At Sens they had a fragment of Moses’s rod; at Saint-Julien in Anjou they had one of Christ’s shoes. He was yet to see either of these marvels, though it was said that a glimpse of just one of these relics might bring a remission of sins amounting to a thousand years in purgatory. If only I had more faith, Philip thought, I might yet save myself a lot of time in the sulphur.
It was right here in this church that she said she saw the Virgin move, he thought, just over there in her little shrine. He lit a taper and approached on his knees, ignoring the ache of the cold stone to concentrate his mind on the divine. He addressed his petition not to God, but to the lady. How much more compelling her image than that of the tortured Christ; she just looked so kind. He idly wondered what the world might be like if more men knelt here like this, instead of shouting their violent demands at the world. Would they as easily watch someone scream and burn for her?
He felt too numb to pray. Instead he just hung his head and whispered two words: Help me.
‘What are you doing here?’
He looked up, startled. ‘Étienne?’
‘I thought you were dead!’
‘Only half-dead.’ He scrambled to his feet, shamed that someone he knew had found him on his knees. He felt like a pauper next to his cousin. The last time he had seen him was when they had dined together at Vercy. Look at him, he thought, in his rich velvet cloak trimmed with marten fur, and his doublet of green silk and gloves of soft calf-leather. And here I am in the same clothes I rode, fought and slept in these last two months.
‘You look half-starved. You are Philip, not his ghost?’
‘If I were Philip’s ghost, I should haunt somewhere warmer.’ They embraced, but Étienne seemed wary, unsure perhaps if Philip in his straitened circumstances might bring him bad luck, or at least a bad reputation.
‘What are you doing here in Toulouse?’ Philip asked him.
‘I have been on pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. I told you I was thinking of it.’
Philip smiled. A gentleman’s pilgrimage by the looks of it, retainers hovering to hold his cloak as he prayed and two men-at-arms to ensure his personage was not jostled by less celebrated penitents. A good horse and good whores, Étienne had said.
‘Let me buy you a cup of wine and some supper. It seems you have need of it.’
*
Étienne shook his head. ‘Look at you! I have seen men in better straits chained to a stake waiting for the executioner. What has happened to you?’
The tavern smelled of wood smoke and spilled beer. A boy brought a jug of vinegary wine and a hock of lamb and half a loaf of rye bread to their table. ‘I have just this morning arrived from the Montagne Noir. I got caught up in the fighting there.’
‘You rode here alone?’
‘I had escort, soldiers loyal to Viscount Trencavel. As soon as we reached the city they returned to the south, and the war.’
‘But how did this happen? Why are you warring down here alone? Your own men-at-arms returned to Vercy without you. They said you were dead.’
‘They left me for dead. A subtle difference but a significant one, don’t you think?’
‘Indeed.’ Étienne drained his goblet of wine and grimaced as if he had just swallowed ditch water. Étienne’s bully boys threw out two ruffians who had ventured too close to their table. This was the way to do pilgrimage, Philip thought. No shuffling bare-legged through the ambulatory and sleeping in fields for Étienne. ‘But I must tell you, cousin, that life is more of a problem for me than death. I fear I may be excommunicate.’
‘Yes, the whole of Burgundy is alive with rumour. They said you killed a crusader.’
‘I may have killed more than one.’
‘Well, no point in half measures.’ And then, in a whisper: ‘Please do not tell me you have been fighting on the side of the heretics?’
‘That was not my intention, though it might appear that way to some.’
Étienne wearily rubbed his face with his hands. ‘Are you out of your mind?’
‘One circumstance led to another. The blood runs hot, cousin.’
Philip could see the play of thoughts on his kinsman’s face; he was wondering what this might mean for Philip’s prospects, and then, of course, his own. A heretic in the family was a hindrance to social or financial advancement.
‘Now I, too, have a confession to make. I lied about my presence here. It was no pilgrimage. I came here looking for you.’
‘For me?’
‘You are kin. And that sergeant of yours could not lie straight in his own grave. I came down here to make my own enquiries about his story, and I am glad that I did. Now tell me all.’
Philip told him about the skirmish with the crusaders, and how they themselves were ambushed and how Soissons’s soldiers had mutilated Renaut. Étienne shook his head and cursed under his breath. ‘Godfroi and his men shall be held to account for this, I promise you.’
‘What of Giselle?’
‘She complains she is a widow, but I have not seen too much grieving on her part. Her brothers have not been slow to dispute with the Crown for your lands and I believe she already has several suitors. You must return there at once to save the situation.’
That, of course, was the real reason for Étienne’s presence in Toulouse; his family would dispute the ownership of the Vercy fief with the King’s lawyers should he not return.
Étienne leaned in. ‘Is it true you came here looking for a wise woman to heal your son?’
‘Yes, it’s true.’
His cousin frowned. ‘Well, no one should slander you for trying to save your boy, by whatever means.’ But there was something else on his mind. ‘Did you ever think . . . there were rumours, you know. About your boy.’
‘What rumours?’
‘That Giselle was jealous that you already had a son by another woman and that she poisoned him.’
It had never occurred to Philip before, but he dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. ‘People talk. I cannot believe she has it in her to do such a thing.’
‘Are you sure?’
No, now Etienne had raised the suspicion, he was not sure. But what did it matter now? What was done was done. ‘It’s too late now, anyway,’ he said.
Étienne gripped the neck of his goblet as if he was throttling a small bird, his knuckles white. He took another gulp of it and spat it on the floor. ‘Dog’s piss!’ He took hold of Philip’s arm. ‘Now look, you must act, and act quickly.’
‘What would you suggest?’
‘Do as the Count of Toulouse did when the Church threatened him. Make a big play of switching sides.’
‘To what effect?’
‘Wear the cross again, Philip.’
‘If I ride alone into the Montagne Noir with a red cross on my surcoat I will not live to see the sun set. The place is alive with bandits and Cathars. I heard fifty of de Montfort’s men were ambushed near Cabaret.’
‘Then go back at the head of an army.’
Philip considered this strange proposal, picking at a tear in his sleeve. ‘You know of one for hire?’
‘Did you see the battle today, in the bourg? The ones with the white crosses sewn on their tunics are a private Catholic army paid for by the Bishop. He is talking of sending them south to reinforce de Montfort. What if you were to lead them?’
Philip laughed at the audacity of his cousin’s suggestion. ‘Did you think of that just as we were sitting here?’
‘The Bishop and the Count have been at each other’s throats for years. Now Raymond has gone to Paris the Bishop has become even more vociferous. All you have to do is convince him that you have seen your error and wish for redemption. When you go back to the war you don’t have to fight too hard, just make a big show of it to forestall any interdict against you, then you can come home, put your bitch of a wife in a nunnery, throw her brothers into the moat and resume your life. As God intended!’
‘You think it will work?’
�
��It worked for the Count. They say the Pope is fattening peacocks and having his jeweller make gold rings as presents for Raymond’s arrival in Italy. No one loves a prodigal son more than a Catholic.’
Philip laughed again and clapped him on the shoulder. They tossed the wine back at the boy and ordered ale instead. They finished off several jugs and Philip ate a hock of lamb, though he suspected it might be the kind of mutton that once barked and wagged its tail. Then they fell into the street.
Étienne took him to a tailor and bought him a new tunic and hose and a fresh linen shirt, and gave him loan of his favourite fox-lined cloak so that he might make a favourable impression on the Bishop. They spent the night as guests of an acquaintance of Étienne’s, a wealthy wool merchant in the bourg.
The next morning they bade each other farewell; Philip promised to see him back in Burgundy in the spring. Then he made his way to the Bishop’s palace to make his peace with Mother Church.
I am coming back for you. Don’t give up.
XCVI
IT WAS SAID that the Bishop of Toulouse was not as debauched as most; he did not keep pretty boys, or women, he did not hear matins in bed, or play dice, or try to conceal his tonsure by combing the hair from the back of his head forward to cover it. At least that was what they said.
Fulk of Marseilles had been born the son of a rich Genoese merchant, who had the good grace to die early and leave his fortune to his son, who then set to the task of squandering it. He became an itinerant troubadour and practised womanizer, before finally abandoning the good life, and a wife and two sons, for the austerity of life as a monk at the abbey of Le Thoronet. But Fulk was not cut from humble cloth. Ten years later he was appointed the new Bishop of Toulouse after Rome kicked out Count Raymond’s own appointee. By all accounts Fulk had applied himself to the task of becoming the thorn in Raymond’s side with the utmost zeal.
The Bishop received him in a great carved armchair, a lay brother seated at a writing table beside him as notary. There was a white wall behind him with a black wooden cross on it. He wore a fur of sable and the aura of perfumes and burned amber that surrounded him made Philip light-headed.
‘You wished audience with us?’ the Bishop said. Philip looked around the room. There was nowhere to sit. He imagined the insult was a calculated one, and he had no recourse but to endure it.
‘On a spiritual matter,’ Philip said.
‘I have reports of a certain baron from Vercy in Burgundy who made war on our holy crusaders in the Montagne Noir. I hear that his lands may shortly come under interdict because of this. Is this the spiritual matter for which you seek guidance?’
‘I think there has been a misunderstanding, Grandeur. It was never my intent to fight on the side of heresy. It was a personal matter of honour between myself and another man of rich blood.’
‘Did this matter extend to you taking part in the defence of the fortress at Montaillet against God’s holy Host?’
‘I had lost the men-at-arms who had escorted me from Burgundy; I then almost lost my life. I did not take part in the defence of Montaillet; rather, I found myself trapped there.’
The Bishop waved a hand dismissively in the air. ‘These are matters for the ecclesiastical courts.’
‘Indeed, Grandeur. I did not wish to trouble you with it. I came to you instead hoping to atone for my errors and assist your most holy purpose at the same time.’
‘Really? And how might you do that?’
‘Simon de Montfort’s holy crusade faces serious difficulty, as everyone knows.’
‘Nonsense! And it is not de Montfort’s crusade. He is merely the Holy Father’s elect to replace the Trencavels in their seat in the Minervois.’
‘Yet if Count Raymond returns from Rome exonerated, the Holy Father’s position in this will not be quite as clear and de Montfort’s situation will become tenuous.’
‘It is true that the Count of Toulouse thinks that he can play politics with Rome. But His Holiness will see through his game soon enough. This crusade should have been directed against Raymond from the very first, for this is the seat of heresy, not Béziers, and not Carcassonne!’
Good. I have him well exercised now, Philip thought, noting a fleck of foam on the Bishop’s lower lip.
But the Bishop had not yet finished his rant. ‘Raymond joined the crusade and feigned loyalty to the Church to save his own skin. He plays a double game. Trencavel was his enemy but could never defeat him, and so he let us do the job for him! Now he thinks that he will take over the Trencavel lands when our crusaders return home! But this will not stand. The Church knows where its real enemy lies!’
‘Yet there have been setbacks, Grandeur. De Montfort is in dire need of reinforcements.’
‘It is all part of God’s grand design to allow even more northern knights to save their souls by taking the cross.’
‘But God cannot always work such miracles alone, am I right?’
‘Get to your point. Are you here to goad me or to blaspheme?’ He turned to the notary. ‘I hope you’re writing all this down.’
‘Forgive me, Grandeur. I meant no disrespect. Let me tell you why I am here. As I rode into the city I saw a number of men with white crosses sewn on their robes; they were in a bloody mêlée with a band of other men, dressed in black.’
‘The White Brotherhood defends the laws of God in this city. Those they fought are a rabble paid for by Count Raymond.’
‘These Whites, who fought so bravely in the street, would be better employed in Simon de Montfort’s service, would they not?’
‘It has been suggested before. But the logistics of such a plan are not so easily achieved.’
‘Indeed. You would need a knight to organize them and lead them, one who has experience of war and, even better, experience also of the conditions of the war in the south.’
The Bishop frowned and leaned forward. ‘You?’
‘I wish to go home, Grandeur, and claim my life again. I have an interdict from the Church hanging over my head, even though I gave a year of my life in God’s service in the Holy Land. If I offer this service, I hope it will again prove my loyalty to the Church and remove this ban. And serve God’s holy cause also, of course.’
‘It is an interesting proposition. I could spare a hundred men. But how will you get them out of the city? Raymond’s troops are under orders to keep them here.’
‘We would leave at night, by the unwalled suburb to the west. There are no guards there.’
‘I also have victualler’s carts and a siege engine ready for de Montfort’s employ.’
‘They would have to be left behind. I need to ride quickly to avoid the Count’s patrols.’
The Bishop shrugged. ‘A pity. Still, de Montfort would appreciate a hundred good men right now.’
‘And for this I ask only that you write to His Holiness in Rome and ask him to remove the interdict against me. I have been a fool; I see that now. If you will do this for me I will lead your men into the Montagne Noir, as their proud general in the war against the heretics.’
The Bishop put a finger to his lower lip. It made him look wanton. ‘Very well, young man, I graciously accept your offer. Prove yourself to me, and you will live as a free man again, under the beneficent grace of the Church. But one other thing.’
‘Grandeur?’
‘You will need to be scourged, for the good of your soul, you understand. I shall perform the ceremony myself at Saint-Gilles.’
Philip’s fingers went to his throat, found the copper and garnet crucifix that Fabricia had given him. It had worked itself loose from his cambric undershirt. He tucked it away again, out of sight.
He went down on one knee and kissed the fat amber ring on the Bishop’s finger.
‘Whatever you think best, Grandeur,’ he said.
XCVII
SOME YEARS WINTER came slowly to the mountains, Anselm had discovered; it seeped into cracks, silent as frost. But the night he arrived back at Montaillet it came wit
h a rush, glacial winds howling through the pines, followed by a gale of sleet and snow.
The next morning when he woke the entire valley was blanketed in white and the air was so cold it scarified the throat like a razor. Hardened drifts of snow had even found their way into the south transept of the church, where the wall had been damaged during the siege.
He stared up at the roof. There was a long crack in the vault left by a missile stone. ‘Not much I can do to repair it in the winter,’ he told Simon. ‘But you’ll not want that to get worse. I can make a temporary repair with some trusses so that it doesn’t come down, but I’ll need labourers.’
‘You think it might? Come down, I mean.’
‘I won’t know until I can get up there and have a closer look.’
Simon looked around the church. ‘Look what these heretics have done! They even took the saints from the corbels. This is all that is left.’ He pointed to the two stone angels standing guard either side of the apse.
‘Don’t worry, Father. I’ll give you a new church.’ He turned his attention to the priest. ‘How is my daughter?’
‘She has not been harmed.’
‘Can I see her?’
‘I will ask Father Ortiz.’
‘She won’t last long in that rathole where you put her, not in this weather.’
‘Finish your work and she will be released.’
‘My work will take months. I cannot even start on the roof until spring. You will let my poor daughter rot in there until then?’
‘It is up to Father Ortiz,’ Simon told him.
‘She is innocent of any wrongdoing.’
‘She claims miracles for herself.’
‘She says she has seen the Virgin and sometimes she prays for people. Where is the harm in it?’
‘It beggars belief that the Virgin would reveal herself to a mason’s daughter and not to a man of learning and spiritual understanding who could use such a vision for the betterment of all. Paul suffered his own revelation on the road to Damascus and from this came the enlightenment of a great man and the foundation of our Holy Church; if the Lord had instead revealed himself to a shepherdess what good would have come of it?’
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