Almodis (16 page)

‘A wager my Lord that I can increase your income by 10,000
solidi
or more by next Easter Assembly.’ He likes that. ‘And next year all your subject counts and viscounts will attend your
assembly
.’

‘Now don’t go upsetting anyone. I want no war or strife for that’s expensive you know.’

He has never warred. His court is soft and enfeebled. If it were threatened with military invasion it would fall in no time. ‘I have appointed a new Vicar of Toulouse,’ I say and the table falls silent.

Pons looks bewildered. ‘What? What’s happened to Ranulf? Ranulf of Roaix?’

‘He was dishonest and disloyal.’

Pons begins to shake his head. ‘But Ranulf, he was always …’

‘He has been defrauding you, my Lord, depleting your
treasury
.’

He gapes at me, very concerned at that, and the sight of his jangled brown teeth is not a pleasant one. ‘Depleting?’ he says aghast.

‘Yes,’ I say, although in my memory of that treasure room I can’t see any cause for concern. ‘I have appointed a new vicar, Arnaldus Maurandis, and I will oversee his work rigorously.’

‘Yes, yes,’ he says, stroking my cheek and hair, and then
allowing
the back of his hand to graze my breast. ‘I am sure you are handling it all very well, my pretty little wife.’

I am four inches taller than him and certainly a good deal prettier.

‘You are looking very well today, wife. Over your prayers eh? I will visit you tonight,’ he whispers, smirking in my ear.

I decide that this is the moment to tell him I am carrying a
second
child. He forgets everything else and his face lights up. ‘Do you think it another boy?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘Excellent!’ he says kissing me wetly on the mouth, trying to thrust his tongue between my teeth, his hand pushing high on my thigh. ‘And a man may sleep with his wife to within three months when the birth is due,’ he says.

‘Do you want to ruin this son too, as happened with Majora’s child,’ I ask angrily, and the lewd expectation on his face drops instantly.

‘Aye, aye,’ he says. ‘You must do what you think is right and best for the child.’

The next day I inform him that I have decided to return to Toulouse to wait for the birth as the air suits me better there.

He is angry and argumentative at first. ‘How can the fetid air of the city be better than here, where we are near the sea?’

‘Saint Gilles is full of sick people, carrying disease and
malformity
,’ I say. I mean the pilgrims who come to the abbey here
with their staffs, their bandaged limbs, their weeping sores, to ask Saint Gilles, saint of cripples, to aid them. He looks at me askance but he gives in.

‘I shall miss you, my sweet.’ I suppress the urge to allow my mouth to curl in hatred.

It is a relief to be back in Toulouse, getting on with the business of government with my vicar. ‘If Pons continues as he is,’ I say to Arnaldus, ‘you can be sure that someone will see his weakness, will take advantage of it. Toulouse is rich, dripping with wealth.’

‘Who would threaten Toulouse? This overlordship you speak of is in name only now, Lady, surely?’ says Arnaldus.

‘No it is not. These counts and viscounts have given their oath to Pons. Who will lead the region if it is threatened by the King of France, or the King of Aragon?’

‘That is hardly likely …’

‘Who?’ I demand.

‘Well not Pons, Domina.’

‘No, not Pons, but we will be prepared to act in the count’s name, to hold the region together if it should ever be necessary. I mean to appoint my man, Piers, to assist you in this.’ He bows and I send for Piers and tell him that I am going to give him an elevated position and responsibility. He draws himself up, smiling broadly. ‘I wish you to take on the role of Marshal of Toulouse and work with Arnaldus Maurandis to ensure that we are ready should the region be threatened by outside forces. You will see that the lines of communication and the promises of service from all the lords in the region who have given us their oaths are in good order. You will ensure that the network of rural lords
coming
to give us their four months guard duty is functioning well and that the
albergum
, the provisioning, is in place when we are
on the move. You will train the boys sent here as foster children, for knightly training. There are few at present, but there will be more.’

‘My Lady I will be glad to undertake such a role.’

‘You will give me your oath then Piers. But let us be very clear. Your oath is to me and not to my husband. I want no deceit and no discord. I look for fealty.’

‘I understand my Lady.’

‘And Piers,’ I say in a low voice, close to his ear, ‘if you break your faith to me, if you betray me, I will not forgive you. I will hunt you down and string you up.’ I am looking directly into his eyes, my face close to his.

He nods. ‘I understand this my Lady.’

He pushes his floppy brown hair back from his face, then places his hands together inside mine and says:

‘From this hour forward I, Piers, will be faithful to you Almodis by true faith without deceit as a man should be faithful to his lady to whom he has commended himself by his hands.’ I kiss him on both cheeks, and am glad to see a smile on his face instead of a scowl.

I have invited the local nobility from Saint Jeury, Ambialet, Albi, Cordes-sur-Ciel, Trebas, to send their young sons into my foster care and train in Toulouse with Piers. They learn horsemanship, archery, swordsmanship and codes of conduct, and they learn to be loyal to me. They take care of the horses, clean the stables, polish armour and harness, maintain weapons. Father Benedict tries to teach them their letters and Latin. They are the entourage for my baby son, Guillaume. When they are not training, they
wrestle
; or I listen to the click of balls in their boule games; or they play hoodman’s blind, staggering blindfold round the courtyard trying to catch one of the others and pass on the hood. It reminds me of my father’s courtyard in Roccamolten. It is a delight to see them here and my Lusignan children: Hugh, Jourdain and Melisende, join in these games and become part of this junior court. It is good to see Piers flourishing in his new role and sporting a
fetching
pair of scarlet leggings.

This spring the rivers are swollen and the land is waterlogged. The Garonne shifts from green to muddy brown and brims its banks, overflowing into the water meadows where ducks
gleefully
swim on what once was dry land; and trees are half-drowned, rising straight out of the water; and small islands of land seem merely a precarious crust, like skin on hot milk. The flood waters encroach on many of the houses closest to the river, with water as high as their lintels. They are built for flood though, with their storage areas on the ground floor and the living quarters above. Nevertheless the townspeople are greatly occupied salvaging their wood and other goods usually stored downstairs and
helping
each other sweep out the thick mud when the waters begin to retreat. The farmers, however, are pleased since the flood is good for the soil. Gradually the land oozes back up from the subsiding waters.

‘Amoravis, the minter, begs an audience with you, Na,’ Rostagnus says.

‘Show him in.’ He is a tall and striking man with pale skin and black hair and beard. ‘I am pleased to see you here Master Minter.’

‘I am come to ask a great kindness of you, Na.’

‘What is it?’

‘We are approaching the Christian Holy Week and there is a tradition here of Striking the Jew in that week.’

‘Yes, I have heard of it.’

‘Last year many Jews were badly injured, Na. I ask you is there an alternative? A tax perhaps?’

‘It will be difficult to enforce.’ I am silent, thinking, and Amoravis stands silent, watching me. ‘A tax of two
solidi
for each adult Jew in the city, half of which will go to the city’s churches,’ I say, meaning that the other half will go to Pons’ coffers. I will be well on my way to winning my wager with Pons now.

He bows. ‘That is a great kindness from a just Christian lady.’

Lammas is past and my child is due, and Pons has written to say he will return to Toulouse for the birth, so that I will have to deal with him again. I could run. I could go where nobody would find
me, not him, not Audebert, no one. I could work as a peasant in a field and live in a small hut built into the side of the mountain. I could hunt my own food, write a book of my life, but I would never see my children or my sister again. I don’t care about clothes and jewels and castles but I would miss my books. I could cope with cold and hunger and work. I am not afraid to sustain myself. My family name would suffer if I deserted Pons: my sisters, my brothers, my mother, would all be shamed. Perhaps my children would suffer more than the loss of their mother, perhaps my sons would be disinherited and no one would offer for my daughter. Yet perhaps to be unwed would be a blessing for her. I cannot seek refuge in a nunnery. It is a good life for some but it would be as a grave to me, a life that isn’t living. I cannot hate the world and its pleasures. I would rather take my chances in the world, be a wandering troubadour …

I cannot run. For my children, I must stay and wear this. The bells call the workers to meals three times a day, striking the hours; they call the monks to prayers, measuring out the day and night in small pieces, and so I must bear one piece at a time.

Abbot Durand in Moissac has written to my husband protesting at my abolition of Striking the Jews in Holy Week, but I have
successfully
persuaded Pons of the economic advantage to himself.

‘My Lady! Your sister has arrived!’ Bernadette bursts in.

From the window I see Raingarde alighting from her horse and waving up at me. ‘Let’s go and get her!’ I grab Bernadette’s hand and drag her behind me. She is as slow as a slow worm.

‘Take a care Lady. You are full pregnant. Like to drop any minute!’

‘As if I don’t know that, Bernadette, but with my sister here I feel as light as a dandelion head on a summer breeze.’

The sunlight is streaming through the doorway into the
courtyard
and I am momentarily blinded as we burst out to greet Raingarde. Her blonde head is hard to discern in the brightness, but blinking, I grasp her in an embrace, as best I am able with my cumbersome belly between us.

‘Sister! Welcome!’

She is kissing my face and hands. ‘Almodis! Almodis!’

‘Well now,’ says Bernadette, no doubt embarrassed at our effusions, ‘shall we escort Lady Raingarde to the hall, Lady Almodis?’

I ignore Bernadette and stand holding Raingarde’s hand,
looking
her up and down. Like me, she is a woman now and no longer a girl.

‘Yes,’ I say, at length, ‘come in Raingarde and be comfortable.’ I tuck her hand into my arm and lead her in, blanking out the noise of Bernadette supervising the baggage and Raingarde’s entourage behind me. ‘We’ve got your own chamber all ready for you.’

‘My own chamber?’ she glances around before we go in. ‘Chateau Narbonnais is so huge Almodis!’

‘It is!’ I laugh. ‘Massive!’

Raingarde has been with me three days and is settled with her maid, Carlotta. I wish she could stay here forever but she will want to go home to her husband as soon as I am recovered from the birth. I thought to have her here as protection from Pons too. Two days ride away is nothing. I will ride to see her in Carcassonne often. I smooth my dress over the great round of my stomach, hoping that my child will stay in there for a while, that I might have more of Raingarde for myself.

My Lady has established her household in Chateau Narbonnais here in Toulouse and keeps Count Pons in Saint Gilles as much as she can. He does not like to travel: bum-shaking he calls it, whereas my Lady looks like she was born in the saddle and would happily live there. Worst luck, he's back with us again now, but while she is carrying his child the count does everything he can to appease her.

Me and Carlotta are waiting at table and in between the courses I'm having a chat with the buttery servants. ‘Old Pons is ogling Lady Raingarde good and proper at the high table!' I say.

‘Likes the look of two of ‘em does ‘e the dirty bugger?'

‘He keeps looking back and forth between them and poor Lady Raingarde is red as a poppy but too polite to pass comment. Not so, my own Lady though! Bless her.'

‘What did she say then?'

I let them wait a moment to milk the drama and then I feign her voice and manner as best I might, with my little finger cocked out from the stem of a glass and my nose right in the air. ‘“Are you suffering from an infliction, husband!” she says, after her stares and tuts have not sufficed to stop him roving his eyeballs all over her sister. “Yes, we are identical twins! Yes, we look alike! Yes Raingarde is beautiful! Is there something you would like to say?”' I drop my act and grin at them.

I couldn't speak a word of Occitan when I first arrived here, but Almodis has taught me and I've got the hang of it so well,
I'll like as not be forgetting my own tongue. At Hugh's court there was a mix of Occitan and Langue d'Oil spoken depending on who was visiting or who you were speaking with, but here it's only the Occitan and Almodis always uses only that with her children.

‘Oooh, bless me, what did his lordship say to that? She doesn't mince her words, your Lady does she?' says the buttery maid.

‘He just smirked and lowered his eyes, but not for long before he was back at it. They made some small talk and he asked after Lady Raingarde's husband and mother-in-law, some such, you know how they do.'

‘In you go now with the next course Bernadette,' Gilbert prods me. ‘Do you want them going hungry while you gossip?'

Don't care if they do, I think to myself. Well the fat lord at any rate. His belly's bigger than my Lady's and he's only got hot air and wine in it. When he forced himself on her in Saint Gilles, after she'd just birthed baby Guillaume, I felt like sinking a dagger into that rotund belly, but then I imagined my feet jigging up and down at the end of a hangman's noose like I'd seen on the gibbet outside town and felt all cold and shivery. My Lady though, I thought, when she'd recovered from the birthing weepiness and the shock of what he did to her,
she'd
as like drive her dagger into him and
she'd
go for his privates if I know her. I'd resolved then and there to keep an eye on her. I didn't want her swinging for that dirty old lord.

Well that's another epic dinner over with and I'm putting my feet up, getting a bit of rest in my Lady's chambers where we've retired so's we can get in some good gossiping.

‘Tell me of your husband, Raingarde. You spoke fondly of him in your letters to me in Lusignan.'

‘Oh yes,' Raingarde responds all enthusiastic. ‘You will meet Pierre soon, Almodis, and you will adore him too. He is a kind man.' She stops there and we all wait expectantly for more but in vain.

‘Well,' asks Almodis, fishing for something, anything, ‘umm, does he like music?'

Raingarde looks at her puzzled. ‘Yes.'

‘And riding?'

‘Not so much,' says Raingarde, looking down at her hands, so now we are getting to the nub of it, for we are all thinking and can't say, how is it at twenty-one that Almodis, her twin, is on her second husband and fifth baby, whilst Raingarde is still the slim, childless, young girl who left La Marche. That's the obvious difference between them after all! She's been wed three years and no child.

Almodis is looking worried that she has discomfited Raingarde with her question. ‘He is away from home a great deal on
business
, perhaps,' she says gently.

‘I know what it is you mean,' says Raingarde, looking miserable and glancing around at Dia, Carlotta and me.

‘Shall I dismiss them?' Almodis asks abruptly and I'm
desperately
thinking no, no! Raingarde doesn't answer for a while but looks at the flames dancing in the grate.

‘No,' she says quietly. ‘Carlotta knows all my business and I have no need to have secrets from old friends,' she glances up at me and Dia, but I see that there are tears in her eyes and I'm thinking about where is the nearest clean handkerchief. ‘You mean, Almodis, that I have no child as yet.'

Almodis simply looks at her neutrally.

‘I love my husband,' Raingarde goes on, looking earnestly into my Lady's face. ‘He loves me also.'

‘Oh I am glad of it,' Almodis bursts out and we all recall what she has had to bear in Lusignan and understand her relief that it's not her sister's lot.

‘I do not despair of a child, not yet,' Raingarde tells her.

‘No, no. Of course not.'

‘If you are so fertile, then perhaps I will be too, eventually, if God wills it.' She clams up again and Almodis clasps her hand affectionately, not asking, just waiting. I pretend to be about my sewing and Dia rises to poke the fire and put another log in the flames.

When Dia is seated, Raingarde decides to speak again. ‘Pierre has a condition,' she says hesitantly and I suppress the urge to yell: well what is it?

‘A condition …?' asks Almodis.

‘A skin condition. It flares up and becomes very painful and he can't move or do anything as usual when it is in that state. All over his body like a carapace,' she tries to explain it to Almodis, gesturing at her own arms and legs and head. ‘It's like a shell. He can't ride, can't move …' she peters out.

‘What do the doctors say?' asks my Lady.

‘It is a family illness, inherited from his grandfather. There is no cure but there are respites when it's not so bad.' After a while she adds, ‘So he tells me. And we are waiting for that.'

Almodis looks up at Dia and me, frowning, anxious for her sister.

‘I believe I know of this condition,' says Dia. We all turn to her.

‘Dia has studied medicine with the healers in Italy,' Almodis tells Raingarde. ‘Do you know a cure, Dia?'

‘No, there is none as Lady Raingarde says, but tell me is your husband's skin sometimes white and patchy on his elbows, knees, scalp, buttocks and sides?' Raingarde nods. ‘And at its worse it becomes red, hard, tight, shell-like?' Raingarde nods again. ‘Yes, I know this,' Dia says decidedly. ‘It passes usually through the males of a family and skips a generation. Your own sons will be well. Exposure to sunlight is very good for this condition. You must persuade Lord Pierre to expose his skin to the sun every day for two hours at least and I can make you a sweet-smelling unguent and teach you how to apply it to give him ease.'

Raingarde is delighted. ‘Truly, Dia! Oh I am so grateful. The doctors only bleed him and shake their heads and make him feel worse.'

‘Excellent,' says Almodis, ‘but have you consummated the marriage?' My Lady could show more tact sometimes.

‘Yes, of course!' says Raingarde, ‘but we cannot lie together as often as we wish.' I see grief cross my own Lady's face at that. Her problems have been of an altogether different cast here in Toulouse. ‘And your husband, Almodis?'

‘You have met my husband,' she retorts, ‘and I think none of us wish to speak of him. We are having a nice evening together. Raingarde when my child is birthed, in a few months, Dia and I can come to visit you and Dia can speak with your
husband herself. Do you have news from home, Raingarde?' asks Almodis.

‘Yes, Audebert and Ponce have an heir to La Marche, named Boson,' says Raingarde. ‘Mother writes to me that the baby is in excellent health and that Ponce is a fine organiser for Audebert, but she leaves little room for mother to have a useful role now. She talks of setting up her own household with our sisters, Lucia and Agnes who are seven and six, but Audebert won't hear of it. He says it is too much expense.'

‘Mother has her own lands and castles. She could live independently if she wished to. She should,' Almodis says decisively.

‘Well, then, perhaps it is not all Audebert's reluctance.'

‘Mothers and daughters-in-law!' declares Almodis, casting up her eyes at the memory of Audearde. ‘It never works. At least I have none of that here.'

‘Well I do!' laughs Raingarde, ‘but Lady Garsendis and I get along well enough.'

‘She tells you what to do in your own household and you do it, no doubt,' replies Almodis, knowing her sister's gentle character.

‘She has a lot of good advice for me,' Raingarde says dryly.

‘Does she speak of her sister-in-law, Ermessende, in
Barcelona
?' asks Dia. Almodis develops a strong interest in the fire as Raingarde responds: ‘Yes they correspond quite often.'

I notice from the corner of my eye that my Lady sits up a little straighter, shifts the weight of her belly and finds the view out of the window quite fascinating: stars and dark as far as I can see.

‘What is the latest news from Barcelona?' asks Dia on her behalf.

‘The young Count Ramon is married you know and already has two sons and his wife so young too,' says Raingarde, and Almodis stops pretending to be uninterested now.

‘How old is she?'

‘Elisabet was just thirteen when they married so she is fifteen now,' Raingarde tells her.

‘Well,' Almodis laughs a false laugh, ‘and we are such old women, Raingarde, at twenty-one.' Then after thinking on it a little longer. ‘Of course if Ramon's wife is young, a pliable child,
it means that Lady Ermessende can try to hold onto her regency for longer.'

‘Countess Ermessende wrote to Lady Garsendis that the boys are named Berenger and Arnau. Ermessende is still regent since Lord Ramon is not yet of age, but he is already winning great military renown in campaigns against rebellious neighbours in Cerdanya.'

Dia strums her instrument and sings quietly, as if she is rehearsing:

The nurse comes in with little Guillaume who is a fat baby, not yet a year old. Raingarde puts out her arms to hold him and
jiggles
him up and down on her knee, singing him a rhyme: ‘Under the water, under the sea, catching tiddlers for my tea, up, down and around!' The baby giggles and I wonder if he knows that she is not his mother but I suppose he does somehow. ‘How proud father would have been of you, Almodis.'

‘Really,' says my Lady, ‘and I wonder what he would think of my charming husband.' The bitterness in her voice and words are searing and Raingarde sits back looking scorched. Almodis paces the room in her discomfort, then sits down again next to her sister.

‘Are you not happy?' whispers Raingarde.

‘How could I be?' my Lady whispers back, leaning her forehead
against her sister's, reaching across the obstructions of her belly and her child on Raingarde's lap. ‘I can't
feel
anything, Raingarde. I miss feeling. I would rather hurt than have this blank
nothing
.'

I see differences growing now between the sisters. My Lady has an adamantine lustre mixed with the spring green of her eye, she has a polish, where before she had a bounce. I remember the hope of her just before she married Hugh.

Ten days later and there is another boy child fitted along her arm, his tiny head cupped in her hand and his toes pushing on the crook of her elbow. ‘He is named Raymond,' she tells us, ‘and my boys and I have a deal of work cut out for us, don't we?' She looks to Guillaume who is perched on his aunt's lap and then she stares into Raymond's questing green eyes.

‘You and the baby need rest now, Almodis,' Raingarde tells her sensibly. ‘You need to sleep.'

‘Sleep,' snorts Almodis, ‘that is a short activity carried out in hours of darkness. No, we shall start immediately, well tomorrow at least,' she laughs as Raingarde begins to protest.

‘What is it you mean to do?' asks Dia, nevertheless, tucking in the bed tightly as if she fears Almodis might leap out straight away and begin strapping on her hunting clothes. I take the baby, lay him in the cradle and rock him there.

‘I mean to persuade Pons to go on pilgrimage to the shrine of St James at Santiago de Compostela,' she tells us, her eyes
glittering
and indeed we are all impressed with that. ‘He needs to atone for setting aside his poor first wife, Majora,' she tells us
mischievously
, ‘and to give thanks that he has two fine heirs, Guillaume and Raymond.'

‘And such a clever wife,' murmurs Dia.

‘That's not all though,' says Almodis with triumph. ‘I am going to announce a prize for the best poem in the Occitan language. I have a goldsmith in the city, Amoravis, who is fashioning a violet made all in gold as the prize, and Dia will spread the word to troubadours everywhere and they will come here to compete for my prize!'