Catherine: One Love is Enough (Catherine Series Book 1) (29 page)

Catherine lost her temper at this and stamped her foot.

‘I would like to know what all this has to do with you. I am as I am! Now leave me in peace. I must go down to join my husband.’

The young woman’s exasperation drew a faint smile from Sara. She laid her brown hand on Catherine’s shoulder. Then, pulling her toward her, she dropped a quick kiss on her brow.

‘Please to God you are telling the truth, my angel, for then I need no longer worry about you. Would to God you had found yourself a real husband! But I doubt it.’

Without explaining herself further, Sara opened the bedroom door, having first enveloped Catherine in the voluminous brown velvet coat that Duke Philippe had given her and that she had carefully saved. Then she escorted her down the tower’s cold, draughty stone stairway to where Garin was waiting outside the château. When he saw his wife he hurried forward to give her his hand.

A group of young lads gaily clad in red and blue stood opposite the tower entrance playing their oboes, blowing into their instruments with their cheeks puffed out like apples. The appearance of the young chatelaine served only to increase their ardour, and they blew and puffed all the more vigorously. A pale, watery sun filtered weakly through the clouds.

Catherine played her new role of chatelaine conscientiously all that day, to the accompaniment of the Advent oboes. At sunset she went with all her household and villagers to the little Brazey church to light brands at the altar lamp, after which everyone was supposed to return home and light their own fires with that sacred flame. She stood beside Garin and watched while the traditional Yule log, a huge slice of tree trunk, was set alight in the chimney-place in the main hall. Then she helped him distribute a length of cloth, three silver coins and a large loaf of bread to each of the peasants as a Christmas gift. At midnight she heard the three Masses celebrated, according to tradition, in the chapel of the château, the very one where she had been married the day before. Then she returned to the château for the meal that awaited them.

She felt weary by the end of that long and crowded day. Nightfall had reawakened her doubts and fears. What would happen that night? Would Garin behave as strangely as he had the night before, or would he finally claim his conjugal rights? He had been perfectly normal, even good-humoured, during the day. He had smiled at her frequently, and as they had left the table after the midnight supper, he had presented her with two pearl bracelets as a Christmas present. But sometimes Catherine caught his look fixed so strangely upon her that it chilled her to the soul. At those moments she could have sworn that he was wrestling with some dark and terrible secret. But what was it? And against whom was his dark fury directed? She behaved as sweetly and submissively toward him as the most demanding husband could have desired. The Lord Treasurer of Burgundy’s heart seemed to be a most baffling enigma!

Catherine’s fears, however, proved groundless. Garin escorted her to the door of her bedchamber, but that was all. He wished her good night, then, inclining his tall figure slightly, dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. The kiss was hurried and to all appearances casual, but Catherine could not help noticing that his lips were burning hot.

Sara’s eagle eye had not missed one of these strange manifestations of conjugal intimacy, but she had resisted commenting on them. The next day, her face expressionless, she told Catherine that her husband had been called away suddenly to Beaune on some business of the Duke’s. He sent word that he apologised for making such a hurried departure and asked that his wife should return to Dijon some time that day and install herself in the house in the Rue de la Parcheminerie. There she should await his return, which might not be for some little time since he had received orders to accompany the Chancellor, Nicolas Rollin, on his journey to the Duke of Savoie. Garin would send someone from Beaune to collect his luggage and would not be returning before his departure. He asked Catherine to settle into her new home on her own.

The young woman promptly obeyed, somewhat relieved at this new turn of events and delighted at the thought of such unexpected freedom. At midday she seated herself with Sara beside her in a litter closed in with stout leather curtains, and left the little château at Brazey for the ducal capital. The weather was not quite so cold as it had been and the sun seemed to have decided to shine for a while. Catherine thought happily that the next day she would be free to go and see her mother.

9

The Philosophy Of Abou-Al-Khayr

On St Vincent’s day, 22 January, Catherine and Odette de Champdivers were guests at the great traditional suckling-pig banquet that her uncle Mathieu gave every year in his vineyards at Marsannay. Similar feasts were being held all over Burgundy in honour of the vineyard workers, whose patron saint was St Vincent.

It had been early morning when the two young women left the Brazey mansion, where Odette had been staying for a few days, and night had fallen by the time they reached Marsannay. A large escort of servants now surrounded the closed litter where they sat talking excitedly like two schoolgirls on holiday. To keep warm they had ordered two foot-warmers – metal receptacles filled with hot coals – to be placed in the vehicle.

Catherine had almost forgotten that she was now a married woman. Almost a month had elapsed since Garin’s departure. She had taken possession of her husband’s magnificent house and her own sumptuous apartment with childlike glee. Day after day had been spent merely discovering its many wonders. She was a little surprised to find herself such a rich and great lady. But she had not forgotten her family in her new station in life and she often went round to the Rue de Griffon to see her mother and uncle Mathieu, and kiss them, and then took in the Rue Tatepoire on her way back so as to chat with Marie de Champdivers for a while. She was always affectionately received at Uncle Mathieu’s, particularly now that Loyse had left home to enter a convent.

Her sister’s marriage had had an odd effect on the elder Legoix daughter. The world, whose sight she had more or less tolerated until then, had suddenly become abhorrent to her. The thing she found hardest to accept, it seemed, was the thought that Catherine, now that she was obliged to submit to a husband’s authority, had gone over to the other side of the fence, into that world full of men she hated so much. About a month after her sister had taken up residence with the Champdivers, Loyse had announced her intention of entering as a novice into the convent of Bernardines de Tart, a particularly strict order that followed the inflexible trappist rule of the Abbey of Cîteaux. No-one had dared oppose this decision, which seemed final. Uncle Mathieu and his sister were even vaguely relieved by it. Loyse’s character had been growing more shrewish every day, and her temper, which had never been very good, had become appallingly savage. Jacquette, moreover, had been growing more and more anxious about the gloomy future that seemed to be in store for her elder daughter. A nunnery, for which she had yearned ever since childhood, seemed the only place where Loyse might find peace and serenity. So they had allowed her to join the white-robed flock of the future brides of Christ.

‘It is just as well,’ said Uncle Mathieu dryly, ‘that Our Lord is infinitely patient and infinitely meek … because he will find he has a difficult bride to deal with there.’

And from the bottom of his peace-loving heart, the good fellow had breathed easier when the forbidding, chilly figure of his niece had stopped haunting the great St Bonaventure church. He and his sister had settled into a comfortable existence, just the two of them, and he savoured the pleasures of being spoilt and cosseted to the full.

Catherine and Odette found the village of Marsannay in a state of high excitement. The villagers had been preparing for the feast for days past. All the snow had been zealously swept from the one and only main street. The finest lengths of cloth and most brilliantly coloured pieces of material that could be found in the marriage chests had been hung in front of all the houses, even the poorest. Winter leaves and berries, silvery mistletoe that had been gathered at great risk in the topmost branches of an old oak tree, and prickly holly decorated the doors and windows. A strong smell of roasting pig floated out over the countryside. They had slaughtered all the fattest pigs for the banquet, as that worthy animal would provide all the meat for the feast.

Uncle Mathieu rivalling the monks of Saint- Benigne as the richest vineyard proprietor in Marsannay, no fewer than ten pigs had paid with their lives for the lavish repast to which the cloth-merchant had invited all the harvesters who would be coming to pick his purple grapes when the next harvest came round. Although he didn’t like to throw his money around, Uncle Mathieu was a wealthy man. To wash down the meal he had ordered six barrels of Beaune wine to be set aside, both Beaune de Nuits and de Romanée.

The feast began at about midday. The solemn High Mass had ended late, and everybody was both thirsty and hungry. Catherine and Odette took their places at the table presided over by Catherine’s mother. Jacquette glowed with happiness in a splendid gown of crimson satin lined with grey squirrel, which had been a gift from her daughter. At the other table Mathieu, all puce velvet and black fox, with his hood over one ear, was spurring on the drinkers, who were in no need of encouragement as it was. The talk crackled merrily, enlivened with many a joke and tale inspired by the excellent wine. From time to time they struck up a verse or two of some old song. There was an atmosphere of innocent, good-humoured celebration in which Catherine joined wholeheartedly. It was agreeable to be enjoying oneself, to be young, and beautiful, as the bold looks of some of the young men present attested.

Suddenly, just as the scullions, four abreast, carried on the roast pigs all golden and glistening in their crackling skin, a deafening uproar broke out at the door. A group of men, late arrivals no doubt, were all struggling to get into the room first. A volley of oaths, bellowed out at the top of their lungs, was heard, in the midst of which a high-pitched voice could be made out protesting furiously.

‘What’s all this?’ cried Mathieu, thumping his fist on the table. ‘Hello there! Stop that brawling! There’s room for everyone here.’

With an explosion as loud as that of a champagne cork leaving the bottle, the group on the threshold burst into the room. Catherine looked on in astonishment as they dragged forward a kicking, struggling human form that looked uncannily like an enormous pumpkin stood on short little legs, the only difference being that this pumpkin was shouting away in a foreign tongue.

‘See what we found by the wayside, Maître Mathieu,’ cried one of the vineyard workers, a huge rogue with a face the colour of wine lees. The fellow stretched out an arm, picked up the little man without apparent effort and set him down on the table, just in front of Mathieu. Then he grabbed the pumpkin, which had slipped down and so covered the little man’s face and neck, and tugged at it. The white beard and ferrety face of Abou-al-Khayr, the little Cordoban doctor, appeared. The former was as white as ever, while the latter was scarlet with rage and suffocation.

‘Have you ever seen such an ugly monkey?’ cried the labourer with a great guffaw. ‘I found him going along the road with two great devils, both black as Satan, all three of them as cool as you please perched on their mules. I thought you would like to see these freaks before we throw them into the river. It isn’t often one gets the chance of a good laugh!’

‘But it’s my friend of the Grand Charlemagne inn!’ cried Mathieu, who instantly recognised the Moorish doctor. ‘It is the great Abou-al-Khayr in person! Fool! Imbecile! So you want to throw my friends in the river, do you? What did you think you were doing, in God’s name! What did you think you were doing?’

He hastily helped Abou-al-Khayr down off the table and found him a chair and a glass of wine, which the little doctor drained at a gulp, such was his agitation. It took him a little time to recover from his alarming experience, but gradually the colour returned to his face. He made no attempt to conceal his pleasure and relief at finding Mathieu.

‘I thought my last hour had come, my friend. May Allah be praised that I fell into your hands! And if it isn’t too late to save my servants, I should like to stop them being thrown into the river too!’

At an order from Mathieu, the labourer responsible, a little bewildered by this sudden turn of events, was shepherded toward the door, while the little doctor rearranged his clothes and adjusted his turban according to the prescribed manner, helped by Jacquette, who was deeply astonished by the wide range of her brother’s acquaintances. By now Abou’s sharp eyes had lighted on Catherine, who was stood a little to one side, not daring to come closer. The sudden appearance of the Cordoban doctor had set her heart beating wildly. Garin had said that the Arab had attached himself to Arnaud de Montsalvy. He would doubtless be able to tell her many things about the man who haunted her heart and mind.

The excitement that had been occasioned round the table by the little doctor’s sensational entry was subsiding. Ensconced in a chair piled high with cushions, supplied with a pewter pitcher and goblet, Abou-al-Khayr was putting the finishing touches to his restored good-humour. His gaze, which had been fixed on Catherine with an almost embarrassing insistence, now returned to the table and the vast dishes that Mathieu was hastening to place before him …

But the good man stopped dead, knife and fork poised in mid-air, just as he was about to launch himself on the fattest of the roast pigs. Then, with a wild scream of horror, he leapt to his feet, pushed back his chair, which fell to the ground with a thunderous crash, and rushed as fast as his legs would carry him as far as the chimney-corner, where he remained crouched, whiter than his beard, trembling in every limb and moaning with terror.

‘Come, come now!’ cried Mathieu. ‘What’s the matter with him now? Don’t run away like that, my friend! Come, and let’s finish off this roast together. What has frightened you?’

‘Pork!’ Abou-al-Khayr exclaimed in a shaking voice. ‘Pork! The unclean animal! Accursed, forbidden meat! A true believer may not even go near the table where the disgusting animal is being devoured!’

Round-eyed and startled, Mathieu stared first at the little doctor, who was still trembling with fright, and then back at the innocent pig, looking so succulent on its dish.

‘What do you mean? My pigs aren’t unclean!’ he protested crossly.

It was Odette who saved the situation. She left her seat and came over to where Mathieu was sat. Catherine saw that she was having some trouble keeping a straight face.

‘At the court of King Charles, I once met a heathen sorcerer of this man’s race. Madame the Duchess d’Orlèans, who was a good Christian herself, was hoping that his magic arts might be of some use in curing Monseigneur. This man always refused to eat pork, which his religion regarded as unclean.’

‘The prophet has said,’ came Abou’s querulous voice from the corner, ‘“You may not eat the flesh of the unclean beast.”’

Mathieu gave a deep sigh, threw down his knife and fork, and rose to his feet. ‘Very well,’ he said to his sister. ‘Tell them to put some fat capon on to roast, and prepare a tasty fish dish or two. My friend and I will take a cup of wine together in my study while we wait for the meal to cook. Please carry on your meal without us.’

And to Catherine’s great chagrin, Abou and Mathieu went off together. So it was her uncle who would hear the little doctor’s news while she herself was burning to ask him questions! She vowed to herself that she would not leave Marsannay that night without first having a chat with him, even if it meant displeasing her uncle.

There was no question of displeasing Mathieu, as it turned out. While she was watching the labourers dancing after the meal was finished and the great hall had been cleared of tables, she felt someone plucking at her sleeve. She looked round and found the doctor stood at her side.

‘It was you I was seeking along this accursed road,’ he said in a low voice.

‘I return to my house in Dijon tomorrow morning,’ she replied. ‘Come with me, unless you are afraid of a woman’s hospitality …’

Abou-al-Khayr smiled, then bowed low, murmuring: ‘“Allow me to kiss the dust before your door, O Queen, as does the sky itself …” in the words of the poet. I can only say that I should be happy to follow you if you will also accommodate my two slaves, who appear to have been rescued in the nick of time.’

At dawn the next morning, Catherine’s litter set off for Dijon once more, conveying the doctor along with the two young women. The whole countryside seemed to be still snoring!

When they reached Dijon, Odette took leave of her friend to go and see her mother, with whom she planned to spend two days before returning to Saint-Jean-de-Losne. Catherine did not try to detain her. The former King’s Favourite seemed to have something on her mind. Besides, Catherine knew that Abou-al-Khayr would not talk to her as long as Odette was there. On the homeward journey he had spoken not three words together.

Her return to the house in the Rue de la Parcheminerie flanked by two black slaves caused something of a stir. All Catherine’s serving-women instantly lifted up their skirts in both hands, ready to take to their heels, while the men drew back, crossing themselves. An imperious glance from their young mistress stopped them in their tracks. In a month she had succeeded in making herself almost as respected as Garin himself. Dryly, she ordered Tiercelin, the steward, to have the Griffon Room made ready for the distinguished guest, and to have two mattresses taken up there for his servants to sleep on. After which she herself, with the utmost ceremony in order to show how much store she set by this guest, conducted her visitor to his apartment, preceded by valets carrying torches. While this was going on, Abou-al-Khayr was silent, busily examining the people and things around him.

Catherine left him at the door of his room, after telling him when the next meal would be served. He gave a deep sigh and took her by the arm.