The troubadour's song (23 page)

Gaucelm's new squire, William, was polishing his boots. His former squire had been killed in the fight outside Toulouse.

Gaucelm was inspecting his sword and scabbard. Tomorrow they would enter He de France.

"They say it was a woman operating the mangonella. The one that flung the fatal stone that killed the general," said William.

"Is that so?" replied Gaucelm idly, turning the sword hilt this way and that in the light from the flickering flame in his pan lamp.

"They've made songs about her in the South."

"Hmmm. Not surprising."

"She is one of those great ladies the troubadours sing about."

"Oh, is that so?" Only now did the squire succeed in capturing his attention.

"Yes, sire. The lady Allesandra Valtin."

Fourteen

Gaucelm did not look up to betray an expression; rather he continued to study his sword hilt. After a moment, he grunted, "Is that so?"

" 'Tis what they say." William scrubbed away at the boots. "Her mangonella was situated on the town wall above the gatehouse." He shook his head. "To have such a sure aim, I wonder if she is a witch."

"No witch," Gaucelm said with more volume and irritation in his voice than he meant. Then he steeled his feelings. "But very fortunate for her side."

"Do you think the king will mount another crusade, sire?"

"I don't know."

He frowned, slid the sword into its scabbard and picked up his shield to inspect the splinters and gouges he'd accumulated on the field. He didn't add that his feelings about another mounted crusade to the south were mixed. And now to learn that Allesandra herself had killed his general!

His stomach turned in nausea, but he refused to show any

reaction. Instead, he said carefully, "I don't see how King Philip can afford to mount another crusade. He's stretched thin with his battles against England. And many of his barons are still in the Holy Lands."

He laid the shield on its side, anxious now to get to Paris and get the formalities over with. Then what? He had no inclination to go to the East. He would go to see his mother and his brother's family at their manor. But his presence was not needed there. Perhaps there would be some work King Philip would put him to. Gaucelm chafed at lacking a purpose. For all he really wanted was to see the woman he had loved in Languedoc. But if he wanted to do that, it seemed he would have to fight his way back to her on a new crusade.

And did he love her any less to learn that she had killed Simon? He closed his eyes and lay back, while his emotions roiled inside him.

He stretched out on his pallet, leaning on one elbow. He wished he had the gift of poetry that the southern troubadours did. For if he could not see her, perhaps it would ease his heart if he could write songs about her. And he could not risk a letter, for it would be treason.

"Allesandra," he said out loud, just to taste her name on his lips.

His squire must have thought he was referring to the song about the heroine of the South. "Did you ever see the woman?" asked William. "While you were there?"

"Oh, yes, I know her," answered Gaucelm, opening his eyes and looking up at the tent roof. "I have seen her."

William stopped his work for a moment to look with interest at the man he served. "Then you would know what manner of woman she is. Is she in league with the devil, do you think? They say the nobility in the South are all heretical in their views."

Gaucelm chuckled. "I do not know what is in her mind," he

said.

He shut his eyes, resting and remembering while the squire

worked on silently until he finished his tasks, knowing enough not to disturb his master further.

The crusading army proceeded in formation beside the River Seine as they approached the Royal Palace. The body of Simon de Montfort was covered with a newly embroidered cloth of his colors, and his litter was carried by his most loyal knights, Gaucelm among them. The general's riderless horse was caparisoned in newly sewn cloth with brightly colored embroidery. Citizens lined the streets. And as they approached the massive palace, courtiers waved from parapets of the thick stone walls. The king's palace not only served as living quarters, but also as the depository for the king's treasures, and as an armory as well.

They carried Simon's litter to the foot of the broad stone steps in front of the gatehouse, where the palace guard waited, colorfiil pennants atop their poles. After the crusading army formed up behind them, the knights lowered the litter onto a bier that had been prepared for the body. At the sound of the clarion, the shouts died down and the king emerged with his entourage.

The king was not a tall man, nor muscular in appearance. But he had a sort of shrewd wisdom about him, and his sharp turquoise eyes missed nothing. His hair was a mixture of brown and gray, and the beard on his firm, determined chin, the same.

Gaucelm knew his practical intelligence to be tempered with sentiment. He was a man of shrewd caution and prudent courage. His quick temper was overruled by patient perseverance that had expanded his empire from a strip of land along the Seine to a formidable power. He was what his country needed at a time when, between England and Germany, France might have ceased to exist.

The king was garbed for the solemn occasion in a long red tunic and gold-threaded sleeveless overtunic, and white-and-gold mantle. His crown of gold and jewels glittered in the perfect sunlight, as did the jewels of his girdle, sword-hilt, and gloves. He presented a regal but concerned countenance and stood for

a moment in silence gazing at the covered form of Count Simon de Montfort.

With the king was the pope's legate, the bishop Frosbier, dressed in ecclesiastical robes. Gaucelm and the other knights knelt as the royal party and the pope's legate came across the flagstones. Bishop Frosbier took a position a little behind and to the right of the king.

The breeze carried only the sounds of soft lapping from the Seine, rustlings of clothing, and stirring of leaves from the gardens beyond, as the crowd waited respectfully. At last, King Philip lifted a hand and spoke to the waiting crowd so all could hear.

"Rise, my loyal knights. We are here to pay respect to this great general, our loyal vassal and defender of the true faith. We mourn his loss and offer condolences to his loved ones. He will lie in state at our great cathedral Notre-Dame de Paris, so that all may mourn him. He will not be forgotten."

Amaury stepped forward and knelt before the king. "My lord, as the inheritor of my father's title and command, I thank you for the respect you pay us. It will be my great honor to continue in your service."

Gaucelm watched the king raise the young man to his feet and continue with the speeches. The papal legate, a tall, thin man with strong lines of nobility showing in his bronze-complected face, blessed the bier and then gave his blessing to Simon's family. While these proceedings were going on, Gaucelm allowed his eyes to flicker over the familiar surroundings from which he had been away so long.

He had a view of the gray stone walls of the palace on his left, the river beside which they had marched, the formal gardens behind him, and the spires of the churches rising over the timber and stone edifices that Philip had built.

The speeches were finished and the knights who carried the litter moved forward once more. To a funeral dirge played on clarion and pipes they took up their burden and wound through the gardens and along the street by the river as citizens paid their

respects. Then they crossed the stone bridge over one arm of the Seine to the stone-paved streets of the He de la Cite. It was some distance to the cathedral.

The buttresses of Notre-Dame de Paris sprawled before them. The magnificent cathedral was as yet unfinished, but it was already renowned throughout the kingdom. Pilgrims came from far and wide to admire and to worship.

They carried Simon's litter inside the cool stone walls, and Gaucelm blinked in the dimness of the vaulted nave. The colored glass of the rose windows admitted muted sunlight from outdoors, and the rising pillars and ribbed vaults offered an awe-inspiring setting for Simon to rest in state before his burial.

The task finished, prayers and benediction were given by Bishop Frosbier, who had led the procession. Finally, Gaucelm arose from bended knee, free to go about his business.

His morose mood was still on him outside the cathedral when he jerked his head up and squinted in the sunlight as he heard his name called. He saw Andre Peloquin striding across the paved square. A man of equal height with sandy coloring, he was garbed in olive-green tunic and dark hose. His fur-lined mantle was richly embroidered, fitting for such a festive day and creating a prosperous look. His old friend was a welcome sight, and surely if anyone could ease his soul, Andre could.

"Gaucelm, my friend," said Andre as he embraced his friend. "I saw you in the procession and waited here for you."

"Glad I am to see you, my old comrade. I'm in need of a proper welcome. It's so long since I've been in these parts, I feel a stranger here myself. And much in need of news. I'd heard you were back from the Holy Lands, but my news is old. You must fill me in."

Andre laughed his sunny laugh, his tanned countenance alive with confidence and zest, making his blue eyes sparkle.

"Then join me at the tavern and we shall share some wine and perhaps dine if you've an appetite. But your mother and your brother and sister will be waiting to see you. Would you rather not see your family first and sup with me later?"

"I've a need for good company now," Gaucelm replied with certainty. "Then I'll see my family and sup with them this night."

He turned to look for his squire, who he knew would be waiting for instructions. Spying the young man, he issued orders for his horse to be left for him at the palace stables but that his belongings should be taken to his family's manor outside Paris.

"Be sure and relay to them that I am well but that I am with my old friend Andre Peloquin, with whom I have business. I send my affections, and I will attend on them this evening."

The squire nodded and went off to do his master's bidding. Gaucelm and Andre turned away from the cathedral square. They headed for the narrow winding street that led between shops where artisans worked and merchants displayed their wares at the front of tall, narrow houses.

"I heard the Provencals are no fighters," said Andre as they made their way to the tavern. "How was Simon defeated after two years of success?"

Gaucelm sighed, some of his bleak mood returning. "It's true that the lesser strongholds were easy to take. And in a pitched battle, the southern alliance lacked leadership. But the towns are strong. Much more independent and tenacious than any we have in the North. They govern themselves and behave independently. They've no love for us, that is sure."

"Hmmm. And so you were routed before the walls of Toulouse?"

"That is true."

They entered the tavern house and found a trestle table to one side of the room, near a stout oaken pillar supporting crossbeams above. The tavern keeper filled a carafe of wine from the spigot of one of his barrels and set it before them. There was enough conversation among other customers that Gaucelm and Andre could speak without worry of others eavesdropping on their conversation.

Gaucelm took a long draw of wine and then set his wine cup on the rough-hewn wood planks of the table. He let go a long

sigh. "I tell you, Andre, I am weary of war. And yet I know nothing else."

"Ah, that is because you have seen defeat. What you need is the thrill of glory to revive you."

"Glory. Is there any? Is it really our duty to rid the world of all but those whom the Holy Church decrees are inheritors of the earth?"

Andre regarded his friend with affection and sympathy. "Ah, weary you are indeed. But much of what you say is true—though I would not have it heard that I said as much. Many times as I sweated and bled in the East, I wondered how the Lord could have allowed the Saracens to retake the land won with so much Christian blood, if the enterprise of the crusades is pleasing to Him."

"And how of our king's hard-won lands from the English?" asked Gaucelm, bringing the conversation back closer to home.

"He continues to grow strong and dominates all the dukes, counts, and seigneurs of the realm. The treasury grows from the money his vassals render instead of feudal service. Trade is encouraged. Truly he has strengthened the monarchy and weakened feudalism in France, while at the same time, he has left the English king weakened, subject to his feudal barons there. The same in Germany. He has accomplished much."

"And the Church? What of his relations there?"

Andre grunted so as to infer that things were not so harmonious between the king and the Church. "The king replaces ecclesiastics in council and administration with men from the rising lawyer class. He is not a man to let religion countermand his politics."

"What do you think he'll do about the South?"

Andre shook his head. "That, my friend, we shall just have to wait and see."

Gaucelm paid a dutiful visit to his family at their chateau outside Paris. The shell keep rose squarely on a mound above fair

meadows and commanded the royal forest behind it. As Gaucelm entered his family's lands, he observed the vines being harvested. Most of the laborers took him to be just another knight traveling on the king's business. But as he neared the village, his father's overseer, Hercule, stopped his work and came across the field to salute him. He came through a gate in the fence and waited until Gaucelm reined in by the side of the road.

"My lord," said the overseer. "We had news that you were safely returned. Your family will be pleased."

"Thank you, Hercule. I see the harvest has not suffered."

Hercule looked proudly at the villeins gathering grapes, those in the distance singing while they worked. "Your family treats their villagers well. In return, they are more than willing to do the extra required of them at harvest time. It will be a good wine this year."