing distance, Gaucelm raised a hand for the troops behind him to halt.

  "Greetings," said the leading burgher, a substantial man with wide face and neatly trimmed beard. His green satin cap matched a surcoat flowing over his round build. He came forward. "As mayor of the fair city of Avignon, I, Thomas Wykes, do hereby stand ready to greet King Louis of France in friendship and execute the agreement that he may pass freely by." He gestured to the new bridge. "We have here constructed a bridge for your use, thinking it more efficient than forcing so large an army to ride through such a crowded city as ours."

  He looked up at Gaucelm, who was clearly the king's lieutenant. It was obvious from the caparison of the horse he rode, the polished lance, and sword hilt, but most of all from the bearing of the man himself, who sat his horse so proudly. Beside him, a fairer knight mounted on a dun horse gazed at him, and both men assessed the new bridge, the crowds turned out to greet them, and Master Wykes's contingent of councilmen and masters of the guilds arrayed on either side of the freshly built road.

  The crowds stilled, watching. The troops rustled slightly, as further behind them the rest of the guard halted. Pennants lifted as faint breezes teased them up from their lances. No one spoke.

  Finally, Gaucelm spoke to Andre, though he looked at Master Wykes. "Well, Andre. These people have built a bridge for us. Shall we cross it?"

  Andre gave a shrug. He knew as well as Gaucelm what had been in the agreement between King Louis and the city of Avignon. But he was not interested in a confrontation. He was interested in moving the men across, making camp and then seeing what delights Avignon might have for knights like himself to sample for a price. "It is up to the king," he said.

  "Just so," said Gaucelm, still meeting Master Wykes's gaze. Clever man. Clever enough to please the king? That remained to be seen. But for himself, he was not interested in fine details. Their goal was to cross the river.

  "As long as the bridge is sound, I see no difficulty," Gaucelm finally said. "We will make camp for the night a mile from here, as agreed."

  Master Wykes visibly relaxed. "We have merchants who will do business with you after you have settled in your camp. I will send them to the king's steward."

  Gaucelm gave a curt nod and pressed his heels into his steed to lead the vanguard forward. At the river's edge, he got down to inspect the bridge himself, to see that it was sound. Satisfied, he remounted.

  "Go and tell Louis about this," he said to Andre. "I will lead the vanguard to our camp."

  "Very well," said Andre with his usual good humor. "Then I will look forward to a well-made camp and a well-deserved rest this evening."

  Andre saluted and rode back while Gaucelm led the contingent across. Gaucelm only glanced up once and saw that more townspeople watched from the walls above them. There was a moment—but no, that could not be.

  Allesandra was among the crowd of bystanders near the old stone bridge. But she was plainly dressed, a wimple and veil

  covering her hair and much of her face. It was not difficult to stand unnoticed beside Raymond, who was also disguised as a man of little means, and watch the soldiers approach.

  Then she saw him. Gaucelm led the vanguard; there was no mistaking the colors of the surcoat covering his mail. And even though his face was partially hidden by his chin covering, she saw his face.

  She nearly forgot herself and lifted her head to see him better, but then remembered their purpose was to spy, and she hid herself behind a merchant and his wife, whose shoulders she could peer over. But as Gaucelm began to exchange words with the mayor, her heart beat harder and the blood flowed more quickly in her veins.

  She could not help her response and glanced quickly at Raymond, who would surely notice. So she whispered her recognition to him.

  "That is the knight who ruled my lands under Simon de Mont-fort," she hissed in his ear.

  "Ahhhh," he mouthed, and then returned his attention to studying the forces Gaucelm led.

  When Gaucelm turned to look over the crowd, she ducked behind the merchant again. How desperately she wanted to let him know she was here. And yet how equally desperately she feared to.

  Now he dismounted, and she could not help a surge of joy and relief. He looked strong. He moved with confidence. He was well. And then her heart contracted and she took a small breath to steady herself. It was wrong for a widow of her position to react like a silly young girl. She was infected with the love that her brother troubadours wrote of. And it was truly a sickness. A sickness and a curse.

  She turned to speak again to Raymond. "I will slip into the town and up to the walls to better see them as they cross."

  He nodded. "I, too, need to better assess the size of this great army."

  They moved across the stone bridge, now blockaded from the

  king's army, and took the stairs to find a place among the crowd lining the wall walk. The mood was tense. These people were proud; they wished to avoid confrontation. And yet there was also that air of excitement that always accompanied the unusual. But she was less aware of any of that than of her own conflicting feelings.

  Below was a man who had watched her be interrogated for heresy, and yet a man with whom she shared an intimate secret. Their love had been a long time ago, and it was hopeless to nurse a flame she had tried without success to extinguish. And yet here she was, as he marched his guard across a newly constructed bridge.

  Then Gaucelm glanced up once and she froze. It seemed as if he looked right at her. But of course the distance was great, and unless he knew to look for her, he could not possibly see her clearly. But her heart stopped, and somehow the certainty came to her that what was between them still lived.

  "Oh, dear God," she murmured, and then looked quickly at those to either side. But Raymond could assume she was exclaiming over the fearsome army.

  "Their ploy has worked," commented Raymond, standing just behind her right shoulder. "If the king follows, then Avignon is safe. They will camp a mile from here. We must wait and see for ourselves the number of their forces. It is a very large army indeed."

  She turned to see the determination on his face and touched his arm. She had been daydreaming when their very lives were in the balance.

  "Do not lose hope, my lord," she said.

  King Louis rode toward Avignon, a glare on his otherwise fair countenance. There was no doubt as to who was king, for he rode with an escort that carried his pennants on long lances. The king's guard was arrayed in fine colors with the fleur-de-lis on their

  shields and on the horses' caparisons. He did not take kindly to the news that he was not to be allowed inside the bourgeois town.

  "Who are these upstarts to tell the heir of Charlemagne where I may and may not go! If one town can bar its gates to us, then so can others. And if the army cannot enter the towns, then the whole expedition is useless."

  "Your point is well taken, sire," said Andre, who had the unfortunate responsibility of relaying the news about the wooden bridge.

  The papal legate Frosbier rode with the army to make sure ecclesiastical requirements were met in those places that submitted to the king. Nov/, at this mark of disrespect, he fueled Louis's stubbornness. "These Avignonese have not obeyed the pope in the past, Your Majesty. This bodes ill for our crusade. I advise you to assert your authority where it is already agreed that you shall pass freely."

  "Indeed," barked the king in a louder voice. "Where are these burghers who will not admit the king?"

  Andre stifled a weary sigh. These petty arguments were a waste of time to a man of adventure such as he. "They await you at the foot of the bridge
, sire."

  "The wooden bridge, you mean to say, not the stone bridge?"

  "Yes, sire. At the wooden bridge."

  King Louis rode forward, back straight, head erect. His glance stung all in his way. It could be said, Andre thought, that the air vibrated with his displeasure. Rather than await the results of the encounter, he rode forward again to find Gaucelm and tell him what was about to happen. The vanguard might cross the wooden bridge, but it would be a waste of time to proceed the agreed mile to pitch their camp. They might very well be pitching camp surrounding the walls of the town until they were let in.

  As it turned out, the king ordered his tent erected at the place where the way across the stone bridge and into town was blocked. The Avignonese and the army alike watched as this was done and the king went within to await the arrival of the mayor and his council. When forced to seek audience with the king, Master

  Wykes and his fellows lost whatever relief they had felt at the knight Gaucelm's taking the French vanguard across.

  The burghers came. The king demanded. They negotiated. For the rest of that afternoon the matter was discussed. The burghers withdrew, discussed among themselves. The king listened to his advisors, which now included Gaucelm, who had returned to wait on the king.

  "I do not want to fight at Avignon," said Louis. "But there is a principle involved." He repeated all his arguments. There seemed to be an impasse.

  "The towns are where the resistance lies," Louis reasserted. "We must have a show of respect here or else all is lost."

  At last it appeared that he had succeeded in persuading the burghers to admit him. Not the whole army, just his own royal party. But when they prepared to go forward at last to enter the town, the way was barred. Gaucelm and Andre rode back again with the news that the gates remained shut with no orders to open them.

  By that time it was evening. Torches lit the scene. Louis ranted and paced in his tent. He clenched his fist and uttered his ultimatums to lieutenants and messengers awaiting his orders. In the corner stood the ever-present and influential Frosbier.