Door in the Sky

by Carol Lynn Stewart

  Someone laid a hand on his arm.

  He fell back, reached for his sword, his fingers grasping air. No sword. Why should he wear it in the château of his aunt? Who was this?

  Then the figure moved back and dropped the cloak covering its face. "Ysabel? Is it you?" It could not be. Surely she was in Gréves, or Blois. Wasn't there a rich merchant in Paris who had courted her? What was she doing here in Navarre?

  "Yes, Henri. I heard you were here. But let me look at you." She pulled him closer to the torch placed in the wall sconce. "Every bit the handsome knight now." Her fingers toyed with a bag she held close to her body. "You have met my husband, Louis-Philippe?"

  He stared at her. Except for a few lines at the corners of her eyes, and dark smudges beneath them, she had not changed a bit since they had been lovers ten years before. They had both been children then; he had just returned from his time as squire to des Arcis, and Ysabel was always seeking freedom from the restraints of the lady's bower. At the time he had been only too happy to aid her escape... and to accept his reward.

  Of course, the result was his banishment to the abbey. His mouth tightened as he remembered the punishments the Abbot had inflicted upon him and he stepped back.

  "So," he said. "You are Baroness de Reuilles now."

  "I am." She turned away. "Welcome to Reuilles-le-château."

  He watched her move down the hall. "Welcome indeed."

  IRANZU LOOKED up when the door to the tiny stone house opened. Leila jumped, her latest drawings of Cecile's children dropping from her lap. Then a grin spread across her mobile features and she launched herself at the tall figure in the doorway. Iranzu stood and regarded Antoine as the younger man slowly entered his own home.

  Antoine caught Leila and ruffled her hair, saying, "My beautiful cousin!" But his voice was muted and there were lines on Antoine's face that were not there before he went away. He had lost weight. His clothing hung around his frame.

  "Cecile and I... and the little ones. We need to go to the mountain right away." He paused, rubbing hollow, reddened eyes. "I do not remember the way."

  Iranzu held out his arms. Antoine stood back, shaking his head. Then tears streamed down his face. He hung his head and sobbed aloud. Iranzu nodded to Leila, and she guided Antoine to the table where he sat facing them, his chest heaving with even more tears that needed to be shed.

  "I went for the money. Cecile and I, we found it hard to live, to feed our children in this place. But me, I am not from the mountain Jakintzas, you see; I am from here. My family is here. I wanted to stay, so when Bauçais' knights came and asked for soldiers I joined them." He gulped and blew his nose on the cloth Leila had brought him. "The money would have paid for the bakery I wanted to start. We would have been fine then." He murmured his gratitude and drained the cup of wine Leila had given him, then put his head in his hands and shuddered.

  "They burned all of them," he finally whispered through his hands. "And me, I helped to put them there." He pulled his hands away from his face. "I must take Cecile and my family to the mountain," he repeated dully.

  Iranzu reached over and gently patted Antoine's hand. "We will get someone to take you there." Had Antoine heard him? The younger man's eyes were empty.

  "We must leave now." Antoine's voice was a soft whisper, barely leaving his lips.

  "Where is Pierre?" Iranzu asked. A muscle below Antoine's left eye started twitching.

  "Pierre was here in Reuilles-la-ville. He came back with me, but he did not want to wait for Cecile and the little ones. We came the long way back because the French -- they were following us. Pierre said he already knows the way to the mountain so he kept going." Antoine looked down at his hands. "I cannot stay here." His face grew rigid.

  "We will find someone to take you there," Iranzu repeated, his calm and serenity filling the space surrounding Antoine. The knotted muscles around Antoine's mouth started to relax and he slumped over the table, head in hands. Iranzu turned to Leila. "Get Cecile and the children and gather enough provisions to get them to the mountain." What terrible thing had happened to Antoine?

  Leila looked from one to the other, clearly wanting to stay and hear what Antoine had to say. Iranzu pointed at the door. Sighing, she rose and trudged out.

  "Antoine." Iranzu took the younger man's hands from his face and held them firmly in his own. "What happened?"

  Antoine raised his face. "At Montsegur. They surrendered, the Cathars. Bauçais and des Arcis, the Bishop -- they sent more than two hundred people to the flames." His teeth started to chatter. "I had to put them in the cage they made to burn them. I helped make this cage, you see. When they started the fire, Pierre and I, we ran. We left everything we had in our tents behind." He dropped his face, his haunted eyes staring at the table. "What else could I do?"

  Iranzu sighed, patting the younger man's shoulder. "Do not worry. I know someone who will take you and your family to the mountain. There you will heal. It is a terrible thing, what you have seen." The younger man still would not look up.

  "It is a terrible thing that I have done."

  "What choice did you have?" Iranzu settled back into his chair.

  "There is always a choice," Antoine finally said, then he pulled a silk package out of his mantle. "This is why I am here." He unwound the silk to reveal a stone cup.

  There seemed to be a stone set inside it. Not a drinking cup, surely. How could anyone drink from it with the stone wedged inside? Now Antoine held the cup between his hands and closed his eyes, drawing a deep, shuddering breath. His brow cleared; his jaw set firmly. He opened his eyes and regarded Iranzu with clarity and peace. Then he offered the cup to Iranzu.

  Iranzu gave a long, low whistle. His hands burned with the throbbing force radiating from the cup. He turned it around and around, trying to shake out the stone set inside, but it did not move. Then he set it aside and blew on his fingers. "Do you know what this is?"

  Anguish twisted the young man's face. "No," he replied. "A Cathar gave it to me for our people. I thought I would just give it to you when I got here. You are the elder of our family, so you should have it, eh? But... I need it." Tears welled up in his eyes again. "It helps me forget the screams, the smell." He bowed his head. "It helps me remember a brave lady."

  Iranzu regarded Antoine for a moment, then wound the silk back around the cup. "Here, my friend," he said, holding it out to Antoine. "I want you to take this back to the mountain with you." Antoine looked up in surprise. "You must use it whenever the pain is too great for you to bear. I want you to keep it for my granddaughter. Would you do that for me?"

  Antoine took the package and carefully nestled it in the sling he had fashioned for it inside his mantle. "You want me to keep it for Leila?"

  No, not for Leila. Iranzu took Antoine's arms with his hands and looked directly into his eyes, deep down into his soul. "You are not a bad man, Antoine. You are right that there is always a choice, but many times we cannot see the larger purpose." He paused, then smiled. "I want you to keep it for the Lady of the Cave, the Keeper of the Stone. She will be coming to the mountain someday. When she does, you will no longer need this." He squeezed Antoine's arms and turned to Leila, who was followed by a frightened Cecile and two drowsy children.

  Iranzu smiled at all of them. He patted Cecile's round belly. "This little one will be born on the mountain," he said. "Gilbert will take all of you home." He rose, pulling on his mantle. "Come, we will get him now."

  JOHANNA'S chamber had the largest window. The heavy tapestry covering the window frame and the oiled paper that sealed it in winter were gone, now that spring had arrived. Streams of sunlight cascaded through the open window and framed her bed. Maríana hovered in the doorway. Johanna had not come down to the hall to break her fast that morning. Jeanne had said Johanna seemed better, but Maríana climbed the stairs to Johanna's chamber to see for herself. Her grandmother was still pale, though the bruised circles under her eyes from last night had disappeared. Maríana turned t
o go, but Johanna raised her arms and gestured. "Come in, child."

  "Grandmother." She smoothed the blankets, placed the back of her hand against Johanna's cheek. "You are better?"

  Johanna shrugged, pulling Maríana's hands down to her lap. "As well as anyone my age," she said. "Did Ysabel come down this morning?"

  "Yes." Maríana dropped her eyes, her fingers twisting the blankets. When she had descended to the great hall that morning she saw that Ysabel had taken the seat next to Henri. The entire meal, her stepmother had bantered with Henri. Louis-Philippe sat on Henri's other side, stolidly chewing his bread, drinking his ale, murmuring to his seneschal, Guillaume. Her father did not seem to notice when Ysabel leaned over to whisper in Henri's ear, did not seem to mind that Ysabel's hand was upon Henri's arm throughout the meal. "Who is this Henri de Bauçais? He says he is your nephew." Maybe Johanna would know why Henri was looking for Antoine.

  Johanna stopped Maríana's twisting fingers by taking hold of her hands. "Why do you wish to know about him?"

  "He is flirting with Ysabel."

  Johanna leaned back. "So." She smiled. "And this disturbed you?"

  "What do you mean?" Was she that transparent?

  Johanna shook her head. "I was concerned," she started, "after de la Guerche left, well," she paused when Maríana turned away. "But you were asking me about Henri."

  Maríana kept her face turned away. It was bad enough that Geneviéve had noticed her interest in Henri. Yet she needed to know why the Baron of Bauçais had come to Reuilles-le-château, why he was looking for Antoine. She glanced back. Johanna sat with arms crossed, eyes distant. Somewhere a door shut with a muted bang and the rise and fall of voices from the bailey below drifted through the window.

  "We are related through his mother, my youngest stepsister. She was just a baby when I gave birth to Geneviéve," Johanna said. "A very pious girl, really. Wanted to enter a convent." She shook her head. "Her eldest died and Henri's father also died recently, I think..." The clatter of hooves on the stones of the inner bailey drowned the rest of her words. Maríana leaned toward her. "Henri is now Baron of Bauçais. He was a bit of a rascal when he was young, but seemed to straighten out after a few years at Fornault Abbey," Johanna finished.

  Maríana swallowed. Henri in an abbey? Why did that frighten her? "Well. Thank you, Grandmother." Abbeys were for praying. And for books and learning. "Where is Jacques?" She could ask Ibrahim what to do.

  "Louis-Philippe sent him to Roncesvalles last week. He should be back soon. But where are you going?" Johanna's hands fell away from Maríana's arm when she backed away.

  "It is Moon day," Maríana replied. "Time for me to go to Reuilles-la-ville." And to warn Iranzu.

  Johanna frowned, but waved her hand. "Very well, go find Guillaume. He will take you." When Maríana reached the door, her grandmother added, "And back before dark!"

  Maríana turned so Johanna would not see her eyes. The past year she had gone alone to the healing circle. The people of Reuilles-la-ville would do nothing to hurt her, but it would grieve Johanna to know that she went alone to the town. She looked back over her shoulder and smiled at her grandmother so Johanna would not worry, then slipped out of the room.

  HENRI EMERGED from the palais with a blinding headache. He had spent the two hours since the morning meal trying to escape Ysabel. Each time he gave her a gentle hint that he had other tasks to accomplish, she reminded him of their time together when they were young and an image of her naked body heaving below him flashed before his eyes, paralyzing him. Then she hauled him off to yet another section of the palais to show him what Louis-Philippe had added to his home. De Reuilles didn't help matters. He disappeared soon after the meal, bowing and saying that Henri was "in capable hands" with his wife.

  Henri found that even though he disliked the type of woman Ysabel had become, his body still reacted to her. She knew it, too, which made matters worse. The gown she wore clung to her slender body and the rose scent she had always favored both aroused him and set his teeth on edge.

  He was no longer a boy to be lured by such tricks. What was wrong with him? Finally, at the top of the central staircase, he gave a curt bow and told Ysabel that he must take his leave. He hurried down the stairs and strode out into the bailey, her cries for him to return ringing in his ears.

  When he reached the stables, he looked back at the palais. Ysabel had not followed him out yet. He entered the stables and asked some boys who were rubbing down an Arabian gray to find his squire.

  Had his squire been able to find Antoine Jakintza? Henri often used his squire Robert to obtain information. The boy had a sweet, open face and a fine memory. People liked to talk to Robert. Henri stretched his arms and rubbed the back of his neck. The fresh air muffled the pain constricting his head. When Robert approached him, Henri was almost smiling.

  DAMN! HENRI pounded the stone wall that enclosed the narrow, twisting alleyway, then leaned up against it and put his chin in his hand. How was he going to find his way out of this bloody town, let alone find Antoine Jakintza? "Town!" he scoffed. "If this is a town then Paris is a province!"

  There did not seem to be any coherent plan to Reuilles-la-ville. Two-room dwellings stood between great stone houses that rose the height of several men. Roads spiraled around and ended in blank walls. The cathedral stood out at the edge of the town, not in the center. Not that he could find the center. He had spent the entire morning asking the citizens in the market, in the alleys, in the church: where could the Rue des Anciennes be found, how could he get there, where could he find Antoine Jakintza? All he got for his trouble was a load of gibberish in a language he had never heard before and to top it off, he had just lost himself again for the ninth time in the twisting maze of cobbled streets that ambled across the town. Worse still, his headache had returned.

  At least he had found a merchant who was selling bread and meat. It had cost him the small amount of gold he had brought for bribes, but the aroma of roasted meat set his stomach into a noticeable gurgle. Perhaps the food would sustain him through another twelve streets and alleys. Surely he should soon come upon some place where he could sit and eat.

  He stomped out of the alley and rounded yet another corner, then stopped in surprise. An open courtyard, fashioned in the Moorish style with a number of houses opening onto it and colorful banners hanging from each doorway, lay before him. Against the wall by one of the doors, people of all shapes and sizes were gathered, from rotund merchants' wives dressed in rich colors to dirty street urchins.

  Maríana sat in their midst, engrossed in bandaging the leg of a painfully thin woman whose body was barely covered by threadbare rags. Maríana smiled, giving the woman a small pouch she had pulled out of a dark gray sack.

  "You will need to simmer these for at least an hour in just a little water so that it boils down into a paste." She pointed to the woman's bandaged leg. "Let the paste cool and then smear it all over the sore." Patting the woman's arm, she said, "It should be gone in a few days."

  The woman shyly took the pouch and kissed Maríana's hands. Maríana laughed and said something to the woman in the incomprehensible language the people kept jabbering in the street. Then another took the woman's place.

  What was this? It looked like some of the people gathered there had come to watch, while others formed a loosely configured line to obtain help from the girl.

  Could he use this? Maríana knew something, he was sure of this. She had paled when he mentioned Antoine. He counted how many were left in the line. Perhaps she did not know where Antoine could be found. He pulled his hood around his face and covered the white cross of the crusades that was emblazoned upon his red tunic. But she may know someone who would know. He took his place at the end of the line.

  MARÍANA pushed a tendril of hair back from her forehead and concentrated on the young boy before her. His mother had patiently waited while others had been seen, but the boy's ailment was much more severe than that of the others who had lined
up before him. Although Maríana told them all each time she came that she needed to see the people who were really sick first, they still formed a line according to social position, with the wealthier at the front and the poor at the back. This never happened when Leila was there. Her half sister always marched up and down the line, glaring at the wealthy merchants and their fat wives until they dropped back to the end of the line.

  Maríana examined the boy's red and swollen hand, then reached deep into her pack for the molds and mosses she used to treat such infections. Leila and Iranzu had decided to stay in Antoine's house today. Her news of Henri de Bauçais's presence and questions had not surprised them. Iranzu had seemed to expect Henri. How could that be? She pulled bread mold out of her pack.

  "You must put this in his favorite food," she told the woman, handing her the green mold Ibrahim favored for this type of ailment. "See that he eats all of it." She cleaned the boy's hand using water she had sprinkled with powdered manzanilla and burdock. Then she took two different kinds of mosses, one from oak, the other from stone, and bound them to his hand with a clean bandage. "You must also soak his hand in the hottest water he can stand with this." She handed the woman a packet of crushed burdock. The boy had been silent through the whole examination and treatment. She pulled a small honey cake out of the pack.

  The boy's mother thanked her with tears in her eyes and kissed her hand. "Jainkosa," she said over and over, "Jainkosa."

  Maríana shook her head and crossed her hands over her heart as Ibrahim had taught her. She ruffled the boy's hair and was rewarded with his wide grin as he left with his mother. Behind the woman and boy stood a man, hooded and cloaked. The last one. She beckoned and he came forward.