morning, after some fresh bread and small ale from the tavern, the troupe packed up and returned to the road.
‘Would you ride while a lady walks?’ Bernardina asked the new joglar . ‘That is not true cortesia .’
‘See how he colours up like a girl,’ jeered Pelegrina. ‘Perhaps because he doesn’t think we are ladies?’
Elinor stopped the pony and dismounted, bowing awkwardly to the joglaresa s and offering Mackerel to whichever of them would like to ride. But Lucatz had ridden back to see why they had stopped and ordered the boy back up.
‘I don’t want them getting soft,’ he said. ‘How many joglaresa s do you know who can ride? But then perhaps in Ademar’s troupe everyone has their own mount?’
‘No, sir,’ said Elinor. ‘I was given the pony by a lord.’ That was true enough.
‘Hmm,’ said Lucatz. ‘We will not enquire into why.’ He glared at the joglaresa s, who were cackling with lewd laughter. ‘Now we have delayed long enough. On your way.’
While Lucatz and his troupe travelled slowly east towards Montpellier, Bertran was working his way from court to court in the west. From Narbonne he crossed the River Aude and headed for Minerve, calling at the hill towns in between: Aigne, Aigues-Vives and La Caunette.
After many weeks on horseback he rode unchallenged through the gates in the double curtain wall round the town and over the bridge into Minerve. The River Cesse disappeared into a large natural tunnel, affording a good water supply for the castle. And from here he could see the tall candela , the central tower. From here it looked impregnable, standing on a high spur of rock.
The town was built on the site of an old Roman temple to the goddess Minerva, who had given it her name. In ancient times, the locals would have prayed to the warlike goddess to protect them, but what could save them from the battles to come now that the Midi was Christian but the Church itself was about to take up arms against them? Bertran hoped that the town’s many natural advantages would hold the answer.
He sang his song himself that night at the court of Viscount Guilhem. There were no other troubadours or joglar s in the castle so he took his own lute from his saddlebags and sang to all who would listen about the love that was like war, the battles that would be fought and lost or won depending on the readiness of the beloved.
After dinner, he had an interview with the Viscount alone.
‘Where will you go next?’ asked Guilhem.
‘West, to Carcassonne,’ said Bertran. ‘I must talk to Viscount Trencavel.’
‘Do you think he understands the gravity of the situation?’
‘I think not,’ said Bertran. ‘He will see it as a problem only for his uncle in Toulouse. But once the lords of the north take up the Cross against the south, it will not be the Count of Toulouse alone who will suffer.’
‘You really think that an army will invade the Midi?’ asked Guilhem. ‘That the northerners will besiege our castles and bastides?’
‘I do indeed believe that, my lord,’ said the troubadour.
‘But look how we are placed here,’ said Guilhem. ‘We have the outer walls and the tower and enough men to defend them. Even if they come in their tens of thousands, we could withstand them.’
‘Then prepare for that,’ urged Bertran. ‘Build up your stocks of armour, weapons and food. And make sure that the people are loyal to you and willing to defend the Believers.’
Bertran did not know whether the Viscount of Minerve shared his secret religion; he had given no sign. But he did know that if the Church moved against the south, an army hungry for blood and land would not distinguish between heretics and the faithful.
It took the troupe several more days to reach Montpellier and Lucatz was so keen to be in the city in time for Easter that he hired a cart to carry all those without mounts. The three joglaresa s sat in the back with their legs dangling over the edge, chatting and
‘Would you ride while a lady walks?’ Bernardina asked the new joglar . ‘That is not true cortesia .’
‘See how he colours up like a girl,’ jeered Pelegrina. ‘Perhaps because he doesn’t think we are ladies?’
Elinor stopped the pony and dismounted, bowing awkwardly to the joglaresa s and offering Mackerel to whichever of them would like to ride. But Lucatz had ridden back to see why they had stopped and ordered the boy back up.
‘I don’t want them getting soft,’ he said. ‘How many joglaresa s do you know who can ride? But then perhaps in Ademar’s troupe everyone has their own mount?’
‘No, sir,’ said Elinor. ‘I was given the pony by a lord.’ That was true enough.
‘Hmm,’ said Lucatz. ‘We will not enquire into why.’ He glared at the joglaresa s, who were cackling with lewd laughter. ‘Now we have delayed long enough. On your way.’
While Lucatz and his troupe travelled slowly east towards Montpellier, Bertran was working his way from court to court in the west. From Narbonne he crossed the River Aude and headed for Minerve, calling at the hill towns in between: Aigne, Aigues-Vives and La Caunette.
After many weeks on horseback he rode unchallenged through the gates in the double curtain wall round the town and over the bridge into Minerve. The River Cesse disappeared into a large natural tunnel, affording a good water supply for the castle. And from here he could see the tall candela , the central tower. From here it looked impregnable, standing on a high spur of rock.
The town was built on the site of an old Roman temple to the goddess Minerva, who had given it her name. In ancient times, the locals would have prayed to the warlike goddess to protect them, but what could save them from the battles to come now that the Midi was Christian but the Church itself was about to take up arms against them? Bertran hoped that the town’s many natural advantages would hold the answer.
He sang his song himself that night at the court of Viscount Guilhem. There were no other troubadours or joglar s in the castle so he took his own lute from his saddlebags and sang to all who would listen about the love that was like war, the battles that would be fought and lost or won depending on the readiness of the beloved.
After dinner, he had an interview with the Viscount alone.
‘Where will you go next?’ asked Guilhem.
‘West, to Carcassonne,’ said Bertran. ‘I must talk to Viscount Trencavel.’
‘Do you think he understands the gravity of the situation?’
‘I think not,’ said Bertran. ‘He will see it as a problem only for his uncle in Toulouse. But once the lords of the north take up the Cross against the south, it will not be the Count of Toulouse alone who will suffer.’
‘You really think that an army will invade the Midi?’ asked Guilhem. ‘That the northerners will besiege our castles and bastides?’
‘I do indeed believe that, my lord,’ said the troubadour.
‘But look how we are placed here,’ said Guilhem. ‘We have the outer walls and the tower and enough men to defend them. Even if they come in their tens of thousands, we could withstand them.’
‘Then prepare for that,’ urged Bertran. ‘Build up your stocks of armour, weapons and food. And make sure that the people are loyal to you and willing to defend the Believers.’
Bertran did not know whether the Viscount of Minerve shared his secret religion; he had given no sign. But he did know that if the Church moved against the south, an army hungry for blood and land would not distinguish between heretics and the faithful.
It took the troupe several more days to reach Montpellier and Lucatz was so keen to be in the city in time for Easter that he hired a cart to carry all those without mounts. The three joglaresa s sat in the back with their legs dangling over the edge, chatting and
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