He paused. “I did not know it would be you who found it, but nothing you do surprises me.”
Now it was my turn to smile. “I suppose I should be flattered.”
“No, Princesse, I meant no offense. I only know that Lord William has talked of you often. He says you have more courage than any man he knows, and that you are resourceful beyond belief. He is the one who first said that nothing you undertake astonishes him. I always had trust that if Lord William didn’t find me you would.” He reached out his hand to me. “I would search for you if something happened in the same way. We have a bond. I know not how it has come about.”
“It is true,” I said simply, taking his hand. I knew I must put down my urge to tell him the whole truth now. There was not time. “I feel it also.”
We looked at each other. It was enough for the moment.
“If I am not to stay here forever, what is the plan?” Francis said suddenly, as if the silence between us had become too much to sustain.
“Geralda and I have discussed it. We are playing the same game Amaury played with you in Paris; we will hide you near while the abbot’s men scour the countryside looking for you. When they tire, and believe you have eluded them, we will spirit you away.”
“How will that come about?” For the first time, the practical nature of our predicament was making an impression on him. “You are four women and I am clearly not one of you.”
“You shall be. After two days, we will announce that we must continue our pilgrimage. We will ask that the abbey order our horses ready early on the morning of the next day and you will dress in an extra Benedictine habit that Geralda brought with her. You must have noticed her great height, which is quite convenient.” That brought another chuckle from the young man.
“When the four of you are well away from the abbey, you will split up. Geralda will go with you to Foix, by way of Fanjeaux and Laurac, where you will be sure of a welcome from the nobles as they are sympathetic to the Cathar way. Geralda is known to them. You will be safe at Foix until I join you.”
“And where will the others go?”
“They will take the more traditional route toward Santiago de Compostela, and then turn sharply north just before they cross the border into Pierre d’Aragon’s land.” I forestalled his next question. “On the outside chance that you are followed from here, they will not know which party to keep in sight.”
“It sounds like a good plan, Princesse.” Francis yawned and stretched again, then stopped. “But what will you do? How can you be safe?”
“I will melt into the forest, lad. I am adept at that feat, from my years in England hunting with King Henry.”
“Did you know him then?” The voice was wistful. “He is my hero, more than anyone. The Lord William has talked of him so often. He was his clerk when he was a youth.”
“Yes, I knew him well,” was all the comment I could muster at this. What would the lad say when I finally told him?
But our conversation was cut off by the tapping sound of the tile on the door. Then I began to hear a scraping sound of the door being raised.
“Princesse, you must come up. It is near daylight now, and you can afford no more time.” Geralda’s strong voice floated downward. I sighed.
“Lad, I must go. Rest now, for you will need your strength. We will come for you when the dark falls, and you and I can walk in the forest late at night. You will breathe the fresh air, and we will be safe in the late hours.” Even as I spoke, my eyes pricked with tears, which I blinked back in embarrassment.
Geralda lowered a basket as I came to the bottom of the ladder, which I caught and passed to Francis. “Here is food, young Francis, that we brought in secret from the refectory. This should sustain you for some time. Try and rest so you can move about at night. And conserve yourself. The trip to Foix will be demanding.”
“I shall do as you suggest, Princesse.” Francis’s face registered his pleasure at the basket. “What a relief it will be to eat food without the rank smell of curing animals in my nostrils.” And my last sight was of the young knight eagerly tearing into the bread and gulping wine from the flagon in the basket. I knew he would sleep soundly after that. And I ascended the ladder with a heart full of gratitude.
.24.
In the Abbot’s Quarters
For the next two days, waiting was the hard part. We went about our chores with some eagerness. After all, we wanted to appear as normal pilgrims. We also kept our ears open, and shared all of the rumors that came past us as we worked: Geralda in the kitchen, I with the laundry sisters, Fabrisse who was assigned to sweep the cloister walks, and Grazide who was busy weeding the herb garden.
Amaury did exactly as I had hoped: his men went forth that very day from the abbey, raising the hue and cry in the countryside. They had no idea that Francis was hiding under their very noses, the exact tactic Amaury had used in Paris. Though my spirit was anxious, I smiled a great deal as I went about my work and prayer in the monastic community in those days.
True to our word, we took our leave of Father Hospitaler on the eve of the second day, and promised to pray for him and all the monks of this abbey when we should arrive at Compostela. We retired after Compline. The darkness had invaded our little hut, and we kept only two candles burning.
We had told Francis I would not be visiting this night, as we all needed to sleep. We did not attend the predawn Matins in the chapel. Instead, when the bells rang, we removed the tiles, slid the heavy door away, and I descended to Francis with the extra black habit and veil Geralda had brought.
It was tight for him, and I had to push down a smile when I saw him struggle to pull the fabric across his broad back as it came down over his head.
“Princesse,” he said, when his face was free of the black cloth, “I would be so grateful if you could restrain your amusement.” At which point I laughed out loud and he eventually joined me, although with a quaver in his weak voice.
“Francis, some years ago you told me you loved the stage,” I said after a moment of quiet. “I saw you perform in the ‘Debate Between the Body and Soul,’ in Chinon village. You are a gifted and convincing actor. I suggest you look upon the role of nun with the same relish, as one who loves the stage. If you do, you will attain your freedom.”
After we had wound the wimple and pinned the veil, we ascended the ladder for the last time. Grazide had obtained food from the abbey kitchens and had packed the bread and olives and small flagon of wine into a basket they had also kindly given her.
We said our farewell in the center of the hut’s room. I had changed into the clothes used for travel before I began my recent life as a Benedictine, the clothes of a page or messenger. I wore hose and a leather doublet and I had a short cloak as well among my other meager belongings. My hair was wound atop my head and well hidden by the cap that covered it.
“Let us review the plan,” I said, placing Philippe’s maps upon the floor. “You will all leave together. When you arrive at Alaric, Geralda, you and Francis will strike out for the north.” I traced the way with my finger. “Grazide and Fabrisse will go straight east as if to continue to Santiago de Compostela. If anyone is following you, they will be confused.”
The four nodded. “Grazide, to confound Amaury’s men further, you must take my short cloak, the one with the insignia of the house of Capet on it.” I handed her the folded mantle.
“You can wear this over your habit when you part company with the others. If anyone is following you, they will see the royal insignia and think you are me. I doubt that any harm will come to you if your pursuers think you are the sister of the king of France.” I felt particularly pleased to have thought of this ruse. “You should discard the nun’s costumes before you reach Montségur. Once there, the Cathars will give you hospitality and new clothes. After a few days’ rest, you, too, may turn north and join us at Foix.”
I stood up and rolled up the map. “We shall all meet at Foix within the fortnight. If you are in trouble
, send word there. The Lady Philippa will respond with her husband’s men, if needed.”
“And will you be all right?” Geralda put her hand on my arm and looked steadily into my face. “You will no longer have the Benedictine habit to get you free food and lodging in the towns.”
“I shall be fine.” I pulled a leather purse from within my doublet. “I have the four gold pieces I sewed into the hem of my habit before we left Lavaur. I’ll buy a horse and food at the first village I come to, and will head north immediately. I know how to travel alone.”
So we embraced and said our good-byes once again. I watched the four figures make their way across the meadow for the last time. Then I took the bread and fruit that had been left for me, wrapped it into a bundle and left the hut.
This would be the most difficult task: to travel alone, not to be with Francis, not to aid him if he needed it. I must trust that he would be safe. But I knew I had made the right decision. Of the four, I was the only one who knew how to travel alone.
I headed into the woods, thinking to circle around and avoid the abbey close. I would be less noticeable if I did not cut through the cloister walks, but followed the fence around to the main gates. And I certainly did not want to become caught up in the leave-taking of the four nuns, as they mounted their horses and rode out to continue their pilgrimage.
All went well for some time. As I suspected, the forest was naught but a small stand of trees, and I soon came to the fence that I knew surrounded the abbey and kept the farm animals in the far corners of the fields. But then, as the sun was climbing, I noticed a figure making his way far behind me, slowing as I slowed and speeding up as I did the same. The man took care that the distance between us remained the same, no matter my speed.
Finally, I saw the gates of the abbey. I had come full circle round the entire meadow and was approaching from the other side, having avoided the more crowded parts, the monks in the fields, and even much of the commerce that always took place in the abbey close. Suddenly my pursuer, for that is what this mysterious figure had become, closed the space between us. It happened so fast I was taken unawares. One moment I thought I was going to achieve my freedom as I mingled with the merchants and those buying from them in the dusty little lanes of commerce set up near the gates, and the next someone was grabbing my arm from behind, and twisting it hard.
“Let me go,” I cried, more in exasperation than in pain, for he was not actually hurting me.
“Not a chance, lad,” the man growled in my ear. “You have an appointment with the authorities.”
I resisted, but we were drawing the attention of the crowd, and so I allowed myself to be led off. I knew this would have no good end, for I would either be brought before that unpleasant man who first questioned us the night Francis disappeared, or mayhap before Amaury himself. But, I considered, if it were Amaury, he would not dare touch me. He couldn’t afford to alienate the king of France.
And indeed, it appeared we were heading for the abbot’s quarters. The man, who was not much taller than I, but very muscular, kept a hand on my arm. I decided to go along willingly. No need to make a further spectacle of myself.
We were admitted into the large room, after the man explained to the guards that he had found me skulking around the meadow grounds, and that I might know something about the missing knight. I was surprised at what I saw.
The room had many windows allowing the morning light to flood all the spaces. There were many leather-bound manuscripts resting on the shelves, and more lying about on tables. One old, bent man sat at one end of a large table. I knew he was the current abbot, and the man I had seen follow Amaury in the formal procession in the abbey church.
Arnaud Amaury sat at the opposite end of the table. He looked, if possible, even more degenerate than he had in Paris. His face was heavy with fatigue and the good meals he was consuming at Fontfroide’s expense. He had what appeared to be a permanent scowl on his face as he sat heavily in his chair reading parchment that had been placed in front of him, turning the pages with impatience and an occasional unhappy exclamation.
As we waited, I examined the face of the older man, who had not yet looked up at us. His face seemed tranquil, arranged in symmetry, as far as I could see. Several other men, not monks, loitered at one end of the room, as if at the beck and call of either man. Both the churchmen were dressed in the finery of their office, as if trying to outdo each other. My sympathy, such as I had available at the moment, was all with the old abbot, who must be struggling to maintain his authority now that his predecessor had invaded his abbey with a retinue of strongmen. But his calm demeanor belied the thought of such competitive actions.
The old abbot looked up finally, as did Amaury. The man who had captured me made his bow. The abbot inclined his head with permission for him to speak.
“Your Grace, we found this young man lurking about the abbey grounds, near to the place where the horses were stolen.” The man spoke in the accents of the langue d’oïl, and I knew he had ridden in with Amaury.
I stood straight and proud before my enemy, for so I now knew he was in every way. Amaury looked at me briefly, then down again to his papers, and suddenly looked up again. The shock of recognition passed over his face. I had him at a disadvantage there, as I already knew it was himself in front of me.
“Princesse Alaïs?” the old reprobate asked, his hoarse voice betraying his total surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“I had a particular errand, Abbé,” I replied, adopting as cool a tone as was possible under the circumstances. “It seems a young knight disappeared from the Lord William’s household in Paris. I thought he might be here.”
Amaury had risen, and slowly came toward me, peering at my face, as if I were a ghost.
“What made you think that?” Recalling the threat he had made at dinner in Paris about my special gifts, I saw the fear on his face with satisfaction. Perhaps now he would be certain I could call upon supernatural powers.
“I met a colleague of yours in my travels. Pierre de Castelnau. He thought you were headed toward this abbey, and I decided you might have news of the young man, since you had both left Paris at the same time.” I added meaningfully, “In the dead of night.”
“Princesse.” The abbot’s tone was a warning. He was so close I could smell garlic coming up from him, and the heavy red wine he had already been drinking. “You take too much upon yourself,” he hissed.
I had placed my feet apart and put my hands on my hips, in an attitude of deliberate defiance.
“No more than you, Abbé.” We stood a breath apart.
“The young knight seems to have disappeared again,” he said, his voice low. “I suppose it is no coincidence that you are suddenly on the scene at the same time.”
“Make of it what you will,” I said jauntily, my voice equally soft. “On the other hand, your ruffian here has laid hands on a royal person, the sister of the king of France. I should think you will have difficulty explaining that to my brother when next you are in Paris to beg him for arms and men.”
“But your brother refused my request, and I’ll not be going back to Paris.” Amaury leered at me, his head angling and an unpleasant smile spreading across his face. “And I remind you, your brother is not king in this part of the world.”
“No, but Count Raymond, my kinsman, is overlord here. You would be ill-advised to breach his hospitality, abbot or not.” Suddenly I had a thought. “And Cîteaux, your present responsibility, sits dangerously close to the Île de France. You may yet have need of King Philippe’s good graces.”
“Bah,” he spat, turning from me, and pacing back to the table. But I could see I had scored a point in this game between us.
“Amaury, what is all this about?” The surprisingly firm voice of the old abbot, Amaury’s successor in office, broke into our tension. I turned my head to regard him more closely. He was hunched over the scrolls and leather-bound manuscripts surrounding him. He had been reading to himse
lf when I was brought in, and he seemed only now to raise his gray head and take in the scene. “Who is this person? What is your discourse with him about?”
Amaury cast a quick glance my way over his shoulder. Did the current abbot not have an inkling that Amaury was keeping a prisoner on his property? At that very moment my approach and plan changed. I now had the power, if I played my role carefully, to get free of any net Amaury might be inclined to spring on me.
“My men found this man skulking about in the forest, Anselm. Nothing for you to worry about. We have lost some horses and I thought this young ruffian might have been involved.”
“Your Grace.” I spoke up over Amaury’s shoulder now, addressing the old abbot. I made my voice as close to a growl as I could to imitate a man. “I am but a poor pilgrim from the north. I was set upon by thieves who stole my horse from me. I have been lost, wandering in the woods for these three days. If the abbey could but spare a horse for me, I can pay. I could then continue on my way.”
Brushing past Amaury, I advanced toward the aging abbot, who watched me with interest. When I came close enough, I was surprised to see the ice-blue eyes, penetrating and intelligent, observing me closely. It was almost as if he knew my entire ruse. Still, I was already committed to my story, and Amaury could say nothing to contradict me, without giving away all that he had concealed from his host.
The old abbot Anselm placed his forearm on a page of manuscript in front of him, and leaned forward.
“Whence are you bound, pilgrim?” he asked. “The Holy Land, or Hispania?”
“I am making my way to Santiago de Compostela,” I said. “This pilgrimage is taken to atone for sins of my wild youth.” At this, the old abbot raised his eyebrows, and I thought I saw the whisper of a smile appear.
The Rebel Princess Page 29
