‘I am so pleased about this marriage,’ Lady Esclarmonde reached across her sister-in-law, Philippa, Comtesse de Foix, to pat Adela’s hand. ‘Mirascon’s alliance with Gascony and England is so important to us.’ The kind words provoked a snort of disapproval. Bishop Seguinus stirred.
‘Lord Richart thinks only he can swim against the tide.’ And what did that mean?
‘Actually, it can be done,’ Sir Tibaut began pedantically. ‘I was caught in a rip once in the great west sea, got swept out for a bit, but then I was able to make it back to the shore.’
‘It’s possible, I daresay, if you can float like a piece of mindless driftwood, Tibaut,’ replied Seguinus. ‘But there are plenty at this table who lack the skill to float or swim.’
Richart’s fingers tightened around the haft of his knife and he busied himself in cutting slithers of pear for ‘Alys’.
Adela broke the unpleasant silence. ‘Madame, how old are the puppies you so kindly brought as a wedding gift?’ Encouraging my lady of Foix to hold forth on the breeding of hunting dogs was like opening the floodgates, but Richart looked relieved. It meant they endured a lesson on building kennels, removing ganglions and castrating when necessary. The use of a bowl of cherries for my lady to explain the method might have had the knights wincing, but it smoothed away dissention.
The banquet seemed as unending as a feast at Satan’s table. By the time Adela had sat through the tumblers, more songs by visiting troubadours, an epic poem by someone local, Derwent’s capers, and too much hypocras, she was feeling exhausted and she was glad when Richart requested the male guests to adjourn to his council chamber. The noblewomen retired to their bedchambers and the servants were left to stack the trestles.
* * *
‘Heard yer had an illuminatin’ time in the library this mornin’,’ Maud kept her tone deferential as she watched Fabrisse loosen the laces at the back of Adela’s gown. ‘Get rid of these geese. We need to talk.’
Adela needed little prompting. Once the door closed behind the women, she sank down on the cushions of the window seat and tugged Maud down beside her. ‘How are you faring?’
‘Never mind me. When are we leaving?’
‘It’s not that simple.’ She explained about the alliance.
Maud groaned. ‘Treasure, we have to leave. I’ve been a-talkin’ to this wight wot arrived this mornin’ with the high Dame of Tooloose an’ he said this comte, her husband, is in all manner of hot water for slaying a holy leggit, whatever that is.’
Adela frowned. ‘A sort of papal emissary.’
‘Whatever, but listen, because of this slaying, see, the King of the Frogs has given permission for a crusade to rid the south of hairy ticks and if they get this far within forty days of their knight-service, Mirascon will be under siege because it’s crawlin’ with ’em.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard about this crusade, but I’m certain the vicomte’s not a hairy … heretic, Maud.’
‘No, I dare say he ain’t, but his sisters are hairy ticks called Catters and so is his grandmother, Lady Blanche, aye, and them dames Philippa and Esclarmonde that came this mornin’. I keeps my eyes and ears open, Adela, unlike some of us wot is livin’ in a dream.’
‘Catters? You mean Cathars?’
‘I expect I do. There’s other hairy ticks as well, Albi … Albigenseaans, Perfects and Good Men. Lord knows if they’re the same thing under the skin but the pope can’t abide any of ’em. Apparently, Raymon of Tooloose has gone to meet these crusaders an’ if he can’t talk the braggarts into going home, he’ll probably join ’em. That’s wot this fellow reckoned.’
‘Join them! O, Jesu!’ Now all the undercurrents made sense. Heresy had been the monster swimming beneath the talk at the high table, stirring up the animosity between Lady Esclarmonde and Bishop Seguinus. Yet heretics were not infidels. Misguided maybe. ‘I expect my lord will know the truth of it.’
‘Pah, his lordship’s hardly goin’ to be explainin’ about Catters when he’s too busy kissin’ your—’
‘Maud!’
‘Well, it’s true, ain’t it? You’ve gone all rosy so it must be. Pay heed! I reckon most of them tiring women are Catters.’ She pointed to the latch. ‘Ain’t you heard ’em whispering? An’ when I goes past, they stop and look guilty as thieves. Well, it ain’t tittle-tattle whisperin’, it’s prayin’. I tell you they’re Catters especially that Lady Marie. Place is riddled with ’em.’
‘Hmm, the vicomte said some of his family were not here because—’ Adela halted. ‘I thought it was because they’d heard of Alys’s reputation and were against the marriage.’
Maud patted her knee. ‘Listen, darlin’, this crusade is to bonfire these Catters and cleanse the place of hairy ticks. I’ll wager my soul that Mirror-scone is on their laundering list. We have to leave. ’Sides, you can’t marry his mightiness. You ain’t Alys.’ She lowered her voice further. ‘There’s feasting in the city this night, troubadours competin’ an’ it’s a good time to steal away. Promise me we’ll go. I’ve clothing for you.’
‘Maud …’ She would be expected to be present in the great hall.
‘If you’re growin’ fond of his lordship, best thing you can do for ’im is to leave. Sooner or later there’ll be someone who knows Alys.’
‘Didn’t you say that Alys and I could have passed for sisters? Besides, the marriage isn’t about her jointure or anything like that, it’s because Mirascon needs a military alliance.’
‘An’ I’m sayin’, “Finish this, Adela!”’
‘Can’t you see it will shame him for his bride to disappear?’
‘Pah, he can make some excuse. Say the elves have taken her or blame the pope. Who cares?’
‘I do,’ said Adela softly. ‘There is more at stake here than you or I, Maud.’
‘Treasure, we’ll be the ones at the stake. Yer reckon them northern curs are goin’ to ask questions before they set fire to us?’ ‘But if these men have taken the cross like proper Christians?’ ‘I wouldn’t trust any of them whoresons. It’ll be like them brigands ambushin’ us only a thousand times worse. Aye, that’s galloped through to you at last. Listen, girl, I’ve stowed the kirtle an’ couvre-chef you’ll need beneath the cupboard over there an’ I’ve also reck-an-oitered the city so I know which streets to take. We’ll leave before curfew.’ She had other instructions to give depending whether they travelled south to the kingdom of Navarre or struck north, inland along the pilgrims’ way.
Desperate to make the right decision, Adela made her way to the chapel and knelt there in misery. She felt so torn between duty and honour, loyalty and betrayal. Nothing seemed simple anymore. What she was doing was dishonest and yet … Help me, she begged, pressing her hands tightly together in devotion as the tears seeped down her cheeks. To flee would mean she would never have to confess to Richart, but to leave him without an explanation let alone an alliance … God forgive her! It might mean that Mirascon would be belly up to the swords of its enemies, and Lady Marie and the other heretics might be expelled or worse.
‘Madame!’
The sudden hand on her shoulder made her start, even more so when she saw who had disturbed her—a spire of a man—Bishop Seguinus.
‘While it pleases me to see you at your prayers, my daughter, and I am loath to disturb you, there is an important matter I need to discuss with you.’
Adela rose reluctantly to her feet. This bishop would surely be the last to desire a woman’s opinion so it must be about the marriage ceremony or maybe a homily on the duty of noble wives. As a priest’s daughter, Adela was quite capable of holding her own in a religious discussion, but the last thing she needed at that moment was a private sermon from this bishop.
He gestured her to a bench at the back of the chapel but did not sit down beside her. It was calculated, she was sure. A ploy to make her feel like a tiny rabbit beneath a soaring hawk.
‘Daughter,’ he exclaimed without preamble, glowering sternly down at her, ‘you are be
ing given the opportunity to be a beacon in the fog of heresy that is seeping across this land and blinding the innocent and the ignorant.’
A gloved answer was needed to reassure him; a reply that offered no insult. ‘Surely there is no heresy to be found in Mirascon with so diligent a shepherd as yourself to watch over the flock, my lord bishop?’ she replied cautiously. Did that sound reasonable? No, evidently not. His frown deepened.
‘It is from this castle that the heresy is spreading.’
How would Lady Alys answer? This conversation was becoming dangerous.
The bishop took advantage of her silence. ‘Lady Blanche is a self-confessed Cathar, a heretic. So are most of the women who attend you. They listen to the doctrines of the emissaries of Satan with eager ears. Madame, I advise you to make it clear, very clear, that you have no sympathy with the false doctrine they espouse and I urge you to dismiss them from your presence lest they contaminate you.’
By Heaven, he was beginning to sound like a lofty version of Maud! Adela’s sense of the ridiculous would have overwhelmed her if she had not found this man so threatening in his hatred.
‘You wish me to refuse Lady Blanche’s company, my lord bishop?’
‘If your right hand offend you, cut it off, and cast it from thee. There are no exceptions where the true faith is concerned! Were His Holiness the Pope here in this very chamber, he would advise us that those who are high in authority should be setting an example of following the true faith, otherwise we are guilty of greater sin than a simple ploughman.’
Adela frowned, the ploughmen in her acquaintance had not been simple and, like her father, she had no respect for churchmen who lacked humility. Some common sense was called for. She smoothed her skirts and, glancing pensively aside, replied, ‘As you know, Your Grace, I am a foreigner and have barely made the acquaintance of my servants. To tell you the truth, my ladies babble of nothing but a Court of Love and a competition among the troubadours. Forgive me if I find it hard to believe they are a threat to Holy Church. In fact, their frivolity—’
‘Troubadours, jongleurs!’ interrupted the bishop, his patrician face disfigured by a sneer. ‘They spread the infection of heresy. I am warning you, child, to root out the heretics within these walls, lest you be numbered amongst them.’
Remembering how the Abbess of Shaftesbury, on her high horse, could deliver a subtle rebuke, Adela rose to her feet, making it clear she was ending the audience.
‘Indeed, my lord bishop,’ she agreed. ‘I shall certainly consider your advice once I become the Vicomtesse de Mirascon and I thank you for drawing this matter to my attention. But you must understand that since I have not yet taken my marriage vows, I cannot promise more at present.’
‘Or will not. I begin to fear, my child, that you will be womanish and put affection for these heretics ahead of your duty towards Holy Church.’
Oh, this prelate was now like a hunting dog with his nose down for a kill, but it wasn’t pagans they were discussing. ‘Well, madame?’
Adela stared consideringly at the rich stitching on his leather slippers before her gaze rose slowly to find his face. What was it her father had always maintained? Ah, yes …
‘Surely it is possible for a faith to be strengthened through adversity, my lord? Sometimes debate and questioning may be an outward manifestation of a healthy church.’ She noticed the fine embroidery embracing his chest was rising dangerously. ‘Though, of course, my lord bishop,’ she added sweetly to staunch his indignation, ‘in all these matters, I am just an ignorant woman and must be guided by my future husband.’ The stony expression on her adversary’s face did not soften into benign formation. What could draw compassion from him? Greek fire?
‘Daughter, you may not be aware that the Comte of Toulouse has endured a public scourging from Holy Church because he has scoffed at the true faith and made the gross error of sheltering heretics within his walls. But the greatest of his sins was to incite his henchman to kill a papal legate, the blessed martyr, Pierre de Castelnau, who now dwells with the saints in Heaven. I hope, my lady, that you will deter Lord Richart from making the same mistake. Although these southern lords have been granted temporal power by Almighty God, it does not set them above Holy Church.’
A public scourging? Although that news horrified her, she kept her distaste veiled. Looking up into his furious face, she realised that this man would do that to Richart without hesitation.
The gold episcopal ring gleamed on the bishop’s forefinger as he levelled it at her in admonition. ‘His holiness has called for a crusade, a crusade against the heretics. He has invited every knight in Christendom to put them to the sword. A great army has gathered north of here, Lady Alys.’
She shivered inwardly. So all Maud had said was true. What’s more, this man was clearly a supporter of this formidable crusade.
And had he met with its leaders? She remembered the crossroads. The bishop’s party had come from the north. Dear God, what cauldron of hatred and mistrust had she fallen into here?
‘Holy sheep or heretic goats, Lady Alys?’ The bishop bent forward so that his alabaster face was level with hers. ‘I’d make sure I follow the right flock if I were you!’
The southern lords filling his council chamber would have cheerfully wittered on about their hunting exploits into eternity. Raising the matter of the crusade, Richart reckoned he should have been less generous with the wine. Most of them were too relaxed to think. The rest, judging by their earlier remarks at the high table, considered themselves to be like Goliath before David’s sling stone hit him—unassailable.
‘Curse it, man,’ exclaimed the Lord of Montélimar. ‘Do we have to talk about this tiresome business now? Can you not save it until after the wedding?’
‘He’ll be too busy swiving,’ chortled someone.
‘Could well be,’ Richart agreed. Keeping this pack on the scent to follow would be cursed tricky. ‘As you all know, his holiness has absolved us of any allegiance to Toulouse, so we are now free to ally ourselves with a different leader.’
‘Don’t look to me,’ exclaimed the Comte de Foix, a lord in his fifties, who was a known protector of heretics. ‘I am trying to keep out of this mess. And, quite frankly, although there are scores of fiefdoms across the south, your chance of getting ’em altogether will be like raking the moon’s reflection out of a millpond. The whoresons are all too poxy busy coveting their neighbours’ wives.’
‘My lord, if you would take the lead, lesser men might follow your example.’
Foix shook his head. ‘These crusaders have forty days. That is not much if you are trundling heavy siege engines. The chances of ’em getting anywhere near my lands are as likely as me becoming King of Jerusalem.’
‘What have you decided, Richart?’ The question came from Rogièr Trençaval, the twenty-five-year-old Vicomte of Béziers, Carcassonne and Albi.
Richart leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. ‘In making this marriage with Alys FitzPoyntz, I have sworn allegiance to King John as my overlord. If Mirascon is ever under siege, he has agreed to send a force from Gascony.’ That proclamation birthed a brief, uncomfortable silence.
‘I’m not calling you naïve, my friend, but can anyone ever trust a Plantagenet?’ challenged Montélimar. ‘’Sides, Gascony’s not just up the blessed road.’
Richart did not intend to explain he also held a hostage that John wanted back. ‘If the south shows unity, we will have no need of any allies.’
‘Of course, the simple solution is to expel the heretics from our lands.’ Seguinus had come quietly in. ‘The Jews, too, and any others who deny the true faith.’ He surveyed the lay lords present. ‘You are all guilty of tolerating these misguided fools who outrageously call themselves “Good Men” and “Perfects”, but they are a contagion that must be stamped upon. Holy Church has tried negotiating, Holy Church has tried by example, Holy Church has sent its best preachers—’
‘And a load of hypocrites they were,’ mu
ttered Foix.
‘That’s not true,’ snarled Seguinus. ‘As I was saying, if our blessed brother, Dominic Guzman, could not make these deluded creatures see the folly of their ways, what other course is left? This heresy is like a rat plague infesting our towns and villages, impossible to eradicate unless you use fire and cudgels.’
‘I take your point, my lord bishop,’ muttered Rogièr, ‘but my guardian, before I came of age, was a much-respected Cathar and many of my town consuls are indebted to the Jews for funding their businesses. For my own part, I have extremely good friends among them.’
‘Usury is a sin, my son,’ uttered Seguinus.
‘If you get rid of the moneylenders, you get rid of the debts,’ someone else pointed out.
Richart waded in again. ‘Very well, suppose you expel the Jews and the heretics, Uncle, do you imagine these northern crusaders are going to go home empty-handed?’
The bishop ignored that argument. ‘I have advised you to obey Pope Innocent and join the crusade, as I advise all of you. As his holiness has decreed, you will be forgiven your sins, past, present and future.’
‘Does that mean I can fuck and murder till I’m coffined?’ guffawed one of the more inebriated guests.
Seguinus’s gaze rolled to the ceiling.
Foix, who had spent much of his life soldiering, was still looking thoughtful. ‘Would you dare to take on the leadership of the alliance, Richart?’
‘I might if no one of higher rank took on that responsibility and providing I had the promise of a great army behind me.’ He looked hopefully at Sir Guilhelm, one of the Knights Templar.
‘Forgive me for saying so, my Lord of Mirascon, but your blood runs too hot and any opposition requires a leader of higher rank than yourself. The crusade you see as a danger to us all is necessary if we are to uproot this hideous heresy that is spreading through our lands. As your uncle says, if Brother Dominic, may he be blessed, could not win these heretics back to Holy Church by his wise preaching and good example, then there is no other way but action.’
Troubadour Page 20
