The troubadour's song (7 page)

Even here, she must not make any more noise than the stream

itself, or she'd be done for. From the wall above, she'd seen that the stream was covered in darkness, but now as she stepped into the mud, she felt that the entire citadel must be watching her.

She struggled to concentrate on what she was about, and eased into the water. Halfway across, she took courage and moved more quickly, her own movement hidden by the gurgles of the stream. And then the water receded, so she drew herself up, found footing on the bank, and clawed upward in the darkness.

As she stood dripping on the other side, a sickening vision overtook her. She had to make her away alone in the darkness across what this morning had been the allied camp. Of course from the castle she'd seen and heard both the French and the local townspeople come to claim their dead. But what if the soldiers had not yet removed all of the dead for burial and she tripped over a body? Worse yet, what if she came upon some unfortunate Provencal who lay mortally wounded but not yet dead.

"Stop it," she commanded herself. She would never get to the woods and make her escape if she allowed such thoughts to tarnish her resolve.

She began her walk across the trampled meadow, going carefully, avoiding the refuse of the camp. Valuable weapons had been looted, but broken pieces, wagon wheels, and piles of rocks used as missiles in the siege machines remained. And the stench of death was all about. Fortunately, the odors had been diminished by the wind that carried them southward.

She stubbed her toe on a hard object protruding from the ground, and as she paused to favor her foot, she touched it again. Leaning down to make out its shape, she grasped it and tugged. A long dagger came away whole, missed no doubt by the French because it had been plunged into the soft earth. She wiped it on the grass and tucked it into her belt. A little farther on, she found a leather scabbard that she took also. It had no metals or gems upon it and so must have come from a humble man-at-arms, but it would do nicely for the dagger she'd found.

Moving faster once she'd crossed the erstwhile camp, she came

to more open land. And as she hurried across, she could now make out the line of trees. Only desperation would make her enter the dark woods alone at night. And before she got there, she paused, straining her eyes to watch for Jaufre's signal.

Behind her the lights from the castle were small pinpoints now. Nevertheless, any light shown here could be seen at the castle, so she still had to be careful.

"Jaufre," she called in a soft voice.

Of course there was the danger that he had been found out, arrested, and that in his place French soldiers waited to ambush her. Her voice shook as she called out again. But then she heard his answer, and relief swept through her.

"Lady Valtin" came a high-pitched voice she recognized. Then footsteps, and a figure emerged from the edge of the woods. Still she held her breath until he got near and she saw it was him indeed. His short brown runic and dark hose merged him to the night.

So relieved was she that she grasped his arms.

"Is everything as planned?" she asked, still feeling shaky.

"Very well, madam, and you had no trouble?"

Now the magnitude of what she had done made a wave of hysteria rush through her and she stifled a nervous laugh. She'd swung by a sheet, slid down a wall, crossed a river and a battlefield. But it had been no trouble.

Her breathing came in gasps as she gulped in air to steady herself. "All went well."

"You are damp, my lady. Come, the forester's wife has dry clothes ready and waiting."

"And horses?"

"No great difficulty. I caught two chargers, wandering after the battle, and I secreted them deep in the woods. The French soldiers did not have time to penetrate that far."

"Well done, Jaufre." For the first time since she'd crept out onto the castle wall, she began to feel that they might succeed.

"The horses are too big for my lady to ride comfortably, but

they are well-trained and sure-footed chargers. They'll carry us back home swiftly. Come, here is the path to the forester's."

The forester's cottage was located some distance in the forest on cleared land with a stockade fence around it. A small gate in the fence was unlatched, and Jaufre led his mistress inward.

"The hounds are kenneled and muzzled," he said. "No need to fear their teeth or their bark to give us away."

As an officer of the count of Toulouse, the forester held a responsible and often hated job: With his greyhounds, he pursued and arrested poachers.

They crossed the yard to the wattle and daub house and climbed wooden stairs to the doorway on the upper level. Below in the byre where the animals were kept, she indeed heard the whining of hounds, straining to identify an intruder. Allesandra gave a shiver, for if the French soldiers were on her trail, the dogs would be their allies.

But the forester's wife hustled them into a cozy hall, warmed by a fire blazing in her stone fireplace. She shooed Jaufre into another room to wait with her husband while she got Allesandra out of her wet clothes by the crackling fire.

"You are very kind," said Allesandra as the woman took her boots and tunic and set them aside.

"Ah, 'tis nothing. When we heard your plight, we were only too glad to help. My husband had seen the horses scatter after the battle and was able to help your man get a few of them. You're a brave lady to be wanting to ride home in the dark and with the pope's soldiers everywhere. I fear for you if you're caught."

Allesandra had the wet leggings and shirt off and accepted the towel the woman handed her to dry her clammy skin.

"There, stand close to the fire and warm up, then put these on."

In moments, Allesandra felt dry and warm again and was dressed in clothing she was beginning to feel belonged to her. For it was still safest to ride garbed as a man in case they were stopped.

"How far is your castle, my lady?" asked the forester's wife.

"Fifteen leagues," she answered. "I should never have left there for all the good I did at Muret."

The woman shook her head and said bitterly, " 'Twas a terrible day. Even this far we heard our lads being cut down like so many trees in a forest. Wolves, those French, tearing open the throats of the sheep, lapping up their blood. The county of Toulouse will not forget or forgive."

Allesandra paused in brushing out her tangled hair so as to twist it under a hood. She grasped the woman's arm and held her plump hands, while looking her in the eye.

"Nor will I forget or forgive. I have taken a vow to help overthrow the French in these lands."

The woman's soft gray eyes looked hopefully into Allesandra's violet ones, taking courage from the brave young woman.

"I believe you, my lady. Those French have no right to disturb our way of life here." She tightened her jaw before she spoke again. "We don't need those rich bishops to tell us how to pray."

Allesandra trembled as she dropped the woman's hands. No doubt the forester and his wife were Cathars, but she asked no more. The less she knew, the better.

"I thank you for your help. Please accept these coins to help repay your kindness."

The woman shook her head. "Kind of you, but I want no money. We must help each other here."

But Allesandra pressed the coins into the woman's hand and closed her fingers over it. "For the believers, then."

The woman looked at her hand and then up at Allesandra, saying no more. Allesandra knew that the money would go to support the Cathar believers and their parfait, most likely now in hiding since they could no longer meet openly.

She and the woman exchanged a meaningful look and then she turned and fastened the dagger by its scabbard to her girdle, covering it with her short tunic. "Jaufre," she called softly. "I am ready."

Her retainer came into the room followed by the brawny forester. She thanked the man for his help, and then he wasted no

time leading them outside and behind the byre where the horses were waiting.

Jaufre had not lied when he'd told her the horses he'd caught were tall, big-boned chargers, the sort men rode into battle. Her roan had a thick mane, massive chest and withers. But Allesandra did not hesitate to step onto the mounting block and then into the saddle, her thighs stretched over the awesome horse.

"He's bigger than your mares," said Jaufre as he mounted a dapple gray of the same great size. "But gentle enough. Do you think you can handle him?"

She patted the horse and spoke to it, and its ears pricked. She was a good horsewoman, and felt confident that she could master the war horse.

"We've fifteen leagues to get acquainted," she said. "He seems a good steed."

The forester led them to the gate and made them wait until he walked out a ways to make sure they were alone. Allesandra and Jaufre waited on their horses, ears straining to catch the sounds that came to them on the night breeze. She might have been missed at the castle now. Or Marguerite and Pantier might have been stopped with the tied sheets as damning evidence. She could only pray that her escape had not endangered her friends.

The gate creaked, and the forester reappeared.

"The way seems clear. You'll do best to stay in the forest. This path leads due west. When you come out you'll be well past Perramon hill and into the countryside beyond."

Allesandra well knew the lush, hilly countryside between Muret and her lands by day. Riding by night would be a greater challenge.

"Thank you, kind sir, for all you've done."

Then she and Jaufre rode through the gate, their horses snorting and shaking their heads, ears forward to catch the sounds in their path. They moved very slowly, not risking a light. The moon had risen, but its pale light could not penetrate the thick forest.

"I think I'd better dismount and walk," said Jaufre after they'd

made only a little distance. "These woods are too unfamiliar to risk a wrong turning."

With Jaufre on foot leading his mount and Allesandra's mount following, they fared better. How long she was in the saddle she did not know, for she bent all her effort to peering into the woods or at Jaufre's shadowy figure ahead. At last the trees thinned and they came out of the woods, so used to darkness by now that the glimmering starlight, and the light from the large, yellow moon, seemed bright. They could plainly see every feature of hilly country ahead.

Jaufre mounted again and they began to make their way in the open, braver now that they were away from the garrison in the town.

"We'll make better time by the road, my lady. But we'll be more likely to meet someone. We could cut over the hills and stay out of the way of any soldiers, but the horses will be harder worked. What is your choice?"

She only considered a moment. "The road. I've a grave feeling that all is not well in our demesne. Every moment it costs us to get there is ill spent."

"Very well. We'll come to the road just past those trees, I think."

Once on the beaten road they made better time. But it was eerie to ride along in the depths of night. The soft rolling hills dipped away to the cover of trees near tributaries that flowed into the mighty Garonne, which tumbled down from the Pyrenees. Coverts of underbrush and woods where bands of outlaws or soldiers, for that matter, might be waiting. More than once, she felt for the dagger she had tied to her girdle. And she knew that Jaufre was well armed. But she daren't dwell on such possibilities.

Instead, she spoke to her horse, finding that indeed a little pressure from knee or rein communicated a subtle order for the horse to change his speed or adjust his gait. He was a good steed, and she thought they would do well together.

"I wonder what his name is," she said while she and Jaufre rode together past a rocky hillside.

The ridge above rose to be outlined in a faint change of color in the night sky. Beyond them gnarled grapevines clutched clusters of their fruit, soon to be harvested. Even in the predawn light, they could see bushes of broom bordering the vineyard, with branching stems, long used to sweep cottage floors.

"The horse? Hard to say? Perhaps, my lady, you should name him yourself, for he's yours now."

Riding a big, heavy-boned charger was bone-jarring even at a walk. And she understood why knights only used these war-horses for battle. For everyday travel they rode lighter palfreys, the heavier horse carrying packs until a battle. The horse slammed his massive foot down with every shattering step until her spine began to ache. But it was a minor inconvenience when she considered the progress they were making. She tried leaning forward and shifting her weight.

"I think I'll call him Roussillon, after my lord the count's favorite wine."

The big horse whickered at the name, and she took that to mean he did not mind.

The sun came up on a dewy morning. Now the greens of the hillsides they passed turned into blue ridges in the distance. They passed a walled abbey, its gardens spiked with cypress trees. But they dared not stop to take a meal yet, and so pressed on into the hills, winding upward and downward, sometimes keeping to the road, sometimes striking off on a cart track that passed through small villages where the peasants busy with early-morning chores stopped to watch them.

Allesandra inhaled the great solitude of the hills as they rode on, stopping occasionally to water the horses and take a drink themselves. They still had more than a day and a half's ride ahead, when they paused to breakfast on bread and cheese.

They began to question peasants they encountered. "Have you seen any French soldiers?" Allesandra asked a woodland farmer who stopped with his load of chopped logs.

He shook his head. "Heard they were in the towns north of here, but none come this way. Not that they're welcome."

"Thank you."

But as the day waned, they tended to be more alert. When they came to a straggle of houses built along the road, they paused well in the distance to scout for any sign of soldiers. They stopped to dine at a simple tavern, but gained no more news.

Roussillon nuzzled her when she came out of the tavern, and she offered him pieces of an apple. Her heart warmed to the big horse and she declined to trade him for a smaller palfrey when she had the opportunity.