Plaint for Provence Chapter 31

CHAPTER

THIRTY

And so, precious stones are born from fire and water; whence they have fire and moisture in them. They contain many powers and are effective for many needs. Many things can be done with them – but only honest actions, which are beneficial to human beings; not activities of seduction, fornication, adultery, enmity, homicide, and the like, which tend toward vice and are injurious to people. The nature of these precious stones seeks honest and useful effects and rejects people’s depraved and evil uses, in the same way virtues cast off vices and vices are unable to engage with virtues.

Physica, Stones

W

hen Sadeek and his rider had vanished from sight, Estela opened her palm and studied the small object Dragonetz had given her. Hand-carved in oak, oiled to a shine, the wooden dog had a definite air of Nici about him, from the hint of shaggy coat and curved tail to the open jaw. No master craftsman would have whittled two rough fangs to represent a full collection of teeth but Estela loved the little wooden dog on first sight, knowing who’d made it. She imagined Dragonetz, wakeful by candlelight, sweating in need of the poppy, controlling himself with a knife and some wood. Better than flowers, much better.

Her heart was still pounding from the tourney, beating to the rhythm ‘He’s alive.’ It had been difficult to follow the action with so many men fighting and so much dust but she kept track of her knight, worrying as he moved further away from the standard, from the protection of Malik and Raoulf.

Her jaw ached from gritting her teeth and when she saw the three red knights converging on Dragonetz, time stopped. Maria screeching, ‘Dragonetz is going over the cliff’; spectators disagreeing, ‘Foul play!’ or ‘It’s only one at a time’; ‘Now we’ll see how good he is!’ was the remark that nearly led to fighting in the stands but Sancha laid a cool hand on Estela’s arm, murmuring, ‘He’s come through worse,’ and then de Rançon joined his friend.

Maria’s screeching increased but Estela no longer minded. This was how it had been with Arnaut, Raoulf’s son: a bright partnership of sword and spirit. Even from this distance, the swordplay could be appreciated and few spectators were defending the red knights’ behaviour now, as the two blues demonstrated their skills. For the first time, Estela saw the deep friendship of which Geoffroi had spoken so much and Dragonetz not at all.

‘Like Roland and Oliver,’ murmured one of the more cultured ladies, watching de Rançon dispatch a red knight. Estela could only agree. Like the famous friends of song, Dragonetz and Geoffroi fought together against the odds, Roland’s wild courage tempered by Oliver’s realism. Yet it had been Oliver who was killed. As Arnaut had been.

The past does not shape the future

Estela told herself firmly, as the third red knight stumbled towards the Horse-master and the prisoners’ camp.

Dragonetz kneeling to Hugues drew much disagreement from the crowd as to whether it showed chivalry or defeat. Estela would have preferred to watch her lover take the young Lord of Les Baux across his knee and beat him with the flat of Talharcant but she appreciated that there were important issues at stake. Still, it would have been the perfect end to the tourney. If there was a Charlemagne on this field it was

not

Hugues des Baux.

Indulging in such pleasant fantasies, Estela let the speeches wash over her and waited for the only moment that was important. The moment when he looked at her.

He’s alive

her heart commented. And her hand clutched a little wooden dog, proof of life and love. Dragonetz had ridden back to the keep but his token was here in her hand. Her face smiled. Her whole body smiled and she had no control over it. People smiled back at her. Geoffroi smiled back at her, soothing his horse, who stamped impatiently at being restrained so long beside these noisy people.

‘Thank you,’ Estela told him. ‘You were magnificent.’ His eyes were diamond-bright, radiant, reflecting happiness.

‘Dragonetz was magnificent,’ he corrected her. ‘I would follow him to the ends of the earth.’

‘Yes. So would I,’ she said. They both laughed.

‘You were the best knight on the field,’ Maria said staunchly. ‘Everybody says so.’

‘Then it must be true, my Lady,’ Geoffroi teased her. Maria was a good influence on him, thought Estela, despite the difference in intellect and status. Some men preferred women who were not their equals, women they could impress and who would be ever grateful.

‘I must give thanks for this day, where it is due, so I don’t become a braggart,’ Geoffroi told them. ‘And confirm our marriage arrangements with the priest.’

Estela waited for the predicted screech to finish then asked, ‘When shall it be?’

‘As soon as possible,’ smiled Geoffroi. ‘You will be the first to know.’

‘Second,’ pointed out Maria, without really seeming to mind.

‘Second,’ he agreed, bowing to her and the other ladies before riding off towards the citadel.

‘That is an admirable knight,’ commented Sancha, following de Rançon with her eyes.

‘Yes,’ agreed Estela. ‘But I thought your heart was taken? Should Maria be jealous?’ Sancha’s obvious pleasure at her own knight’s acknowledgement of his lady had not gone unnoticed.

Sancha didn’t dignify the jibe with an answer.

Dragonetz tracked down de Rançon, finally catching up with him in the chapel. His sun-bleached curls glowing cherubic in the candlelight, the knight knelt in prayer, the hilt of his sword a cross held out in front of him. Just as Dragonetz himself must have looked all the times he had come here to think, to seek guidance. This was not the place for what must be said but Dragonetz steeled himself. With de Rançon there could be no excuses.

‘Dragonetz.’ The tone calm, joyous, as de Rançon responded to the clatter on the stone flags. He opened his eyes but remained on his knees.

‘You sent flowers to Estela,’ Dragonetz stated baldly, hand on his sword hilt. Even though he could never draw Talharcant in a place of sanctuary, he could make his intentions clear.

The other man’s limpid gaze did not falter or change. ‘I did,’ he owned. ‘But that was before. I have given her up.’

‘She was never yours to give up. Whatever might have happened on the journey to the Holy Land.’

‘Nothing happened,’ de Rançon swore, then, perhaps glimpsing the lie reflected in Dragonetz’ face, he amended, ‘I kissed her. I should not have but I did many things I should not have.’

He was still kneeling, which Dragonetz found disconcerting. ‘’That was before. I am going to marry Maria and she can give me everything I need in a woman. I have changed. You

know

I’ve changed. You

know

what we shared today was real. It cannot be counterfeited. Do you remember crossing Germany? The times we tried to protect the villages?’

‘And failed.’

‘Byzantium? Louis being fooled as much by his host as by our own sweet Duchesse?’

Dragonetz remembered Byzantium, the double-dealing and wasted months. He also remembered his own relationship with their sweet Duchesse Aliénor all too well. He had changed. Was it possible that de Rançon had changed too? Left behind the obsession with vengeance? ‘I was in love with her,’ he admitted.

‘We all were! I’d have followed her to the ends of the earth! Who among us wasn’t in love with the fiery queen, the amazon we called liege.’

‘Your father too?’ Dragonetz risked naming the cause of all friction between them.

De Rançon’s face tightened but he did not duck the question. ‘I expect so. My father is not somebody I understand.’

Dragonetz weakened. Fathers and their shortcomings, their effect on children. What would Musca say about him one day? Every man carried so much guilt. The brotherhood forged in battle between him and de Rançon was an invisible chain between them but Dragonetz didn’t know whether it bound them for good or ill.

He tested the tempering. He was only testing, he told himself but his voice shook. ‘We’ve been through a lot. I need to think, to sleep properly. Can you give me some poppy? Just a little. Just for tonight?’ Was he pleading? He gripped Talharcant tighter.

The same steady gaze met his, a trace of pity quickly hidden. Dragonetz felt a surge of fury before even hearing the reply, ‘No, my friend.’ Talharcant was half-unsheathed to force compliance when the flickering light caught the hilt. A cross. A sanctuary. A man kneeling. Sweating, Dragonetz sheathed his sword, nodded, joined de Rançon on his knees. Prayed hard.

So it was that Maria found them both, kneeling together, each in silent meditation.

‘You’ve been here for hours, my Lord!’ she chid Geoffroi. ‘That’s no good for your joints, kneeling on stone floors like that.’

De Rançon got to his feet. ‘And it suits you to keep my joints flexible,’ he flirted.

Dragonetz stood too, the anger and need passing, leaving him exhausted from the vigil. It had helped to have company. He tried to make polite conversation with Maria. ‘I hear you are to be married. My felicitations.’

Her face alight with the day’s contagious happiness, she babbled, ‘Thank you, yes, we’re ordering dresses and linen but we don’t need to wait for all that if the priest has chosen a day to bless us then we can go right ahead – Geoffroi, did he name a day?’ She barely paused for a shake of her knight’s head before a thought struck her.

She reached down her bodice, pulling up something on a chain as she chatted. ‘And Geoffroi’s going to have this made into a ring because it is so beautiful and he says it will wash all the blood off it that came from how he got it I suppose it was like that in the Holy Land though always bad things happening and you had to kill all those men… but you shouldn’t… feel… it… was… your… fault…’

She tailed off as she realised that something was wrong. Geoffroi’s move to stop her had come too late and he stood pale, helpless. Dragonetz was also standing, rigid, his face stone.

Maria held out the diamond towards Dragonetz, stammering, ‘It’s a diamond. Isn’t it beautiful?’

‘Go back to my chamber, Maria.’ De Rançon’s eyes never left Dragonetz, his tone leaving no room for question. She left.

The two men remained more than a sword’s distance apart and Dragonetz had not moved to draw Talharcant again. He was beyond rage. He was white fire, ice heart, diamond.

‘Muganni’s diamond,’ he stated.

De Rançon did not lack courage. He had never lacked courage. Except perhaps when he murdered a small boy. ‘Yes,’ he said.

‘He’s dead. You killed him.’

‘Yes. I’m sorry.’ Dragonetz fought the urge to ask how, to ask where. He was experienced enough to know that details did not make grief easier. He knew all he needed to know and that was already too much to bear.

‘Your life is forfeit. I will not take it here in church. You will meet me alone, tomorrow, at dawn, at the far end of the plateau. Only one of us will return.’

‘Estela will never forgive you. She will never believe you, as to why.’ He too was merely stating facts.

‘But what must be done, will be done, all the same.’

‘And if I win?’

‘Then Estela will never forgive

you

. But you won’t win.’ Dragonetz turned to leave. ‘Make your peace with God. I’m sure that’s more grace than you gave Muganni.’ Saying the boy’s name was a knife through the heart. ‘There can be no peace with me.’

Dragonetz had no option but another night with Vertat. Estela would be disappointed but she would assume he needed to recover after the tourney. He could not be with her and hide what he knew or what he must do the next day.

There would be no sleep this night and the only love would be in his tears for the child whose rescue had been so short-lived. The child who had sung like an angel in the court of Jerusalem, thanks to Dragonetz.

And who had never reached his beloved mountain home. Who had died, thanks to Dragonetz. It was going to be a long night and the heavy air threatened a thunderstorm.