…where the fiery power that flows in water penetrated the earth, the fire of the water transformed the earth into gold. Where the purity of the flooding water penetrated the earth, that purity transformed itself and the earth which it suffused into silver.
As always, there were two men in the ring, practising steps and weapon positions. The difference was that one of the men was Ramon Berenguer IV, Comte de Barcelone, Prince of Aragon, Regent of Provence and the very person these men were being trained to fight against, even if no-one was stupid enough to say so.
Dragonetz breathed again once he realised that the other man was not Hugues des Baux. A direct contest of any kind between Barcelone and the heir to Les Baux could only have led to bloodshed, whoever won. Watching the elegant steps of Barcelone’s al-Andalus mare, and the ease with which the seasoned warrior switched hands with his spear, there was no doubt in Dragonetz’ mind as to Hugues’ chances against Ramon. He weighed up his own chances, and was within one curt order of taking Sadeek into the manège and putting them both to the test, when he realised what Ramon was doing.
Barcelone was not demonstrating his superiority. In fact, a trained observer could tell that he held back some of the fancier moves of which he and his horse were clearly capable, in favour of repeating the ones his partner in the ring could copy. He was training the man! And, by observation, he was training all those who watched.
A flick of his gilded helm in Dragonetz’ direction indicated that Ramon knew exactly who was in the audience. Of course he did. Yet he continued, patiently, drilling and demonstrating, praising and constructing. The other man was nobody; or rather someone chosen because he wasn’t in the political game but a member of this army. Ramon was here to win hearts like the brilliant general he was reputed to be.
The other man, representing all his fellows, was now someone very important and when Ramon called, ‘Another man?’ those gathered around looked at Dragonetz, waiting to know what he would do, what they should do. Hugues was nowhere to be seen. The golden helmet faced Dragonetz, also waiting, delegating the choice, neither challenging nor backing down.
Dragonetz acknowledged the Prince with a bowed head, made his decision. ‘We are honoured, Sire,’ he called, loud and clear. He yelled at one of the men glued to the railing. ‘Bavex. You’ve been wheedling to put that over-fed barrel-on-legs through her paces. Get in there and learn!’
It was a popular choice and the men relaxed into bets on whether Bavex would drop his spear trying the fancy new hand-switch or whether the horse would balk at a scarf being thrown in front of her. Three of the men had been appointed as ‘irritants’ to simulate the unexpected events that might spook a horse. With a brief nod in Dragonetz’ direction, Ramon acknowledged his new partner courteously and set to work.
As the atmosphere lost its edge and men returned to comments on the quality of al-Andalus horseflesh (perfection) and armour (girlish), Dragonetz asked quietly, ‘My Lord Hugues is not training this morning?’
‘Summoned by his mother. Turn her! Shield her eyes at the side!’ yelled his neighbour as Bavex’s mount stamped nervously by a silken banner weaving snake-like in the dust. ‘Needs a hood on that mare,’ he told Dragonetz. ‘Something at the side will always spook them - any boy knows that but Bavex always thinks that pudding of a beast is too placid to react.’
‘Confuses her with hisself,’ agreed another.
At least there had been no confrontation between Hugues and Ramon but Dragonetz felt a stab of irritation. Damn Etiennette! Did she realise how it looked to an army when their leader was called to heel by his mother? He remembered another boy whose mother had withheld the power that was his birthright ‘until he is capable of wielding it’.
And now that little boy had his mother trapped in the city of which she called herself Queen. Little boys grew up and widowed mothers who didn’t let them, paid dearly! Unlike the Queen of Jerusalem, Etiennette still had her son’s respect but she was abusing it daily. Dragonetz half-wished Hugues would stand up to her as Baudouin had to Mélisende. That would be better than hearing a man whisper, ‘Barcelone doesn’t wait on his mother’s permission...’
Dragonetz chose two of the guard. ‘Take this man. Get him washed and dressed in clean clothes, then bring him back here.’ Their disappointment at missing the display in the manège showed in their eyes. ‘When you come back, when the Prince has had enough, we’ll train together, the three of us. Make sure you’re saddled up and ready.’
Their smiles were all he needed to know. They were still his men. But there was so much work to do to make them Hugues’ men and only Hugues could do it. Frowning, he fetched armour and weapons, saw Sadeek prepared for the ring and then, like everyone else, he enjoyed the show.
Finally, the Comte de Barcelone declared ‘Enough,’ and dismounted. His boots scuffed and dusty enough to enter a gaol, he strode towards Dragonetz in the bow-legged, heavy walk of an armoured man. He removed his helm and his whole face still glowing with exhileration, he spoke, soldier to soldier.
‘Well done, my Lord Dragonetz! I had no idea the men of Les Baux were so skilled!’
‘My Lord Hugues has trained them well,’ Dragonetz replied, loudly.
Ramon let it pass, with another nod of respect, one leader to another. ‘I would they were better equipped as to horses. What say you to some southern stock joining you?’ The men’s spontaneous cheer spoke for them and Dragonetz could only try to benefit from their pleasure not disappoint them. ‘I’m sure my Lord Hugues will be delighted.’
‘I’m sure he will.’ Ramon’s usually severe expression was beatific, his eyes dancing with excitement. El Sant was in his element and the coup de grâce was his modesty. ‘If I can help others improve, then I do God’s work. As Regent of Provence, I take The Lord of Les Baux and his men under my care, as much as those of Barcelone and Aragon. Of course I knew of your training. I find it’s even better than I imagined, my Lord Dragonetz. I am only sorry…’
His eyes lost their sparkle and Dragonetz read into them a renewed request for them to ride together. He saw the moment he needed for his own request. ‘Sire, I seek a boon.’ Scrubbed and dazed, the forger was on hand, flanked by Dragonetz’ two guards.
Serious, deep brown eyes met his. ‘Speak.’
Dragonetz gestured and the forger was brought in front of the Prince. ‘My Lord, this is one John Halfpenny, a master minter who was wrongly convicted of forging coins of your realm.’
‘You intrigue me. Pray continue.’
John Halfpenny seemed equally intrigued but had enough sense to look down at his boots and keep his mouth shut. Dragonetz presented the forged billon penny to Ramon, hoping that the forger was as good as he said he was. ‘You can see, my Lord, that this is true coin, and envious mouths secured a false conviction.’
‘It does look like good money,’ Ramon agreed reluctantly. ‘I’d heard there was a sudden influx of Barcelone coin into this region at present.’
Dragonetz looked suitably puzzled. ‘I had not heard, my Lord? Be that as it may, this good servant of Provence and Barcelone is highly skilled and could be put to good use.’
‘Indeed? I have heard of your penchant for lost causes, my Lord, projects and people. Is this another such?’
The hit went home but Dragonetz had too much self-control to show how aware he was of his failures.
‘There is a royal permit for a mint at Arle and Lady Etiennette begs your indulgence in allowing your Mintmaster to set up his forge there, under her surveillance, so that your province might have its own currency.’
‘My Mintmaster?’ Barcelone queried.
‘Evidently,’ Dragonetz confirmed, indicating the Barcelone coin produced by the man.
‘So I sanction the… Mintmaster… to commence coin making in Arle, for Lady Etiennette.’
‘If it please you, Sire. Provence would be appreciative of such an honour, especially it being your own Mintmaster and a coin specially created for this noble region.’ The last was said on a note increasing in volume, guaranteed to draw the cheers of the men standing around. Dragonetz could have said, ‘mmm, mmm, PROVENCE!’ and the men would have cheered, as he and Ramon both knew well.
Ramon’s lips twitched but he played the scene well and announced for all to hear, ‘Be it known throughout the province that my man John Halfpenny shall be Mintmaster in Arle, tasked with the setting up of a new mint for the money of Provence, under surveillance of the lords of Les Baux.’
‘Thank you, Sire.’ Dragonetz’ words were barely audible above the weeping of John Halfpenny, whose bravura cracked. He knelt to kiss the hem of Barcelone’s surcoat. The knight laid his hand lightly on the forger’s head as he added, ‘If you would make a point of telling Lord Porcelet, personally, that Master Halfpenny is under your protection and the mint authorised, it would be much appreciated, Sire. I think old rivalries have clouded some judgements in this matter and in the interest of the truce with Les Baux…’
‘Ah.’ Ramon mulled over the implications. ‘My Lord Dragonetz, I think you have magicked some faux monnaie into my purse but with such skill I can only admire the magick and spend the coin. Rise, man, you’ve watered me enough.’
So addressed, the little forger rose, new minted. ‘Your Highness,’ he whispered, ‘the silver I make will be the mark of true coin in the whole of Europe, weighed and stamped to but one standard. I swear by all that’s holy.’
‘Possibly,’ Ramon replied. ‘But I suspect it will have a double face, and neither of them mine.’