Devil's Consort by Anne O'Brien Page B

priest?’
    ‘More or less.’
    ‘Did you enjoy it?’ I could not imagine it. My quick anger was replaced by interest.
    ‘Yes.’ A smile softened the tension in his jaw and the feverish light in his eye faded. ‘Yes, I did. The order of the day, each one like the last. The serenity in the House of God. Can you understand?’ His voice took on an enthusiasm I had not heard before, his pale eyes shone. ‘The perpetual prayers for God’s forgiveness, the voices of the monks rising up with the incense. I liked nothing better than to keep vigil through the night—’
    ‘But did you not learn the art of government?’ I interrupted. ‘Did you not sit with your father and hear good advice and counsel?’ Surely that would have been of far greater use than the rule of Saint Benedict.
    ‘I was never intended to rule, you see,’ Louis explained. ‘My elder brother—Philip—was killed by a scavenging sow at loose on the quay. Philip fell from his horse when it reared.’ Louis’s voice was suddenly hoarsewith suppressed grief. ‘There was no hope for him—his neck broke in the filth of the gutter.’
    ‘Oh!’
    ‘He was an accomplished warrior. He would have been a great king.’
    ‘My son.’ A soft voice from Louis’s other side broke in. The ever-present Abbot Suger, sent by Fat Louis to keep his eye on the son and heir. He leaned forward, a slight, elderly man with deceptively mild demeanour, to look at me as much as at Louis. ‘My son, the lady does not wish to hear of your life at Saint-Denis. Or of Philip. You are heir to the throne now.’
    ‘But the Lady Eleanor asked if I had enjoyed my life there.’
    ‘You must look to your future together now.’
    The Abbot had the thin, lined face of an aesthete. His hair was as glossily white as an ermine, his small dark eyes just as inquisitive. They summed me up in that instant and I suspected they found me wanting.
    ‘Of course. Forgive me.’ Louis nodded obediently. ‘That life is all in the past.’
    ‘But I think you miss it.’ I was reluctant to allow the Abbot to dictate the direction of our conversation.
    ‘Sometimes.’ The volume of noise rose around us again as Louis smiled self-deprecatingly. ‘I was intended for the Church, you see. I was taught to value abstinence and prayer. To give my mind to higher pursuits than—than this.’ The sweep of his hand to the now roistering crowd was, whether he intended it or not,entirely derogatory. Unfortunately Bernart, roaming the room with lute to hand, chose the moment to swing into a well-loved song, with a raucous chorus for all to join in. Since the wine was flowing, the merrymakers were in good heart.
    Don’t marry this cheat, sweet Jeanne, for he is stupid and unlettered.
    Don’t take him to your bed, sweet Jeanne, your lover would be far better.
    Louis smacked his hand down on the cloth, making the silver dishes dance. ‘Listen! How can you approve of that? Your minstrels sing of lust and intimacy not sanctioned by the Church or by any moral code. They have no respect for women and encourage them to behave without restraint.’
    The hearty phrase ‘these flaming whores’ was bellowed from a hundred throats, both men and women.
    ‘It is immoral. Degrading. Such verses should be forbidden. Such foul-mouthed braggarts as this … this scurrilous minstrel should be whipped through the streets for their impertinence.’ Louis’s voice rose alarmingly.
    ‘But he is not a scurrilous minstrel,’ I objected. ‘He is Bernart Sicart of Maruejols.’
    A blank look, and derisory at that.
    ‘He is famous throughout Aquitaine. My father thought very highly of him.’
    ‘His words are insulting and offensive! I don’t want him at my court.’
    A trickle of fear, as hard and cold as ice, invaded my chest. It hadn’t taken my new lord long, had it, to wield his new authority over me? He did not know me very well.
    ‘I’ll not dismiss him.’
    ‘Even if I demand it?’
    ‘Why should you? He is