By Susan Grant-Suttie
Comtesse Stephanie tipped her mirror to get a better reflection in the silver polished disk. Even with age, her hair rippled onto her shoulders, it had turned apricot over the years from what she remembered was a deep copper red inherited from her father. There were wrinkles beside her eyes when she smiled. There was the occasional white hair poking out from her eyebrows. She thought she could see her mother, Alaris de Die, in the mirror instead of herself some days. The skin around her eyes was more transparent than before. She looked down into her bowl of fresh water and grabbed a small stick and began to rub her teeth. At least she had all of her teeth, even if the front two bottom ones were still her baby teeth. They were yellowed and small, and had never fallen out. Luckily when she smiled the bottom teeth did not show. To be in her fifties was a blessing not many women had, she told herself.
Comtesse Stephanie glanced out the window and wondered why her maid was delayed this morning. As the reasons crossed her mind, her door opened and in scurried the old woman with an arm full of newly cut branches for the fireplace.
“Morning m’lady. You rose before me, m’lady.” The maid did not look directly at the Comtesse but scurried to the fireplace. She was also in her later years, very thin, and quite the chatty maid given the audience or lack thereof for permission to talk.
“Are you putting those branches on the coals?” Comtesse Stephanie noticed little green speckles on the wood. She knew immediately what would happen should they be laid on the hot embers.
“Yes m’lady.” The old maid began to sweep the ashes from the hearth back into the fire. The maid’s elbow bumped her pocket and she stopped sweeping. “You have a message m’lady,” she murmured. She flipped a note with a wax seal on the edge of the closest table to the bed. The Comtesse grabbed the letter and took another look at the wood, yet again about to be placed on the coals.
“Don’t, you’ll only smoke up my room with that green wood. Take them away, go back to the wood pile and choose something a bit more aged.” She waved her hands at the stringy old woman and the maid rose quickly with the green saplings and disappeared. Comtesse Stephanie took the letter and nestled herself into the large chair in the corner of her room. She recognized the seal, it was her parent’s household.
Comtesse Stéphanie Etiennette de Forcalquier, dame des Baux-Rians
Château Balcio
In this month of sacrifice, Year of our Lord 1043.
I hope this letter finds you in excellent health as I have no doubt that you and your family are doing well. Admittedly, I listen often for news of you all. I am remiss in sending thanks for the last gift you sent, the beautiful gold threaded blanket now rests on my bed. Allow me now to praise you for your thoughtfulness. Your father is in good health and at the moment I am writing this note, he is selling some of our mares. We find that breeding and training horses has brought us a good profit among the rising merchant class. I warned your father that I think they do not want the horse but rather his last vestiges of influential contacts as he is aging fast and his influence is waning. He, on the other hand, believes he is still at the height of his own stallion days despite his stilted walking with a cane. He is very short of temper, as of late, and cannot suffer fools..
I do not wish to alarm you, but I feel it necessary to disclose an unfortunate occurrence. My health is not as strong as it should be. It appears that along with my hair going white, my eyes are slowly losing their clarity, it seems my heart has problems keeping its rhythm. The doctor says I must remain calm at all times. When your father cannot keep up with the demands of the manor or that I cannot remember as quickly the names and dates, he flares. Even he has tried to keep an even temper. But you know your father, he has always been demanding and as such, this has brought us great favour financially in the past but maybe not so much presently. We are careful now, as your father cannot handle the time and standing and attention needed to make deals like he used to, especially with the livestock. Our friends have their sons taking over the business, but we do not, so your father is over-extending himself.
With this in mind, I am aware that we are expecting you at the end of the month to help us ready for Christmastide. I must ask that you only bring yourself and your husband. The doctor says my humours are out of balance. Further, he says I may have a blockage which is disrupting my brain. I am often out of breath and must sit, my energy is low, I prefer to sleep more often and this worries your father. I have heard of a monk who was healed of such an illness by stepping into the shoes of a saint. As you are married to the house of Balthazar the great Magi who brought Jesus the Myrrh, I would ask that you bring something that belongs to your husband’s family for our benefit. Surely something of his family would have been kept from such a great man as chosen by God, something that would heal me and give strength to aid your father. I will see you, my loving daughter, at the end of this month, as expected.
Travel safety,
Maman
Comtesse Stephanie dropped the letter as the maid walked in with more appropriate firewood.
“Where is my husband?” she said stoically.
“He was in the field selling sheep. Then he planned to go to the public house. He says he has a meeting m’lady.”
The Comtesse was now dressed and turned out of the bedroom before the fire took hold. She walked over to the paddock, a short distance, not seeing her husband, she carried on foot to the village, a mere jaunt. It was now noon and she walked straight into the public house, a rare but not unknown event, whereupon she swung her head left and right looking for her man between the heads bobbing in conversation. Finally, she noted his laughter in the back of the dark room and two other men joined in his cheer. For midday, this room always appeared to be early evening with its dark beams, small windows, and chill in the air until the room was filled with farm hands, merchants, and travellers.
She walked up behind him, surprising him. “Husband, we must talk,” she said loud enough to turn heads as she approached the table. She and her husband owned this public house and as such her husband often met men for business at his favourite table. And, it was not unknown for Comtesse Stephanie to step into the place for a short visit. The beer wench nodded towards Lady Stephanie.
The two men with her husband tipped their hats and shuffled their way out of their chairs off to another part of the room. The fireplace spitted and Comtesse Stephanie wiggled her way into a warm seat left behind. Her husband, Comte Guillaume le Gros de Marseille, vicomte de Marseille waved his hand ordering another round of spiced beer for his wife and himself. He leaned forward on his fist and raised his eyebrows anticipating a full recount of some recent drama.
“We must leave earlier than we expected, my mother is not well. I don’t think my father is handling the situation, any situation, very well.” She sipped the newly placed spiced beer in front of her.
“Why us, why not one of your younger brothers, we are just visiting, would not your brothers, one of them, maybe the eldest, do his duty and actually stay at their side?”
“Oh you mean Bertrand, who is so aloof he may as well be a ghost, little Guillaume, who has disappeared off the face of this earth or Geoffroy who has disowned my parents for reasons even I don’t know. You want me to rely on my brothers?”
“For all the effort you put into your relationship, you know they will give you nothing in their will – it will all go to Bertrand, ghost or not. He is the eldest, he most certainly got the most out of your parents growing up. You – on the other hand – were handed off to me as soon as your father found an opportunity, though, my precious, a day I have never regretted.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear. Regardless, my mother is in need, her humours are out of balance. And you know my father, as soon as he thinks mother is threatened he won’t leave her side he won’t let anyone else near except the doctor, and frankly I think he smothers her with attention to the point she cannot reach out for anything except what he offers or allows. So for her to write me a letter in private and then have it reach me, that alone is remarkable.”
“Where does he get his money? I thought he had very little left anyhow.” Her husband was still trying to understand how his wife’s parents financially survived. When his father-in-law listened to his wife, they were flush with money, land, and assets. Then through stories he heard that for some reason he denied any involvement of his wife in his financial affairs, all monetary affairs slipped into the slough. He scratched his head remembered the antics shared by other family members of what was presumed was the good luck of the wife, and the unfortunate business decisions of the husband, so he could prove he could made decisions without her. The laugh was on him eventually and unfortunately. The Comtesse’s dark eyed husband leaned into the conversation with his wife when he noticed a few others at a nearby table bending their ears in their direction as well.
The tavern was handled by a small family, hired, but the father decided the daughter would serve the beer believing that choice would make the men order more to have her company. Although a pleasant plump woman, she was also sarcastic, slow, and sloppy. Although she knew the Comtess and her husband owned the tavern, she never acknowledged nor altered her service. The tavern had a cabinet where the regulars had their own goblets kept and were served only a minute faster than newcomers. Once again, this wench served with the wrong goblets to the wrong people. When this was brought to her attention, she shrugged and walked away with a small comment thrown over her shoulder.
“The goblets are clean m’lord.”
The comtesse gritted her teeth. “Dear husband, the place smells like our pig style. If we cannot rid ourselves of this tavern, maybe we should attach the tankards to the table.” When she paused her husband looked down into his drink, but she continued. “Maybe we could chain them to the table?”
Her husband took a deep sigh. “Yes, my beloved, then they would not be washed well and we would find more food bits floating in our drink.” He picked out a small chunk of mysterious flotsam and asked again, “How does your father make money, he is old, I do not see him working, I hear nothing of any business and I would know, I speak with many merchants.”
“I think my father may be living off the last of his money. I think he sold off his sheep, he may have a few horses left, and maybe two farms he rents out. My father acts like a ceaser, he never let me know how much or where he got his money from. I was not allowed to know how the money worked in our house, but my brothers did. My father acts like his life is a huge secret as if someone would steal something from him. If he is seen as weak, or if anything doesn’t go as he planned, he becomes furious.” Comtesse Stephanie was about to pitch her idea when she heard another chair squeak against the floor behind her. She stopped talking immediately. She glanced around.
“Don’t mind him, that fellow behind you, he’s not in his right mind, a little slow anyhow. He left.” He paused, looked around again and added to the subject, “Your father, do you remember the time he was hired to take in taxes for the King, but he wouldn’t let me help him? Took him twice a long, how he complained, but that would have taken away power. We could have done so much together, and twice as fast, but no, he had to control the situation and do it on his own. Maybe he doesn’t know how to do any team work. Maybe he wanted to keep his business contacts private. I don’t know, but I can see how he controls issues. You may have a point. Now as you were saying, what do you want to do?” He patted his wife’s hand in condolence.
“I want to send my mother some food that I know she likes, maybe some physic herbs. Yoursah is a good maid to her, she knows much about medicine. Let me send one of our servants with food and medicine.” She folded her arms, leaned back in her chair and waited for an acceptance of her ideas.
“Yes, I think that is wonderful. Why not send our stable hand with the basket. I can do without him for a week. It will only take a day there and back if he travels alone and if he is needed for a couple of days, he can stay there. He can pack up the saddlebag full, and in good time he will be able to return with a reply before the weekend. But, we cannot leave any sooner to visit, in fact I was thinking of asking if we could cut our visit shorter since I have decided to sell this public house, and I have someone interested in the purchase, so we must return sooner than anticipated to meet with the prospective buyer. And really, wife, would you really want to spend all that time with your father who is so ill tempered, and always reminds you that you are his least favourite?”
“Well maybe I can be the favourite child for the week if allowed to send ahead some support and a warm letter.” She smiled at her husband who was nodding in agreement.
Comtesse Stephanie made it so, packing salted meat, dried fruit, spices, knitted clothes for her mother to keep warm, and medicinal herbs. She also included a small sweet note of care advising her mother she would be showing up for Christmastide and how she looked forward to going to church with her, and her health should be her main concern. She waited impatiently for the stable hand’s return, even though she knew it would be at least a few days before he would be seen again.
As before, she arose in the morning and the maid came in to rekindle her fire. This time the old maid put the letter from her mother on the bedside table before kneeling over the coals, and this time the maid made sure the wood was aged, not green, and when placing it upon the coals, it ignited so quickly a small crack and a puff of flame jumped into the chimney.
Comtesse Stephanie shuffled her way to a sitting position in the bed and grabbed the letter and read it while the fire took brilliantly.
Comtesse Stéphanie Etiennette de Forcalquier, dame des Baux-Rians
Château Balcio
December, Year of our Lord 1043.
Oh my daughter, I cannot thank you enough for your kindness. The meat you sent will feed us for many days and the dried fruit and nuts are such a treat for myself. It was so thoughtful of you to think of us during our difficult time. I am hoping you have not put yourselves out. Our cook is away with her family and so our maid is not used to cooking and your contribution was more than appreciated.
I am only slightly better but your father, my doctor, and I have to agree, I cannot have any excitement over the holy holidays. Planning your arrival was too anxious for me and my humours cannot take any more imbalance. My memory is not what it used to be and I ask your poor father question after question or I repeat myself thinking I did not mention something when I had. I am such a nuisance for your dear father. At one point I had another episode of lightness and the doctor would not let your father into the room and your father was so upset he sat by the bedroom door the entire night.
I was always afraid I would lose your father first but it seems my health is worse than your father’s. No one else in the family has come to aid us, so again, your gifts of food were welcomed. I am so sorry to have to request you not to come, do not come alone or with family. Your father wants me to rest and the doctor wishes the same.
We will have next year, so do not worry, I know I will be better with every day.
May God bless you,
Maman
Comtesse Stephanie put down the letter and took a deep sigh. She had to admit that she was not looking forward to going as it was true, her father often had episodes of thrashing bitter words she preferred not to endure. She remembered last year when she had mentioned how she enjoyed her time at a particular convent and her father lashed at her for being overtly religious. A few hours later she mentioned she enjoyed her ride beside a particular river and her father went into a rage about how she trespassed, when truly it was unbeknownst to her and nothing happened because of it anyhow. Her father had sold that land and hadn’t informed the family. She remembered his bitter words but put it aside knowing that her parents were aging and she thought it her duty to visit as often as she could.
“Bonne, you may now unpack.” The Comtesse realized it was too late to contact her own children as they had their own travelling plans and so she too would be spending Christmastide alone with her husband. Travelling at Christmastide, it seemed their family was always travelling at Christmastide. What a strange family trait and when did that start?’
“Oui, m’lady.” Out went Bonne, the old maid, waddling with purpose leaving Comtesse Stephanie behind to dress herself but at least a roaring fire was blazing while the Comtesse donned her stockings. Bonnie returned most likely only making it to the end of the hallway to come back again. “Madam, another note, the stable hand says it is from your father’s servant. He has been fed and is now returning north.”
Comtesse Stephanie looked at the letter, it had her father’s seal on it. She dreaded the worst, she feared it would be the letter that would share the worst of news. Comtesse Stephanie excused her maid with a wave and cracked the seal. Even when unfolding the paper, the single glimpse of a word and the style of print she could tell it would be another sparring note from her father. It was not bad news, it was another reprimand.
Comtesse Stéphanie Etiennette de Forcalquier, dame des Baux-Rians
Château Balcio
December, Year of our lord 1043.
Stephanie,
I was appalled to hear that you would speak so freely in a public house of our personal affairs. I heard you described me as weak, a man who is over controlling, and worse, a ceaser. This information was brought to my ears by a good servant whom I trust. How do you describe a man who has raised you since birth, who arranged your marriage, made sure you had a position in life, and who rarely denied you anything? I was more than alarmed. Furthermore, your mother’s health is no one’s business. I am tempted to take you out of my will with such spiteful talk. And do not think of coming as this is quite upsetting to your mother, and at such a time to upset her.
Your father,
Comtesse Stephanie dropped the letter to her lap, barely hanging onto it in her hands. His cruel and blustering words were not unknown to her. She wondered how much credence she should give this letter. It would not be the first time she was belittled by having an opinion that opposed his. But it was true, she had said those things but it was in private to her husband.
Who was the traitor? She tried to remember who was sitting so close as to be able to listen in on a private conversation between herself and her husband. She forced herself into recalling where she was when she had that conversation. She pressed her hands to her eyes and remembered the man whose chair squeaked and then recalled what she said in grim disappointment, she was in the Wise Man’s Inn. She began to think of how she truly thought she had privacy, how her husband had said the man behind her was rather inconsequential and being that of an imbecile. The weathered man with the ripped coat, long greasy hair, white and wiry as a stray sheep dog. The man whose face contested a weathered boot. He must frequent there. But it was true, she did call her father a ceaser, to her regret. Then she looked at her mother’s letter in comparison, her mother did not seem upset, then again, that letter may have been sent before the one she was holding in her hands so maybe her mother had not heard of the conversation, yet.
It would be like her father to use his own messenger, even though theirs was returning, her father would not trust him, only his own servant to deliver a message.
She flipped the argument she read in the letters again and knew that no matter what, her mother had to support her husband, and so maybe it was good fortune that her mother wrote the letter quickly or at all. But, now the Comtesse had to deal with her father, especially since her mother was not well and mostly in the care of her father whose temper was mercurial. She felt that if her father ranted again, he could very well cause another unfortunate spell for her mother and the next one could cause her mother’s life, but she knew her father would blame it on herself and he would be vocal about it.
While the Comtesse brushed her hair, she thought about what she would write back. She grabbed a pen and began to write. Surely the stable hand could make one more journey back. Comtesse Stephanie decided to keep the letter short so as not to give him more to pick apart even at the cost of appearing cold. She wrote her apology letter and tried to explain how frustrated she was to be unable to be of more assistance than she was and how she thought she was in a private conversation. She admitted it was one moment of weakness, she explained that she was speaking freely of her frustrations in a low voice to only her husband. As well, it was an expression used around the town freely as a local idiom, not taken at literal value but rather used in a way to show how someone had been stopped from doing a good deed by someone else. She wrote that she saw the error of her ways to speak, even in private, in such a manner. Apology. Short. Sweet. To the point. She ran down the stairs after sealing her own letter and handed it the stable hand. She sent him back on another day’s journey to her parent’s home.
Dinner conversation with her husband that night would be interesting, and done in private without a single servant present, she would make sure.
Three days later the stable boy returned with two notes, one from her mother, the other her father. She met the boy at the gates and decided to read the letters privately in her room, again, but this time her husband was also aware of the situation and waited inside their private chamber. The Comtesse scuttled up the stairs and nestled quickly into her chair by the fireplace while her husband sat on the bed, leaning over and curious as to the contents.
“Which one will you read first? Let me guess, your father’s is the bad news, your mother has calming words.” He stretched back onto his hands. “I can see your mother now slipping her note privately to our stable man as if to give him food for the trip. Your parents are unbelievable.”
“The stable hand said my mother’s maid Yusrah shoved this into his hands privately, so my father does not know she wrote it. I suspect she knew what my father wrote.” She paused and reached for her mother’s note first which may possibly broaden the understanding of what her father wrote.
“So what does it say?” Comte Guillaume waited for his wife’s eyes to stop swishing back and forth over the paper.
“Mother says thank you again for the food. She says she is doing better. She wants to know how the grandchildren are and apologizes for not mentioning them in the last letter. She then becomes rather threatening. How odd. Listen,” then Comtesse Stephanie began to read directly from the letter:
”Stephanie, you must agree that discussing our personal business in a public place was done with poor judgment. You have not shown your father the respect he deserves. Also telling Yusrah about my condition was uncalled for, she is a servant and furthermore she no longer works for me but lives in the shepherd’s cottage at the end of our land.”
Comtesse Stephanie put the letter down, “Now I did not tell Yusrah, so news must have spread through other means. I will not claim that responsibility.” Comtesse Stephanie tilted the letter toward the light and continued reading. “You must learn that having such a loose tongue damages marriages, reputations, and relationships. Furthermore, your father has threatened to send me to a convent or worse, dissolve our marriage, at a time I am in most need. He believes I have encouraged such a lack of respect towards him, this was the last action against him he could suffer, he told me. Your father has felt so much pain over his children. He had spoken with your eldest brother about his responsibilities now that we are aged and so he is preparing for the last few years of his life. He will not accept any disrespect from anyone. You have been insensitive. Your last letter was short, insensitive, and in no way can be considered loving. Yaddah yaddah, maman.” The Comtesse folded the letter back into her lap and locked a cold stare of disbelief at her husband.
“Your father is a dammed caesar! He is now threatening to what? Leave his wife or throw her out?” He scratched his head. “And how old are they now? And now he wants another apology letter with something more, a longer letter? What is he doing with the letter? Posting it on their door?”
“They are both too old and both too ill to bet who will get the bed at night and who gets to sleep in the street.” She paused. “I believe mother felt forced into writing the letter to support father. I believe he walked into the room halfway through the letter and she felt forced to write the second half. Married people must support each other even if it is the children’s disadvantage. Look at the difference between the beginning and the middle to end. It was almost like two different people wrote it.”
“Go ahead, open your father’s letter, as if you don’t know what is in there.” He gestured towards the other letter.
Stephanie cracked the seal and unfolded the letter. She glanced at it and put it down within seconds.
“Well?” Comte Guillaume flashed his dark eyes at his wife and pressed a fake amused smiled on his face.
“A simple letter,” she said flatly, “It simply says ‘I do not accept your apology.’ Do you think I should visit my parents regardless of their request not to?”
“No,” The Comte folded his fingers together with his forefingers tapping at the end. “Think of it this way, if you showed up, you know you would end up in a fight with your father. Your mother’s humours would be affected, she might very well have another episode. Frankly, your father has your mother’s life in his hands and if anything went sideways, you would be to blame.” He pressed his knuckles to his forehead and thought for a moment then continued. “Your mother has always asked you to visit and has offered you something, a necklace, a ring, a painting. You do not need anything from your parents. This time she asks you not to show up. Now your father wants to keep you out of the will and there is mention of your brother, oh yes, the eldest who never keeps in contact and could care less. We have not seen him in over twenty years. You have done so much for your parents, but your father wants a reason to leave his estate to his eldest, this is his way of making you the sinful, less deserving child, and in his mind it will relieve him from guilt and he will not have to split his goods to such an extent that it all becomes trivial when divided. Now he only has to make his eldest son the golden child to justify his intent to leave everything to a grown child who has done nothing over the years except take and take from your parents.” The Comte took a deep breath and spoke plainly again. “We don’t need the inheritance. We don’t need another painting done by some obscure gypsy. We don’t need their books. Our children are all grown. We don’t need your parents. Your father does not realize it, but he needs us. None of your brothers will take in your parents, nor live with them should they get so ill that they cannot take care of themselves. And your father is throwing his power around, how foolish.” Comte Guillaume looked at his wife to see if this made her feel any better. His eyebrows were knitted together in compassion.
“The bible says honour thy father and thy mother. Should I go? Should I write another note?” She stood up and faced the wall, hiding her face so her husband could answer without any further emotional influence.
“No, but maybe play the game your father wants and write another note.”
“You know,” Comtesse Stephanie turned around, “how often I have been played by him. My brothers, all of them, have turned out to be nothing but dalcops. I have done well. I have studied hard to read and write, I have lived according to the bible, and yet my brothers were praised for being ‘boys’ as father said.” At the words ‘boys’ she made a smirk. “No I cannot play this game any further, for as much as he said he was, his words were, ‘my father’, I have never known a man who stayed further away than himself. How dare he claim such interest in my life when he barely spent a moment on any day with me. When my brother learned to ride, he went running down the steps to applaud. When I learned to ride, he admonished me for even mounting the horse! When my brothers learned to read and write, he would have them read to his friends, or even show his friends their essays with the tutor present. When I learned I was told to keep it a secret. Can you imagine! When my brothers began to have little face hairs, oh how I remember, my father slapped them on the back and told them what men they were becoming. But, when I was becoming a woman, he claimed I was a problem to all he entertained. He forgave every misstep my brothers took but dare I mispronounce, misstep, or veer off by one degree I was the family burden. My brothers could burn down the barn, get the local dairy maid pregnant, or misplace his bag of silver and not a hint of reproach. Yet the closer I clung to virtues the less I was recognized. Yes I am so angry. Apologize again. I think not.” Comtesse Stephanie forcefully sat down exhaling. “I am damned if I do and damned if I don’t. So really, he is playing an emotional game and I no longer wish to play. No, I will not write a reply.”
“But if you don’t as your mother said, something ill will happen to their marriage or worse, her health.”
“Let us think about this. He cannot divorce so his only choice is to shove mother off until she dies. No one else will get that emotionally close to him. Who wants to marry an old ranting man who half the time cannot move even with a stick. Any new wife knows that when father dies, so does her comfort as all is passed to the eldest boy. We will take her in which will infuriate him more. Mother on the other hand, she has had her days being the emotional manipulator, I admit that, but now she is more politically astute than father. Age has softened her, if not made her more politically aware. I think she also recognizes that if he does go that far, where will she go and be accepted, especially with unbalanced humours? She has to play it carefully, she has to appear to appease father and still has to play nice with us. I am not threatened by my mother either. And, I do not need anything that father has to offer. So really, he is a fool. If anything, he needs me since I am the only child who cares about the health of my parents. If my brothers did, they would have done something. As the letter said, father had a word with Bertrand too. So yes, father is a fool. If anything I am in the strongest position.”
The Comte rose from the bed and walked over to his wife, he bent down and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Now we have the opportunity to sell the public house, let us go and discuss the terms. Let this rest behind us.”
The Wise Man’s Inn was, again, quiet at noon, their customers began to slowly trickle in when the scent of stew wafted through the doors. The three upstairs rooms were presently vacant, he checked. Comte Guillaume and his wife Comtesse Stephanie hailed the serving wench and requested warm spiced beer which landed in a sloshing cup between them as they were quietly assessing their potential sale between them.
“What’s with her?” The Comtesse asked, wiping the sloshed beer off her hand.
“She’s the inn keeper’s daughter. She knows we are selling, she thinks she and her father may be losing their jobs.” He replied.
“Are they?”
“I don’t know. But there is no reason for me to give any good words to keep them either. Soon it will be none of my business.”
The husband and wife waited in quiet conversation, they sipped their beer, looked around, and the Comte was about to mention the deferred work on the building when the Comtesse snapped upright in her chair.
“Guillaume, do you think I am not his real daughter? Think about it, he was always saying that I do not treat him like my real father, when in fact, this may be true, that he is not.”
“And that you haven’t treated him like a real father is true? It is not the matter of how you treated him, it’s the problem that maybe he is not your real father? Maybe it’s true, all these years, he is not your real father?”
“He always wanted the perfect family, he wanted all appearances of one. It matters not what my actions were, it matters that he believed he was not my real father. So you think there is a way that I can find out if I am truly his daughter or not?”
“You are the eldest, you look like your mother. You have her almond eyes, you have your mother’s mouth and heaven’s her teeth, so you were told. But I don’t see your father in you, that is true. Then again, your father always had his head in books, and you are the same. So maybe you are like your father in some ways, just not in looks.”
“Bertrand and I look alike. But, he doesn’t like books, or reading, or writing, oh my he hated learning to read as a child.” Comtesse Stephanie paused. “Little Guillaume, he worked with his hands, but I cannot figure out who he looked like. He had Mother’s dark hair. Father’s…” Comtesse Stephanie tried hard to think of something. “Father’s love of food, I guess. He died such a lonely death, no wife, no children, so far away. He kept a loyal manservant I hear. I don’t think he stayed still for a year. If he hadn’t the man servant, we’d have never known of his passing.” She shook her head. “And little brother Geoffroy, he too is still not married. He was a very odd boy growing up. If anyone got too close to him, he would run to mother. He too has mother’s hair, and her baby front tooth. But he has father’s way of pushing people off, especially family. And emotionally, he could throw a temper tantrum that could be heard in the next village. Maybe none of us are father’s children! No, I can’t believe my mother would do such a thing.” She leaned back in her chair, astonished at her new thought.
“Wait, wait, if we explore this, do you want the information and what will this do to your mother? And my reputation, what will happen to me if anyone finds out I married a bastard child?” He tapped his chin. “We may be discovering your mother’s secrets, and how would that show in the light?”
“Look at us, we are well set up, what would change in our life if such a point was discovered?” She smiled at her husband and raised one eyebrow jovially.
He rubbed his hands together like a raccoon. “I will agree under one condition, send the stable hand, he has proven he is trustworthy, and he has been seen in the area so often, there would be no second thought of his presence.” He paused waiting for a response. “Well? Shall we say the hunt is on?”
As planned, the stable boy returned within the week. The stable hand stood in front of Comtesse Stephanie and Comte Guillaume with head bowed and in reverence by the paddock when he arrived. He asked to share his news in a private room. The three went into the large manor house beside the large crackling fire in the great hall room. Not a soul, other than the three, was present. The sound of the fire slowly burning was loud enough to cover over the loud whispering the three exchanged as Comtesse Stephanie and Comte Guillaume sat and the young stable boy, a very young man, stood almost as if at attention and ready to share at the command. Comte Guillaume nodded for him to begin.
“Sir, M’lady, I have asked for news of your brothers, and there was none. I said you had some of their possessions which you wished to return, as a ruse m’lady.” Comte Guillaume waved his hand to ask him to continue. This was not news.
“And!” Comte Guillaume pressed the young man whose eyes were downcast.
“I have nothing for certain. I did discover this. The Muslims invaded your village several times. The years may be important. 1005, birth year of Bertrand. Summer 1021, birth year of little Guillaume is early 1022, and early 1022 the same birth year, but later for Geoffroy.”
“Where did you get this information?” The Comtesse looked around the room first before attending to the answer. She was nervous again remembering the squeaking chair and loose tongued eavesdroppers.
“A man named Ali, he is Muslim and lives in the village. He claims to be Christian but he knows so much about the Muslims coming and going. His sister is Yousrah. She lived with your mother. Now both Ali and Yousrah live in a small out laying cottage.”
Comtesse Stephanie cut him off, “Yes, I know the small shepherd’s cottage.” She took a breath. He waited for permission to continue but she digested the information. “So you cannot say for certain you now bring in riddles. Who is my father?”
“Yousrah and Ali say you are the only true child, the other sons belong to the raiding men who tried to overtake the village including your parent’s manor.”
“Why would they give this information to you?” Comtesse Stephanie folded her arms in alarm.
“Because they knew it was coming back to you. Because I promised not to repeat this to a living soul except yourself. They made me place my hand upon the bible and promise.”
Here all these years Comtesse Stephanie suspected she was the one born out of wedlock. Now it seems she may very well be the only one actually born from the marriage bed. Proof? None for sure, this was still speculation. “And my parents, how are they?” The Comtesse exhaled and slowly blew the air between her lips, looking as if even that question was too much to ask but a much necessary protocol to show in front of a servant.
“I saw Yousrah, she says your father is planning on giving everything to your eldest brother, and planning on leaving nothing to you. Your mother is doing better in health but if she lives, she plans to split the family wealth equally between all living children. You are the only one who gave her grandchildren but your father does not care. Your grandchildren are of passing interest since they do not carry his name. He is still expecting your brother, Bertrand, to marry and have children, even though he is so much older. Bertrand expects to inherit everything regardless of being the absent son. Your father has asked for assistance from Bertrand, he has sent word back about how busy he is. Bertrand has no time to return and states his work brings so much good fortune that he dares not take a day off and therefore cannot return.”
“And is he so busy and he cannot be at the side of ill parents because he is a busy merchant now?” Comtesse Stephanie replied curiously as to the station of the eldest brother.
“Is he a merchant? I do not know for certain. Your father believes he is. No one knows where he gets his money from, only that he is in Florence at this time. Your father worries that he will not return. He has sent messages that both he and his wife, your mother, are not well and that he should come home. Ali says your brother is expecting you to take care of things – since you are closer – and then he shall inherit upon their death and will send a note of thanks for handling things before he could get there. He has done such things before, he has shown up after an unfortunate death only to inherit and state how distraught he was for being delayed. I believe that was your father’s cousin, he had a devoted foster child but your brother inherited, if I am correct. We also know he has inherited from several wealthy widows whom he knew in his past. As soon as you are gone, he plans to scoop in to take the accolades and set no one straight and line his pockets with your parents inheritance.” He looked ashamed for repeating such news. “Pardon me, m’lady, those were words said in frustration by Yousrah.”
“They, Ali and Yousrah, told you this much?” Comtesse Stephanie twisted her head sideways in almost disbelief.
“Ali and I know each other. Our families were friends in Aragon. Sending me on this mission was easy. And both Ali and Yousrah ask me to tell you not to worry, they are keeping an eye on your mother. Your father’s health is steady. They both ask if your brother takes over, could they move to your property?”
“Oh, that’s why they were forthcoming!” Stephanie’s husband chuckled. “Always wait for the other shoe to drop.” Comtesse Stephanie elbowed her husband. “When you see them again, yes, we would find those two old dear people a cottage somewhere. I presume Ali is doing his usual route and may stop off at the Inn?”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“Tell him then.” He smiled and pulled out a bag of silver coins. “Consider this your bonus this month.” The stable hand, the strapping nineteen year old, stood, bowed, and left. The room echoed with his footsteps and then silence as the door shut. The two looked at each other for a moment.
“There you have your answer, wife. You are the only true child of the marriage, but the others were born of the marriage bed so legally his, although not of his bloodline. But the birthright is yours. Do you wish to do something about it?”
“No. Now I believe his sons are not of his blood, it was only that he too suspected and only he or mother could make the claim and he hated me for being the first born and a girl to add insult to injury in his mind. Still, we cannot say that for sure, only a parent can make such claims.”
“Can you imagine how your mother handled that all these years?”
“Worse, how he forced her for years, questioning their bloodline, to display the perfect family. She too must have lived with shame, if it was true. She hid it well. Then again, if it was not true, that they are true bloodline sons, then he treated her as if they weren’t in private which made her life hell..”
“But still, we do not know for certain.”
“No, but we have the reason for his horrid behaviour towards me my whole life. I was not born a boy and worse his sons may or may not have been from his bloodline. He must have hated mother for that because he never knew for sure, he lived with doubt his whole life.”
The old thin maid stepped into the room, with her usual waddle back and forth, and curtsied in front of both the Comtesse and Comte. She announced the arrival of Ali, and said he was downstairs waiting outside. The Comte gave a look that said, ‘Will wonders never cease!’ Ali was ushered into the front hall room by the maid and a chair was pulled out, placed near the fire for this old man and next to the Comtesse and Comte who were gesturing for him to sit.
The Comtesse hadn’t seen Ali for many years. She remembered he was Yousrah’s older brother, when her mother was first presented to her in-laws family, she was told how Yousrah and Ali were the kind brother and sister, close to her mother’s age, who treated her with great friendship. Comtesse Stephanie knew both never married and lived together on the edge of her parent’s village. The Comtesse took his hand and his age now showed a little in his shaking hands. He smiled at Comtesse Stephanie and tipped his head at her husband.
“Ali, it has been so long, was your journey easy?”
“Oh yes, not so far as one thinks, but maybe this old man takes twice as long. Yousrah is doing very well, she makes the most amazing wool coats. And I have been a good trader, I smoke goat meat and it hardens into a chew that travellers can carry for long distances. It sells very well in the village market. No one gets sick from our food, no one. Maybe you, Sir, would consider it for your public house?”
Comtesse Stephanie smiled at the old man and sighed, he was always one to make conversation before he got to his point, but his point was never far behind. The Comtesse, on the other hand, had aged to a point where she wanted everything up front and to save time.
Luckily Ali continued. “Your father asked me to bring this message to you, but I know what is going on. So not only do I bring you his message, I bring you information. I offer this information in exchange for the safekeeping of my sister and myself.” He pressed his lower lip upwards, nodding, and his eyebrows furrowed, so it was more serious than both Comtesse Stephanie and Comte Guillaume thought.
“Please go on,” Comte Guillaume encouraged.
Ali passed over the protected note. There was no wax seal, it was folded, it was her father’s handwriting. She read it out loud. “This time he writes, ‘Mother is better, I am fine. We hope to see you in at Easter.’’ She slapped her hands down on her lap with the note. “I am not a teat to be pulled for milk, and I am tired of the swing as to whether I am in his favour or not. Holy heavens! The tides are more reliable.” Stephanie snapped her head in the direction of Ali. She realized she had blurted out her family troubles in front of what most would consider a lower class servant. She then turned to look at her husband to see what his reaction would be. She saw her husband tapping his fore finger against his stubbly chin.
“What say ye that Bertrand is not answering and they need help.” He turned to Ali to ask about the added information. “I am presuming you offered to bring this message because you have more that your master is unaware of.”
Ali nodded in agreement then continued. “At the beginning of the year, Bishop Raymond passed away. A new bishop was appointed. The new bishop asked everyone to submit a family tree so that he may be more helpful to the families in the surrounding areas. It was my job to gather the family trees from those who could write on their own and if they could not write, they were to make appointments with the church to have it written down for them. It was my job to aid the Bishop, as your father commanded. At the abbey they were read aloud to be sure that all information was correct. I was there when your family names were read aloud.”
“And,” Comtesse Stephanie leaned in.
“And, your name was not included.” Ali looked down at the floor in shame.
“And did anyone correct my father?” Comtesse Stephanie was highly curious since she knew almost everyone there except the new bishop.
“No m’lady. No one wanted to face your father with his error and the bishop knew no better. It caused small gossip in the village, but no one changed the information. No one dares challenge your father.”
“This happened when?” Comte Guillaume’s fists were clenched.
“September m’lady.” Ali tilted his head upward to face Comte Guillaume eye to eye.
“Ali, you have known my parents my entire life and more. In fact, you knew my father before he married my mother as you were both young men together. To your knowledge, did my mother at any time take on any lovers? Was there any hint at any time of any indiscretions?” She looked serious asking this question.
“Never, none, no. Even during times when your mother was without your father, Yousrah stayed with her. When your father went to fight, they both remained side by side. Even with you as an infant if any threat was real they went into the cellar and locked themselves in together. My poor Yousrah was always afraid of attacks. So not even then was your mother ever alone. Your mother never went to the village alone as either myself or your sister was with her at all times. Never, none, no, no one. I swear upon the bible.” Ali looked at her.
“Or the Koran, Ali?” She tilted her head.
“Or the Koran.” He smiled.
“Well, we can say your mother took on no lover, that is to her credit.” The Comte digested the information then turned back to Ali. “And what is it that you want?” The Comte knew there was always more and the story never ends.
Ali sat tall in his chair, “I would like to ask that if Bertrand takes over, if he inherits everything, we know – or at least we have confidence that – he will ask us to leave. He has no connection to us. I would like to ask that if we must leave the old shepherd’s cottage, may we live in one of your huts? My sister can make many wonderful pieces of clothing, she can weave and sew. I can make wonderful smoked goat meat. In fact, I can supply your public house with as much as you want. We would like to ask to move here, to be with you and your children.” His eyes looked so old, so teary, his face so leathery, and he talked with a slightly higher pitch in hopes that he would come across as helpful and hopeful.
Comte Guillaume looked at his wife and smiled. He knew they were thinking the same thing. “When the time comes, Ali, whether alone or with your sister, you are welcome to our home and we’ll find a place for you. As for our public house, you are welcome to share this news. We sold it yesterday. Tonight, stay in our guest room off the kitchen where it is warm. The cook will set you up with warm food and then you can leave in the morning with bread and cheese.” Both the Comte and his wife patted his leathered hands and helped him raise out of the chair and pointed him towards the kitchen.
“Bless you, bless you.” Uttered the old man and tottered off.
“What do you think my dear?” The Comte could see the pain in his wife’s face.
“Back in the early summer, he made it public that I was not his daughter on a document read aloud in a public place. Then a couple of weeks ago he wrote to me in a private note how I embarrassed him having a private conversation with yourself. Then he threatens my mother regarding their marriage, and now he wants us all to be the happy family as of Easter. And yes, I have wrestled with the fact that I am guided by the bible to honour my father and my mother.” She swung her head back and forth. “Thank goodness our children do not give us as much grief.”
Comte Guillaume smiled, “..as much grief.. Yes.” He chuckled. “And thank goodness my parents have passed on so as not to be involved in this mess. Shall we say we will do the right thing and carry on?”
Comtesse Stephanie hung her head. “I do not wish to visit at Easter. I do not wish to talk for a long time now to either of them. I think that, regardless of their age, I too am too old for such nonsense. I sometimes think they live too close to us.” She grabbed her husband’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Let’s just keep to our own business and tend our own family garden.” She smiled at him, her way, and her words of expressing the need for privacy. 
Comte Guillaume looked up at the coat of arms that was fluttering on the wall in the slight breeze from the window. He looked at it counting the points on the star just as he did as a child. It incorporated a sixteen pointed star that signified the descendants of Balthazar, the black King of Arabia who bestowed Myrrh to Jesus at his birth. Comte Guillaume began to wonder who Jesus looked like and imagined his ancient grandfather looking at the infant and Joseph and Mary and wondering the same thing. Then he gazed at his own portrait between the adjacent windows. He looked like his father, long nose, thin build, high forehead and dark wavy hair. How many people have looked at the children and then back at the parents to see what each had bestowed upon the child? Then he wondered if he had any resemblance to his forefather, Balthazar the Black King of Arabia who visited Jesus. He furrowed his brows and thought that maybe he and his forefather, Balthazar, were choosy as to who they visit at Christmastide, that was undoubtedly a family trait.
Comtesse Stephanie tapped her perpetual two baby front bottom teeth with her forefinger, and closed her blue almond shaped eyes. The same eyes as her mother’s, the same teeth as her mother’s. The same habit as her mother. She sat there so still, she felt a huge hole in her heart, an emptiness, as if her heart had a different rhythm now, slower. Her sense of belonging, her sense of family, her identity, had been ripped from her by her father. It mattered not what she believed, the family’s line as believed by her father was written in stone. Her belonging had always been tested, she knew she was never the favourite, true – on the odd occasion she was adored for a short period of time. But now, being an adult with parents in their senior years who so blatantly put their belief of their family line on public record, she knew there was nothing she could do to change things. Nor, did she have the energy to do so, nor did she believe she should. She sat there with that empty feeling looking down at the floor.
Comtesse Stephanie’s husband sat opposite her and watched his wife’s face drag down with grief. It was so telling, without a word he sensed her chiselled heart cracking. He tried to get her attention with a smile, but she didn’t look up until they heard a large spoon hit a pot from the other room. Then they heard Ali chuckling in the kitchen. The laughter in the kitchen was comforting. The Comte grabbed his wife’s hand and pulled her with a wink towards the kitchen. He was hungry, and surely a warm cup of something would raise his wife’s spirits.
“Come, wife.” The Comte said, emphasizing the word wife with a raised eyebrow and a hint of a chortle.
Everyone was in the kitchen now. The cook and Ali were sharing a private laugh and turned, surprised, but welcoming with a smile. In the kitchen, Comtess Stephanie reached down and grabbed a bowl and spoon that was left from the morning duties and she looked at the spoon. She was distracted by the fact that it was a sea shell attached to a stick. She turned it over in her hand. “Didn’t your family use spoons from Egypt? The metal ones? Where are they?”
“You can be easily distracted.” He laughed.
“Husband, our stable hand also works with metal. Oui?” She looked at him with a sly smile. “Why not make more and sell them? Wooden ones break, the shell spoons are weak and new ones must be made often. Why not make metal spoons, like the ones your grandfather brought back. We still have them somewhere. You called them your Balthazar stick, remember? A metal spoon, think about it, you could have them made, sell them and make a fortune!”
He laughed and thought she sounded like her mother when she was younger. He stroked his chin. Then he gave thanks to God, with a tip of his hat to the sky, for marrying such a resilient wife. It matters not who believes who is family, it matters more who treats whom as family.
https://www.facebook.com/pg/dominicmoriartyphotography/photos/?tab=album&album_id=139091583204780 pictures used.
http://www.chateau-baux-provence.com/en/estivales – today in provence.
http://www.chateau-baux-provence.com/en/earliest-known-written-texts-referring-chateau – household is descended from one of the three wise men.
https://tudorqueen6.com/2013/05/11/family-of-queen-katherine-the-baux-family-of-andria/ – claim of descendant of one of the wise men.
http://www.theroot.com/articles/history/2014/12/who_was_the_black_wise_man_100_amazing_facts_about_the_negro/ – Magi one of the three sons desended from Noah.
https://www.geni.com/people/Guillaume-II-III-vicomte-de-Marseille/6000000000013313680 Husband born 952 died 1031, age 79 in Vicomté de Marseille, France
House of Baux herald: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/House_of_Baux = 16 pointed white star on red background
http://www.4crests.com/baltazar-coat-of-arms.html = 9 stars six points mention of the Magi Balthazar.
© Eric Spiller Photographies de Provence et d’ailleurs – Belthazar photo of cast concret impression.
Word count 10,068.
