The Lark's Lament: A Fools' Guild Mystery Read Online Free Page A

said. “He is a weak man, corrupt and vulnerable, according to our reports. The town deserves better, and it needs it soon. Toulouse occupies a precarious position in the world.”
    “The more reason for me to shun it,” said Folc. “I am not too popular there.”
    “You aren’t? I was under the impression that you had never been to Toulouse before.”
    “No, but my songs have,” he said. “Don’t you know who my patrons were when I was composing? Guilhem of Montpellier, Barral of Marseille, both enemies of the Count of Toulouse. How do you propose to place me in the bishopric when the Count controls the selection?”
    “That’s my problem,” I said. “Father Gerald didn’t choose me because he thought this was going to be easy.”
    “What was the plan if I refused?”
    “If I cannot persuade you, then there is no plan,” I said. “But hear this—the very life of the Guild is at stake. You know what we stand for. You were part of it once. I know that you believed in it then. There are still friends of yours carrying on the Guild’s mission, and hundreds more you’ve never met who risk their lives on a daily basis. All we ask is that you intercede for us.”
    “All you ask is that I leave everything that I have built here and become bishop in a town that is half corruption and half heresy,” he replied.
    “Sounds like a worthy target for a man of your holiness,” I said.
    “Do not mock me,” he said furiously. “I am not meat for your japing.”
    “I am sorry,” I said. “I was speaking to Folquet. But you are not Folquet.”
    “Not anymore,” he said.
    “When is the last time that you sang your songs?” I asked.
    “The Cistercian Order forbade the composition of nonreligious songs five years ago,” he said.
    “You must miss it,” I said.
    “No,” he replied. “I gave up my old life with a willing heart when I came here. The world is a wicked place, Theophilos, but here one finds respite. Here one finds God.”
    “Here one finds a tomb,” I said. “I prefer to participate in the world. Among the living.”
    “You made your choice,” he said. “I made mine. And there’s an end to it.”
    He stood and offered his hand. I took it.
    “You have a family now, I see,” he said as he walked me to the entrance. “I must confess my surprise. You never struck me as a fool who would settle down.”
    “My family is quite unsettling,” I said. “They suit me fine. And what became of your sons when you joined the Order?”
    “My sons are in the abbey at Grandselves,” he replied. “My wife is with a community of women in Gémenos who serve the Bishop of Marseille. I do not hear from any of them much.”
    I walked outside, then turned. “We may not win this fight,” I said.
    “Then I will pray for your souls,” he replied, and he closed the door in my face.
    *   *   *
    I walked across the low bridge over the stream and back to our camp. Claudia had a fire going and beans cooking in a pot. Helga was playing with Portia, who was crawling around the clearing at a rapid pace, giggling.
    “How did it go?” asked Claudia.
    “He refused,” I said.
    “You thought that he would,” she said.
    “Yes, at first.”
    “But you believe that he will come around?”
    “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a week.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I appealed to his ambition,” I said. “Something he keeps trying to push down. But it’s still there.”
    “Do ambitious people become monks?”
    “They must. Because it takes an ambitious monk to become an abbot.”
    She stirred the pot, then tasted it. “Done,” she said. “Tell me, husband. What do ambitious fools become?”
    “There are none,” I said. “Being a fool means that you have achieved your highest ambitions already.”
    After our dinner, Claudia tutored Helga in Arabic while I played with Portia. She could not quite walk yet, but had mastered sitting on my soles as I lay on my back with my feet in the air. I bounced her up and down