by Jean Gill
Aliénor nodded again.
‘And if we fight them, what’s the best way? What are their weaknesses?’
‘Always remember that peace holds no attraction for them,’ warned Dragonetz. ‘They are fierce, proud, independent, living on plunder. Recruit them into your armies and they will thrive. Frankish military tactics do not suit the hilly terrain but you will always have the advantage of numbers, so can keep replacing men until the Welsh succumb. They are lightly-clad and fast. They shower arrows and flee. Heavily-armoured knights are good in close combat but are at a disadvantage against the Welsh style.’
Aliénor said it for him. ‘As in the Holy Land.’ She had been there, his Liege.
He just nodded. ‘A people held in subjugation will always rebel and Deheubarth could be a danger to the king’s rule. You cannot wipe out the Welsh so my advice is to win them instead. And keep your defences strong. Create an army to protect the castles on the western side of the great river facing Gwalia. Give special honours to the Border Lords – and to the Lords of Deheubarth, as allies. Try to conquer them and you will always regret it. They can be defeated in battle but you won’t make slaves of them. It is not in their nature.’
‘Then I was right? Gwalia is important?’
‘You were right.’
‘Now I have only to convince... others.’ Aliénor’s smile faded and Estela understood. The title of future Queen of England was as hollow a crown as that of Queen of France had been, as yet. ‘Write down the strongholds and their rulers, the weapons, the geography – all you can.’
‘It is done, my Lady.’ Dragonetz passed her the precious report.
‘It is well done, Dragonetz! And it shall be known throughout Aquitaine that you have served me well. I shall make sure your father knows that you deserve every honour.’ Dragonetz’ mouth tightened, no doubt remembering the insults sent in writing by Lord Dragon to his oath-breaker son.
‘Furthermore,’ continued Aliénor, ‘I gift you the domain of Breyault, which is without heir, to add to your ancestral lands. It is well-managed but no doubt you will want to travel there as soon as possible, to consult with the steward.’
‘My Lady is generous,’ began Dragonetz and Aliénor’s eyes narrowed.
‘You ask more?’
‘I ask my heart’s desire,’ Dragonetz told her. ‘I ask that you annul my Lady’s marriage to Johans de Villeneuve, for it was never a marriage, and that you acknowledge us to be man and wife, in the eyes of the law, on the grounds that we have lived in that state for four years.’
Aliénor glared at Estela. ‘You wish to dissolve the marriage that the Viscomtesse of Narbonne so graciously offered you?’ Estela curtseyed as deeply as she could manage, to avoid Aliénor’s fierce gaze as much as to show modesty.
‘I will always be grateful for the honour,’ Estela murmured. ‘but that was never a marriage. It was not consummated.’ She flushed and swallowed. ‘And I am as Lord Dragonetz’ wife, keeping only to him. We have a son.’ Her voice broke.
Aliénor dismissed Musca with an airy wave. ‘He wouldn’t be the first bastard to make a fine figure in the world. You disappoint me,’ she told Estela, ‘but it seems you have found a better catch.’
Estela bit her lip.
‘And you,’ Aliénor addressed Dragonetz, ‘were fool enough to take her maidenhead and honourable enough to be trapped by a pretty girl with a nice voice.’ She shook her head, disappointed.
‘I was indeed there when she lost her maidenhead,’ Dragonetz said carefully, telling no lies, ‘and I want no other for wife.’
‘Oh, very well. It is easy enough to annul a marriage that was never consummated.’ She pondered. ‘I shall write to my sister of Narbonne and smooth over your ingratitude.’ She glared at Estela. ‘And as you live together as man and wife, your marriage is but a formality. I will have the notary write up papers annulling the marriage and those too can be sent to Narbonne, in case the unfortunate husband should wish to marry someone more grateful.’ Another glare. ‘And I will put your names as Lord and Lady of Breyault on the title deeds to the estate, so that will be formal acknowledgement of your clandestine arrangement. And, of course, enable your issue to be declared legitimate.’
Estela felt stunned, too stunned to respond when Aliénor told Dragonetz, ‘You deserve better! Leave me now.’
The moment he closed the door behind them, Dragonetz gathered Estela into his arms, whispered ‘No, I don’t,’ and kissed her.
‘Is it really as easy as that?’ she asked. ‘It seems like one of Halfpenny’s jongling tricks.’
‘Why should it not be easy? It is only the truth of our lives made public. The notary said that adultery was an insurmountable legal problem. Ergo, there was no adultery. If you were not married to de Villeneuve but married to me there was no adultery.’ He looked sideways at her. ‘Has there been any adultery?’
‘Let me think... Maredudd was very attractive...’
Dragonetz laughed. ‘If you’d said Rhys, I might have wondered. It’s time to go home, my Lady Wife.’
‘Yes, dear Husband. I can’t believe we’ve done it! We’ve survived Gwalia, your reputation is as it should be. Life is good. Everything is good.’ She took his arm and he too relaxed into pure happiness.
‘As it should be. We’ll return to Zaragoza tomorrow. I need to speak to Ramon but we can organize the household, you can take them to our new domain.’
‘We can organize the household?’ she challenged him. ‘And I am not leaving without you.’ It was wonderful to bicker over their plans for the future, each plan more pleasurable than the previous one.
They returned to the chamber allocated to them and there they found a page waiting, with two letters, one for Dragonetz and one for Estela. The seals were already broken. ‘The Queen said these arrived for you while you were abroad, if you please.’ Dragonetz dropped a coin into the outstretched hand and the boy disappeared before he could be asked any questions.
From Ramon Berenguer. Dragonetz scanned the lines, heavy-hearted, glanced at Estela. The letter trembled in her hand and her mouth contorted in a silent scream. No, everything was not good.
IT WAS AS WELL THAT Aliénor ordered the guards to let Dragonetz through or he would have killed them both. She was still alone in the ante-chamber where all had gone so well an hour earlier, a life-time earlier.
‘You know what’s in these letters and yet you kept them from us!’
Tall, stately, ice-cold, Aliénor chose to ignore his manner. ‘Long enough to let you report fully, without distraction. A few hours will make no difference.’
Nothing will make any difference was what she meant. Dragonetz controlled his anger. Aliénor was not the real target.
‘There is something you need? To deal with the situation?’ Aliénor’s face suggested she was stepping round dog turds.
‘Twenty fighting men,’ Dragonetz told her.
She nodded without questioning the number.
‘You have pigeons from Ramon Berenguer? From Zaragoza?’
‘Yes.’
‘I would like to send three.’
‘That’s extravagant!’
He glared at her. ‘I want to be sure one reaches my family, if they are still there. I think my family is worth three pigeons!’
She gave her assent, reluctantly, summoned her guards, sent her orders. Dragonetz took his leave with little courtesy.
He had already penned three identical messages. He rushed to the pigeon loft, re-read the note once more.
For Raoulf, Gilles and the household of Dragonetz los Pros. Bring the WHOLE household to Montbrun. Leave now and be there by May-day, not before. Estela and I will be there. Then we are moving north. Leave nothing. Leave nobody.
Dragonetz’ seal was stamped at the bottom and Estela had written with love. Her signature was blotchy on one version. He rolled the messages up tiny and tight, fitted them into the leather cylinders that the falconer attached to three birds. Dragonetz noted that there
were only four left in the crate. The Zaragoza pigeons were indeed precious and no other messenger could cross such a distance so quickly. He murmured a prayer for safe journey as he watched the handler loose each pigeon. May their recipients indeed be safe in Zaragoza!
Then, Dragonetz headed for the stables, to be met by Estela, ashen-faced and mounted. She was in her riding-gown, with little in her saddle-bags. They were going home, after all, thought Dragonetz, his mouth full of acid. They had no need to carry much.
A horse had been saddled for him too. Estela had been no laggard in following his instructions, though her face was still white and tear-streaked.
Twenty mounted men also awaited him. Dragonetz appraised them. Fighting men certainly so Aliénor had kept to the letter of her promise. But, if he were any judge, they were not Frankish fighting men. Apart from their foreign garb, with which he was very familiar, they carried bows and quivers. Was Aliénor mocking him? Fobbing him off with her husband’s unwanted Englishmen?
Anger rose in him again as he looked at his ‘army’.
‘Sire,’ said one man, in badly accented Frankish. ‘We can wear armour, bring crossbows, if you prefer? We were told we were riding fast and light so we thought...’
Then Dragonetz remembered who he was, maybe thought for a few seconds of some other men, lightly clad, whooping as they laid waste to a castle on a wild headland. There were many ways to fight but only one thing mattered about those who fought alongside you.
He raised his voice, spoke to them in a mix of English and in Frankish, saw duty turn to respect in their eyes. ‘I am Dragonetz los Pros. No man comes with me but of his own free will,’ he told them. ‘And you should bear the weapons you can use best. If they be longbows, then we shall fight with arrows. In truth, I’m not sure what awaits us but we have a month’s ride to reach a stronghold near Carcassonne.’
‘And then?’ asked the man who seemed to be spokesman.
‘Then we lay siege to my new brother-in-law and, with any luck, we kill him.’
Estela, tight-lipped, said nothing. They would argue again in private but as neither of them knew for sure what they would face, no decisions were final.
‘If any man would rather stay with King Henri, let him leave now, with no shame.’
For answer, their leader walked his horse towards the gateway and nineteen archers followed him.
‘Let’s hope that what we most need is a cadre of English archers!’ Dragonetz muttered, as much to himself as to Estela. At least Aliénor had not stinted on the horseflesh. He eased his mount past the men, to take his place at the front, made them wait until Estela was at his side and then they rode out, on as grim a mission as Dragonetz had ever known.
Chapter 29
When they broke camp, Estela read the letters again, although she knew every word by heart.
Dearest Sister,
I was sent to Zaragoza by our Lord of Carcassonne to represent him in talks with the Comte de Barcelone regarding the uncertain situation in Provence.
I was so disappointed to find that you had gone to fulfil a duty to the Duchesse of Aquitaine but I paid a visit to your charming family in your absence. We all agreed that in these troubled times they would be safer in the family home at Montbrun and so here they are, hoping that you will join them as soon as your duties permit.
Your son is quite at home here and makes a touching picture with his baby cousin sitting beside him. They are of course too young to know that each represents a barrier to the other’s inheritance.
I wish you safe journey and speedy return to Montbrun, which will give you the welcome you deserve.
Your devoted brother,
Miquel
Her heart clenched again at the veiled threats, the image of Musca, so innocent, so unaware of the danger.
For the hundredth time, Dragonetz told her, ‘It’s a bluff, a crazy lie. Gilles and Raoulf would never have let Miquel anywhere near Musca. Neither would Nici. This is a way of getting you to come to Montbrun, an obvious trap from a twisted mind.’
‘Probably,’ Estela agreed. ‘But what if it’s true? What if he found some way... killed Gilles, kidnapped Musca. I don’t know! It’s dated October. That’s over five months ago. Anything could have happened!’
‘Which is why we go to Montbrun. We’ll spring this trap, whatever Miquel means to happen. And we’ll end this threat to your happiness – to our happiness – once and for all.’
‘How long will the pigeons take to reach Zaragoza?’
‘Perhaps as little as four days.’
‘If they make it.’ Bleak outcomes filled Estela’s imagination. She had agreed with Dragonetz that they should cover both possibilities in their plan but it was difficult to believe any good would come of anything they did.
If Miquel was bluffing and their family was safe in Zaragoza, then the note carried by pigeon would send them to join Dragonetz and Estela in Montbrun, where Dragonetz would have ended Miquel’s tyranny. The family could journey north to take up their happy future on the new estate gifted to them by Aliénor.
After the shocks she’d received, Estela had no faith in a happy future. How Dragonetz was going to deal with Miquel was something they did not talk about. Estela was afraid that she would speak aloud her darkest thoughts. I want my brother dead. She thought she was even capable of killing him herself. Perhaps she had been in Gwalia too long for the good of her soul.
If Miquel held Musca and any other members of their household in Montbrun, then Dragonetz intended to rescue them. How, Estela had no idea, and she dared not ask because she suspected Dragonetz had no idea either. But what he did have was experience she could only imagine. Experience in siege and warfare, in negotiation and truce. If anybody could outwit and outfight her mad brother, it was Dragonetz.
Estela couldn’t help chewing over the what-ifs. ‘Some of the letter is true,’ she pointed out. ‘We know from your letter that there has been new discussion of Provence. He probably did go to Zaragoza and he would try to reach Musca. He’s tried to kill him before. What if he succeeded this time? What if he’s already dead and Miquel is just tormenting us?’
‘I’d know,’ Dragonetz told her. ‘I’d feel it, know that we’d lost him.’
His certitude ought to be comforting but Estela couldn’t stop herself from lashing out. ‘We didn’t know Malik was dead!’ There, she’d said it. Part of the news from the other letter.
Dragonetz,
You will have heard the sad news from Barcelone, and I send you and Estela my condolences. I know you and Estela spent many happy hours in Malik’s household.
When we parted, I knew we might not ride together again, and for that too, I am sorry, but circumstances in Provence bode ill. I gave you my word that I would release you from my command if war broke out once more against Les Baux. If the current provocation escalates, then war is inevitable. I will hold off as long as is possible but the truce has been broken.
I know how hard you worked for peace and I am sorry to give you this news. You gave me to understand that you would withdraw from any part in such a war so I must, reluctantly, let you go. You have served me well. When I rode out with you and Malik, we made history. I miss you both.
I trust that you will take my Usatges with you, wheresoever you travel, and apply that justice we discussed so often together.
Please convey my respects to the Lady Estela and my gratitude for the times she has graced our court with her song and cheered my Lady with her entertainment.
God go with you both.
Ramon Berenguer
Comte de Barcelone and Prince of Aragon
Estela’s anger erupted. ‘I should have visited him. He was my patient as well as my friend and I should have gone to Barcelone, checked on his health. It’s my fault he’s dead and I didn’t even say goodbye! I went off on a stupid mission with you! And I left Musca for you!’
‘I didn’t say goodbye to Malik either,’ said Dragonetz quietly. ‘I didn’t spare two day
s to see the best friend of my life, one last time. Aliénor whistled and I obeyed. Don’t you think I would do it all differently? If I’d known.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Estela said straight away. ‘I need to take action, to hurt somebody and you bear the brunt.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘We cannot mourn Malik as he deserves while we worry about Musca – and about Prima, Gilles, Raoulf – all of them. Miquel would have to carve his way through a swathe of bodies to reach our son and he has not done it.’ He tilted her chin, made her look at him. ‘Estela, he has not done it!’
‘I should never have left him,’ she said, and she didn’t mean Miquel. ‘I’m no Aliénor, to put a kingdom before a little boy. I was stupid to think we could go away – for nearly a year now! – and find everything the same when we came back.’
‘We will win through to the future. Trust me,’ he said.
But she couldn’t. And each day was another endless, numbing ride, while anything could be happening to Musca.
IT WAS FOUR DAYS SHORT of May Day and they were within two hours of Montbrun. Estela thought her mind would explode when Dragonetz insisted they spend the night in Carcassonne. He was right, of course. They did need to stock up on provisions, to be well fed and well rested before facing whatever waited them at Montbrun. Well rested! There was no chance of Estela sleeping a wink. She couldn’t remember when she’d last slept well.
Dragonetz had accepted her plea to lie low, not seek out the Lord of Carcassonne, Raimon Trencavel. He would only invite them to be his guests and she could not pass the evening in social chit-chat, nor could she involve Trencavel in family matters when she didn’t really know what was going on. She would stay in their room while Dragonetz and the men found a tavern and sought information.
Drinking together would consolidate the loyalty that Dragonetz had been working on for the weeks the men rode with him. Estela had watched him at work, learning names, assessing the strengths of each. When they broke camp, however tired he was he took the time to speak to someone so that they all had individual attention, in turn.
