I came out from behind the barn and let her see me. I did not know whether to run and sweep Emilie up into the air or just stand there. “In all the world, my lady,” I finally said, “you have no idea what joy this brings me.”
“‘In all the world’ is right, Hugh De Luc.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “For it feels as though I have traveled it to find you.”
How I ached to wrap her in my arms. I did not know what feelings had brought her here — or even what feelings were my own. So I held back. She was still a noble, and I was there in torn rags and a patched skirt.
“I’m sorry for your trouble.” I shook my head. “But you are a sight for dreaming eyes no matter how far you’ve come. But how . . . ? How did you find me here?”
“You said you were from the south.” Emilie picked up her satchel and walked up to me. “So I merely went to the spot where we found you on the road and continued south. And south. And south even more. Every village we passed, I asked, ‘Is there a very strange person here who has come from Borée, who wears a jester’s suit?’ I had gone so far south I thought I would hear Spanish, when this nice boy answered, ‘Yes, ma’am. You must mean Hugh.’ I thanked God to hear that word, since we could not drag ourselves one more mile. This is Elena.” She waved her attendant forward. “She accompanied me on the trip.”
“Elena.” I bowed. “I have seen you at Borée.”
The servant curtsied wearily, clearly delighted their journey had come to an end.
I turned back to Emilie. “So tell me, how have you come here?” I shook my head. “And why?”
“Because I promised I would see you again. Because I told you I would do what I could do to find you the answers you sought. I will explain later.”
“And you came all this way alone? The two of you? Do you not know the risk you took?”
“I told Anne that I had arranged a visit to my aunt Isabel in Toulon. There was such commotion in Borée with Stephen’s return, I am sure she was happy to be rid of me. We were escorted on our way by a party of priests headed south on a pilgrimage.”
“But your aunt? When you fail to arrive in Toulon, you will be missed.”
Emilie bit her lip guiltily. “My aunt Isabel does not know. There never was any visit. I made it up.”
I broke into a wide grin. “You have taken on the world to visit me. But enough questions. You and Elena must be tired. And hungry. I’m afraid we have no castles in these parts.” I smiled. “But there is no shortage of hospitality. Come, I know just the place.”
I threw her leather satchel over my back and walked with them across the square. Everyone had come out and was staring. It must have seemed an incredible sight: Hugh, who had come back from his travels without a denier in his pocket, in torn and preposterous clothes, with this very special visitor.
A woman of highborn stature. A noble . . . And a most beautiful one.
I took Emilie and Elena to the inn. “This was our inn.” I nodded. “I have taken up the work to rebuild it.”
I noticed a glint of approval light up Emilie’s eyes. “It is good work, Hugh.”
“It’s no castle, I know. But you’ll be warm and comfortable. It’s got a good roof and a hearth.”
“I am honored. Don’t you think, Elena? I have heard the fare in such country places is quite good. And they say the innkeeper’s quite cute.”
I smiled. “Then welcome, ladies. To the Château De Luc. You will be my first guests!”
Chapter 87
THERE WAS A BIG CELEBRATION IN TOWN THAT NIGHT.
We ate at Odo’s table, which filled most of his hut. His wife, Lisette, cooked, helped by Marie, the miller’s wife. There were Odo and Georges, my closest friends, and Father Leo. And, of course, Emilie.
A special meal was prepared, a goose roasted in the hearth. With carrots and turnips and peas, a soup of vegetables in a garlicky broth, and fresh bread that we dipped in the soup. There was no wine, but the priest brought along a cask of Belgian ale he’d been saving for the bishop’s visit. By our standards, it was a rare feast.
Odo played the flute, and we all pitched in with chansons. The children danced as if it were Mid-summer’s Eve. And I performed a few tricks, a flip or two. Everyone laughed and danced, Emilie too. For a few hours, we forgot the past.
All the while I could not keep my gaze far from the brightness of Emilie’s eyes. They were as light as the moon, and just as genuine. She clapped and laughed as Odo’s kids tried to reproduce my flips, as if this were the most natural role in the world for her. She told them of life in the castle. It was a golden evening, free from all barriers and stations in life.
Afterward, I walked with her back to the inn. There was a chill in the air, and Emilie huddled tightly in her cloak. Part of me wanted to put my arm around her; another part quivered with nerves.
We walked amid the noises of the night — owls hooting, other birds fluttering in the trees. A bright round moon peeked through the clouds. I asked her, “How is Norbert? His health?”
“He is fine again,” Emilie said, “except he is still unable to do that trick with the chains. But things have changed since Stephen’s return. The Tafurs are everywhere, and the duke is behind them.”
“Stephen and Anne,” I replied.
“Anne . . .” Emilie stopped, hesitating. “I believe with all my heart she did not act of her own accord.”
“You mean the raids she directed in her husband’s absence, the slaughter and mayhem, these were not hers?”
“I only meant that she behaved from fear. I do not justify it. She said something to me, Hugh, that I did not understand. I pressed her on why she allowed these things to occur, and she said, ‘If I knew the person we sought all along was at Borée, your jester would be as dead as his wife.’”
I shook my head in confusion.
“She called you the innkeeper from the Crusade. It was why they took your wife. But she claimed she did not know this was you.”
“Why? Why in God’s name would they want me?”
“Because you hold ‘the greatest prize in Christendom.’” Emilie tilted her head to me. “And do not know. That is what Anne says.”
“The greatest prize in Christendom . . .” I started to laugh. “Are they mad? Look around you. I have nothing. All that I had they’ve already taken.”
“I told her the same. But you were there, Hugh, in the Crusade. Perhaps they confuse you with someone else.”
We had arrived at the inn. Emilie shivered in the cold night air, and I ached to hold her, just for a moment. I would have given anything to have her in my arms. Even “the greatest prize in Christendom.”
“I brought something for you, Hugh. I have it here.” We ducked inside the door. By the fiery hearth, Elena was already asleep on her mat. Emilie went over to her satchel.
She came back with a calfskin pouch cinched at the top, and from it removed a wooden box the size of my two palms. It was finely engraved, the mark of a craftsman, with an ornate letter C on its lid.
She placed the box in my hands and stepped back. “This belongs to you, Hugh. It’s why I came.”
I stood there examining the box a moment, then lifted the tiny latch and opened the lid.
Burning tears welled in my eyes. Immediately I knew what the box contained.
Ashes.
Sophie’s ashes . . .
“Her body was cremated the following day,” Emilie said softly. “I went and gathered these. The priests say her soul will not reach Heaven unless she is buried.”
A knot rose in my chest and throat. I took the deepest breath, as if sucking air into every fiber in my body. “You cannot know how much I treasure this gift, Emilie.”
“As I said, Hugh, it belongs to you.”
I wrapped my arms around her and drew her close. I felt her heart beating against mine.
I whispered beneath my breath, so only I could hear. “I meant you.”
Chapter 88
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I rose
before the sun. I took the calfskin pouch that was next to my bed and slipped out of the inn.
Next to the woodshed, I found a few scattered tools. I took a shovel. The cocks had not yet crowed.
A few other early risers fluttered about their chores. A carter was heading out with his mule. By the baker’s hut, the smell of fresh baking bread perfumed the air.
I headed for the knoll overlooking our village.
I had dreamed of this so many times since Sophie had died in my arms. Bringing her home. The thought that her soul was incomplete, with no rites or blessings, tormented me. Now her life would be complete. She would rest here forever.
By the ford in the stream I began to climb a steep hill. The morning was alive with birds chirping in the soft light. The sun tried to burn through the mist. I climbed for a few minutes; soon I was above the town. I looked back over the waking valley. The little huts had begun to show life. I saw the square and the inn. Emilie was sleeping there.
On top of the hill, I went to a spot near a spreading elm where my son’s grave was.
I knelt and put the calfskin pouch down. Then I began to dig. I made a space in the ground next to Phillipe. Tears gathered in my eyes as a heavy drum pounded inside my chest.
“At last you’re home, Sophie,” I whispered. “You and Phillipe.”
I opened the pouch and held the box with the C. Then I scattered her ashes into the dug-up earth and covered them up again. I stood there at her grave and looked back over the awakening town.
You are finally home, Sophie. Your soul can rest.
Chapter 89
STEPHEN OF BORéE SAT STOLIDLY on the high-backed chair in his court. A crowd of toadying favor-seekers stood in line as his bailiff brought him up to date on a new tax. Behind him, the seneschal readied a report on the status of his demesne. His thoughts were a thousand miles away.
An incompleteness jabbed at Stephen. Since he had been back, the business of his estates, his holdings, things that had once meant everything to him, now seemed trivial, worthless. These functionaries droned on and on, but he could not fix. His mind was a brooding pit that focused on a single, far-off point of light.
The prize. The treasure.
It haunted him, invaded his dreams. This holy relic miraculously preserved for centuries in the tombs of the Holy Land. He longed for it with an avarice he had felt for no woman. Something that had touched Him. He woke in the night dreaming about it, his body covered in sweat. His lips grew dry just thinking of its touch.
With such a prize in hand, Borée would be among the most powerful duchies in Europe. What a cathedral he would build to house its glory. What was the worth of the meager bones of his own patron saint, resting in his reliquary? It was nothing compared to this prize. People would come from all over the world to make pilgrimages to Borée. No cleric would be greater than him, or closer to God.
And he knew who had it.
A furor built in Stephen’s chest. His underlings were lathering on, blabbering about his holdings, his wealth. It was all rubbish — insignificant. He felt as if he were about to explode.
“Get out,” he stood and screamed. The bailiff and the seneschal looked at him, surprised. “Get out! Leave me be! You go on about this new tax, or a new flock of sheep. Your eyes are fixed on the ground. I am dreaming of everlasting life.”
He swept his hand across the table in front of him, and a tray of wine goblets clattered to the floor. Everybody scurried, fleeing their places as if the whole structure were about to collapse.
Only Norbert, his jester, remained, clinging to the base of his chair and shaking like a man in seizure, trying to make him laugh.
“It is no use, Norbert. Do not waste your jest. Let it be.”
“It is no jest.” Norbert shook, lips trembling. “Your chair is on my hand.”
Finally Stephen grunted back a smile and the loyal jester rolled away, shaking his swollen hand.
A servant nervously approached to clear the mess. Stephen waved him away. His eyes followed the trail of spilled wine until they came to rest upon someone’s boot.
Who is so presumptuous as to approach? Stephen thought. He looked up at the face of Morgaine, the leader of his Tafur guard. Black Cross.
“Have you come to taunt me, Morgaine, with news of another village laid waste without my prize?”
“No, I have come to cheer you, my lord, with news that I know where the treasure is.”
Stephen’s eyes widened. “Where?”
“Your cousin, the lady Emilie, has led me right to it,” Black Cross said with a pinched smile.
“Emilie?” Stephen’s face twitched. “What has Emilie to do with this prize? She is in Toulon.”
“She is not in Toulon,” Black Cross said. He whispered close. “But in a little pisshole in the duchy of Treille, Veille du Père.”
“Veille du Père? I know that name. I thought you had already sacked —”
“Yes.” Morgaine nodded, seeing Stephen come to understand. “She is with the innkeeper as we speak. And so is the treasure.”
Chapter 90
TO MY AMAZEMENT AND DELIGHT, Emilie did not leave as soon as she had delivered her gift. She stayed on for the next few days. I was in heaven.
I showed her the work we were doing to fortify the town. The perimeter defenses of sharpened stakes, strong enough to repel a sudden charge; the battle stations high in the trees, from where we could rain arrows and stones on any attackers. She saw the passion with which I urged my friends and neighbors to resist. And she heartily approved.
In between, I treated her to the best sights of our village. The lily pond in the woods where I liked to swim. A field high in the hills where sunflowers ran wild in the summer. And she helped me at the inn. I showed her how to fit logs into a support column with pegs and joints. She helped me hoist up a log as a support beam. Then we carved her initials into the wood: Em. C.
I knew this fantasy would have to come to an end. Soon she would leave. Yet she seemed comfortable. So I allowed myself to pretend. That Emilie would not be missed and looked for. That it was safe here, free from attack. That something unthinkable was happening between us.
It was on a warm afternoon a few days later that I tossed down my tools before noon. “Come.” I took Emilie by the hand. “It’s not a day to be working. I want to show you a beautiful place. Please, my lady.”
I took her up into the hills, past the knoll where Sophie and Phillipe lay. The sun beat deliciously against our skin. High above town, an open meadow stretched out, the tall grass golden under the blue sky.
“It’s gorgeous,” Emilie exclaimed, her eyes soaking in every burst of blue and flash of gold.
She flung herself down in the field and fanned her arms and legs into the shape of a star. “Come here, Hugh, this is heaven.” She patted the grass next to her.
I lay down beside her. Her soft blond hair fell off her shoulders, and I could see the hint of breasts peeking from the neckline of her dress. My blood was running wild, and it terrified me for obvious reasons.
“Tell me,” I said, propping myself up on my elbow, “what does the C stand for?”
“The C?”
“Your family name . . . It was on the box you gave me, and the initials we carved into the inn. I know nothing about you. Who you are. Where you are from. Your family.”
“Are you concerned,” she said with a laugh, “that I may not be a high enough match for you?”
“Of course not, I just . . .”
“I was born in Paris, if you must know. I am the fourth child, with two brothers and a sister, all older. My father is remarkable, but not for the reasons you may suspect.”
“He is a noble, that much I know. A member of the royal court?”
“He is important; leave it at that. And educated. But sometimes his vision is as narrow as a fly’s.”
“You are the baby.” I winked. “And yet you have wandered away from the nest.”
“The nest is not always a welc
ome place.” Emilie looked away. “At least not for a woman down the pecking order. What is there for me except to be educated in lofty arts and concepts I will never use? Or to be married off for gain to some old sod twice my age. Can you see me entertaining and receiving gifts from gassy old coots?”
“I have met only two duchesses,” I said, beaming, “and you outshine them in both beauty and heart.”
She put her palm against mine, and we held it there, for a moment, in silence. Then Emilie pushed me away. “Make me laugh, will you?”
“Make you laugh?”
“Yes. You were a jester. Quite a decent one.” Her eyes shined. “Come on. It shouldn’t be hard for you.”
“It’s not so easy,” I protested. “I mean, you just don’t blurt out a joke, in a place like this, and have it succeed.”
“Are you embarrassed, then? With me . . . ? Come.” She pinched my arm. “It is only us. I will close my eyes. In all the world, it should not be so hard to know what will make me smile.”
Emilie closed her eyes with her chin raised. I stared at her face, the delicate yellow hair falling off her shoulder.
I felt my breath come to a halt.
She was incredibly lovely. . . . And kind, generous, smart as a whip.
All of a sudden, there was nothing between us: no words, no barriers, just our two beating hearts. I placed my hand on her hip. Nervously — I prayed she would not take offense — I moved it up her side, over the curve of her waist.
She made no move to resist. I felt the strangest urge come over me. My breath was tight, my spine tingling. Had I felt this from the start? From the first moment I opened my eyes and saw her face?
I moved my hand over her shoulder and let it fall gently against the round of her breast. I felt her heart quiver. I had felt this only once before. Yet here it was again.
Slowly I placed my mouth upon her lips.