word spoken by one could easily be heard by the other.
‘I thank you for coming, Alan,’ said Adele. ‘And I’m sorry that we should have to meet this way — but you did promise to come and visit me again, and I waited and waited, and you did not send word. So I had no choice but to summon you here. Do not speak, now, but only listen, for I must tell you a tale so that you may understand something about your father — and your uncle, too.’
Out of the corner of my left eye I could see that beneath her veil her lips were hardly moving as she spoke. Directly in front of my eyes, along the side aisle of the cathedral, passed a constant stream of humanity: pilgrims, priests, men-at-arms, mendicants — men, women and children of all ranks and conditions and from all over Christendom. All were coming to marvel at the splendour of the rising cathedral and to say a prayer or light a candle or purchase a saint’s medal at one of the little alcoves that lined the northern wall of the choir. As the lady spoke, and I listened, I watched this stream of souls all seeking something, and many finding it, in God’s holy house.
‘I first set eyes on my husband Thibault on the day that we were betrothed — twenty, oh twenty-five years ago. I was very young and the match was arranged by my father, and by Thibault’s father, who was then the Seigneur d’Alle. I liked Thibault well enough, and I wanted to please my father, and so I consented to the match. A month later, we were wed.
‘I first set eyes on Henri, your father, on the day of my wedding: and from that moment onward I knew what true love was. I was very fond of Thibault — he was a fine man, a strapping fellow, lusty and well made — but your father I loved with a mindless yearning passion. It was a soul-hunger; I wanted him so much it was an ache in my chest: when I heard him sing, I nearly swooned from the sheer beauty of his voice. And I knew that I must have him or I would surely die.
‘At this time, both Thibault and Henri were in training to be knights. Your father was about your age, and a truly beautiful man, but I persuaded Thibault that he must be allowed to teach me music, which was always his first love. And so for an hour a day after the noon meal, I would be with Henri in a small chamber on the third floor of the castle, while he tried to teach me music. I lived for that hour; it was the centre of my life; for me that was the only hour in the whole day in which I felt alive. All morning long, I trembled as I waited for the music hour to come; and when it was finished I longed for the afternoon, evening and night to pass so that I might be with Henri again for that fleeting, thrilling, wonderful patch of time.
‘Though I tried to hide my feelings, your father must have realized that something was amiss. He was fond of me, he liked me, I am sure, but he did not feel the same passion in his heart that I did. And I had no ear for music — none at all. Henri realized soon enough that trying to teach me was an impossibility — and so he went to Thibault. I heard them laughing and joking about my lack of ability, and so inevitably the lessons came to an end.
‘I was at my wits’ end: I loved Henri with my very soul but I knew that he did not love me, although I sometimes saw him looking at other women — my God how that cut into my soul — and I knew that he had carnal desires like any young man. I was in black despair, and in that melancholy state the Devil entered my mind, and inside it he deposited a cloud of dark spawn that hatched into a plan that nearly destroyed us all. Perhaps it did destroy your father.’
I stirred uneasily on my stone seat. I have to admit that I was shocked by Adele’s words. I did not care to think of my father being pursued by another man’s wife; I did not care to think of him in sexual terms with anyone but my mother, if the truth be told. But I held my tongue and Adele carried on with her sad tale.
‘One night, after Thibault and Henri had been drinking late together following a long day of hunting, I went to your father’s chamber while he slept and — oh, I was shameless — I crept into his bed. I am not sure Henri could tell whether he was awake or dreaming, but he was naked and that night I took him hungrily in my arms and we made love. For one stolen night he was mine… And then the foundations of my world came crashing around me.
‘In the chill light of dawn, Henri saw that I was beside him naked in his bed, and he knew that what he had done had been no drunken dream. He cursed me and threw me out of his chamber, shouting that I was the Devil’s whore, and then he went straight to Thibault that very morning and confessed to his crime.
‘I thought Thibault would kill him — and I think he would have liked to have done so, but his roaring at Henri and the blows that he struck roused the whole castle. The Seigneur, torn from his bed in the great chamber, only just managed to separate his two sons and prevent a murder. Henri was banished, packed off to Paris and a life in the Church that same day — and I never set eyes on him again.’
I heard a sob, and despite the lady’s instructions, I turned my head towards her and saw that she was weeping. I had the strongest urge to enfold her in my arms, but I knew that to be seen in public in the arms of another man would not be helpful to her already much besmirched honour. Then, shockingly, across on the other side of the cathedral, I caught sight of a tall, familiar shape, the face partially hidden by a deep hood, but, I could tell, a face dark as a Moor’s: it was the watcher I had seen from the night at the Cock. For a moment, I thought that I recognized him from somewhere, but my mind, awhirl after Adele’s lustful revelations, could not grasp that eel-slippery memory. The crowds of pilgrims grew thick on that side of the cathedral and when they cleared the figure was no longer visible. Was I imagining this fellow; was my fear giving me visions? Or was he another assassin awaiting his chance? Either way, as I scanned the faces of the passing pilgrims, I could see his dark face no more.
I had to wrench my attention back to Adele: she had composed herself and was continuing with her tragic story.
‘And so, you see, Alan, when you came to us and told us that you believed that we had abandoned Henri because of some silly accusation of pilfering, I had to tell you that you were wrong. After he was expelled from the Church, Thibault would not have Henri in the castle — because of me, because of my passion for him. He did not trust me with your father. It has nothing to do with some petty crime. I wanted you to understand this, so that in understanding, you might forgive us.’
I was moved by her story, but it was clear to me that, while I had been blaming the rough-tongued Seigneur for my father’s exile, the true blame lay with this woman, or rather with her passionate younger self. It was she who had ruined my father — she was as much to blame as anybody for his sad life and miserable end. Yet I could not hate her. The Church teaches us that women are weak and lustful; they are the daughters of Eve and it is in their nature to seduce men from the path of righteousness.
‘I must think on this matter,’ I said, rising to my feet.
‘Please, Sir Alan, I beg you to forgive me. It was not easy for me to tell you this. And I know that I have done you and your father a terrible wrong. But I was young and foolish and in love — have you never made a mistake in these circumstances? Many people have. I would like us to be re-united as a family again; d’Alle and Dale, English and French together. Please, look deep into your heart, seek and find the compassion to forgive us!’
Her words struck a chord: I was young and foolish and in love — have you never made a mistake in these circumstances? Yes, I thought. I have made mistakes in love: poor mutilated Nur sprang into my mind; and a lovely Jewish girl who was killed in York a few years ago. Yes, I had made mistakes in love, who has not?
Adele’s exquisite tear-stained face and beguiling bright green eyes were beseeching me — and I knew that I would not be able to refuse her request of forgiveness if I stayed under such a powerful enchantment for long. But she had destroyed my father — her shameless lust, her selfish urges, her wanton actions had spurred him towards his untimely death. And so I merely muttered, ‘I must go, my lady; I have an appointment to dine with a Templar: I will think long and hard on what you have told me. God be with you.’
And I turned my back and hurried away before her green eyes and bewitching beauty could break my resolve.
The dinner with Sir Aymeric de St Maur was a private affair: just we two knights at the board, and served by half a dozen silent servants — but, as the Templar had promised, the food was lavish and the wine excellent. I had been shown to his guest hall in the north of the Paris Temple compound shortly before noon, and Hanno and Thomas had been led away to the servants’ quarters to be fed separately — which gave me a moment’s pause — but Sir Aymeric’s affability reassured me, and there were several trustworthy people in Paris who knew that I was being entertained by this Poor Fellow-Soldier, and so I felt reasonably secure. I gave my sword to Thomas for safekeeping — but I kept my misericorde at my waist, and I had a stout eating knife at my belt, too. But, in truth, I did not seriously fear that I would be murdered over the many different, and quite astoundingly delicious, dishes that the English Templar had ordered to be served.
Sir Aymeric and I sat close together and, after an interminably long prayer of thanksgiving, we ate from the
