The Song of the Troubadour

by Stephanie Cook

  And tonight he would have me play nothing but songs of her! And then he would take me to bed as always, though tonight he would be rough as he always was when drunk. And then he would fall deep asleep while I slowly, quietly untangled myself from his limbs, taking care not to wake him. I would slip out of the curtained bed and place my bare feet on the floor while I carefully dressed in the dark room, praying his guards would not wake and see my nakedness. I would walk slowly back to my narrow cot in his wife's room and bear the shame of being little more than a whore who slept with her kinswoman's cousin. But I was ashamed most of all of myself. For though I tried to tell myself that none could resist the overtures of her liege lord and I was not to blame, I knew that I would have done it anyway, even if I were the Queen of Aragon and he my vassal. What had this man driven me to?

  I sang the words that glorified his wife, but I marveled that Trencavel could not see the spite that underlay each stanza. I almost spat out each word, but he seemed not to notice. He sat, his glaze drunken. His wine glass was low. It would be so easy to offer to fill it from the pitcher on the table, as I had done so many times before. So simple to slip the poison into his glass as my back was turned to him. So easy to forever silence this man who did not love me and never had and never would. And how I would be rewarded! The city would surrender without a leader and I could finally escape to the Count of Toulouse to claim my lands!

  “Gauda, fill my wine for me,” said Trencavel, lifting his glass up drunkenly.

  I put down my harp and walked over to him. I looked into his eyes as I took the glass. They were red from crying. I despised him.

  I walked back to the table and took the vial from my hip pocket, as soon as my back was turned. I topped up his glass of wine and poured another for myself. I lifted the vial and pulled the stopper, but something stopped me from pouring it into his new glass of wine. I had become a spy and a deceiver because I wanted to regain what was rightfully mine. I had become an adulterer because I had no choice, even if I reveled in it. Would I let myself become a murderer too? Where would I stop?

  I poured out the vial of poison onto the floor. I could not do this. I would take my chances. I carefully stopped the empty vial and placed it carefully back in my tunic. I picked up the two glasses of wine and gave one of them to Trencavel. I took my own and set it on the table, after taking a long, deep gulp. I walked over to Trencavel and knelt at his side, my hand upon his arm.

  “My Lord, please excuse me,” I said. “I must visit the privy, for I have drunk too much wine. Think of what you want me to sing for you next, for I will return shortly.”

  Trencavel took a deep draught of his wine, his hand wavering as he held the cup and his eyes bleary and red. He caressed my face with his hand.

  “Don't be long,” he said. “I don't think I want to hear any more songs tonight.”

  He held my head and kissed me firmly on the mouth. I kissed him back deeply and strongly. And then I got up to leave. As I walked out the door I realized with a pang that I would not be able to take my harp with me. My father had given me that harp as a girl and Azalais had taught me to play and sing and compose on it. I had carried it with me on all my travels, but I would have to leave it now. Tears filled my eyes and burned past the lashes.

  In the corridor, I ran into the hooded man and thrust the empty vial into his hands.

  “It is done,” I said. “I will not be found at his side when it is discovered.”

  I turned and walked away. I had to leave and quickly. I headed down the stairs towards the main hall of the castle. I passed several guards at their posts, but none questioned me. They were used to my nocturnal wanderings in the corridors. I silently stepped over the bodies of the sleeping soldiers in the great hall, praying not to awaken anyone for my presence would not be expected here in the middle of the night. I had to leave the castle and lose myself in the streets of the city. At the entrance to the castle the guards were awake and alert. They stopped me with their hands resting on their swords.

  “What need have you to leave the castle at night?” the captain of the guard asked. “It is dangerous to walk these streets at night. Only spies and thieves go abroad.”

  “My Lady the Viscountess is ill again,” I said. “I need to go find medicines and help.”

  “And she would send you about on a night like this?” asked the captain.

  “I have no choice,” I said.

  I did not know how long the poison was supposed to take to work but I assumed it would be fast-acting. I assumed the guards would be expected to hear Trencavel's struggles and would raise the alarm. When this didn't happen, the hooded man would realize I had betrayed him and come after me. I expected to hear his footsteps come up behind me at any second.

  “I must leave,” I said again, my voice becoming high and tight.

  “Very well,” said the captain. “But I will send two guards with you.”

  How was I going to get rid of them? I did not know, but only wanted to leave the castle as quickly as possible. I allowed myself to be escorted from the castle gates across the broad plaza and down the narrow city streets. I had not left the castle for many days and I could not believe the state of the city, which resembled more a painting of the Last Judgment and the sinners cast into the furthest circles of Hell than it resembled the bustling market town I knew so well. The wounded lay in the streets, their flesh rotting, drunk with thirst and delirious. The exhausted sick, old men and young mothers and little children, lay piled up in houses we passes, doors open to the street, their bodies covered with flies they were too weak to swat away, the dead lying alongside the barely living. The guards' torches cast a red, flickering light over every scene of horror we passed. Rotting carcasses of skinned livestock lay everywhere joining with the odors of the dead and dying to create the most horrendous stench of decay I had ever smelt in my life. The city had truly been turned into the Gates of Hell.

  I tried to cover my face with head scarf, to ward off the vile odors. A delirious man came running up to us, begging for water. The guards brusquely knocked him away and he fell to his feet, screaming in pain. I let the guards take me to the doors of the house of good women and I banged on the shuttered windows. We heard nothing, but finally the small window at the top of the door slid open and I saw a familiar face.

  “Oh Eleanor,” I said. “Please let me in.”

  Thankfully, Eleanor did not ask any questions and merely opened the door. I turned to the two guards.

  “I will be here a while. It is best if you return to the castle. I will send a messenger when I want to return.”

  The two guards turned to leave.

  “Thank you for your help in guiding me here,” I said.

  The guards nodded and left.

  My plans for escape were foiled. Anyone could simply ask the guards where I had gone and come get me for my punishment. It was only a matter of time before the hooded man discovered my betrayal and the Viscount learned of my spying. I would have only hours. At least I was here with Azalais and could make a good end. I would take the consolamentum and become a good woman, at least for the short time before I died. I had sinned much, but all would be forgiven and I would soon be in paradise.

  DAY 14 OF THE SIEGE OF CARCASSONNE

  Friday, August 14, 1209

  Azalais

  Friday, August 14, morning

  Azalais winced as the doctor cut deep into her arm, slicing the skin open and letting the blood pour into a basin at her side. She knew that like cured like, and the best way to counteract the bloody flux was to bleed the poisons out of her system. She thought of the souls she had seen leave this world by the endura and envied them their peace- no doctors cutting them open or sticking hot glass on their backs to draw out the foul humors. They simply decided not to be part of this world anymore. They allowed no material substance to pass their lips other than water to relieve their thirst and they were taken on to the spiritual world, free of their flesh, in such a quick, quiet way.r />
  The doctor left and someone else entered her room. Azalais groaned as she rolled over on to her back burned by the doctor's ministrations. It was Gauda. She seemed paler than usual and her hands were trembling as Azalais reached for them.

  “My child, you have come,” said Azalais. “What a blessing.”

  “I did not know you were sick, my teacher,” said Gauda.

  “It came suddenly,” said Azalais.

  “But why are there doctors here?” asked Gauda. “Do you not perform the endura?”

  “My child, I was not yet ready to die, but I feel that I now I am,” said Azalais.

  Azalais smiled deeply at Gauda. There had been no word of Constance and Azalais felt herself growing weaker, despite the efforts of the good women and the doctors. Maybe she was not meant to see Constance again in this world, but at least she had been sent Gauda, quite unbidden. To see in the woman the face of the girl she had taught so many years before gave Azalais so much pleasure and so much pain.

  “Azalais, I want to make a good end,” said Gauda.

  “But my dear child it is not yet your time,” said Azalais.

  “I cannot explain all I have done, but the Viscount's soldiers could come for me at any moment,” said Gauda. “They will take me away to my death. Please let me make a good end.”

  Gauda was crying and she held Azalais' hands tightly in her own.

  “I cannot believe that you would have done anything to merit such a punishment and I know the Viscount to be a just ruler,” said Azalais. “Surely whatever has happened can be explained, for I know you to not be evil, my dear.”

  “I have done many things of which I am ashamed, but what I did tonight, I did for the good,” said Gauda. “But, it will not be seen that way. I have played a dangerous game and lost.”

  Azalais noticed suddenly how very cold she felt, a cold deep inside - in her bowels, in her blood, in her bones. It almost felt like a relief after the unrelenting heat and misery of these weeks. But the cold cut too deep and Azalais knew she did not have much time left.

  “Gauda, my child,” said Azalais. “I would not see you take the consolamentum like this. It is for those who feel compelled to live as if their flesh no longer existed, so hungry are they for the world of the spirit. You are not ready and whatever you say, I do not think you will come to an end, bad or good, anytime soon. Remember that God is merciful and even if you are suddenly taken, you will just be reborn into this veil of tears again. You will have many lives and many chances to attain salvation and heaven. Remember too that there are beauties, however fleeting, of this material world that help us to imagine the glories of the next, spiritual world. Maybe your role is to create this beauty. When you are truly ready to take the consolamentum, you will do so, but the desire will be born out of joy for the spirit and not out of fear for the flesh. “

  Gauda started to speak again, but Azalais gently covered her mouth with one finger.

  “Gauda, sing for me,” said Azalais.

  Azalais closed her eyes and let the gentle melody float over her. Gauda's voice was as fine as ever and she had chosen to sing an old song by Raimbaut of Orange. Azalais smiled to herself as she felt her body grow colder and she felt the very blood slow in her veins. It was not a very good end for a Good Women to be serenaded by a song written by the great earthly love of her life, he who had given her such pain and such pleasure. Azalais gave herself a few moments to remember those earthly passions and then tried to focus on the freedom of spirit and joy she would soon enjoy, far from this earthly world of pain and suffering. She had even let go of Constance. She had to entrust the girl to the care of God and trust that she would be brought to a good end, however tortuous her path. Azalais thought back to the child she had borne and how she had laid it in the ground so soon after its birth and she longed to see that spirit again, for she knew she would always recognize it no matter where it had traveled in the time since it had left her.

  Azalais was finally ready to let go. She breathed one more time the air of this earth and after she breathed out, she breathed no more.

  Trencavel

  Friday, August 14, noon

  Trencavel felt unnerved by the silence. The siege engines had been quiet all morning. He had become so accustomed to the crashing of rocks against the city walls over the last two weeks that the quiet seemed unnatural. Trencavel sat with Cabaret in his chambers. Bertrand entered the room and came up slowly to the table. His wound had not healed and he hobbled into the room, angrily pushing away a servant's hand when he stumbled and almost fell. Bertrand steadied himself with his arms and lowered himself to a chair, letting himself down with a groan, his face daring either Trencavel or Cabaret to comment. Neither did.

  “Have you gotten any more information from the Abbot's spies?” asked Cabaret.

  “No, the fools know nothing of importance,” said Trencavel. “I will have them drawn and quartered.”

  “And your own spies?” asked Cabaret.

  “They tell me nothing solid,” said Trencavel.

  Trencavel's clerk Pons brought them wine and sausage. Pons poured each man a mug of wine and stepped back from the table. Trencavel lifted his mug and was about to put it to his lips, but Bertrand's hand stopped him.

  “Why has this man never brought us wine before?” asked Bertrand.

  Cabaret put down his mug. Pons continued to move away from the table.

  “Stop, man,” said Bertrand to Pons. “Come back here. I don't think I know you.”

  “Sure you do,” said Trencavel. “This is Pons, my clerk. He has been with me for several years and does his work well.”

  “I am sure he does,” said Bertrand. “But never in all the time that I have visited you here do I remember a clerk pouring your wine. It's usually a rather lovely serving wench, if I remember correctly.”

  Trencavel thought for a moment, his head aching and his dry mouth desperate for the cool wine.

  “Pons, why are you serving the wine?” asked Trencavel.

  “My Lord,” said Pons. “The serving girl was ill and the day so hot, I thought it would be quicker if I brought it myself.”

  Trencavel looked at Pons. He was sweating and had the look of a hunted rabbit. Trencavel held out his mug towards Pons.

  “The day is so hot,” said Trencavel. “Why don't you refresh yourself with some of my wine?”

  Pons gingerly took the mug in his hands, slowly raising it to his lips. Then he suddenly dropped it to the floor and turned to run, but the guards at the door held him.

  Trencavel walked over to Pons. He pulled his sword and held it at the man's throat.

  “You will tell me who sent you, you betraying serpent, or I will kill you now myself,” said Trencavel.

  Pons began to make the sign of the cross.

  “Oh father in heaven,” said Pons. “Have mercy on me, forgive my sins.”

  Trencavel dug the blade into skin and a trickle of blood fell to Pons' shirt. Pons eyes jumped out of his head.

  “You should be begging me for forgiveness,” said Trencavel. “Now tell me who sent you or I will take you to the rack myself and find out the hard way.”

  Pons turned and spat in Trencavel's face.

  “You foul heretic scum,” said Pons. “You are hated and surrounded by spies. Even that foul slut singer with whom you commit adultery is against you.”

  Trencavel kept his knife at the man's neck, but looked around him slowly at Cabaret and Bertrand.

  “Whom else do you accuse, spy?” said Trencavel.

  “I was sent by the Lord to avenge him. You can kill me, but others will come. The Lord Abbot will prevail and the blasphemers will be made weak before the forces of truth and light. You can trust no one! You are alone now and you will be alone in hell for all eternity!”

  Trencavel slit Pons throat in one quick movement. The man fell to the floor, blood gushing out of his wound. Everyone stood quietly.

  “Guards, get me Gauda,” said Trencavel. “I must spe
ak to her of this accusation. But do not hurt her, for I know not whether to trust any of the words from this liar's mouth until I can ask these questions myself.”

  The guards left and Trencavel turned to Cabaret and Bertrand.

  “I do not know whom to trust anymore,” said Trencavel.

  Bertrand shook his big head and looked sadly at Trencavel.

  “I raised you as my own son,” said Bertrand. “It is you who have betrayed me by your lack of faith in me.”

  Trencavel came forward and put his hand on Bertrand's shoulder.

  “Forgive me, old man,” said Trencavel. “Forgive me.”

  “You are wise to trust no one,” said Cabaret. “For that is the first truth of those who hold great power. Trust makes you weak. But, now you must decide what to do for now we have more information. The Abbot risked a valuable spy in a bid to kill you. This is the move of a desperate man.”

  Trencavel turned to Cabaret, his heart beginning to feel less weary.

  “The Abbot wants this siege over before his army leaves,” said Cabaret. “Already there must be men who have served their due. They only hold on to see what the booty will be, but once their sins and debts are cleared, they will not stick around for a drawn-out siege into the fall and winter.”

  Suddenly, a guard entered the room.

  “My Lord,” said the guard. “There are men outside the gates who want to parley. It is a Lord who claims kinship with you and thirty of his men.”