Ximene Trencavel – 21st July 1355
Ximene shook her head. How long would Don Fernandino be gone? What did they say? a month? She decided that month would be vital. Who knew what might happen?
A day later Maurice visited. ‘The Bishops are now in residence’ he told them. ‘It is significantly cooler here than in Albi at this time of year. Although they have no knowledge about the cellar or its connection to the barn nevertheless we must be careful.’
He paused and signalled them to climb the stairs. ‘Come with me’
On the first landing of the stairwell, which functioned as an occasional lounge or library, Maurice pointed to a panel on the wall. It was an elaborate piece of marquetry representing a map of the surrounding area. It was unusual in that it was three-dimensional showing the relative heights of the surrounding hills. He tucked his nails under one edge of the panel and it swung open revealing a set of shelves and the inside of a set of double doors at the far side.
‘It is similar to the arrangement in the stable tackle room,’ he explained.‘Except that the shelves are not readily removable. At the other side of the doors lies the kitchen larder. There will always be an extensive provision of food and wine on these shelves.’
He shook his head. ‘To be honest, I am not sure Don Fernandino would approve, but in my eyes, when the bishops are in residence, it is far less risky than carrying food and wine through the barn. If you have any requirements leave a message in the blue jar on the top shelf. We will always do our best to oblige!’
Ximene realised that she…they would be totally isolated from the world. She turned her mind to thinking about her relationship with John. They were still sleeping together and he occasionally gave her an affectionate kiss but other than that he seemed afraid to even touch her. She wondered if that was a result of his injury but he was now almost recovered. It was certainly not what she wanted.
She narrowed her eyes. Thought piled on thought. There was the whole question of separate beds. She decided that she did not care about her grandmother’s advice, if they were now to take to separate beds it could mean the end of their relationship. One night he had muttered something about her being his sister!
He has made his suit, I have given him my favour. It is definitely up to me now to let him know what I want. She smiled to herself. She definitely wanted him to see her as a sexual partner, not a sister!
Therefore at Ximene’s suggestion, they set up their bed, in the tower room against the wall opposite the window.
On the first night, in the late evening, they left the stables and with great caution descended to the stream. There were purplish tones in the rapidly descending darkness and the air was fresh and clean but carried many pleasant scents. Ornamental gardens were full of many different varieties of cypress trees. The gardens were now overgrown and neglected; presumably ornamental gardens did not appeal to the bishops of Albi.
The mountain flowers which had invaded the formal beds bloomed profusely and smelled of lemon and cinnamon. At some time in the past, the bed of the stream had been widened and a paved bath had been installed. The bath had been dammed on the downstream side so that it was possible to lie comfortably completely immersed in the mountain stream.The waterfall emphasised the burbling of the stream as it passed through the gardens, an endless, everchanging symphony.
The water was too cold to enter easily. John removed his clothes but Ximene waded in without removing her chemise.
John splashed her playfully and she responded, to the accompaniment of squeals of delight from both of them. John held his finger to his mouth to indicate the need for quiet but continued to splash Ximene until her white chemise was plastered to her brown body and almost transparent.
She then held him tight as they both sank into the icy water, which proved to be too cold to linger, but they were left feeling clean and invigorated.
As they dried themselves using the coarse towels they had been given, Ximene stroked the scar, which now disfigured John’s right leg. This simple act created a completely different reaction than any which had occurred over the last four weeks.
A pleasant surprise. He could still be aroused. Ximene was delighted.
She buried her head in his chest and they slowly returned to their room, kissing each other every few steps. They had little sleep that night. Ximene made it very clear that she did not want him to enter her body but that she was keen to explore every other way of giving each other pleasure.
She spent the early part of the evening kneeling across his stomach. She alternated between lying forward so that he might caress her back and then kneeling upright so that her breasts were fully available to his hands.
John made a valiant attempt to kneel alongside her. He was still sore and did not have the required flexibility in his upper leg.
‘Don’t worry John, lie on your back. I will spend the rest of the night giving you pleasure. Don’t concern yourself with my needs…not for tonight anyway!’
She eventually went to sleep with a smile on her face reflecting that in the end, it had all been relatively easy.