Pagan's Daughter Read Free Page B

mouth opens, and bits of soggy bread spray across the table-top.
    ‘Bernard is his father all over again,’ she croaks. ‘Guillaume was a Roman, so Bernard is a Roman at heart.’
    ‘That’s true.’ Navarre wouldn’t disagree with her mother if Gran said that the King of France was a giant toenail. ‘Not wishing to speak ill of the dead, but Guillaume probably came back to earth as a dung-worm in a cesspit.’
    There she goes again. Navarre never has a good word to say about anyone. Personally, I always admired my Uncle Guillaume. He might have believed all those Roman lies, but he never betrayed the Count of Toulouse. Not like his son Bernard.
    Uncle Guillaume set his face against the French and fought them until the day he died.
    ‘I blame Bernard’s wife,’ Navarre continues. ‘She’s a Roman. She’s poisoned his mind.’
    ‘I thought you said that they loathed each other?’ (Have I missed something here?) ‘Last week you said that they weren’t speaking to each other. How can she have poisoned his mind, if they haven’t been speaking to each other?’
    Aunt Navarre frowns and colours. She hates to be caught out. Berthe goggles, and Dulcie pretends not to hear.
    Gran coughs.
    ‘Bastards should always keep their mouths shut at the table,’ she creaks.
    Dead silence. I’m not going to blush. I am not going to blush. I’m going to quietly, calmly, and very, very gently push this battered metal spoon right down the old bitch’s throat, if she talks to me like that again!
    No, I’m not. I’m going to swallow the insult, as usual. What else can I do?
    Sybille is smiling. Arnaude has her head down. Navarre says, ‘Yes, hold your tongue, Babylonne, you let it wag too much. Now what other news from the Good Men, Arnaude? Tell us more.’
    Everyone leans forward (except Gran). Arnaude raises her head. She seems embarrassed to be the subject of such intense scrutiny.
    ‘They had a hard time crossing from Montsegur, because Lord Humbert de Beaujeu is laying waste to the lands south of here,’ she replies. ‘He’s pulling up vines and burning houses . . . they had to hide in a cave near Pamiers for three days. No one would take them in, for fear of Lord Humbert.’
    ‘Who is Lord Humbert?’ asks Sybille, puckering her seamless brow.
    ‘You know.’ Arnaude speaks patiently. ‘Remember we talked about this? Lord Humbert is a vassal of the King of France. He was left here with five hundred knights to make trouble after the King went back to France last year. He’s been pestering all our lords who are still faithful to the Count of Toulouse.’
    ‘Did the Good Men have no protectors on their journey?’ Dulcie inquires, as Gran slowly rises. She doesn’t want any more bread. After dishing out all those vigorous insults, she needs another nap.
    At last I can eat my own dinner.
    ‘Two knights were with them for part of the way, in case they ran into the French, but left them near Castelnaudary,’ says Arnaude, and Dulcie clicks her tongue.
    ‘They should not have left the Good Men.’ Dulcie’s tone is very solemn. ‘God will punish them for that.’
    And suddenly there’s a squawk. A squawk from behind us.
    Oh no.
    Catastrophe.
    Grandmother Blanche has sat on my egg.

CHAPTER THREE
    It’s so good to get away from St Pierre des Cuisines. It’s so good to get away from the smell of that parish.
    I’m sure that we’re all very grateful to Alamain de Rouaix for lending us one of his houses, but did he really have to stick us in the middle of the leather-workers’ district?
    ‘Sybille?’ It’s Berthe speaking. I wish she’d shut up. I wish she and Sybille would both shut up, and let me enjoy the smell of the spice shops in peace.
    ‘Yes, Berthe?’ Sybille replies.
    ‘Yesterday, Lady Blanche said that Babylonne was a bastard.’ Berthe skips over a pile of horse manure. ‘Why is she a bastard?’
    ‘Because her parents were not married to each other,’ Sybille responds gravely. I’m