7 To Impress a King

‘No, no, Dona, you are grand, perhaps the grandest lady I have ever met. The portrait is being taken by Monsieur Froissart to King Edward in England. He is certain to be impressed.’

Ximene Trencavel – 3rd February 1355

Lady Eleanor’s apartments were not arranged linearly around the lower rock.

They were on four different levels and the connections between each level were by no means straightforward.


In several places, the underlying shape of the rock got in the way. It was necessary to descend and then climb back up again simply to move from one room to the next room on the same level. Ximene’s bedroom was unique in that it had no direct connection with any other room and could only be accessed by a single stairwell.

After leaving her grandmother she spent some time combing and brushing her hair and almost as long deciding what to wear before descending to the student’s lounge.


Alyse Perez de Padilla, one of Ximene’s best friends and a distant cousin, was kneeling on a chair by the huge oak table which dominated the centre of the room. She was stretching over the table in an effort to read the top of a page of a very large, elaborately-bound book.

Lounging in a window alcove was Pipa de Roet. Pipa’s father was the Constable of Beaufort Castle, a nearby English possession, though Pipa claimed to be Flemish. Stood by her, tall, slim, dressed in black, was Alessandro Cocchi, the Florentine artist now based in Toulouse. He was bent over listening intently to whatever story Pipa was telling, but sprang to attention the instant Ximene entered the room. He positively danced towards her and, taking her hand, made an elaborate bow to kiss it tenderly. ‘Good morning, Dona.’

Ximene raised an eyebrow, wondering why he had invented a title for her.

Pipa jumped to her feet and ran towards Ximene.’Look, look, see what Alessandro has brought.’

There, in the best possible light, behind the door she had just entered, was the portrait Alessandro had been working on. Alessandro approached the portrait and waved his hand towards it.’As you know, Dona, I made many sketches. I discussed them all with the Count and this is the treatment he chose. I have also brought two of the original sketches, which you might like to keep.’ He indicated the sketches lying on the far side of the table.

Ximene eyed the portrait critically and then wandered around the table to look at the sketches. ‘Hmm, I prefer these. They make me look more approachable. ‘She looked again at the portrait and shook her head. ‘The finished portrait makes me too grand. Much grander than I really am. Still, if that is what the Comte wanted…’

Alessandro shook his head just as vigorously. ‘No, no, Dona, you are grand, perhaps the grandest lady I have ever met. The portrait is being taken by Monsieur Froissart to King Edward in England. He is certain to be impressed.’

Again Ximene raised an eyebrow; outright flattery. She smiled, realising that he saw her as a potential source of future commissions.  As he must know why this present commission had been obtained, if he thought that Monsieur Froissart was suitably impressed, in his mind, a marriage to the Prince was now inevitable.

Pipa pushed forward, looking at Ximene and back to Alyse. ‘With your hair pulled back like that, pinned with side combs and the tiara, it could be Alyse. In any case, the mantilla makes you look very Castilian. But it is a good likeness.’

Ximene responded in a light tone of voice.’Yes, well, my grandmother is always telling me there is a family likeness between us but normally we don’t wear the same style. Alyse nearly always wears her hair up and I nearly always wear it down so nobody notices.’

Pipa, not able to contain herself, talked over Ximene’s last few words. ‘Strange, I have never noticed it before… but you both have the same eyes, the same complexion and exactly the same hair colouring.’ She turned to Alyse and playfully tugged at the combs. ‘Come on, Alyse, let your hair down and let us see.’ In the ensuing playful struggle, Pipa did not fight too hard and Alyse did not resist too strongly. Nevertheless, Alyse’s hair did become unpinned. Pipa was triumphant. ‘There you are I told you, you are alike.’

Alyse pushed Pipa away. ‘Well, at least I am different from you!’

‘Oh! And what does that mean?’

Pipa’s appearance matched her personality, light, frothy and amusing. Even now her mouth was twisted into a smile though she was not actually smiling and her eyes seemed to ask a succession of cheeky questions. Alyse again pushed Pipa away.

‘You just don’t care, you are so untidy.’

Ximene felt Alyse was being a little unfair. She knew that Pipa’s tousled blond hair hardly ever experienced a comb let alone a brush; but it always looked as though it had been carefully styled to give a carefree, uncontrolled appearance.

Ximene looked at Alyse and again at the portrait. ‘Alessandro, tell me. I posed for many sketches, in many modes of dress, but I do not remember wearing exactly the same clothes and accessories as are shown in the portrait. How did you create this final image, from your imagination?’

Alessandro laughed. ‘No, not from my imagination. There were many sittings required; the Comte did not want to burden you unnecessarily, so sometimes the lady Alyse modelled for the portrait.’

Ximene deliberately rolled her eyes. ‘So, in fact, the portrait Monsieur Froissart is taking back to England is of Alyse, not of me?’

Alessandro glanced from Ximene to Alyse and back again. ‘No. No, Dona, the sittings were only for the dress and accessories, the face is yours.’ He unclipped the portrait from its mount and carefully commenced to roll it up. ‘Thank you. Good, I am glad you had the opportunity to see the portrait, I must pack it away now away as Monsieur Froissart will be leaving soon for England.’ He hurried out of the room, completing the rolling of the portrait as he went.


Ximene made sure the door was shut before turning to face her friends. There was silence, broken in the end by Alyse. ‘You don’t look happy, Ximene.’

‘Don’t worry, Alyse, it is not important to me. If the portrait shown to the Black Prince is of you rather than me I really do not mind. However, perhaps I should at some stage mention to the Prince who it is really is. Perhaps he might like to marry you instead.’

Alyse winced. ‘I’m sorry, Ximene. I only did what was asked of me.’

‘I really don’t mind.’

‘You say that, but you are clearly unhappy about something.’

Ximene flinched.’Well, I certainly don’t enjoy being the subject of an auction.’

‘An auction?’

‘Nothing more, nothing less.’ She adopted the tone of an auctioneer. ‘What am I bid for the hand of Ximene Trencavel in marriage? Yes, you may inspect her. See we have her here in a gilded cage!’

Pipa opened her mouth several times. She blushed and then the words tumbled out. ‘Monsieur Froissart is some sort of friend of my family. He is going to visit my mother and father at Beaufort on his way back to England. He has talked to me quite openly. He thinks you could be the next Queen of England.’

‘Hmm. I have made it clear to Monsieur Froissart and the Count that I must meet any proposed marriage partner, and that includes the Prince, before agreeing to anything. They all, every one of these so-called suitors, want to marry me because they think it will give them control of Occitan. Well, it might… but I have also made it clear that they, any of them, must meet my conditions.’

‘Which are?’

‘A measure of independence for Occitan and freedom from discrimination because of religious beliefs, elimination of the Inquisition.’

Alyse’s jaw dropped as she looked at Ximene with wide eyes.’ You would turn down the chance to be Queen of England?’

‘Not only would, I will if my conditions aren’t met.’

‘Then, by all means, tell the King the portrait is of me.’

The most dangerous woman in the world

The Treasure of Trencavel

List of Characters

Table Of Contents

References

characters

List of Places

Table of Contents

Reference

Extract from The Prisoner of Foix--Chapter 43 -The EntranceNo need to buy a Kindle. Read it on your computer or tablet

John Stanley-26th April 1355

 

'Looks like we are going to see a bit of excitement, John. The Captain tried to get an agreement from the Prince that if there is surf running across the channel to Arcachon we will turn back to Bordeaux, but the Prince would hear none of it. Instead, he has offered to provide insurance for all three ships. If they are damaged or sunk, the owners will be compensated and every sailor who makes the passage will be given a bounty payment. What none of this seems to take into account is that if we sink in rough, fast-flowing waters we might all drown.'

John raised his eyebrows. 'But that is what we are going to do?'

'Yes, despite the fact that surf running accross the entrance is not uncommon and the deep water channel moves continually. In the end, the Prince attacked their captains on their weakest point, their professional pride! He threw down the gauntlet. He offered to take the Sally first through the channel, and to take control during the passage.' He raised his brow. 'We are going into the Bay of Arcachon, come what may! '

Extract from The Eagle of Carcassone -- Chapter 24-- A Real GoddessNo need to buy a Kindle. Read it on your computer or tablet

John Stanley - 22 July 1355

An hour later John walked with Ximene close to the river along the valley below St Feriole. It was the very essence of a summer’s day. The sun was fierce but in the shadow of the trees, it was cool and fragrant. The trees and shrubs along the riverbank hid their progress, from the Château, from St Feriole.

Eventually they reached a point where John thought it was safe to emerge from cover. To his satisfaction the stream extended into a pool with a sandy beach, shaded by trees. Where the stream entered the pool there was a flat grassy area, almost circular. Behind this, the bulk of two mountain ridges provided a splendid backdrop. 

He looked around once more ‘Not just a good training ground but a great training ground. If the Greek heroes knew about this they might be tempted to join me, to train with me’

Ximene laughed out loud. He turned to look at her. She had removed her outer clothes and was wearing a white chemise, cut short so that it barely reached her knees. Around her waist, she wore a plaited leather belt, obviously fashioned from the multitude of leather straps to be found in the tackle room.

She ran her hands down over her breasts. ‘When you were unconscious I heard you muttering about gods and goddesses, so  I have decided that from now on, for you, I will be the goddess.’