Read Online Paris: The Novel by Edward Rutherfurd - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Edward Rutherfurd
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scent of incense in every nook and crevice, it seemed only natural that she should draw close to his side.
And in doing so and leaning, once or twice, close to his body, she noticed something else. Notwithstanding the incense, she could smell him: a faint, pleasant smell of the light sweat on his leather sandals, and something else—was it almonds perhaps, or nutmeg?—that came from his skin.
They had been there some minutes, quietly enjoying the beauty of the place, when a priest came past them, and to her surprise her young student had addressed him.
“I was wondering,
mon Père
, whether I might show this lady the chapel above.”
“The royal chapel is not open, young man,” the priest replied sharply. And that, she thought, was the end of it. But not at all.
“Forgive me,
mon Père
, my name is Roland de Cygne. My father is the lord de Cygne in the valley of the Loire. I am his second son and plan to take Holy Orders.”
The priest paused and looked at him carefully.
“I have heard of your family, monsieur,” he said quietly. “Please accompany me …” And minutes later, they were in the royal chapel. “We can stay only a moment,” the priest whispered.
The sunlight was coming in through the tall windows, filling the high, blue and gold spaces with celestial light. If the lower chapel had seemed like a magical wood, this was the hallway to heaven.
Her young student, who spoke so well and smelled so good, had the power to open the secret gardens of earthly delights and royal sanctuaries. That was the moment when she decided to try him as a lover. Besides, she’d never had an aristocrat before.
As she stared at him now, in the early morning light, he opened his eyes. They were tawny brown.
“It’s time to go,” she whispered.
“Not quite.”
“I mustn’t get caught.”
“Don’t make a sound, then.” He grinned.
“We’ll have to be quick,” she said, as she lay down beside him.
Afterward he told her that he must study the following night, but could come to her the night after that. She told him yes, then led him downstairs into the yard. Like most of the better merchant’s houses in Paris, her uncle’s house was tall. The front door gave directly onto the street, but behind the house there was a yard with a storehouse, above which she slept, and a gateway to the alley that ran along the back. Drawing the bolts to the gate softly back, she pushed him through, and quickly bolted the gate behind him. From the house, her uncle’s snores could still be heard.
As Roland de Cygne made his way along the alley, he felt pretty pleased with himself, and his conquest. Before this, he’d had only brief and fumbling encounters with farm girls and serving wenches, so Martine was a good start to what he hoped would be a fine career as a lover. Of course, she was only a young woman of the bourgeois, merchant class, but good practice. And he supposed that she in turn must be quite excited to have a boy of noble blood for a lover.
He thought he’d handled his first approach to her especially well. As for telling her that he was descended from the hero of the
Song of Roland
, that had been only a slight embroidery on the truth. As a child he’d asked why he was named Roland, and his father had explained: “When yourgrandfather went on crusade, he had a wonderful horse called Roland, after the hero of the tale. That horse went with him all the way to the Holy Land and back, and he deserves to be remembered. It’s a good name, too. I’d have given it to your brother, but the eldest in our family is always called Jean. So I gave it to you.”
“I’m named after a horse?”
“One of the noblest warhorses ever to go on crusade. What more do you want?”
Roland had understood. But he didn’t think he was going to get many girls by telling them he was named after a horse.
He cut through an alley back into the rue du Temple. The sky was brightening over the gabled houses. The city gates
And in doing so and leaning, once or twice, close to his body, she noticed something else. Notwithstanding the incense, she could smell him: a faint, pleasant smell of the light sweat on his leather sandals, and something else—was it almonds perhaps, or nutmeg?—that came from his skin.
They had been there some minutes, quietly enjoying the beauty of the place, when a priest came past them, and to her surprise her young student had addressed him.
“I was wondering,
mon Père
, whether I might show this lady the chapel above.”
“The royal chapel is not open, young man,” the priest replied sharply. And that, she thought, was the end of it. But not at all.
“Forgive me,
mon Père
, my name is Roland de Cygne. My father is the lord de Cygne in the valley of the Loire. I am his second son and plan to take Holy Orders.”
The priest paused and looked at him carefully.
“I have heard of your family, monsieur,” he said quietly. “Please accompany me …” And minutes later, they were in the royal chapel. “We can stay only a moment,” the priest whispered.
The sunlight was coming in through the tall windows, filling the high, blue and gold spaces with celestial light. If the lower chapel had seemed like a magical wood, this was the hallway to heaven.
Her young student, who spoke so well and smelled so good, had the power to open the secret gardens of earthly delights and royal sanctuaries. That was the moment when she decided to try him as a lover. Besides, she’d never had an aristocrat before.
As she stared at him now, in the early morning light, he opened his eyes. They were tawny brown.
“It’s time to go,” she whispered.
“Not quite.”
“I mustn’t get caught.”
“Don’t make a sound, then.” He grinned.
“We’ll have to be quick,” she said, as she lay down beside him.
Afterward he told her that he must study the following night, but could come to her the night after that. She told him yes, then led him downstairs into the yard. Like most of the better merchant’s houses in Paris, her uncle’s house was tall. The front door gave directly onto the street, but behind the house there was a yard with a storehouse, above which she slept, and a gateway to the alley that ran along the back. Drawing the bolts to the gate softly back, she pushed him through, and quickly bolted the gate behind him. From the house, her uncle’s snores could still be heard.
As Roland de Cygne made his way along the alley, he felt pretty pleased with himself, and his conquest. Before this, he’d had only brief and fumbling encounters with farm girls and serving wenches, so Martine was a good start to what he hoped would be a fine career as a lover. Of course, she was only a young woman of the bourgeois, merchant class, but good practice. And he supposed that she in turn must be quite excited to have a boy of noble blood for a lover.
He thought he’d handled his first approach to her especially well. As for telling her that he was descended from the hero of the
Song of Roland
, that had been only a slight embroidery on the truth. As a child he’d asked why he was named Roland, and his father had explained: “When yourgrandfather went on crusade, he had a wonderful horse called Roland, after the hero of the tale. That horse went with him all the way to the Holy Land and back, and he deserves to be remembered. It’s a good name, too. I’d have given it to your brother, but the eldest in our family is always called Jean. So I gave it to you.”
“I’m named after a horse?”
“One of the noblest warhorses ever to go on crusade. What more do you want?”
Roland had understood. But he didn’t think he was going to get many girls by telling them he was named after a horse.
He cut through an alley back into the rue du Temple. The sky was brightening over the gabled houses. The city gates
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