The Song of the Troubadour

by Stephanie Cook

  “Enough,” said Azalais. “You have destroyed much of my faith in you, Constance. Do not make it worse with lies.”

  Azalais turned and marched back to the house. Constance dropped her basket of poppies and rosemary and started to cry, tears of anger and frustration and fear.

  Bernard

  Monday, August 3, 1209, night

  “I do not understand why we must lie,” said Guillaume.

  “We have been through this before,” Bernard said, with a sigh.

  “But, I was sure that if I had spoken the truth to the heretic girl, she would have seen the error of her ways. I could have saved another soul from damnation. Instead we lie and deceive. What example are we to these lost souls?” asked Guillaume.

  “You concern me, brother,” I said. “I worry that your concern about that heretic girl is not about her soul, but about her evil, lustful body.”

  Guillaume stopped and turned on me.

  “Do not speak of what you do not know, brother,” he said. “For I have spent several days in the company of these heretic women and, though they may be misguided, they have lives of purity similar to those of our most holy sister nuns.”

  I laughed and Guillaume stiffened.

  “For surely you have been ensnared by this Jezebel, to even think of comparing her to a bride of Christ. You are close to blasphemy, Guillaume, and I will be sure that our Father Abbot knows about this sin of yours,” I said. “But, I want you to know that I blame myself. For surely my thirst for knowledge with which to fight these heretics led me to place your soul in jeopardy. Now, be quiet Guillaume, we don't want to arouse the attention of the guards.”

  Guillaume and I were making our way through the darkened city to the tavern to relay my latest message to our Father Abbot. I was less fearful of the guards tonight because the city streets were crowded with refugees from the Bourg. How I had watched with joy today as these heretics fled from our righteous might! I still shivered when I remembered the power of our monks chanting voices propelling our mighty warriors on to victory.

  But all was not yet won. We still had work to do. And now I had an added worry - Guillaume seemed to be slipping in his faith, first questioning our mission, given to us by our most Holy Father Abbot, and then falling prey to the charms of this wicked woman.

  We soon reached the tavern. Flickering light illuminated two bodies in an open window on the second floor. A whore practiced her trade, but all we could see were her naked legs under the bucking body of a man with his tunic raised above his waist. The man suddenly stopped and, with one hand, reached over and shut the window. I looked over at Guillaume's pale face, for I was sure he had never seen an act of fornication, other than the mating of the sheep and goats in the spring time.

  “You take me here, and yet you call those heretic women whores?” said Guillaume, his face a mask of disbelieving anger.

  “It is not for you to question the mysterious ways of the Lord, Guillaume,” I patiently said. “Do not forget your humility. Do you dare to think yourself worthy of judging our Father Abbot?”

  “No, of course not,” said Guillaume. He shook his head, as if to dispel the disturbing scene we had just witnessed from his mind.

  I felt a rush of affection for the boy that I had not felt for years. I remembered him as a child, so gentle and pure. His mere presence would bring a smile to the face of even the oldest, most dour monk in the Abbey. I reminded myself that I must remember his youth and naïve nature and be gentler with him.

  “Guillaume,” I said. “The world is full of many things that are evil. There are some times when this evil must be used, bended, to serve a greater, more good and full purpose. It is only for the very wise to know when to do this. This is why we must trust our Father Abbot. For truly, he has a vision such that the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ will reign on this earth. He wants what you do. To save all the souls of these poor heretics. But, sometimes people are weak; they need a strong hand to guide them. This heretic girl and all the others like her will continue to live in sin and misery while their leaders continue to deceive them and lead them away from the one, true way. We must be strong to overcome the evil that is here and to create a new society where the righteous shall flourish and where the sinners can be redeemed.”

  “Guillaume, you are young and pure of heart. It may seem to you that we break the very laws of righteousness that we proclaim in order to save these souls, but know that this is because we must do so. We must fight these evildoers using all the weapons at our disposal. This is a battle for souls and we cannot let this heresy spread any farther. There is a time to fight and it is now.”

  Guillaume nodded. I could see that he understood the deadly battle we faced and what we must do. I grabbed his arm and pulled him into the entrance of the tavern. I looked around, but did not see the burly man with the scar who took my message last time. I went back to the bar to talk to the old hag who poured wine from wooden barrels, dragging Guillaume behind me. I wondered about my wisdom in bringing Guillaume to this place. He stared around with horror and we were beginning to attract some threatening stares from the idolaters and drunken fornicators who populated the place. The old hag stared at me coldly and then took a long look at Guillaume.

  “So you brought your pretty boy, this time, did you?” the old crone said. “I must admit, he's certainly lovelier than anything we've got for sale here.” She cackled and tried to run her hand on Guillaume's cheek, but he jumped back, startled.

  “He is my brother, you wicked vixen,” I said. “If you do not want to be slapped, I suggest that you quickly find the man I came to do business with and bring him to us.”

  She gave Guillaume a long, searching look that made him blush a violent pink and then went to the back room. She emerged a few minutes later with the scar-faced man. He glanced at Guillaume and spat in disgust on the floor. Nonetheless, he beckoned for us to follow him.

  We descended into the bowels of the building as we had done the last time. I prayed that the Father Abbot's contact on the outside had seen fit to pay the man the blackmail he had requested. I did not know whether we were descending to pass another message, as last time, or to be turned over to the Viscount's guards. I had brought Guillaume with me because he was young and strong, and much taller than I, but now I wondered if I had been foolish to ensnare him with me. At least, had he not come with me, he could continue our work. But, I then just as suddenly knew that I was right to keep him with me. For Guillaume was weak and easily swayed. Far better that he stayed with me, whatever the risks to his physical body, than to court the risks to his eternal soul that he would encounter without my guidance.

  The slanting hallway and steps were even clammier than I remembered and I felt a sweat break out on my back, chilling in me in the cool underground air. Finally, we reached the room filled with smugglers' good where I had last encountered the scar-faced man.

  “You fool,” bellowed the man, as soon as we had entered the room and he had closed the door. “As if I do not take enough of a risk dealing with your obvious incompetence, you bring along a boy as well!”

  Guillaume stiffened, his pride injured, but he said nothing.

  “Have you no concept of stealth? No idea of the risks we run here?” said the man. “Surely, you cannot be so stupid, so you must feel yourself invincible. You're a priest, aren't you? That would explain a few things.”

  The man chuckled to himself.

  “Never have I worked with such an amateur. Well, at least your master puts a high price on your abilities, for whatever delusional reasons that would be. He paid to keep you out of the Viscount's hands, but I do believe my price just went up. My risk has doubled with the two of you imbeciles involved and I want to be compensated.” said the man. “This time ask for ten times my original price. For now that I know that you have the wealth of the monks behind you, I plan to profit even more for the risks I take.”

  I took a deep breath of relief, even though I had been sure our Father A
bbot would care for me. I only hoped that he would be able to honor this next request.

  DAY 4 OF THE SIEGE OF CARCASSONNE

  Tuesday, August 4, 1209

  Trencavel

  Tuesday, August 4, morning

  This time they listened to Bertrand of Saissac. And this time they were ready.

  Trencavel waited at dawn on the walls of the Castellar. They were taking a risk, concentrating their forces here in this southern suburb, but since the loss of the river, the only fresh water available to the city of Carcassonne came from the Fontgrande spring inside the walls of the Castellar. For once, most of Trencavel’s knights had agreed on something. After yesterday's taking of the Bourg, the Crusaders would next try to take the Castellar. But this time the defenders would fight back with everything they had.

  The morning was still quiet and cool, as Trencavel looked out over the river towards the Crusaders' camp. He could see the black-cloaked monks beginning to drift towards the river bank and knew that the peaceful quiet of the morning would soon be shattered.

  The chanting started off quietly, but grew in force as more monks joined the choir at the bank. Soon, hundreds were gathered and the deep voices reverberated off the mountains behind and in front of them, causing strange echoes. Trencavel shivered, in spite of himself. He was glad to feel the warmth of the sun on his back, as it popped from the mountains behind him, blanketing the valley in a warm glow and presaging the heat of the day to come.

  Trencavel stood on the parapet of the wall and looked behind him. They had moved most of the city's soldiers into the suburb last night, leaving a skeleton force manning the walls of the city proper. But, the Crusaders would not know that. They would assume the Castellar to be as lightly defended as the Bourg and would expect another victory. Trencavel planned to make sure that did not happen. The Castellar's walls had been recently reinforced with stone from the cathedral and massive piles of stones stood near mangonels, ready to be thrown over onto the attackers. Crossbowmen stood just out of view on the suburb's walls, ready to run to the tops of the parapets and rain down bolts on the Crusaders at the first signal.

  Trencavel walked over to the nearest tower and went inside. Cabaret was standing in front of a narrow slotted opening, gazing at the chanting monks.

  “You must admit that we have no choice,” said Trencavel. “We cannot stand by again while they butcher us.”

  “There are always choices,” said Cabaret. “We will soon know whether you have made the right one.”

  “While we keep the water from the spring, we can hold out, even without the river,” said Trencavel.

  “Why do you work so hard to convince me?” said Cabaret. “Is it because you have not yet convinced yourself?”

  Before Trencavel could respond, he was interrupted by the cry of a guard on the watchtower. The Crusaders were on the attack. Trencavel and Cabaret grabbed their swords and fastened their helmets and returned to the walls.

  The Crusaders again swept up the hill, heading straight for the walls of the Castellar. Knights on horses with fluttering pennants charged towards the walls. When they were close, Trencavel yelled for the bowmen to advance. All of a sudden, the walls of the Castellar were carpeted with archers and crossbowmen. At Trencavel's signal, a deluge of arrows and crossbows flew forth, knocking screaming squires to their feet and lodging in the flesh of stampeding horses. Trencavel gave the order again and another wave hit the Crusaders before they had time to recover from the first attack.

  Still they kept coming. There were so many of them and they were drunk on their easy victory of the day before. They pushed forward until they were in the trenches at the foot of the wall. Infantrymen brought ladders and knights started to climb up. Trencavel turned behind him and bellowed to the women and men at the catapults. Each team was ready, a stockpile of rounded stones next to the machine. Each catapult was armed with a projectile, the tension on the beam at the breaking point. Trencavel raised his sword and the catapults all let loose at once. The stones fell as rain on the attackers. Many landed on the earth with only a dull thud, but many more hit the Crusaders in the trenches, pinning horses and men to the ground as they screamed in agony.

  Bertrand de Saissac shouted a battle cry and the men at his side poured down burning arrows on the Crusaders trapped in the ditch. Trencavel could sense the excitement in the air. They were beating them back. Even Cabaret fought with the vigor of a much younger man, as he mowed down one of the few knights to breach the wall. Trencavel turned again to his catapults. The teams were working feverishly to crank down the beams and reload the catapults. Trencavel waited until they were ready and ordered another devastating launch.

  More Crusaders fell in the trenches. Trencavel could smell their blood and guts in the morning breeze and the smell of burning human flesh. He had never felt more alive.

  Bernard

  Tuesday, August 4, morning

  I was sickened. My God, my God, why has thou forsaken us? All around me our most noble and blessed soldiers of the army of God were falling, felled by the arrows and stones of these heretic dogs. And I could do nothing.

  Why, oh why did they not listen to me? I had sent scrupulous information about the weakness of the walls of this suburb. I had worked on it with my own hands and still they did not listen. I felt as if I were the prophet crying in the wilderness.

  They attacked instead with the boldness of men who do not listen to the counsels of God and his emissaries here on earth. And they were paying for it with their blood.

  I stood on the ramparts of the Castellar suburb watching the slaughter of our men and the cheers all around me and knew the deepest desperation. Though it tortured my soul to do so, I had lifted my own hands against the Crusaders. I felt the stain of treason, but I knew that I could not do otherwise without revealing my role here. The mason had come for us to help in the defense of the Castellar. Guillaume had disappeared, whispering to me the words “Blessed are the peacemakers,” and I had been forced to make excuses for his still lingering injury to his head. In fact, it seemed to me that he had injured something more than his mind in that accident. For he was almost no longer recognizable as himself. He was willful and disobedient and constantly questioning. I would be sure that he received proper discipline from the Father Abbot when we returned to the abbey.

  So, I had gone myself with the mason and his heretical workers and brought them stones that they then threw down on the heads of our most loyal Crusaders.

  “Don't you want your revenge, boy?” asked the mason, as he handed me a rock.

  While the men screamed “Remember Béziers!” I dropped the stone, praying that it would not hit the blessed head of even one of our noble Crusaders. Fortunately, it bounced off the walls of the Castellar and fell harmlessly to the ditch below.

  “Well, we won't waste any more on you, boy,” said the mason. “But we'll remember Béziers for you, just keep bringing us those stones.”

  I worked in the blazing sun, praying for forgiveness with every step I took. I tried to feign the joy the others showed as Crusader after Crusader fell in the ditches, but I could not. Fortunately, the mason thought I was remembering the deaths of my family at Béziers and thought nothing of my gloom.

  I watched as the Crusaders began to pull back, realizing that their defeat this day was final, when I saw a most brave and inspiring sight. One knight lay wounded in the ditch right beneath me, his leg broken. The other knights were pulling back, but one came back. Under the firestorm of bombardment and arrows, this one brave Crusader risked his own life to save the life of the injured knight. He dragged him back to safety to loud cheers on his side. I could see that even the craven coward heretics on whose side I unwillingly fought were impressed with the bravery of this Crusader.

  We might have lost today, I thought, but let this brave action be a lesson to these cowardly heretic dogs. Those who fight on the Lord's side have right and might on their side. This was only a small setback to these great warriors of C
hrist, one designed to test their faith. They would pass the test and we would achieve victory. I resolved to work even harder at my appointed tasks and to do all I could, no matter the risk to my life, to win this battle for the Lord.

  Gauda

  Tuesday, August 4, 1209, evening

  I had tried to cheer with joy with all the others as our knights and soldiers destroyed the enemy today and drove them away from our walls, but I felt only fear in my heart. The Crusaders would now want vengeance for their slain comrades. Our knights would be drunk on their victory and would not give up easily. I doubted we could negotiate a truce now. I did not know if I would be alive to claim my rewards from the Count of Toulouse, were he to emerge on the victorious side of this siege.

  Still, I thought, I must act the role of joyous celebrant, for we would feast tonight and I dared not betray myself. I composed my face into a smile as I entered Agnes' chamber. True celibate or not, I knew that Agnes would want to be arrayed in all her finery for tonight's rejoicings.

  Agnes sat in front of her mirror, idly gazing at her face. She turned to face me when she heard me enter the room.

  “Gauda, what took you so long?”

  I ignored her whining voice and simply walked over to the trunk that held her fine clothes. I pulled out a silk chemise and gently touched the soft fabric.

  “I will be responded to when I address you, cousin,” said Agnes.

  “Please forgive me, Countess,” I said. “I was searching for your best chemise.”

  Agnes frowned, but I sat down next to her anyway and unstitched the sleeves on her simple cotton tunic. She raised her hands so that I could remove it. Underneath, she wore a linen chemise. It was stained and smelled a bit strongly of an earthy smell, but I knew not what. Agnes saw that I noticed and blushed, but she said nothing. I quickly removed the chemise and left it for the maids to wash. I held out the silk chemise, and Agnes raised her hands over her head. I placed the chemise over her head.