by Bell, Gradyn
Henceforth, Arnaud would be committed to a life of wandering the towns and countryside, preaching, praying and fasting, and doing whatever good works he might be called upon to do.
One year lapsed into two, and two into three, during which time Arnaud did not see Maurina. He had been called upon by Bertrand towards the end of the third year to attend a conference with him in Carcassonne. Their journey to that city would take them close by the town of Lavaur while en route south from Montauban where they had been preaching. It seemed a perfect opportunity—one too good to be missed— for Arnaud to pay a short visit to his daughter, so he sought the permission of Bertrand to stop by the little cottage in Lavaur where she lived. Would she remember him? He doubted it. She had been less than a year old when he had left. He wondered if she still had the little dove he had carved for her. His heart began to race, making him feel somewhat uncomfortable. After all, he told himself, he had given up everything to serve as God had demanded. Why was the thought of one little girl affecting him this way?
It was the Boutarras’ greeting that finally made him realise that everything in his life had changed irrevocably. Of course, they would be respectful to a perfectus, and Arnaud had grown to accept the prayerful greetings of other believers. But it was their greeting that finally demonstrated to him that he was indeed someone other than their former friend. The easy camaraderie that had previously existed was gone and this, if nothing else, made him aware of his changed status
“Come, Maurina, say hello to your papa.” Saissa Boutarra pushed the little girl towards the tall dark man wearing a long black cloak.
Maurina stuck her thumb firmly in her mouth and regarded this stranger with the fixed look of a four-year-old. This wasn’t her papa. Pierre was her papa. It was to Pierre that she always ran when she needed comforting, when she had stumbled or when one of the other children had been spiteful to her. She stood in silence as the tall man bent down to speak to her.
“I must go away and I’ll be gone for a long time. I just wanted to say goodbye.”
Maurina turned to Saissa. “I don’t want to say goodbye. I want to play with the others. Please can I play with the others?” She looked longingly at where a group of children were playing in the neighbouring garden.
Saissa looked apologetically at Arnaud.
“I understand,” he said. “She hardly knows me and three years is a long time in the life of a little girl. When she is older, perhaps you will tell her about me. For now, I must go and prepare myself further for our trip to Carcassonne where there will be an important debate organized by the King of Aragon. He thinks to reconcile some of our differences with the Catholic Church, but I fear it is already a lost cause. The Church has too long abused her powers and her excesses are well known to our people. Even the Pope complains of the evil examples set by some of his clergy.”
Both Pierre and Saissa nodded silently. They had had dealings with a rapacious and greedy church in their younger days and needed no encouragement to support the elders of the Cathar Church. They liked the idea that women could have a say in matters of belief and were not kept in the background where preaching was concerned. Although becoming a female elder of the church was not for everyone, as Saissa had often said, it suited some and it was pleasant to be able to hear a woman’s point of view!
The trip to Carcassonne was an important milestone, both in the life of Arnaud and in that of the Cathar Church. It would be the first time that the young man had ever preached in front of a group of Catholics and almost the last time that the two religions would come together in a spirit of friendship to try to iron out their differences with regard to their beliefs. Making their way towards the ancient walled city, Bertrand informed the young man that he would be part of a jury, a group of thirteen Catholics and thirteen Cathars, who would judge the merits of the debate that would be held the next day.
Arnaud confessed his amazement at his selection for such an honour, wondering aloud if his youth would appear a weakness in the eyes of the other jurors. He was encouraged when Bertrand told him that all perfecti were equal in God’s sight and that his opinion and preaching were as valued as any. He would be expected to listen to arguments put forth by both sides and make a judgement as to which side had preached most effectively. He, along with all the others, would say which group had best convinced the audience of the worth of its doctrine.
Bertrand would be one of the Cathars to preach the doctrine of the Cathar Church, as would the Cathar Bishop of Carcassonne. This preaching would be done openly, a fact which amazed Arnaud, drilled as he had been in the need for secrecy in the seminary. On the Catholic side, the Pope’s Legates would preach. Peter of Castelnau and the Abbot of Citeaux, Arnold-Almeric, would present the case for the doctrine of Holy Mother Church.
When the Catholic Legates showed up, they were surrounded by an escort worthy of the Pope himself. Their horses were superb, their baggage train well-equipped and carrying many luxuries far beyond the ken of the simple people who had come to listen to the arguments. In contrast, the Cathar perfecti arrived on foot and stayed not in a bishop’s palace but in the modest homes of some of the believers.
It was unfortunate that the contrast between the humble Cathars and the Pope’s envoys was so marked. How was it, some of the audience were heard to ask, that Christ went on foot, preached poverty and was meek, yet the Pope’s men came loaded with honours? If the oratory had convinced few, the examples convinced many. Although they did not come forward openly at that time, many souls were gained for the believers.
It was only after this theological debate had been judged a failure by the Catholic Church that the envoys were advised to get off their horses, cancel their gaudy escorts and stop expecting to be received as princes of the church. They were advised to carry nothing with them except their Books of Hours and whatever else was necessary for religious debate. This good advice came from one Dominic de Guzman, a Spanish preacher who had spent some time in the area trying to convert the heretics—a man who would later make his mark in a very unpleasant way and with whom many Cathars would ultimately spend some intimate and painful hours!
For the perfecti, the trip home was as joyful as a long trudge through the February weather could be. They were pleased with the outcome of the debate. Although on the surface it appeared they had not made many converts, many disgruntled Catholics had begged to talk to them afterwards. The inhabitants of the region of Occitania were the most tolerant of people. Even the most devout Catholics amongst them could not be aroused to any great passion with regard to the protection of their own beliefs. They could see as well as any that, for the most part, the Church hierarchy did not practise what it preached. Why, therefore, should ordinary people take issue with friends who were believers, many of whom they had lived and worked with for generations?
It was not until they reached the small Catholic stronghold of St. Hilaire that Arnaud realised they were not heading back directly to Fanjeaux.
“We wondered when you were going to ask why we came this way,” Bertrand remarked.
Arnaud’s only excuse was that his head was still in the debate at Carcassonne and he had been paying no attention whatsoever to the road he was travelling. “Where are we going?”
“We have been invited by the Count of Foix to stay for two nights at the Chateau de Castela. His sister, Esclarmonde, is one of us and she will be there—although I understand he won’t. He’s at Foix where he is entertaining guests on behalf of his friend who has just remarried. His messengers said only that she wished to talk to us and that there will be other brethren there. She is not yet a perfecta but she is such a staunch believer and doer of good works that I think the time is not far off when she will seek the consolamentum herself. Her husband has recently died and her children are largely grown. Her brother the Count, as you know, tolerates us and his wife is one of us also, so his discretion is assured while we are his guests.”
“I believe I have heard talk of her good works.
I know it was her money that was used to found our seminary at Fanjeaux. Isn’t the fortress of Montsegur part of her inheritance?”
“I see you are well briefed, as always,” Bertrand said. “Yes, indeed it is. You know that we have been allowed to use the fortress as our official headquarters, but I understand it has begun to fall into ruin. I think this is probably the business that Esclarmonde wishes to discuss. It is a valuable centre for us, a place of pilgrimage where many women driven from our convents have sought refuge in the past, and there are many believers there who only desire its peace and solitude for prayerful reasons. No one wishes to see it deteriorate any further. It is one of the few places where we can worship openly in this area and is well used by believers and elders. It would be a great loss if it disappeared.”
“Then with God’s help we must do our best to see that doesn’t happen,” Arnaud said.
Their arrival at the chateau was greeted without fanfare—the perfecti would not have wished otherwise. Although the Count of Foix was not a persecutor of believers on his domain, he felt it politic not to advertise the fact that his sister was using one of his chateaux as a meeting place for the heretics. They were greeted by some of the other perfecti who had arrived earlier, and then spirited away to the apartments belonging to the Lady Esclarmonde.
As they entered her solarium, they found it simply furnished with just a few benches and a table. A blazing fire kept the chill out of the air in the otherwise draughty chamber. In the summer, it caught the sun’s rays, but now in the depth of February—even in this temperate part of France—the stone walls seemed to capture and cling to the dampness. The lady Esclarmonde stood in the middle of the room, a tall, elegant woman whose slim body and unlined face bore no witness to the large family she had already borne. Coming towards them in greeting, she made the formal bow of respect to them and receiving their blessing, invited them to be seated.
She had come from a noble and rich background. Sister to the Count of Foix and widowed, she was the mother of six grown children. She was suzeraine over vast lands and managed their running with meticulous efficiency. Well-educated and able to hold her own in conversations and discussions on theological matters, she could be a formidable opponent in any debate. That she would eventually become a perfecta was never in doubt. Her reputation for good works was well known throughout Occitania, and her provision of places of refuge for Cathars who were being persecuted for their beliefs in the Northern provinces of France was renowned. She was deemed a holy and righteous woman far beyond her brother’s domains. She was said to have had mystical experiences in her earlier life, which had compelled her to help others by establishing her foundations of schools, hospitals and houses where young men and women could study the Cathar faith.
It did not take Arnaud long to discover what a formidable woman they were conversing with. Her mind was as sharp and clear as crystal. Her ability to sum up situations speedily and succinctly could put many men who fancied themselves great speakers to shame. It was not long before the real reason for their visit became clear. Just as Bertrand had suspected, the matter of the rebuilding of Montsegur was the main topic of discussion.
“As you all know, Montsegur is becoming the headquarters of our faith here in Occitania,” she began. “Many knights and pilgrims go there to renew their beliefs and to strengthen their ties with others of our brethren. It is in a sad state of disrepair and, as I am sure you are already aware, several perfecti live in the village below, giving advice to those persecuted on how best to overcome the struggle with our enemy. It must not be allowed to deteriorate further. It is a greatly valued site, a place of pilgrimage that we must conserve at all costs, but because the land on which Montsegur stands is held in fief to my brother by Raymond of Perella, we must ask Raymond’s permission to attend to the rebuilding of the place.”
Arnaud felt compelled to speak up. “My lady, will it not attract attention if it becomes known that work is afoot there?”
“A good question, but no, I think not. The fortress stands too high to be attacked. It is not on any particular route to anywhere and therefore is of little strategic value to anyone but those of us who wish to be left alone to worship in peace. No, I think that no one will bother us. We have plenty of labour to help with the rebuilding; many believers live in huts just below the fortress and will willingly offer their time and skill in such a holy endeavour.”
“You are right, my lady,” Bertrand said. “And there are hundreds of brethren who live in the villages around Montsegur who would count it a privilege and a delight to come and work for our cause.”
“You and Arnaud can carry my letter to Raymond.” She stopped talking and looked around her, aware that she had just given orders to one of the most respected of perfecti. “Please forgive me if I sound demanding of your time, but the sooner work is started, the better it will be for everyone concerned. I would go myself but I must go to Fanjeaux with Guilhabert de Castres.” She looked away modestly. “I am to receive the consolamentum and must spend more time in preparation.”
The delight on Bertrand’s face was plain to see. “Thanks be to God! We have long wondered when this blessed event would take place. God bless you in your undertaking, my lady. Perhaps we shall be back in time to join in your celebration, but if we are not, may God be with you in your new life!”
So saying, Bertrand administered the blessing of peace to all who were assembled there, and the perfecti left the solarium with Esclarmonde’s promise to seek permission from Raymond of Perella to start work on the little fortress atop the mountain of Montsegur.
Chapter Ten
Occitania, South of France
1204 AD
Simon
It was a festive sight that greeted the saddle-weary travellers as they clattered across the drawbridge of the chateau at Foix where they would meet Simon’s friend Count Bernard de Comminges and his wife Comptors. The chateau was en fête because Bernard had just remarried a wife he had previously divorced. His cousin Raymond-Roger, the Count de Foix, had invited him to celebrate the occasion at his castle, which was bedecked with garlands and ribbons, pennants and colourful pavilions. That this was Bernard’s fourth foray into the state of matrimony mattered not at all; everyone enjoyed a celebration!
Simon had still not told Amaury that Alicia, Guy and his little sister would be there, so the surprise was complete when Amaury spotted his mother amongst the throng of people who had gathered to welcome the tired ex-Crusaders.
“Maman!” Although he was nearly fully grown, Amaury flung himself from his horse and into his mother’s arms. They had not seen each other for such a long time that on occasions while he had been in Venice, Amaury had tested himself to see if he could remember his mother’s face and that of his little brother. To his shame, he had found that he could only remember them with difficulty, so much had happened in his life. It had been filled with so many new sights and sounds, people and places, it was little wonder that the memory of his mother’s exact expressions and her mannerisms had faded!
Everything came flooding back now in a flash—all the remembrances of his early childhood. It was as if he had not been away at all! He could see her, tall and beautiful as she greeted her lord. Then she turned once more to her oldest son.
“Let me look at you.” Alicia held him at arms length and looked searchingly at his face. Gone were the babyish planes of childhood. His face had thinned and a hint of downy fuzz was beginning to show around his chin. He was almost as tall as she was and not far off his father’s height. She pulled him towards her again. Only now would she admit that she had often thought she might never see him again. She had prayed every day for his safety. Hugging him tightly, she turned and beckoned to the young boy who was lurking behind her, dressed in the uniform of a page with the arms of Comminges embroidered on the back. Surely this could not be his little brother Guy!
“Come, speak to your brother.” His mother pushed the bashful child forward. Guy was tongue-tied
at the sight of this tall stranger who now bent over to kiss his cheek.
“Come, little brother. Have you nothing to say to me? I see you have entered the service of Milord de Comminges. How like you that?”
“I like it well enough, but it is a long way from home,” Guy answered haltingly. “I will not see maman for several years once you have all departed this place to return to Montfort.” His lips trembled as he spoke.
“You will find it difficult at first,” Amaury said. “Everyone does. But soon your time will be taken up with your duties. And before long you will become a squire. Look at me. Papa has promised that I may be his squire soon.”
“That’s all very well for you. You’ve never been away by yourself. You’ve always been with papa.”
“Never mind. Cheer up. I have a present for you.”
Guy’s face brightened at the thought of a present. “What is it?”
“Do you remember the first suit of armour that our father gave me when we were at Ecry at the tournament? Well, I saved it for you. It has been to Venice and back and is still in good condition. Papa made me see to that! He always said that armour not well taken care of is a gift to the enemy.”
“Can I see it now?” Guy’s face lit up at the thought of his own hauberk, and with his spirits clearly lifted, he went off hand-in-hand with Amaury to help him unpack.
