Author's Note: A tragi-comic fantasy on a theme by Jaufre Rudel de Blaia. Some of his (and other trobadors’) song lyrics are quoted, but as they are over 800 years old, I don't think copyright is an issue, and the translations are mine. Kingdom of Heaven belongs to William Monahan and Ridley Scott, but the characters were real people once, so may their shades (if such exist) forgive all of us for playing with them!
The title is deliberately ambiguous re: the two OFCs. Essentially the plot is a re-working of the vida of Jaufre Rudel and his amor de lonh, with some comedic twists and gender-reversal. Both the OFCs essentially are Rudel, one with touches of Bietris de Dia and Dante Alighieri (the name 'Beatrice' is significant - remember the use of La Vita Nuova on the soundtrack?), the other more parodic. The music theme in the story stems from this (and my puzzlement at why they didn't use more in-period music on the soundtrack, besides that tiny scrap of a Raimon de Miraval number near the end!); also from memories of being in similar music groups as a student more years ago than I care to recall. I knew the prototypes for both Juliet and Trish in various societies and halls of residence. Both are composite portraits from several people, like Bertran de Born's "dompna soiseubuda" or "borrowed lady", in Dompna pois de me cal, quoted in the first chapter title, "Na Audiart, que be.m vols mal". St John's is real, and so is the pub.
Re: languages used in the story - while Langue d'Oïl (Northern French) was the main language of the Latin Kingdom, Lenga d'Oc (Occitan/Southern French/Old Provençal/Catalan - then spoken all the way from Valencia into Northern Italy) was used in some of the fiefdoms: the Counts of Tripoli, for example, were a branch of the Counts of Toulouse. Because of the musical/literary culture, one would expect most of the aristocracy to have some familiarity with both languages, anyway.

Doc M, "che plor e vai cantan", June 2005.

MARY-SUE, OLTRA MAR

1: “Que be.m vols mal” (Who wishes me ill)

After their weekly meetings in the practice rooms of the graduation hall, the University of Kinrymond’s Early Music Society used to head to the Castle pub across North Street.

Juliet Hamilton had joined them last year, in her first year. Thanks to expensive music lessons earlier in her teens, she had a trained, if somewhat thin voice. Being - in her own opinion - exceptionally pretty, too, with long blonde curls, she thought that she should have a bright future as a solo vocalist. But it irked her no end that none of them took her talent seriously - least of all Trish, the committee secretary, who bullied her persistently.

Trish - Beatrice Giordani - was a Mediaeval History postgrad, a dour, beaky Edinburgh girl who seemed to take everything else rather too seriously. Somehow it came through when she sang. When they practised Li jolitz temps d’estey, she all but spat the lines,

Je les sens, Deus, je les sens,
Les maus d’amer doucement!
(I know, God, I know,
The ills of loving sweetly!)

the bitterness in her voice near to stripping the paint from the walls of the rehearsal room. No trained singer would do that, Juliet thought. It sounded rough and harsh, and not at all romantically mediaeval. At least she didn’t murder her lute, which looked quite antique.

While Steve (the only boy in the group, and not entirely heterosexual) ordered drinks at the bar, Juliet tried to turn the conversation towards something else that interested her: the pulchritude of Orlando Bloom.

“Anyone else see Kingdom of Heaven before the vacation? What d’you think?”

It should perhaps be mentioned here that Juliet was not a mediaeval history student: she was doing Second Arts French and English. Real history was insufficiently romantic for her, but she loved mediaeval songs, and historical novels and films. She was active in the SCA, less for educational purposes than because she liked dressing up in a long gown and kirtle made of what Trish (who bumped into her one day in the corridor when she was wearing full costume) scornfully called ‘disco satin’, and pretending to be a noble damsel. All in all, she was far more at home with Pre-Raphaelite visions of the Middle Ages rather than the harsh reality.

“Yeah, sure,” said Kate. Several others nodded - even Trish.

“Wasn’t Orli the hottest? I can’t wait for the DVD!”

“Is it true there was a lot cut?”

“I think so - especially the sex scene! I can’t wait for that!” she grinned. (Oh, that was her perfect fantasy: no real-life boyfriend had ever matched her dream of a handsome, perfect knight…) “God, he’s soooo beautiful!”

“Isn’t he? Though I think I preferred him as an Elf!”

“No way! Mind, I made up for it in summer. Fanfic!” Juliet enthused.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been writing one where this girl - Lady Juliana - disguises herself as a knight and fights alongside him! And he finds out she's a girl, so they go at it like rabbits!”

Trish rolled her eyes.

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing. But one can have ‘the bread and knife of love’ without the ‘meat filling’, if you take my meaning!”

“You have a problem, don’t you, Trish?”

The older girl shrugged. “It’s not a problem if it’s what you want...”

“But how does it end?” Kate asked, about the fic. “He has to wind up with the Princess, doesn't he? Or is this an AU?”

“Lady Juliana throws herself in front of him and takes an arrow in the heart; dies tragically in his arms! And the whole city mourns!”

Trish groaned audibly.

“Anyway,” said Kate, changing the subject, “how’s the programme shaping up for the concert this term?”

“Any chance of any Crusade-era songs?” Juliet suggested, her head still full of a chain-mailed Orlando Bloom.

“Jaufre Rudel’s always good. Remember when you sang Lanquan li jorn in the college chapel?” Kate suggested to Trish. “I know it must be a few years, but you could do that again. And Chanterai por mon corage would suit Jules’ voice better!”

Trish shook her head. “I can’t sing Lanquan li jorn any more. Rudel chokes me up somehow.”

“Then Jules -?”

Trish gave Juliet a hard stare. “She could try, but she’s a bit inexpressive for Rudel.”

“What did you say?”

“I’m sorry, Juliet, I’ve wanted to tell you since last term. Several of the others agree.” (But a quick glance at the faces of the others showed this was not the case.) “Technically, you have a nice voice.” (‘Nice’ grated on her nerves, like the sound of fingernails scraping a blackboard.) “But you haven’t got any feeling!”

“And you do, I suppose?”

“Maybe too much.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t do solos any more!”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You started this -“

Steve came back with the drinks on a tray. “Minervois for you, Trish!”

“Ah! The blood of the martyrs!” she grinned.

“Kriek for Kate, G-and-T for Christine, and a Bacardi Breezer for Juliet… Anyone else? Have I interrupted something?”

“It’s a good job you’re here - keep the peace!” Kate suggested.

He shrugged, spilling the drinks. “Someone has to, I suppose!”

Juliet sulked. God, she hated Trish. Lucrezia-bloody-Borgia! she thought. She hasn’t got a life - locking herself in her study in the research students’ rooms in St John’s House, or her room in Hall, writing up her 12C Italian noblemen… What were they called? Montmorency? No. The guy who commissioned that dance-song, Kate had said - Kalenda Maya... Sounded like ‘ferrets’… Monferrato, that was it. She looks like a witch, anyway. No feeling? She wouldn’t know what ‘courtly love’ was if it were staring her in the face. She has no romance in her soul - not like me…

And she drifted off into a daydream about Balian of Ibelin, looking like Orlando Bloom, on a white charger…

By the time she was ready to go home, she was in a slightly better mood (probably because of the Bacardi Breezers). She walked back to her hall of residence - noticing, however, that Trish (who also lived there) turned off to go back to her study at St John's, pass-key in hand. Weirdo.

To be continued: Juliet learns a secret, and takes a mediaeval revenge