The Song of the Troubadour

by Stephanie Cook

  But instead of leaving the city Constance stopped in the courtyard. Everywhere was confusion. Knights stood talking to the horses they would have to leave behind. Archers streamed off the walls of the city, leaving their bows cluttering the ground. In the far corner of the courtyard, prisoners slowly moved out of door that must lead to the depths of the castle. Some were still in chains. All were blinking in the hot sun. Finally, Constance saw three figures that she barely recognized. She called out and the mason looked up and came over to her, as fast as he could, his feet chained together. The two brothers saw her, but they turned to each other, speaking heatedly.

  “My family,” said the mason, his voice creaking with thirst. “What happened to them?”

  “I am so sorry,” said Constance. “They are gone. All except your wife, who is mad, and little Aude.”

  The mason's face crumbled.

  “My wife hates me now,” said the mason. “I know she will never talk to me again. Damn those filthy lying priests to corrupt her so. She was once a kind woman, hard-working and a joy. She is now dead to me. And what of Aude?”

  “I could not leave her with Beatritz. I feared what she would do, so I have left her with the good women. They will take her to Toulouse and take good care of her.”

  “That is more than I can do for her now,” said the mason. “I have nothing, not even my tools. Not even my good name.”

  “What will you do?” asked Constance.

  “I will fight these bastards until they leave our lands or until I die,” said the mason. “If you see my little girl again, tell her I love her and I will come for her someday when we are free again.”

  They heard the clanking of iron on an anvil and the mason looked up. In the confusion, the prisoners were using the abandoned blacksmiths' tools in the courtyard to remove their chains.

  “I must go, Constance,” said the mason.

  Constance watched him walk away and join the others waiting anxiously to be free of their chains. Already the streets of the city were starting to empty and Constance could see across the opened drawbridge that the Crusaders were beginning their march towards the city gates, the Abbot and his monks leading the slow procession, chanting and burning incense. She would have to leave, for she had no intention of remaining behind when the soldiers entered the city. Constance looked again at Bernard and Guillaume and started walking quickly to the open drawbridge. When she reached the gate, she turned back one last time to look. Bernard and Guillaume were still arguing, but finally Guillaume turned away. He looked at Constance. She stood still.

  Guillaume walked towards her.

  EPILOGUE

  Bernard

  September 1, 1209

  I find that I sing the words of the psalmist much these days for there is much joy in my heart. “I will praise the Lord at all times; his praise will always be on my lips. My soul will boast in the Lord, let the afflicted hear and rejoice. I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears.”

  It is as it was written. For a leader rules in righteousness and the eyes of those who will see are no longer closed and the ears of those who hear now listen. The city of Carcassonne is free of the stain of heresy and is like unto a shining city on a hill. The blasphemous Viscount Trencavel is chained in his own dungeon! A true warrior of Christ now is lord of this city and these lands. The Viscount Simon de Montfort is a man so honorable in his strength, so firm in his beliefs, and yet so humble, as befits the truly blessed. The Abbot Arnold, together with the Count of Nevers and the Duke of Burgundy, had to beg Simon de Montfort to take this burden. The noble lord refused, claiming to be unworthy of the honor (when there was never a more worthy man than he!), but finally succumbed to the authority of the most Holy Father in Rome, as passed through his legate here, Abbot Arnold. I count myself doubly blessed, for I saw this great warrior of Christ perform one of his many heroic deeds. Lo, the day that I watched a brave knight rescue a fallen comrade from the walls of the city and marveled at his bravery and his strength, I did not know it, but it was the great Simon de Montfort!

  So, I remain here in Carcassonne, a city now full of grace and joy. The cathedral rings with the sounds of the monks chanting. The streets are now filled with those who speak the Northern tongue, which I am quickly learning to understand, harsh and ugly as it is. The noble Lords and knights are all now returning to their homes in the north, their forty days of service for the Cross fulfilled, their ears deaf to the righteous pleas of my Lord Abbot to stay and finish the fight. For truly, were this magnificent army of thousands upon thousands to stay but a little while longer and finish the task of conquest and salvation it had started, this whole land would be under the control of the Crusaders and made free of the blot of heresy in but a blink of an eye. But, even as I chafe at this injustice, I marvel at the magnificence of heaven. For surely, the most powerful almighty could have subdued these lands with his forces quickly and completely. But, in his most infinite justice and mercy, the Lord has decreed that this conquest will go slowly so that the heretics have time to confess their sins and reach a state of grace. For the longer this war lasts, the more souls can be saved! Oh, blessed, merciful God, infinite in his wisdom!

  So the magnificent warrior Viscount de Montfort and his loyal followers remain to keep this land safe for the one true faith, whatever the price they must pay in leaving their own homes unprotected. Their task is great, for many enemies remain. Though, I must admit that many of the other Crusaders who have stayed behind, I find to be villains of the lowest order - criminals, prostitutes, and mountebanks. But I caution myself to have patience for even our Lord Jesus Christ consorted with the Magdalene, and these Christians are the ones who most deserve the attention of those who have been blessed with greater faith.

  I caution myself much these days, for my sins weigh heavily on my soul, though I finally received absolution as soon as I escaped from the city and found my way back to the Abbot Arnold's camp. It is a blessed glory to see the Lord of Montfort installed as Viscount of these lands and I know that my actions played a small part in that wondrous event. I think of how many souls will be saved by the Viscount Montfort as he rids this land of the scourge of heresy. But, yet I feel unsettled. For what of the mason and all the others who have fled the city? How will we reach them and save their souls?

  I worry that my Lord Abbot concerns himself too much with the things of this world and not enough with the things of the next. I hear much of the young Spanish priest called Dominic Guzman who has wandered these lands, preaching barefoot and begging for alms, concerned only with the souls of his listeners. I went looking for him in Prouille, where he has a convent for woman blessedly converted away from the houses of heretic women. I did not find him, for he was out spreading the most joyous word. I did, however, see the mason's wife, living a life of prayer, fasting, and reclusion for her many sins. I blessed her, but she did not speak to me. Apparently, she speaks to no one.

  Maybe Dominic will help me save the soul of my brother, Guillaume, for I fear that he is lost to us and that his soul would rot in hell for all eternity were he to die unshriven at this moment. Guillaume, most loyal brother monk, has fallen for the foul heretic girl, that Eve wrapped in her serpent and offering the apple. He claims they live in a state of pure chastity. He claims they search together for the true path to salvation, but I know it all to be falsehoods. I know he lies with her and spills his seed into her foul body, a mockery of the temple of the Lord. I see them fornicating in my mind and I know what evil she is. But now I cannot even find my brother to try to save him. There were living in a small village nearby, but when the Viscount Montfort went to set the inhabitants free from their heretical overlord, we arrived to find the village deserted.

  But know this. I will find my brother and save him. I am my brother's keeper and I will always be.

  Gauda

  November 1209

  I sit now at the head of the table in the great hall where my father once sat, the fire r
oaring behind me and the remains of a great feast spread in front of me. Musicians play and sing and I hear drunken laughter from the men and women seated around my tables. It is all as I imagined it and yet it is not. For the land is at war. Though we are not yet touched here in the lands under the control of the Count of Toulouse, thanks to his wise and rather convenient decision to take the cross and join the Crusaders, I wonder how long it will last.

  It is odd how one behaves when one is sure to die, but unexpectedly finds oneself living. The guards came for me at the house of good women, as I expected. But they treated me with deference and, in my surprise, I said nothing, only stopping to kiss the cheek of Eleanor as I left with them. They placed me in a locked room in the castle, but it was comfortably furnished and food and water was brought to me. I waited for what seemed an eternity, sure that every footstep I heard was that of my executioner. But nothing happened. There was no window, so I could not tell how much time had passed, but eventually a guard came to unlock the room. He was a man I had never seen before and he told me only to leave with only the clothes on my back. I did not stop to question him.

  When I came out in the light of day I saw the city disgorging its citizens into the valleys around. The siege had ended, though I did not know how, and we were not to be massacred. I followed the tide of the broken and wretched and almost naked towards Toulouse. When I arrived in that city, I looked for many days until I found the house of good women where Eleanor and the others had been taken in. Even though they were crowded with refugees, they let me stay. I lived with the women for a month and Eleanor offered to give me the consolamentum so I could join them. I thought about it for I had grown quite fond of the little girl Aude, whom I imagined to be like the daughter I was never blessed with. But I never did join them. Something else seemed to be waiting for me and I remembered Azalais' final words to me and I would not betray her commands.

  One day, I heard that the Count of Toulouse had come back to his city. I went to Toulouse and waited in line with all the other supplicants. I waited a long time, but the Count kept his word and I was given my reward for my services. When I came with the Count's men to reclaim my castle and lands from my hateful stepsons, I expected to feel the sweetest revenge and joy as I watched them driven away from my castle. Instead, I felt nothing. It was good to have my lands back and my father's old servants were glad to see me and made me feel most welcome in my old home. I checked accounts and saw the villagers, performing the same tasks I used to perform every day before my husband's death, but it was all hollow.

  Only a week ago, I received word that the Viscount Trencavel has died, a prisoner in his own castle. They say it was of the flux. I knew Trencavel better than most and I cannot believe that such a healthy, vibrant young man is dead like that. After he was taken, we all thought it would only be a matter of time until he could be ransomed. Pierre Bermond, sick with guilt at his unwilling role in the treacherous betrayal, had collected vast stores of coin and treasure, enough to pay the ransom of a king. We all thought Trencavel would come back to reclaim his rightful lands from this usurper from the north. They call him Simon de Montfort, but I call him a larcenous second son who knows nothing of honor. To grab a lord who comes to parley under a safe conduct, steal his lands, and lock him in his own prison? And then to poison him before he could be ransomed? These northerners disinherit all their sons, save the first, and everyone else must pay the price, as their second and third sons storm far-away lands, burning vineyards and fields and stealing titles they do not own. I don't know why I feel this, but I hope that Trencavel never believed that I had betrayed him and that if he thought of me before he died, it was only to think of the music I played for him.

  Agnes must mourn him, though she is safe and cared for. I think even the King of France was shocked and alarmed at what his vassals did there in Carcassonne. For to strip a man of his feudal rights and lands in such a manner threatens to shake the very foundations of our society. So Agnes is provided for by the King of France. I only hope she is able to find peace. Their young son, the last Trencavel, is safe in the mountains with the Count of Foix. He is only two, but maybe he will be a hope one day for this land, if we can ever get rid of these usurpers.

  The Lord of Cabaret continues the fight, from his three fortresses perched high in the mountains above Carcassonne. I am sure that Bertrand de Saissac would be there with him, but the old warrior died shortly after the end of the siege. The Crusaders came to take his castle only weeks after they had taken Carcassonne and he died soon after, his body no match for his rotting wounds and his broken spirit. But, there is hope. Now that the thousands of Crusaders who came only for their forty days of service are gone, Montfort and his men are weak. For every town they take, three renounce his sovereignty and vow to fight against him. The winter will be a long one for Montfort, but I fear that the summer will bring more second sons from the north, butchers anxious to escape their debts and fight for what they think will give them a straight shot at heaven.

  But for now, at least, I am safe here in my castle. I listen to the sweet music and let myself feel peace. For I know that Azalais’ words are right, one loses much more rapidly than one wins.

  Acknowledgements

  I have been lucky to have a wonderful, large, and supportive family. I thank you all, especially Edna Malik, my grandmother, who taught me to love books, and my parents, Walter and Margaret Cook, who always believed in me.

  I would like to thank my friends and family who read the first draft of the novel and provided valuable feedback or helped out in other important ways: Emmanuelle Bresson, Kathleen Callaway, Elizabeth Cook, Fred Cook, Jane Cook, Margaret Cook, Walter Cook, Kate Donohue, Anouk Lavoie Orlick, Tony Hayward, Ellyn Hill, Nannette Kye, Neus Lorenzo, Manuela Luchtmeijer, Edna Malik, and Linda Menache.

  The lovely cover design is by Elizabeth Cook and the title was suggested to me by Walter Cook. I would like to thank Erik Pezarro for permission to use the author photograph and José Fernando Alvarez for the cover photographs.

  Dr. Franklin W. Knight, Dr. A.J.R. Russell-Wood, Dr. Gabrielle Spiegel, and Dr. Thomas Christopherson instilled in me a love of historical research. Sharyn McCrumb and Sharan Newman provided invaluable advice about the publishing industry.

  Dr Gerard C. J. Lynch was very kind to provide technical information about medieval masonry. I would also like to thank the tour guides at Carcassonne and other Cathar monuments for their assistance. Of course, any errors that remain in the novel are solely my responsibility.

  Finally, a huge thank you to my editor, agent, typesetter, and biggest fan, José Fernando Alvarez. This book would not have been published without his love and support.