Almodis (13 page)

‘He continues precocious then,’ says Almodis.

After my wedding and the main business of the Easter Assembly the visitors are all packed up and gone in a cloud of dust in the garrigue. Raingarde returned to Carcassonne and Audebert went back to La Marche, loaded with gifts from Pons and smug to have his sister queen of the South. I think of Hugh. How is he? How will it be for him now, without me, without his children? We were there so briefly perhaps we seem like a fleeting dream already. My new husband is not pleasant to look at or to be with and a lot of my energy and ingenuity are spent evading him, organising him to be out of my way.

I rule over a vast territory from Toulouse on the Garonne to Saint Gilles on the Rhone, from the Auvergne to the Pyrenees, but my kingdom is in disarray. The Viscount of Albi, the Count of Melgueil, the clergy of my region, and of course my sister’s household, came to my wedding, but the Count of Rouergue and the nobility of Septimania all stayed away: the Viscount of Narbonne, the Lord of Montpellier and the Viscount of Millau.

‘The lords of Septimania give their allegiance to Barcelona, not to Toulouse,’ Raingarde told me when I complained of their absence. Her own husband was prevented from coming by illness and she came with her mother-in-law, the Dowager Countess Garsendis who, as a young heiress, brought Béziers and Agde to the House of Carcassonne.

‘The nobility of Septimania are my neighbours and I would know them,’ I told Raingarde.

‘Pons rules the Toulousain region in name more than
practice
,’ she told me. She is right. He is not interested in the business of lordship, but entrusts everything to his lieutenant, Ranulf de Roiax, the vicar (or steward) of Toulouse and to the Capitouls of the city, the twelve Good Men selected from the leading families, who act as judges and counsellors.

Pons is close with his nephew, Bertrand. They are drinking companions, and Bertrand, no doubt, hopes I will be as barren as Pons’ first wife.

‘He has his spies on you, for sure,’ says Dia.

‘Well they’ll find out nothing useful,’ says Bernadette, banging down another dusty book on the table. ‘Not unless reading books is considered infidelity!’

When Raingarde was still here after the wedding feast I asked her to tell me everything she knew about the politics of the region.

‘Everything, Almodis? That is extravagant surely!’ she laughed.

‘Nevertheless,’ I said, taking her hand. ‘Tell me what you know, informant!’

‘Well, let me see, Carcassonne,’ (she pointed at herself), ‘owes allegiance to the overlordship of Toulouse,’ (pointing at me).

I waggled my head. ‘And?’

‘Carcassonne also has significant links to Catalonia through my husband’s aunt Ermessende and his uncle Peter the Bishop of Girona.’

‘All this I know. Tell me about the nobility in this region. What do you know about them?’

‘It’s very complicated,’ Raingarde said.

‘I believe I can handle it,’ I told her, making her laugh.

‘Well, let me see, the Count of Toulouse is the overlord of a whole host of other counts, viscounts and lords. The lands of Carcassonne, Razès, Agde, Albi, Comminges, Foix, Gévaudan, Substantion and Melgueil, all come under his suzerein.’

‘Dia,’ I interrupted, ‘can you find me a good map.’

Dia left the room and Raingarde resumed her litany. ‘Also the lands of Nîmes, Quercy, Rouergue, Rodez and Uzès. The lords of all these lands owe allegiance to your husband. All their gold and
silver mines, their bridge and gate and road tolls, their vineyards and commerce and shipping …’

‘So I command countless counts,’ I said.

‘Your husband does,’ Raingarde said, looking at me askance.

‘There are many female lords hereabouts,’ I told her.

‘Well yes, where their husbands are away or there is no eligible man in the household. In times gone past, the House of Toulouse held the title, Marquis of Septimania. Technically all the counts within this marquisate are vassals to your husband.’

‘Technically?’

‘Yes. Your husband has not claimed this title or enforced this vassalage.’

‘No,’ I said in a neutral voice, my mind racing.

‘Berenger Viscount of Narbonne is vassal to the Count of Barcelona, not to your husband or mine. If you want me to cut to the chase, and I know that you do, your main competition in the region (apart from me of course) is Hugh Count of Rouergue and his wife Fides of Cerdanya. Their lineage is at least as old as that of the House of Toulouse and they aspire also, to lead the county.’

‘Well, now there is an alliance of the twin countesses,’ I said, taking her two hands again, ‘we shall sweep all before us. Duchess of Septimania. That sounds well. To name is to claim, no? Dhuoda was the Duchess of Septimania, you know, who wrote the
manual
for her son.’

‘I’ve not read it,’ Raingarde said. ‘I’ve heard of it.’

‘It’s wonderful,’ I told her. ‘I have a copy. Her husband
overreached
himself and both he, and the son she wrote her advice for, ended up dead, executed.’

‘Well, then,’ Raingarde said, looking a little worried, not sure whether to take my musing seriously.

‘Still, family history is important,’ I said sitting up as Dia appeared at the door, laden with maps. ‘Excellent! We’ll have them here on the table with the good light.’

Fortune favours the innocent. My Lady is with child. I don’t know whether it was Dia’s herbs or her incantations, or just my Lady’s own fertility. Who knows. I think there is some witch in Dia. But my Lady is keeping the news to herself at any rate.

This morning I’m serving at high table with Piers. We bring bread and wine for Lady Almodis and Count Pons to break their fast. I do my best to ignore Piers’ winks and licking his lips at me behind their backs, and concentrate on the state of my mistress. Her face shows neither happy nor miserable, just blank, and she barely touches the bread, just drinking a little wine. I pour water for them to wash their hands from this fancy aquamanile in the shape of a naked man riding a lion. Everything is fancy here. I don’t like the master. We’ve exchanged the silent, beautiful Lord Hugh for a noisy troll. Count Pons makes nasty sounds when he eats which you don’t expect in a noble but that’s because of his teeth. He seems to have twice the usual number in his head and every one of them rotten.

He taps his claw beaker peremptorily and I carefully fill it with more wine. The dark red liquid is visible through the pale green glass. The feet of the beaker curl irregularly so that the cup lists on the table, reminding me horribly of the Count’s old white feet that my Lady told me about. Concealing my grimace, I turn to pour wine for Almodis.

‘Thank you Bernadette.’

Her face isn’t showing any misery but I fancy her voice is. I
try to catch her eye but she avoids my sympathetic glance. She is watching a swift that has flown into the hall and cannot find its way out. The small black shape darts every now and then across the ceiling to the window, but it cannot judge the aperture and thumps painfully into the brickwork, then flies back again to its perch on a beam, getting more and more exhausted by these fruitless attempts to regain the blue air. Perhaps, I think, I could assist it with a broom, but that might scare it to death.

She told Dia last night she wasn’t happy with Pons’
government
of Toulouse so I know what’s coming in this morning’s conversation and that greedy drunk old count doesn’t. I can hear his chewing and grunting. He’s like a pig at swill and I clatter some plates to try to cover the noise of it. Pons is a Roman name, but he is not a cultured Roman, God knows.

‘The Easter Assembly is near finished, my Lord,’ she begins.

‘Aye.’

‘I know from my previous visit here how busy the assembly time is.’

He is nodding and chomping.

‘How are the organisations for the assembly usually made?’ she asks.

‘Vicar, does it,’ he says in between slugs from his beaker. She doesn’t respond to that but I know that the vicar might find
himself
following my Lady’s orders soon.

‘I intend to leave for Saint Gilles at the end of the week,’ Pons tells her. ‘We will spend most of the year there. It is more
comfortable
than here at the Chateau Narbonnais. I leave Toulouse mostly to the vicar, de Roaix, and the viscounts, Armand and Ademar. They can conclude the justice sessions of this
assembly
.’

‘Very good, my Lord,’ Almodis says. ‘I will join you in Saint Gilles in a week.’

His face registers his surprise at this. ‘You will not travel with me?’

‘No, it is the feast day of Saint Margaret next week, and I wish to pray at her shrine here in the city, for her blessing on my
fertility
.’ She hasn’t told him yet that she’s already with child. ‘I am saving that for when I need it,’ she told me and Dia. He is clearly
displeased that she will not travel with him, but he doesn’t argue. Anything concerning an heir is paramount for him.

‘So you and your Good Men of Toulouse manage the justice sessions?’ she asks.

He nods, his mouth still full. ‘And a deal of trouble it is every year, hanging thieves and women whingeing they’ve been raped and knights saying they haven’t been given the cloaks they were promised.’

Almodis laughs and I can hear the insincerity of it. ‘My poor dear Lord,’ she says, turning her beautiful eyes on him and oh, God bless her, creeping her pretty long fingers over his warty old hand. ‘How very tiresome for you.’

He nods and takes another swig and she gestures me to come forward for another fill up. I can see that Piers is taking it all in, knowing what she is about. Bacchus has drowned more men than Neptune.

‘I handled the law cases at Lusignan,’ she says, careful not to mention Hugh. Pons can sometimes fly into a rage worthy of my Lady’s toddler son, at the mention of her former husband. It’s why he don’t like to see the children neither. ‘I could lift some of this burden for you if you wish it,’ she tells him.

‘Hmm,’ he says and we wait through yet another mastication. I learnt that word from my Lady’s descriptions of him to Dia last night.

‘The minor cases you can deal with,’ he says, eventually, pushing himself up from the table, his many jewelled finger-rings glinting, his knee-joints cracking and creaking like a piece of wood cooling from the fire. ‘Serious justice is not women’s business,’ he throws over his shoulder as he leaves the hall, but if I know my Lady she’ll be dealing with it all in due course, minor and serious.

‘Saddle my horse and fetch my falcon, Piers,’ she tells him and he bows to her and leaves. Now she allows herself a glance of conspiratorial triumph with me and I am aglow at that. Where would she be without me?

I have no intention of setting off to Saint Gilles for at least three weeks. I have many things to get done here. As soon as Pons is gone I go to the Capitouls’ Court and join the Good Men of Toulouse for the last day of their justice hearings. They rise to their feet when I enter and look dumbfounded when I seat myself in the count’s chair. I let them stare for a while.

‘Continue,’ I say eventually, and so they do although obviously discomforted at my presence. I watched Eustachie and Agnes act as regents in Aquitaine, and the women of La Marche, my mother and my grandmother, were accustomed to rule in the frequent absences of their men at war, so I am copying them. The Good Men live up to their title and are even-handed in their justice. We hear the case of a man who has broken into a house, and he is fined 100
solidi
. Half of all these fines go into Pons’ coffers. At the end of the day I seek out Bernard, the Bishop of Toulouse, who is one of these Good Men.

‘Will you attend me tomorrow morning, my Lord Bishop? I should like to understand the workings of the city and the region and to know more of the concerns of my people.’

‘Of course, my dear Lady,’ he says in a tone that indulges me as if I am a little girl.

The bishop arrives in my chambers at mid-morning. Everybody seems most slack here in the hours they keep. He gives me a short summary of who the Good Men are: ‘Aside from myself,
of course,’ he prepares to reel off a list, ‘the council consists of Bertrand of Provence, your lord’s nephew …’

‘He was absent yesterday,’ I interrupt him.

‘He was. The Vicar of Toulouse, Ranulf de Roiax …’

‘Also absent.’

He bows. ‘You saw there, Armand and his brother Adémar, Viscounts of Toulouse; Gerald, Abbot of San Sernin; Hugh, Abbot of Daurade; and then the representatives of the leading families: Calvetus of Palatio; Bruno of Villanova; Bellotus of Castronovo, Remigius of Caramans and Aimeric d’Escalquencs.’

‘How often does Pons meet with them?’ I ask, controlling my irritation with the schoolmaster’s tone he is taking with me.

‘Never, Countess.’

‘Never?’ I echo.

‘The count leaves his business and his trust in our hands.’

I allow a meaningful pause to form after this remark and then say, ‘I wish to see the Cartulary of the House of Toulouse.’

‘It is kept safely at the Cathedral, my Lady,’ he says smugly.

‘Then I will come tomorrow at first light.’

He looks astonished so I continue before he finds his voice, ‘And I wish to see the inventory of the count’s rights and holdings. Is that also kept at the cathedral?’

‘There is no written record, my Lady,’ he says, clearly glad that he can patronise me with my ignorance.

‘Then how do the assessors know what is due at each feast day?’

‘It is stored in their memories. They pass this knowledge onto their sons.’

I consider this and determine that I will have these living
repositories
disgorge their lists to me and I will draw up inventories. ‘I require two scribes. Send me two of your monks, Bishop.’

‘My scriptorium is extremely busy at the moment, Countess …’

‘I can come and select them myself,’ I say delivering my threat pleasantly with a smile.

‘No, no,’ he says, quickly. ‘I will, of course, find two able brothers and send them to you.’ He bows to make his exit but I have not quite finished with him.

‘Where is The Custom of Toulouse kept?’ The Custom is the law book of Toulouse.

He looks openly surprised now. ‘It is also kept at the cathedral, where it is consulted by the count’s four judges,’ he says firmly.

‘Good,’ I say, ignoring his implication that it is none of my business. ‘Send the Cartulary and the Custom with the scribes and I will consult them. I will return them to your safekeeping when I am done.’

He looks grimly at me, bows and leaves. I see on his face that he does not approve and will take his complaint to Pons.

‘Is it wise to put too many noses out of joint, Almodis?’ asks Dia when he is gone.

‘The only nose we need worry about,’ I say, ‘is mine.’ But she has a point. My grandfather told me that loyalty and friendship sustain our power. Who are my friends here? My brother and Hugh and Geoffrey, they are all far away. I have Raingarde and perhaps her husband when I meet him and no one else. I need allies, amongst the aristocracy, but also amongst the knights and
vavasours
and the Good Men of the city. I will make visits and issue invites to my neighbours and I will see what charm and learning might work on the Count of Rouergue and his wife. I send for Hugh, Abbot of Daurade. I liked the look and sound of him in the justice chamber yesterday and mean to make a friend of him.

The Abbot returns promptly with my messenger and I find him to be as intelligent and friendly as I guessed he might be. ‘I am in need of a personal chaplain, my Lord Abbot, and wonder if you might recommend one of your ordained priests at the Abbey to come and attend me in that capacity?’

‘Of course, my Lady. I will be happy to oblige you. I know just the right person. He is called Father Benedict. I will send him to you next week as he will need a little time to get used to the idea of his change in station and to say farewell to his fellows at the Abbey.’

‘Thank you.’ The abbot spends the afternoon conversing
pleasantly
with Dia and myself, playing chess, listening to Dia’s songs. By the time we sit down to dinner I know that I have found my
first ally. Next year, I think to myself, this Hugh will be my new bishop here.

Lady Emma, Pons’ illegitimate half-sister, was cold to me at the wedding, following suit with her nephew I suppose. I noticed that she was with child and when news reaches me that she has birthed a son, I write to tell her that I mean to endow him that he might enter the Abbey of Comminges when he is old enough and, I assure her, I will see he receives preferment and rises to the rank of abbot if he shows himself able. A few weeks later she is visiting me, gushing with her gratitude, that I have given stability to her uncertain status as the bastard of a count. Another ally then or at least not an enemy.

‘The younger men of the court are fawning enough for you surely,’ says Dia.

‘They are bored. All that Pons offers them is drinking, eating and whoring. They need action.’

‘Will you start a war?’

‘No I will start a weekly hunt which I will lead and you and I will teach them poetical games and singing. We will give them action and civilise them at the same time.’

‘The Bishop’s scribes have arrived for you from the cathedral,’ Bernadette tells me this morning, kneeling to pull up my hose and attach them to the gold buckles on my garters.

‘How do they look?’

‘They’re monks,’ she says dismissively. I raise my eyebrows for more information.

‘Well they are called Rostagnus and Osmundus. Rostagnus is a young man, perhaps eighteen and comely,’ she says looking up at me archly, ‘but Osmundus is fat and old and appears rather slow in the head.’

I smile. Bernadette has become invaluable to me and I enjoy the colourfulness of her language and her mind.

I explain their task to my scribes: that they will call in all the assessors who are holding the count’s inventory of rights in their heads and they will write them down. Bernadette’s assessment of Osmundus seems fair. He is anxious and clumsy. As soon as he came into my presence he swept a glass off a table with his habit
and smashed it on the floor. He is non-plussed by my instructions and I see that Rostagnus will cover for Osmundus’ hopelessness and that he will do all the work.

‘So I see in Osmundus that the bishop has sent me one of his best men,’ I say sarcastically to Rostagnus. Osmundus himself is far too simple to understand my meaning and merely simpers at this. ‘But tell me Rostagnus, why has he sent you? What is wrong with you?’

He looks me in the eye. ‘You are very direct, my Lady. I believe that the bishop thinks I ask too many questions.’

‘Good,’ I say. ‘Are you from the city?’

‘Yes. I am the fourth son of Aimeric d’Escalquencs.’

‘Ah, yes, I met your father yesterday at the justice hearings. Welcome to my household, Rostagnus d’Escalquencs.’

‘It is not simply a task of one day, then, Na?’ (Na is what the people here call great ladies. It is short for domina. I am getting used to it but Bernadette refuses to use it. Sounds like a baby’s name she says.)

‘No, Rostagnus. It is not simply a task of one day. Before we begin work on the inventory I would like you to show me around the city.’

He looks alarmed.

‘We can wear hoods and simple clothes, and Dia can come with us,’ I add, in case he is afraid to be alone with me. ‘I know that if I ask a member of the court, they will only tell me what they want me to know. What you tell me will be the truth.’

He blushes but smiles with his eyes downcast.

‘I am curious to know about the people of the city. Will you show me around?’

‘On foot, Na Almodis?’

‘Yes, on foot, where I might see and talk to the citizens, and don’t worry about my safety either. I can look after myself,’ I say, lifting the fulsome hem of my sleeve to show him a dagger sheath strapped to my lower arm.

‘The cathedral, abbeys and priory, we don’t need to go there. I will visit them in my official capacity. This is a tour of what I might not otherwise see,’ I tell him.

‘Yes Na.’

From Chateau Narbonnais Rostagnus leads Dia and I left down towards the river and the mills near the Comminges Gate. Past Tournis Island in the middle of the river, we walk along the street of Joutx-Aigues, past the Jewish synagogue, and then up to the bridge that goes across to the area known as Saint Cyprien. ‘The leper-house lies in that direction,’ says Rostagnus. All along the water-front there is a mix of boatmen, stalls, fishermen and whores. A fat, naked woman darts past us, her flesh wobbling, her hands gripped to breast and private parts, her face in a shape of perfect distress, and a small crowd comes chasing after her.

‘What on earth is this Rostagnus?’

‘The woman is an adulterer, Na. It is the custom here, but a barbaric one I believe.’

‘Yes, although I have seen worse,’ I say, thinking of Geoffrey’s mother.

Outside a tavern a group of Genoese sailors are gathered. Rostagnus goes inside to get a jug of beer since we are parched with our explorations and Dia and I sit on a bench with our hoods pulled up.

‘And what about her former husband then? A sodomite I hear,’ one of the Genoese is saying. ‘Why else would any man let a woman like that countess slip through his fingers?’

I catch my breath, frowning at the lewd guffawing he has earnt himself, and feeling Dia’s eyes on me.

‘Her former husband could’ve just been paid off,’ another voice suggests. ‘The count needs an heir doesn’t he?’

‘No, no, I tell you. I’ve heard it from a reliable source. A friend of Ganymede’s!’

Rostagnus comes out of the tavern with a jug and I stand up quickly and move away, so that they have to run to catch up with me. I don’t want to hear any more of these spiteful rumours.

After the bridge, we pass the Daurade Abbey and then come to the Saracen Wall that used to enclose the city but now marks the entrance to the new expanding city area that is called the Bourg where weavers, finishers, candlemakers and wax merchants ply their trades. ‘Up along the river, in that direction,’ Rostagnus says, pointing, ‘above the Bourg is the Chateau du Bazacle and more mills.’ We pass through the Saracen Wall at the Portaria,
the massive old Roman gate. We walk right, along the walls of the Abbey of Saint Sernin and down towards the Matabiau Gate, the Villeneuve Gate and then back through the Saracen Wall. Rostagnus points out the tower-houses and the fortified homes of the Toulouse nobility, including his father’s house near the Montgaillard Gate, and finally he brings us back round to the Mint that stands neighbour to Chateau Narbonnais. I am pleased to find Rostagnus an intelligent and lively guide. Another ally.