Troubadour Read Free Page B

watching the troubadour.
    Bertran was a fastidious eater, taking food from the shared dishes with his knife or a spoon and not using his fingers. He didn’t wipe his hands on his bread trencher either, and when the savoury courses had been cleared away, he tore the gravy-smeared bread into small pieces for the dogs, like a true nobleman and didn’t wolf it down himself like a peasant.
    All in all, the meal went better than Elinor had feared, though she was too nervous to do justice to Hugo’s capon pasties or his roast venison and frumenty. But when all the many dishes had been cleared away, she was able to nibble at some gingerbread and almonds. And she drank gratefully of the spiced wine, which her father always served at the end of a feast.
    And then Lanval and Clara were getting up and servants were coming in to move the tables away. That meant the dancing was about to begin and Elinor hastily gulped the last of her wine, her panic returning.
    Before the dreaded estampida , there were jugglers and acrobats and even someone with a monkey that danced on its hind legs. But the moment couldn’t be postponed for ever and at last Elinor heard the familiar rhythm being beaten out on the tambour. The joglaresa s – the female entertainers – were beginning to swish their skirts.
    Noblemen and women assembled on what had been quickly transformed into a dance floor and Elinor soon found herself separated from Aimeric, who she had hoped would be her partner. Instead she was opposite Gui, one of her father’s foster-sons, a noiretz . He was a good dancer, Elinor knew from her spying in the alcove, but not someone she wanted to see her awkward steps.
    But the wine seemed to have done something strange to her feet as Perrin began to sing the opening verse of ‘ Kalenda Maia ’ – the May Day song. It was not at all appropriate for the middle of winter but ever since Perrin had been taught it by an Italian troubadour it had been all the rage in Lanval’s court. It was a song written by a troubadour called Raimbaut to his lady love, Beatrice, the sister of his lord.
    Everyone in the hall knew it and several joined in with the words.
    ‘ Ma bell’amia ,’ mouthed Gui. ‘My beautiful friend.’
    Elinor blushed; he nearly put her off her steps. But she made it to the end of the last verse: ‘ Bastida, Finida, N’Engles, ai l’estampida! ’ which meant ‘Enough, I’ve finished my composition, Senhor Engles, my estampida .’
    Elinor wondered about Senhor Engles; perhaps he was a noble in Italy, at Monferrato, where Raimbaut had composed his song. She caught her breath, glad not to have made a fool of herself with Gui.
    But the rest of the dancers were still moving and Huguet had launched into a lively saltarello on his fiddle. Elinor was appalled even though she had learned that it could follow straight on from the estampida . Her feet faltered because the music was much faster now and Gui’s face was beginning to blur before her eyes in the spin and whirl of the dance. She was going to fall, on her first appearance as a grown-up woman in her father’s court. And the young knights and noiretz s would laugh at her behind their hands. She wanted to die.
    Then, miraculously, a face emerged from the blur and it was Bertran! His smile calmed her and although she was still scared, it was so lovely to be able to dance with him and clasp his hand as they crossed the set, that her feet forgot to be frightened and she understood what her mother meant about the music.
    When the saltarello came to an end and Bertran lifted her by the waist, she let the moment last just a fraction longer for the sake of feeling his arms around her.
    ‘Forgive me, lady,’ said Bertran, gently extricating himself. ‘It is time for my new song.’
    He stood by Perrin, who sang passionately to Lady Clara on Bertran’s behalf. It was a strange new canso , more about war than love. Elinor scarcely took it in; she was still thinking of how it felt to