A wave of ice flowed through his veins and stiffened his back. He was no longer a helpless boy. He was the Baron of Bauçais, knight of King Louis of France, as well as Soldier of Christ. And he had brought down Jean Becier once, hadn't he? Shedding his mantle, Henri pulled his body up to full height and strode forward toward Ysabel.
Ysabel was still pleading. "I tell you it must be wrong!" she said tearfully. "My Louis-Philippe would never..."
Jean took her hands and patted them. "Calm yourself, Baroness, calm yourself. I am here now to assess the truth of these matters. No need to worry!" He ran his tongue across his lips, his eyelids blinking rapidly. "You must be patient. These things take time."
"Of course these things take time, Ysabel," Henri said, throwing his leg over a chair standing near them and plucking a cold apple off the tray beside it, as he slid down into the chair with ease. "They expect you to feed and house them for as long as it takes." Henri waved his hand toward the twelve men seated at the long tables, feasting on bread and wine.
He was pleased to see Jean jump at the sound of his voice. I'll bet you can never forget me, either. "Hello, Jean," Henri said.
Jean Becier turned slowly toward Henri, his lips stretched in a broad grimace that some might take for a smile. "God's greetings, Henri de Bauçais." His voice held the texture of heavy oil, smooth and liquid, just waiting for a spark to set it alight.
"Baron de Bauçais," Henri said, his mouth full of apple, satisfied to see the flash of hatred come and go in Jean's eyes.
Ysabel looked back and forth between the two men as Father Gregory tried to fade into the background. Henri casually sprawled in the chair eating his apple. His other hand rested upon his sword. Jean stood beside Ysabel, his back straight and his hands clasped in front of him, bowing his head. Becier always did play this game. The perfect cleric.
"D-do you know each other?" Ysabel wrung her hands.
Henri spit the core out and tossed it to some stable dogs laying by the hearth, who fell upon it, growling. De Reuilles had never let these dogs in the great hall before. Henri must tell Johanna to have them removed. He stood up from the chair, placing his right hand upon his sword, watching Jean's eyes flicker over to his soldiers, Jean's tongue dart nervously along his lips. "Yes," Henri said, giving Jean his best icy stare. When had he started enjoying this? "What was the name of that abbey?" He made the pretense of searching his memory, scratching his head.
"Fornault," Jean practically hissed through his teeth.
"Exactly!" Henri turned to Ysabel. "May I introduce to you the former Abbot of Fornault." He made a sweeping bow to Jean.
Father Gregory cleared his throat. "But Fornault Abbey was disbanded." His voice faded into his throat when Jean turned reptilian eyes upon him.
"You are correct, Father," Henri said. "Several years ago."
Jean's face went very still. "Yes," he finally said. "We left the abbey at the same time, I believe."
Henri smiled. "I went to France to serve the King," he said. "Where did you go?"
Jean recovered. "I went to serve the King of all men. We have routed out the Cathars, but there are other heretics we must pursue now. His Holiness asked me to assist Jacques Fouret in the Inquisition against witches." He bent his head toward Ysabel. His voice once again held the smooth, heavy essence of cold oil.
"Actually, I am glad I found you here," Henri said and was pleased to see Jean jump yet again. "I brought an old woman from Reuilles-la-ville to the tower. She may have something to tell us." The devil she would. One glimpse of Jean Becier and Utarilla would seal her lips for good. Or go back to speaking that gibberish. Henri looked at the soldiers sprawled around the long table, tankards at their fingertips. Drink up, you bloody bastards. With any luck, Jean would be tied up with the old woman for days while his men drank the ale and ate the bread and meat of Reuilles-le-château. And Henri would be free to continue his search for Maríana.
When he found her, he must take her away immediately. Out of Jean's reach.
"The woman's name is Utarilla." Henri caught an abortive movement out of the corner of his eye. Ysabel was clutching her belly. Was she ill? "Ysabel?"
But Jean Becier moved closer. "Indeed," he said. "You will question this woman?" His eyes gleamed.
"Yes. If you would care to accompany me over to the tower we could both question her."
"Of course." He gave that grimace again and turned to Ysabel. "Baroness, I must take my leave now." He kissed her hand.
Her face and her hand trembled. "Ysabel, are you ill?" Henri asked.
"N-no." Ysabel surreptitiously wiped her hand on her gown, then placed it upon her belly. "Just tired." Her eyes flashed something that looked like fear.
What did she have to fear? What had she been saying about Louis-Philippe? Ah, well. He would ask her later. Henri watched Ysabel as she turned and clambered up the stairs.
Jean also watched her. Henri caught his frown. But Jean turned to Father Gregory. "Father?"
"I have never made an interrogation," the priest stammered. "I would be in the way, I'm sure."
Henri shrugged. Ysabel seemed to be able to make it up the stairs. Johanna could see to her. "Eh bien. Are you coming, Jean?" He swung about and looked back over his shoulder. Jean followed close behind him.
WHEN THEY reached the tower, Henri started climbing the stairs to the door, but stopped when he felt Jean's hand on his sleeve. The skin on his arm tensed. It took all his will to stop himself from striking the man, to stand and simply look back at Jean. "Yes?"
Jean dropped his hand, his eyelids flickering rapidly in that lizard blink Henri remembered so well. "Hen... Baron de Bauçais?" Jean swallowed. "This old woman is in the dungeon?"
"They have no guard for the dungeon. It has not been used in years, so there has been no need."
Jean was aghast. "You mean Baron de Reuilles has no one guarding his dungeon? What kind of place is this?" He rubbed his hands together, scowling. "I can provide the guard and we can place her there."
"Enough time for that. You will see she cannot escape. I had to carry her here." Henri turned to continue up the stairs but the pale hand on his arm stopped him again. He looked back, focused his eyes on the palais. Ice was starting to form at the peaks of the arches. "What now?"
"Another thing." Jean's lips drew back from his teeth. "About Fornault."
Henri remained silent, crossing his arms.
"I am willing to let the past rest if you are," Jean said.
Henri considered, then said, "How is it that you were not defrocked?" Answer that, bastard!
Jean blinked at him again. "I went through the mortification. I did all my penances. And I was assigned to the Dominicans." He drew himself up, threw his shoulders back. "I helped to eradicate the Cathar heresy."
Henri shook his head. "Now that is strange. I did not see you at Montsegur."
Jean swallowed again. "Y-you were at Montsegur?"
"Under Hughes des Arcis."
Jean's tongue darted out, wet his lips. "If you served there you know how important this work is."
Henri again remained silent.
"So you will say nothing more about Fornault." Jean waited.
"Fornault?" Henri laughed, then shrugged and raised one brow. "What is there to say?" He turned and marched purposefully up the stairs. If he lays a hand on me again I will kill him right now.
Jean followed some distance behind.
Henri threw open the door. "Utarilla?" Jean climbed the last steps and barged past him, shouting, "I am the Inquisitor, the representative of His Holiness, the Pope." He approached the old woman huddled in the chair, holding his crucifix out toward her.
"Who are you?" Mother Utarilla whispered. Henri started. She would speak to Jean?
Jean put his hands together and scowled. "I am the Inquisitor, that is all you need to know, old woman."
She watched him as he looked around the entrance to the tower. "My men will be coming to take you to the dungeon tonight," h
e stated. "After I have questioned you."
Her lids lowered, eyes stared out through the slits. Jean had struck a pose, his chest puffed out and head raised, staring down his nose at her. Yet she spoke. The blasted woman spoke. She said, "What is it you want to know?"
Chapter 31
YSABEL SAT in the middle of her bed, rubbing her belly. She had come up to her room to take the mannikin out of her cabinet and burn it, but a terrible lethargy overcame her and she found herself collapsing on the mattress.
The mannikin crooned. Then her loins grew hot and she thought she saw Henri coming through her door, but her visitor had cold blue skin and looked exactly like Ibrahim.
"So handsome!" She sighed as she felt him run his hands over her body and rub her between the legs. "Ah, God! You are such a good lover! I am sorry I killed you." Her breath left her body in a long sigh again. "You should have loved me, not Louis-Philippe!" She opened her arms to him and felt his weight upon her as he entered her.
A knock sounded upon her door. Ibrahim disappeared. "No!" she cried. "Come back!"
She levered her body up off the bed and searched for him, pushing blankets aside, peering behind the tapestries. "Ibrahim!" she whispered. "Where did you go?" The knock came again and she went to answer the door.
Jean Becier stood there. Henri was behind him. But why... the mannikin! She cringed, coughed to disguise the spasm in her throat. "What is it you want?" Her voice sounded weak. Good. No man would trouble a sick woman. A woman who was with child. She thrust out her belly. "I was sleeping." And she was, or was she? Hadn't Ibrahim come to her? She jumped when the mannikin started a whining plea. Let me out. "Oh, shut up!"
"What?" Jean had moved into the room and was regarding her with those blinking eyes. She stepped back, but stopped when the back of her knees hit the bed. "Baroness de Reuilles?"
She forced her eyes to remain steady, to resist the pull from her cabinet. Henri was looking at her so intently. What was he trying to tell her? Had Utarilla told them anything? "Yes?" she asked, clasping her hands in front of her.
Jean bowed his head, then told her that the old woman had made accusations against someone she described as a "brown-haired woman in rich clothing who was with child." He spread his hands and shrugged. "We are here to dispel the notion that the woman she described is you."
Ysabel bent her head, covered her mouth with her hand. So Utarilla did not name her? Well, how could she? Ysabel had never given her name to the old woman. So she was safe. She raised her head. "Of course." But now Henri was shaking his head, pinning her with his razor stare. What was he trying to tell her?
Henri cleared his throat. "Jean," he said. "I believe we should have Baron de Reuilles here, yes?"
Jean frowned. "Why?"
Henri leaned back and studied his toes. "This could be rather... ah, delicate, don't you think? After all, she is Baroness de Reuilles. We must make sure proper procedures are followed."
Procedures? What did this mean? Ysabel gripped her hands together, kept her eyes on Henri, away from the cabinet, where the mannikin was chortling. Didn't they hear it?
Jean looked at her, his brow furrowed. "You are correct." The words came out slowly, with great reluctance. "Very well," Jean added, his voice sharp with irritation. "Send for him."
HENRI SPED down the corridor to Johanna's chamber, paused at the entry. Taking a deep breath, he knotted his hands into fists, then forced them to relax, to fall at his side. He must tread carefully now. This matter was slipping out of his control. When Utarilla had told Jean of the woman who had come to her asking for poison, Henri was puzzled. Why would Utarilla implicate herself? But when she refused to identify the woman, it became clear. Utarilla wanted to trade her own life for the life of another. She refused to give any further information until Jean assured her of her own safety.
Jean did that. He had promised Utarilla that she would be given only penances if she recanted. Utarilla had made him swear it in front of Henri and Jeanne. Then she had whispered of a brown-haired woman, dressed in rich clothing. A woman who had come to her twice. A woman who had asked for her help in destroying an enemy.
Was this why Maríana had fled? Did Ysabel plan to poison her?
No, that was absurd. But the situation was becoming dangerous. Jean believed in this nonsense, and if Ysabel had been foolish enough to dabble in potions, she was in grave trouble. Henri had heard of cases where the Dominicans had circumvented the Capitulum Episcopi of St. Boniface and Charlemagne, the doctrine that placed these matters in the jurisdiction of common law. If Jean could do this, everyone was in jeopardy.
So. For the sake of their childhood friendship, and for the child she carried that might be his, Henri would try to help Ysabel. Even though her actions had caused his Maríana to flee, she did not deserve the punishments Jean would devise. Henri rapped on Johanna's door and entered without waiting for her invitation.
"No time, dear aunt," Henri cut off her exclamation. "The Inquisitor Jean Becier is in Ysabel's room looking for evidence of witchcraft."
Her eyes narrowed, then her lips curved in a smile. "Her room."
What was this? She did not seem at all surprised.
"You must go and rouse the baron. I have requested that he be there for the search." Henri started from the room, but stopped to say over his shoulder, "Make sure that he is sober." Harsh words, yet there was no time for careful phrasing.
If Louis-Philippe showed up drunk, that would tell Jean he could do whatever he pleased, and what pleased Jean was inflicting pain. Henri did not want to see Ysabel's foot crushed in the iron boot. She was foolish, yes. Annoying, too. But no one deserved torture.
When he entered the room, Jean was already rummaging through a trunk filled with Ysabel's clothing, while she stood by, twisting her hands. Henri frowned, but Jean was not deterred. "We must start," he said. "De Reuilles can join us when he will."
Jean pulled boy's tunics and breeches out of the bottom of the chest and examined them, looking over at Ysabel.
"My brothers' clothing," she said and bit her lips.
Jean shrugged and threw them down. "Bauçais." His voice rasped. "Help me here, please."
Henri sighed and moved over to a cabinet by Ysabel's bed. When he touched it, a shiver started within his belly and spread outward to his arms and fingers. Curious. Rubbing his hands, he looked over at Ysabel and saw the color fade from her face. What could be in there? He started to draw back from the cabinet, but Jean was watching him now, so he opened it and stuck his hand among the gowns hanging on hooks along the back.
When he pulled out his hand, he held a bit of red silk, bundled into a packet and stitched in a circle. When he closed his hand around it, something hard and small rolled in his grasp. Puzzled, he picked at the thread and the whole thing fell open, revealing some dried rose petals that appeared to have been soaked in some kind of dark liquid. A ring fell out, wrapped in another piece of silk with more of the rust-colored liquid, and letters written across it. He was trying to read them when Ysabel spoke.
"My pomander!" Ysabel exclaimed, reaching for the bundle. "You have found my rose petal pomander!" He handed it to her. "Thank you!" She crushed it together and held it to her face.
Jean had leaped up when Henri pulled out the red silk package, but after seeing Ysabel with the rose petals, he waved his hand and went back to his own search. While Henri continued to rummage around in the cabinet, Louis-Philippe entered the room, nodding at Henri and bowing to Jean, who mumbled a cursory greeting. Henri uttered a prayer of thanks. He did not know how Johanna had rendered him sober -- from the green undertone of the baron's face, he figured she must have taken drastic measures -- but Louis-Philippe was awake and aware.
Henri had started to close the door when Jean said, "Wait a moment!" He strode to Henri, looked back at Ysabel, then bent his head, peering at the bottom of the cabinet.
Jean leaned down, drew out a cloth doll, the face no more than a blank piece of wool, the stomach sewn in a
circle. He held it up and shook it. "What is this?" His eyes flared. "A mannikin?" With his bony fingers, he deftly removed the thread that closed the stomach, pulling out a thin woolen packet.
Ysabel sank onto the bed, fist crushed into her mouth.
Jean continued to suck breath through his teeth as he swiftly opened the packet, revealing a lock of long black hair that he held up in triumph. "The hair! Let us see if the nails are there." He placed the hair on the bed and retrieved a smaller packet from inside, shaking several white slivers out into his palm.
"The fingernails!" he crowed, then spread the wrapping out on the bed. "Bloodstains." He pointed to several blotches the color of dark rust. "And a name." He peered at the cloth, reading aloud, "I-B-R-A-H-I-M?"
He turned to Henri in puzzlement. "The man who was accused of sorcery?"
Ysabel had backed away from the contents of the doll, her face dead white. "What is that thing?" she asked angrily. "Who put that thing into my cabinet?"
Louis-Philippe had made a single utterance when Jean read the name. Not a shout, nor a sound of grief, but something in between, something that still shivered the air. Henri now watched the baron pick up the lock of hair and hold it to his nose, smelling it, his eyes tightly shut. Becier was staring at Ysabel and did not see de Reuilles fingering the hair.
"The gardener," Louis-Philippe said. "The man who was accused."
Jean now swung his head toward the Baron, but Louis-Philippe had already returned the lock of hair to the bed, his fingers caressing it a moment before he let it go.
Henri groaned inwardly. Even more intrigue. Just when he thought that he could keep this under control.
Jean Becier approached Ysabel, who now stood with her arms wrapped around her, her eyes blazing. "That is not mine!" she shouted. "Anyone could have put it there in my cabinet."
Jean studied the mannikin, his lower lip pulled between his teeth. "She is right," he said after a long pause. In the silence, Henri could feel his own heart beating in every part of his body -- all the way to his fingertips. Whatever happened next would seal her fate. He was sure of this.
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