The troubadour's song

by Patricia Werner

  Allesandra nodded, and Jean glanced at her before saying, "We saw them."

  The traveler lowered his voice so that it wouldn't carry past the trees of the little grove where they watered the horses. "Murdered in their beds last night. The culprits were not caught."

  Allesandra's heart missed a beat. Murder! Then she understood the furtive glances and the hushed mood of the tavern. The town had known. Perhaps had planned. But better that she and her party knew nothing of who was behind it.

  The traveler went on to share his views. "Perhaps it'll make the pope in Rome think twice about sending his judges here."

  None in Allesandra's party spoke. Her own lips were slack, but she didn't have any response. Her men-at-arms, who had heard the traveler's news, looked at each other and then back at the horses they watered. She daren't risk a glance at Jean. If he knew something about this, it was better he didn't speak of it.

  "Murder is horrible," she said as the traveler led his horse up from the riverbank. And she shook her head.

  "Indeed it is," said Jean. "Let us hope there are no reprisals."

  Hopelessness tugged at her already lifeless heart. "So soon after a treaty has been signed. What can this mean? Will there never be any rest?"

  "Eventually, the people of the South may learn to live with the people of the North," answered Jean philosophically. "And someday there may be a religion that satisfies all of us. But that day has not yet come."

  The breeze came to make the leaves above them sigh. Jean

  cupped his hands to give Allesandra a step up to her stirrup. Then they all mounted and rode thoughtfully back to the road.

  The rest of the journey was fairly uneventful. Allesandra knew she could never banish thoughts of Gaucelm entirely, but when she reached her home, she bent her mind to the tasks at hand. Her lands were vast and she had been absent a long while. While her steward had been capable, there was still much to attend to. In the evenings, her minstrels, and the troubadours when they paid her a visit, would sing softly. But the entertainments were subdued, melancholy, with gentle melodies that soothed.

  And it came to her ears that one by one, certain tenants and vassals had disappeared from their homes of their own accord. Jean brought her the news, and through Jean, Allesandra helped those who wished to leave these lands for places they felt safer, high up in the Pyrenees, where they hoped no one cared about their particular religious practices. There were as yet no French soldiers to stop them and no grand inquisitors to question them.

  When Raymond returned from Paris, she went to see him. But she said nothing of what she knew. They only addressed the matter of heresy obliquely.

  When she was at her own home, she found she spent more time writing poetry again. The love she still bore Gaucelm found an outlet in the words that flowed and the endless ink that formed the letters upon her parchments. Some she was not pleased with. For though it was an outpouring of her own feelings, she was still an artist and a craftswoman. She threw many pages into the fire. But the better ones she kept.

  The months passed, and she had time to give thought to her actions and words and felt sorry that they had parted on such ill terms. She began to write him letters. Epistles that he would never see. But perhaps it was some glimmer, some burning coal in her heart fed by a love that would not die, that made her write the letters as if he would one day lay eyes on them. And perhaps forgive her pride and the duty that stood between them.

  And then, one night, when she least expected it, for she knew not where he was, he came. He was not even announced by the servants, but burst into the hall where a great meal was celebrating the harvest.

  As soon as she saw him, she had eyes for no one else. The household seemed to melt away as he strode across the hall between the tables. Someone pulled her chair away as she stood up at the head of the table, her heart pounding. Somehow her feet carried her to meet him near the arched passage where stairs led to her private chamber. He stopped a few feet from her and then bowed.

  She still said not a word when he lifted his eyes and held hers. It was as if they were the only two in the entire castle. For even though their bodies stood stiffly and distantly, their spirits joined in the middle of the space between them, and everything else was suspended.

  A moment later they passed through the passage and to the great chamber where so much had transpired between them. Gaucelm walked to the window seat where shutters opened onto stubbled fields in the distance, bathed by a hunter's moon. There was a crispness in the air, though autumn in these southern lands was gentle.

  Allesandra felt unable to stand up any longer and sank into the carved armchair in front of a fireplace where Julian had thoughtfully kindled an evening fire. "I am surprised to see you, my lord."

  He grunted. "I come only to let you know what you will hear from others in any case. The pope's legate in Paris, Bishop Fros-bier, was displeased by the deaths of several priests at Cahors."

  She crossed her arms and hugged herself, leaning forward a bit. "I had heard."

  She was not about to tell him that she had been in the city that night. Nor that Jean must have known about it beforehand. "It is terrible," she added.

  Gaucelm went on in a leaden voice that showed no emotion.

  "As you know, the Church will stop at nothing until all the heretics are destroyed."

  There was no need to explain. Evidently after seeing Allesan-dra the last time, he felt even more than before that the lines were drawn between them.

  "I know that is your intention," she said quietly. "We all know it"

  He turned finally to look at her, as if staring out the window for a long time had given him the strength to face her. "The royal government has decided to avenge the deaths at Cahors."

  Her face twisted before she could compose herself. She looked at her knees. "Why do you tell me this?"

  There was a pause of a heartbeat. "Perhaps because I feel I owe it to you."

  "Very well. What do you plan to do?"

  He let go of the inner window arch. "We march to a place we believe to be the last stronghold of the most determined of the heretics."

  Her gaze flew upward, but stopped at his chest level before she allowed herself to give anything away. "Really? And where is that?"

  "Montsegur."

  She felt herself sway, even though she was seated, and she reached for her chair arms. "Montsegur?" It was spoken in a level tone, but even Gaucelm understood that she knew of it. "I see."

  He paced to the center of the room, and at last she had the courage to stand up and face him. "And why do you tell me this?"

  He moved no closer, but his gaze simmered. "I thought you should know."

  She turned, uncertain how to react. During the months since she'd seen him, she'd promised herself that if she ever had the chance, she would try to mend the tear that had occurred in Paris. Even if they must remain forever on opposite sides of a bitter disagreement, she wanted to know that they did not hate each

  other. But now that he was here, treading cautiously himself, she did not know how to begin.

  Her throat felt dry, but she managed to moisten her lips and say, "Can you not leave them alone? What harm do they do, isolated in such a refuge?"

  "I do not make the decisions, as you know. The king must make an example. He cannot condone murders of Church officials. That was done purposely, a symbol that all the treaties in the world cannot change a people's mind so soon. I have no choice but to carry out the king's orders."

  He exhaled a breath as if pleased that he'd succeeded in delivering a difficult message. She might have tried to understand more about why he told her where he was going, but she did not. Instead, all she could do was stare at him. And he at her. And yet neither made a move to touch the other. Perhaps their love was torn now beyond mending. They were too far apart, separated by birth and loyalties that were too deep to change.

  "Have you been well?" she asked.

  He nodded slowly. "Yes, and you?"
/>
  She managed a sad sigh. "Yes.

  "Then that is good."

  "You still think of me then?"

  Now he moved a step closer. "Of course. I always think of you. That will not change."

  "No?" She looked up.

  "No."

  "And I will always think of you, my lord." Her heart beat loudly now in her chest. The pulse trebled in her veins.

  He came to her and touched her arms, but with restraint. And somehow she knew that the evening would not end in passion the way it always had before. How terrible that they still loved each other, but could not do anything about it as long as their pride and loyalties kept them apart.

  He gazed deeply into her eyes and his look said what she surmised. He held her fondly, just enough to remember earlier times together. She smiled, but she felt a tear slip down her cheek.

  "Gaucelm," she said, "I did not want to part the way we did."

  "Nor I," he said, lifting a hand to brush the hair back from her temple. "I was cruel the last time I saw you. I wanted to take my revenge in a mean, unspeakable way. I ask your forgiveness."

  "You were not cruel," she said. "You claimed me, true, when you thought I would soon belong to another. But it was as I would have wanted you to do. If I carried any man's child, I would have wanted yours."

  Then she leaned her cheek against his chin and he folded her into him gently. Still, she could feel him restrain himself from passion. They wanted each other desperately, but just as she knew that there was no future in it, so he must have resolved that he came to speak to her only, nothing more.

  They stood together in the soft glow from lamps and fire, swaying slightly, breathing in a well-remembered embrace, wanting it to last, but knowing it could not. At length, he lifted her chin and kissed her forehead and cheeks. She felt him tremble as he placed his hands on her shoulders and set her away from him.

  "I cannot stay," he told her. There was pain in his eyes.

  "I know."

  He stepped back, threw his shoulders back as if on military review. He took one last look and then turned for the door.

  After he had gone, she relived every second of the visit, sitting by the fire late into the night. It wasn't until much later that she was able to sort through his words and began to understand why he had come at all.

  Twenty-four

  Late the next day, Jean de Batute burst into the hall where Allesandra had just finished a conference with her steward, Julian. The accounts approved, the steward withdrew as Jean crossed

  the hall and handed Allesandra a rolled piece of parchment, whose seal had been broken.

  "A message from Lucius Hersend," he said. "It was addressed to me, but you should read it for yourself."

  She took the letter anxiously and read Lucius's fine hand. Lucius, who had been in the mountains at the stronghold of Mont-segur for the last several months, was preparing for a confrontation.

  "In spite of the recent treaty," she read out loud, "and Count Raymond's guaranteed cooperation in routing out the last of the heretics, Raymond looked the other way as the most determined Cathars, thrown off of their own parcels of land, have gathered within the protection of the particularly isolated and impregnable walls of the mountain citadel. It is located at the top of a steep mountain peak that is barren of any cover besides the smooth rock face upon which it perches."

  She paused to glance at Jean, then continued. "I know," said the letter, "that a French contingent of soldiers is on its way. If they succeed in reaching the citadel, they will mete out reprisals for the murders of the inquisitors at Cahors. The heretics at Mont-segur cannot be called sheep gone astray for lack of understanding. These are not the congenial Provencals who care little for outward appearances even if they cling to suspicious beliefs.

  "These are the remaining parfaits, those who have given up everything to take the consolamentum, that statement of faith abhorrent to the Catholic Church. And those with them, those who have chosen such a place to retreat to, will not surrender."

  Lucius's own voice echoed in her mind as she read on. "No doubt those who surrender will be given a choice between recanting their unorthodox faith or facing torture and death. But with me here are the believers who would walk through flames and carry their faith to the grave rather than recant."

  Allesandra saw at once what this meant, and it would come as a surprise to tell Jean that she already knew who was leading the French soldiers. But she had nothing to hide.

  "So, Lucius is getting ready. He is that serious then," she said

  sorrowfully. "I knew he believed. I saw how he took it when he was excommunicated. He will not abandon the others."

  Jean shook his head slowly, worried thoughtfulness on his normally happy face. He gave a great sigh. "How I miss his songs. He had a golden voice, but of course you remember."

  "Yes." She smiled softly. "He was a gentle singer. Perhaps he sings now, adding his music to the believers' prayers."

  "What do you wish to do, my lady?" asked Jean. He knew her far too well to expect that she would remain here and do nothing.

  But before she answered, she arose from her chair and walked a little way across the hall, thinking.

  "Perhaps their very position will protect them. I cannot imagine an army assaulting those walls. I have never seen it, but from what I have heard, only a narrow, winding path leads upward, exposed to the elements and to the citadel above."

  Irritation suffused her. "Is this not a futile effort on the part of the king?"

  Jean shook his head. "It will be difficult. But as to whether they make only a feeble attempt or will carry out their mission, I cannot say. It might be that Lucius and the others are in very real danger." He sighed and paced in a small circle, his hands on his hips. He stopped and turned to her again, shaking his clipped, dark hair.

  "I am only one man, but I must offer my help."

  "Supposing the soldiers do climb up to them and threaten them. Is there no way of escape from such a place? No other place to hide? Perhaps if the king takes an empty fortress, he will give up."

  "This I do not know. I would have to go and ask Lucius. I'm sure he would help those who wish to escape. But there are those who would prefer to be martyred. For them, there is no escape."

  She shivered, but she knew his words were true. Some of her own friends were in that mountain fastness. Nobles like herself as well as common villagers who had turned away from the rule of the Catholic Church and embraced a more simple belief that

  they could understand. Left alone to live communally out of the way of the rest of society, consoled by the parfaits, their lives would be ideal. But they were not soldiers, and they feared the anger of Church and king. An ominous fear told her that this time they would not be treated lightly.

  She could almost hear their cries of confusion and desperation if soldiers penetrated their mountain citadel. She felt their fear. Her mind was made up.

  "We can leave at once," she told Jean. "I will go with you. I cannot think of our friends facing death or punishment at the hands of the French."

  Jean gave her a curious look. "Very well, my lady. But do not tremble so. I can see that great emotion seizes you. Are you all right?"

  She steeled her runaway emotions to answer calmly. "Gaucelm Deluc leads these soldiers to Montsegur. He was here last night briefly. He did not stay."

  She lifted her chin, somehow wanting Jean to know that she had not made love with Gaucelm last night. "But he told me his destination. I suppose I should have told you rather than waiting for this message from Lucius."

  "I see. Are you sure you still wish to accompany me? Are you sure you still wish to fight this man?"

  "I would not fight Gaucelm if I had a choice. He does not have an evil heart. But he has made his choice. He serves king and Church." She straightened her shoulders even if the pain wrenched in her heart as she did so. "And I made my choice long ago."

  Jean nodded slowly, still studying her face anxiously. "Very we
ll. We will have to ride hard and avoid the soldiers. When we get to the mountain, we will have to leave our horses behind. The only way to reach Lucius is by climbing up the back of the mountain. If you have retainers who want to go with us, we can take what provisions we can carry with us."

  She nodded. "Julian will have everything ready by the third hour after noon. We will go then."

  * * *

  Inch by inch Gaucelm led his men up the torturous path of Montsegur until the lengthening evening made progress more difficult. Trees sheltered them partway up the mountain, but the lonely splendor of the mountain fortress above them did indeed appear daunting. Nevertheless, Gaucelm knew with certainty that his men would not leave until the fortress castle was handed over to the Church and the French Crown. Just what he himself would do when that occurred depended on several things.

  He tried not to think of Allesandra, tried not to speculate as to whether she would be there when they overcame the fortress. As his men climbed upward, sometimes almost straight up cliffs, he reflected on his last visit to her. Surely she had understood his message. Surely she would not stand by as a French army marched to capture the last hundred or so Cathars who had taken refuge here.

  Surely those in the fortress knew of the presence of the soldiers. But so far there was not a single sign of defense. Many Cathar believers were opposed to violence, and perhaps none would fight at all, but rely on the strength of those walls to keep the French soldiers out.

  He scrambled downward a little way to speak to his sergeant and balanced where Enselm waited on a boulder to direct the men behind him. Enselm had followed Gaucelm on this as on most other campaigns.

  "I'll go ahead," Gaucelm said. "There appears to be a way up below the north tower. One of us needs to get closer and see if there are any faults. If they resist, we're too exposed on the face of the mountain. But the wooded hills come closer on that side. We may mine our way in."