Chapter Thirty-eight

 

 

On to Dijon

 

 

When the Cluny parleys were completed, Tristan’s immediate group and the Burgundian Guard of thirty knights under the command of Captain Rousseau turned north for Dijon. Dijon was the historical capital of the Burgundy region, and as such, its nobles were amongst the wealthiest, most powerful lords of France. The name of Odo de Lagery carried great weight here also, as did distrust and resentment for King Philippe. Consequently, by the time Tristan’s mission was coming to a close, it was necessary to secure additional wagons in order to transport the accumulation of arms and wealth. Furthermore, it was in Dijon that Captain Rousseau combined his men with an additional hundred knights of Dijon for the journey across the Alps.

Tristan’s final parley was with Lord Thierry Truffault, older brother of Lord Bernard Truffault of the Marseilles region. Unlike his younger brother, Lord Thierry Truffault had early on agreed to support Cardinal Odo’s quest to assist Countess Mathilda. It was to be a simple trip then for Tristan to end his mission at Truffault’s fiefdom. Lady Agnes Truffault, after learning that a Captain Broussard was coming to visit her husband, made herself extremely scarce. Passing through the gates of Truffault’s palatial castle, Tristan heard a tremendous racket caused by someone striking iron against the iron bars of what appeared to be a corner dungeon.

“What’s all that noise?” said Hroc, who was riding double with his father.

“Hush, mind your business, son,” Orla said.

Just then Lord Truffault appeared. Tristan noticed that he seemed to take no heed of the bothersome clanging going on within the dungeon, so he pointed and said, “Lord Truffault, does that clamor not drive you mad?”

“Not bothersome in the least, Captain,” replied Truffault, “because tomorrow morning that prisoner meets his Maker. I’ve been after him for some time now, and my bounty hunters finally caught him down near the coast.”

“What’s a bounty hunter?” said Hroc, listening with great interest.

“Silence!” said Orla, backing an elbow into Hroc’s ribs.

“A bandit?” asked Tristan. Looking toward the window, he saw only a pair of raised hands furiously riffling their shackles against the bars.

“No, not exactly,” said Truffault. “Come, let’s settle our business for Cardinal Odo.”

Tristan and Guillaume instructed the Danes and Burgundian Guard to wait in the courtyard, then followed Truffault into his keep, which also served as his treasury. But as they sat together documenting terms of agreement, Tristan and Guillaume could not hide their distraction. Even from within the keep, the prisoner outside could be heard striking his chains against the bars.

“Ah, music to my ears,” quipped Truffault with a smile. “And tomorrow, the sound of a swaying rope against that bastard’s scrawny neck will be sweeter yet.”

Half an hour later their business was completed. Still the noise outside, rather than abating, had only become worse. Standing there as Truffault’s laborers loaded the wagon, Tristan turned to one of them and asked, “How long has this noise been going on?”

“Two days nonstop, even through the night,” the man said. “We’ve laid wagers amongst ourselves on whether the prisoner drops of exhaustion before his execution tomorrow morning.”

Then, as the workman finished his sentence, the clanging stopped and a shrill voice rang out from the window. “Christ will strike each of you within this castle dead the moment I swing from your gallows! Best that you begin your prayers now, sinners, for this time tomorrow the Angel of Death shall be copying your name in his book, and then the tongues of Hellfire shall soon thereafter be lapping at your souls!”

Recognizing the voice, Tristan stiffened and turned his head to the window.

“What is it?” said Guillaume, observing his brother’s reaction.

“God in Heaven, I know that voice!” exclaimed Tristan, impulsively running across the court to the dungeon window and directing his voice toward the bars. “Peter? Is that you in there?”

No reply came at first, but then, “Tristan? Is that you out there?”

“Oh, in Christ’s name! What have you done now?”

“What have I done now?” came the indignant reply. “Same as before, you believer of twisted tongues! Nothing! Not a blessed thing but take a stroll down the streets of Toulon until hooligans swept me up and dragged me back here to Lucifer’s lair! Ha! This devil Truffault still seeks revenge from my last visit, but it’s his promiscuous wife he should be hanging at dawn, not this poor innocent hermit!”

Watching Lord Truffault exit his keep at that moment, Tristan called to him, waving for him to approach. Truffault, looking puzzled, complied. “What is it, Captain Broussard?”

“This prisoner you have, are you aware he is a monk?”

“Certainly, a black-hearted, philandering monk who is not worthy to be considered Christian! He tried to violate my wife during my absence this past year, despite my generosity to him and offer of sustenance for the day. Then the crazy little bastard set a wild mob against me and my men as he escaped with his nephew! I still limp because of the beating I took that night!”

“Lord Truffault,” Tristan said, “I insist that you release this man.”

“What? Have you gone daft, man? Did you not hear what I just said?”

“Lord Truffault, this man is Peter the Hermit, a close personal acquaintance of Odo de Lagery who you respect and admire. The Cardinal will be furious to hear that you have caused his death.”

“Eh? This pile of bestial defecation is a friend of the great Cardinal?” said Truffault, surprised. Then he shook his head and said, “Regardless, Cardinal Odo himself would not abide by such lechery as practiced by this stink of a creature.”

“Cardinal Odo would not abide by the hanging of an innocent man,” pressed Tristan, and sure as I am a Burgundian captain, then sure is this man innocent!”

“How could you know such a thing? What is this man to you, Captain?”

Careful not to mention that he had been there beside Peter the Hermit on the night of the Dijon riot, Tristan replied, “Nothing to me, Lord Truffault. As I said, the Hermit is dear, indeed, to the Cardinal.”

“Yes, like a brother!” shouted Peter, who had been listening to the exchange outside the wall. “And he will surely declare a sentence of damnation upon you for hanging a man of the cloth! Ah, Truffault, you invite the wrath of Saint Michael’s fiery sword by causing my end!”

“Shut up you filthy tramp!” cried Truffault, by now a bit uneasy at learning of his victim’s connection to Cardinal Odo. “You’ll hang in the morning sure as the sun rises!”

“Lord Truffault, at least let us sit and discuss this,” urged Tristan. “Perhaps even in the presence of your wife,” he then added. “She could possibly place some new perspective on this issue.”

“My wife?” said Truffault. “Ha! She wants this goose strung up as much as I.” He stepped back and rubbed at his chin a moment. “Out of respect for Cardinal Odo, I shall follow your request, but only on the condition that once I hang this lout, you inform the good Cardinal that I agreed to a final review of the case, eh?”

“Certainly,” Tristan replied, his mind chasing about for tactics that might withdraw the Hermit from this snare.

Truffault signaled for the guards to release the prisoner and bring him out into the court, and as they dragged him along still in shackles, the Hermit gazed skyward, his hair standing on end and his bright little eyes cracked with red lines that pulsed like tiny rivers and shouted, “Angels in Heaven, strike my enemies dead, I beseech you!” Then wringing his head about like a soaked hound who’d stepped from the stream, he made a series of guttural sounds as if invoking those very angels to appear immediately beside him.

Hroc, who was seated double behind his father’s horse, watched the wild-eyed Hermit in wonder, having never in his young years seen such a sight. “Father, is that man a troll?” he gasped.

“Hush!” said Orla, though he was nearly as struck by the Hermit’s feral appearance as his son.

Meanwhile, it occurred to the Hermit that Tristan was wearing a military uniform. God’s bells,” he whispered. “What’s this?” When Tristan offered no answer, not even a glance, the Hermit’s face contracted with suspicion and he muttered. “What’s this odd game going on here?”

 

Minutes later Lord Truffault and Tristan were sitting at Truffault’s table with the Hermit and Lady Agnes Truffault, who was still miffed at the captain for rebuffing her advances in Marseilles. She at first refused to meet with either the Captain or the Hermit. Fearing that she might arouse suspicion if she did not agree to her husband’s demand, she finally consented.

“My Lady,” Tristan began, finding it difficult to look her directly in the eye, “we are here to briefly review the actions of Peter the Hermit on the day he supposedly accosted you. He did accost you, correct?”

“Certainly,” she said, her eyes narrow with resentment at her husband for being dragged into such a meeting. She, also, could not comfortably look Tristan in the eye.

“Untrue!” objected Peter, crossing his arms with certainty. “I am as chaste as a cherub and have never pursued a woman’s crack in my entire existence!”

“Goddammit, shut up!” cried Truffault. “I don’t allow such boorish talk in the presence of Lady Agnes!”

“Yes,” Lady Agnes said to Tristan, “he ripped my clothing from me and threw me onto the bed hoping to mount me. And Saints of God, had my husband not showed up miraculously, this horrible, hairy little beast would have violated me!”

“Was there not a younger man present also, this man’s nephew, Innocenzo?”

“The nephew accompanied the Hermit, but was not present at the time the Hermit broke into my bedchamber,” she lied.

“What about Lord Bernard Truffault, your husband’s younger brother?” said Tristan.

“What?” replied Truffault and his wife with simultaneous confusion.

“Oh, pardon, I became confused a moment,” said Tristan to Lord Truffault. “You see, as you and Lady Agnes both know, I visited your brother recently in Marseilles.” Then his eyes shifted to Agnes Truffault and he added, “Yes, we were drinking honey mead together one night, far too much actually, and he told me quite a bit about visiting you here, Lady Agnes, oh, and also about your visits to Marseilles, my Lady. In any case, pardon my error. So, to continue, my Lady, did anything prompt this inappropriate action by the Hermit?”

“What are you suggesting?” said Truffault. “Nothing prompted this man but his own horny fever. The man is a perverted letch and my wife is young and desirable.”

“Ah that’s exactly what your brother said,” replied Tristan with a nod.

“What?” said Truffault. “He said my wife was young and desirable?”

“No, not that part, I meant the bit about the Hermit being a perverted letch.” As Tristan said this he set his eyes once more upon Lady Agnes, telegraphing a private smile her direction, as when one holds the secret of another in the midst of a crowd. This, of course, immediately set her to wondering what information her brother-in-law might have shared with the Captain. After all, her brother-in-law had a reputation for wagging his tongue when heavy with drink.

Tristan’s words had infuriated Peter. “Damnation, what are you talking about!” he cried. “I’ve never met this man’s brother in my life!” Then he leveled his eyes at Tristan and said, “You are a monk for God’s sake, how can you manufacture such tripe!”

“Ah, though you don’t know Lord Truffault’s brother, he knows who you are,” said Tristan, quickly firing the Hermit a look. Don’t talk, the look pleaded, but the Hermit missed it. He was born into life with an awareness of nothing but himself.

“A monk?” said Truffault, looking at the Hermit with bewilderment. “Did you say the Captain here is a monk?”

The Hermit was about to reply when Tristan turned and struck him across the face. “Not another word, you madman!” he shouted. Stunned, Peter shook the spots from his vision, sitting there dazed. “You see,” Tristan continued, “this poor fellow is not even aware of what he does or says at times, which is why Cardinal Odo has such tender pity for the poor creature. I think, therefore, that this dull-witted child of a man had no criminal intentions with your wife at all, but is touched in the brain.”

“What? Dull-witted? Touched in the brain, you say?” the Hermit shouted, but Tristan raised his hand again as if to deliver another blow, forcing the Hermit to cower in his seat and hold his tongue.

“Yes,” said Agnes Truffault, her tone softening, “I believe you may have a point, actually, Captain. As I now think back, this poor little derelict did not actually touch my privates, and as he was removing my clothing, probably had no idea what he was doing.” Then she turned to her husband who was totally unprepared for such an about-face. “He meant no harm, my Sweet, so release this poor imbecile,” she cooed, enlarging her eyes.

“What, you think me an imbecile!” the Hermit cried, incensed. “Tis your husband, the imbecile, Madame! If only he knew…”

Tristan realized that the Hermit insisted on unraveling yet another effort to save his hide and could bear no more. Before the Hermit could complete his sentence, Tristan jumped from his seat, grabbed the Hermit by the throat, and threw him to the ground. “No more out of you, Sir! This kind Lady has forgiven you, so we shall be on our way!” Then he picked Peter from the floor and dragged him out the door while Lord and Lady Truffault turned and looked at each other, he upon her with admiration for her charity, she upon him with relief.

As they got outside, the Hermit rattled his hand shackles, pulling Tristan’s hands from his shoulders, and cried, “I’ve never been so humiliated in my life! How dare you suggest such things about me, and how dare you lay your hands on me!”

Tristan had every right to be angry at the Hermit, but he shook his head and said, “Peter, in light of your insistence at slipping your own head within Truffault’s noose despite my constant efforts at extricating it, you should know that I have somehow managed to save your miserable life again. I am not even sure why I did such a thing!” Then he did something he had not done since last being with Mala. He laughed.