Azalais heard a familiar voice near the door and looked up. She smiled. It was Gauda. She walked over to the door.
“So, I am to be blessed with your presence yet again this week,” said Azalais.
Azalais placed her hand on Gauda’s shoulder and kissed her on each cheek.
“Unfortunately, I come not to visit, but to beg you to come with me to the palace,” said Gauda. “The Viscountess is very ill and she will not see a doctor.”
“But, I have so much to do here,” said Azalais. “We are short on everything and more sick and wounded arrive every day. I cannot keep vigil at the bedside of a fainting Viscountess, whose major sickness is ill temper, in my opinion.”
“No, she is very ill now,” said Gauda. “Please come. You do not have to stay long. Just please tell me what to do to care for her. And, you will be paid. There are many stores at the Viscount's palace. You'll be able to feed and care for your patients for weeks.”
“And is there water?” asked Azalais.
Gauda lowered her voice.
“The wells of the palace have not run dry,” she said. “But the Viscount rations as does everyone else. He does not want it widely known for fear the palace will be overrun in a panic. But, I will see to it that you receive water, if at night in stealth. Only the heavens know the reason, but the Viscount cares greatly for his wife and would do most anything to save her.”
Constance
Sunday, August 9, noon
Constance held the crying baby on her lap, trying to rock it gently and get it to quiet down. She and Guillaume sat against the wall of the kitchen in the house of Beatritz' mother. Little Jacques was crawling around the kitchen and Beatritz’ sister kept jumping around trying to keep them from falling into the fire or tripping on the hearth. Only the little girl Aude sat quietly.
There were people everywhere in the small house that usually held only Beatritz' parents and their daughter, a little slow in the head and still unwed. Only Beatritz' parents, the mason, and Beatritz were seated at the small table. The sister brought them bread and cheese and some sausages. A wine jug stood on the table and the mason was pulling long gulps from it. The two apprentices and the journeyman mason who lived with the mason were all seated on the floor or standing near the hearth, trying to get out of the way of the sister. The boys looked shocked. They had outrun the Crusaders in the Castellar, but their comrade, the littlest apprentice, had not made it. He was cut down almost as soon as they had turned to flee by the arrow of an archer. The other boys looked stoically ahead, but their eyes were red and tear stains streaked their cheeks.
The four sitting at the table had not said a word. They grimly tore off hunks of bread. Beatritz sat still, not eating, with tears in her eyes. She ignored the cries of her children as if they were not even in the room. The mason slammed down the wine jug.
“Wife, get up and take care of those infants,” he said. “And, someone feed those boys. They are wretched with what they've been through.”
He nodded to Beatritz' sister who quickly went back to the cupboards for more cheese and bread and brought it to the silent apprentices who fell on it with a ravenous hunger. Beatritz sat immobile at the table, crying softly and fingering her rosary.
“Who do you think we are?” said Beatritz' mother. “Do you think we are made of money and have a storehouse fit for a king? Where are we going to get enough food to feed all these people?”
She gestured at the room. Constance wondered as well. There were now 3 children and 11 adults in the room and most of them were hungry working men or boys. Beatritz' mother turned to her.
“I agreed to take in you and the children,” she said. “Not this army of men.”
Beatritz did not answer her mother, but continued to sit in silence. The mason turned to his mother-in-law, took another swig of wine, and placed the jug heavily on the table.
“Woman, you were more than pleased to take our money and gifts when you needed them,” he said. “You will help us now when we need you. We will find the food to feed everyone. You are just going to have to dig up those coins you have hidden under your floorboards.”
The two apprentices stopped their loud chewing and started to listen closely, their eyes sweeping the wooden floorboards of the kitchen.
Beatritz' mother's face turned red and she began to bleat.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” she said. “This must be a fantasy you've come up with when drinking too much wine because we are poor people and have nothing to spare.”
“You lie, old woman,” said the mason.
“You will not speak to my wife in my house in that manner.”
Everyone turned in surprise to hear the first words all morning out of the mouth of Beatritz' father, an old and frail man. The mason looked down, staring at his bread.
“Yes, father, you are right. I apologize for my disrespect,” said the mason. “It has been a terrible morning for all of us.”
“And, you wife,” said the old man. “You will behave with more honor towards our guests.”
Beatritz' mother humbly nodded. Everyone continued to eat in silence. Constance waited silently for her turn, her mouth watering from hunger. Their flight from the suburb this morning had been physically exhausting and Constance felt weak with hunger. She watched the apprentices continuing to eat. Guillaume and the journeyman had joined them and it seemed as if they would never stop. Constance hoped some small morsels would be left over for herself and the sister.
Beatritz started to whimper audibly. She began mouthing the words of the prayers, quietly, over and over.
Suddenly the mason stood up.
“Will you shut up?” he yelled.
“We have lost everything, our home, our workshop, our money,” said Beatritz. “Would you take from me my only comfort?”
“You are a fool, woman,” shouted the mason. “It is your precious priests and Pope who are responsible for our misery. It is they who sent these soldiers to destroy our home. They who killed our apprentice. And yet you would continue to pray to this monstrosity of clerics? You are mad.”
“No, it is you who are mad!” screamed Beatritz. “It is your blasphemy and all the heretics around us who have brought this punishment upon our heads! And I am guilty as well of tolerating your sacrilege! That is why I am being punished. I will tolerate it no more.”
Beatritz stood up and left the table, tears streaming down her face. She picked up the two smallest of her children and gestured to Constance to grab the little girl Aude and follow her as she went up the stairs to the bedroom. Constance followed her slowly, wishing more than anything that she could have filled her stomach before being sent to care for the children. In the bedroom, Beatritz and Constance placed the children down to sleep, calming them by softly patting their little warm backs. By the time the children had fallen to sleep, Beatritz' tears had dried. She turned to Constance and grabbed her arm.
“I betrayed my soul when I married that man and I will pay for it dearly. Do not make the same mistake, my girl. You may go now.”
Constance nodded and went down the stairs. Everyone had left the house and only the slow sister sat finishing the last of the bread and the final few crumbs of cheese. She looked up guiltily at Constance and offered her the final piece of the loaf. Constance ran over and ate it, gratefully, in one gulp. She was so hungry, but there was nothing more to eat. She would just have to wait until supper and, if there was anything for anyone to eat, she might get a few more bites. It would be a long wait.
Gauda
Sunday, August 9, noon
I stood aside to let Azalais enter Agnes' chamber. Agnes looked even worse than she did earlier this morning and she did not even seem to fight our presence. It was this resignation that made me realize how sick she had become. Azalais walked over to the bed and put her hand on Agnes' cheek.
“How long has she been like this?” asked Azalais.
“She has been confined to bed, sweating and pale, since
yesterday afternoon,” I said.
“Close the curtains, Gauda,” said Azalais. “I am going to examine her.”
Azalais pulled back the covers, exposing Agnes' slim body in a linen chemise, soaked through with sweat. Agnes shivered, even though the heat of the August noon made the room like a furnace. She tried to claw the covers back over her, but Azalais gently placed her hands back at her side and Agnes did not resist. I pulled back involuntarily as the sickly odor of decay wafted up from the bedding. Azalais did not seem to be affected by it, but then she was used to nursing the ill.
“Help me take off her chemise,” said Azalais.
I held my breath and moved closer. Azalais gently rolled up Agnes' chemise from her legs and I lifted her torso as Azalais slipped the linen over Agnes' head. Agnes moaned, but seemed too unconscious to feel any pain from our manipulations. We laid Agnes gently back on the bed and Azalais began to examine her body, searching for the source of the fever. She did not have to look for long, for it was obvious that Agnes was bleeding from her womb. The sheets were stained under her.
“Is it only that she bleeds?” I asked. For many women had severe bleeding, but I had never known it to result in a fever such as this.
“No, I am afraid not, Gauda,” said Azalais. “Were that she only were bleeding, but it is much worse. I have seen this before in women who have had a difficult childbirth or one assisted by a butcher. She is torn inside and her wastes escape slowly from her womb. It is a miserable curse. I do not know how she has hidden it so long.”
“Her baths,” I said. “She bathes all the time.”
“We should bathe her now,” said Azalais. “And clean her linens. I will give her valerian for her fever and thistle to help her sleep through the pain. And chamomile to stop the bleeding.”
I called for the maid to fetch water and linens. Azalais and I cleaned Agnes as best we could and sent the filthy sheets away with the maid. Agnes seemed to rest easier and I walked with Azalais to the bed chamber door.
“I will see that you receive the supplies you need,” I said. “Thank you for coming.”
I kissed Azalais goodbye and walked back to the side of Agnes' bed. I opened the bed curtains and tried to air the room, but the smell of the illness still lingered. I stood looking out the window for a long time, but eventually the fresh air must have awoken Agnes, for she began to stir. I went back to her bedside and put one hand on her cheek. She looked up at me.
“So, now you know of my shame,” Agnes said.
I nodded my head slowly.
“So this is why you stayed a good women, even though you sneak meat when no one is looking?” I asked.
“I never wanted it,” Agnes said. “But it has saved me. I almost died in childbirth. You have never given birth, have you?”
I nodded no and lowered my head. I had always cursed my barrenness, but, at this moment, I was wondering if I had been the blessed one.
“Then you do not know how fortunate you are. I have never been the same since. I was badly injured by the child; he did not come out in a normal way. I still have pain. I am so ashamed. You would not know,” Agnes said softly crying.
“When they thought I was dying, I was given the consolamentum in extremis. Though I am no holy woman and never wanted to be, they were sure that I would die. When I survived, I at first thought that I would renounce the consolamentum. It is often done by those given the sacrament on the death bed who then recover. Why should I live a life of denial when I am a Viscountess, when I could have anything? But then I realized that I would never have to endure childbirth again. So, I pretend. I try to live the life I am sworn to live, but I am too weak. I cheat. There is only one desire that I no longer have,” the Viscountess said.
“And your husband?” I said.
“He wanted me to receive the consolamentum. He did care for me and wanted me to be free,” Agnes said. “Now he regrets, of course, since we have only one heir. He thought, of course, that I would die and he would remarry. And when I survived, he assumed I would renounce my vows. He never expected that I would continue as a good women, but he respected what he thought was my newly acquired holiness of spirit.”
“And, you?”
“I love my husband. I wish more than anything to be able to be with him, to produce more heirs, to be anything but this burden I am. He will repudiate me when he finds out how I have tricked him. He must. I wish I had never known a man at all.”
Agnes turned her head from me and cried softly into her pillow. I stroked her hair gently.
Suddenly, we both heard the door opening as Trencavel crashed into the room. He looked as young as a boy and as ebullient. He ran over to Agnes' bed and grasped her hand and kissed it.
“We are saved!” he cried. “The King of Aragon has arrived! He has brought reinforcements! We are saved!”
Trencavel
Sunday, August 9, afternoon
Trencavel sat in the courtyard of the palace, protected from the midday sun by a tent. Bertrand stood at his right and Cabaret at his left. Trencavel had spent so much time in his armor the last few days that he felt almost naked in his finest tunic and coat, a coronet of gold on his head. The wind whipped around the courtyard, throwing up dust in the faces of the soldiers standing at attention on all sides of the open space. The fabric of the tent flapped in the wind like the sails of a ship in a fresh breeze.
Into the courtyard of the castle, rode three men mounted on fine horses, but without armor and carrying no shields. The man in the lead was large and prepossessing. He rode his mount as if traveling between two armed camps without sword or shield was something he did every day. The two men who followed him were equally proud in their saddles. No one would dare attack him, thought Trencavel. He is my liege lord, the King of Aragon, and he will be my savior.
The three men jumped off their horses and squires ran to take the reins of the beautiful animals. The King of Aragon walked over to Trencavel’s tent, followed by his men. Trencavel stood at his approach. When the King came near, Trencavel kneeled and kissed his hand. It was a fighting man's hand, big and strong and the rings on his fingers showed all the wealth of Aragon and Catalonia that would back that strength. Trencavel was no longer alone. He rose to his feet.
“My Lord, you have come,” said Trencavel.
“Yes,” said the King. “And it seems that you have gotten yourself into a predicament in which you have need of aid. You have the armies of all France, Nevers, and Burgundy camped at your door. Even your beloved uncle appears to have suddenly seen the error of his blasphemous ways and felt the need to repent by turning Crusader himself.”
“My beloved uncle would sell his mother out to avoid a battle,” said Trencavel.
“Be careful of your words, young Trencavel,” said the King. “Your beloved uncle is also my beloved sister's husband. And before you mock him too severely, I should inform you that I just dined with him in his commodious tent, festooned with golden fabrics. We supped on the most luscious lamb and drank the finest wines. He hasn't even donned his armor and he's managed to end up on the side that is currently winning. A man in your position should be careful of whom he mocks.”
Trencavel felt his face color and stiffened his back and shoulders.
“My Lord,” said Trencavel. “We beseech you to come to our aid. You cannot allow this injustice to happen to your vassals. Do you know what these fiends did at Béziers? Old men, women, children slaughtered in the streets. Even those who sought refuge in the cathedral burned to death in a funeral pyre. The city is destroyed. Your city, my liege Lord, is destroyed. Everywhere they go these Crusaders sow destruction, ruin, and fire. Our country is dying. We must chase them from its borders. They are worse than barbarians.”
Trencavel realized he was shouting and quickly stopped talking. His hands were shaking with rage.
“You have been on noble Crusades to save the Holy Lands from the infidel,” said Trencavel. “How can you allow this travesty to continue? This Crusade
kills the very Catholics it claims to protect. It's a Crusade on the cheap for those who want their debts cleared, both earthly and heavenly, but don't want to bother with a dangerous trip to the Holy Land.”
The King interrupted Trencavel with a flick of his hand.
“Enough,” said the King. “You risk infuriating me with your blasphemy. You are the only one to blame for this dirty affair. If you had banished the heretics from your lands, as I have told you to do many times, you would not be in this mess. It makes me incredibly sad to see you in danger of terrible misery because you tolerated a bunch of crazy fools.”
Trencavel opened his mouth, but the King raised his hand and Trencavel did not dare to speak.
“I do not see any other remedy out of your situation,” said the King. “You must negotiate, my son. An honorable accord is your only hope.”
Trencavel felt his bowels turn to ice. His heart felt like a lead weight. How could this be happening? How could his Lord not come to his rescue? How could it be that he would lose all his lands in less than two weeks? Trencavel saw Bertrand's face turn ruddy with anger. He placed a hand on his arm, for the last thing he needed was for the old man to go off and enrage the King. The King was their only ally, as seemingly useless as he was. Trencavel glanced at Cabaret and saw him nodding in agreement with the King. Trencavel wanted to strangle him. He was a traitor, even if only in spirit.
“If you insist on running to the battle and banging your shields,” the king continued, “the worms will be soon nesting in the orbs of your eyes. The Crusaders are too strong. Believe me. I just traversed their camp. You cannot vanquish them. Your walls are, I admit, strong, tall, and high. But, reflect, this city is encumbered with women and children. Tell me, how are you going to feed them all? Your misfortunate is making me miserable, for I love you much. Let me save you. Speak to them. I will do anything, as long as it is honorable, to see you content.”
The Song of the Troubadour Page 17
