“Bah! As I told you, I had to seize the day. The king was not going to accede to our wishes, pope’s letter or no. If we can offer William information on his young ward’s whereabouts, he is much more likely to bend our way in Toulouse, where that fool Castelnau is bound for the conference with Count Raymond.”
“How are you going to tell William you have information on the lad without arousing his suspicions that you were involved in his disappearance?” Chastellain’s comment cause a sharp intake of the abbot’s breath, followed by an audible sigh. “The man has a temper. I have seen it.”
“I’ve already thought of that. I will let him know that we have captured a messenger who was taking word to the Cathars of the young knight’s whereabouts.”
“So the shadow of suspicion will fall on the Cathars,” Chastellain murmured. “Elegant indeed. But won’t the young man lay the blame on you when he is back with his master?”
“No, he’s never seen me. He was always kept in the back of the train, with a foulard around his eyes, and I took care that he did not know who we were, nor where we were going. We could actually take him to the countryside and leave him, and he could never point a finger.”
“Because if he did identify you as his abductor…” Chastellain left the unspoken words hanging in the air.
“I have considered that possibility. I will make certain he knows nothing. The alternative course of action would be to close his mouth forever, so there would be no way to trace his disappearance back to us.” There was a pause. “I have not yet made a final decision. I will see what William’s response is first. I have sent a messenger to him to tell him I have news. I expect an answer soon.”
My heart chilled at these words. I realized how I had slowed in my work, and hoped the two men would not notice the inconsequential nun in front of them, fiddling at the altar, moving the tall and weighty candlesticks from left to right and back again.
“But having influence over Lord William was not the only cause of my action. I wanted the young man also because I thought Constance had given him the chalice.”
“What chalice?” Chastellain sounded impatient.
“You know well what chalice! Constance met me that very evening and told me you arranged to have the cup stolen from St. Denis. You bungled that as well, your men killing that sacristan. You can’t murder a monk in the sacristy of the largest abbey in Paris and get away scot-free! Now the king cannot overlook this theft, as he might have otherwise.”
“And what was the chalice to you, if I had stolen it?”
“I wanted it for the same reason you did.” Amaury’s voice tightened. “The object contains directions for finding the Cathars’ treasure lode. The clues have been worked into the jewels around the lip. Or somewhere else. I need the cup to find that gold. It could fund my entire work against the heretics.” Amaury paused. “Then I wouldn’t need the king of France,” he growled.
“I never knew it had a treasure map.” Chastellain sounded genuinely confused. I could only raise my eyes heavenward. God’s teeth, as King Henry was wont to say. The only thing worse than a corrupt courtier was a stupid one. “Constance pressured me to have my men steal the cup because she said it belonged rightfully to her son’s cathedral in Toulouse.” Chastellain’s voice had a tone of one ill-used. “She promised if I brought it to her, she would use her influence with Philippe to send men for our war against heretics. But the very night I delivered it to her, after that unfortunate sacristan got in the way of my man’s sword, she simply took it. By morning, instead of meeting me as promised to finalize her strategy with the king, she had disappeared.”
“And that shows what you know about the court in Paris. She has no influence with her nephew, the king,” Amaury railed. “And now, where on God’s earth is the damnable chalice? When I heard about the theft I sent to her, but the servant returned saying she had suddenly left the palace. Only the night before it was stolen, Constance met with me and promised I should have it when it came into her possession.”
“You are angry because you think she played you for a fool?” Chastellain emitted a short bark that could pass for a laugh in some quarters.
I heard an impatient thump on the floor as Amaury pounded his abbot’s staff on the stone floor. That staff was probably as good a weapon as any for a murder. “I think she played both of us for fools. But I still hold a trump. And that is young Francis of York. I’ll get something out of this muddle yet.”
I heard the rustle of silk again, and surmised both men had stood.
“And the young knight? He knows nothing of this treasure?” Chastellain said.
There was a pause, and I hurriedly finished smoothing the new cloth along the edges of the stone altar. I felt the hot breath of their sudden observation on my neck, and knew I was in danger if I tarried further. I made a deep genuflection to the altar, and began to walk away from the voices of the men, bowing my head to hide any accidental sighting of my face.
“No, he says he knows nothing of this cup. And my chief assistants, who have been questioning him, now believe he is innocent of any information.”
His voice trailed away as I glided out of the abbey church and into the cloister walks. So Amaury took Francis, but he didn’t have the chalice. Then Constance must have taken it with her when she fled the court. I had much to think on as I walked back to my guesthouse and it was only when I arrived that I became aware that I was still carrying the used altar cloth. I had forgotten to leave it with the laundry sisters. I hurried back to deposit it with the nuns, givng them a forced smile. I was grateful for their silent practice. My heart was too full for speech. When I returned to our hut, I pushed open the door to tell Geralda of my most recent discovery, and to make a plan for our evening search.
.22.
The Women’s Hut
Geralda could see I was brimming with excitement. Fabrisse and Grazide had also returned from their work and were seated on the sleeping pallets with crossed legs, their backs against the wattle-and-daub hut’s walls. They ceased their conversation as soon as I appeared.
“Princesse, you have news,” Geralda said.
“I can see by your face.”
“Indeed,” I replied. “And I now have reason to believe that our time is running short for a rescue. I overheard Amaury and Chastellain in the chapel.”
“Did they see you?” Geralda was alert, as always, to the signs of danger.
“No, I never turned their way. Even if Amaury knew we were here, he would have no reason to suspect a group of nuns making a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela.” I sat down on the only wooden chair the room afforded. Suddenly I was very tired.
“But I now know why Francis was taken. And that Amaury has not yet decided his fate. We must take action soon. My son is in mortal danger.”
“I have told Fabrisse and Grazide that you found the scarf that Francis took from you the day of the tourney in Paris. And that you suspect he is being kept in the third guesthouse.”
“We need to move quickly,” I said. “I believe we could discover that guesthouse this day, and find out under what circumstances Francis is being held. Then, even this very night, we could go under cover of darkness and create a disturbance, and in the chaos that ensues set the lad free.”
“Mother of God,” Fabrisse breathed, but whether in excitement or fear, I knew not.
“What sort of disturbance?” Geralda asked ominously, as if she knew already.
“A fire,” I said, rising in my agitation and pacing the length of the little hut. “It is the perfect weapon. We have never let the fire in our hearth go out. We have a torch we can light from that fire and take with us. If we can ascertain during daylight how he is being guarded, we can put a torch to a hay left in the surrounding field. Then we can raise the alarm. While everyone is distracted, we can take Francis away to our hut.”
“And where will we hide him? Our place is so small.” Grazide’s eyes were widening by the moment. All of the adventures she had
endured since leaving Lavaur were as nothing to what I was now proposing. What stories she would have to carry back to her family!
“I will show you. This morn as I was preparing to draw the small animals and birds for a diversion, I came across a peculiar thing, an opening surrounded by a set of bricks right next to our own chimney. Come outside with me.” And I led them to the door, and around to the side of our little structure. As I walked them through the events of the morning that led to my amazing discovery, I could see their interest mounting. We wound up back in the house, where I showed them the loose stones on the hearth.
I kicked the side of the stones gently, and they moved under my foot. “I removed the stones, and, voilà, something extraordinary came into view.” I brushed aside some of the rushes in front of the stone hearth with my foot. “Come, help me take them up again. I’ll show you something amazing.”
With a willing attitude, the women came to my side, driven as much by curiosity as a desire to help. In a short time, we had pulled up the dozen flat stones ringing the hearth. Geralda came to look over my shoulder, following with her gaze the direction of my extended hand and gasped.
“By the breath of Christ and Saint John,” she breathed. “What is it?”
The other two women crowded around. Set in the stone floor was a heavy oak piece with an iron ring fixed into one corner. But what was most arresting was the carving in the center of this door, for door it appeared to be.
“What is it?” Fabrisse echoed.
“Ugh,” the younger Grazide said. “It is a monster.”
“No, not at all.” I smiled, though I had been as startled as the others at the initial sight. “It is a figure of a woman carved into oak.”
“But look at her pose, and all of those breasts.” Grazide was fascinated.
“It is merely a remnant of the old pagan ways, a figure to honor fertility.” I tried to speak calmly, especially for the younger women, though I was excited about my find. “It is called a Sheila-na-gig in England, from the Celtic tradition. It is even worked into some of the churches that have been built since the time of William Rufus. I saw one myself at Whittlesford when I rode with King Henry’s party there.”
“But what’s it doing here, at the abbey?” Geralda’s heavy brows were drawn together. “This is supposed to be a place of Christian prayer.”
I shrugged. “Many Christian abbeys were built over the old pagan sites. Surely you have heard of the black virgins? They were simply shrines to the Roman goddess Diana that were appropriated by the monks.” I was amused at the expression of horror on the faces of the two younger women. “But it makes good sense, you see. The managers of the new religion let the folk keep the dark figure of the goddess of the hunt and the moon. They simply redirected their homage to the Christian mother of God.”
“Does this drawing not disturb you?” Geralda asked. “Where it came from? What it might portend? It may have been carved by those who believe in witchcraft.”
“Not at all. I have no interest in the history of this place. And I do not believe in bad luck or omens, not in this way.” I stared down at the carving with its many breasts and it stared back at me. There were eyes carved into the face, unlike the other one I had seen. “If I were to take any meaning from its appearance at this time, I would say it is a sign from God that a mother’s love will triumph.”
They all fell silent. Then I continued, in a lighter tone, “But if there is no meaning beyond a convenience, then I say this image and the alcove it hides will do very well to hide my son until we can spirit him away. Help me move this heavy plank, my sisters. I am not strong enough to move it by myself.”
Together Geralda and I pulled on the ring until the board lifted, and Fabrisse and Grazide grabbed the sides as they rose. We were able to drag the oak piece off and I was amazed to see a large opening scooped out from the ground.
A small rope ladder led down to the opening, which appeared quite large.
I quickly untied my veil, and unwound my white wimple. My hair fell around me and it felt good to have it unbound, even for this brief time.
“What are you doing, Princesse?” Grazide, ever curious, came right up behind me.
“I am going to descend to the underworld, little one, and I do not want to get my wimple dirty and have uninvited questions from the nuns in the laundry or from Brother James, should we meet him.” So saying, I cast the white cloth onto my pallet and took a small torch from its holder on the wall. After I lit it from our hearth fire, I handed it to Fabrisse. Then I began my careful descent down the ladder as she held the light close to the opening. With only one good hand, I had to go slowly.
“I’ll come as well,” Geralda said, and began to discard her own wimple, seeing the sense of what I said about keeping it clean.
I stopped, my hand firmly grasping the ladder. I was already waist deep in the hole and able to hold my balance only by applying some strength.
“No, Geralda, I forbid it,” I said sternly. “We do not know what is below. Just wait one moment.” And I continued down the ladder before she could reply.
I was startled to find the space much larger than it appeared from above. Indeed, it was quite comfortable, with a sleeping pallet in one corner, a small table, and some curious artifacts sitting there. I did not have the time or interest to examine them, but thought that later—if all worked well—I would do so. I could not help but believe this oddity in the large and well-run abbey had to do with some protection that had been offered to adherents of the old religion. But who they were or why they were hidden here might remain a mystery.
I cast a glance at the far end of the little chamber, and saw an odd thing: a hearth with a small chimney built upward. There was no sign that a fire had ever been laid there, and I got down on my knees to peer upward.
As I gazed up the chimney structure, I glimpsed blue sky above and suddenly knew what this was. Rising from the hearth, dusty with ill-use if not with ashes, I brushed my hands with great satisfaction. Someone had stayed for some time in this underground chamber. And they had had the benefit of air flowing from the chimney to the outside to keep them well.
The room seemed clean, or at least as clean as an underground hiding place could be, and it seemed a miraculous answer to aid our plans to rescue Francis, for once we had rescued him, what would we have done to hide him? It was with a light heart that I made my ascent and began my report to my friends on the comfort of that space, and my discovery of the small chimney to the outside.
Suddenly we heard the large abbey bells tolling for the noon prayer, and I rushed to wash my hands and rewind my wimple. Geralda and the two young women were able to drag the oak door with the fertility goddess on its back over the hole and replace the tiles and the rushes that covered it.
We were all a bit breathless as we left the hut, once again observing the silence the abbey demanded of its guests as well as its monks and brothers, for most of the day. But my heart was beating fast as I continued to make my plans to find Francis that very night. As we walked through the short forest path, past the laundry building and toward the abbey church, my head was spinning. I did not know how I would contain myself until we were free once again after the noon meal.
We filed into the abbey church, our hands folded and our eyes downcast, as befitted our status as pilgrim sisters. We took our places at the back of the church. I was interested to watch Abbot Amaury lead the procession to the front of the church, with the current abbot, a small, bent figure, walking behind him. There was no mistake about who still wielded the power at Fontfroide Abbey! Or so I thought.
I did not see Chastellain or any of his retinue, as the monks continued to pour into the chapel in their orderly way, singing the beautiful chant in the Latin tongue as their tradition demanded. I wondered if he had already left the abbey, his mission fulfilled after his conference with Amaury. Perhaps he was already on the road to Rome.
The opening prayer was from Psalms, and it gave me great coura
ge:
When the Lord led back the captives of Sion
We were like men in a dream
Then was our mouth filled with laughter and our tongue with rejoicing.
My heart lifted at these words, and for the first time in many months gratitude filled me. I had a strong feeling now that I would be successful in my quest, and my son would be safe.
It was after Nones, the midafternoon prayers, that we finally made our way back to our hut. The November late afternoon sun was settling behind the trees, and I encouraged our little group to wander out. We need not go far, I told them. The third guesthouse must be close by. And so Grazide and Fabrisse set out toward the deeper woods, giggling softly with no one around to hear them.
Geralda and I made our way over the meadow, just down the path from our hut. We stayed close to the tree line, so as not to be observed, and when we had attained the third rise, we were rewarded.
“By Saint John’s Gospel,” Geralda said, as we came over the rise. And we both shrank into the bushes alongside the trees.
For before us the third guesthouse came into view, much larger than the other two. It had a chimney like ours, but appeared to consist of at least two rooms, more than double the size of our quarters.
What made Geralda exclaim, however, was the sight of two burly men-at-arms standing outside the door. They would surely have seen us had we been walking in the open fields.
One was talking to the other, and gesturing. After a moment, and a terse response from the second man, he turned and went inside.
“So there is one to keep guard outside. That means that two men are assigned here,” I murmured. “If this building is so well guarded, there must be something important inside. Something that must be protected, or imprisoned.”
“We can’t know how many men are inside,” Geralda said, as we crept deeper into the trees. We made our way back to our guesthouse inside the tree line now, but keeping close to the meadow opening so as not to lose our way.
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