The Night's Dark Shade

by Elena Maria Vidal

  “How is it, Mistress Ermensende, that you came to bear your uncle’s child?” asked the Lord Imbert. Raphaëlle felt as if she might become ill. Ermensende spoke with a mixture of anger and defiance. “He forced himself upon me when I was but a child, an orphan given to his care. He said that incest was shameful but not sinful, and at least it was a lesser evil than marriage. And the shame, he said, only came when people knew of it. Otherwise, it did not matter. Later, I bore my son, Philippe. Arnaud said afterwards that I could depart but that I must leave the boy with him. He said that if I left there would be nothing for me but to become a prostitute. I stayed at Arnaud’s house, to be with my son and to raise him, even though it meant living under the same roof with this whore.” She gestured towards Alais, stamping her foot. Then Ermensende burst into a torrent of tears.

  “How did Arnaud the Heretic come to die?” asked Sir Jacques.

  “He was burned at the stake in the village square, with Pierre Belot close by, both howling and blaspheming,” related Alais, seemingly unperturbed by both the mention of the burnings and the epithet of “whore.”

  “And what of the former Lord of Bécède?” inquired Raphaëlle.

  “I slew him myself, in hand to hand combat, in this very hall,” proclaimed the Lord Imbert. “His blood still stains the tiles near the hearth.” There was a moment in which everyone made not a single movement, as if they dared not give a sigh of relief all at once. “But now, we must settle this controversy.”

  “Mistresses,” spoke the Lord Imbert after a brief span in which he appeared to be reflecting deeply upon the matter at hand. “All of the lands of Bécède have been confiscated and now belong to the crown of France. But since you have all shown genuine repentance by trying to reform your lives and attending Mass on Sundays and Holy Days, we will make what restitution is appropriate. Mistress Ermensende, being that you are the true relative of the late Arnaud Lizier, his property should revert to you and your heirs. Mistress Alais, you must leave the house of Ermensende, but you and your daughters will be provided for. At the Queen’s request, we are setting up a fund of dowries for unwed mothers and orphan girls so that they can make good marriages and be protected from concubinage. Lady Raphaëlle, have you any thoughts to add to this case?”

  “I would only inquire of Alais if the man who once wished to marry her is still living and free to wed, and if he would be willing to marry her as he once sought to do?” One of the menservants standing in the back of the hall came forward, making a reverence as he did so. He wore no yellow cross, which meant he had always been a Catholic. He was short and gaunt, with a wholesome mien. “Forgive me, my Lord Imbert, but I am Raoul Marty, the pantler of this house. I have always sought the hand of Alais Benet. My offer is still open. I wish to marry her and will adopt her children as my own. Her old mother may live under our roof as well, for she is a skilled delouser, and I will be happy to have her around. It remains only for Alais to give her consent.”

  Alais held out her hand to Raoul, with a broad smile and face flushed. In a moment he was at her side. “Very well and good,” announced the Lord Imbert. “All that is left is for you both to consult with our good Père André, and have the banns read in the parish church at the proper times. Then we shall have a merry wedding. You may all depart. Go in peace.” The party bowed and curtsied almost to the ground, and exited the hall with a tangibly lighter spirit than that which they had upon entering.

  Raphaëlle’s head swirled all throughout the dinner which followed. She had never before imagined that such cruelty and suffering could exist in the world. She was glad to find herself afterwards in the crisp autumn orchard, where birds and crickets lamented the passing of the season. Père André was strolling there, telling his paternoster beads.

  “Greetings, Father Hound,” she said. “But I do not wish to interrupt your prayer.”

  “Father Hound is used to being interrupted,” chuckled the friar. “So you want to be a nun and they will not let you?” As they walked through the orchard, Raphaëlle told him of how all of her family had died, even her betrothed who had been slain fighting the Albigensians.

  “I came south to marry my cousin because Queen Blanche and my aunt, the Mother Abbess, both told me it was my duty to make a good alliance to protect my people. But my cousin is a devoted Cathar, which renders him unmarriageable for me.” She told him of all that had transpired at Mirambel. “I have requested of the Bishop that the betrothal be declared null and void. I have no desire for anything now but to enter religion.” She did not mention her feelings for Sir Martin, however. Instead she said, “I am exposed to great temptations, Father, and I fear that if I stay in the world it will bring peril to my soul.” He paused beneath a dancing branch of golden leaves, looking into her face without infringing upon either modesty or custody of the eyes, as only holy persons are able to do. “My dear child, there is no escape from temptations in this world. Only he who perseveres to the end shall be saved and win the crown of life. But entering the monastery only to escape responsibilities will be opening your heart to greater dangers.”

  “But I am not trying to escape!” Raphaëlle exclaimed, stopping in her tracks. “Why does everyone think I am trying to escape? I love God, and the world means nothing to me, there is nothing left for me here but more heartbreak and sorrow. Let me go, please, or I think perhaps I will die!”

  The friar patted her arm. “There, there, dear Lady Raphaëlle, if you truly wish to become a nun, then no power on earth can stop you. I will even write a letter of recommendation if you so desire. But you must think of what will become of your people if you are out of the way. Your lands in Auvergne will be taken over by your uncle, who is allied with the heretics. He is willing to use his wealth and yours against the King and against the Church.” He scratched his fuzzy tonsure which needed a shave. Raphaëlle could not help but notice that in spite of Father Hound’s poor and shabby habit and mantle he did not smell foul but clean and appeared to be lice free as well. “But if you marry a powerful French lord and reclaim your lands, then great evils shall be prevented. Look at the situation here. If you were to marry a Catholic lord who is loyal to the Church and to the King, then you could work with him to restore peace, order, and truth to this region.”

  “But whom shall I marry, Father Hound? No one has asked for my hand.”

  “Do not worry, my lady. Someone will. The Lord Imbert is making plans for you. He only awaits confirmation from Queen Blanche before telling you of those plans. But, if you truly feel called to religious life, then go.” Raphaëlle laughed bitterly. “Well, everyone seems to think that I would make a terrible nun.”

  The friar shook his head. “That is not so. I merely question your vocation because it seems to come riding upon the tail of grief, rather than having been a long sought objective. Until recently, you were happy to marry Monsieur du Puy. It could be, my dear child, that you are confusing mourning with a call to religion.”

  “Perhaps I am.” Raphaëlle kicked at the rotting and dried apples which had fallen before being collected. “But what can I do to help? I could do more being a nun, praying for the success of preachers such as yourself.”

  “Did you not see those women today? How they have been used and exploited and degraded, all in the name of the high Cathar principles? They need an example of a virtuous Catholic woman, one who is strong and faithful and respected. You see, it is always the poor who suffer the most from outlandish heresies, especially women and children. Catharism is an excuse, in the name of religion, for adults to escape their sacred duties and responsibilities. The men can sleep with any woman they want without any sense of obligation. They do not see it wrong, as we do, to prevent conception or even to kill a child in the womb. Yes, great ladies like Lady Esclarmonde appear to have liberty, but what does that liberty entail? It means that Esclarmonde is delivered from dealing with her husband and her son. This may make her happy, but from what I hear, young Raymond has suffered and the Baron as well.”r />
  “Yes, indeed, Father,” agreed Raphaëlle. “They are two unhappy men.” The friar continued. “Catharism has become an excuse for selfishness and being absolved from obligations. They do not believe in oaths, which relieves them from any commitment to duty. And the innocent and the vulnerable suffer because of it.” Raphaëlle nodded. “It seems to me that the Cathars want to have love without any responsibility.”

  “That is true,” agreed the friar. “And without responsibility, there is no genuine love.”

  “I will do whatever I must,” said Raphaëlle, grasping a branch of the apple tree simply because she felt she had to hold onto something.

  With Esterelle's help, she organized a group of children, who met every Sunday afternoon for religious instruction. They were reticent at first, but Esterelle had a way with children and especially a gift of telling stories. She started with tales of Baby Jesus and His Mother, which soon the children were eager to dramatize. Soon there was a new mystery play being planned for every Sunday afternoon. The parents came, glad to see their children performing on the porch of the church, before a fountain which had long been dry. Robert the Knave had fixed the fountain and it leaped joyfully throughout the plays, becoming a kind of background music. Furthermore, Sir Martin's presence at the château lent an idyllic luster to the shortening days. She daily met with Sir Martin, either in the solarium or by the fire pit in the hall, where they discussed plans for a Maison-Dieu, as Sir Martin called it.

  “We Hospitallers view the sick poor as our liege lords and masters,” Sir Martin explained to her one day as they sat by the smoldering fire. Jehanette and Bertrande sewed nearby, so that Raphaëlle was never left alone. “Therefore, we refer to them as ‘Our lords the sick.’ We wait upon them as if they were the highest nobility. They sleep in curtained beds with clean linens, and are treated with the utmost tenderness. Of course, your hospital here will be a small one, without the knights of Saint John to care for the sick, but perhaps some of the local gentry could be trained to assist.”

  “Esterelle can certainly teach them,” said Raphaëlle. She found herself admiring the hard line of his jaw, and how his black hair curled just above his ears. “How grand to belong to such a worthy confraternity. I would enjoy hearing of your sojourn in Jerusalem. Did you do battle with the Moors?”

  His eyes glinted mischievously. “On occasion. But fierce clashes with the enemy, the risking of life and limb, is the perfect exercise for a man deprived of love-making with a woman.”

  Raphaëlle lowered her eyes as modesty demanded. “I am happy to know you keep your vow of chastity. I shall pray for your continued perseverance.”

  A playful smile flickered on his face. “I think you are praying that some evening I consume large quantities of wine.…”

  She turned and looked at him in astonishment. “What, Monsieur, do you mean?”

  His blue eyes widened in feigned innocence. “I meant nothing, Mademoiselle! I merely jest!”

  “You were suggesting that I would like to seduce you. You must not say such things to me. I am a respectable maiden.”

  “Mademoiselle!” he exclaimed. “I never meant to suggest such a thing! If I gave offense, I beg your pardon!” He brought his face closer to hers.

  “Very well,” she conceded, searching his face. “But, Sir Martin, the ladies of Auvergne have no need of wine to seduce a man.” She lingered long enough to see surprise register in his face, and then she fled from the hall, shocked at her own boldness. A lady should never use such frank words, nor should she look directly into the eyes of a man not her husband. It occurred to her that when in the company of Sir Martin, she always had thoughts and sensations which were new and strange to her.

  She was glad when Père André suggested that they form a confraternity of prayer at the parish church, for she needed to get Sir Martin out of her mind. Esterelle, Jehannette and Bertrande gladly joined, as well as Alais from the village. They were using the paternoster beads but instead of the Pater they would say the Angelic Salutation with the Pater interspersed after every ten beads. It was just as Esterelle had shown her in the forest when first they met. They approached the altar where the Savior dwelt in his Real Presence. With each salutation, they would genuflect to the ground. Père André would begin: Ave Maria gratia plena, dominus tecum… They all knelt, and everyone responded, Benedictus tu in mulieribus et benedictus fructus ventris tui. The repeated kneeling and rising again while praying was quite an exercise, but the rhythm of the prayer became a sort of chant into which Raphaëlle found herself pouring her soul. The words of the angel to the Virgin: “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb” united her to that moment when all creation was altered forever, when the Eternal God took flesh. All hope for mankind was born in that salutation, all creation was made holy. Every child conceived was a gift from God. Then she thought of her sorrows and gave them all to the Virgin, even as God had given his Son to her. She did not understand why certain things had befallen her, but she knew there was a reason for them all. Towards the end of the rosarium chaplet, as Esterelle had called it, Raphaëlle heard thin voices at the back of the Church, joining in the prayers. It was the five daughters of Alais, and other children as well, genuflecting reverently, and reciting the prayers with fervor. “Now, it has begun,” whispered Père André to Raphaëlle at the end. “All they need is to see the example of a lady such as yourself. It makes all the difference in the world. May God be praised!” And Raphaëlle quietly hoped that God would give her the strength to be such an example.

  One day, as Advent approached, Raphaëlle was weaving, worrying about Margot, and hoping she was being well treated. There was a great deal of noise in the courtyard. Jehanette was leaning out the window, in a way that would have gotten her a scolding from Margot, especially since she was gesturing to the knave Robert.

  “Jehanette, come away! I wish you would stop sending signals to Robert from my window. It is so inappropriate, especially since it is my window. If you choose to dally with that knave you do it in the scullery or kitchen or garden. But until you know what his intentions are, you should stay away from him.”

  “My lady, I will never discover his intentions if I do not dally a bit with him. And he has been respectful. He loves me and I love him.”

  “Ha!” scoffed Raphaëlle. “And such a short time ago you hated him. Well, just be careful. I wish Margot were here.”

  Bertrande entered. “Mademoiselle, Monsieur Imbert is preparing to depart. He has other Cathar castles to conquer. Sir Martin desires to speak with you.”

  The door opened wider as Sir Martin strode across the room to her, staring into her face. “My Lady, Sir Jacques d'Orly is to be given charge of this castle, for the Lord Imbert must depart. Lord Imbert wishes Orly to marry you.” He paused with a short intake of breath. “Orly wishes it as well.”

  Raphaëlle met his look with wide eyes, being as much stunned by the intensity of Martin's regard as by his proposal on behalf of the Sieur d'Orly. She found her voice after several long moments had passed. “To marry me? Why?”

  “Because you yourself are quite a worthy prize of war, with your lands, wealth, and beauty. You are your uncle's heir, since Raymond is a heretic and thus disinherited under the law. Orly wishes the marriage to be solemnized in the spring, or as soon as it can be determined that you are legally free of your betrothal to Raymond.” She put her hand upon his arm. There was a slight tremor beneath his sleeve of chain mail.

  “Sir Martin, what do you say? Do you advise me to marry Monsieur d'Orly? I know little of him, except that his father and mine were acquainted.”

  His voice was detached, but in his deepest being she intuited ferment. “It is not for me to counsel you, Raphaëlle. You yourself must choose. However, if you were my sister, I would bid you wed with him.” He gently moved his arm away, while severing his gaze from hers. Although she experienced a rush of emptiness, she held herself ver
y straight, lifting her chin.

  “Very well,” she said, firmly. “Please, Sir Martin, convey to the Sieur d'Orly my willingness to accept his proposal.”

  In a few days word came from the local bishop that the betrothal with Raymond was legally void. In a simple ceremony on St. Andrew’s Day, Sir Jacques presented her with a bracelet of gold and pearls as a token of his troth, and the marriage contract was signed in the presence of Père André, who blessed them. As winter set in, she did not see much of the man whom she was to marry; when she did, he was courteous but distant. She noticed he had few good words to say about Sir Martin.

  “Sir Martin is a renowned warrior,” said Jacques one chilly morning as they were riding to Mass in the village. Sir Martin had cantered on ahead. “Even in Paris they recount stories of his courage and deeds of valor. But I do not trust him with women. He has a bad reputation in that regard. And I cannot help but notice his attentions to young Bertrande.”

  “To Bertrande?” asked Raphaëlle, wincing as if from a pinprick.

  “Yes,” said Jacques, looking straight ahead. “Sir Martin seems to be quite fond of her; Bertrande is visibly besotted with him. I worry that he might try to make her his doxy.”

  “If you say so, Monsieur,” said Raphaëlle. “I myself have not observed anything more than fraternal solicitude in Sir Martin's kindnesses to Bertrande.”

  “Well, I have. And I think myself to be a bit more astute in such matters than you.” Raphaëlle did not reply. “At any rate, it is my duty to protect the virtue of the women of my household,” he continued. “Bertrande is a pious maiden. I should like to furnish her with a dowry so that she may enter a nunnery, if she wishes, or marry a good man. In the meantime, I do not wish to see her seduced.” Raphaëlle fell silent. She wondered. Perhaps she was only imagining Sir Martin’s attentions to herself, his fond looks. Or perhaps he was trying to distract everyone from his interest in Bertrande.