“Ah, yes, thank you, Bertrande. Simonette, take Mademoiselle on the rounds. I shall meet you later.” Lady Esclarmonde glided off.
“I want to see the inside of the church,” declared Raphaëlle as soon as the Baroness was out of sight. Covering her head with her mantle, she walked up the steps of the Church, Simonette and Bertrande likewise pulled their shawls over their heads, as they followed in her wake. It was dim inside; as Raphaëlle’s eyes adjusted the red glow of the Presence lamp seemed to grow brighter. Although they were broken in a few places, the stained glass windows poignantly portrayed scenes from the life and martyrdom of Saint Jacques le Grand, to whom the church was dedicated. The three women genuflected and crossed themselves, just as a shabby, shaggy figure emerged from behind one of the old Roman-style pillars which upheld the roof of the edifice.
“Father Paul!” exclaimed Bertrande. “Lady Raphaëlle wished to see the church.” Father Paul gave a little bow and a slow, quizzical smile, as he noticed that Simonette was also present.
“I am going to light some candles,” declared Simonette, hastening away.
Raphaëlle could not help noticing that the building was in dire need of repair, with water stains along the walls, a puddle or two on the floor. “Father, I will send money for you to have the necessary repairs made. I am appalled that the church has been allowed to deteriorate.”
“Ah, yes, Mademoiselle, it is shame. But the heresy is deeply planted in this village. Lady Esclarmonde rules the hearts and minds of the people. The priest who was here before me was a Cathar himself, living openly with his mistress; and so the people lost respect for the Church. Many young couples now live openly in concubinage. Only a handful comes to Mass on Sunday. The rest come only to mock the Host with a slice of turnip.”
“Oh, no,” sighed Raphaëlle. She stared at Bertrande, who nodded with knowing distaste.
“Yes, and on the very steps of the church, during Mass. It is horrible,” said Bertrande.
“I do not understand, Father.” Raphaëlle felt her cheeks flush scarlet. “Forgive me for speaking so frankly, but I thought the Cathars are against carnal relations. Why do their teachings seem to promote concubinage?”
“Because, my child, when everything is forbidden, then everything is permitted. The Cathars find relations between spouses to be far more sinful than fornication, than any carnal acts outside of marriage. Even incest is not frowned upon. Marriage regularizes the act and leads to many children, which to the Cathars is a way of entrapping more souls in the material world. I have found that the unity of family life has been shaken in this village, with children who do not know which of their mother’s lovers is their true father.” He lowered his voice to a murmur. “Those babes who are fortunate enough to see the light of day….”
Raphaëlle was not certain what he meant. She asked in reply: “Oh, Father, how can such an awful state of affairs ever be undone?”
The priest sighed. “It will take many years of solid preaching and catechesis, and encouragement to the people to return to the Sacraments. Most of all, prayer is needed, and the good example of great ladies such as yourself.” He paused a moment. “Perhaps you can help me,” continued Father Paul. “There is a young mother, about your age, whose one year old child is said to be very sick. The child has been treated by Madame la Baronne but grows worse. The child has not been baptized; the parents will not bring him to me. A visit from a lady like you might make a difference.”
Raphaëlle made her way to the cottage. It was not difficult to find. She had only to follow the thin wail of a little child. It was an ordinary peasant home, with a ham hanging from the rafters, along with garlic and onions. A pig rooted outside the door. A young mother in her late teens was holding a spindly toddler. Pale as death, the baby's weak cries indicated the presence of some consuming malady. The girl stared at Raphaëlle, her eyes great with despair. In the corner, his face to the wall, sat the young father of the child. Hearing Raphaëlle enter, he turned, and leaped to his feet. The child's mother did not stir.
He bowed to her. “Pardon my wife, Madame,” he said. “She is greatly afflicted for the sake of our son, who is dying.”
“What is your name?” asked Raphaëlle. Her heart welled with pity for the poor parents.
“I am Bernard Sajous. This is Mengarde, my wife. Our son is ... is …” and he began to weep. "Oh, Madame, it is too late. He is beyond human help.”
“Nonsense! He can still cry, and he is aware of what is going on. Why his eyes follow me!” She felt his forehead. “He has a high fever. What have you been feeding him? Has he been weaned?” The father said nothing. “Why, perhaps he is hungry. Yes!” exclaimed Raphaëlle, bending over the child. “He is hungry, and thirsty. Bernard, is your wife not able to nurse him?”
The young man wept all the more. “It is too late...it is too late!”
“No, it is not too late!” insisted Raphaëlle. “Come, allow me to give him some broth!”
“No... please, Madame!” pleaded the father.
“Madame!” exclaimed the mother, shooting up, her voice trembling. “I have milk! I can nurse him myself.”
“No, Mengarde,” insisted Bernard.
“I cannot watch my baby starve to death!” cried the woman. She opened the front of her dress; the child began ravenously to nurse. “It was the Good Woman!” she sobbed to Raphaëlle.
“Hush, woman!” ordered Bernard.
“Let her speak,” commanded Raphaëlle. “Mengarde, whom do you mean when you say ‘Good Woman’? Do you mean Lady Esclarmonde?”
“Yes!” wailed Mengarde. “She was here last night. She heard that our baby had a high fever and a bad cough. She said the little one might die, and so she gave the consolamentum. Although, it is not usually done, that so young a child should be hereticated. Afterwards, she said we could not feed our son again, or it would destroy the result of the baptism of light, and the baby would not go to Heaven, but would come back to earth in another person's body, or even as an animal. Tell me, Madame, that it is not true!”
“Of course it is not true. Has your little one been baptized in the parish church?” The mother shook her head. “Then baptize him; if he dies, he will go straight to heaven. But perhaps he can be healed, and will live to be an old man. Let us give him some broth, and make a poultice.”
At that moment both husband and wife shuddered, as a black shadow filled the doorway. It was the Baroness. Mengarde fell to her knees. “Madame, please do not be angry. I could not bear to hear the child cry.” Bernard prostrated, face to the ground, speechless. “My Good Christians, I told you not to feed the child after I administered the consolamentum. You should have followed my instructions.”
“Why did you tell them to let the child starve to death, Madame?” Raphaëlle asked Esclarmonde.
“It is called the endura,” explained Esclarmonde, with her calm demeanor. “After receiving the consolamentum, the dying person can no longer be given food or drink.”
“That is madness!” exclaimed Raphaëlle.
Lady Esclarmonde took Raphaëlle by the arm; her cold hands gripped like steel. “Leave this cottage at once, Mademoiselle. I can see that that knave of a priest has been meddling again. Ah, tonight you will have the benefit of true guides, who will answer all of your questions. Simonette, Bertrande, take Mademoiselle back to the castle. I will deal with things here.”
Raphaëlle and the servants made their way up the hill to the castle. She could not get the sick child out of her mind, and felt that somehow she had failed. She must find out more, and perhaps then she would not feel so burdened and confused. She wondered who awaited her in the tower. Meanwhile, Sir Jacques was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 7: The Perfect Ones
As the moon was rising, and the guards of the first watch were taking their posts, Raphaëlle and Jehanette waited at the foot of the north tower. As the maid held a lantern aloft for them, Raphaëlle peered beyond the circle of light to the heights of the edifice w
hose jagged crenellations reached into the sky like teeth. The clouds wound around it in the manner of agonized wraiths, creating the illusion that the tower was swaying and trembling in the gusts from the mountains. Lady Esclarmonde materialized out of the shadows as if from the night air.
Without a word to either of them, she took out a large brass ring with numerous keys and unlocked the low, round door at the foot of the structure. It opened onto a steep, winding stair, and Esclarmonde motioned them to follow. Only an occasional torch in the wall sconces lighted the stair, and so they mounted with care in the wake of the trailing robes of the Perfecta. It was a breathless climb, and as they reached the top, Raphaëlle was certain that by now they must have ascended to the stars. As the door at the top swung open, she thought her impression was confirmed, for the ceiling above them was covered with gold spangles on a sky of midnight blue. At various points were symbols of the sun, moon, and signs of the zodiac, a pentagram, as well as other symbols and weird writing that Raphaëlle did not recognize. It appeared to be some kind of a map of the heavens, or a calendar, or perhaps even a means of divination. The curved walls were lined with books, some in Latin and Occitan with titles such as: The Secret Supper, The Fundamental Epistle of Mani, The Kephalia of the Lord Mani, The Invocation of the gods in the Moon, The Gospel of Thomas, and The First Book of Ieou. Others were in foreign alphabets that Raphaëlle could not decipher. In the center wall of the chamber directly opposite the door sat two men in midnight blue robes, girt with cinctures and scrolls. Each had long hair, with the foreheads shaved from ear to ear, and bearded faces. The hair of one was grey; the other, black, but both had visages that were gaunt, pale, and strangely illumined, with black-lidded eyes. Raphaëlle froze to see Raymond crouched on the floor at their feet, like a vigilant snake, ready to bite if provoked. Terror rose in her at the memory of the morning’s attack upon herself by Raymond, and she fought the desire to run away.
Esclarmonde prostrated, touching her face to the floor, before the grey-haired Perfectus, saying, “Good Christian, grant me God’s blessing and yours.” She performed the gesture three times, each time she asked for the blessing. It reminded Raphaëlle of how her father had described the worship of the Saracens. Then Esclarmonde knelt before the Perfectus, who raised his hand over her head and replied, “May God assist you to make a good end, and make you a Good Christian.”
“Good Man,” said Esclarmonde as she rose to her feet, “this damsel has questions concerning our faith. She has a sincere heart, and truly seeks the Good. It is my hope that someday she will adhere to the Ben. She is Raphaëlle de Miramande, the niece of my lord Pierre. Raphaëlle, you are in the presence of our bishop, Guilabert de Castres, and his deacon, Léonard de Cambasque.”
Raphaëlle curtseyed and Guilabert replied, “Good Esclarmonde, the damsel may make any inquiries that she desires.”
“Is it true, Monsieur,” asked Raphaëlle, taking a deep breath, “that you Cathars believe that the world was created by the Devil? If so, how can you believe something so completely contradicted by Sacred Scripture?”
The Perfecti registered surprise. They were accustomed to dealing with women who were ignorant of the Scriptures, but her aunt, the Mother Abbess, had tutored Raphaëlle. Guilabert replied, “There are two gods, one Good and one evil. The Jehovah of the Old Testament, the God of the Jews, is the Demiurge, who made the material world.”
Raphaëlle responded with calm conviction. “But Our Lord Jesus Christ Himself quoted from the Old Testament, and observed the laws of His people the Jews.”
Léonard de Cambasque answered in a dry voice, “We do not acknowledge what you call the ‘Old Testament.’ It was compiled by the Roman Church at the Council of Chalcedon.”
“Yes, by the Church established by Christ Himself,” nodded Raphaëlle. “And furthermore, do you reject the Incarnation of Our Lord?”
Léonard said, “We do not believe that Jesus the Splendor, the Life-giver, the Incorruptible, ever took on mortal flesh, which is corrupted and corruptible. He dwelt upon earth as a pure spirit.”
Raphaëlle clasped her hands. “Oh, but that is the point of the whole thing! That is what it is all about! God became one of us, born of a Virgin, to suffer and die for us in His flesh and thereby sanctify our bodies as well as our souls. The body of a Christian is holy, for it is the temple of the Holy Ghost.”
The bishop Guilabert replied in solemn, emphatic tones, “To say that Christ would come into the world through a woman is offensive. Mary was not a woman, but an angel. Christ could not die, since He had no body. As for our bodies, they count for less than nothing; what we do with them matters not, since they are only material. It is the journey to the gnose that counts. Each soul must come to a secret knowledge all its own. Thus each person becomes like a god.”
“I do not want to become a god,” insisted Raphaëlle vehemently. “I do not want to possess some secret knowledge. I want to belong to the One True God, and go to Him in the ordinary ways, through prayer and the sacraments, which are open to everyone. That is why our Church is called universal. I love my religion, and do not wish to change it.”
Raymond had been listening, his eyes darting from face to face like a serpent’s. As Raphaëlle’s final words fell from her lips, he rose and stepped towards her, seething. “The man you call Jesus of Nazareth,” he cried, “who was born in Bethlehem, who was crucified in Jerusalem, was a bad man. The woman known as Mary Magdalene was his concubine. For the good Christ never ate, nor drank, nor took upon himself human flesh.”
Raphaëlle shuddered and made the sign of the cross. Raymond jumped forward and slapped her. “You insult our bishop!”
“Raymond!” Lady Esclarmonde exclaimed. “You have much to learn! You should not have revealed our secret doctrine!”
“Raymond,” admonished Guilabert, “that was not necessary. The Good Men do not use violence. If you wish to become one of us, you must control your passions.”
Raphaëlle edged backwards. Her cheek stung from Raymond’s hand. “Lady Esclarmonde, I am sorry. I do not like your religion. It is false, it is ugly!” She turned to the Perfecti. “Messieurs, I bid you goodnight. I will not hear any more blasphemies.”
Raphaëlle left the tower, with a weeping Jehanette in tow, both half stumbling in the dim light and quivering with horror. She continued to shiver even after taking to her bed.
“Raphaëlle,” came a voice. Raphaëlle’s eyes fluttered open. A man was standing by her bed. It was Raymond, her fiancé. She gasped. In her father’s castle, no knights or squires were ever allowed to come near any part of the castle where young ladies slept. She could hear Jehanette’s breathing and Margot’s wheezing in the parlor alcove and opened her mouth to call for them. “Wait!” whispered Raymond, holding up one of his long, white hands in a gesture of command. “I must speak to you!”
“Leave!” gasped Raphaëlle, sitting up. “You must leave at once!”
“I will,” said Raymond. "And I shall not enter this chamber again.”
“Good!” exclaimed Raphaëlle.
“I have a higher calling,” he retorted. “Someday, you will understand.”
“Do you want to become a Perfectus?”
“Yes.” He spoke with scorn. “And furthermore marriage is an abomination.”
Raphaëlle could only stare at him. How a youth with such incredible physical beauty could be as repulsive to her as a deformed leper was a phenomenon. He continued. “I do not want to marry you, but I will. I must. My father says I have to comply, so we can retain control of your lands. It will help our cause to have such resources at our disposal. Nevertheless, I thought it only fair to tell you what I believe.”
With his every word, her loathing for him increased. When she spoke, she struggled to summon an air of detachment. “I am obliged to you, Cousin, for your honesty. Indeed, I have no wish to marry a heretic. Now will you please leave?”
“You are a heretic! I am a Good Christian! Marriage is sinful because
it regularizes the act of carnal lust. It leads to the begetting of other fleshly beings.”
“Of course it does. It is good to have children.” Raphaëlle drew the covers up around her chin. She heard Margot stirring.
Raymond’s eyes glittered. “No, not when it can be avoided so easily. It is far less a sin for a man to find pleasure alone, or with another man, than with a wife. Why bring more corporal bodies into the world, in which souls will be entrapped?”
“I will hear no more filthy, heretical talk!,” cried Raphaëlle. “Margot! Jehanette, come to me!” Jehanette sat up, as Margot leaped to her feet, bustling to Raphaëlle’s side in her shift. She clasped her hand, and glared at Raymond in such a way that he took a step backwards. “Go!” cried Raphaëlle. “Depart from here! I release you from your promise to me, for I have no desire to honor a betrothal that was made under false pretenses.” Her voice rose. “Now leave my chamber, or I will scream!” Raymond shot her a glance of perverse glee, then left the room.
Chapter 8: The Flight
Raphaëlle did not sleep for many hours. She did not know how much of Raymond’s speech Margot had heard, but the old nurse was quivering as much as she herself, holding her as if she were still a small girl. At last, Raphaëlle slept, but dragons and goblins filled her dreams. She awoke, blinking into the morning light with the realization that Jehanette was shaking her. “Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle! We are locked in!” The handmaid’s eyes were nearly popping from her head.
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