The Breath of the Rose. Andrea Japp

tall woman rose to her feet, and for the first time the young girl in charge of the kitchens thought that underneath her sister’s gruff exterior was an inner warmth. She heard her murmur:

      ‘My poor child.’

      The apothecary took the Abbess aside and Adélaïde could no longer hear what they were saying:

      ‘Reverend Mother, our sister has been poisoned with aconite. She is suffocating to death. Unfortunately, she will remain conscious throughout. There is nothing we can do except to gather round and pray for her.’

      Adélaïde Condeau struggled in vain against the creeping paralysis that was slowly immobilising her whole body, up to her cheeks, trapping her voice in her throat. She tried with all her might to utter a single word: bread.

      As the nuns knelt around her and she was given absolution, the single, precious syllable echoed in her head: bread.

      When she could no longer draw breath, when she opened her mouth wide to suck in the air that was denied to her, she imagined that she had finally managed to utter the word.

      Her head flopped to one side, cradled in Éleusie’s arms.

       Château de Larnay, Perche, October 1304

      DRESSED in a sumptuous sapphire-blue robe adorned with a fur trim and embroidery as fine as that of any princess, Mathilde de Souarcy strutted up and down in front of the ladies and gentlemen of her imaginary court, alternately curtseying and putting on a coquettish air.

      As she now considered herself a grown woman, she had instructed her servant to braid her hair into coils around her head.

      She clucked with delight. How boring it had been stuck inside that bleak abbey where her mother had thought fit to send her after the Grand Inquisitor from Alençon had come to inform her that the time of grace had begun. How tedious to have to get up so early and go to church, and be forced to help make beds and fold linen for love of thy neighbour! And yet, there were plenty of lay servants to relieve well-born girls like her of those duties. During what she considered a scandalous imprisonment, which had lasted less than a week, Mathilde’s biggest fear had been that she might end her days amid the dreary, bustling activity of Clairets. However, she had not counted on the devotion of her dashing uncle Eudes. God only knows how relieved she had felt when she learned of his arrival at the abbey. He had immediately demanded that the Abbess hand over his niece, and Éleusie de Beaufort had been unable to resist the order for very long. Eudes was Mathilde’s uncle by blood and in the absence of her mother became her official guardian. Indeed, owing to her uncle’s generosity she had lived like a princess for the past few weeks. The bed chamber he had provided for her had been that of the late Madame Apolline. It was spacious and well heated thanks to the large hearth, which was the height of modernity, possessing as it did two small shutters, one on either side, allowing the heat to circulate more efficiently. On the bare stone walls, brightly coloured hangings depicting ladies taking their bath kept out the damp. She slept every night in the vast bed, and felt a little uneasy when she tried to imagine the activity that must have taken place there – for she could only assume that it was here Madame Apolline had received her husband. What had gone on between those sheets? She had attempted to find out by occasionally probing Adeline or Mabile. The two fools had burst into fits of giggles and told her nothing. A mirror stood on a dainty jewellery dresser with sculpted legs. Her miserable rags had been stored in two large chests flanking the hearth until, one day, her uncle had angrily demanded that they be burnt and his niece dressed in keeping with someone of her status. True, some of the finery he had given her had belonged to her late aunt Apolline. But she did not resent her uncle for having the dresses altered to fit her. What a deplorable waste it would have been to throw them away, especially since poor Apolline, who was naturally ungainly, had done them little justice. Multiple pregnancies had only increased her agonising clumsiness. She had always given the impression of being trussed up in her robes and veils, and would stand like a peasant woman with her hands supporting her back, weakened by so many swollen bellies. In contrast, when worn by Mathilde, the linen and silk fabrics floated like delightful clouds.

      An unpleasant thought blighted her good mood. Her mother was now in the hands of the Inquisition, and although Mathilde was unaware of the precise nature of the task of these friars, she knew them to be unforgiving and that anyone unfortunate enough to enter their headquarters was unlikely ever to emerge again. However, they were men of God and the Pope’s emissaries. If her mother had incurred their wrath, then it must be seen as punishment for a grave sin she had committed. Indeed, now she came to think of it, Mathilde was indulging her mother by not resenting her even more than she already did, for if Agnès de Souarcy was found guilty, the scandal threatened to taint her by association and thus jeopardise her future.

      At least she was free of that good-for-nothing Clément. Mathilde had often felt sickened by her mother’s weakness for that common farm hand, son of a lady’s maid. How arrogant he had been towards her, though she was the sole heir to the family name! And he was mistaken if he thought she hadn’t noticed the expression of pained sympathy on his face when she spoke to him sometimes. The fool! Now she was enjoying her sweet revenge! He had fled the manor like a thief, proving in Mathilde’s view that his conscience was not clear. She had gleaned from Adeline that, besides the draught horse his mistress had supplied him with, he had taken only some food and a blanket. He must have left his crossbow, for serfs were not permitted to carry weapons. Yet another of her mother’s stupid ideas! A gleeful thought crossed the young girl’s mind. The forest was an unsafe place full of two- and four-legged predators. What if the ugly brat had been ripped to shreds?

      This happy thought was interrupted by the cautious entrance of the servant Barbe, provided for her by her uncle.

      ‘Well, what do you want?’ Mathilde snapped.

      ‘Seigneur Eudes requests the honour of being permitted to visit you in your chamber, Mademoiselle.’

      Mathilde’s face lit up at the mention of her beloved uncle.

      ‘The honour is mine. Well, don’t stand there – go and tell him!’

      No sooner had the girl left the room than Mathilde rushed over to the mirror to check her hair and the fall of her dress.

      Eudes chuckled as she lifted her arms and twirled around to let him see how his gift showed off her pretty figure to advantage.

      ‘You are a vision of loveliness, dear niece, and your presence here brightens up my household,’ he declared, forcing a note of concern into his voice.