“My mother, I was so disappointed in her. Can you imagine being told all the time to be quiet, be happy with what you are given, you are so privileged, kneel and pray. Let’s not forget the ‘I am doing all this for you’ comments she said daily.” She paused and closed her eyes in the middle of her diatribe. “I knew other families who had so much more than us. I want my children to have more. Mother wanted us children to look as if we lived in poverty, something about humility, being pious, she said. If God wanted us to be beggars he would have made us the children of serfs not descendants of Charlemagne, father said so.” She let out a heavy sigh as if her mental burden was physically exhausting while finishing her condemnation.
“Father also said we were descendants from one of the three wise men that visited Jesus at his birth, the one from Alkebulan.” Bertrand took a small knife out of his pocket and picked a stuck piece of food out from between his front top teeth. He flipped the knife back into its sheath in his pocket and leaned back on the bulky wooden chair reaching for a handful of nuts to pop into his mouth. He and his sister were in a simple common room on the main floor of her home, a medium sized castle, simple but built with fortitude. The castle would normally keep out undesirables but it seemed unable to keep out the cool breeze. The year was 1071 and the early autumn was trying to nip in through the window. Both brother and sister wore layers to keep warm as they inched their knees towards the fireplace.
As they sat in the main hall exchanging tidbits of gossip and opinions with each other, a young maiden entered, curtsied, then left the room after depositing two goblets of mead within reach for them both. Etiennette gave her brother a slide look of amusement at his acrobatic style of flipping his knife and flexing his arms over his head which Etiennette knew was meant to impress the young house maid. The wench did not notice the bulk of her brother’s arms, as was his desire. Poor Bertrand, thought Etiennette amused at her brother’s neglect.
Etiennette studied Bertrand. He was dark like unbrewed tea but not black like what she thought whenever she heard the story of Balthazar, the black wise man who knelt at Jesus’ manger who, according to family legend, was a great grandfather some generations back on their father’s side. They heard a lot of how blue blooded their father’s family was while growing up. She doubted its veracity every time she heard the myth of Balthazar, until she walked past one of the family flags with the sixteen pointed star which only direct descendants were allowed to display. This herald was now moved to a back room at her command. It mattered little to her, she had to live in the here and now and not be concerned about the past, although the bloodline of Charlemagne still held some sway amongst the nobles. She kept that small thread of homage alive, it was closer in time and held some notoriety.
Bertrand sucked another seed from between his teeth. “Maybe we should think about getting into the merchant trade business, nuts might bring good profits instead of relying on taxes all the time and waiting for a bone from his majesty.” He tossed the idea out knowing it was a rhetorical situation, he liked to poke his sister once in a while.
“Spices, or at least horses, would be even a better business, but I have other things to think about than imports today, dear brother. I have to think about my children’s future. I have two boys, the older believes he inherits everything and that leaves my younger boy with nothing who has so much more persuasive talent. He has no plans to enter the monastery, and we have no plans to push him into it.” Etiennette paused again and took a sip of mead, “The church is another issue that gives me angst. Regardless, I am planning to divide the land so both my boys will see comfort and remove any rivalry, something a little more fair than what is customary.” She lowered her chin and switched her eyes to her left to see if there was any reaction to her comment. None.
The sun was at high noon and autumn rays were encouraging the temperature to rise. Etiennette only allowed the windows to be opened from late morning to early afternoon, otherwise the slats were closed to keep the nippy air out. She demanded that everyone in the chateau wear more clothes to stay warm and not to put on any fires until early evening, no matter how miserable the weather was that early autumn. She wanted to preserve as much wood for the winter as possible and reduce the need to hire the woodcutter more than necessary. She managed the household with tight reins to her own dismay but necessity.
This brother-sister team often conferred with each other, now as adults, it was the older sister Etiennette who always was the hostess to her wandering crusader brother. Etiennette Comptess de Provence was born Stephanie Dolca de Marselha, the arranged political marriage she lived within was insisted upon by her father. Their mother died when Etiennette was around 10 years old. Her mother knew of the arrangement before her death and highly approved, in fact she was overheard bragging at times of the family’s future influence at one point, a point often mentioned to Etiennette as to how much she was in her mother’s focus.
“Tell me of each of my nieces and nephews, dear sister. What is their future and where might I end up in all that tangle?” He wiggled his eyebrows at his sister looking to be entertained by some good family gossip, knowing full well that his sister would love to accommodate by bragging.
“Ermesende de Bourgogne is married to Louis de Montbéliard, she will become a countess in good time. Her husband’s family are very religious so we are expecting a pope to come from their household.” She sipped her mead with raised eyebrows.
“And…” He wanted the entire plan, if this same sister would list off all the villages she was controlling, sure she would eventually list off all the children she also controlled.
“I am still proud to be the mother of Pope Callistus. But I cannot use him openly, he always was a mother’s boy but to be honest, I think my two first children were most affected by their grandmother. You can tell the way their lives unfolded.”
“So that is the reason you ask for the assistance of a bishop and not a pope? You fear your son, the pope will turn to his father, your husband?” He paused, “You and your husband are not as young as you used to be and your son, Pope Callistus, is wise enough not to be too open about his favouritism. Even you taught him that.”
Etiennette smiled and continued to list her pride and joy and challenges, “Etienne doesn’t talk to me much. She married a crusader, a man who I absolutely forbade her to marry, but she is so proud that he carries the flag and cross into battle. She will return home one day, a widow, a sad and lonely woman with, if she is lucky, a couple of children. I would not doubt that she has already had to pay a ransom for his return. I doubt she will have any children unless she cuckolds a man. Her husband is away much too often which makes me wonder why her husband prefers the company of men?”
“Perhaps he prefers the company of religious zealots.”
Etiennette scoffed. “Ermentrude, my middle child. She has been ill. She and her husband love to travel but it seems they have made a layover somewhere but I know not where. I am sure she will carry on. She obeyed mother and married a good man.”
“Mathilde?”
“Oh, Mathilde, she does not talk to me. I hear she is married to Eudes I “Borel”, duc de Bourgogne”
“Are you not concerned?”
“Why? She is her husband’s problem, not mine. I did my duty as parent and married her well, she is of no consequence to me, nor is her family. And at this time, their territory is of little significance to me.” She leaned over and tossed back a rolling log into the fireplace. “Raymond, he is the crown jewels, that boy. I think it was a good call to send him to visit with his great-aunt, Queen Constance, because she betrothed him to Urraca, the poor wee girl was barely eight years old. Do you know what my son, the good husband, did to his young wife? He was so good in fact, he waited until her courses came until he took her as his wife in bed. He is a most powerful man. Dare I say, more powerful than his brother the pope?” She said that smiling at the thought of how well she believed she had brought up this particular young man.
“But it’s Renaud that you are worried about?”
“Yes, he will inherit a title, but no land. He will inherit money, but no people. How will he survive with no income? Our people keep us in this entrusted position to take care of them. They pay taxes so that we take care of their needs and they take care of us. Living as one of my dependents will only last so long and wear on the poor fellow, and I fear he is not interested in investments or markets, he prefers company with his brother-in-law, to go on crusades. Although, yes, of course, the crusades are a worthy cause, but as a mother, grandmother, wife, caretaker of my people, I am highly concerned since with every crusade, fewer and fewer men return, and those that don’t are either dead or require ransom. That means less men for the fields, fewer men to reap and sow, fewer men to act as our soldiers. Fewer men to do trade and make money. Of course I am concerned!”
“So, bring it up to the pope?” His eyebrows raised and this dear brother knew he was poking the wrong sister.
“Really? Put the wants of a woman’s wants against God’s plan? And can you imagine what would be said? Do I need to be reminded of what happened to Eve? Should I allow my own son the privilege of overruling his mother? Pope or not, I am his mother.”
“Mother or not he is the Pope!” Bertrand looked at her with squinting eyes. “Just when I thought you were not at all like our mother, you are just like her. I swear you only had children to raise your position in society.”
“Dear brother, there is always an advantage for you as well.” She took another sip of mead as he put his drink down. “You always have a home to spend time in, always one of your nieces or nephews to depend upon. I believe your career has been sustained by my own progeny has it not?”
“Progeny,” Bertrand twisted his chin to try to change the subject. “You have been a good grandmother, yes?” He looked at her trying to soften her mood. “How is baby Gisella?”
“Five children and counting to Umberta II, Comte de Savoit. Another good match if I do say so myself.”
“Tell me sister, do you plan to take over the Holy Roman Empire and all of the known world through marriage and birth rights?”
“And why not?” Etiennette shrugged. “Little Clementia is left to marry off. I have a suitor in mind, one from the more northern regions. I have thought of marrying her to a Muslim to stop them from raiding but upon reflection I do believe those from the north are far more civilised and will mix well with the Franks better than those from the south. The heat gets to them, if you understand me. What would you say if she was married into the Bougogne family?”
“I hear others from the royal family have also married into the Germanic royal families. It will be to our advantage. But for now, you plan to split the land without your husband’s knowledge? How can you accomplish this before his return?” Etiennette was more like her mother as she aged, he thought.
“No, of course not, but I do plan to ask our bishop certain questions of, how shall I say?” She tipped her head up scratching her chin, “I plan to ask in a way that makes certain things clear for my husband to see the value of my thinking if put in a favourable light by someone of influence. With the guidance of the bishop, we will have a clear and justifiable path of action before us.” She smiled, her head piece titled making the light fabric that trailed behind it drift behind her shoulders. “He wouldn’t want to place the Pope in a bad position so he will make the decision. But, I will need you to courier the letter for me, if you would be my champion in doing so?”
“Champion or errand boy?” He chuckled. Her brother smiled back and nodded in resigned agreement. He knew the cardinal was in her husband’s pocket but the bishop was well acquainted with his sister. He remembered when they were younger and Eusebius of Angers, the current bishop of their area, and Etiennette spent time together as children. His sister was a clever woman when it came to family politics, she knew who to call upon to obtain persuasive influence over her husband. It removed those strenuous conversations between them, yet the crucial issues were still addressed. Bertrand looked at his sister with a glance that easily conveyed his relief that they were allies and not enemies.
Etiennette used to watch her mother like one watches a slow moving cat – never sure when it will amuse, move, or attack. Etiennette did not talk much with her mother, and their parents never really paid that much attention to their children except to acknowledge them as pawns in a greater picture of wealth and family power and public image. Etiennette learned from her parents this very advantageous strategy. Both Etiennette and Bertrand remembered their childhood as one of being ushered to other rooms, of being occupied with tutors, and more often, being left alone to fend for themselves. Then after her mother’s death Etiennette heard so much about her mother’s grand contributions to the village that her impression of her mother then fell into deep dislike. She never remembered any such contributions or saw evidence, rarely a village visit in her memory with her mother. She did recall her mother always being well dressed and short tempered, snapping corrections at her maids, and worried about gossip. She remembered her mother beating her with a tree switch the one time she called her mother ‘she’ instead of the word ‘mother’. Etiennette shivered with memory of crawling into an alcove in the corner of a private room where the chamber pot was kept to escape the whipping. The public majestic vision of her mother being regally supportive and her own memory of her mother attacking her with a switch mixed like oil and water in her mind.
Etiennette invited her brother’s opinion, “I cannot imagine why one would spend more time with merchant people than with one’s own family. We had to act humbly, subservient, we children had to be the image she could not portray – humble. Do you know what it was like to watch your mother constantly meeting with people to rearrange their lives while being shuffled off to..oh.. it matters not. The point is, it was not pleasant and I found mother duplicitous.” Etiennette took a breath and wiggled the simple garnet ring on her baby finger. She switched subjects. “I preferred to be called Dolca, mother hated that pet name. My husband calls me Dolca, because I like the name.” She shuffled the quill and paper on the table she was sitting next to and asked her brother Bertrand to hand her the wax. After two drops of candle drippings hardened on the back of her document, she grabbed a large metal stamp at the other end of the table and placed her husband’s family seal in the wax.
She then pushed aside an edge curled manila map which she had drawn upon with the fifty some towns and villages her family administered. Bertrand followed with his eyes the tracing of his sister’s finger as she whispered each village and town reviewing all that was controlled by her family. Toulon, Hyères, Six-Fours, Olières, Soliers, Bregancon, La Ciotat, Cassis, Ceyreste, Trets, Belcodenes, Porrières, Peynier, Saint-Marcel, Roquevaire, Auriol, Puipin, Saint Savournin, Cujes, Sign, Juillans, Penes, Venel, Gardane, Colongne, Cabris, Trebillane, Cignac, Martigues, Chateauneuf-les-Martigues, the Tour-d’Embouc, Fez, Roquefeuil, Rousset, Chateauneuf le Rouge, Fuveau, Gréasque, Mimet, Pechauris and Ners. She would repeat the names like she was chanting a mantra every time she pulled out the map. Similar to the way she would repeat her children’s names when asked how her family was. Possessions.
Just when Bertrand thought his sister was distracted she snapped her head up and said, “I was never mother’s favourite, you can tell by the way she treated me. Either that or she wanted to please father by showing her control of her children – specifically me, so in front of him she displayed her dominance. With every village, with every time we visited one of them, I can tell you something unfortunate that happened to me in every village. This one here,” she pointed at the map, “she would not let me eat for a day. This one here,” her finger shifted, “she called me boy crazy and shook me so badly I thought she broke my arm. My neck was sore for a week.” Etiennette was about to continue but was cut off by her brother.
“She did not hit you. You hold a rather cruel memory, sister.” Bertrand was her younger brother by a couple of years and his memory was slightly different of their parents. His one night stay may have turned into something he might regret he noted to himself if he did not mind his tongue and at least humour his hostess sister.
“Cruel? Really? What would you call it?”
“You talk like a canonist sister, it is normal, sister, normal. Consider this, what would have happened to you had you not been disciplined?” He hoped this small curbing comment would redirect her attention. What had she done to her own daughters?
Etiennette began to flick her fore finger and thumb together and then she bit her thumb nail and ripped off the end. She stopped and looked at him measuring up his interest in hearing more gossip, and sure enough, he asked more information about people from their past.
“Do you know what happened to the daughter of Adélaïde, you know the wife of Bernard III, comte de Melgueil. They had a daughter, what ever happened to her?”
Jocelyn was a former interest of Bertrand’s, Etiennette recalled. “Jocelyn? She lives here, on my land, they married her to a farmer.”
“God’s body! No! But she now lives here? Why would they marry her to a farmer?”
“She was 16, almost too old for marriage in their eyes, she rebelled. Somehow each suitor was not good enough. Her parents talked to the church, and the solution was to marry her off as soon as possible and the next man through the door was her future husband. Voila the farmer.” Thinking the subject was over and surely her brother would ask about someone else, Etiennette sat back in her chair reaching for her mead again. She wanted the Jocelyn topic to end quickly so she gave a droll expression to end it.
“I told you, she was spoiled! Look what happened to her! Be grateful you were raised as you were or you could have ended up like her. What a wasted life.” He popped a couple more nuts into his mouth.
“Wasted? Well, she certainly was humbled.” Seeing the look in her brother’s face she knew he was eager for a few more details, and Etiennette knew a little more, enough to suffice and finally end the subject, she hoped. “When I became more settled in the castle, I offered her husband a position on the north end of our land. He took it, they moved here. She is better off away from her family though I doubt her husband is any better. It is not my business.” Etiennette took a quick breath, a topic she avoided was now before her. She had a flash of a memory of her and Jocelyn as young teenagers. She remembered her father visiting the Melgueil’s. She remembered Jocelyn taking her hand and pulling her away from listening at the door, as parents talked of political advantages as to who their daughters should marry, trying to figure out who she, Etiennette, would be betrothed to, what political advantage she was within that household. Etiennette was not happy being a pawn in her parent’s plans yet she was also thrilled to imagine her exit from her own home, being her own mistress in her own manor. Jocelyn cared little for the conversation and kept pulling at Etiennette, to get her away from the door and to herself.
For the dark haired beauty that Etiennette was, Jocelyn was the opposite, she was blonde, fair of face, white eyelashes, sky blue eyes, and bird-like bones. Etiennette and Jocelyn were both the same height and body type, but it was like one was the dark version while the other the fair. Blink, Jocelyn wanted to show Etiennette her new horse, a beautiful black friesian mare her father had just purchased the week before. Blink, she pulled Etiennette out of the manor, all the way into the stable and demanded the stable boy stay outside, lest he be beaten by her father for spying on them. Blink by blink, Etiennette snapping seconds of memories, of the boy running away and shutting the barn door behind him in fear, of the two girls petting the horse’s neck, of Jocelyn’s hand moving from the horse side to Etiennette’s back, blink – to the exchange of looks the two girl’s gave each other, Etiennette being pulled again further to the back into the shadows of the barn where Jocelyn threw a long piece of homespun onto the hay. Blink, of them laughing together under the cloth.
Bertrand leaned over and patted Etiennette on the hand as if to reassure her and she just looked at her brother knowing she had just missed his entire monologue while she drifted in distant foggy memories with the fluttering of her eyes. She smiled at him still not hearing him as she floated between reality and memory. This was Etiennette’s secret, that she knew Jocelyn’s biblical downfall. She automatically began to bite her nails in front of her brother, again. His voice brought her back.
“Your nails! Dolca, really, it is so unbecoming of a countess to bite her nails.”
“Oh I have tried to quit.” She sighed heavily, folding her hands in her deep blue dress. “I guess I inherited that from maman as well, that bad habit and her teeth.” She tapped her two bottom front teeth, still baby teeth as the adult teeth never came in. Her mother had the same inconvenient bite.
“You have papa’s eyebrows too,” Bertrand laughed, “as do I.” He paused then pursued the earlier conversation, “Jocelyn, you said her family disowned her?”
“Yes, her parent’s completely disowned her, they married her to a farmer. I can see the edge of his farm from my window. I haven’t seen her since she moved here, but I hear she had another baby, three boys, and twelve years later a fourth child, a girl. Twelve years between children, that is a long time. My husband invited her family to move here a year ago.” She almost caught herself drifting back to the memory. She minded her every word and facial expressions making sure never to give away her private memories.
Bertrand wiped the nut shells off his lap. “Imagine disowning your own flesh and blood. How horrible. To go from such a high station to a farmer’s wife. She must have done something horrible. I heard she broke some sacred law, but I cannot imagine which one. Do you think she was caught with her brother?”
“Oh no, never, I knew her enough to know that was never it.” Etiennette wanted to end the guessing game, “Remember when maman was upset because grandpapa would not acknowledge her as his daughter. What do you think that was about?”
“Who knows, old news, matters little. I think our parents, and even our grandparents, their main goal in life was not us, but to increase the wealth of the family. All of them, nothing but collecting taxes, buying, selling, it was who you know, not what you know. I think all of them were afraid someone might find out they were ordinary people.” Bertrand tucked the letter next to his breast and reached for the chalice of wine which was closer to Etiennette.
“Mother gave me all her jewellery, you know.” She looked at Bertrand to see if there was a flicker of jealousy. While he reached for his drink she made sure her ring was obvious.
“Those must have been her last words. Then papa gave the rest of them to you when you married and it was his way of apologising for using you as a pawn in his business. I always thought your dowry was a little embellished. I wonder why we men don’t get a dowry, I am jealous!” He gulped a swing of mead and wiped his chin with the back of his hand.
“Oh yes, like you would look amazing in maman’s ruby necklace.”
“Of course not, but I would look even more handsome if I was able to wear that garnet ring, the large one, with the white moonstones around it.”
“Of course, you could look amazing while hitting someone in the face with a ring on your finger. You don’t seek the beauty of the piece but the vicious rip it would put in someone’s cheek. I know you.” They both laughed because they both knew it was something he had done as a young man, he had used a ring in that exact manner.
“My nieces and nephews, how are they? All of them, how are they?” Her children, slipping into adulthood and he knew that soon enough they would replace him on the war field, in society, in the eyes of those whom he sought attention. He took another drink and looked out the window. It was pouring rain and the chill in the air was pressing closer to the window, but the drink was good and the company was engaging.
“Did maman ever speak to you about our grandmother, her mother?”
“I thought we didn’t have one, her mother died before we were born.”
“Father never talked about her mother, only his. Where did her mother come from?”
“No, I remember Maman telling me that her people liked wine. No, wait,” he paused, “Did she ever tell you that she made wishes while holding a cup and the wishes would come true?”
“God’s bones! Tell me more!”
“Yes, she told me once if I wanted something bad enough, all I had to do was hold a cup, put my wish inside the cup, dip my finger in the cup and say, ‘make it so.’ Her mother told her that.” He shrugged as if not knowing whether to believe it or not.
“That sounds blasphemous! But have you ever…” She dared not finish the sentence. “Wishes, they are not prayer’s, they are devil bound. I would dare not wish.”
“Well, bordering on heresy, I never repeated what she said, but yes I have. I wished for Jacquline, you know the maid, to kiss me.” He smiled shyly, he was a large man and for once his oversized stature began to shrink as he told the story of when he was a young twelve year old. “Yes, I wished, and yes, when we were in the stables, we played a dare game. We were both bragging as to who was the bravest. I said I was. She told me to try and ride the pig, I did. Oh the scrape on my knee I suffered! I told her to kiss the horse. She did. Then I told her to do the bravest thing she could think of and she kissed me! Right there!”
“You mean she kissed a horse first and you were the second choice. I am not sure that was a wise girl to have your heart set on.” Etiennette chortled while sipping her wine. She continued reminiscing. “Do you remember when I secretly put the velvet bud plant from the pond on mother’s shoulder and told her it was a caterpillar?” Etiennette began to bubble with laughter, “Mother thought it was real and I remember she was holding a pot of hot water, she must have thrown that pot at least 100 paces!”
“If I recall, you were locked in a room all day for that.”
“As if you never did anything naughty, you were the boy who hid snakes under his bed in a box.”
“Harmless little things they were! Mother said they liked warm places, I thought under my bed was warm.” He began to chuckle rather loudly.
“You were fine until the chamber maid came in to make your bed. I think she screamed loud enough to be heard in Rome when her hand slid under the bed and found a snake curling around her wrist like a bracelet. If I remember, you were locked in the next room beside me, remember we used to knock on the walls to each other?”
“You know, maybe we weren’t easy children. Did you notice we were not placed in any fosterage like other noble children?”
“Do you think our reputation preceded us?”
“What ever gave you that idea?” Bertrand said in a sarcastic manner with half a grin.
Both brother and sister leaned back in their chairs and laughed over their reminiscing. Etiennette was so glad to have a brother she could talk to, one that came to visit, one that shared laughter and was interested in her life.
The young maid, the same one from earlier, pushed open the door and bowed her head and blurttered out something which Etiennette could only understand half. The girl was in such a tizzy she was almost jumping out of her skin, the words spilled out so quickly and the panic in her eyes was electric.
“Slower,” said Etiennette in irritation.
“There are Muslims in the courtyard. They just beheaded the blacksmith and they are looking for your husband!”
Both Bertrand and Etiennette stood up. Etiennette knew her servant, a young girl who could not remember more than two instructions at a time. “How many?”
“Six, more coming he said.”
“Tell the cook to go ring the bells then put all the women and children within my service in my chamber. Lock the door. Don’t go anywhere till I return.” As the maid ran out the door to the bell room, Bertrand turned and told his sister to hide in her chamber as well.
“No, I have to go tell my serfs, I cannot have them killed.” Without waiting for a response she grabbed her rings, seals, and quill then stuffed her private matters in a wooden box and placed it under a loose floorboard. She ran out the door towards the stable.
Bertrand ran beside her screaming at her to return to her chambers. They parted at the front door, Etiennette ignored him running towards the stable and jogged in the shadows until she could slip into the barn, unseen. She grabbed the bridle hanging by the stall and threw it on her horse’s head. One quick movement and she threw on the saddle and hitched the girth under the horse’s belly. A quick thought of how grateful she was to have learned how to ride a horse and more so that she still rode. She jumped onto the horse, ducked her head down to hide behind the horse’s head, and she kicked it into a canter through the courtyard to a back exit where she then galloped to the pastures and meadows behind the castle. A couple of arrows pierced the ground behind her and beside her horse which made the horse race like exploding fury. Dust and dirt sprayed out behind his feet. Etiennette leaned forward balancing on the balls of her feet, her clothes flapping in the air as the horse grabbed the earth pounding the earth faster than the arrows could fly.
During the whole journey she screamed at everyone she passed in the fields, on the path, in the bushes, “Muslims, hide!” Within minutes she was swinging off her horse and pounding the door of a farmer’s cottage. Weather beaten Jocelyn opened the door wiping one hand on her homespun working dress, with an infant on her hip, annoyed only to be shocked at the sight of one wind burnt Etiennette gasping and blurting out her warning.
“Attack, we are under attack. Muslims, come!” She pulled at Jocelyn who followed her while clutching her babe in arms.
“My sons!” Jocelyn twisted sideways to yell at someone behind her home. “Grab your brothers, go to the field and hide in the storage hill.” She then pulled her apron up and tied the bottom around her neck and nestled her infant in the centre. Jocelyn then crawled up on the fence and jumped behind Etiennette on the horse to ride double with the infant between them, with Jocelyn’s arms stretched out to guard the baby while hanging onto Etiennette.
Etiennette shouted, “Hang on, I am going to canter, it’s easier for the baby but still fast. Copy me.” She knew her horse’s reputation for an even back when cantering but still there was an infant between them. She leaned forward and the horse, not a nicker or hesitation, then broke from a walk to a canter in a heartbeat. They made good time to the local abbey.
Etiennette slowed the horse down as they approached the entrance. Jocelyn slipped off with her jostled infant in one arm and squeezed Etiennette’s hand with her other. She looked around quickly and noting that no one was looking, she kissed Etiennette on the mouth and ran into the abbey.
Etiennette swung the horse around and rode back towards the castle, kicking the horse the entire way, shouting at farmers, goat headers, and other men working the fields to come help at the castle. She raised a hundred men in a short time and people came with pitchforks and scythes and anything they could use as weapons. They ran towards the castle screaming like wild men to join the fight.
Etiennette jumped off her horse, her skirts swimming around her legs. She aimed the horse towards the abbey where she had just come from and slapped the black mare’s hind end, the horse kicked and ran off at a trot, riderless. No one would get her horse. Etiennette could hear the screams and the sounds of men battling, metal clanging and shouts of pain and pressure. She stepped over one poor soul with a sword still sticking out of his chest and his blood pooling around his body. She pulled out the sword from the unforgiving chest as it reluctantly heaved and she whispered ‘God be with you’ and ran into the kitchen and found the back stairs to her upper chambers daring not to make a sound on the stairs. No one was there yet – the attackers had not made it into the inner chambers. She heard them outside at the front entrance. She saw dropped linen and trays of food and goblets on the floor. She grabbed a piece of cloth and wiped her sword. She stepped in front of her private chambers and knocked on the door, “Let me in.”
“How do we know it’s just you?” Whispered back a scared voice.
“Because if you don’t open the door you will be the first sacrifice when the moors arrive. Now open the door.” Etiennette whispered hoarsely back. A small boy opened the door and the cook reached out her hand from over his head and pulled Etiennette inside. There on the floor were at a quick count fifty people. One hundred eyes in shock and horror were looking up at Etiennette. Women, children, and the castle elder servants all sitting on the floor, laying underneath the bed, under tables, chairs, a couple of children whimpering.
“Keep the door locked, no matter what, say nothing even if the door rattles. Make them think I have locked the door behind me and no one is in here.” She stood before them with the sword looking serious and strong. They sat there, silent, not moving, eyes twitching back and forth at every shout from the distance. Horses whinnied, men shouted, and then it was quiet. A slow quiet. A quiet where one could hear the men walking but which men was the question.
Then Etiennette heard metal rattling, like swords against buckles, like keys against belts, and then it stopped. Etiennette turned to her people behind her and raised her forefinger to her lips. Not a soul breathed. The children dared not move. Etiennette raised her sword standing behind the door preparing for it to swing onto whoever was entering. Someone knocked two times. Etiennette thought the person had an odd sense of humour. Another knock, just one. Etiennette made a strange face and took a chance. Knock twice, knock once. The response should be knock twice and the unknown person should then knock once. So she did, she knocked twice. Bertrand knocked once.
It was her brother! “Bertrand?!”
“Well do you think I am going to open the door so you can behead me?” He said sarcastically.
Etiennette laughed, as did the fifty people on the floor, and she opened the door. Bertrand stood there amazed at all the people on the floor.
“Have you all been practising this? The moors are dead or gone.”
The people shuffled up and walked out the door hesitantly but in an orderly manner. Bertrand and Etiennette stepped back into a corner to avoid the crush.
“Where did you go?”
“To get help, of course.”
Bertrand gave her a funny look and noticed through the window that someone was walking a very dignified horse back to the castle. It would have made more sense for the mysterious person to ride the horse, unless it was not their horse. He then looked at his sister after recognising the horse and the person walking the horse. “You left something behind when you went to get help.” He opened the window wider and pointed at the black horse being escorted back to the castle.
“Oh that, yes. I guess I should retrieve my horse.” She motioned that she should go, she put the sword down on the table.
“And who did you say lives in that direction?” He asked in a mocking tone referring to an earlier conversation.
“Help,” she replied, and she slipped through her chamber door without turning around. She touched her lips and smiled.
Born: 1005 -1041-1047
Died: April 1 1080
Lived 75 years.
Her mother lived for 55 years.
AKA: Etiennette Comptess de Provence
Stephanie Dolça de Marselha, comtessa de Provença
Mother of Etienne de Marseille
Wife of: Geoffroi I, comte de Provence
Mother of Bertrand Provence b:1050
Ettiennette du Provance b: 1051
Gerberge comtesse du Provence b:1025 died:1085
http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=92300722 – -home of ancestors.
https://translate.google.ca/translate?hl=en&sl=ca&u=http://alambins.cat/ca/dolca-de-provenca/&prev=search – translated page about Etiennette’s daughter, in French describes a love affair with a troubadour. About her daughter.
https://translate.google.ca/translate?hl=en&sl=ca&u=http://www.xtec.cat/~evicioso/bcnes/provenc.htm&prev=search – love witha troubadour, same story as above.
Possible above for grand daughter not herself.
http://www.chateau-baux-provence.com/en/beginning-baussenque-wars –
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fyxjeBl9nsE – video computer reading outloud
https://www.genealogieonline.nl/en/maximum-test/I6000000003098013944.php – family tree
http://www.nice-panorama.com/en/Provence/Les-Baux-de-Provence/ – Balthazar motto, haphardly Balthazar (good luck, good chance, good fortune). History of area
.https://www.genealogieonline.nl/en/maximum-test/I6000000003098013944.php She is married to Jaufré I Comte de Provença comte de Provença in the year 1057 at Bourgogne,france.
Gerberga died before January 1118, possibly in 1115.[end quote] 3 (daughter)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kingdom_of_Arles Where she died. 
Geoffroy I DE PROVENCE, [2153]
- Born: Abt 1015,,, France
- Marriage: Etiennette [2154]
- Died: 1061-1062,, Provence-Alpes-Cote D’azur, France about age 46
- Buried: Saint-Pierre de Montmajour Abbey, Provence-Alpes-Cote d’Azur, France
Sources, Comments and Notes
Source <Wikipedia>:
“I also said Geoffroy Jauffre I, probably born in 1015 and died in February 1061 or 10621.2. He was Count of Provence from 1018 to his death. He was the son of William II, Count of Provence and Burgundy Gerberge.
Biography
He is cited in a donation of 1018 alongside his brothers, the Counts Fulk Bertrand and William, his mother Gerberge and his grandmother Adelaide d’Anjou. Other donations, most often in favor of the power of the Benedictine abbey of Saint-Victor of Marseilles, shows him as living most often in the region of Arles.
He intervened in the struggle against the Fos, which resumed in 1048. On that date, he concluded an agreement with Aicard and Geoffroy of Marseille I, Viscounts of Marseilles, to recover the seigniory of Fos and Hyères.
Descendancy
He married Étiennette, perhaps daughter of Viscount William II of Marseille and Étiennette Baux, and had at least:
Bertrand II († 1094), count then marquis of Provence
Gerberge (v. 1060 † 1115), countess of Provence, married to Gilbert Millau, Count of Gevaudan
He is also credited with two daughters:
Étiennette († 1085) married to William II, Count of Bésalu
A possible daughter married to Raymond IV, count of Toulouse
His widow remarried with Bernard II, Count of Bigorre
Posterity
He was buried at Montmajour, the family necropolis of the Counts of Provence. His epitaph gives us the image of a warrior:
Gentle here to those who are gentle, he was hard on the rebels.
In fact, he has often taken up arms to recover the rights of his ancestors whom a patrimonial conception of power impels him to demand in a surfeit manner. “
Geoffroy married Etiennette [2154] [MRIN: 1159]. (Etiennette [2154] was born about 1030 in,, France and died after 1063 in,, France.)
https://sussle.org/t/Geoffrey_I_of_Provence – best story of her left, as a wife
https://epistolae.ccnmtl.columbia.edu/woman/25685.html – letters
http://www.ffish.com/family_tree/descendants_charlemagne/d1.htm Etiennette related to Charlemaign
https://translate.google.ca/translate?hl=en&sl=fr&u=http://fjeantet.blogspot.com/2010/09/genealogie-de-la-maison-de-fos-et-des.html&prev=search – excellent background
http://www.provenceweb.fr/e/bouches/fosurmer/fosurmer.htm – home of Etiennette
http://www.caitlingreen.org/2015/05/medieval-new-england-black-sea.html?m=1 – New England – in the middle east
http://homepages.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~cousin/html/p352.htm#i5236 – Her children – related (title of page) to Óláfr Sveinsson d. 10 July 1086 Ancestory.com
- Ermesende de Bourgogne+ 9
- Pope Callistus II of the Roman Catholics b. c 1050, d. 13 Dec 1124
- Etienne I “Tête hardie”, comte Palatin de Bourgogne+ b. c 1060, d. 27 May 11027
- Ermentrude de Bourgogne+ b. c 1060, d. a 8 Mar 11051
- Mathilde de Bourgogne+ b. c 10651
- Raymond, comte de Bourgogne+ b. 1065, d. bt 13 Sep 1107 – 20 Sep 1107
- Renaud II, comte de Bourgogne, de Vienne, & de Mâcon+ b. s 10661
- Gisèla de Bourgogne+ b. c 1070, d. a 113310,11
- Clémence de Bourgogne+ b. b 1087
http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/medieval-mothers-had-marry-and-murder-get-their-way-180963282/ – Rules of inheritance during medieval times.
