“Pierre of Castelnau, this has been a long and trying day.” My patience was about to snap. First Chastellain, now this monk. Would everyone at court beat a path to my door begging me to intercede with my brother? “I must ask you to state your business and then to leave me to my rest before the dinner hour.”
At that, the man seemed to pull himself together. “You saw me stand with my colleague this morn, in front of your brother, and beg for men to march to Toulouse and clear the land of the heresy that is rampant there.” I nodded when he paused. “I did so because I was forced to. But I do not believe such a course is the solution to the problems of the south,” he blurted out.
I was so surprised that I did suddenly sit down, taking the chair opposite him. Beads glistened again on his forehead, but he plunged gamely onward.
“My colleague, Abbé Amaury, is headstrong in the extreme. Because he was a soldier in his youth, he sees a military answer for every problem. I do not agree with him, especially in this case.”
“But why do you not, then, address this with the abbot?” I asked, not bothering to hide my annoyance. “Why is this conflict between you monks, from the same holy order and with the same charge from the pope, dragged into my chambers?”
“Princesse, hear me out. I can see you are impatient, but things are not that simple.” There was an urgency to his voice, almost a pleading.
Some inner counsel bade me hold my temper and listen to him. I recovered myself with a sigh, saying gently: “All right, Père Pierre. Just tell me the story.” I leaned forward to observe him more closely.
He rubbed his temples with the finger and thumb of his right hand, then spoke more strongly than before.
“I am a man of peace, and a man of God. I do not believe in war and killing as a way to spread the gospel of Christ. But I am in a difficult position. I have remonstrated with Amaury about the rush to war over this matter. But he answers that we are appointed by the holy father to deal with this problem. He says that to speak publicly for peace at this point would give comfort to the heretics, and perhaps prevent souls coming to Christ. That we must be strongly in favor of force, that the mere threat of force will bring them to heel, like hounds in the hunt.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No, pas du tout. I think the dogs of war have a life of their own. And I believe that Amaury wants war for himself and he will let nothing stand in his way.” The monk stopped again and hauled himself to his feet with apparent effort. He was clearly distracted as he paced around his chair and toward the hearth like a restless colt. As he talked, however, his voice became increasingly clear.
“Amaury has threatened me. If I do not support him in calling for war, especially in this suit to King Philippe, he said he will bring harm to me and my family.” He stopped and made a sound, as if clearing something from deep in his throat. “You saw the anger on his face this morning, when he did not believe I was firm enough in what I said.”
“Yes, I saw that anger. But what has brought you here to me, and just at this moment?”
He sat down again and looked at the floor. “I cannot stand by and watch what is happening without telling someone. These things are not right.”
“You mean the killing of young Geoff today,” I said quietly, as the truth dawned.
“Yes,” he said with simplicity. “You must know that was no accident.”
In my heart I had known all along.
“Amaury managed to have a brief conversation with de Donzy as we crossed the field before the games. Chastellain had already informed him of the outcome of his request to you in the pavilion. They knew you had refused to interfere, and they wanted to send a message to you and, God help us, to the king himself.” The monk, whose hands had lain in his lap, began to clasp his fingers as if imploring God himself to hear him. I rose and placed a hand on his shoulder as I passed him. I thought of young Geoff fading from life as he tried to apologize to me, and of Francis flexing his sword hand in frustration, and I felt the cold breath of death brush my neck. I shuddered.
“And that is why you left the field before the end. You knew what would happen.”
He nodded. “I do not know how they manipulated the lists to have de Donzy fight the youth, but I heard Amaury make a comment of satisfaction to Chastellain. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘they will see that the great Lord William’s house is not invulnerable. The smallest will go first.’”
“But how can Amaury harm you?” I returned to him with a cup of mead from the side table. He took it with shaking hands, and put the cup to his lips as I resumed my seat opposite him. “You are joint legates of the pope. Neither of you is above the other. Surely if the pope knew of this threat to William, or to you, there would be strong consequences.”
“I have a half sister in Béziers, a noblewoman of the name Beatrice.” He set his cup down and rose again to pace, his fluttering hands showing his agitation. The fire spat a few cinders on the hearth, narrowly missing his slippers.
“Ah, yes, I have heard her name.” I managed a smile, hoping to calm him. “Her beauty is legendary.”
“She was once married to Count Raymond’s father. But she was sent away from his court when the count wanted to marry Constance, the sister of the king of France. Now Amaury says he has evidence that my sister, Beatrice, is connected to these Cathar heretics, that she has given their preachers shelter. He has said he will see her burn as a heretic, and also her family, if I do not do as he directs.”
“I see.” And indeed, unbeknownst to the monk I did see, but what I saw I could not describe to him. In a lightning flash came the morning scene in my brother’s presence chamber, and the retiring Pierre de Castelnau saying little, but standing straight beside the florid abbot. Another tall, equally slender figure stood next to him, face shadowed by her falling cascade of graying hair. She was so thin I thought she must be brittle, could break easily. The abbot pointed an accusing figure at his comrade, but it was the woman who was suddenly engulfed in flames. I closed my eyes, but the vision persisted for fully another moment. I swayed slightly, and caught the carved arm of the chair to steady myself.
Silence filled the chamber. Finally, I stood and spoke, trying to push the sadness of my vision away and bring hope to my voice. “You heard my brother. He will not countenance sending his men and arms to the south at this time. So you are in the best possible position, Pierre of Castelnau. You have performed in public as Amaury required, your family is safe, and still what you secretly want will come to pass. There will be no interference from the crown of France in the southern situation at this time. What else would you have me do?”
“My family is not out of danger. Amaury is persuasive. The king may change his mind. But worse than that, I feel impotent. I cannot prevent this impending disaster from happening. I know there will be war and carnage. All will be swept away before these terrible armies.” As he spoke, he flung out his arm and cleared the small table in front of him, sending the bowl of fruit and the cup of mead clattering to the floor. “My sister will die in flames, and I am helpless to prevent it.”
Then Pierre de Castelnau slumped back into his chair and held his head. I could think of nothing to say. Indeed, what could I do to ease this monk’s mind? I knew, with excruciating clarity, that all he said was true. It would come to pass as he saw it.
“I cannot sleep at night. Whatever I do, I know it will matter not. I see the crowds of knights on horseback and hear their hoofbeats. I see them advance on my sister’s city. I watch the flames and hear the screams of the people as they burn, trapped in their church. Then I wake.” His sobs took him over as his voice broke.
I leaned down and peered closely at Pierre. I saw an ascetic man, perhaps a holy man, but more than that. I suddenly recognized another such as myself, one who had the gift of second sight. I knew well that in his realm, in those things that concerned him directly, he could see the future. I recalled my special vision the day the monks arrived, the strange circle of men who ritually
plunged their torches into the ground. I felt the power of the church as I knew Pierre felt it also. It was temporal power, but something more than that.
“How would you like me to help?” I said finally, willing to place my gifts in his service.
After a moment, the sobbing ebbed and he lifted his tearstained face to me. “I have two requests,” he snuffled as he gradually gained control. “First, use all your influence with your brother to help him hold to his resolution not to get involved in this malicious business.”
“Easily done,” I said, seating myself once more, this time on a stool in front of the saddened monk. “I share your view against war in the south. And especially that it should not come by the hand of France. And the second request?”
“If anything happens to me, find a way to help my sister.”
I reached out to him, not as a princesse of the royal house of France, but as a woman who had had a sister once and now had none. My right hand covered his and I felt how cold were his fingers. “Why do you think your sister is in danger?”
He looked me in the eye without flinching. “She may, in fact, have done what Amaury says. But she is a good woman, nonetheless.”
I held his hand deliberately for a time, and then I rose. I went to the fire and gazed into the flickering flames for a long moment.
“I will help you, Pierre de Castelnau,” I finally said when I turned. “I will help you because I think Amaury’s venture is woefully misguided. And because I like him not. And because I, too, once lost a sister.”
I moved back to him and stood directly in front of him. “But I will help you in every way I can most of all because I despise fanatics. And your colleague, with his devotion to arms and power, seems to be altogether more fanatic than any so-called heretic.”
The monk rose with a stiff movement and bowed low before me. “If you were not a princess, and I not a priest of God and legate of the holy father, I would embrace you for what you have just said. I know you have the courage to keep your word, and I give you thanks with all my heart.”
For a moment I stared at him, and then I amazed myself. I, a royal princess of France, lifted my good hand to this monk’s shoulders and reached up to brush his cheeks on either side with my own. Then I stepped back.
“Ah,” he said with wonder in his voice, “you have the healing touch. You are one of us.”
“I embrace you also with my spirit,” I said, nodding to him. “Go with God. Be of good heart.” But my own heart was heavy as the door closed behind him. I felt great sadness at the monk’s grief for what he had seen of the future.
As I reflected gloomily on recent events, my puzzlement increased. Where was appearance and where truth in these scenes? What was the meaning of the conference I had observed between my aunt Constance and Abbot Amaury? The monk, Pierre, who seemed an ally to the evil abbot, was not; and my aunt, who seemed his enemy, might not be what she appeared, either.
I scarce had time to ponder these thoughts before Mignonne appeared at my door. She was a whirling storm of movement and a glad distraction for me. Her ministrations brought me back to the present. Hot water had been ordered from the kitchens and I was glad to shed my dusty gown and sink into the warmth of the oak tub. My hair felt dusty from the tourney field, and I wished for time to soak it, too, and smooth it with oil, but I knew my presence was required in the Great Hall soon. Tonight I would wind my tresses into braids with jewels and coil them on the crown of my head and wear the scarlet gown and pearl-laced velvet redingote and William would be most pleased. But even that thought could not push aside the fears that were gathering in my heart.
.12.
The Great Hall
It was not an hour later that, dressed and composed, I entered the Great Hall. Whilst we had been at the tournament lackeys had brought in huge oak tables and set them on trestles, then covered them with colorful woven cloths. The trenchers the servants had used for their midday meal were replaced with silver plates and platters and all looked ready for another festive evening. Clusters of nobles and their ladies stood everywhere between the tables, talking and taking goblets from the trays Philippe’s liveried servants carried as they circulated among them.
All of the visiting nobles, their knights and ladies, were invited to dine with the king. I knew that their retainers were having their own fill of meat and wine in the bowels of the palace, dressed in their daily leather jerkins and no doubt happy with their lot. But this hall was filled with jewels, rich robes, color, and laughter. I marveled at the cheer spilling around the room as if nothing dire had occurred at the tourney only a few hours earlier. For myself, I could take no part in it; Geoff’s pale face was still etched before me.
My gaze swept the room, searching for William. With surprise, I saw my aunt Constance making a low bow to my brother. What, I wondered, had propelled this hermit into the company of the court twice in one day?
William usually watched for my entrance, coming to my side before he lost me in the crowd. Tonight, however, when my glance alighted on his tall figure, he was already occupied. I was startled to see him deep in conversation, and with no less a personage than my aunt Charlotte, abbess of Fontevraud! When had she arrived? She had not been at the tourney, nor did Philippe tell me she was expected at court this autumn.
I paused for a moment. Their conversation appeared intense. I noted what a handsome couple they made—my tall, elegant aunt with her utter disregard for abbey protocol, dressed as she was in deep green velvet and mauve silk robes, the hint of cream silk slashing her long, pointed sleeves, and William in his own court finery and broad shoulders. I knew that my aunt had been chosen to attend some of the debates between Cathar believers and churchmen of Rome in the south and I wondered if she brought news for William to aid his mission.
Charlotte saw me first. She broke from William, and came to greet me with great affection, and I returned her embrace right willingly. My gratitude for her recent role in reconciling me with my stepmother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, was still strong. And I so admired her style!
William came after her, and made the customary bow over my right hand. My withered left hand, gloved as usual in public, slipped into my pocket after I embraced Charlotte. Both Charlotte and I began to speak at the same time, then we laughed and she held up her hands in surrender. I began again, more slowly this time.
“Aunt Charlotte, what a delight to see you. And what brings you to court? We had no word you were coming, or at least none I heard.” As soon as the words were spoken I regretted them. I hoped my greeting did not sound like a rebuke.
“Alaïs, I had no time to send ahead. I arrived only this afternoon. I have received news from Moissac Abbey that I thought Philippe should hear. And I wanted to bring it myself.”
“What news, pray, Aunt?”
“The abbot at Moissac has paid a visit to the court of Count Raymond at Toulouse and encountered rude challenges from some of the nobles, who appear to follow the new religion. Charlotte thought Philippe should have the letter from the abbot that describes the painful confrontation.” William responded for her. “It will be a help for me to know, also, what news there is before I leave on my mission.”
As if on cue my brother joined us, providing a temporary distraction. “We have been waiting for you, Princesse, before we take our places for the feast. Pray, let us tarry no longer.” Philippe took my elbow in a way that brooked no resistance, and we led the group to the table on the dais.
“Did you know of Charlotte’s coming?” I dropped my voice, so as not to be overheard.
“No. There was no message ahead of her arrival. She whispered when she greeted me that she carries a letter from the abbot at Moissac. She doesn’t trust couriers. She seemed quite secretive.”
“What could be in the letter? Have you seen it yet?” Philippe was handing me up the steps to the high table and I turned as I spoke, keeping my voice low.
“I had no time. She just walked into the hall before you. I told her I would
see this missive tomorrow morn, before the hunt. No sooner were the words from my mouth than William joined us and eased her away for a private conversation.”
“Have you found out more about Constance’s clandestine meetings in Créteil?” I whispered so the footmen standing along the stone wall would not hear.
“No, and I don’t want to talk about this where others may overhear.” Philippe smiled as he spoke, looking beyond my shoulder in that annoying way he had sometimes of appearing to search for more interesting company while talking to me. He nodded at someone and I turned to see the two papal legates mounting the dais. Amaury appeared refreshed, apparently recovered from the trauma of viewing combat that afternoon. Pierre’s eyes were downcast and he did not meet mine, though I tried to give him a reassuring gesture. My brother beckoned the page to assist me into the seat left vacant, once again, by the queen.
I prayed Philippe would not motion Amaury to the seat on my right, longing instead for William to take it. But it was not to be. A royal motion sent the abbot to my side and I turned to make a quick grimace to my brother’s back. On Philippe’s other side sat my aunt Charlotte, then William, then Pierre de Castelnau.
With surprise, I saw my aunt Constance being led to the place on the other side of Amaury. Well, well, this might prove interesting, indeed. Perhaps through listening to their casual dinner conversation I would gain some clue as to the meaning of the earlier, more intimate, meeting I had stumbled upon. Evidence was mounting that my aunt Constance, who appeared so seldom in public, had a remarkable affinity for more personal conversations, and not only at Créteil.
I turned in my chair to greet my aunt as she passed behind me, led by one of the king’s pages. We were not on such close terms that we embraced. Still, her brother had been my own father, so I gave her my hand and accepted her slight bow of courtesy to me (she was, after all, now only the wife of a deceased count and sister to a deceased king whereas I was a reigning king’s sister and a princesse in my own right).
The Rebel Princess Page 15
