The Lode Stone Page 8

  “Lord Charles claimed this quarry paid him five thousand silver pounds in profit each year,” I told them. I caught the surprised look on Jean-Louis’ face; he knew the figure was high. He saw me glance at him and immediately lost his expression. “I believe we can do better than that. The stones from this quarry were undersold. That will not happen again.” I said this through tight lips; the old overseer had made himself very comfortable on the bribes he received to undersell Lord Charles’ stones. “I will, with the help of Master Jean-Louis, improve our sales. And I ask you to continue increasing this quarry’s productivity.” I drew a deep breath before plunging on. “In return, any profit made above five thousand pounds, after my expenses running this quarry, I will divide among everyone working here; one quarter to me, one quarter to Jean-Louis, and the other half divided among all of you.”

  I stopped. There was a stunned silence. No one had heard of earning more than their wage for working harder. I had got the idea watching good wives haggle at the fish market while servants from the wealthy houses accepted the price they were told.

  But these men wanted more money now.

  “I know you have already been working harder.” It had to be acknowledged. “So you deserve something now.” I took another deep breath. I had only thought of this today, hearing about the worker whose nephews and nieces were hungry. “I have decided that each of you may give me a name—your son, brother, father, friend—and that man will be permitted to hunt in my woods one day out of every month. He may kill and take home one deer, or four partridges, or eight rabbits, without fear of reprisal. Every month. One man whom you name. I assume you will choose someone who will share his catch with you.” I smiled. Several men laughed.

  I waited, praying their reaction would be as I had anticipated. The men looked from Jean-Louis to me. I should have warned Jean-Louis what I was about to do, should have discussed it with him before making my announcement. Would they think me a fool? Would I lose the respect I had worked so hard to gain? Would they turn my offer down and demand higher wages instead, something certain and immediate?

  Jean-Louis glanced at me briefly. His face broke out in a wide smile.

  It was all they needed. “Huzzah!” the men cried, grinning and stamping their feet as they called out their approval. I wanted to laugh with relief, but I restrained my features to a businesslike smile. When the noise died down, I told them at the end of their workday Jean-Louis would record the names they gave him and tell them which day their man could hunt. I did not want my woods flooded with hunters all on the same day, frightening the game away. I thanked them for their hard work. That, too, was a risk. Hired workers were not thanked for working; they were whipped for a lack of it. But I had already shown I would not hesitate to fire slackers, which was worse than a whipping, so I hoped I could get away with being a little strange without appearing soft.

  “On behalf of all my stonecutters, I thank you, Madame.” Jean-Louis bowed.

  ***

  The quarry’s production had increased dramatically after my announcement that day. I had kept my part of the bargain, learning the value of my stones and how to get a better price for them. We had been able to accept two more contracts while still fulfilling our obligation to Lord Etienne. The merchants’ contracts were for smaller jobs but the pay was more regular.

  By the following summer I had enough money locked in the stronghold in my manor to pay my rent to Lord Charles, and promissory notes from Lord Etienne to cover my half of what Charles had deemed the annual earnings of the Quarry to be. With two more months of earnings before the year was up, I would make a tidy profit and be able to keep my promise to the men. I had hired a second guard to watch my house and stand at the gate.

  Lucien followed my children and me now as we strolled through the May-day market. It was a three-day event that drew vendors and peddlers from as far as Lyon to the north and Avignon to the south. Pilgrims from all over the continent had gathered to begin their arduous journey to the shrine of Saint James, Santiago de Compostela, in Spain.

  Alys and Guarin were seeing it for the first time: Guarin had been too young last year and I was afraid Alys might wander off and be lost in the crowd. And I had had no money to spend on trinkets and entertainments nor even the baked pasties, so what fun would it have been? Now I watched them, enjoying their amazement as they stared wide-eyed in every direction, gasping with delight when a juggler tumbled by or a minstrel began to play or we came upon a stall selling carved wooden toys. I bought a little horse for Guarin which he clutched in his fist and a doll which Alys carried tucked under her arm with her palm supporting its head as she had seen me carry Guarin when he was a baby.

  The commons was filled with the stalls and carts of every kind of merchant, from early summer fruits, berries and vegetables to wines and ales in barrels and skins, from linens and silks to leathers and woolen goods. Cloaks with red crosses sewn onto the shoulder and wide-brimmed hats and walking staves for the pilgrims were displayed everywhere. The tantalizing scents of cheeses and olives and tables of baked goods all combined with the earthy smell of animals and the rank smell of their dung as they squawked and squealed in cages or on tethers waiting to be sold. The blood and meat at butchers’ tables ripened in the heat beside the sweet and sharp scents of spices and lavender and the headier scent of oils and perfumes. The noises were as overwhelming as the sights and smells, from the cries of animals to the calls of vendors announcing their wares, the haggling of customers, the talking and jostling of crowds of people in a multitude of languages, the songs and music of jongleurs and laughter as the jugglers, dwarfs, and mummers amused children and adults alike.

  We stopped to watch each performance. I gave a penny to Alys and Guarin to drop into the caps of those they particularly enjoyed. It was strange to stand among so many people and yet see so few faces I knew. It conveyed a sense of anonymity, a welcome privacy in the very midst of crowds of people. No one knew or cared about my change of status or expected anything of me because of it; no one watched to see if sudden wealth had gone to my head or if I would make a fool of myself acting the peasant in a silk gown. I was simply a woman enjoying the fair with her children, for the first time with some coins to make it fun, secure in the protection of her guard following two steps behind.

  Maman had already sent several bolts of material home with the maid who sewed for us, promising her the rest of the day off once she had delivered them, and was now happily loading up our two kitchen servants with provisions for our larder. I had nothing to do but enjoy myself with my son and daughter. When had I ever had such a day? Out of guilt I had stopped at the display of our quarry stones and greeted Jean-Louis. He was eagerly talking to potential buyers, his arms churning the air with extravagant gestures as he praised our limestone and talked dates and quantities and cost. He caught my eye as I watched him, and smiled and waved me off. I left with a mixture of relief and regret that I had hired such a capable overseer.

  “We will find a jongleur performing and listen to one more song, then go home,” I told the children. “Guarin must have his nap,” I added firmly when Alys opened her mouth to protest. Guarin rubbed his eyes and did not argue.

  The jongleur was young with a comely face and a clear, sweet voice. He sang a love ballad first. I was about to relent and stay for a second when he began to sing of King Louis and his brave crusaders.

  “Time to go,” I said, handing Alys a penny for the jongleur’s cap. At the edge of the commons I stopped at a pastry vender to buy a fruit tart for each of them, to keep them awake on the walk home.

  “Madame Melisende,” Lord Roland greeted me as I strolled toward town with Alys and Guarin walking beside me munching on their tarts.

  “Lord Roland,” I stopped to return his greeting. The warmth of summer lit up his smile sending a flutter of pleasure through me.

  Lord Roland bent down till his head was level with Guarin’s. “Master Guarin, you have some berry on your lip.”

&nb
sp; Guarin’s tongue slid over his lips quickly.

  “Master Guarin, you have berry on your tongue. You cannot clean the berry from your lip with a tongue covered in even more berries.”

  Guarin frowned. He clearly wanted to stuff the rest of the tart into his mouth without delay.

  “Guarin, what do you say to Lord Roland?” I gently prompted.

  Before I could stop him he raised his arm and wiped at his lips with his shirt sleeve. “Et Voila!” he announced stoutly.

  Lord Roland looked up at me apologetically, trying not to laugh, while Alys scolded her brother for staining his new shirt.

  “Maman can dye it red,” Guarin proposed. “Then the stain will not show.” Unable to wait any longer he popped the rest of the tart into his mouth.

  “I am sorry, Lord Roland, for my brother’s bad manners,” Alys said with a little curtsey. “He is not very mature.”

  Roland did laugh this time. He ruffled Alys’s hair as he straightened up. “I am sure you will teach him better, Mademoiselle Alys,” he said. “Do not let me keep you from finishing your tart.”

  He fell into step with me. “I hear your quarry is doing very well. You have signed another contract.”

  “The monastery has commissioned an extension to their guesthouse. Each year there are more pilgrims arriving here to begin the Via Podiensis.”

  “I commend you. But you always were a good business woman.”

  I looked at him, perplexed.

  “You do not remember.” He turned to the children. “Alys, Guarin, when your mother was Alys’s age, she brought apples to my father’s stable. If I wished to feed my favorite horse a treat, I had to buy one from her. I believe,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “She picked up the apples that had fallen to the ground in my father’s orchard and sold them to me for a penny each.”

  “Surely I did not, my Lord,” I protested, laughing.

  “I remember clearly. Simon gave me the pennies to pay you with.”

  “My father?” Alys asked.

  “Yes, your father.” Roland smiled down at her. “He was kind to your mother always.” He turned to Guarin with a mock-serious expression. “See that you are always kind to little girls, young sir. You do not know if you might one day marry them.”

  “Were you kind too, Lord Roland?” Guarin asked.

  “He was,” I said. “He is.” I blushed. “Not that Lord Roland will one day marry...”

  “Anything is possible, Guarin.” He winked at Alys, who was staring at him wide-eyed.

  Chapter Ten: A Mid-Day Guest

  What did Lord Roland mean by his comment to Guarin and that wink for Alys? Was he teasing her or sending me a message? I found myself catching my breath every so often remembering his wink and his smile as he drawled, “anything is possible...”

  It did not help that Alys repeatedly asked me the same question, no matter how many times I told her I did not know what Lord Roland meant. “I will ask him the next time I see him,” she said, and I feared she would.

  His brother would not permit him to marry me, even if he wished to, I told myself sternly. Lord Charles would want nobles bound to his family by marriage, not the widow of a blacksmith. And how would it look if he had made me rich and then married me to his brother? Some would say he wanted his family lands back and laugh at him for giving them away in the first place, and Charles was always sensitive to laughter. No, anything was not possible.

  Roland had meant nothing by his words. They were only a jest made to a child. He had never given me cause to think of him as anything other than a concerned friend. Although I saw him every week or so, it was always while riding or at the quarry where we discussed my business. He was looking out for me as Simon’s friend, nothing more.

  Still, my heart bounded like a deer in spring when I thought of him bending down to speak so seriously with Guarin, or teasing Alys, or glancing sideways at me with that half-smile of amusement at my charming children. A man prepared to woo a woman’s children would make a fine husband.

  Husband? What was I thinking? It was barely a year since I had learned of Simon’s death. No matter that he had died in battle years before I learned of it, I was still in mourning.

  Besides, a husband, no matter how fine, would not let his wife manage her own—no, his quarry—it would be his on their marriage. I did not mind sharing the profits, I would not even mind giving all the money from the quarry to a husband to manage, but I had gotten used to making the decisions for my quarry, signing the contracts, choosing where my stones would go, managing my workers...

  Simon had managed his smithy. I had helped keep his records, but all the decisions were his. I looked after our household; that was a wife’s domain. People would laugh at a man whose wife managed their holdings, and I would not want my husband mocked.

  I put all thoughts of Lord Roland aside. I had enough else to concern me. In one month’s time I would have to pay Lord Charles my rent for this first year and give my workers the extra money I had promised them. Jean-Louis and I went over the accounts every morning, looking for the money to do so.

  “And you have still heard nothing from Lord Etienne?”

  Jean-Louis shook his head.

  “It is four months since his last payment! He has never been this late before, has he?”

  “Never more than two months late.” Jean-Louis shuffled through the documents on the table, dredging up the scanty records we had inherited from the old overseer. “He paid for his stones each month while Lord Barnard owned the quarry, according to these.”

  “And Lord Geoffroi, also. He has not made a single payment. I should never have entered into a contract with him.”

  “You had no choice. We had already put out the word that we could accept a new contract. He knew we had stones enough.”

  I glared down at the written contract. Lord Geoffroi had ordered stones for a second outer wall to fortify his castle, with turrets at the corners for watchmen to stand in. I had not wanted to accept his contract; my careful enquiries resulted in veiled warnings of “payment issues” when dealing with Lord Geoffrey. “That wool merchant would have paid us on time if we had accepted his request.”

  Jean-Louis shrugged. We both knew I could not turn down a lord in favor of a wool merchant, no matter how much I would have liked to.

  “They will not even say why, or when they might pay!” I felt my face redden with frustration. Jean-Louis had sent letters to Lord Etienne and Lord Geoffroi, he had met with their men, all to no avail.

  “I will have to go myself.” I could not hide the look of distaste that crossed my face as I said it. There was little likelihood I would be successful where a man had not been, but I must try. The quarry was mine, not Jean-Louis’; they might speak to the owner rather than her overseer.

  I set off the next morning, wearing my new green kirtle and riding in my carriage, with my guard, Lucien, on his horse behind us. The day was hot, the trip long and wearying. My stomach churned the whole way at the thought of me, a blacksmith’s widow, demanding payment from a lord. It was late morning when we pulled up to the gate of Lord Etienne’s castle.

  I heard my driver call out my name and business—come to speak with Lord Etienne concerning his quarry stones. The guard sent a man to the castle, and we waited. I fumed silently. If I were a lady I would not be kept waiting outside the gate like a beggar. Neither my driver nor Lucien would meet my eye. They waited, staring off into the distance, as silent as me.

  The man came back and spoke quietly to the gatekeeper.

  “Lord Etienne will not see you,” The gatekeeper said, loudly and scornfully.

  My mouth fell open. I had been prepared to be sent round to the servant’s entrance. I was resigned to the fact that I might only speak to Lord Etienne’s accountant. But not to be seen at all? To be turned away at the gate? My cheeks flamed with humiliation. I could not even refuse to send him his stones—I could not afford the penalty.

  “Be on your way, then,” t
he gatekeeper said with an ugly smirk. The guard beside him laughed.

  My driver turned to glance at me. “Madame?” he said with a bow of his head, according me the respect these two guards lacked. I nodded. He turned the carriage. I noted the stiffness of Lucien’s posture as I passed him but I could not bring myself to look at him, or speak. He turned his horse and followed us.

  I had told my driver we would go to Lord Geoffroi’s manor next, and that is where he headed. I had no stomach for a second humiliation, but I had to have at least one of their payments.

  We were made to wait at the gate once again. I noted a huge pile of stone to the side. I stared at it, shocked. Surely every stone we had delivered was in that mountainous pile. He had not even started to build his wall. Had he ever intended to?

  Once again I was not permitted inside, but this time the guard at the gate had the grace to flush as he announced that Lord Goeffroi was not at home. Had it been true, he would have known that before he sent the other guard to announce my arrival.

  I rode home shamed and outraged. Lord Charles knew these men. They were friends and allies; they had gone beside him to the crusades and no doubt ridden back together. Why did Lord Geoffroi demand his daily quota of stones keep coming when he had not begun work on his new wall? As long as he accepted them we could not take on another contract that would have paid until he was ready to begin the work.

  Both of them friends of Lord Charles, and well aware that rent-day was fast approaching. It was just as before, when I had been sent away from Lord Charles’ castle, my laundry duties terminated, and the man renting Simon’s smithy was given work elsewhere. I gritted my teeth and balled my hands into fists. I wanted to scream with frustration and anger, but I sat rigid and straight in my seat and made not a sound all the hours of the drive back.