Authors: Patricia Werner

The troubadour's song (20 page)

BOOK: The troubadour's song

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"And what of the king?" broke in Allesandra. "All of this talk of the church is very well and good, but it is the soldiers of the king that you fight on the field. Will you be able to overcome

them this time?" She looked hopefully at Raymond, wishing she could feel more confidence in his ability as a general.

"This Simon de Montfort is a brilliant military man," she said, turning to look all her friends in the eye, one by one. "You have to admit that, after what he did at Muret. And he has other leaders who are just as clever."

"You mean Gaucelm Deluc, who wrested your castle out from under you while you were in Muret."

Her cheeks warmed. She was not sure that one or all of them did not know of her folly. If she were forced to explain, she would be at a loss. She hoped her burning cheeks only demonstrated her passion for the discussion and her embarrassment at having been away when her castle was seized.

"He was clever enough to trick my guards into letting him into the gatehouse. At Muret we suffered from lack of cooperation. How can you all sit here and talk about throwing back the enemy when the count of Foix and the count of Comminges go their own way? Tell me, my lord, have you spoken to them of your idea of compromise?"

Count Raymond gave a slight shrug, but instead of looking her in the eye, he tore off a piece of meat with his knife. "I have."

"And do they agree with your plan to persecute their own men?"

Young Raymond answered for his father. "They do not. They are for one more concerted effort."

"Well," said Christian, "it seems we will have that chance. It looks as if the walls of the city will be ready. What of the corps?"

"They are drilled, their weapons readied," said young Raymond, eager for the fight. "As soon as we have first knowledge of the enemy's approach, we will assemble within the walls. Let them come. Just as they expect to settle down for the siege, we'll ride out to attack."

Allesandra could not banish the image of being in Gaucelm's arms from her mind. Yet she knew that her duty and loyalty lay here. The French intended to destroy the southerners' coun-

try and their way of life. That must not happen. She must help them fight.

"How can I assist?" she asked. "Surely with the soldiers fighting, the women will operate the siege machines. I have experience there."

"Excellent idea," said young Raymond. "I will make sure you command one of the most important machines."

"Good," she said.

Suddenly she was not hungry. She would fight the French, for they did not belong in the Languedoc. She only hoped that she would not be forced to fire a weapon at Gaucelm. For that she did not think she could do.

It seemed that she had only just fallen asleep on the feather mattress in her chamber. Now the calls and songs of the night before had crescendoed to war cries. She sat up in haste, momentarily confused, and then she reached for her clothing. These cries and shouts were no building of the walls. This was the sound of battle.

She dressed quickly and then flung open the shutters. Her window faced into the town and gave a view of the southern town wall as well. Indeed, a battle was in progress, for now cross-bowmen lined the crenelated battlement. Their steel-tipped bolts flew through the air toward attackers below. The projectile-throwing engines had been drawn into place within the town walls, and crews of men and women loaded and fired them. Stones flew high over the walls to no doubt harry the enemy forces outside.

She hurried from the room and to the spiral staircase within the turret. There, she hesitated. Having no idea what Raymond would wish her to do, she tried to decide where she would be most useful. On the ground she could assist in loading the projectile engines. There had been no time for Raymond to assign her to one. But from above she would have a view of the field and could better see what was taking place.

She decided on the wall walk and hurried upward. There on the top of the walls, the crossbowmen spelled each other in firing from the notches in the crenelated battlement. They had to alternate in taking shelter behind the protective wall to load their wooden shaft bolts by means of a mechanical windlass. From the top of the turrets above her, longbowmen aimed their feather-flighted arrows at the enemy camp.

She gasped as she peered over the shoulder of a bowman at the camp assembled below. Frenchmen were everywhere, returning fire with their own weapons and dragging siege machines into place. A small corps assaulted the gatehouse off to the right. She looked anxiously for colors to identify who the leaders were. The fleur-de-lis and de Montfort's pennants were firmly planted in the fields, and the besieging army encircled the town from the river to the curve in the wall, as far as she could see.

"Woman," shouted a sergeant-at-arms, "you're needed there." He pointed to a smaller version of the projectile throwing engines, mounted some distance along the wall.

She nodded and started forward. " Keep below the battlement," he ordered.

And she hunched down, keeping well behind the bowmen while arrows, bolts, javelins, and stones were flung above her head.

She got to the mangonella that had been rolled into a position where it could command the gatehouse below. The mangonella's long arm of wood was lengthened by a sling, which two women were filling with stones. Allesandra reached the pile of stones and assisted in the loading. A soldier inspected the heavy weight that would actuate the beam.

"Ready!" he called, and the women stood back.

He let go the weight, which caused the beam to describe a quarter of a circle. The sling flew upward, discharging the missiles. Below, the stones fell onto a knot of soldiers, causing them to draw back. The women lost no time in reloading the missile.

Suddenly there was a thundering on the bridge, the portcullis was drawn upward, and she glanced down to see young Raymond

lead a charge outward. A war cry went up, and the southerners rushed into the fray. Allesandra saw Simon de Montfort, in the field, turn from where he was leading a group of soldiers and charge to meet the fight.

Metal rang out, cries went up, the mangonella fired once again on the confused enemy. This time the southerners did not disperse as they had at Muret, but stayed tightly together and pushed the Frenchmen back. But Allesandra turned her attention to the soldier commanding their war machine.

"Aim there," he pointed at the enemy. "I cannot tell which one is their leader."

"That one," she shouted above the din, "in the black-and-silver surcoat."

He nodded, and they pivoted their machine on its wheels. At the sight of their own soldiers in the field, those on the walls redoubled their efforts to drive the Frenchmen outward. Allesandra loaded stones furiously, her heart thundering from the exertion and excitement. She looked again to make sure Simon was still within their range. She gave the sergeant a nod. He reached for the weight and was almost ready to drop it when an arrow caught him in the shoulder. His face twisted, he gave a scream, and fell back.

Allesandra ran to him as he sank against the wall. The arrow had nipped his shoulder. But it cut through the cloth and made blood flow before it clattered to the walkway behind him. He touched his blood and looked at her blankly, more stunned than hurt.

"You're wounded," she said. "Here, I'll bind it quickly."

She got his sleeve off him, then she ripped away a piece of her linen chemise to tie the wound. "Hold that tight to staunch the bleeding."

"I'm all right, go back to the fight," he finally told her, grimacing with the pain.

She rose, perspiration dampening her temples, grime from the rocks on her tunic. She took his place at the mangonella and reached for the weight. Then she waited until she had Simon de

Montfort in view again. Truly, the southerners were pushing the French away all along their lines. The siege machines before the town walls had been abandoned as those operating them turned to flee. Some attempted to defend themselves in hand-to-hand combat against the men of Toulouse who'd rushed out to fight behind Raymond's forces.

"Put the heaviest stone in the sling," she shouted to her female companions-at-arms, who at once picked up a large stone between them and set it in the sling.

Allesandra aimed once more, dropped the weight and stood back. The mangonella pivoted. With a crack, the sling released its missile. Allesandra turned to stare with breath drawn as the heavy stone arched high in the air, over the moat and gatehouse. And as if flung down by God's own hand, it shot toward the knot of men surrounding Simon de Montfort.

For one horrifying moment Allesandra strained to see where Gaucelm might be. She spotted him in the rear guard just as the stone turned over in the air. She heard the crack as it hit Simon de Montfort squarely on his helmet, saw his arms fling up, his sword drop, as he fell from his horse.

Stunned at her aim, she forgot the mangonella, but leaned on the edge of the wall to watch. Now came cries that Simon de Montfort was down. She saw his loyal corps fight their way to him. They lifted him up and flung him over a horse to lead it from the field.

Then the cries went along the wall where she stood.

"De Montfort has fallen."

The word was passed down from the walls into the town, and cheers sounded. That the leader of the opposing side was wounded gave even more impetus to the men of Toulouse. They were determined not only to hold on to their city, but to chase the enemy from the field and extract vengeance from them. All of this was shouted jubilantly, even as the archers continued to take aim and pick off fleeing Frenchmen.

Allesandra glanced down at the soldier who sat against the wall staunching the wound that she had bound. Knowing that he

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