Bladesong

by Jean Gill

  When Hodierne first spoke with Dragonetz, she avoided his eyes, glancing round the hall like a mouse seeking the cat. He treated her just like such a timid animal, avoiding the flirtations that any court lady would have expected, gently offering thoughts on music and city life, to draw her out. Little by little, she responded and Dragonetz glimpsed the girl Hodierne had been before her marriage, intelligent and light-hearted, taking for granted that she was a princess and would be treated as such. What had happened?

  Bar Philipos remained a useful source of information. According to him, Hodierne had been as much the whore as her two sisters. However, even he exempted the youngest from the epithet, the sister who’d been sacrificed by her father and was now an Abbess. From her many lovers, Hodierne had chosen to marry Raymond of Tripoli. Or been told by the Queen her sister that it suited Jerusalem for Hodierne to marry Raymond of Tripoli. It amounted to the same thing.

  Unfortunately for Hodierne, the couple’s first child had been born eight months after the wedding, and Raymond had very naturally repudiated the baby. Hodierne had of course claimed the baby was her husband’s and she’d named the ill-fated baby Mélisende, in desperate hope that the Queen’s name would protect the little girl from her father’s righteous hatred.

  Vain hope. Not only did Raymond repudiate the child but he quite rightly realised he could not trust the mother, and he constrained and chastised her as any husband would such a wife. Raymond could at least guarantee the parentage of his son and by such surveillance he made sure that no-one would make the sign of horns or laugh at him behind his back.

  Dragonetz listened to Bar Philipos in horror and could only pity the girl who’d been doomed to such a marriage. He was even gentler in his attempts to make her smile and when he succeeded, he felt a greater sense of achievement than in all the conversations over trade and soldiery with Jerusalem’s leaders. What hurt him was the way in which Hodierne cut short a smile or her rare laughter, hiding her mouth and her pleasure with her hand, like a cur awaiting the whip.

  Unlike her sister, she never indulged in double-meanings, or lingering glances. She never said a critical word about her husband, however much fear was in her eyes when she mentioned him. Instead, as she grew more at ease with Dragonetz, and discussion of song lyrics led to more personal comments, Hodierne spoke of her love for Raymond, and her shame at not being able to please him, to be a better wife. Dragonetz was sick to the stomach, listening. Such a relationship was beyond his understanding and sometimes he felt that the best thing possible for Hodierne would be Mélisende’s solution for Tripoli.

  It was while Dragonetz was in such a conversation with Hodierne, that there was the sort of stir in the hall indicating newcomers. Anyone used to court could identify the moving ripple of hush and gossip that accompanied an arrival. Dragonetz had heard the same mass response when he had walked the length of the hall to meet the Queen and he recognised it straight away.

  Turning to view the source of the disturbance, and already preparing some witty remarks for Hodierne’s entertainment, he had a back view of a lady on the arm of a gallant, being presented to the Queen. The woman was tall, waist-length dark hair plaited neatly and falling below a rich head-dress. Her robe was midnight blue velveteen with cream lace trimmings, and her deep, graceful curtsey proclaimed her confidence in court manners. The gallant was equally fashionable, his tabard in the same velveteen, with hose of the same blue, and he was even more at ease in his surroundings, talking to Mélisende in an animated manner that made the Queen laugh. Their co-ordinated clothes, youth and energy made them a pretty couple.

  Then Mélisende and her entourage looked towards Dragonetz himself, and with more nodding and smiles, the newcomers were heading towards him. ‘She is very beautiful,’ murmured Hodierne. Dragonetz couldn’t speak. He wondered whether he were dropping into some daytime poppy-dream but the woman walking towards him showed no tendency to turn into mist. Her steps were dainty and very real. Her face could be placed exactly onto his memory of another face, although he had forgotten the mole on her left chin and her mouth was fuller, redder than he remembered, her eyes more hypnotic. It was her eyes that had first captured him, topaz and swirling. Then he had heard her sing. The couple reached his side.

  ‘I rode a camel,’ the woman told him, beaming with pride. ‘Their knees get callused from all that getting up and down so people can mount them.’

  ‘Estela.’ His voice broke with emotion. He was horrified. How could he protect her when he could barely keep his own footing in this crazy dance? ‘What in heaven’s name are you doing here?!’

  Her smile faltered and she looked for reassurance to the man beside her, on whose arm she was still hanging. He nodded to her. Encouragement? Perhaps. But there was something else there, a hint of a reminder, something the man had told Estela previously.

  ‘We couldn’t get here any more quickly,’ she told him, a mix of apology and resentment that he didn’t appreciate the journey she’d had. Oh but he did. He could imagine the journey she’d had! And there was no way he’d have wanted her to make such a journey! Why wasn’t she safe in Dia? ‘I came as soon as I knew you wanted me to,’ she continued, ‘And your friend has been everything you could have wanted him to be.’ She bestowed a smile on her companion that turned Dragonetz’ guts to the purest of poison. In that instant, he could understand every action that Raymond of Tripoli had taken.

  ‘I don’t know -’ he burst out but some instinct caught the smug expression of victory on the man’s face and he changed ‘who this grinning idiot is’ to ‘what I’m thinking of! What a wonderful surprise to see you both. I really can’t believe you’re here.’ He clapped a hand on the bastard’s back, hard, smiling through gritted teeth, enjoying the flicker of disappointment. You don’t get me that easily, he admonished silently. Not after weeks in the spider’s web.

  ‘Would you introduce your friends to me?’ the gentle voice of Hodierne interrupted, no longer a mouse-breath, but still low and self-conscious.

  ‘Estela de Matin, renowned trobairitz and a dear dear friend of mine, whom I had thought to be at the court of Dia; meet the Comtesse de Tripoli.’

  ‘Rudel’s Comtesse de Tripoli?!’ asked Estela, her eyes round.

  ‘The very same,’ replied Hodierne, sadness vying with amusement.

  Then everyone waited for Dragonetz to introduce Estela’s companion. The pause lengthened, while Dragonetz wondered who the hell the man was and whether he’d have to get Estela to make the presentation, arousing everyone’s suspicions and no doubt pleasing the stranger.

  ‘De Rançon!’ interrupted a youth in silk stripes, ignoring the frowns of the man he greeted with great enthusiasm. ‘I didn’t know you were back! You promised me we’d fly the new goshawk together and she’s been blooded six months and more! Where did you get to?’ It dawned on him that he was interrupting and he flushed. ‘Excuse me. I’m just so glad he’s back and we can have some sport again.’

  ‘We will indeed have some sport, Barday,’ de Rançon said drily, ‘but it seems it will not be today.’

  Undeterred, Barday said, ‘I’ll be at the Pilgrims’ Haven this evening. I shall see you there, I hope.’ Without waiting for an answer he left them.

  ‘My Lady Hodierne,’ Dragonetz started smoothly, as if the interruption had not taken place, ‘may I present another dear friend, Geoffroi de Rançon, a comrade-in-arms from the crusades, who served with both me and Jaufre Rudel, and who can add to our evening’s entertainment with his singing.’

  ‘Then we shall have fine entertainment after tomorrow night’s banquet. I shall ask my sister to announce your performance. You will sing for us, won’t you?’ Her voice tailed off. Always the hesitation, the fear that she was over-stepping the mark.

  ‘Of course, my Lady,’ Dragonetz reassured her and caught Estela’s eye but she was already accepting the invitation, for both herself and de Rançon. Another injection of poison in the guts. What in the name of the father and all the sai
nts was going on?!

  ‘We must take our leave,’ de Rançon told them, with an exquisite bow.

  ‘I must hear more about the camels.’ Dragonetz gazed intently at Estela, willing her to see below the surface, to understand that he loved her, that he was afraid for her, that he couldn’t have her in his rooms because she’d see his times of sickness. ‘I cannot offer you accommodation, because I have simple lodgings in the knights’ hospital,’ was what he actually said.

  ‘Estela has no need of accommodation,’ de Rançon informed him. Did that man really have to speak for her?!

  ‘I am the Queen’s guest,’ Estela smiled at him. ‘I find there are certain advantages in being a troubadour, including a chamber to myself.’ Her eyes said ‘Come to me there’ and Dragonetz felt all his careful plans collapsing. Someone had bound Estela in the stickiest of threads and wanted him to watch as his every movement jiggled her closer to the predator. ‘Someone’ had a name; Geoffroi de Rançon. Dragonetz bowed his goodbyes to the couple, lingering over Estela’s hand in a kiss, breaking into a million impotent fragments, his brain chanting ‘Geoffroi de Rançon, my ‘friend’, Estela here, why, why, why?!’

  Throughout the afternoon’s polite conversations, Dragonetz put the pieces together. There were still holes but what he’d worked out made a kind of horrible sense. He remembered de Rançon vaguely, a youth always in his commander-father’s shadow, not allowed to blow his nose without permission and usually criticised for the manner in which he did so. De Rançon senior had been as rough on his son as he’d been on the rest of his troops.

  On Mount Cadmus, Commander de Rançon had made the biggest mistake of his career and paid a big price, losing his post and his honour along with the thousands of men who’d died, needlessly. Dragonetz didn’t see himself as a hero but he knew other people did, and he also knew that more people would have died, possibly Louis himself, if Dragonetz hadn’t disobeyed orders. For which his reward was to take over the post of Aliénor’s Commander. How was he seen by Commander de Rançon’s son, who accompanied his father home, disgraced? It didn’t take a genius to work out that de Rançon was unlikely to love the man who’d replaced his father. No ‘friend’ then!

  Starting from the premise that de Rançon was his smiling enemy, and had tricked his way into Estela’s confidence, Dragonetz puzzled his way further into the labyrinth of possibilities. De Rançon had gone to a lot of trouble to bring Estela to Jerusalem. They seemed close. Dragonetz stilled the surge of venom at the thought and concentrated on logic. He could not afford the luxury of emotions, yet.

  Maybe de Rançon wanted Estela; her feelings for Dragonetz were an obstacle so the trip to Jerusalem was to oust the ex-lover and leave room for the new one? Maybe. If that were so, de Rançon was passionately in love - and unscrupulous in his methods of getting the object of his desire. Estela obviously trusted de Rançon, so Dragonetz must tread very carefully if he were not to accidentally play into the bastard’s hands! If only he knew what lies Estela had been told.

  Then there was the possibility that Estela was unwittingly a hostage, a means to control Dragonetz. His enquiries during polite conversations had ascertained that de Rançon was Mélisende’s man. Could the Queen be looking for a hold on Dragonetz, in case he chose Baudouin? Mélisende was capable of anything! But how would she have known about Estela? Had gossip about the two of them reached the court of Jerusalem? Unlikely.

  Or it was possible that de Rançon’s enmity against Dragonetz was personal, and Estela was merely a pawn. Why so complicated? If de Rançon held a grudge because of some perceived injury to his father, wasn’t he man enough to hold Dragonetz to account personally, swords drawn? And what injury? That Dragonetz had judged a military situation better than his Commander? That he’d taken Commander de Rançon’s place? If a son took revenge every time his father made a mistake or was replaced by a younger man, the world would be littered with dead bodies. Was that what de Rançon’s plan was? Dragonetz dead? Or disgraced, like de Rançon’s father had been? It didn’t quite add up. Something was missing

  Which sent him back to the idea that de Rançon wanted Estela. That it was all about passion. In which case, everything turned on Estela and her feelings. Dragonetz faced the hardest thoughts. Did she still love him? Would she still love him if she knew the poison in him and what it was capable of?

  Muganni had told him that if, when, the poppy supply was stopped, Dragonetz would do anything to get some. Anything, the boy had said. You will beg, steal, cheat. Friendship will mean nothing to you and you would kill your lover to get poppy. You will be so far from yourself that no-one can afford to care about you, for their own sake, until you come through the other side of the cravings. If you come through the other side.

  ‘He’s worse than I feared.’ De Rançon shook his head sadly. He and Estela had found a secluded alcove in the palace to discuss the practical matters relating to her baggage, which had weighed down two camels with absolute necessities, including ten new dresses for court, purchased in Acre.

  They also discussed the detail of her first performance for the Queen. Estela wanted to get everything right and de Rançon was the ideal advisor, both knowledgeable and entertaining on the subject of the court of Jerusalem. It was so easy to talk to him, a continuation of their shipboard friendship, their Arabic lessons, their endless camel ride. De Rançon had been the perfect knight, never referring to Estela’s moment of weakness, nor seeking to make it happen again. His eyes burned with feelings that he never allowed to taint his duty to Dragonetz and Estela admired him for that, and was not completely immune to the attentions of such an attractive man. Sometimes, she almost wished him less perfect, and then she would remind herself of her whole reason for being in Jerusalem.

  Dragonetz. She’d hidden her shock on seeing him but she still could not believe her lover had become this bearded stranger in eastern robes, his eyes touched with wildness as if he were using belladonna. Once he’d recognised her, his expression had been odd, not the welcome she had expected. As if it was painful for him to see her.

  He’d been odd with his friend too. Although de Rançon’s warning that Dragonetz might not recognize him had proved wrong, there had been no warmth, no appreciation. When she thought of the hardships of the journey, the way de Rançon had protected her for thousands of miles, controlling his own feelings and thinking only of his friend’s needs, she felt quite angry with Dragonetz. No appreciation at all!

  And yet, he was the father of her child, the man she loved, and in loyalty she would not say all she felt, even to this true friend. ‘He didn’t seem quite well,’ she conceded. ‘You are right about him needing us.’

  De Rançon looked grave, turning away from her as if mulling over what he might or might not say. ‘Speak freely, dear friend,’ Estela said. ‘There is something you are still keeping from me and it is easier for me to help my love if I know everything.’

  ‘This is very painful for me to talk about ... Here in the east there are heathen ways of living that can seem attractive to a man. Every pleasure of the flesh and senses can be bought, and a man has to be strong to resist all that is on offer, when the example of so many at court makes the depraved seem ordinary. The longer people are here, the more they accept the unacceptable. Christian values are forgotten in the temptations. I’ve seen it so often now. A man will taste something new, for the adventure, and then he gets drawn further and further from the true path. Sometimes it’s the smoke that starts them off.’

  ‘Smoke?’ Estela queried.

  ‘It’s an Arab habit. Men use a pipe to take in substances that make them feel lighter, happier.’ The wildness in his eyes? wondered Estela. Has Dragonetz indeed been smoking some substance?

  ‘And that leads to worse... a man’s instincts can get the better of him...’

  ‘Women. I know there are slaves, dancers, all kinds of women here,’ said Estela firmly. ‘Dragonetz is no monk.’ Then she coloured, afraid she might have offended her comp
anion, given that he had been womanless in all the time she’d been with him, despite her provocation.

  De Rançon seemed not to react, too lost in the difficulty of what he was trying to say. ‘Not women,’ he said quietly. ‘Have you seen the little boy who accompanies Dragonetz everywhere, the way they look at each other, the way they touch...’

  ‘I don’t understand. This is some Arab servant boy, I think? Many men have servant boys. I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘No, of course you don’t. You could not know of the reasons some men have boy servants, very pretty boy servants, nor the ways in which such boys are brought up, to know how to give every pleasure to a man, in the ways a woman should, and more ...’

  ‘No!’ Estela cried out, horrified as de Rançon’s meaning dawned on her.

  ‘I’m sorry, my Lady.’ He turned to her, holding her hands, looking deep into her eyes, his own full of pain at causing so much hurt. ‘You wanted to know what we are dealing with and what we must rescue Dragonetz from. He is in deep.’ De Rançon shook his head, grieving. ‘But together we can rescue him. Let’s say no more about it. Let’s speak of your songs for tomorrow.’

  Her head reeling, Estela suggested her programme, accepted some changes that would please the Queen better, in de Rançon’s view. All the time, she was asking herself, did she want to ‘rescue’ this stranger? Drugs?

  Small boys? Her skin crawled with revulsion.

  Chapter 18

  ‘Of course you should be there, as my attendant.’ Dragonetz ruffled the boy’s hair with affection and Muganni’s smile lit up the chamber. The boy automatically responded to the touch by stroking his master’s arm and Dragonetz gently caught the wandering hand, shaking his head.