Gifts of the Queen (47 page)

Among King Louis's soldiers came the man Lord Ademar had seen but once, but had never forgotten. Lord Raoul, who was claimed to be the greatest knight in all of France. He did not answer to any title, not even that of Count of Sieux; he wore the plainest clothes, who had been plain to excess before, but his armor, his shield, his gear, were as well cared for as any man's. And his great horse that no one dared approach, they say he handled it like a hound. Two men followed him, both as taciturn and dour, and since all three by then counted as one man, fought, warred and rode as one. Count Raymond was glad to welcome them. Ademar remembered when he had seen Lord Raoul that one time at Poitiers and had judged Raoul as impulsive, arrogant, and proud. Now Raoul seemed, reserved perhaps is a good word, turned in upon himself, like a man with some secret cause that drove him on. Nor did Raoul take anyone into his confidence, but everyday came up upon the north facing ramparts of the city wall and waited there until the sun set. And when at last, in the July month, that telltale dust cloud finally appeared, to make the citizens cry out and wring their hands, he never showed any outward sign, but sat resting there with his chin upon his hands. But his hands were clasped about his sword hilt. All night long he sat, and after dark the little pinpoints of flame where Henry's men had made camp seemed to hold his gaze, as if by turning his head away or blinking even one eye they might disappear. Lord Ademar marveled that a sight which caused so many men's hearts to sink, even the most courageous ones, should so gladden this man that, for the first time since Raoul had come to Toulouse, he almost smiled.

'A siege army is an awesome thing at best,' Lord Ademar later was to explain, 'and few men watch its approach without some sense of foreboding. I confess, when I saw the numbers of men Henry had brought, and the great siege machines that can hurl stones and torches to shatter a wall and burn down a house, and battering rams, and siege towers made of rawhide and wood, I felt a sensation close to fear. And since there was nothing else to be done, for our preparations were as complete as we could achieve, I watched from the ramparts beside Lord Raoul. I did not stand where he could see me, and I am not sure he would have cared if he could. He did not know me then, and there was that about him, that fixed purpose that I had only seen in religious men before. His silence and his immobility, like a bird of prey, a cat that stalks at night, fascinated me. And at dawn, he rose, strapped on his sword, and ran down the stone steps two by two as lightly as a boy. In the courtyard of Count Raymond's castle, Sir Piers had already saddled his lord's black horse and had slung upon its back the trappings that I had never seen Raoul use, scarlet and gold, and over his work-worn mail was slipped his surcoat, gold and red. His squire broke out his flag, and on his shield the golden hawks of Sedgemont flared. They clattered out of the yard, and men made way for them; down the empty cobbled streets they went, the morning not yet come to the city depths, shadows deep in alleyway and court. Toulouse in peace is a gracious town, full of flowering vines and pretty maids. The three men paid no heed, although I myself could have paused to let the sun catch the red petaled flowers, to listen to the girls singing in the morning cool as they washed themselves. I followed Lord Raoul. Call it curiosity or fate, what you will. I, too, looked for my horse and rode behind him until he came to the city gates. They were locked and trebly guarded, and no man could pass in and out. Then I spurred up to him where the guard had challenged him.

' "Where are you going. Lord Raoul?' I asked, without word of greeting as if I expected him to know why I was there. He did not ask who questioned him. He may or may not have known my name, but his answer did not surprise me.

' "I go," he said, "to honor a vow. The time of fulfillment is here."

'At my nod, the guards clashed to arms and drew back the bolts, his horse clattered through, already pulling at the bit, tossing its head. Before it reached the open road, it had broken into a canter. And his men let him ride alone.

' "Will you let him go into Henry's camp without escort?" I cried, "They will cut him down."

'But Sir Piers looked out through the half-opened gate, and watched his lord gallop toward the north. "This is the end for us," he said, "he goes with God and is in His hands." Then he and his squire turned their horses and plodded back the way they had come. The guards began to close the gates.

' "Wait," I cried. They looked at me in amaze. I am no gambler as you know, a cautious man, considering things many times. I never act on impulse, but I did then. Call it stupidity, curiosity or call it fate, I rode out after him.'

(And that day was the day, I, Ann, went back to Cambray. What made me go? What force bound me to my lord, like a sea tide? Let other men explain it as they can. I can only tell you in my thoughts I knew it to be so. And in my thoughts I rode with him.)

Afterward, in the city, they said it was the hand of God that saved them from the siege. For three days there was no news. Henry's army ringed them round; the machines and the sappers' mines were brought into place. The wooden towers that would be wheeled against the walls were half-built. The third night the campfires sparked as they had each night before. But by dawn, the army had gone, their tents dismantled, their machines abandoned, only the retreating dust clouds showed where they went. Many are the reasons given for this sudden withdrawal; sickness, plague, lack of food, change of plans, dislike of fighting against an overlord, since King Louis was still in the town. The chroniclers list many such reasons, all conflicting ones, until it seems clear they but guess at things they do not know. And they do not know because the truth was such that no man dare speak it, much less write it down. So now that truth should be told. Let Lord Ademar tell it also, that lord from Toulouse, who was in the city and destined to be the witness of such strange happenings. And although this be a man's tale, yet I, Ann of Cambray, and all women, may share in it.

He used to pause, as he spoke, Lord Ademar, in his age, and stare, as if seeing, after all these years, the white baked city walls, the white dust trail, the burning sun that glittered on the vast encampment, the two horsemen riding one by one. And as if he saw too, himself, for once all caution thrown aside, as if he sensed the shadow figure of myself, riding with them to make a third.

For Lord Raoul rode ahead, not fast but fast enough, a man with a mission to achieve, and little chance of accomplishing it, and death waiting him before the day's end. And honor shone clear about him like a lamp. The main camp was farther off than it had seemed from the city walls, and they had to ride through a stretch of woodland, more like scrub bush and thorn, with many paths winding in and out. Lord Ademar let his horse pick its own way, always keeping that distant figure in sight. An hour or so they rode through this wasteland, not even birds left, all fled before the storm, so that it was close to noon before they came to the first lines.

'Raoul's horse suddenly reared back, as if stung, and so I too drew rein,' Lord Ademar explained. 'One of the king's outposts was stationed there and rose from their hiding place to challenge us.

' "In the king's name," the captain began, then backed, seeing such a knight, so armed, in front of him almost alone. The word of alarm died on his lips.

' "Let me pass," Lord Raoul said, moved forward as if the fellow did not exist. For a moment I thought the captain would call his men to arms; but perhaps, seeing me, seeing the splendor of Raoul's accoutrements, he hesitated, thinking this was some emissary from the town, or even, if God should be so kind, a peace offer from the Count of Toulouse, since sieges are as little popular with troops outside as they are with those trapped within. But, "Let me pass," Lord Raoul repeated until the captain fell back, his men with him. So Raoul rode on through, and I, Lord Ademar of Toulouse, rode after him.

'All the world, the world of men and soldiers and knights that is, knows of Raoul's meeting with the king,' said Ademar. 'There is almost no need to tell it again. Only the chroniclers try to hide it, an event so contrary to their political theories they do not know what to make of it. Word of Lord Raoul's coming had leaped ahead, like wildfire spread, so that even before he came to the big pavillion where Henry lodged, men had begun to gather, at first furtively in small groups, then more openly as their numbers grew. Some of them, remembering the Welsh campaign and knowing they owed their lives to the Earl of Sedgemont, came to thank him and to wish him well; others, having heard of Boissert Field, came to look at the man responsible for it; and some, not knowing anything in particular, came to see a warrior whose reputation they admired. And they say that, afterward, there were men, younger men, who took him for their model, a knight errant, or wandering knight, who roamed the world on a quest. But never quest like this.

'In front of the king's tent then, Raoul stopped again and sat with that same hard, intent look that made men afraid. There was no sound, strange in so large and mixed a gathering, and the hot air closed round them like a fog; even the king's standard fell in limp folds.

' "Henry of Anjou." Raoul's voice was low, yet it carried to those waiting men, a tone to make many shiver for all the heat. Some crossed themselves and muttered prayers beneath their breath.

' "Henry of Anjou, I am come."

That was all, no name, no explanation of why or how. No one dared move, either forward or back. The stillness, the heat, was like the wait before a cloudburst. But Lord Raoul was calm and still, and his lean form was as beautiful as a coiled up snake, and as deadly. But his face, without expression, with that thin white scar across the cheekbone, was a death mask.

'Suddenly, the fastenings of the king's tent were torn apart and the king strode through the flaps. He was on foot, of course, but already in his mail coat and his coif, and he carried his helmet with the sprig of yellow broom. Behind him, a frightened squire struggled with his shield, while another bore his battle axe and sword. He said nothing, looked nowhere, merely pushed through his councilors, who wrung their hands, although afterward it was marveled that he came forth so speedily armed, as if (could it have been, so?) he already sat there expecting Raoul. No word, no sign either, from him; he simply snapped his fingers, thus, as he does, to send his guard scrabbling for their mounts, and the grooms running with his. It was the great gray stallion from Cambray he rode; he did not even bother with the reins, but vaulted on its back and spurred after Raoul, who before the king was fairly in the saddle, had already turned and moved off, cantering easily along the track he had come in, without a backward look. In silence too the crowd made way, parting in front of them on either side as a field of wheat is cut by a scythe. And the king followed him, riding like a man mesmerized, as if some tethering rope kept him in line, as if some bond attached him to the rider ahead. His face was mottled blue and white, though not for fear, and he kept his hand so hard clamped on the bridle rein that, where the bit cut into his horse's mouth, the foam was tinged with red. And that was for impatience.

'Behind Lord Raoul and the king following the king's guard, and I, Ademar, and so, keeping to our place, we came to a path that led away from both city and camp. But it is said that after we were gone, every man who could walk or run, every boy and scullion, scurried to find some conveyance, some of them even begging to be taken up behind a mounted man. Thus, in the rear a motley group followed us. (And, in my thoughts, I, Ann of Cambray also followed after them.)

'The countryside around Toulouse is wild and rocky but where a river cuts its way from the north, beyond that first stretch of woodland, there is a wide flood plain mostly bone-dry at this time of the year, although in places trickles of water still pool into hollows among the sandbars. Wild iris grows there and sorrel, and there are stands of tall flowering weeds along the dried-up water-beds, a breeding ground for snakes and other vermin so that few local men go there, no use in summer even for hunting.

'The afternoon was now well advanced, the air as thick and still as dawn; there was no breath of wind to bring relief, even the shadows in this arid soil were stark and hot. The men were sweating in their leather coats; to ride in full armor under that sun would have daunted many knights. Nor was it easy riding across this coarse and gritty sand, but Raoul kept up his steady pace, not deviating for rock or bush until he came to a place where a large meander of the main river had cut out a long level stretch between its banks. His horse forged on through the rank marsh grass, then stopped and turned. Raoul had been riding bareheaded all this while, and after he had drawn his sword and clapped his shield over his left arm, we saw how he unbuckled his sword belt, threw it and scabbard to the ground. No quarter then, to the death. He urged his horse toward the king. (And perhaps, in my thoughts, I, Ann of Cambray, saw him ride.)

'King Henry had paused when Raoul did and was already fidgeting for his shield and sword. Now he too stood up in the stirrups, as if eager to begin, and spurred his horse forward. Young and fresh, it bounded over the flinty soil, and as Henry rode, he closed his helmet down. The sand spurted beneath his hooves; no one could hear the cry the king gave, but Raoul's was clear, a clarion, the first time his battle cry had been heard for many weary months.

'
“A moi, Sedgemont, a moi, Sieux
," and he raised his sword and leveled it like a lance. Henry met him head on, swerved at the last moment before impact, shields clashed rim to rim, and when they turned, Raoul's swordtip was red. Back they wheeled, slash and thrust. Never in this life shall men see again such a fight; the dust swirled in clouds; the thunder of their hooves beat up and down the sand. At each turn the gray horse bore its master in, bore him safely away; each time, when the dust had settled. Lord Raoul, standing firm, had let Henry beat upon him, had thrust Henry back, advanced a pace or two himself. They were well matched as swordsmen; such men could fight all day until one tired. They were well matched with horse and horsemanship, again until one tired, or made a mistake. And like a flame that leaps between two fires, they sparked each other on, until it seemed an energy, a rage, flared back and forth between them both.