The troubadour's song Page 7

  Neither spoke for a moment, and she forced herself to remain standing close to him, meeting his gaze. He searched her face and she felt a warm flush creep up her flesh. He had no right to question her, and yet in that moment she realized how much more uncomfortable it would be to be questioned by the bishop's court.

  Resentment of Gaucelm Deluc's invasion of her privacy flared, and her heart pounded in her chest. She clamped her jaws shut in the face of whatever questions he might ask next. And yet even without his asking them, she felt as if he looked into her mind and soul.

  His hardened face relaxed a trace, as his eyes swept over her face, sank to her lips, her male attire, and then moved away again to study the fire.

  "This is a war, madam."

  Her words were low, filled with bitterness. "A war to destroy a way of life."

  "What way of life?"

  "You know very well what I mean. Your king wants access to ports on the Mediterranean. You want to exploit our rich soil, our vineyards. Your intolerant bishops wish to strangle freedom of thought and punish those who wish nothing but to read the Bible, which the Catholic Church does not allow for anyone but a priest."

  He watched her now, and she knew she was treading dangerously, but her passion made her continue.

  "Poetry and song flourish here, trade with the eastern ports makes our towns rich. But the mighty Church and your barbaric mercenaries wish to take that all away."

  He waited, knowing he would gain more by allowing her to pour out her emotions than if he silenced her. He well knew it

  was in this way that traitors trapped themselves. But she paused to catch her breath and leaned a hand on the octagonal table where lay a few books and rolled-up maps. She shut her eyes a moment, and the blood drained from her face.

  "Madam, you are tired from a strenuous ride," he said, somewhat concerned. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion at a later time."

  She forced her eyes open, but his figure blurred in the light from lamps and fire. Indeed, the strength seemed to go out of her. She'd eaten little in her hurry to get here, and her body was bruised from the jarring gait of the war-horse. Dizziness suddenly overtook her and she staggered.

  She took a step, trying to shake the dullness from her head. Her hand went up, and at that moment Gaucelm moved toward her. She gave a small cry and then felt herself fall, as everything dimmed.

  Gaucelm reached her as she fell and caught her in his arms. He knew that the effort she'd expended on trying to race him here had cost her. He brushed the hair from her face as her head lolled into his shoulder, and then he picked her up in both his arms and strode toward the great bed.

  He took the step up to the canopied platform and lowered her onto the fur coverings. As he laid her down, he sat on the edge, feeling the springy softness beneath him. He arranged a feather pillow beneath her head and took a moment to smooth her tangled hair, surprised by its richness. He put off summoning assistance for a reason he could not name. But looking at her face, the long lashes lowered over her eyes, he felt a twist of emotion. She was an avowed enemy of France. She had lied to him. But he could not help but admire her bravery and her courage. He had not met many women who would fight so hard in a soldier's world.

  His finger drifted across her cheek. He thought he saw color returning to her face and felt relief that she must not be seriously ill. However, he ought not delay getting help for her any longer.

  He stepped down from the bed and crossed toward the door, opening it. His trusted sergeant-at-arms stood there, a square-

  bodied, loyal vassal, a man who had seen much of life and had a family in He de France, but who had trained Gaucelm in arms and then served him when he had achieved knighthood.

  "Enselm," he said. "The lady has taken ill. Send for the doctor and her female attendants."

  "Yes, sire."

  While help was being summoned, Gaucelm returned to the bed to watch her. She was breathing deeply, which was good. Sleep and a nourishing meal were likely all she needed. He shook his head slowly from side to side. Whether she was a heretic or not, he could tell she had information of them and would have to be questioned, for she had hotly defended a way of life repugnant to the Church. He suddenly hoped that she would give the bishops the information they needed and not cause herself undue difficulty.

  His hand rested against the carved bedpost, its fine grain smooth against his hand.

  Gaucelm was a good Catholic, but he did not give it undue thought. He was too busy to read the Bible. He was a soldier of France, loyal to a king who had extended his realm from the small region of the He de France to include the formerly English fiefs of Normandy, Anjou, and other lands.

  King Philip Augustus ruled efficiently. He brought prosperity to France, relieving the reclaimed provinces of the heavy taxation that had ruined them under their English kings, Richard and John. He'd rebuilt towns, conceded new privileges and confirmed old privileges to towns and abbeys. And he would do so in the south of France. It was his way.

  Gaucelm turned away from the bed to let his eyes circle the richly laid-out room. This castle was his reward for his loyal service to Count Simon, and it was well deserved. France needed to be made stronger still, and the conquest of the Languedoc would achieve that. The Church had made a crusade against heresy profitable.

  There was a knock on the door. "Enter!" he called.

  Enselm showed in a man of bronze far-eastern coloring and aged features. "The doctor, sire."

  Gaucelm motioned to the bed, and the doctor went to examine Allesandra. In another moment, two women entered the room. The younger one of pale coloring and quick, frightened movements stifled a squeal by covering her mouth with her hand. The older, more solid matron frowned at the bed, but then evidently seeing that the doctor was making his examination, grasped the younger woman's other hand and guided her to the other side of the bed, where they waited. The older woman frowned in concern at her mistress, whose eyes were still closed, while the younger one looked as if at any moment she would join the lady of the castle in a faint.

  Enselm joined Gaucelm near the fireplace and the two men exchanged hushed words.

  "Fainted," said Gaucelm. "Overcome by her efforts. No doubt she'll recover. Is your search proceeding in orderly fashion?"

  "Yes, sire," said the sergeant. "I've done as you instructed. The men understand there's to be no looting."

  "That's good. I will reward them later."

  Gaucelm continued thinking aloud to his trusted vassal. "I see no reason to destroy castle and lands that are now ours. This southern wealth will strengthen France. Make sure that if there are any infringements, no matter how minor, they are brought to my attention."

  Behind them on the bed, Allesandra was beginning to stir. The doctor stood back and put his smelling salts into his cloth bag. He turned to address them.

  From campaigning these two years in the south, Gaucelm now understood some Provencal. Although the dark-skinned doctor's speech was touched with an Arabic accent, his meaning was clear enough.

  "The lady needs rest and nourishment, my lord. I'll prepare a sleeping draught for her woman to give her. She should not exert herself until she regains some strength."

  "Very well," said Gaucelm. Then to the women, "Have her

  bed made ready in the women's quarters. I'll bring her to you there."

  The women scurried off to prepare, and Enselm escorted the doctor out. When the door closed, Gaucelm returned to Allesan-dra's side. She gazed up at him with heavy eyelids and moved one arm as if preparing to get up. He reached out and touched her shoulder, gently holding her back.

  "Rest easy, my lady. The doctor has instructed that you are not to exert yourself. You need to rest."

  She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again, allowing her eyelids to fall shut. She was not asleep, he could tell, only resting, regaining her strength. The glow from oil lamps and firelight cast a honey-colored halo about her. Even thus clad, he thought her beautiful.
He resisted the impulse to touch her face again, but remembered its texture and the way the soft, thick hair curled about his fingers.

  For an instant ... but then he pushed the thought away. They were enemies. In the morning she would be forced to turn over to him records, keys, acquaint him with the running of this estate. She would not like it, but he dearly hoped she would be cooperative. He did not want to use extreme measures. If he forced her, she would be harder to control later. And such was not his way.

  But business could wait until tomorrow. At the moment he gazed at her lovely face. Then her eyes opened again.

  Allesandra looked up to see the dark, handsome face staring down at her. His broad shoulders, clad now in tunic and loose-sleeved surcoat, looked nonetheless more powerful than when she'd first seen him in mail hauberk and brightly colored sleeveless surcoat. Thick, dark hair framed his brow and fell below his ears. By virtue of conquering her house guard, this man was now her lord, but she would never let those words rise to her lips.

  "My soldiers," she croaked.

  He straightened, relief that she had spoken now replaced with businesslike fierceness.

  "Two were killed. There were some injuries. But your Arabic

  doctor and his minions have been busy seeing to them. They are under house arrest in the tower but shall have provisions."

  She felt the emotions twist inside her. How could it have happened so easily? All that she held of the Count of Toulouse, a good and just feudal overlord who was also a friend, now slipped from her grasp into the hands of these enemies! She shut her eyes again. Right now she was powerless, but she would wait and plot, send word to Raymond. They would overthrow the French. But she struggled to present a calm expression. Gaucelm Deluc must not see any of this.

  "And the bishop's inquisitors, when will they come?"

  He glanced at her quickly. "Are you so anxious to be questioned?"

  She closed her lips, a muscle twitching in her cheek. Gaucelm gazed at her face and then lifted himself off the bed and stepped down.

  "Let us not consider such matters tonight. I will take you to your chambers where your women will help you to bed. Rest well tonight, madam. Tomorrow is time enough to discuss the future."

  Her eyes flew around the chamber that had been hers until now, but she said nothing. She was too proud for petty argument; she would spend her breath only where it mattered.

  "If you are ready, I will take you now."

  She attempted to rise, but he put out a hand.

  "You are still weak. I will carry you."

  She opened her mouth to protest, but his strong arms had already slid under her and she could not help but grasp his shoulder for support. She had not been in a man's arms since her husband had died, and the sudden feel of muscular flesh affected her.

  She blamed it on the dizziness of her faint. But when she lifted her left arm to clasp her own hand about his neck, her fingers brushed his hair. His face was dangerously near hers, and she felt her heart turn over in her chest. A sudden grief penetrated

  her heart, and the weakness of her state overcame her. She bit her lips and hid her face in his shoulder, giving up the struggle.

  Gaucelm, too, responded to the feel of the woman he carried in his arms. As he'd gazed at her lying so helplessly on the bed, his body had told him that he found her desirable. He knew he should not consider her feelings in any way. She was his captive, her property was now his. But Gaucelm was a courtier and found the seduction of a woman more pleasant if done in a civilized manner.

  He entered the women's quarters and carried Allesandra to a bed they had made ready. Nearby, a brazier filled with coals warmed the room. As he placed her there, he laid her head on a tapestried pillow, and her eyelids fluttered weakly.

  "She is awake," he said to her female attendants, "but weak. See that she gets rest and nourishment."

  Then he turned on his heel and retreated.

  Allesandra was beginning to revive, but waited until the door shut before she roused herself.

  "My lady," said the young blond Marcia Pruniaux, "are you all right?" She flung herself to her knees, grasping the bed covers.

  Allesandra raised herself to lean on pillows they tucked under her back and shoulders. She was feeling better now, and when the matronly Isabelle Beguinot handed her a cup of warm broth, she sipped it. How comforting to know that her old friends were here to aid her.

  "I will be well," Allesandra answered, trying to smile reassuringly at the two women who leaned over her and who surely had much to tell her. Marcia frowned in concern as she knelt beside the bed.

  "But tell me how the castle was taken," said Allesandra as she took a sip from the goblet of wine with the doctor's sleeping powder in it. "I must know."

  Isabelle sat down on the edge of the bed, concerned first that her mistress would be well. Her tale was a matter-of-fact one,

  told in a tone that could repeat harsh facts when the need was upon her.

  "A single rider appeared at the gate this morning. He called to the gatekeeper that he had a message from you. The drawbridge was let down, and he was admitted. But he killed the gatekeeper before the watch knew what was happening. His companions had been hiding in the moat and came across the bridge to fight the other guards. In the confusion, the rest of Sir Gaucelm's men appeared out of the woods and flew across the meadow and drawbridge and into the courtyard."

  Allesandra closed her eyes. "And then what happened?"

  "There was a brief skirmish, but our men were outnumbered. Sir Gaucelm's men quickly ascended the towers and the walls, and when they were in his control, our guards had no choice but to surrender."

  "They would have fought to the death," Marcia quickly put in in her high, young voice. "But this Sir Gaucelm ordered the fighting stopped and for our soldiers to throw down their weapons. Seeing as how it would accomplish nothing to keep on fighting, they finally did so."

  "At least there was no slaughter," Allesandra said after a long sigh. "Still, I should have been here."

  Isabelle patted her hand. "I doubt you could have done anything, my lady. It was a surprise attack, and we were outnumbered. Besides, you had gone to help Count Raymond."

  Allesandra pressed her lips together grimly before replying, "I failed in that mission as well. The allies fled in disarray. At least Raymond and his son got away. Peter of Aragon was killed."

  The other two women looked glum. Marcia went to the window and pulled the shutters against the chill of evening.

  "They will have us all then, will they not?" she said.

  Allesandra sat up a little straighter. "They will try to have us. But there is still hope."

  Isabelle spoke. "They've already taken Beziers, Carcassonne, Lavaur. With Muret taken, they will threaten Toulouse next."

  "They will not take Toulouse," said Allesandra fiercely. "It is

  near the end of the campaigning season. They cannot hope to surround a city of twenty-five thousand people. And there can be no shortage of water in a city bordered by the Garonne. The only chance for Simon de Montfort's besiegers is that the Catholic citizens would open the gates for them. But he will find out that the people of Languedoc pay little attention to religious differences. Toulouse has struggled for a century to obtain independence. It will never accept the rule of an authoritarian bishop or a French count."

  "But the fiefs of Toulouse are great," said Isabelle. "I am not sure the French will give up so easily."

  "No," Allesandra conceded, "not easily."

  "And what will you do now, my lady?" asked Marcia.

  Allesandra clenched her fists. "I must act as this Gaucelm Deluc expects me to. If I cooperate with him, he will not execute me."

  "What do you think he will want of you?" asked Marcia.

  "My profits will go to his king, for one," said Allesandra. "But that is not the worst part."

  "No," said Isabelle. "We will be descended upon by the bishop's inquisitors, no doubt. They will ask us if we are Cathar
. If we say no, they will ask us who is. And if we lie, it will go very badly for us."

  Allesandra's face burned. She lowered her voice as the coals in the brazier seemed to flicker. "That is true. We must act very quickly and cleverly if we are to protect those who need protecting. Perhaps we can help the believers find a safer place to meet if they insist on meeting."

  "And how will you do this under the nose of the man who now rules your lands?" asked Marcia.

  Allesandra gazed at her companions for a moment. "I will have to find a distraction."

  "A distraction?" queried Marcia.

  "We cannot expose our friends the Cathars, but there is something else our captor knows us to be famous for."

  The women gazed at her doubtfully, but she gave them a sly smile.

  "Our poetry. We will introduce Gaucelm Deluc to the ways of the troubadours."

  Six

  Allesandra was not disturbed with word from Gaucelm until late next morning, when a messenger appeared to say that Sir Gaucelm requested her presence at dinner that day. A normal meal should be served in the hall, and the lady of the castle must appear beside Gaucelm, acknowledging his overlordship.

  Allesandra gave Gaucelm 's messenger a stony look but answered that she would comply. When he left again, she turned to her friends.

  "He wishes to humiliate you before your own household," said Marcia, looking as if she might cry.

  "He wishes to make a point," snapped Allesandra. But then she gathered her temper in. "We will concede his point, but we will work behind his back. You must all help me by appearing docile."

  "What do you plan to do?" asked Isabelle from where she sat on a bench, keeping her hands busy doing some mending.

  "I will find a way to go to the believers and warn them. It will be best if they do not meet so near the castle as they are used to. One of them can carry a message to Count Raymond. I must meet with him so we can lay a plan to overthrow these French."

  "But that will be dangerous. The guards will be watching," said Marcia in a hushed tone. One never knew when one of the guards in the passageways outside might lean his ear against the thick wooden door to catch the women's words.