by Bell, Gradyn
The meal was a protracted one as usual, and it wasn’t long before Guy fell asleep under the bench where they were sitting. Even Amaury was beginning to feel his eyelids pricking with tiredness; however, he was startled into awareness by the mention of his name. He looked towards the high table to see his father beckoning him. His first thought was that Guy had managed to disgrace both himself and Amaury, but a quick look under the bench showed him this couldn’t be the case because the younger boy was fast asleep with his thumb in his mouth.
Simon beckoned him again. Amaury pushed his way through the slavering dogs patiently waiting for table scraps they knew would soon be coming, through the crowds of knights of lesser rank, and past all the retainers standing guard over their lords and ladies. What could his papa want of him? He racked his brain trying to remember if he had done anything to displease his father, but nothing of importance sprang to mind, unless you considered stealing marchpane from the kitchen a crime!
Reaching the high table and remembering his manners, he bowed to the Lord Thibaut and kissed the great crested ring of the papal Legate, Fulques de Neuilly. He looked warily at Simon, but Simon’s face revealed nothing. In front of the high table stood a large carved chest.
“Open it,” Simon said.
Amaury put all his strength into heaving up the heavy lid, but it was solid French oak and he could barely lift it more than a hand span. By this time, everyone was looking at him and the chest with great interest. Amaury tried again, and this time, spurred on by his father, succeeded. The sight that met his eyes caused him to blink and look again. The links of chain mail on the hauberk glinted in the light of the candle in their sconces.
“Go on,” Simon said. “Lift it out.”
Hardly daring to believe his eyes, Amaury withdrew a perfect set of armour, fashioned to fit a boy of his size. He was seized with such a fit of trembling he could hardly talk, let alone try it on. Walter saved the day by running around the table to help him put it on. After a small struggle, Amaury stood proudly in front of his father, not noticing his mother’s tears as she viewed her baby’s first step towards manhood. She knew from this day on that his dependence on her was over.
Simon rapped on the table to gain everyone’s attention. “By your leave, Milord Thibaut, I have something to say to you all, and it concerns my son and heir.” Amaury looked up from admiring his new armour when he heard his name mentioned. “This day week,” Simon continued, “Amaury will set forth to Leicester, where he will go as page to my uncle, the Earl.”
Everyone at the high table applauded. The Earl of Leicester was well known to them all—a powerful lord and a warrior of great distinction.
Amaury was stunned. This was his dream come true, but he hadn’t imagined it could happen so quickly. He looked at his mother, who quickly hid her tears with a brave smile. This was what he had wanted for as long as he could remember, so why didn’t he feel the way he thought he should feel when this time came? He tried to smile when all the young pages crowded round to congratulate him. He was glad when Walter suggested he take off the armour, though. It was heavy!
The rest of the evening was anticlimactic for Amaury. Even the troubadours and their music could not arouse any interest in him. Guy was still fast asleep under one of the trestle tables and had missed most of the evening’s events. Far from joining in all the fun and games, he had kept awake hardly long enough to eat anything! Amaury debated whether or not to leave him where he lay. He looked quite comfortable lying against one of his father’s hounds. Upon reflection, he thought that his mother might not be happy if she found out that her younger son had spent the whole night in the great hall with the dogs and their fleas and those members of the company who were too drunk to find their proper sleeping quarters. So shaking the little boy awake, he dragged him up to the bedchamber where several pages were already asleep. After pushing him with some difficulty into the middle of the bed (even a sleeping four-year-old could be heavy, he discovered), he climbed in beside him and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Chapter Four
Occitania, South of France
1199 AD
The Occitanians
The funeral of Arnaud’s wife took place the day after the visit her parents had made to prepare her for her final resting place. Arnaud had allowed her to be buried according to her Cathar beliefs and those of her family. In truth, he had drawn comfort from the simple goodbye the believers had made to his wife. They had consoled him with their practical kindness and he had been overwhelmed by the help they had offered him at this time of sadness.
A funeral was not a mournful event for those of the Cathar faith. They believed quite firmly that Arnaud’s wife was by now reincarnated into another being and were happy with the thought that she might even inhabit the body of her little daughter. As far as they were concerned, this was no reason for sadness! A family had been found for Maurina in Lavaur, and the baby had already arrived to live with Saissa Boutarra and her husband Pierre, a good-living couple who were also believers. They already had four children of their own, the youngest being but two weeks older than Maurina—a little girl they called Braida—and they hoped the children would grow to be good companions for each other as they grew older.
Arnaud did not know what route his life would take now. The seemingly simple life that had been mapped out with his wife and baby had disappeared, and in its place lay a confusion of mind that would not seem to clear. He knew he could not go back to the house where he and his wife had awaited the birth of their child with such happiness; it held too many memories that he couldn’t face. He dreaded even the thought of entering the dark, empty house that had once been filled with such light.
He was a leather worker by trade and his skills had brought him in a very satisfying wage. True, he smelt rather bad, as human urine and sometimes dog dung or cattle brains were used in producing the leather. His hands were always roughened and stained by the tannic acid used in the first stages of the process. Looking at his hands, which still glowed yellow, he smiled as he remembered his wife’s distress when she had taken his work-hardened hands into her own to rub goose grease into the cracks in his palms. Would he ever return to the camaraderie of the leather workers’ group? He didn’t think so. They were as grand a bunch of fellows as one could wish to meet, but he felt no desire to be anywhere near their jokes now.
Lost in thought, sitting on the small dividing wall that separated his property from the next, he felt rather than saw the approach of Bertrand Arsen, the perfectus who had come when his wife had lain dying. Bertrand’s long black cloak cast a shadow over Arnaud as he approached him from the path behind where the young man sat.
“What will you do now, my boy?” The man’s voice was kind. “Shall you stay here in Ambres, or will you go to Lavaur?”
“I’ll never live in that house again,” he answered vehemently. “I couldn’t bear to enter it. I shall ask my neighbours here to clear it out. As far as I am concerned, it can stand empty or go to ruin for all I care.”
“Perhaps you should dwell on the matter for a while before you make any great decisions. Why not just leave things as they are for now?” Bertrand suggested gently. “I am leaving for Taulat tomorrow; why not accompany me and my friend? It will be an arduous trip through the hills and the track is rough and rocky on foot, but you look healthy enough to me. It would take your mind off things.” He waited for Arnaud’s reply.
Unbeknown to Armaud, Bertrand was one of the bishops of the Cathar church. There was no pomp and ceremony in this church. The only thing that set the bishops and their helpers apart from other believers was their dress, which consisted of a simple black cloak over a black tunic around which they wore a black girdle. They wore sturdy sandals or clogs on their feet because they walked virtually everywhere. The terrain in which they did their preaching was often mountainous and it required great stamina to clamber over rocks and through fast-moving streams where there was no ford. Good sturdy footwear could make a d
ifference between life and death, especially in the inhospitable winters of the lower Pyrenees where they oft times ventured.
Arnaud took only a few seconds to consider his reply. It was just what he needed—a complete change of scenery. He had never been as far away as Taulat before, and, in fact, knew little of the small community that lay over the mountains. It would be an adventure of sorts, and would give him something else to think about other than his dead wife.
“I should like to accompany you. Thank you for asking me.” Arnaud’s voice was tearful and filled with emotion. Since his wife’s death, even the smallest measure of kindness had this effect on him.
“Good.” Bertrand’s voice was brisk. “Shall we say tomorrow at dawn? We will need to get as full a day’s walking as possible. I wish to be in Taulat within two days, if possible.” With that, he stood up from where he had been stooping next to Arnaud, patted him on the shoulder and left the way he had arrived.
Arnaud’s trip back into Lavaur where the Boutarras lived took him the best part of the day. He found the baby Maurina was already well ensconced, surrounded as she was by three older children of the family who were delighted with the new arrival. The girls had quarrelled bitterly over taking care of Braida, their own new baby sister. Now they had another baby to share!
“Have you eaten to-day?” asked Saissa. “By the looks of you I should say you haven’t!”
“Come, sit down near the fire and join us. We were just about to eat.” Pierre motioned him towards the table.
Arnaud had not noticed the darkening sky or the passing of time, nor had he realised how hungry he was. Thinking about it, he could not remember the last time he had eaten anything substantial. It must have been before the baby was born.
“Thank you, Pierre.” Arnaud sat down on the bench that ran the length of the large room. Although the food was not rich, there was lots of it. Saissa could make a banquet out of a lettuce leaf and a stick of celery, Pierre had often said to anyone who would listen. The bread she made was white and of good quality, too, witness to the fine flour that he brought home from the mill where he worked.
“I am to leave tomorrow morning with Bertrand,” Arnaud began. “We are going to Taulat with one of his friends.”
What Arnaud had no way of knowing at that time was that this “friend” was Bertrand’s assistant and an elder or bishop in the Cathar church. Indeed, at Bertrand’s death, the “friend” would move up to become a bishop in Bertrand’s place. What Arnaud had also not realized was that on the trip, no meat would pass his companions’ lips, as the two of them were perfecti, or “perfects” who had received the consolamentum of the living and were now expected to lead perfect lives as judged by Cathar belief. They would therefore touch no food that they judged to be contaminated by any sexual act in its production.
Saissa exchanged a glance with Pierre. Being believers, but not perfecti, both of them knew that a hungry trip lay ahead for Arnaud.
“Eat up. Here, have some more,” Pierre said, passing the steaming pot to Arnaud.
Regretfully, Arnaud had to decline. His stomach was already distended from the amount he had eaten and he could eat no more.
“I shall make you something to eat on the trip. Perhaps a nice sausage or some cheese,” Saissa said. Arnaud tried to protest but finally gave up when he saw she was intent on doing what she had said.
Dawn the next day appeared only too quickly. Arnaud felt he could sleep forever but reluctantly pulled himself from the palliasse in front of the fire where he had spent the night in the Boutarras’ house. Tiptoeing over to the baby Maurina who was sleeping the untroubled sleep of a newborn, he kissed her lightly on her forehead before letting himself out the door. As he set out towards the southern gate of Lavaur to meet the others, the sun was just beginning to show its face on the eastern horizon.
It was not long before he saw the two people he was to meet. He was surprised to see them both dressed in the dark cloak and tunic of the Cathars. Although he knew little of his wife’s religion, he knew enough to recognize that these were more than ordinary believers. They had asceticism about them that the everyday credentes did not. He had heard that the goodmen, as the perfecti were called by the non-believers, were so pure they never even went near a female unless it was to give the consolamentum for the dying. He did not know how true this was; it might have been merely gossip. It certainly seemed strange to him that a man ,unless he had taken a vow of chastity as the priests he knew did, would elect to live his life apart from a woman. Still, it takes all sorts to make the world, he thought as he went forward to greet the small company.
Both Bertrand and his companion welcomed Arnaud warmly and it wasn’t long before Arnaud felt as though he had known them both for years. They spoke of many things that touched the young man deeply, still suffering as he was from the blow of his great loss. They had brought with them a book from which to read as they walked along. Bertrand told Arnaud it was the Gospel of St. John, a part of the Bible with which Arnaud was reasonably familiar. Of course, Arnaud, along with the majority of his friends, could not read and had had to rely on the village priest to read and interpret the Bible for him. It was strange indeed to hear these two oddly-dressed men discussing the scriptures and making their own judgements about what each verse meant. On one hand, Arnaud was strangely discomforted by the whole thing, but on the other hand, he was thrilled to be able to ask questions and receive answers. This was a novelty indeed!
They had walked for several hours before Bertrand called a halt. They sat down on some of the large granite rocks that littered the hills they had just descended. Arnaud drew out the sausage, bread and cheese that Saissa had wrapped up for him and offered it first to Bertrand and then to his friend. To his dismay, they both refused his offer and drew out of their own pouches some carrots and turnips that had been cut into bite-sized pieces. Thinking he had offended them in some way, Arnaud quickly went to put away his own food.
“No, don’t do that,” Bertrand said. “You must eat what you are accustomed to eating, as we must.”
“Do you eat nothing but vegetables, or is this some special holy day?” Arnaud asked.
The two men laughed loudly. “We don’t have such things as holy days. All days are holy for us and we make no special difference between any of them.”
The young man looked uncomfortable because they had laughed. Bertrand quickly reassured him that it was a common question asked of them by non-believers. Good Catholics found it hard to accept that God wished everyone to be good every day of the year, not just on holy days and Sundays. Arnaud, too, was having difficulty with this heretical concept, although he couldn’t deny the logic of such a statement.
It took them the rest of the day to reach Marzen, a village on the way to Taulat that was located a thousand feet up in the mountains. The two perfecti had kept up a cracking pace and although Arnaud was the youngest by far, he was certainly not the fittest. By the time they knocked at the door of the small cottage where they knew they would be welcome, he was panting for breath.
The door was opened by a short stout woman, who quickly bowed three times when she recognized her visitors. Her first words confirmed quickly in Arnaud’s mind that these were clearly men of some rank and obviously worthy of respect in the Cathar church, for her first words were a prayer, one that Arnaud had never heard before.
“Pray God to make a good Christian of me and bring me to a good end.”
Bertrand’s reply was to bless her and say in return, “May God make a good Christian of you and bring you to a good end.”
Arnaud was welcomed into the house almost as warmly as the two perfecti who had come, it now seemed, to preach to the believers in the small community. The young man was puzzled. He hadn’t noticed any building that might serve as a meeting place in the small community, and besides, it wasn’t Sunday. Were they planning to stay here for the next five days?
He soon found out that the meeting of the small population of believers w
as to take place that evening in the house of his hosts. There were not many believers in Marzen—only a handful—but they were no less fervent in their belief than those who met in larger gatherings. They heard Bertrand preach from the New Testament of the Bible and then they recited the Lord’s Prayer. Arnaud was confused by the fact that women joined in all the discussions, even more so when the men listened attentively to what they had to say. This was a revelation to the young man, who had viewed religion as the preserve of men. There were no women in the Catholic Church hierarchy save for nuns, who, for the most part, were discouraged from voicing any opinion except in their convents! He said nothing at the meeting but debated inwardly the value of allowing women free rein to speak. He was not sure he liked the idea. It was certainly novel!
The three of them rose early the next day and set out through the mountains for Taulat, a village somewhat smaller than Marzen but that had a larger Cathar population. As they went along, Bertrand explained some of the Cathars’ beliefs to Arnaud, who felt quite honoured by the trust the older man placed in him. It was most unusual for a believer to talk this frankly to a non-believer, and Arnaud wondered at its purpose.
Bertrand tried to explain the consolamentum of the dying, which he had administered to Arnaud’s wife. What set the Cathars apart from the Catholic Church was their idea that there were two equals: Good and Evil. Good was the kingdom of the Lord; Evil was the day-to-day life of ordinary people on earth. Evil had imprisoned Good in men’s bodies and, for ordinary people, could only be set free at their deaths. This salvation of their souls was found through the consolamentum.
