The troubadour's song

by Patricia Werner

  "Be careful what you say. I feel that we are being watched. Perhaps our common clothing does nothing to hide who we really are. Say nothing that would lead anyone to become too curious. Even though I shall send you with protection, I don't want your party to be set upon by robbers who think you have any valuables."

  She heeded his warning and with a glimmer in her eye began a discussion with her would-be husband about the pots and pans she had anguished over at the booth earlier today. He in turn carried on about the cow he wanted to purchase, and before long they were carrying on an argument about which they needed more, kitchen utensils or a cow.

  When Allesandra glanced out of the corner of her eye, she saw the men Gaucelm had alluded to. Rough types enjoying their ale, but who might have an ear cocked toward any conversations that would be worth following. She was well aware that such fairs attracted low-class brigands, even though the fair officials tried to keep them out.

  But when she and Gaucelm finished their meal and left, she felt confident that they'd done nothing to betray their real purpose at the fair.

  Night had fallen, but the streets were lit with lanterns and torches. The booths and halls were locked for the night, but the revelers continued their games and pastimes, the shadows and flickering light giving their faces a garish quality as if they all wore masks.

  Gaucelm touched the hilt of his dagger fastened to the belt under his surcoat and kept one arm about Allesandra's shoulders, glancing into alleys to make sure they would not be accosted before they reached their room.

  Once inside the widow's house, they latched the door behind

  them and retired. Allesandra struck flint to light a lantern, giving a soft pool of light at the edge of the bed. Gaucelm began to toss his clothes aside in a casual manner, as if he did it every night in front of his wife. Allesandra felt her heart give a little lurch as she watched him, and then she did the same.

  When she was down to her shift, he came to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

  "Let me do it," he said softly. His eyes grazed her face, making her heart hammer, and the desire sprang suddenly as he lifted the shift over her head and she stood before him nude. He bent to lift the bedcovers and she slid in, resting her back against the pillows. Then he followed.

  He wasted no time with words, but pressed himself against her, and then they entangled themselves in fiery passion, more desperate for the fact that they had only a few days left together.

  She lay under his strong body, helpless with ecstasy as he worked his magic on her. She squeezed him in a hard embrace, crying out at the pinnacle of his love. His mouth came down to muffle her cries. And then she hazily realized that they mustn't let the household hear too much of their passion, or the other boarders would wonder at the heat of love between two who had said they'd been wed for a decade.

  When their passion at last calmed to a deep feeling of satisfaction, Gaucelm extinguished the lantern and nestled in quietly next to her. They listened to the sounds of the town outdoors, the whack of a branch that beat on the shutters of their window when the wind struck. Sometime later, she fell asleep.

  The merchant's train for Montpellier formed early in the morning, and Allesandra was introduced to the merchant's wife, one Marie Darbac, with whom she would ride in the wagon. They were pleased to have the couple join them. For Gaucelm's size and strength and his apparent ability with arms would stand them in good stead should any highway brigands be tempted.

  There were other armed men in the party, and Allesandra's

  only fear was that she and Gaucelm would not be able to maintain their masquerade. Even though the merchant came from a town that had bowed to the king of France, Montpellier had fought on the southern side for many years before that. It would be impossible to tell where the merchant's sympathies lay.

  They traveled only on the main roads, stopping at inns and at farm holdings along the way. Though there was an occasional rustle in the trees they passed, suggesting that watchers followed their progress, no one attacked them. With relief, many days later, they passed through the city gates of the town. Already a French garrison was much in evidence. But Gaucelm did not make himself known until he and Allesandra were installed in an inn from which, on the next day, he would have to take his leave.

  That evening he returned to her after being gone for a few hours. He bolted the door and then threw himself on the bench beside the hearth. Allesandra sat in the one sturdy wooden chair that graced the plain room. He leaned back against the rough stones of the hearth.

  "I have had news," he said.

  From the way he said it, she did not think it could be very pleasing news.

  "There is still some distance for you to go to your own lands from here, or to the city of Toulouse, if that is where you wish to go. I wanted to make sure you had friends to escort you."

  "That is kind of you, my lord."

  "Your overlord the count is ill in Toulouse. And you did not know the fate of your friend, the young Raymond."

  At the mention of her friend's name, her heart missed a beat in fear that there had been bad news. Her hand flew to her chest and she looked anxiously at Gaucelm.

  He rested his head on the stone of the hearth. "He fought with the relief forces, but was not wounded. They say he rode away with the troops that caused the skirmish the night we escaped."

  She gave a sigh. "I am relieved." Then she looked guiltily at Gaucelm. "He is a good man," she said in a somber voice. "It is a pity that you cannot know him as anything but an enemy."

  "Perhaps." There was a long pause, and then Gaucelm said, "I will be gone from here before the sun rises. You will have friends to escort you home."

  She looked at the floor, knowing better than to argue or to complain. They had known this from the start. She had agonized over their inevitable parting for so long that she had almost no feeling left. But somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she did not forget to be grateful for the time they had spent together. She gathered her strength and stood up.

  "You must do your duty. So must I."

  They spent no more time talking, but prepared for bed. After tender lovemaking, more precious now for being their last time, she lay beside him, thinking, long into the night.

  Her sleep was interrupted at dawn by sudden pounding on her door and muffled voices. She sat up with a start, her head clearing. She glanced around the room and knew with certainty that Gaucelm had been gone for hours. His side of the bed was cold. But her heart was in her throat at the sound of the urgent knocking.

  "Who is there?" she called, reaching for her gown to throw over her head.

  "Lady Allesandra Valtin," a stranger's voice called.

  "Yes, yes," she said, going to the door, but she knew better than to open it until her early-morning callers identified themselves to her.

  There was a hurried exchange of voices and then the same voice boomed, "Soldiers of the king," he said. "You are wanted at the lord mayor's house."

  Her heart all but stopped. Something boded ill. If the lord mayor wished to pay his respects or invite her to call on him, he would hardly send soldiers before the roosters crowed. She didn't have time to crawl out the window the way Gaucelm must have done. She would have to go with them, but she would give herself time to think.

  "Please, I am not yet dressed. Wait there a quarter of an hour until I am presentable."

  Another voice, perhaps that of the innkeeper, said sleepily, "She can't go anywhere. She's safe enough in there."

  "Very well," the louder voice said. "A quarter of an hour to make yourself presentable."

  Allesandra flew about the room getting ready. There was water in a ewer, a basin, and chamber pot for her needs. She glanced out the shuttered windows, but only a straight drop to the street offered itself on that side. She spotted horse dung directly below and surmised that Gaucelm had arranged to have a horse left at the window for his own escape.

  She would have to face whatever was afoot. She and Gaucelm
had not given their real names since they'd made their appearance at the fair in Aix and traveled here. But someone had found them out. And now soldiers wanted to take her to the lord mayor? She didn't know the man. But he must be loyal to the king, for Montpellier had been one of the first cities to submit when Louis started marching south.

  Finally garbed in her simple gown, her hair braided and wound about her ears, she fixed a band around her head that held a modest veil in place. Her dagger was hidden beneath her skirt. A pouch tied to the girdle at her waist contained coins she would need for the rest of her travels. She draped her cloak over one arm. It was not needed in the warm spring air. But she did not know if she was coming back here.

  She opened the door when she was ready and faced two men-at-arms. The sergeant had long straw-colored hair and a narrow, belligerent jaw. "Lady Valtin?" he inquired.

  "Yes."

  "Lord Mayor wants to see you."

  "At so early an hour?"

  He gave a shrug of the shoulder as if the hour were none of his business, he only took orders.

  Both soldiers looked unfriendly, either from the nature of their mission or the uncouth hour at which they'd been asked to fetch her. They were armed with swords and daggers, which gave her

  a chill. This was no formal social visit. She was being taken prisoner, but for what reason, she did not quite understand.

  Nevertheless, she held her head high and marched in front of them down the narrow corridor, behind which other guests at the inn must be stirring. No one could have slept through the noise the soldiers had made.

  Lamps lit the way where the wooden stairs turned on a landing, but she saw that the main room of the tavern was still in darkness. Fingers of gray light showed around the closed shutters. The innkeeper must have gone back to his bed. She paused, getting her bearings in the darkness, and the belligerent man with the straw-colored hair stepped ahead of her to open the door.

  A flicker of movement out of the shadows told her they weren't alone. Then the unmistakable ring of swords being drawn from their sheaths and a grunt from the man still behind her made her dart behind a keg and crouch down to avoid the oncoming blows.

  Twenty-one

  The two men who had fallen to the floor in a heap rolled toward the door. Another figure leapt forward, crossing his sword with the Frenchman who'd just opened the door. In the spill of gray light, Allesandra saw the swords meet and thrust as if held aloft by ghosts. Then the two on the floor became entangled in the swordsmen's feet. With a great grunt, the second Frenchman was thrown off and his attacker hoisted himself up.

  She saw with a gasp of great surprise her own friend, Jean de Batute. His dark hair framed his keen features, and as the swordsmen above his head drew back for another thrust, he got to his knees and made a flourish.

  "My lady," he said.

  Then he dove forward as the swordsmen danced to the side,

  and he grabbed the winded Frenchman crawling to his feet. They fell back onto tables where Jean got the man down on his back and delivered several blows to the jaw

  The other two swordsmen danced in the shadows, knocking into kegs and tables. Allesandra backed out of the way and then into a window, which she unlatched and opened, throwing another square of light onto the scene. To her equal surprise, she saw that Peire Bellot chased his opponent up the staircase. Metal rang. The Frenchman gave a startled cry as his sword dropped to the landing. Peire tossed his own sword aside and lunged for the man, lifting him and tossing him over the wooden railing to crash onto a trestle table below. All was wood and splinters as the man's weight broke through to the floor. His groan died into silence.

  Allesandra barely had time to shut her mouth, which had flown open in surprise. But as her rescuers brushed themselves off and came toward her, she fashioned her expression into a smile.

  Jean reached her first. "Come, madam. The landlord is bound and gagged. But if too much time passes, the lord mayor will realize something is amiss and send others from the French garrison to investigate."

  "I'm glad to see you, but how did you know?" she asked.

  "We'll explain after we've gotten outside the city. This way."

  And she followed them through the tavern and out the back to the stables. Another face she hadn't seen since before she'd left Toulouse with Raymond, Christian Bernet waited with four saddled horses. He handed her a mount.

  "Any sign of more soldiers?" asked Jean.

  "Two of them passed, but they didn't pause here. Likely on other business."

  "We must fly," said Jean.

  He helped Allesandra mount, and then the four figures rode along the alley and turned into the street. They might have been anyone going about their business. The French garrison left to guard the town did nothing to interfere with the life of the town

  as long as the town government and tax collections were conducted according to the new agreements with the king.

  As smoke curled upward from chimneys and servants emerged to throw buckets of water on their masters' stoops, early-morning travelers were not an unusual sight. The knights' long cloaks draped over their swords, so a casual observer would not know they were armed. Yet Allesandra kept alert for any warning that their escape had been noticed. She wondered how long the men sent to fetch her would remain unconscious, for she did not think they were dead.

  Jean and Peire in front of her, and Christian behind her, all glanced right and left, even along rooftops for any sign of danger. Just how they knew she was going to be taken hostage was a mystery to her, but there would be time enough to tell in a while.

  They rode through the quiet streets, their horses' hooves scraping the cobbles. Only when the gatehouse was in sight did they hear a cry go up. A group of the king's men-at-arms appeared in the streets behind them.

  "There!" came the shout.

  "Quickly, my lady," said Christian. "Ride for the drawbridge."

  She dug in her heels as her friends spurred their horses forward. The sleepy porter at the town gate staggered out of his door.

  The kings' soldiers came at a run, but they weren't mounted. "Raise the drawbridge!" shouted their leader. "Stop them."

  Allesandra's party galloped through the street, which curved at a slope toward the massive gate. Then they thundered onto the wooden bridge. They heard the creak of rope and gears as the drawbridge on the other side began to be raised.

  Peire was within the gatehouse first, then came Jean, then Allesandra followed. Peire turned his horse so quickly, the animal reared, but Allesandra didn't pause. She followed Jean over the bridge, which had raised two feet, but their horses leapt to safety. Christian flew over behind them. She circled her horse to look behind and then realized why Peire had stopped.

  With a loud clang, the heavy metal portcullis slithered down-

  ward, barely missing Peire's horse as he thundered across. He had stopped to cut the rope and send it downward behind them just in time for his own escape. He crouched for his horse to leap over the gap that had grown wider as the bridge creaked upward above the moat. But the mighty charger landed at a run without missing a pace, and then they all gathered speed to dash along the road, exposed to their confused pursuers.

  Arrows whizzed in their direction, but landed harmlessly at their heels. They didn't stop to look back but galloped along the wide, flat road, made light now by the beginnings of the day. They took a curve, putting the town behind them, and Jean led them up a slope and behind some trees. They crashed through the thin forest and over a rise, down again along a lane that the knights seemed to know.

  Dew from leaves brushed Allesandra's face when they rode under low branches, but they came to a grassy clearing and still raced across. Trees thinned to scrub, and they drew up at the edge of a lake. There they halted to catch their breaths, and let the horses trot through the water, spraying moisture on their heated bodies.

  "We've lost them, I'd say," ventured Christian, who looked back. They were on an open plain and would see anyo
ne emerging from the upward slopes they'd left behind.

  "We'd still best make haste," cautioned Jean. "They could follow."

  "I doubt they'll follow across the next river without reinforcements. Montpellier might be in the king's hands, but farther west they know they'll need an army to protect them."

  Allesandra gasped for breath, still unable to speak. It had all happened so fast, she'd barely had time to think. Finally, she was able to pose her questions.

  "How did you know the lord mayor had asked to see me? I did not know my identity was known in that city. Do you think he was going to ransom me?"

  "Worse," said Christian. "He would have had to turn you over

  to the king, who would know that with you as hostage, Raymond would have to cooperate."

  "Then you've seen Raymond? He's all right?"

  "We met up with him in that skirmish outside Avignon. He told us of your disguises as lepers and was sick with fear that you'd been found out and captured."

  "I was discovered, but I managed to escape."

  "So we learned later when a message came to us that you'd been brought to Montpellier and needed an escort home."

  "A message?" Her already pounding heart fluttered with nervousness that didn't come from the exertion.

  Christian looked at her curiously. "The message was anonymous."

  "No more time for talk," interrupted Jean. "We must ride. We may be in neutral country, but there was a whole garrison of soldiers back there. If the lord mayor thinks our skins important enough, he'll send them after us. We do not know him. If he is a true southerner, then he will make only a big enough fuss to please the king and say the hunt is impossible because we had enough of a lead to lose them."

  Allesandra barely listened. She went over again the story she had told Gaucelm she would use when she was reunited with her kind, and got it ready on her tongue.

  But they started off again at a serious clip. The countryside they passed still had not recovered from the damage wrought when Simon de Montfort had been here. Blackened trees, burned fields, abandoned villages. They passed through lands where his swath had been cut. It was a grim reminder of the determination of the king to overrun the South. And it hurt Allesandra to see how the South had suffered in this war.