The Rebel Princess

by Judith Koll Healey

  “Hold, sir, if you would. Identify yourself, please!” I mocked him.

  “What, you wanton? Identify myself? Have there been others in your bed, then, whilst I was away?” And I saw that he would not be denied, and so we laughed and made love that was no less intense than it had been earlier, for being less frantic and much more inventive.

  At some point, as often happened, the rhythm of our lovemaking slowed. Without words, as if by mutual consent, we paused and lay quietly in each other’s arms.

  “My love, why…” I was the first to speak, and it was almost as if I were just breathing rather than giving voice to my thoughts. But William picked up the thread.

  “Why can’t we just stay as we are?” He knew me too well. “Together, quiet, apart from the outside world. You see, I know what you want without your words.”

  “But we were happy that way, at Ponthieu these two years past, until you were called away by the pope. And just when Francis was coming back to live with us after his knight’s training. And we were to be married.”

  “And all that will come to pass again,” he said, caressing my cheek with the back of his hand. “You need only a soupçon of patience.”

  “So you said when you accepted the invitation from Pope Innocent to go to Rome.” I was insistent. “And yet here we are a year later and no closer to blending our lives.”

  “Yes, and I have been on horseback on the dusty roads ever since. Do you think I prefer that life?” William pulled himself to a sitting position and leaned his back against the wall. He pulled a small fur around his shoulders against the cold as he spoke. I heard a warning note of irritation in his voice, but I had a task that would not be put off.

  “When you could be in domestic bliss with me, instead!” I said it playfully, but I could feel him stiffen.

  “Alaïs, to continue to remind me of how happy I am with you, and how difficult it is when we are apart, does no earthly good. I made a commitment to assist the holy father to settle the problem of the Cathar heretics and Count Raymond’s lax oversight of his petty nobles, and I must hold to that. You only create more unhappiness by introducing this topic over and over.” The room lay in shadow, but I could make out the outline of a frown as the moon cut a path across our bed and caught his face in the light. I edged up to a sitting position as well, so we were once again side by side, though far from an embrace at the moment.

  “I am sorry to press you. I just wish…” My voice drifted off for, in truth, my only wish was that we could be together again in his lands on Ponthieu with Francis near. The thought of my son brought another pang to my heart, a needle spreading the heat of fear.

  “I know you are not happy here at court.” William was speaking, but I scarce attended him. “Nevertheless, I want you to stay with Philippe until I return in the spring. Then, I promise you”—and again his arm encircled my shoulders—“what we both wish for will be accomplished.”

  I did not move away from his embrace but I said nothing. He continued, as if the matter were settled.

  “Now I have a question to put to you, something that has been puzzling me for hours.” He took his hand and placed it under my chin, turning my face up to his own. “I thought you said you never met the Abbé Amaury. Yet, when you approached our group tonight in the Great Hall, you walked right up to him as if you knew him.”

  I sighed. “I had a visitation this morn.”

  “One of your waking dreams, as you are wont to say.” William nodded.

  I swallowed, remembering the feeling of being pinioned against my cushions as if in bonds, unable to move, the strange half-light surrounding the figures who gradually became visible.

  “The abbot’s face was plainly visible in the scene that was given to me. When I saw him again this evening, I was transfixed. I could not keep myself from confronting him.”

  “In the visitation, what happened?” William understood my gift of second sight, and knew from experience that, no matter whence they came, these visions carried meaning.

  “I saw a ring of thirteen men. One of them was in the white habit of the Cistercians, and he had the face of Amaury. It was a vivid apparition and unmistakably the abbot. Ten of the men wore red hats. Another had a tiara and one next to him wore the Cistercian habit. When the monk’s cowl fell back his features were revealed. It was the face I saw when I came to the king’s group of knights. You recall the abbé asked if we had met before. I told him no. That was a truth, as he had never seen me.”

  “There is something you are not telling me.” William took his arm from around my shoulders and turned full to me. I met his gaze.

  “I would I need not tell. But you must know. Francis was in the circle as well. I saw him clearly.”

  “What transpired in the vision?” William’s staccato questions were those of a captain quizzing his lieutenants.

  “The men stood in an oval. When a bell tolled, the man in the tiara gave a signal. With one accord all the men in red hats plunged their torches into the ground.”

  “And Francis? What of his role?”

  I shook my head. “He only stood there. As if he were a reluctant guest, taking no part.” I paused. “But as he was standing next to Amaury, the abbot threw his arm around Francis’s shoulders, as if he were a possession.”

  William suddenly cast off the furs and threw his legs over the side of the bed. This time he did rise, muttering more to himself than to me. He retrieved his hastily discarded cloak from the floor and threw it on. Then he began his habitual restless pacing.

  “This vision is a confirmation of what I suspected,” he said. “Amaury will go to any lengths to get what he wants.” He turned back to me when he came near the bed again, where I still sat clasping my knees. The moonshafts behind him illuminated his broad shoulders, but the shadows around us frightened me. “Amaury considers this business with the heretics a war. And he is capable of using any stratagem to obtain his ends. He sees me and my diplomacy as an obstacle. He would not be above taking my knight as hostage.”

  “William!” I was stunned that he had voiced my deepest fears. “Then you must leave Francis with me. Here, where that man cannot touch him.” In my agitation I, too, began to climb from the high bed, sliding my feet into the warm beaten-wool slippers, pulling a robe from the end of the bed around me, tying the sash. All these ordinary acts were performed with a kind of frantic madwoman haste. “You must leave him here.”

  “Alaïs, I’ve already explained there are agents at this court who are in the pay of John of England. If John credits the rumors about an heir surviving Henry, he will know it might involve you. You are at this court. This would be the first place he would look for that heir.”

  “So Francis will not be safe from John if he is with me, but he might be in danger from Amaury if he is with you.” I placed my hands on my hips. “And if the odds are even, then I believe the mother’s heart must win.”

  “You might think it so. But I tell you in this case I must assume the responsibility. I have men at my command, fast horses and willing swords. I will keep Francis always at my side. That is the only way to assure his safety.” William talked more rapidly than was his habit, as if to forestall any comment I might make. The silhouette of his hand in the moonlight made stabbing gestures, as if it were already wielding a sword to defend my son.

  I turned and picked up a small fur from the oak bench to wrap around myself, feeling the night chill as William had. Then I proceeded with deliberation to light three candles nearest the bed with a taper put into the only one burning. This act created only a small circle of light, but the bed and its surrounds were illuminated. The dark, earlier so friendly to our lovemaking, now seemed threatening. I took a cluster of ribbons tied in a loop from the table and came back to sit cross-legged on top of the bed. There I wound my hair expertly into them whilst I considered carefully my next words. William began to pull his wool tunic over his head to ward off the chill. I knew now there would be no more lying together for us th
is night. But in truth, I was so disturbed that my desire had fled.

  Finally I made my decision. “There is something else you should know,” I said with firmness. I had his attention. “Something odd occurred tonight, an accidental encounter. Or so it seemed at the time. But perhaps it was less chance than I thought.” I paused. I was about to tell him something that would bolster his case for taking Francis away, but I knew it was necessary. If I were to think of the safety of my son, I knew I must confide in this obstinate man, who after all desired the well-being of the young man we both loved.

  “What came to pass?” William had pulled on his hose and reached for his sword. But he seemed to pause, and let it drop again. He came now to sit next to me on the edge of the bed, with the easy manner of one who believes he has won an argument fairly.

  I pushed past my annoyance at this and tried to recall the details of the meeting at the door of the Great Hall. “Francis and Geoffrey were with me. We were coming into the Great Hall for the feast. As we approached the door we were involved in talking, heads bent and that sort of thing. Suddenly we nearly collided with Etienne Chastellain in the company of three clerks.” I paused. “I don’t like that man, nor the clerk who seems stuck to his side, that tall one, Eugene.”

  “Go on with the story.” William made an impatient, brushing motion with his hand. “What caught your attention?”

  “Chastellain knew who Francis was. He greeted him and made reference to his place in your household. He made a point of saying it and seemed to enjoy my surprise.” I watched William’s face in the moonlight and could see the outline of his pursed lips. He tapped his finger against them, thoughtful.

  “And one more thing. My brother told me this very afternoon that he does not know which of his counselors to trust in this court. And that includes Chastellain. What if the chief minister is in the pay of King John? And what if he has already heard the rumors about Francis? He could be in league with Amaury, each working with the other for his own ends here at court.”

  “Alaïs, all of this simply confirms my earlier decision. Francis would be safest with me, where I can defend him if need be.” William clapped his hands together with maddening finality, making as if to rise.

  “Perhaps.” I put my hand on his arm and paused until he turned to me once more. “But beware. You heard him challenge the abbot this very night at the king’s own table. I doubt that Amaury will forget his name, nor your defense of him. Now we have two enemies who are watching Francis.”

  For a moment we fell silent. Then William rose and, taking one of the tapers, padded to the hearth where sparks still lingered among the embers. He lit it from the dying fire and used it to bring several wall torches to life. Then he came back and flamed all the remaining candles near my bed, as if to dispel the fears I had voiced with the darkness. He edged me over on the bed and sat beside me.

  “Tell me more of what you suspect about the treason here at court. Perhaps if we can clean the court of corruption in the king’s own council, Francis would be safe here.” Lest I perceive an opening for renewed argument, he added hastily: “Later, that is. After this next journey.”

  I rubbed my brow. “Chastellain makes me uneasy. I do not trust him. And Philippe has said that he has a matter that he wants me to look into, a conspiracy here at court, and I am not to tell anyone. Not even his chief minister. Surely that is a signal the king does not have full trust in him, either.”

  “I confess I must take responsibility for putting that thought into Philippe’s head. We discussed the matter when we were at Blois, after Raymond left.” William, restless as ever, now made his way to the long table, pouring us each a goblet of spiced and watered wine, ever-present in its earthenware pitcher bearing the royal mark of the Capet family. “Based on what the Templar agents tell me, John knows every move Philippe’s captains make in the west before they even have their orders. There is someone at this court who is feeding them information. Some person who is privy to the king’s highest discussions. Chastellain is one possibility.”

  I thought for a moment. “Last Sunday at St. Denis there was an interruption right at the consecration of the host. Three knights shouldered their way to the front of the church to see Etienne Chastellain, and the king was in a choler about the interruption.”

  “And did Etienne then leave the church before Mass ended?” William now seemed oblivious to all thoughts of leaving my chamber.

  “No, in fact he seemed annoyed to have the interruption. Perhaps because he knew the king would be displeased.”

  “And would ask questions Etienne did not want to answer,” William countered.

  “So he dismissed them immediately and later told the king there was no reason for the interruption.”

  “Well, it could have been any number of things.” William raised his cup to his lips, his voice thoughtful.

  “I don’t think Philippe believed him,” I said, frowning as I recalled the scene in front of the abbey church. “And there was another strange event at that same Mass. The abbé at St. Denis used an unusual chalice, one I had never seen before. It had the longest, thickest stem surely ever made, braided round with gold. The cup was studded with jewels, but of course many are made that way for the great churches. It was the length and broadness of the stem that drew attention. My aunt Constance rose from her kneeler. She was riveted by it when the priest held it up for veneration of the host. Even my brother took note of her strange reaction. Then he told me later that Raymond himself had given him the chalice to take to St. Denis for safekeeping.”

  “Did he so?” William sat down again on the edge of the bed, facing me. “He said nothing to me of this.” He looked puzzled.

  “I surmised when he told me it was some deep secret that Raymond did not want bruited about. But what do you think is the provenance of this dazzling chalice?”

  “I heard tales in my youth during the wars in the Holy Land about a sacred chalice that belonged to Saint John. It had such a stem of braided gold.”

  “Saint John called the Baptist?”

  “No, the other Saint John, the young one who was close to Christ. John, called the beloved disciple. He who is the author of the fourth of the gospels.”

  “So what was the story of this chalice?” I drew my knees up for warmth, and William tucked the furs around my legs.

  “The legend is that at the Last Supper Saint John was given a cup of poisoned wine. He—”

  “Wait,” I interrupted. “Who would give Saint John poison? It was Christ they wanted out of the way.”

  He waved away my question. “This is a legend, Princesse. Yours are questions for university faculties in examinations. Do you want to hear this or not?”

  I nodded and held my tongue.

  “It appears that Saint John recognized the danger in drinking the contents, blessed the cup, and a snake crawled out over the edge and slithered off.”

  “Heavens above!” The story brought a smile to my lips. “What a story. And that same chalice found its way to Toulouse?”

  “Yes, it was brought back by some of the southern knights, along with the story of its provenance, when they returned from the wars in the Holy Land. It was held in Béziers for a time, in the residence of the Cathar bishop there. Then it disappeared, some said into the safe houses of the Cathar bishops. Suddenly it turned up again in the Toulouse cathedral, no one seemed to know how. After that it was venerated there as a true relic of Saint John by the faithful, including Raymond, Count of Toulouse. And well guarded it was, by the cathedral sextons.”

  “Was it ever out of the church?”

  “Once a year it was taken on procession for a month throughout the towns of the Toulousain in the summer. This past year, I heard reports that it was stolen while in procession between the towns of Albi and Carcassonne.”

  “So it was taken by the count’s own vassals? The Cathar nobles?”

  “So it would seem. But perhaps not. The south is a mysterious place just now. Any number of
persons could have a motive for stealing this chalice.” William frowned. “It may simply be that someone stole it to bring it north, to sell it for the gold.” He paused. “But if it were in the hands of Raymond’s churchmen all the time…”

  “Perhaps it wasn’t stolen at all.” I finished the thought.

  William moved his head from side to side, as if considering all the possibilities, and screwed up his face in thought. “What could be his motive?”

  “Raymond may have staged the theft so he could dispose of the chalice for his own purposes.”

  “I cannot think he means to sell it. Raymond is many things, but he is not that devious.” William stroked his chin in thought. “No, this object has some other value. Raymond must know what it is, and he means to secure it by sending it here.”

  “And what do you make of the attention of my aunt Constance to this chalice during the Mass?”

  “She may have recognized the object from its days when it was shown in the Toulouse cathedral for veneration by the faithful.” William was making ready to leave, rising with obvious reluctance and reaching for his sword belt. “These are events we must ponder, but I must take my leave, ma chouette. I have some preparations to make for our audience with the king in the morning, and we both must sleep.”

  As he bent low to kiss my lips, I grasped his hand and pulled his head closer to me. Taking my chance, I said: “William, truly, is it not possible that I tell Francis I am his mother before you leave? If he were sworn to secrecy…How would telling him change anything in his circumstance?”

  He straightened, looking down on me. “Alaïs, please do not ask me this again. He cannot know at this time. It would increase the danger to him, and that is already grave.”

  I know William spoke to impress me with the reasons for his adamant denial. But the sound of the words made my heart go cold.

  “All right,” I said. “The day is yours on this topic. But mind, you must keep him safe. If anything should happen to him before I have the joy of telling him I am his mother, I shall never forgive you.”