"If you truly are the master of your fate, you can fight for what you think is right. You should face and fight your enemies. That's why you have soldiers."
"The archbishop has powerful friends, and the support of Burgundy and Provence." Although those two did not always agree, their combined forces outweighed Artaud's.
Lady Melusine gazed over the northern horizon for a time. "Speaking of construction, the Great One wishes you to erect another castle as soon as possible."
"Oh? This one is barely finished." Artaud could afford to build more, and another castle was the next logical step in his defense strategy. "Did the Great One mention where I should build this time?"
She motioned with her chin, north. "In Essalois, between the two branches of the River Loire, on the ruins of the old Saracen fortress."
Again, Artaud fully appreciated the judicious location. "I know the place. At the fork of the two rivers. Sacred eagles fly over it."
"‘Tis because it used to be a Pagan temple. The Romans erected a fort around it, before the Saracen invaded and built their own fortress."
"It truly sounds like the ideal location for my next castle, my lady."
Lady Melusine smiled, and the moonlight bathed her face in silvery radiance. "The Great One will be delighted."
She took his hand in her cool fingers, and Artaud shivered with excitement at such an intimate gesture. Did he dare contemplate a lifetime with Lady Melusine? They walked in silence along the battlements as the last clouds cleared, unveiling a full moon and a sky full of stars. A good omen, he hoped.
"I could help you design your next castle." Her light voice sang like a nightingale. "I have engineered many fortresses in the past... including those of Luxembourg."
"Really?" Every word, every gesture, every suggestion from this wonderful woman brought Artaud closer to her... and closer to unspeakable dangers.
As they strolled along the wall walk, Artaud could not help but imagine what it might be like to spend his life in the delightful company of Lady Melusine. He could certainly use the might and protection of the Goddess, but his Christian subjects would never approve. The most powerful of them might resort to battle.
Chapter Four
Lyon - Fall of 1028
Archbishop Bouchard of Lyon, Prince of the Church, and half-brother to the great Renaud of Burgundy, paced the white marble floor of his palace hall, adjoining the basilica. His purple robe billowed each time he took a sharp turn on his soft-booted heel. Reading and re-reading the parchment scroll with its dangling wax seal, he cursed in soft tones.
"This is an outrage." Bouchard demonstrated all signs of righteous and heated anger, making sure the messenger heard every word.
The messenger stood in front of his empty armchair, straight and frozen like the statues of the saints.
"How dare the young upstart of Forez flaunt his Pagan roots and challenge Holy Mother Church!" Although all fit into his plan, Bouchard raised his voice, which echoed off the marble columns and walls of the audience hall.
A heavy door grated open. His young aide, Angelo, breezed into the vast room, in a luxurious yellow silk tunic and form-fitting dark green hose. His fresh face and willowy figure always cheered Bouchard. The scent of rose water now mixed with the cloying remnants of incense. The last of his tension evaporated before this fountain of youth and blessed innocence.
A chorus of monks rose from the adjoining basilica, chanting Vespers.
Angelo dismissed and shooed away the messenger with elegant authority, then approached his master. He genuflected as he kissed the robin's egg amethyst of his holy ring of office. Bouchard's hand tingled as their fingers touched, albeit briefly.
Angelo raised a wide brown gaze upon his master. Concern tensed the tender skin around his eyes. "Is something amiss, Your Grace?"
Bouchard patted the boy's shoulder and smiled. "Count Artaud of Forez seems to think he can disregard the guidance of Holy Mother Church. He refused every single Christian bride presented to him."
Angelo pushed the armchair across the polished marble floor, closer to his master. "How dare our new ruler ignore your wise counsel!"
Bouchard sat heavily and shook his head, disgust souring his mouth. "My observers in Forez say Lord Artaud is spending his time with a woman by the name of Melusine."
Angelo frowned and brushed a tiny speck from Bouchard's sleeve. "That doesn't sound like the name of a Christian saint, Your Grace."
"Because ‘tis not. I wager she is Pagan... like him. I never heard of her, so she might be foreign, or worse... a commoner... even a witch."
"For shame. What will you do, Your Grace?" Angelo's benign tone belied the stakes of his question. "You cannot let a Pagan lord defy an archbishop anointed in Rome."
"Of course not." Bouchard stroked his smooth jowl. "I shall give him one more chance to redeem himself in the eyes of the Church. But that will be the very last."
"You are too kind, Your Grace." Angelo's voice cracked as befit his juvenile years. He sat on the footstep of the tall armchair and laid his head on Bouchard's knee. "This could be the opportunity you seek to seize his lands."
"Smart lad." Bouchard fondled the boy's curly hair. "Of course, it is my good fortune, but appearances must be kept. It will not be said I acted rashly... or out of greed."
"I see..." Angelo pouted with soft, full lips and nodded gravely. "So, which last Christian bride will you offer Count Artaud?"
Bouchard winked. "One he will most certainly refuse."
Angelo's innocent lips curled lopsided. "So you can be justified to invade and annex his lands?"
"Exactly." Bouchard congratulated himself for finding such a smart, handsome, and lovingly devoted aide.
"Then what?" The wide brown eyes studied him.
Staring down at his favorite boy, Bouchard bubbled with self-satisfaction. "Then I shall band with my half-brother Renaud of Burgundy, and together we shall take his lands by force, in the name of Christendom."
Angelo pursed his lips. "Aquitaine might object to the incursion, Your Grace."
Bouchard waved away the threat. "Guillaume of Aquitaine has his own problems with the king of France purging his domain of heresy. He's not foolish enough to contest my incursion into Forez. Besides, William of Provence will also support my decision."
"You should have lands of your own, Your Grace. Your half-brother inherited Burgundy by virtue of his mother's official marriage to your father. Although born of a concubine, you have the same blood and deserve to rule as well." Angelo grinned. "You will make a much better count than this harebrained Artaud."
"True." Although from noble blood, Bouchard had no lands, except for the few acres he had purchased in secret to build the new monasteries. "Nowadays, lands rich in iron and gold, like Forez, bring immense wealth. You are learning fast, Angelo. Under my tutelage, you will go far in the world of courtly intrigue."
"I have the best teacher, Your Grace." Angelo's coy brown eyes turned dreamy as he fanned his thick eyelashes.
Bouchard's blood rushed to heated parts of his anatomy. "Perhaps it is time to retire, my sweet boy. Will you prepare my bath? We can share it together, and you can sleep in my bed tonight."
Angelo kissed Bouchard's hand and rose, then bowed. "Anything for your greater pleasure, Your Grace."
Bouchard rejoiced at the promise of delights forbidden to the common man. Princes like him, however, could enjoy such privileges without fear of reprisal... as long as they kept exemplary appearances.
* * *
Fall of 1028
Standing in the library, still empty of scrolls or books, Artaud admired Melusine's slender waist and curvy breasts as she leaned over the trestle table. She traced a light finger on the parchment, upon which she'd designed the new fortress of Essalois.
Artaud approached and laid a gentle hand on her lower back. "I like the mix of round and square towers. Using the remnants of the old Saracen fortress is pure genius. The windows oversee the valleys on both branc
hes of the river Loire."
Far from avoiding his touch, the lady glanced up and smiled at him. "That old fortress stood for centuries, my lord. Once strengthened, it will withstand any attack or siege."
He let his finger trail along small rectangles drawn on the parchment. "And the rows of stables and barracks for the soldiers allow for a large garrison in residence."
"‘Tis what you need, my lord. Thick walls are not enough. A castle also needs human hearts and good steel."
Her skin exuded the fresh scent of lavender, or was it her hair? How well she understood his concerns as a ruler, and worked to protect his lands.
"How do you happen to know so much about fortresses and warfare, my lady? Methinks ordinary women do not bother with such matters."
"I am not an ordinary woman, my lord." She straightened and moved gently away.
"Aye." Artaud scanned the large room, checking for loitering servants. They were alone. "Still, I would like to know where you learned such skills."
"First in Troy." Her tone held pride.
"The city of Greek legends?" Artaud couldn't help a whistle of admiration. "Did it even exist?"
She stared straight at him. "I saw it with my very eyes, my lord."
"Truly?" Could she be that old?
She relaxed into a smile. "But that was in another life."
"Another life?" That old reincarnation belief again. "But you said you are immortal!"
"Aye." She chuckled. "Immortals can die... of violent death."
The disturbing image of Melusine burning at the stake flashed upon his mind. "How old are you in this lifetime?"
"My last birth was over two centuries ago in Alba." She gazed far away, beyond the confines of the room.
He focused upon her face. "I assume one can gather much knowledge by living this long."
"I had the chance to study many fortresses. I also designed the castles of Luxembourg, Saarburg, Vianden, and many others on the lands of by my beloved Sigefroi."
"Oh, him." Artaud wasn't sure how to react each time Melusine mentioned the Lion of Luxembourg. Although she insisted they were the very same man, having to compete with such a legend made him feel inadequate.
"I loved him very much." Something wistful softened her voice.
Artaud wished he could find a chink in the legendary knight's armor. "What kind of man was he? I mean, in his own castle. History only records high feats of politics and battles... and is usually penned by the victors."
She pushed long blond tresses behind her slim shoulders and her shiny gray stare alighted upon him. "You mean, how were you, my lord."
"I mean Sigefroi." Artaud wanted to be Melusine's beloved, but he couldn't imagine ever being that legendary hero.
"He was passionate and wild, some would say dangerous and unpredictable. That made him a fearsome knight." Excitement animated her features and her musical voice. "But he was also kind and magnanimous to those in his service, generous, and loyal to his friends."
By Jupiter's balls, had the man no weaknesses? "I would have liked to know him."
She emitted a clear laugh. "But you did, my lord. You were him."
"Still." The temptation to grab her waist and bring her tight against his body was overwhelming... especially since he sensed the same desire burning inside her. He must, however, harness his impulses. Choosing her as a bride could hurt his people, and cost him the right to rule his ancestral lands. He inhaled a long, calming breath, then released it slowly.
She walked sinuously to the open window and gazed over the dappled sea of yellow and russet hills bathed in golden sunset. "With stone aplenty and so many workers on site, the walls of Essalois can be finished before the first winter snow."
"Then, we'll celebrate your accomplishment at the winter solstice." Too late to retract the invitation. He'd just made plans to spend the yuletide festivities with her. What was wrong with him?
"Together, my lord?" Lady Melusine turned toward him with the wide startled eyes of a doe surrounded by hounds.
Artaud caught his breath. "With all our friends and allies, of course. It will be a grandiose event. An opportunity to renew and cement the fealty of my barons."
She looked away and simply nodded. "In the meantime, I shall draw the plans of your third castle, the future fortress that will crown Montverdun."
"Another fine strategic location that will strengthen my military might." Not even his sister Ida had Melusine's keen insight.
"Come spring, you'll be ready to defend your lands. Then we'll add more castles on top of the highest hills, all over Forez." She really planned to insure his future. How well she understood the needs of his people, as well as the dangerous intrigues of the rich and the powerful.
"Spoken like a warrior, my lady." Something flickered in his chest. He liked a woman he could consider his equal. "Soon my defenses will surpass that of my neighbors of Provence, Burgundy, and Aquitaine."
Heavy boot steps outside the door drew his attention. The door flew open, and Guilli and Ida marched into the room.
Ida planted herself in front of Artaud, legs apart, arms crossed over her chain mail, scabbard and knives bristling from her belt, her long fiery hair in a ponytail. "An unexpected visitor just arrived from Lyon."
Guilli, disheveled as usual, nodded wildly. "You won't believe who it is."
Artaud turned to Lady Melusine, who shrugged her ignorance. "Well, who is it?"
"A nun," Guilli blurted and guffawed.
Ida nodded. "She carries a message from the archbishop."
"Bouchard be damned! What does he want now?" The message could only bring bad news.
"And that nun demands to see you presently." Guilli grinned. "She is waiting outside the door."
Artaud shook his head in surrender. "Let her in."
Guilli ran out the door.
Artaud glanced at Melusine, who twisted her hands in front of her sash, then to his sister Ida, straight as a statue. He sighed. "We better listen to what Bouchard has to say."
An elderly nun, wrinkled and bent, walked gingerly into the library. She wore a large crucifix on her chest. Under her gray traveling cloak, Artaud could see a rope as a belt, and a beaded rosary twined around her twig of a wrist.
The nun curtsied awkwardly and kept her head down as she presented a folded missive to Artaud.
Artaud snatched the folded vellum and broke the ostentatious green seal of the archdiocese with his dagger. Lady Melusine approached him and laid a light hand on his arm, as if she knew he might need her support. Ida hovered on his other side to read over his shoulder, as she often did.
He unfolded the missive and skipped the formal greetings to get to the crux of the message then read aloud.
"I hereby order Count Artaud of Forez to publicly renounce his Pagan ways, get baptized, and take for wife, before Christmastide, the pure and noble Christian lady carrying this message. Any refusal or delay will be met with military force, and an official request for excommunication presented to His Holiness in Rome."
Artaud heard the small gasp from Lady Melusine.
He stifled an oath. "Bouchard is playing a dangerous game. He knows I will refuse and only wants to annex my lands."
Lady Melusine stepped away from him. "The archbishop will never relent. Even if you comply, he will find another pretext to attack Forez."
Ida's face tensed. "War is coming because of our faith."
Artaud would never convert to such a dishonorable religion. He was done trying to please his Christian barons and neighbors. "Tis time for me to stand for what I believe is right."
He set the missive on the table, then sat in his chair. In the uncomfortable silence, aware of all the eyes riveted upon him, Artaud reached for a sheet of parchment and a quill, then he dipped the quill in the inkwell. The tip grated as he wrote.
Remember, Archbishop, that I alone rule in Lyon and Forez, where my word has sway. Be warned that I do not take ultimatums from prelates. I decide for myself who I shall wed and
already made my choice. We shall be betrothed at midwinter. Take back your aging Christian nun and dare not attack my lands. Or you will be met with strong steel and thick stone, and you will not prevail.
Breaking the deafening silence, Artaud sprinkled drying powder on the parchment and blew. He folded the missive then took a stick of red wax to the candle. The hot smell and the sizzle filled the room as he spread a small wad on the fold. Then he made a fist and applied his signet ring flat on the cooling wax to imprint his seal. Finally, he rose and handed the missive to the nun.
"Holy sister," he said with all the kindness in his heart. "Here is my response to the archbishop. You are welcome to rest and take food tonight, but on the morrow, you will leave again for Lyon and deliver my message. Then you may return to your convent."
The nun raised her head and offered a relieved smile with a few missing teeth. "Thank you, my lord, for sending me back. I renounced castle life a long time ago, and have no desire to return to it." She shook the missive at him. "For a Pagan, you are a good man, Lord Artaud. I shall pray for the salvation of your soul."
"You do that." Artaud resisted the laughter bubbling in his throat.
After she left, Guilli closed the door. "What did you write, brother?"
Artaud encircled Melusine's slender waist and brought her close. He looked into her eyes and found acceptance there. "I said I already chose my bride."
"You did?" Ida chimed, a twinkle in her eye. "Lady Melusine?"
"I have to tell everyone!" Guilli reopened the door and ran out like a sprite on a mission.
"This is cause for celebration. We have much to prepare." Ida walked out of the library in long strides and closed the door behind her.
The sunset lined Lady Melusine's face with gold and danced in her clear gray eyes. "It seems the Great One was right."
She stood so close, Artaud could feel her heat through his leather jerkin. "We must be destined for each other." He still didn't know whether it would prove a blessing or a curse.
"Aye, my lord. We work well together. ‘Tis because our lives have been entwined for a very long time."
Chatelaine of Forez Page 4
