November 1206
On All Souls Day, my husband returned from the dead.
Guillem and I were reviewing accounts in my chamber when a messenger burst in with news.“The Count and his party rest near Pamiers. They will arrive at Vespers.”
Guillem’s face turned the color of ash. His hand jerked, and his quill spread a bloodstain of ink across the vellum page. He placed his hands in his lap to hide their trembling. I willed myself to hide my fear.
“Do I know you?”
He smiled. “Yes, my Lady. My name is Guinot. I was one of your shepherds.”
I remembered him. He was a fair-faced lad when the Count and his men departed for the Outremer, under streaming red and yellow banners, on an April morning in 1195. The Count took our only son, a party of a hundred men, and all our animals, food, weapons, and silver. He went to the support of Raymond of Antioch, hoping to win gold and glory. They were wild with enthusiasm for battle, plunder, and fantastic sights.
Two years after the departure, word came that all perished in a shipwreck. The loss of my son devastated me, but the death of my husband set me free. Since that time I ruled Mirefoix and served my people well.
Guinot’s face was sunburned and scarred; dark circles under his eyes gave him the haunted look of one who had stared into Hell’s abyss. His matted hair and ragged clothes were those of a beggar, not a triumphant soldier.
I had to know my son’s fate.
“Is Jehan with you?”
“Yes, my lady, he is well.”
“And is the Count in good health?”
“He is much worn from the journey and will be glad to reach home.”
“How many have returned?”
“Thirteen.”
Only thirteen out of a hundred. My stomach clenched and I clenched my fist so hard that my nails cut into my palms.
“You have done well, Guinot. Go to the kitchen for food and drink.”
Guillem latched the door behind him, and we embraced.
“Alazais, I fear for you. He will discover our sin.”
“We believed him dead when we made our secret marriage vows.”
His thinning hair and stooped back showed his age. I loved him no less for that. He had been my father’s trusted seneschal, and he was that and more to me. When my husband beat me, Guillem comforted me. He alone encouraged me to think and feel for myself. No one could have seen Guillem on the hidden stairs to my chamber. However, there were eyes and ears everywhere in the Chateau, and someone might have seen an unguarded look or caress between us. I touched his cheek and spoke from my heart.
“Our love is a bond that cannot be broken.”
“I have placed you in danger, my love. The blame, and the punishment, must be mine alone.”
“There is so little time… give orders to prepare a feast for his arrival.”
I yearned for the comfort of Guillem’s arms, but from now on, no one must see us together alone.
***
I walked alone on the battlements atop the city walls and gazed toward the foothills of the Pyrenees. The vineyards on the western hillsides had turned the blood-red of autumn, and pungent wood smoke from cleared fields stung my eyes. To the northwest, dark clouds gathered like unwashed wool along the horizon. These foretold the Tramontane, the relentless, bitter wind that batters walls and shutters. Some say its howling voice drives men mad. To the northeast, the road led across the valley towards Pamiers and the Count. I shuddered.
Mirefoix was mine by blood and the Count’s only by marriage. He had ruled me—and my people — harshly. He sold flocks and land to pay for hawking and feasts, and my people went hungry. When I protested, he struck my face; his rings cut me and left scars. He picked quarrels with neighboring nobles; their soldiers rode through our fields and villages, cutting swathes of destruction. When I complained about his treatment of my people, he beat me. My left arm didn’t heal well, and I never recovered full use of it. In his eleven-year absence, the scars and memories had faded. Now my muscles tightened, and I caught myself tearing at my nails. I must not let people see my fear. I must submit to my husband, even though he might be as brutal as in the past. What choice did I have?
***
I found my elder daughter Alienor sewing, seated near the window of my chamber. The chilly midday sun made a glowing halo behind her.
“Your father is returning. Put on your finest garments to welcome him.”
Her darling face paled at the news, but she responded with her usual sweet obedience. I asked my maidservant where Garsenda was.
“She might be anywhere, my lady, at the market square, in the stables, or out riding.”
I sighed with exasperation. “Send for her. She must prepare to greet her father.”
I descended to the chaos in the kitchens. I gave the storeroom keys to the head cook to fetch pepper, saffron, clove, cardamom, and other spices. Women shelled peas, chopped cabbage, and cleaned leeks and carrots; salted cod and venison seasoned with rosemary and sage simmered in cauldrons and filled the room with savory aromas. For my people, who did not know the Count’s cruelty as I did, this was an occasion for excitement and laughter. We had been too poor for feasts in the past but must celebrate now. Guillem said:
“There’s not enough time to invite Foix and Saverdun and other neighboring nobles. I suggest we have the city merchants come wearing their best garments to swell the crowd. Josfred sent soldiers to hunt, but we won’t have time to cure the meat.”
“Buy all the bread and sausages available in the market square. Order the slaughter of more sheep and goats. The Count enjoys haricot of lamb. We can do with pottage for the lower end of the table, but the Count must have better fare.” I begrudged the sacrifice of my people’s flocks. Guillem gazed at me with understanding. He dared not press my hand.
I returned to my chamber to dress. My maid helped me don a clean linen underdress and cinched the side laces of my dark blue bliaut. I put on my finest sleeveless surcoat, dark red wool embroidered with gold acanthus leaves on the edges and hem. It was old and worn, but it was the finest I had. I had not indulged in finery during our years of poverty and hardship. I wrapped my head and chin in a wimple and barbette and pinned on a linen veil. A thin gold circlet held the veil in place. It was the only gift from my father I had not sold to buy food for my people. I hoped it would remind the Count of my rank.
***
When the bells rang at nightfall, I took my place at the high table in the great hall with my daughters nearby. My people’s garments showed brilliant brown, green, and blue along the walls; they laughed and gossiped; servants circulated to pour wine. Guillem had ordered long trestle tables to be set up and covered with white cloths. Near the head of the tables, places were set with my few remaining pieces of silver plate; at the middle, wooden plates; and at the bottom, below the salt, trenchers of hard bread. The feast was not as elegant as the Count might expect, but it was the best I could afford to provide. Masses of candles and oil lamps flickered; their smoke irritated my eyes and nostrils. Against the walls, crimson tapestries with touches of blue, green, and gold showed vivid scenes of love, war, and the hunt. Oak logs crackled and blazed in the hearths at both ends of the hall. Guillem and Josfred, commander of the city guard, stood behind me; their presence bolstered my courage. As servants brought in platters, the aroma of roasted lamb and pork spread through the hall. It made me sick to think how much livestock we had to slaughter. We waited.
We heard a distant clamor as the Count’s party made its way into the city gates, through the town, across the bridge, and through the corbeled gate into the Chateau Comtal. I heard cheers. My people greeted these men as conquerors; their enthusiasm did not bode well.
The Count and his small contingent of men appeared in the doorway. Ripples of dismay spread through the hall. I strained to make out their faces through the haze of smoke from the hearth. I was eager to see my son. He was still a boy when they departed. Now he might be as tall as his father, with hair the same dark shade of red. I searched their faces, at first in hope and then in despair. Jehan, the aged smith, was there; but my son Jehan was not among them. Guinot must have misunderstood which Jehan I meant; he would have known my son as “Young Master”. Grief washed over me. My appetite fled; my mouth tasted like sawdust. My son had not been cruel like his father; sometimes, he stood between me and his father’s fists. He would have been a capable future ruler for Mirefoix. How could I bear to lose him a second time?
My people kneeled; I rose. The Count approached. He did not kneel to show courtesy; he inclined his head in greeting and sat beside me. I released my people to sit or stand as they wished with a gesture. A flicker of annoyance passed over his face at my small demonstration of authority. As in the past, my actions annoyed him.
His left eye was sewed shut, and a livid scar divided his cheek. Sores and nodules covered his face. His nose was misshaped; the ends of some fingers were gone. Leprosy. Those close enough to see murmured and crossed themselves. I drew away.
I inclined my head to return his greeting. I should have commanded a greeting cup of wine; however, the prospect of drinking from a vessel he had touched was revolting. My retainer handed the goblet to the Count. After he drank, I brought my lips near the edge of the cup but avoided the rim and did not drink. I should have offered a greeting speech to my husband; however, I was too shocked to think of manners. Anger swept over me, more than fear.
“Where is my son?” I demanded.
He gazed at the floor for a few moments. Was there a tear in his one good eye? Then he searched the faces in the crowd.
“Where is my son?” He spoke in the truculent tone I remembered and feared.
I didn’t understand what he meant at first. Then I recalled. The Count had a concubine from a land far in the east before he married me; she bore him a son and died three years later. He brought this son with him when he came to my house.
Now that my son was dead, this bastard was significant. The Count might punish me for slighting this son. He might legitimize Bon by adoption, grant him a knighthood, and perhaps even designate him as heir of Mirefoix. That must not happen. I had expected to rule for many more years, and then my elder daughter Alienor would govern Mirefoix after me. Now, Bon might stand in the way.
I whispered to Guillem: “Search for him… where is he?”
A young man emerged from the ranks of the castle guard. He was tall and moved with grace. He was handsome, I grant. His cheeks were smooth, not beard-stubbled and red like the faces of many. He had high cheekbones and dark eyes. His hair, tied at the base of his neck, was glossy as a raven’s wing. His surcoat was a hand’s breadth longer than it should be and dyed a darker shade of blue, suggesting a claim to a higher rank. Perhaps he was ambitious. Before he allied with his father, I must bind him to me.
He kneeled before us and gazed into his father’s eyes and mine with quiet assurance. Guillem announced: “My lord, this is Bon.”
Josfred said: “He has no equal for intelligence, courage, and skill with weapons. He is the one I would choose to command the garrison after I am gone.”
My husband said, “Well done, my son. I am pleased.” He stood, walked up to Bon, and embraced him. A murmur spread through the crowd.
Bon bowed gracefully and stepped back into the mass of onlookers.
At the Count’s signal, a servant presented an embossed metal box shaped like a heart. I knew the custom of embalming the heart of a fallen soldier. “This is Jehan’s heart. We will place it in the family tomb.”
My face must have betrayed how stricken I was; my husband’s tone became kinder. “He showed great courage. Take comfort in his assured salvation. Let’s retire. I have much to tell.”
